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A flash of movement behind the rehabilitation facility steals my attention.
Holy fucking shit balls.
My sight zeroes on a familiar face attached to a too-familiar body that’s making a break for an unmarked vehicle. The only thing remotely hiding his identity is a gray hat.
“Subtle,” I murmur, but adrenaline courses through my veins, hijacking my nervous system when I realize he’s not alone.
I make out a classic feminine hourglass frame, dressed in dark clothing, waiting for Marcus to open the door of a blacked-out sedan.
Has he been inside the building the entire time? And if so, how could I possibly have missed him?
“Heather, did you catch any of that?” Alice asks, but I’m already on the move.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing celebrity gossip. It’s just that sometimes I miss the thrill and grit of journalism. The kind from my interning days that required a bit of sleuthing and getting my hands dirty.
This is the shit I live for, baby.
I snag my camera bag off the ground, secure the strap across my chest, and then throw my leg over the bike seat. “Take a rental car to the property, send you any expense reports during my stay, and whatever I do, keep away from the paparazzi. Got it.”
I’ll worry about anything I may have missed later. Right now, Marcus is sliding into a vehicle with a woman who may be his undead sister, and I’m not about to lose them.
“Take care of yourself, Heather.”
I grin at the warning wrapped around my first name. Alice is the closest thing to a friend I have, and the soft spot I’ve got for her has grown awful squishy over the years.
“Always,” I say before disconnecting the call.
Air slides in and out of my lungs as I pump the pedals, guiding the bike to the edge of the drive to duck behind a palm tree. The sedan carefully rolls out of the parking lot, and I let them get just the right amount of space ahead of me before taking off.
A warm breeze kisses my cheeks, and the aroma of various street foods mingle with the scent of sunscreen and tanning oil. I take the designated crossway to the bike path across the street. There’s no sense of time, no pain in my straining muscles, as I push harder to keep up with Marcus and the mystery woman.
Tauntuma is the largest on the island, and I’m amazed by the sky-scraping architecture that reminds me of my home in Chicago.
Miles of beach peeks through buildings and rental shops to my left, while a bustling, concrete jungle towers to my right. Exhaust clogs my nose as I follow the car through the heart of the city, stopping at each red light with enough distance to keep me irrelevant.
I self-consciously tug the bill of my hat lower onto my forehead. The last thing I need is for the driver to notice me tailing them.
It’s rumored Daddy Matthews has some serious muscle working for him, and they’d probably dispose of my body with as little as a blink.
My head swims with unease as we travel deeper into a more industrial part of Tauntuma. An overwhelming stench of fish rides the wind, and in the distance, foghorns sound low, alternating ominously across the bay.
“A shipyard?” I wonder aloud.
The clicking of bicycle spokes echoes through towers of rectangular C-containers. They’re stacked high enough to blanket the area in shadows while whispering a chill through my bones.
I park my bike next to one of the sea salt-worn metal boxes, watching as the driver pulls up to a silver SUV. Quietly slipping off my pack, I reach inside for my camera case and slowly unzip it. After stringing the bag over the handlebar, I take a second to adjust the shutter speed and lens, then raise it for a better view.
I rotate the lens to zoom in, blood whirring in my ears as I wait for them to exit the vehicle. With the windows tinted black on both vehicles, it’s impossible for me to assess who’s driving, but I snap a few pictures anyway.
The back passenger door of the sedan pops open, and through the viewfinder, I capture Marcus emerging. He glances around—no doubt double-checking that they weren’t followed—then reaches in and helps the woman to her feet.
He cups her shoulder, speaking to her carefully, and I absorb every detail about her I can, from her black hair to the sunkissed tan of her skin, but I’m shocked still, unable to move.
The man graces multiple tabloids a month–and many of my own articles. I’ve even gone as far as studying his likes and dislikes for our digital team to create those obnoxiousHow Well Do You Know Marcus Matthewsquizzes women just can’t seem to get enough of. But being this close to my archnemesis in a creepy, desolate shipyard while waiting to unveil this woman’s identity is almost too much for my brain to compute.
As quickly as they went offline, my thoughts come rushing back, screaming at me to get the damn shot before it’s too late. Excitement lights a fire through me. Day two, and I’ve already got a jump on the assignment.
Ha! Maybe I won’t be staying in Topica Bay as long as Alice thinks.
