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The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s hard to describe, but I guess I would just say it is freedom. Pure and simple.”
“Hmm.”
He cleared his throat, looking out at the sea. “I have associates that are dangerous. My guard is always up. You showing up and asking questions out of the blue was suspicious.”
“I thought you didn’t work.”
“I don’t. This has to do with one of my projects.”
“I told you I’m just a journalist. This isn’t even my story. I stole it from my boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now.”
“Stole it?”
“Yes. Sam was at the funeral and overheard the conversation. He told me about it, and I went to the editor before he could present it himself.”
He shook his head. “Cold-blooded. That is a knife in the back.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not proud of it.”
He pulled a thermos out of his pack and opened it, pouring hot coffee into the cup and handing it to me. “Why did you do it?”
It was lovely and warm. The bitter, smoky smell hit my nose even before I took a sip. “I needed a break, and I’m a bitch.”
He drank straight from the thermos. “Why journalism?”
“Because I like the truth.”
“When I think of the media, I hardly think of the truth.”
“Yeah, dickhead. I hope to be different. Are you going to let me go?”
Voices could be heard through the trees. Rhys put a finger to his lips, motioning for me to be quiet, and grabbed my hand, squeezing it harder than necessary.
An elderly couple emerged from a side trail. “Haia.” The gentleman called out. “Diwrnod braf.”
“Oes,” Rhys answered. “Mwynhewch eich taith gerdded.”
“Hwyl,” the man said, waving.
I looked at Rhys as the couple walked past us and out of sight.
“What was that about?” I pulled my hand from his, glad to be free of his touch. It unnerved me and left me feeling disjointed.
“Daywalkers. The coastal path intercepts the beach.”
“Are you going to let me go? I won’t tell anyone you held me captive. I just want to go home. I promise,” I pleaded.
“I’m not worried about you telling anyone. You were right when you said money had power. It does, and no one would take your word over mine. I have powerful friends.”
“So, I’m free to go?”
“Sure,” he said, standing up. “But it will cost you.”
“Cost me? You took me.”
“No, you trespassed on my land and accused me of misinformation.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. I have no money.”
