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My stomach pinches with dread. “Why would I have any idea if Marcus was released from rehab?”
Ellis smiles, cruel and crooked as he reaches for my scarf. I jolt away from his touch, but not before he exposes the marks trailing up my neck. “Because you’re the woman who blocked my shot, of course.”
He has me right where he wants me, and we both know it.
“I was contacted by an anonymous agent for the Matthews, who proposed a deal. They offered to tip me off to Marcus’s location in Pearl Beach for a sixty-forty split if I provided them the image to submit.”
The photographer that day was Ellis?
Shock splinters my system, and my journalist instincts are vibrating like Spidey senses.
“Of course, I had no intention of following through, but imagine my surprise when a woman of the same build, wearing this very hat,smoochedmy target.”
“Why would the Matthews pay a paparazzi to split the earnings?”
He pauses, reveling in the sheer joy of throwing me off my game. “Celebrities pay us for these things all the time, love. Helps keep them relevant and such.”
That would make sense if I hadn’t overheard Marcus’s conversation with Penelope that day in the barn, but who the Matthews owe money to, and why, have yet to be revealed.
“Why offer this to me and not just sell it?”
“A three-year-old autopsy report isn’t nearly as valuable to me as the photo I’m after.” He shrugs. “You may have ruined that shot, but there are a number of magazines with calls out for images of Marcus Matthews worththousands, and I want a piece of the pie.”
I glare at his bag, and noting my obvious struggle, he pats it as if it’s a prized object. “Just think how you’ll be praised for writing such a scandal. I’ve heard rankings have been less than enthusiastic lately, even with talent such as yours.”
I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right. When I was hired,Lusterwas in the top ten most-resourced magazines, both virtually and in print.
Now we’re lucky to be in the top thirty.
My head spins with what feels like an impossible decision. After everything we’ve been through… After everything I know… Could I honestly sell Marcus out to Turner in exchange for the answers I desperately need?
I don’t want to make a rash decision, I’ve made plenty of those as it is, but the clock is ticking.
“Give me time to work some things out.”
Ellis’s eyes roll as he shifts his weight, but I cross my arms in challenge. I need time to clear the mud. One last-ditch effort to get to the bottom of everything Marcus is hiding. Then, and only then, can I make a conscious decision.
“You’ve got until sundown tomorrow, or I’ll release it to the highest bidder.” He sneers as he steps around me. “Don’t disappoint me, Sinclair.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Heather
Hey!” Pen beams from the entrance of the stables, sweaty-faced in a pair of dirty jean overalls and an old gray shirt. “I’ve been looking for you.”
As if the wordtraitoris stamped in red ink across my forehead, I duck my face and finish walking one of their chestnut mares into her stall. “Hey, sorry. I just got back from riding Biscuit.”
My hands nervously fumble with the straps of her saddle as I undo it.
“Don’t apologize, silly. I just wanted to thank you for your help around here today.” She wipes her brow with a rag before stuffing it in her back pocket. “I really needed to fix the tear in the chicken coop, and Marcus is still helping corral a herd of sheep on the loose in town.”
“No problem,” I say, picking up the pace.
Once the heightened anxiety of meeting with Turner subsided, I considered calling Alice and coming clean.
She said she had my back, but with the pressure we’re both under, she’ll be forced to keep the publisher’s best interests in mind. And the thought of failing her procures a sense of guilt that’s going round for round with the guilt of betraying Penelope and Marcus.
“I need to ask you something,” Penelope says from behind me, sending my heart rate through the roof.
