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The stab doesn’t bother him near as much as I’d hoped. Dammit.
Like a cat with a fat mouse in its paws, he grins.
“I’m well aware what’s brought you here.” He flicks his cocky gaze toward the building, missing the daggers my narrowed eyes are throwing by half a second. “And it appears that… Ah, yes, just missed him.”
Wide-eyed, I spin on my heel, readying my camera. But when I find the lot and the front of the building barren, I realize too late he’s fucking with me.
“Bastard,” I grumble loud enough for him to hear.
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you,” he croons in response, offering a wink before turning for the opposite parking lot.
“Can’t believe Alice actually boned that guy.”
A sexy accent can only lower one’s standards so far. And apparently, her’s are lower than a record-setting limbo bar.
Journalism is all about the five Ws. The who, what, when, where, and why.
When a story goes live without all those boxes checked, it can be disastrous for business.Lusterhas Ellis Turner to thank for a staged photo he gave Alice long before I ever came on with them. It ruined their rep, and even though it was their duty to double- and triple-check their sources, I stand by them, hating him all the same.
With a groan, I stand on numb, wobbling legs. Now that he’s swaggered back to the fiery pits of hell, I sigh. I’ve been fighting the thought since earlier this morning, but after hours of sitting out here, I’m starting to think maybe our intel was wrong.
Marcus was rumored to appear at the Apple Awards ceremony held at the Double Palm resort last night. It’s been two weeks since his hospital stay and accident resulting in a DUI, and already, he’s flying to an exotic island to attend a fancy event.
It’s that kind of behavior that fuels my sweet, torture-dealing dreams. Except, I scouted every inch of the hotel grounds, questioned numerous servers and hotel staff, and still never found him.
Anticipating Alice’s eventual demand for an update, I double-check my phone. Relieved to find no new messages, I remove my trusty black baseball cap and matching black glasses from my backpack, secure my camera in its case, and then guide my rental bike along the median until I’m able to make a break for a more secluded spot.
A rusty green dumpster catches my eye on the side of the building, and I scurry toward it with my head on a swivel. When I approach, I prop the handlebars against the dented metal box and creep around the back.
I peer up at the corners of the building in search of any overhead cameras, only to have my feet nearly fly out from under me.
My hand claps over my mouth, silencing a scream as I’m tangled up in the legs of a man lying on a mound of cardboard. Half of whatever had been in the cup he’s holding is now spewed across his living space.
He groggily opens one eye.
“Sir, it’s imperative that I borrow your dwelling for a moment.” I pause my hurried whispering with a nervous laugh. “I’m tracking down a very important person for a story—”
With that one glassy eye wide open, he cuts me off with a rumbling snore.
I purse my lips, staring at him a moment longer.“Alrighty, then.”
My cell phone hums from my pocket. The name Alice ‘The World’s Best Editor’ scrolls across the screen, and I press the button to answer before hesitantly raising it to my ear.
“Have you seen him yet?” my editor barks.
Classic Alice, always cutting to the chase, never bothering with a formal hello.
“Um.” I glance at the sleeping man curled up by my feet.
“That’d be a no.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond,” I whisper-hiss, stepping around the older man.
“No answer is answer enough.”
“Look—” I peek around the dumpster’s edge for any more wandering Brits with overinflated egos. “There’s been a bit of a situation.”
I can almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighs. “Dear God, Sinclair, tell me you weren’t seen.”
