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I press the stop button on the phone’s recorder before slowly rising to stand, and with renewed resolve, I smile at the saved file.
Pearl Beach, huh?
Looks like I’ve got plans for tomorrow.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Heather
Holding a pair of binoculars in one hand and my phone in the other, I give Alice the skinny on the notes I emailed her.
I sent them yesterday evening, right after texting Penelope that I’m under the weather and won’t be able to help today.
Or be completely useless, apparently.
“You’re living next door to him,” she repeats in disbelief. “Do you know what this means?”
“That your star journalist is going to nail this story.”
Just to be on the safe side, I’ve been staking out Marcus’s house for the past five hours. He mentioned noon for his secret rendezvous, but I’m not risking the chance that he may have changed his mind.
“You need to seduce him.”
Gasping hard enough to choke, I mutter, “That’s not gonna happen.”
“Admit it, you may hate him, but he’s fine as hell,” Alice practically purrs.
Don’t think about his boner. Don’t think about his boner.
My head is already shaking as I reach inside the door and snag a small wad of cash and my keys off the counter. That bastard had the gall to laugh when I was attacked by that demon chicken. He’s infuriating, pompous, self-centered—and in the light of day, I’m ashamed that a pair of tight jeans and a toolbelt nearly derailed my mission.
I’d let myself imagine what it might have been like to give in, even the tiniest bit. But that was before reality slapped me in the tits and refocused my efforts.
“This isn’t a nineties rom-com, Alice. I don’t need to use my vagina to gain information. I’ve got a brain for that.” Pausing to remind her of the document I attached to our email, I add, “And what about the non-disclosure agreement? Aren’t you the least bit worried about that?”
“Nah. It isn’t the first time we’ve had to work around one and it won’t be the last. I’ll handle it,” she says, brushing me off. “But remember, Marcus didn’t earn the title of playboy for no reason. So, if you’re not going to fuck him, then don’t lethimfuckyou.”
Apathetic, I drone, “Are we done here? I’ve got a vampire to hunt.”
Her chuckle is positively diabolical. “Go get ‘em, Buffy.”
I disconnect our call at 11:59 a.m., and true to his word, Marcus jogs down the front steps of the ranch house toward his SUV at 12:00 p.m. on the dot.
Pulling on my trusty black hat and matching shades, I ready my backpack to tail him.
My butt hits the seat of my rental, and I give him a few minutes’ head start before rubbing the bill with my thumb and forefinger for luck. “Please don’t let me fuck this up.”
Pearl Beach is one of the many beaches that surround Scarlet Gulf. I’ve only ever seen photos of the deep pink waters, but in person, this Topican gem is disturbingly beautiful.
I bump along one wooded area after another until I reach a busy park filled with gaggles of tourists swimming and playing in the brightly colored water. Having lost Marcus around the last turn, I lean over the steering wheel and scour the parking lot for his SUV.
“Where are you?”
All night long, I picked apart his conversation with Penelope to figure out why they would risk this type of exposure. Being caught in public when he’s supposed to be locked up is going to cause a major uproar in the tabloids.
And I’m not about to let someone else steal my story.
I slam on my brakes the moment I catch sight of a shirtless Marcus, his abs stretching with an elbow propped up next to a shower stall in the center of four giggling females. He wears a seductive smile while chatting them up as if they’re old pals.
