“Young woman, about twenty-three, strawberry-blond hair, pale-blue eyes. Tall, pretty.”
He scrolls through his phone as he talks, then flips the screen over to show them what I assume are pictures of Rona. Elga and Jennifer bend over, looking at the screen. From the distance, I notice Elga’s jaw clenching for just a second before she relaxes.
“Can’t say I’ve seen her around.” Jennifer delivers her reply with a perfectly innocent pout. “Who is she, if you don’t mind? It’s not every day we have reporters from such a big name asThe Sizzle. I just love that magazine. It has all the best gossip!”
If I could kiss Jennifer right now, I would. The woman is an excellent actress. She deserves an Oscar for her performance.
Gribble flips off his phone and pockets it. His grin falls, and his eyes turn bright and conspiratorial. That man sure loves gossip. It shouldn’t be surprising since he’s working for a rumor mill after all.
"She’s Rona Quinn, Senator Melissa Quinn's daughter. I have it on good authority that she's in Saltford Bay under the protection of her mother’s bodyguard."
My blood runs cold. He knows too much. Way too much.
"Senator Quinn's daughter? Isn’t she the senator who leads the inquiry about all that fake content on social media?" Elga questions, and I can practically hear her eyebrows rising. "You think a rich girl like that is hanging out in little old Saltford Bay? That seems unlikely."
"Not as unlikely as you might think," Gribble says, his voice taking on the pushy edge I remember from the hotel. "See, I've got sources that say her bodyguard is actually from here. And I know she's been spotted in town, shopping for winter clothes, having breakfast at local establishments. Ring any bells?"
Someone on the inside sold Rona out.
The implications hit me like a freight train. Someone close to Senator Quinn is the mole. Someone with enough access to dig out our location. That list is not long.
“A bodyguard hiding a famous woman’s daughter in our town?” Jennifer steps forward, her voice carrying just the right note of excitement. "Oh my, that does sound exciting."
"It’s a great story," Gribble says, his camera clicking as he starts photographing the shop's interior. "And where there's a Quinn, there's usually a story worth telling. The kind that pays well, if you catch my meaning."
Through the small window, I watch him reach inside his coat pocket and retrieve a bill. He slides it across the counter to Elga, who watches it with a stony expression that should give him a stern warning, if he wasn’t so engrossed in his own story to listen.
"Well, I can't say I've seen anyone matching that description in here," Elga says, putting her index finger on the bill and sliding it back to Gribble. "Though you might want to try the Saltwater Lodge. That's where most out-of-town visitors stay, especially the fancy ones."
Brilliant. Elga's sending him in completely the wrong direction.
"The Saltwater Lodge," Gribble repeats, making notes. "That's where, exactly?"
"About fifteen minutes up the coast," Jennifer chimes in helpfully. "Just follow Shore Road north until you see the big white building with the wraparound porch. You can't miss it."
"And they'd have records of guests?"
"Oh, I'm sure they would," Elga says with perfect innocence. "The owner, Cassidy, is very thorough about that sort of thing. Runs a tight ship."
I watch Gribble nod, apparently satisfied with this information. But he's not done yet.
"What about the bodyguard?" he presses. "Ogre, big guy, probably seven feet tall, black hair, never smiles. His name is Darhg Rooke, and he grew up in this town. Ring any bells?"
My jaw clenches. He has my description down to the smallest details. This is definitely not random.
"An ogre from town named Darhg Rooke?" Elga's laugh sounds perfectly natural. "Honey, I think I'd remember seeingsomeone like that. Not many ogres here, apart from myself. Saltford Bay's pretty small, you know. We notice strangers."
"Especially ones that size," Jennifer adds with a little giggle. "I mean, where would you even hide someone like that?"
Gribble pockets his bill, but his eyes remain shrewd. There’s no way for me to tell whether he believed them or not.
"Well, if you do happen to see either of them, I'd appreciate a call." He hands over a business card. "There's money in it for good information. Way more than what I’ve offered you today."
"Of course," Elga says smoothly, accepting the card. "Though like I said, I haven't seen anyone like that. You sure they're in Saltford Bay?"
"My source was very specific," Gribble replies, his tone suggesting absolute confidence. "They're here. And I'm going to find them."
The casual certainty in his voice makes my skin crawl. Someone fed him detailed intelligence about our location, our movements, and probably our exact timeline.
