“We can’t just walk up to her,” I say, my mind already racing through possibilities. “If she thinks we’re onto her, she’ll bolt. And then we’ve got nothing.”
“Yeah, true.” Hazel frowns, chewing on her bottom lip. “So what’s the play? Because I’m not exactly trained in interrogation techniques. My skill set is more aggressive flirting and being really good at Wordle.”
“Both valuable life skills.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that.”
I lean against one of the support pillars, trying to think. The video from the Spur showed someone reaching toward Seth’s drink, but the footage was grainy enough that we couldn’t see clearly if she spiked the drink. But maybe she’ll let it slip? Highly unlikely.
“Here’s the thing,” I say slowly. “She’s not going to admit to anything if we just confront her. Why would she? She knows how much trouble she’d be in because spiking someone’s drink is serious. We’re talking potential felony charges.”
“So we need leverage.”
“We need proof, but first we just need to find her. And then we can work something out.” In truth, I’m not sure yet how to convince her to talk.
Finding one woman in a crowd of rodeo enthusiasts shouldn’t be this hard, but ten minutes later, Hazel and I are still weaving through the growing throngs of people without any luck. I’m starting to wonder if she left, or if Hazel imagined seeing her in the first place, when Hazel suddenly grabs my arm.
“There.” She jerks her chin toward the far side of the arena. “Behind the funnel cake stand.”
I follow her gaze and immediately spot a woman there.
She’s standing near one of the vendor stalls, looking around like she’s waiting for someone. Early twenties, maybe. Long, dark hair. Low-cut jeans that sit well below her hip bones and a cropped top with long sleeves that shows off a strip of tanned stomach. She’s clutching a disposable coffee cup, one of the ones from the arena café with names written in Sharpie on the side.
Even from here, I can make out the letters: B-R-O-O-K-E.
“Brooke,” I murmur. “At least now we have a name.”
“What’s the plan?” Hazel asks, her voice low and eager.
I quickly outline an idea in my head and relay it to Hazel, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. Hazel’s grin grows wider with every word.
“That’s devious,” she says when I finish. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Save the praise for after it works.”
We approach from different angles, me hanging back while Hazel circles around to come at Brooke from the side. I watch as Hazel lifts her own coffee cup to her lips, taking a casual, long sip like she’s draining her cup, looking like she’s just another tourist wandering through the crowd.
Then Hazel adjusts her trajectory and walks directly into Brooke’s path.
The collision is perfectly executed. Hazel’s shoulder catches Brooke’s arm, hard enough to send the other woman stumbling sideways. Brooke’s cup goes flying, hitting the ground and bouncing once, the last dregs of coffee splattering across the dirt.
“Oh my God!” Hazel’s hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
“What the hell?” Brooke steadies herself, glaring at Hazel. “Watch where you’re?—”
I’m there in seconds, swooping down to grab the cup before Brooke can react. I’m careful to hold it only by the base, keeping my fingers away from where hers would have gripped.
“Here, let me help,” I say brightly.
Brooke’s eyes narrow. “I can pick up my own?—”
“I feel terrible,” Hazel cuts in, already rummaging in her oversized bag. “Here, I have a—let me just—” She produces a plastic shopping bag, the kind you get from the grocery store, and holds it open.
I drop the cup inside before Brooke can protest.
“What the fuck?” Brooke reaches for the bag. “Give that back?—”
Hazel zips the bag into her purse with a smooth motion, stepping back out of reach. I move to stand beside her, and together we form a wall between Brooke and any escape route.
