Cressida shut the journal. She hadn’t been looking at it anyway.
Finally, the car arrived. A blue Nissan Versa. The rental driver entered—a guy in a red shirt and cap—and pulled her from her morbid thoughts. She should put them completely behind her. Except ... that nagging feeling at the base of her skull that Mom knew something about Dad that she hadn’t shared with Cressida.
But she would worry about that later, after she was done here in Hidden Bay—her last stop before compiling, editing, and polishing the book for publication with Anchor Point Books.
In the rental car, Cressida drove south, steering through two small towns until she finally landed at a big-box store, and that had taken her a good hour and a half of driving.
Maybe she could get a laptop there. Just something to keep her in business.
She preferred to spend as much time as she could out in the community. People were so interesting, and she loved to observe, to talk and get their stories first, but she needed to get online too. She could transfer her notes and do some research to dig deeper into what she’d learned at the museum.
Cedar Trails Lodge had no cell service or internet and therefore no Wi-Fi. Even BYOIS—bring your own internet service, such as Starlink Mini portable—was frowned upon.After all, it destroyed the whole theme of getting back to nature. Still, she’d taken the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses in each place of the globe she’d visited to finish up Dad’s book.
She wasn’t at Cedar Trails to unplug, and so she traveled with her own mini satellite. However, she still needed a laptop to make things work.
After purchasing the most powerful laptop they sold—which wasn’t that great—she stepped out of the store and made her way over to her vehicle. She’d go back to her room at the lodge, set up the laptop, and connect to her notes in the cloud. She had completely written off her old laptop—it was gone forever, and she didn’t care. She had all she needed with her.
Now that she had the journal back.
And later this afternoon, she’d have to get ready for dinner. She smiled to herself. What had she been thinking to bring up dinner and then lateragreeto dinner with Detective Braden Sanders? And then she’d had the nerve to ask him to take her on his motorcycle?
Seriously.
At the thought of him, heat flooded her entire being as she paused to fumble for the fob and unlock her car. In the window reflection, she spotted a face she’d seen at the marina.
Not the man who’d attacked her. Someone else. Who knows? Maybe he’d come here to get a laptop too. Except he was watching her.
Definitely watching her.
I’m watching you too, dude.She lifted her cell to grab a selfie and made sure he was in the photo, then climbed into the vehicle. She sent the photo to Braden, then sped away. It wasn’t like she could escape the tail. If he was watching her and he was following, he already knew which road she would travel back to Hidden Bay and Cedar Trails Lodge.
Before she’d been attacked, she might have approached him to ask what he was doing and get some answers. That was the old investigative journalist in her. In her experience, it took action to get answers.
Fortunately, she saw no one following her on the touristy two-way highway that was jammed with traffic driving up and down the coast and the only path through the Olympic Peninsula.
Almost two hours later, she was finally back at the Cedar Trails Lodge, and she stopped at the coffee kiosk to grab an iced coffee, then took a picture of the photograph of theSpecter’s Bounty. She lingered at the big panoramic window and asked lodge patrons hanging out if anyone had ever personally seen the ghost ship.
Negative.
She noticed a text had come through while she’d been driving. It was Braden asking about her safety. She sent him a quick text—hoping he’d get it—that she was at the lodge, safe and sound, and would see him at six tonight.
Coffee in hand, she made it to her room, unpacked the laptop and the mobile satellite, and set everything up. She’d laid out her journal and notes on the bed and desk.
She’d been to the museum and gotten the dark story of theSpecter’s Bounty, but she had more questions than answers. What happened to the ship and the crew? And what did Evelyn Monroe know?
At five fifteen, she woke up sprawled on her bed next to the journal and notes and yawned.
I can’t believe I fell asleep!
She bolted from the bed. She had to get ready for her not-a-date with Braden. Did she want it to be a real date? Sure. Yeah. She’d admit it to herself. Did she think he wanted a date with her? Yeah, sure. She’d admit it for him.
Cressida hadn’t been on a date in three years, and thatwas well before Dad had died. Back then, she’d even been talking to Mom. Until her own mother had sabotaged her career, and as a result, that guy Cressida had dated, Gavin Ashford—someone her mother had introduced her to—ghosted her.
Fine, Gavin. I don’t need you.I don’t need anyone.
So, yeah, she was done, so done with dating. At least anyone inherworld. But here she was as far as a person could get from DC, and Detective Sanders—Braden—was there on the beach.
Intense steel-blue eyes and just ... looking good all the way to his bones and in every way that mattered. She had a feeling he had a good heart. She could sense it. After what she’d been through, dating a down-to-earth, middle-of-nowhere detective was the best idea she’d had in a long time. Now, if she could just fully bring him intoherinvestigation,herresearch, that could be an extra layer of protection for her.
