She slid a sideways glance at him. An hour alone in a cramped space with William. She was amazingly awful at staying away from him.
…
Rain from the night before had drenched the abundant potholes scattered along the cracked asphalt. Focused on the road ahead, William jerked the bowtie at his neck loose.
Bridgett had agreed they would “dress the part.” Lucy hadn’t gotten that note. He’d rather not be in a tux, either, but the way Lucy’s jaw fell open when she saw him at the station made it worth it. Chicks dug a man in a suit—he already knew that. Raise the stakes to a tuxedo and he’d hoped it might crack the armor she kept around herself.
So far, no luck.
“You’re quiet.” William briefly slid his gaze from the windshield to her and back to the country road leading to Twin Lakes.
Lucy had been studying that brochure for a while now. By his estimate, she’d read it cover to cover more than a dozen times. He’d intentionally left the radio off, confident she might be feeling chatty. She wasn’t.
“Not much to talk about, I guess.” She turned to him a little. “Maybe we should figure out our backstory. How we met. All that.”
“Where’s the fun in a pretend backstory? I’d rather get to know the real Lucy.”
He glanced to her again. A breeze from her open window blew strands of her hair loose from where she’d tied it up.
His fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear.
Hands at ten and two, bud. Hands at ten and two.
“No. I promise, I’m not interesting.” She frowned.
He begged to differ.
“Not true. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a journalist—everyone’s interesting. Everyone’s got a story to tell.” In his experience, this was the truth that kept the industry moving. Find the story. Tell the story.
“Oh yeah? What’s your story then? The interesting parts?” She grinned his way.
The interesting part involved a ruined reputation and a now defunct reality TV show. Both things he wasn’t going to talk about. He’d spent years doing damage control. No way was he bringing it up now.
For a fickle industry without much of a memory, the entertainment machine had held his reputation hostage following the disaster in Florida. No matter how hard he worked, for years someone always brought up the show. Even when he’d finally moved past it, proven himself a decent reporter, the memory of that summer still haunted him.
“I see what you did there.” He jerked his chin toward her.
“What did I do?” She feigned innocence.
“Answered a question with another question. Anything else you learn in journalism school?’
She squinted his way. “Oh, tons. What did they teach you?”
“A little of this. A little of that.” He chuckled.
“What’s your plan when we get to the lakes?” She held up the brochure she’d studied so thoroughly.
“Figured we’d lay out some obvious cash and then some not-so-obvious cash. I snagged a few pieces of jewelry to tuck in our suitcases when we get there, too.”
“Hidden cameras. Lay out the bait. What else do we need to do while we’re there?” She unclipped her hair, ran a hand through it, and tucked it back up.
“Listen, discreetly ask around, but, mostly, lay the trap and see if anyone falls into it. That leaves a lot of time for us to…talk.”
God as his witness, before the trip was done he’d squeeze out more about her.
The truck hit a pothole and a boom echoed through the cab of the truck. Lucy screeched. Her body went stiff. She grabbed his thigh.
He hit the brakes and pulled to the shoulder of the road.
