I glare at them both. “What is this?”
Nash shrugs. “Can’t rush history, Rue. You of all people should know that with the antique store. Your collectors will understand.”
“He’s right,” Cap agrees. “Can’t rush.”
They both fight smiles; these assholes are playing me.
“You’re dragging this out on purpose?” I demand, working my bottom jaw side-to-side before blowing my bangs out of my face. “What the hell for?”
As if scripted, they both say, “Sounds fun.”
“Fun?” I nearly shout. “Are we riding horses and dressing in period-specific clothing while we’re at it?”
Nash looks like he might like this idea, and I want to claw the smug off his face.
I’m also helpless.
After reading the letter and realizing how little I know about the history of this city, I need Nash—and Cap. I can’t do this alone. If they want to drag this out for two weeks, I have no choice.
Last night’s hotel killed my funds, but if I leave, I’ll be right back to where I started.
“Fine,” I grit out. And because there’s no way in hell I’m getting into that truck of his, I add, “But I’m driving.”
Twenty
“That’ll be one-twelve thirty-five,” says the college-aged guy behind the plexiglass window. Rolf, according to his nametag. Whatever the hell kind of name that is. “Would you like to round up to donate to the Historical Preservation of the Historical Home and Garden Foundation of the Lowcountry?”
“What? No.” I slap a mosquito on my neck, smearing a blood red streak from my palm to my linen pant leg. “One hundred and twelve dollars just to look around?”
Rolfsips a canned energy drink, bored, wordlessly pointing to the rates on a sign. Magnolia Plantation is written in large, white, historical-looking script above a list of bold, black, egregiously modern prices.
After the idiotic oysters and hotel, I seriously considered driving home. I won’t make it two weeks—I might not make it two days. After I pay for this, I’ll barely have twenty dollars. I can’t afford another night at the hotel, and the only reason I have any food in my body is because of the included continental breakfast where I stuffed my face then proceeded to fill my purse with fruit and boxes of cereal before checking out.
I’ll have to eat again.
I’ll have to get gas—several times.
Buy entry tickets.
I left my credit card with my mom in case they had an emergency. I might have to ask Reese to send me money.
Or sleep in my car.
And starve.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
“Rue?” It’s Nash. Staring at me as I white-knuckle my debit card. Along with Cap. AndRolf. Waiting. “Why don’t I get this one?” He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket, a blend of confusion and concern lacing his features as he moves.
“No.” I smile. “Sorry, I was thinking about”—I look at Cap—“boats.” I swipe my debit card and feel nauseous as I enter my PIN, bracing myself for the word “DECLINED” to appear on the screen. This is the lowest my bank account has been since I was sixteen. “Plus, my clients insist.”And my pride is an asshole.
Rolf slides our tickets along with three maps under the window, and I force myself to focus.
“How easy would it be to break into this place?” I ask him.
Cap’s snort turns into a hack behind me.
Rolf, however, barely blinks. “Honestly? Not hard. Just a gate at the entrance.” He shrugs and takes another slurpy sip from his lime-green can. “Be a long walk but we don’t have any security or anything.”
