Levi’s face scrunches, aware of the change in my mood.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me.
I fish it out. My heart drops straight to my asshole as I read the name on the screen.
Lifting my gaze, I find Wren instinctively. Her head tips back in laughter as she watches Greer do some ridiculous dance move. Her smile is wide and unguarded. I force the bile down my throat as I hop off the chair.
I weave through the crowd, my shoulders brushing shoulders as I murmur apologies. As I pass her, my hand lands on her hip. I give her a gentle squeeze, causing her to jump.
She throws her arms around my neck and brings my lips to hers for a quick peck. I slip from her arms with a wink and continue moving through the crowd.
Pushing through the door, the heavy, humid night air hits me. The sounds of the bar are dull, replaced with the muted thrum of music and voices leaking through the walls.
My thumb swipes the screen. “What’d you find?”
Blackwood doesn’t waste time.
“Him. And we’ve got a problem.” His voice is low, clipped.
“No shit, there’s a problem,” I snap, my resolve slipping.
“Want my help or not?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting the phone to rest between my ear and shoulder, fishing out the packet of cigarettes I haven’t reached for as much lately. I pinch a cigarette from the crumpled pack, placing it between my lips. My fingers tremble slightly as I fumble with the Zippo, sparking it twice before the cigarette catches.I inhale deeply, allowing the acrid smoke to burn through the knot of stress in my throat, holding it there until the frantic pounding of my ribs throbs. For a moment, the world doesn’t exist outside the glowing tip of the cigarette. I exhale the plume of smoke, watching it float into the night as Blackwood’s next words suck the air from my lungs all over again.
“Elias has been in Silo Bay for weeks.”
Motherfucker.
“Say that again?”
“He’s been staying at the campground.”
“Wouldn’t his name have been flagged?”
“Not gonna bullshit ya, man, he was good.”
“But you’re better.”
“Damn straight. Turns out, he gifted a low-level assistant at Hearst Properties a large bonus, enough for the assistant to purchase a used camper van.”
“Fuck,” I groan, taking another hit of my cig.
“The van was in the assistant’s name.”
“Shouldn’t a van registered to someone in California have triggered some kind of check-in?”
“You would’ve thought,” Blackwood grumbles. “I haven’t seen any credit card transactions on any of his accounts, so it’s safe to assume he’s getting by with cash.”
“Okaaay,” I draw out.
“I tied him to a burner phone and, Riggsby, this is where the problem escalates…” He pauses, and I roll my eyes at the dramatics. “It pinged off a tower less than a mile from Sunset Shores.”
My breath turns shallow. “The festival.”
“He’s been right under your nose the whole time.”
I let out a string of curses as I scrub a hand over my face, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with my foot.
