Breaking the Story

by Ashley Farley

  17

  Guy sped out of the parking lot and flew through the downtown streets of Asheville, blowing through yellow lights and circling blocks.

  After several miles, Scottie climbed over the seats and slid in next to Guy on the passenger side. “You can slow down you. The security guard isn’t following us. He didn’t even get in his car.”

  “Don’t burst my bubble. This might be the closest I ever get to being Jason Bourne. I’m sure he got our license plate number. More than likely he called the police.”

  “And what, reported us for sleeping in our car on hotel grounds? The Mountain Park Inn isn’t exactly private property.”

  “If it was private property, we’d be considered trespassing. In this case, we were just loitering.” They stopped at a red light and he eyed the cars parked in the lot of a nearby shopping center. “Maybe we should steal a license plate.”

  “I’m sure your friend would love that.”

  “He’ll never know. We can screw the stolen plates on top of Robbie’s, then take them off when we leave town.”

  “Please, Guy. Enough with the cloak and dagger stuff. All I want to do right now is brush my teeth.”

  “I can arrange that.” He drove around town until he found an old Exxon station with single restrooms on the back. They filled up with gas, and then went inside for the keys to the restrooms.

  Taking a change of clothes and her cosmetic case from her suitcase, Scottie went into the women’s room and locked the door. She stripped naked except for her flip-flops. She brushed her teeth first, then squirted liquid soap on a handful of brown paper towels and washed the parts of her body that needed it the most. She splashed water over her body to rinse the soap away, and patted her arms and legs dry with more paper towels. She washed her hair as best she could in the tiny sink, then stuck her head under the hand dryer to get some of the moisture out. After fashioning her hair in a single braid down her back, she slipped on a pair of white shorts and a Dave Matthews T-shirt. A bucket hat pulled down over her head completed her look.

  Guy was waiting for her in the car with hot coffee and Krispy Kreme doughnuts from the kiosk inside.

  “What’re we gonna do all morning?” she asked. “The first event doesn’t start for hours.”

  “I thought you were planning to go to the church service with the senator?”

  Scottie glanced down at her clothing. “I’m hardly dressed for a high Episcopal service.” She removed a chocolate-iced doughnut from the bag. “We can’t go back to the Mountain Park Inn, not with Barney Fife on the lookout for us. I could be missing my big opportunity. Caine and Brosnan are probably having kinky sex in the penthouse suite as we speak. Not that I actually believe that, but you get the point.”

  He bit into a jelly doughnut. “Maybe we were too ambitious in assuming we could maintain round-the-clock surveillance on Caine.”

  “The chances of me getting another photograph of them in a compromising position are not high. I’m beginning to think this whole plan is stupid, another one of my impulse decisions that either leads to trouble or never works out.”

  “Hey, now, where’s the Scottie spirit?” he asked, wiping the glaze off her mouth with his napkin. “Besides, I thought the point was to identify the mystery man. You already have the photographs you need.”

  “True, but more compromising photographs would seal the deal. But I can’t do either if I can’t find him.”

  “You’re just tired, Scottie, and understandably so. You’ve covered two political conventions, broken up with your husband, and had your house ransacked, all within a matter of two weeks. You need to save something in your tank for the Olympics.”

  She agreed with him, but she was too stubborn to admit it. “I can sleep on the flight to Rio.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not planning to follow this convoy until then, are you?”

  “Yep. As long as it takes for Brosnan to show up.”

  “There is more than one way to break the story, Scottie. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. You’re the journalist. But if things don’t work out on this Main Street Tour, or whatever they’re calling it”—he waved his jelly doughnut through the air—”the story will keep until you get back from the Olympics. Hell, it might even take Rich that long to get in touch with Baird.”

  Scottie eyed him with suspicion. He sounded like he wanted out. And after only one night on the road. She had not taken him for a quitter. “What exactly are you trying to say, Guy? If you want to give up and go home, feel free to do so. I’m perfectly fine on my own. You probably have to get back to work tomorrow anyway.”

  “I’m not worried about work. I have some vacation time coming to me. All I’m saying is you should consider setting some parameters for your investigation.”

  “Like what?” she asked, peering at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

  “Let me see the itinerary.”

  She accessed Caine’s website and held the iPad out for him to see. “We eat lunch in Asheville and an early dinner in Hillsborough before we head to the beach.”

  “I’m all for digging my toes in the sand.” He took the iPad from her and scrolled down. “Good lord. She has four different stops scheduled up and down the coast tomorrow with the grand finale at the seafood festival in Beaufort tomorrow night.” He closed the cover on the iPad and handed it back to her. “If I were you, I’d stay with the tour until Tuesday morning when the Cruiser heads inland to Raleigh. If Brosnan hasn’t shown up by then, I would consider my other options.”

  Scottie rolled her eyes. “Because I have so many of them.”

  “You have one good option, and a handful of others worth considering. Submitting your images to your most trusted news associate and letting them identify the mystery man seems like the most logical solution. That way, you at least get half credit.”

  “Half credit isn’t good enough in this case. What are the other options worth considering?”

  “Saying to hell with it and throwing the images up on Twitter and Facebook.”

  “That’s irresponsible journalism, Guy, and I will have no part of it.”

  He wadded up the doughnut bag and tossed it in the backseat. “I’m on your side here. I was simply trying to get you to understand your options.” Shifting in his seat to face her, he tilted her chin up toward him. “Let’s forget about Catherine Caine for a minute and talk about that kiss.”

  “There you go crossing the line again.”

  “Now that we both have clean breath, I think we should try it again, to see if it was as good as I remember.”

  She bit down on her lip to hide her smile. Although she would never admit it to him, she was enjoying their flirtation. His kiss had stirred parts of her body she thought were dead. But she needed to remain focused. Taking her eye off the prize could cost her the story. “Despite what you think, I think we should establish some parameters on our relationship, whereby you keep your hands to yourself until this investigation is over.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  He parted his lips to kiss her, but she pushed him away. “If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll let you kiss me again when we get to the beach. But just a kiss, nothing more.”

  His eyes lit up. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  *

  The rest of the day proved problematic for Scottie and Guy. When her favorite lens jammed, Scottie spent most of the gourmet picnic at Pack Square Park seeking advice from other photographers. Then, Robbie’s SUV wouldn’t start as they were preparing to leave Asheville for the rally in Hillsborough. Lucky for them, an older gentleman, parked two rows over in the parking lot, had a pair of jumper cables in his pickup truck.

  “It’s the heat,” the man said, once the SUV was running. “If I were you, I’d stop by a garage and have them test the battery. It’s just gonna happen again if your battery is outta juice.”

  Guy and Scottie missed most of the rally by the time they located a Firestone, s
witched out the battery, and made the four-hour drive to Hillsborough. Nibbling on shriveled-up hot dogs and burned baked beans, they observed the crowd while listening to the end of Caine’s rah-rah speech. They got back in the car for another four-hour drive to the beach, only to get a speeding ticket along the way.

  Scottie sensed Guy’s patience diminishing as the evening wore on. But instead of complaining about the long hours in the car—or the fine he would have to pay and the points he would receive on his license for driving ten miles over the speed limit—Guy turned silent, preferring loud music over the light chatter they had carried on for most of the trip.

  A few minutes before eleven that night, they crossed the causeway into Atlantic Beach, took a right-hand turn on West Fort Macon Road, and drove for miles until they came to a residential area known as Pine Knoll Shores.

  “No matter the cost, they better have a room available wherever Caine is staying,” Scottie said.

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you,” Guy said as the Caine Cruiser pulled into the driveway of an oceanfront beach cottage. “Looks like she’s rented a house.” He turned into the public beach access two lots over. “What do we do now?”

  “We passed a few hotels a while back. Why don’t you call them while I sneak down the road for a peek?” Scottie grabbed his binoculars from the center console and hopped out of the car.

  She made her way back to the road, and then walked down to the house where the Cruiser was parked. Hiding in the hedgerow of the house next door, she spied on the senator’s staff as they removed suitcases and supplies from the cargo hold of the tour bus. The beach house was lit up like the White House. Counting the windows on the second and third floors, Scottie estimated the cedar shake cottage had at least eleven bedrooms, enough to accommodate the entire team.

  Scottie hurried back to the car, and slipped into the passenger seat. “Looks like the senator’s whole team is staying at the beach house. Did you have any luck finding a hotel nearby?”

  Guy shook his head. “The Hampton Inn and Double Tree are both full.”

  “What? On a Sunday night?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently there’s a big fishing tournament over in Morehead City. All the better hotels in the area are sold out. I’d rather camp on the beach than stay in the other dumpy-looking beach motels.”

  Scottie considered the idea. “We passed a Wal-Mart on the way in. We could go back for supplies to make our campout more enjoyable,” she said, mustering enthusiasm she didn’t feel.

  He nodded, his mouth set in a firm line. “Wal-Mart it is, then.”

  18

  An awkward silence fell over them as they headed back toward the causeway. Scottie suspected Guy would abandon their cause in the morning, twenty-four hours earlier than the cutoff date she’d set at his insistence. She didn’t blame him. She’d pack up and go home with him if she could. Nothing had gone their way all day, and she was beginning to doubt Pierce Brosnan would show up at all. She only hoped the story would keep until she returned from Rio.

  She felt a pang in her chest when she realized she might never see Guy again.

  All the more reason to make the night memorable.

  Guy found a spot close to the entrance to Wal-Mart in the nearly empty parking lot. “Divide and conquer, same as last time?” Scottie asked, once they were inside the store.

  “Fine,” he said in a clipped tone.

  “I’ll go to the bed and bath section if you’ll grab some bottled water and a few snacks.” They each grabbed a cart and took off in opposite directions.

  Scottie spared no expense on the items she selected. Might as well have the best comfort money could buy at Wal-Mart, considering she was saving hundreds of dollars on hotel rooms. She filled her basket with plush throw blankets and feather pillows, thick bath sheets and washcloths. She went to the hardware section and bought two battery-operated lanterns and citronella candle buckets to fight off the bugs. In the grocery section, she found a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of liquid bath soap. When she caught up with Guy, he was already in line at the checkout. In addition to the bags of Doritos and Cheetos and a box of Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts, he placed an Igloo cooler and a large bag of ice on the conveyer—needed to cool down the twelve-pack of Corona Light, bottle of Chardonnay, case of Dasani water, and individual-size bottles of Simply Orange juice in his cart.

  I have to introduce this guy to Will, she thought. If his eating habits are any indication, they will be fast friends.

  Guy ripped into the carton of Corona as soon as they got back to the car. Using the bottle opener on Robbie’s key chain, he popped the cap off and drained half the bottle. Dropping the bag of ice on the pavement to break up the chunks, he loaded the Igloo with drinks and spread the ice on top.

  “Here.” He tossed her the car keys. “Do you mind driving?” Guy removed another Corona from the cooler before slamming the rear door shut.

  The silence continued on the way back to the beach access lot. Guy finished his first beer, and then guzzled most of his second. When they arrived, he hopped out of the SUV. “If you can get the bag of snacks, I’ll head down to the beach with the cooler.”

  Since she first met him in the airport parking lot, Guy had gone out of his way to be helpful to her, but this behavior bordered on rudeness. She replayed the events of the day in her mind, trying to pinpoint the moment when things between them had turned sour.

  Scottie took her time gathering her purchases, hoping to give Guy the opportunity to process whatever it was that was irritating him. Fifteen minutes later, her arms loaded with supplies, she made her way down to the beach.

  Guy jumped up to help her. “I didn’t realize you had so much stuff.”

  Scottie noticed two empty beer bottles on the sand beside the cooler, the reason for the sudden change in his mood.

  He took the blanket from her and spread it out on the beach. “I’m sorry, but the wine is still pretty warm.”

  “Then I’ll have a beer.” She stretched out on the blanket, staring up at the full moon lighting up the night sky. “What a beautiful night. We certainly don’t need the lanterns with the moon so bright.”

  He handed her a beer and sat down beside her.

  “Looks like all the stars are present and accounted for. Does the night sky look the same in Wyoming?”

  He tilted his head back, studying the stars. “I guess so. I’ve never really thought about it.”

  Scottie closed her eyes and listened to the ocean roar. “When we were little, my family rented the same cottage every year in the Outer Banks just north of here. The house didn’t have air-conditioning, so we kept the windows and doors open all the time. When we returned home from our vacation, I had to adjust to the quiet on our farm without the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.” Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her knees. “I’ve always wondered what people who live in landlocked states do for their annual vacation. Did your family take a trip to the beach every summer, or did you go hiking or white water rafting or something mountainy like that?”

  “My parents took us to Huntington Beach in Southern California when I was twelve, and I went to Mexico on my senior class trip when I graduated from high school. But those were the only two times I’d been to the beach until I moved to DC. Now I try to go at least once a summer. I love the water.”

  Guy opened a bag of Doritos and stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth. He offered her the bag.

  She waved him away. “No thanks.”

  “Cheetos?” he asked, reaching for the bag.

  She shook her head. “I try not to eat too much of that stuff.”

  He hung his head, looking like a guilty puppy. “I should’ve asked you what kind of snacks you wanted.”

  “I’m not hungry now, but I’ll be excited for Pop-Tarts in the morning.”

  He yanked on her braid. “I apologize for my bad mood earlier. The speeding ticket really put a damper on my day.”

  She nudged h
im. “I don’t blame you if you want to call it quits. The past two days have been anything but easy. You can drop me at the nearest car rental place in the morning and be back in DC by early afternoon.”

  “No way. I intend to honor the parameters we agreed upon. If Brosnan hasn’t shown up by Tuesday morning, we’ll decide on a different plan together.” He looked away from her. “I’m not in the mood tonight, but tomorrow, you and I need to talk about my job.”

  “Unless you’re a hired assassin, I don’t see why it matters how you make a living.”

  “Trust me,” he mumbled. “In this situation, it matters.”

  Not wanting to spoil their reestablished conviviality, she let the subject drop. For the next hour, they sipped beer, dug their toes in the sand, and limited their conversation to subjects that had nothing to do with their careers, Catherine Caine, or the upcoming election.

  Guy stumbled to his feet, pulling Scottie with him. “Stand here,” he said, positioning her beside the blanket. He walked two feet away, and using a shell, he drew a line in the sand between them. He took a giant step across the line. “There. Now. I’ve officially crossed the line, and I have no intention of going back.” He leaned down and kissed her tentatively at first, then with more urgency.

  “Bring it on,” she whispered, breathless.

  He pulled her T-shirt over her head and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the sand. He lowered himself to the blanket, taking her with him. By the light of the moon, they explored and discovered, teased and tormented. The anticipation was like none Scottie had ever experienced, and when they finally came together, the passion took her body to heights she had no idea existed.

  Afterward, they lay together, spent, under the starry night sky. She ran her fingers across his naked chest. “With those kinds of talents, why hasn’t anyone dragged you down the aisle?”

  He pulled the second blanket over them. “I came close once, with a girl I met in college. She ruined it for me with all the others.”