by Meg Ripley
“There is a difference between information collected on paper and seeing something firsthand. Take you, for example. I thought you would be difficult about this based on the information that was provided about you, but I must say, you’ve handled this much better than I anticipated. Besides, like I said, this is only the first part of your mission. The boys will escort you to the airport now. I’m guessing whatever you have with you is all you have?” Hanson’s eyes shifted to my backpack, which was lying at the feet of the officer outside the door. “I had it searched and it seems that you are all packed up for the trip. I put a tracker on your laptop as well.”
Pfft, like I can’t disable that and destroy it in a heartbeat.
“If the signal goes dead, so are you.”
Shit.
“If you are caught doing anything illegal on it, you will also be terminated.”
“God, you’re ready to kill me at any moment. Might as well put a detonator in my chest,” I sneered as the police officer entered to escort me out.
Before getting on the plane, I had been handed my backpack and a folder that had all the details that Hanson had collected on the park’s staff. Each person had ‘Shifter’ written on his or her profile.
Shifter? What the hell does that mean? That they’re shifty people? My eyes had settled on a muscular man with light brown eyes. Well, he’s cute.
Hanson had told me that I was to disguise myself as a tourist who was just there to see Acadia.
And that’s how I ended up on Flight 369 to Bar Harbor, Maine. When the plane finally touched down, there was indeed a man with a sign with my name on it standing next to a Toyota Corolla.
It was nothing special, just a plain silver sedan; it looked used enough, but without scratches or dents. It didn’t have that brand-new shine to it, but in my eyes, it was sparkling.
I had been told that I’d be staying at the Holiday Inn. I knew that since it was a hotel chain, I couldn’t expect anything fancy, but it beat looking for new places on Couchsurfing, that’s for sure.
Damn…this car does not do well with inclines… I thought, struggling up the hill to the inn. I had gone from sixty-five miles per hour right down to twenty-five miles per hour and I couldn’t get the car back up to speed without slamming the gas pedal to the floor. Even then, I only climbed the hill at thirty miles per hour. It was very obviously built for reliability, but even that was questionable.
Great. They gave me a fucking mom car.
When I arrived at the inn, it seemed like a regular chain hotel with flowers on the balconies. In the parking lot, I noticed a van sporting the inn’s logo, but no other visitors seemed to be in sight—it was 11pm, though.
I parked the car and proceeded into the hotel lobby, where I spotted a large sitting area with a beige tweed sectional and an L-shaped front desk with stations for two receptionists. I couldn’t imagine when it would ever get busy enough for there to be more than one receptionist needed; the town was so small. You could probably drive around the whole thing in an hour tops judging by the look of it on the drive there.
“Hi. I’m here to check in.”
“Name please?” The receptionist had wire-framed glasses over her hazel eyes and a shoulder length brunette bob. She wore what I assumed to be the hotel uniform, but I could only see the top half. It was sort of bougie, like a uniform I would think a higher-rated hotel would have their employees wear, but I guess that had to get their ratings up somehow. It was a whimsical buttoned top with vertical stripes, a tied scarf and a chocolate-colored vest, and at first, I thought it was quite ugly, but the longer I looked at it, the more I thought it was kind of cute. Her gold name tag showed that her name was Nancy.
“Kathleen Boland.”
“Ah yes, you will be just down the hall to your left. Room forty-nine.” She handed me a key to the room and I took it graciously. When I arrived at my room, I was taken aback by how nice it looked. There was a queen-sized bed by the large sliding glass door with a white leather headboard and crisp sheets with sky blue accents. Two Cherrywood nightstands saddled each side of the bed and a painting of boats in Bar Harbor hung above it. Blue and beige curtains cascaded from either side of the glass door, which opened onto a small balcony with a pair of Adirondack chairs.
“Thank god there’s air conditioning in here,” I said aloud, flipping it on and programming it to seventy degrees. It was seventy-eight at the time, and it was going to get as warm as eighty degrees as the week progressed, so I was definitely going to need a way to cool down.
I checked the closet and noticed an iron and ironing board inside. Pfft. Like I’ll need those.
I peeked into the bathroom and ignored the hairdryer, which I also had no use for; I doubted it would work well with my curls. The mini fridge was stocked with water bottles, and I grabbed one, taking a healthy swig from it. A coffee/tea maker sat on top of the mini fridge along with a basket of assorted packets of each, and I was thankful for that. I would definitely need a hit of caffeine in the morning before I drove over to the park.
But what am I going to do? I couldn’t log on to the hacking site because there was a chip in my laptop, and I imagined there was also one on my phone, so there wasn’t much I could do on those without the Hanson analyzing everything. But if I didn’t touch either of them, he wouldn’t be able to gain more information on me as well. I guess I could watch some television.
Just then, the phone in the room rang. My head shot in its direction.
Maybe there was an issue at the front desk? I’ve barely been in here for ten minutes…
I thought about not answering, but my politeness won over.
“Hello?”
“I hope the room and car are to your liking.” I heard Hanson’s smug voice on the other line.
“They are adequate, thank you.” There was no way I was going to tell him how happy I was to have a room like the one I would be staying in. I was happy about the car, but after driving it, I realized it was not much to get excited over.
“Well, you can’t expect five-star treatment for a first-degree criminal.” I could hear the shrug and amusement in his voice. I was really starting to hate him. I didn’t answer him and waited for a while. He never said anything, so finally, I broke the silence.
“Is there any reason you’re calling?”
“Yes. I mostly just wanted to make sure you got to the room safely.”
Yeah, right.
“Well I have, thank you, and I’m quite tired. I’d like to go to bed, so if that’s—”
“Just make sure you go to the park tomorrow to start your research.”
“Will do.” I almost slammed down the receiver. I had just spoken with him that very same day; I certainly didn’t need to be reminded of the task. If he called in the morning, I decided I wasn’t going to answer. I didn’t need a baby sitter.
I turned on the television and was happy to see the hotel provided HBO and Showtime. The first season of True Blood was playing as the late night special and I had been meaning to stream it when I had time, but I could at least watch the first episode and see if I liked it. That was if I didn’t fall asleep while watching it.
I was enjoying it, but after half an hour, my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off in the middle of the episode.
Chapter 2 – Kathleen
I woke up the next morning at 9am. Sleeping for eight hours was not a luxury I was accustomed to; usually, I was only able to sleep in three-hour intervals. I would be on the hacking site until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, doze off for a few hours, and repeat. I couldn’t afford to sleep for long; all I could think about were the jobs I was missing out on.
Usually, most hackers hungrily scanned through the job listings for gigs they were willing to take on, and by the time I would get through the list, the only jobs left would be the ones no one in their right mind would want.
Like the one I got caught doing.
Anything government-related was something most hackers wouldn’t touch with
a ten-foot pole, especially if the payment wasn’t worth the hassle. So that usually left the lower-budget and/or less desirable jobs for me.
For once, I didn’t have to stress over job hunting, and it felt pretty damn good.
I spotted a notepad on the nightstand, saying there were three restaurants on site.
No continental breakfast? That sucks.
La Bella Vita had flatbread pizzas and wine, which was hardly a breakfast. Stewman’s Lobster Pound had seafood sandwiches and salads which seemed promising until I noticed that they were only open for dinner. And then there was pool bar. There’s a pool here, too?
It must have been around the back of the building because I hadn’t seen it when I drove up to the inn. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a swimsuit, so I made a mental note to pick one up on the drive back to the hotel if I saw one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in a swimming pool and, god, it sounded relaxing. If they’re paying for it, I might as well enjoy it.
So, it seemed the options for breakfast were nil. The notepad gave suggestions on places you could order from, but I figured since I was getting up anyway, I would just grab something on my way to the park. If I were lucky, maybe there’d be a little donut shop on the way.
I grabbed my phone and looked for some places nearby on Yelp. The Log Cabin restaurant offered a decent menu, despite its three-and-a-half-star rating. It looked cheap, and that was enough for me, so I rolled out of bed, showered, and got dressed in twenty minutes. I headed out the door and raced to the restaurant, feeling some hunger pains, realizing I hadn’t eaten anything since the tuna melt sandwich the day before.
When I got to the restaurant, it was semi-busy, but I was seated quickly. My waitress swung right over to get me a drink. She had a brunette ponytail and looked in her mid-forties, and her name tag read ‘Patricia.’
“What can I get you to drink, honey?”
“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please.”
“Whipped cream?”
“No, thank you.” I thought about getting coffee, but I felt pretty well rested. I flipped over the one-page menu and noticed a meal in red text that caught my eye.
Maine Logger’s Plate, a favorite! This will get you ready for a day in Acadia National Park! It seemed like the best deal on the menu. Who am I to ignore fate?
The waitress returned with the hot chocolate.
“Have you decided?”
“Yes, I’ll have the Maine Logger’s Plate, please.” I handed her the menu.
“Great choice! How would you like your eggs?” She started scribbling onto her notepad.
“Omelet style, please, with ham, onions, peppers and cheddar cheese.”
“Sausage or Bacon?”
“Bacon, please.”
“White, wheat, or rye toast?”
“White, please. And could you add cheddar to my home fries as well?” I smiled.
“Absolutely! I’ll put this right in for you and it should be out in a jiffy.” She returned the gesture and scurried away to hand the order to the cook.
I didn’t have to wait long for the food to come. After ten minutes, Patricia was placing two plates in front of me: a small one holding the two pancakes, and another large plate with the bacon, home fries, and omelet piled on top. The food looked amazing, and when I took my first bite, it was pretty damn delicious. I decided that I would probably have breakfast there every day, if I was feeling in the mood for it; Hanson was giving me a daily sixty-dollar allowance for meals, so why the hell not. After I practically licked the plates clean, I paid the bill and left the restaurant, heading off for my first visit to Acadia.
Pop. Pshhhhhhhhhhhh… Two miles down the road, the car skidded hard to the right side of the road and I did my best to straighten the wheel before it came to a complete stop.
“What the fuck was that?” I got out of the car and walked around its perimeter, then, I saw it: a scrap of sheet metal was lying a few yards back on the road, and my right two tires were completely slashed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It would be just my luck to get two flat tires in the middle of an open stretch of road with no cars. Isn’t this the height of tourist season, though? I assumed some family in an SUV with kayaks secured to its top would be driving by soon, so I waited. Within a few minutes, I spotted a several cars on the horizon, and then tried to wave them down.
Not one of them stopped for me. I couldn’t tell if it was because they knew they couldn’t help me or they were just in a rush, but no one could know what I needed help with; the slashed tires were on the other side of the vehicle, facing away from the road. Maybe they could just see how the car was leaning to the right side as they drove by.
The rush of traffic ended and I still couldn’t get anyone to help me, so I just leaned against the car and waited.
Hopefully, someone will notice me standing here and stop to check if I’m okay…
The universe must have been listening, ready to answer my prayers—for once—because two minutes later, a red pickup truck, a 2008 Chevrolet Silverado, pulled over in front of my car. My eyes widened. Oh, thank god; someone stopped!
I watched as the perfect picture of tall, dark and handsome strolled over to me. His skin was glistening with sweat on that hot, summer day, and he wore a fitted, white t-shirt and low hanging, tattered blue jeans with combat boots. He was extremely muscular and I couldn’t help but ogle his strong biceps, which were straining the arms of his tee. For some reason, he looked extremely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I would know him from.
But I most certainly knew I wanted to lay a finger on him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, walking over to me after closing the door to his truck. “Your car looks a bit lopsided.”
His mouth spread into a grin, revealing a friendly smile and his voice was like molasses, deep and smooth. I almost melted on the spot.
“My right tires…Some scrap metal…” I struggled to formulate a coherent sentence, but he didn’t seem to mind. He walked around me to inspect the damage on the other side of the car. I followed behind him to be welcomed by the sight of his nice, firm ass just barely hidden beneath the waist of his jeans. I licked my lips and tried to control myself.
What the hell is wrong with you, girl? You avoid men like the plague, and then this guy comes along and you’re wetting your panties. Get over yourself. I rolled my eyes inwardly. I wasn’t sure why I was so overtaken by this man, but there was something about him that sent a hot jolt of electricity right through my body.
And he was the only person to stop and try to help me.
“Yeah, these are done. Lucky for you, I happen to have two fifteen-inch tires in the back of my pick up to help the locals in cases like these. I drive this truck for patrol and then the fire truck, when you know, there’s a fire.” He chuckled and shrugged, walking back to his truck.
He’s a firefighter? That’s so…sexy…My mind immediately went to him wearing an open fireman’s jacket with the pants and hat to match, going up to the fire truck and getting the hose, ready to wet me down. I almost started drooling before he started to speak again.
“We’ll need a jack to get these tires changed, so let me grab that as well.” He grunted as he hoisted up both tires and looped them onto his shoulders, then dropped each next to its respective flat. Sauntering back to the truck, he grabbed the jack and headed back to my car, where he knelt by my front tire first.
He placed the jack just under my car and began to crank it up. I watched the muscles of his forearm and biceps ripple as they moved back and forth with each pump of the handle, and I could feel myself getting wet. If his shirt had been just a smidge tighter, it would have surely ripped.
“So, you’re a firefighter, huh? Do you guys get fires in town often?”
“There is a town fire station, but I don’t work for them. I work for the park.”
Just then, I realized why he looked familiar: he was the guy with the light brown eyes that caught my atte
ntion in the NCPD-CID’s files. The picture had not done him justice, though; he was far more attractive in person.
I wonder if he knows what the shifter tag means…Not like I could show him, anyway.
When he finally had the car jacked up off the ground, he stood and inspected the tire’s lock nuts. My gaze shifted from him to the car and I wasn’t sure what he’d be doing next. I knew nothing about cars, so I certainly didn’t know the first thing about changing a tire.
“I’ll need a tire iron, so let me go grab that,” he said finally, heading back to his truck.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had everything,” I giggled.
“Well, everything except the key to get these wheel locks off,” he laughed.
Wheel locks? “Wait, what are those?”
“People install them to help prevent theft of their rims and tires. Do you know where the key is?”
“I’m not sure, but let me check the glove compartment.” I headed into the car and fished around in the glove box; thankfully, I found a faded, opened package that read ‘McGard Cone Seat Lug Nut Wheel Locks’ with a small, metal object inside. “I guess we both lucked out on this one. It was in there!”
“Did you not put it there in the first place?” he chuckled.
“Nah, this car is a loaner from a friend. She’s just letting me borrow it while I visit Acadia.” I handed him the wheel lock key. Our fingertips brushed for a moment, and another electrical current of desire ran straight to my nether regions. I suppressed a shiver.
“Is that what brought you to the area? I knew I had never seen you around. I figured you were either new here or just visiting.”
If he had felt the current, too, he showed no sign of it. It was slightly disappointing, but to be honest, I was trying to cover it up as well.
“The latter. Just visiting. Acadia sounded beautiful, and I love hiking, so I thought I would come up and check it out.”
As he proceeded to loosen the wheel locks, the key broke off inside the nut. He nodded to the lifted car and laughed to himself. “Well, I think this is a sign that today might not be your day.”