Page 13 of Artifice
The man—Simon—disappeared around the corner.
Keeping her head low, she started in that direction also.
Since she’d just run into the man, she’d have to be extra cautious not to be noticed by him now.
The stormy weather should work in her favor.
But as she stepped around the corner, the hair on her neck rose.
The feeling was very familiar.
The sensation she was being watched.
But who around here would be watching her? And why?
She wasn’t sure.
She glanced up the sidewalk, a steep incline heading up the hillside.
Simon headed that way, a phone to his ear.
She wished she was close enough to hear exactly who he was talking to and what they talked about. She didn’t see any way to make that happen, however.
Instead, she paused near a trolley stop as Simon also paused.
He glanced back.
Did he know that Olive was behind him?
She didn’t think so. Not unless someone else had clued him in.
She’d already glanced around her, and she’d seen no one suspicious. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone watching from one of the nearby buildings.
Simon paused by a gray Camry and climbed inside.
Olive squinted. It was a nice enough vehicle, but not exactly the kind someone who dealt with millions of dollars might drive.
This man didn’t appear to be wealthy, nor had his clothes been name brand.
But there was more going on with Simon than met the eye.
Olive needed to figure out what.
CHAPTER 7
Olive and Tevin were both staying in a quaint bed-and-breakfast in town—one that boasted views of the lighthouse. However, it seemed wherever a person went in this town, that lighthouse was watching over them as it rose on the highest peak around.
Tevin’s cover story was that he was a hiker heading across the country to hit as many trails as he could. He’d dressed the part in cargos and T-shirts with hiking boots. He’d even let his beard grow over the past week and a half, and he carried a well-worn backpack to sell his image. Usually, he kept a neat appearance.
Twenty minutes after Olive got settled into her room, her door handle turned. She knew it was Tevin—he’d texted. Knocking might draw too much attention.
He slipped inside, a bag of dill-flavored sunflower seeds in his hand, and quietly closed the door behind him.
“You look like a hippie,” she muttered.
He gave her a look. “And you look like a ditsy heiress.”
She took a bow. “Then I guess we’re both doing our jobs.”
