Page 60 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Over there,” Hank said, pointing to the agents.
“Wow, thanks!” the woman exclaimed, running off to meet the fake Sierra.
“That was a close call,” Sierra said. “I wonder if I overdid it with the disguise. Fans are used to celebrities wearing baseball caps and trying to look like regular people.”
“Don’t worry about it; we’re almost clear. Everyone’s looking at her.”
“I can’t believe they’re falling for it. I look nothing like her.” Even though she didn’t want to look, she couldn’t help noticing how standoffish Agent Patterson was with her fans, relying on Agent Reed to keep them away.
“Watch out,” Hank warned just as Sierra crossed paths with a group of men dressed in flashy suits and wearing dark glasses. One of them lowered his sunglasses and stared at her as she slouched further, adding an asthmatic cough and a limp to her steps.
Once out of the hotel, she and Hank practically ran toward the rental car. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulders. Had she been recognized or followed? How could the woman have recognized her? Or was it just a coincidence?
Once their car was safely away from the hotel, she called Agent Patterson.
“Hey, it’s Sierra. Listen, I’m worried about some posts online—” She was cut off by squealing fans in the background, followed by Agent Patterson’s laughter.
“Relax, Sierra. I’m making sure everyone sees me here at the casino, flashing my cash around. Trust me, no one’s going to suspect a thing.”
“Be careful,” Sierra warned. “Are Marco’s goons following you?”
“I’m sure they are,” Agent Patterson said. “I’m at the slot machines and turning heads everywhere. I can’t believe the attention I’m getting. Men in expensive suits are buying me drinks. Is this what it’s like to be you?”
Hank shot Sierra a pointed look. “Isn’t it bad that she’s talking to you on the phone?”
“Hey, do your best,” Sierra said. “Make sure my fans are happy, okay? Sign autographs and show them dance moves. They want your attention.”
“I’ll have a meet and greet later if I don’t get whisked away by the mob,” Agent Patterson said, laughing and having way too much fun.
“Okay, keep in touch,” Sierra said and hung up. She glanced at Hank, who didn’t look amused. “We’re just going to have to trust that she gets caught soon.”
“Right, and the FBI puts Marco behind bars for what, harassing a federal agent?”
“They’ll think of something. The government is just a bigger version of the mob,” she explained. “They’ll harass him, and he either has to pay them off, or he’s weakened, allowing someone else to take him out.”
He offered her a wry smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sierra often wondered how people coped with trauma and its aftershocks. And while running a hundred fifty miles per hour, she didn’t have to deal with them. Trampolining from one jolt to the next shock on a continuous adrenaline high had her moving at warp speed. From escaping Hattokwa to the midnight drive up the coast, the shootout, assuming a new identity, and the extravagant honey-day she and Hank enjoyed, and then waking up to Emma’s naïve social media slipup while falling in love with Hank was like living life in a triple-speed video.
She and Hank had left Atlantic City, sure they were being followed. Hank had dodged off highways at the last minute, taken detours, and made unexpected stops at remote gas stations where they could see anyone coming and going.
He was angry at Emma for her social media posts and worried about the real estate vultures hovering over the property. Sierra didn’t want to add to his stress, so she stopped looking at social media.
Priority one was evading Marco and his men, and having Agent Patterson as a decoy bought them time.
She was slightly calmer by the time they entered the Outer Banks on North Carolina 12 and the straight shot south. Acertain peace covered her on the ferry ride and, strangely enough, a sense of homecoming.
Not wanting to involve herself with Hank’s family issues—she didn’t want to appear to take Emma’s side, knowing that Emma was Hank’s daughter and she was not to interfere—Sierra grabbed an acoustic guitar she purchased on one of their detours and headed for the dunes. During her short stay, the beach underneath the searching beam of the lighthouse had become her sanctuary. Even though her nerves were frayed, and she hadn’t had time to process the ups and downs, she could feel songs flowing through her—surging from her heart.
She found a place, leaning against the lighthouse’s cool plaster wall, and strummed her guitar to the rhythm of the rolling waves. Sea oats nodded gently in the breeze as terns wheeled and called high above. Seabirds darted along the foam of the receding waves, picking out tiny crabs and trotting up and down the gently sloping beach.
Hank, the man, the lover, was like a heartbeat through her songs as she fingered the chords and let the words form into verses swirling with love, hope, and uncertainty. Everything she’d yearned for—the fame, stardom, being at the top of the pop charts—was shifting like the sand blown by the wind and shaped by the pounding surf.
But could she give up her dreams? The excitement and energy of performing? Her ultimate goal of singing at a Super Bowl halftime show? Or would she become another washed-out star—an answer to a trivia question? Here, one day, and gone the next. Disappearing like the landmarks around these ever-shifting barrier islands.
