Page 15 of All Yours

“Morning.” She pulled open the door a few minutes later, pale and wrapped in a blanket.

“I hope I didn’t wake you?” I asked. “Can I come in?”

“No, I was awake, just watching some news,” she said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

I stepped over the threshold and down the steps into the kitchenette area, which flowed into the small living and sleeping space. I scattered a few pieces of furniture across the sparse room when I considered renting the room out. And the room remained sparsely decorated. The apartment sat perpendicular to the cabin, so it did not face the water. The bed sat near the only window on the far end that overlooked the water.

“What’s up?”

I leaned against the arm rest of the fluffy chair in the living space. My heart palpitated in my chest, and I took a deep breath. “There was a security camera at that gas station in Chattanooga. There’s footage playing on the news. It seems that guy was an undercover cop.”

Somehow Eden’s already pale red head complexion lost its color.

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen it on the news.”

Eden shook her head no, her eyes wide. She paced and appeared to grapple for words.

“I don’t want this to freak you out.”

“How could it not?” She looked around the room as if the solution would present itself. She closed her mouth, and a thought appeared to occur to her. “Are they looking for you?”

I nodded. “But as far as I know, no one has identified me. So, there’s no reason for you to go anywhere.”

“I need to leave before I make things here worse,” she said, a calm falling over her. She stilled.

“Why are police wanting to talk to you? Did you do something?”

“I’m not the one that did wrong. You have to believe me.”

And somehow, I did. Whether it was the earnest expression across her face, my intuition, or because I wanted it to be the case, I believed Eden was not the criminal in this scenario.

“I do. But why are the police trying to question you?”

Eden stared past me, and her eyes went wide again. “Wait, is that you?”

“What?” I asked at the horrified expression. I turned to follow her gaze to the television screen. On the screen was a photo of me in my past life with my boyfriend. The bottom of the screen readTennis Great Sebastian Sinclair Releases Tell-All Memoir, Match Point.

Time slowed as I grabbed for the remote control on the couch and pressed the volume button.

“Joining us today to talk about his surprise new memoir,” the newscaster was saying, “via satellite from Antwerp, Belgium where he is competing in the European Open tournament, is Sebastian Sinclair.”

Sebastian’s smiling face popped up on the split screen, and it transported me back to the last time I saw him. It was in a hospital room where he informed me, I was bad for his image and our relationship was over.

Chapter Six

Jonah

I pulled my hat down and braced myself against the wind whipping in off the water as I crossed the street from the job site to Lou’s. For the first time this fall, the temperature had dipped into the thirties without warning. According to the weather report, it was supposed to make it to seventy this afternoon, but by eight it still had not made it to forty. It should not be this cold yet. It would complicate things and slow them down. I couldn’t afford to slow down. We had to bring in portable heaters to surround the last slab of curing concrete overnight.

The bright azure blue sky was free of clouds. Camden’s potential investors were to arrive for their tour of Hart Valley and the site today. And everyone would freeze if it didn’t warm up. But at least it was a beautiful day. We scrambled to bring in heaters overnight to heat and protect the last bit of concrete from cracking. We may have pulled it off. Chilled to the bone, the only thing on my mind as I entered Lou’s—coffee. The aroma of hot, brewed coffee called to me like a port to a weary sailor.

Lou’s was not open to the public yet, but Adrian had coffee and continental breakfast going for the construction crew. The few guys who monitored the concrete all night were there along with my employees trickling in for coffee and breakfast. A group stared at the television behind the bar. I ignored them all and headed straight to the table with the coffee dispenser set up and poured a cup. It wasn’t the best coffee I’ve ever had, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Hey boss man,” Rodrigo called. “That looks like the girl you hang around.”

I glanced in the direction he was staring. And sure enough, on the television behind the bar, a photo of a young Sloane smiling alongside a young guy who could have been a model. I wandered closer to the bar. What on earth was I seeing on the screen? But then it hit me. That was Sebastian Sinclair, one of the better tennis players in the world. Why would there be an old photo of him and Sloane on the news?

Along the bottom of the screen a banner popped up:Sebastian Sinclair to release tell-all memoir. Then the closed captioning ran across.“You talk about the front-row seat you had to tennis star and then girlfriend Julia Simmons’ public mental breakdown—”

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