I remembered the episode, a dive into the past to explain the complicated backstory that brought Portia’s grandmother from the mountains of Connemara to the Blue Ridge foothills of Atlanta. The ruins resembled images I’d seen of that raw country, the same place where Trey’s ancestry ran.
“So I guess Luna makes it to next season?”
Bree popped her gum, jerked the wheel to avoid a chipmunk.
I lurched and grabbed the support bar. “Come on, surely you know if she lives or dies.”
“Even if I did, I’d never tell.” She slammed to a stop. “We’re here.”
My cottage nestled against the edge of the trees, a stone’s throw from the security station. Like the others I’d passed on my way in, it was painted periwinkle blue and landscaped within an inch of its life. My map rendered the forest beyond my patio as a series of vague triangle shapes, pathless and devoid of amenities. The rest of the guest cottages lay like a necklace around a kidney-shaped lake that curved into the golf course.
Bree delivered her recitation in a bored voice. “The press party starts at eight. Breakfast begins at seven. You’ll find your farm menu in your reservation packet.”
“Farm menu?”
She didn’t literally roll her eyes, but her contempt was clear. “Talk to Gabe at the barn. He’s the animal wrangler. He can set you up with the chore of your choice in the morning.”
In other words, work. Feeding pigs and mucking out stalls and wiping down sweaty horses. I shook my head. Rich people. So disconnected from normal life they thought chores were recreational.
“Well,” I said. “Won’t be doing that.”
Bree did roll her eyes then. “I know, right? It was Addison’s idea. And the guests are eating it up.”
I could see said barn in the distance. It was red, of course, with a tin roof. Engineered quaint to be sure, but wholesome enough.
Bree started to grab my bag, but I waved her off. “I can get it.”
“Suit yourself.”
She barely waited for me to get out before she kicked the club cart into gear and sped down the lane. I unlocked my door using an old-fashioned metal key and surveyed my one-room surroundings—walnut writing desk, massive wrought-iron bed, dark green drapes. No animal heads or horn chandeliers, just an oil painting of an English fox hunt with galloping horses and baying hounds. Hunting lodge lite.
I inspected behind the curtains. No interlopers. I’d just knelt beside the bed and peeked underneath when Trey called.
“Do you find the cameras?” he said.
Right to business he went. Which meant he hadn’t looked in his pocket.
I stood up and checked the bathroom. “You mean inside?”
“Yes.”
I surveyed the bathroom. Double sinks, jetted tub, plush bathrobes. No lurkers.
I pulled aside the shower curtain. “Is that how you spent your last two hours, turning my quarters into the Big Brother special?”
“It took me forty-five minutes. Do you see them?”
The bathroom cleared, I did a slow three-sixty in the bedroom area. “There’s the obvious one in the corner above the chest of drawers.”
“And the covert?”
I did a quick assessment of the room’s layout. “There’s a blind spot next to the desk, which means the camera has to be…aha. Right above the TV. Nicely disguised by a grapevine trellis.”
“There are also two outside, one at the back entrance on the patio and one on the front. The video feeds go to my phone, not the main security system.”
“For your eyes only, huh?”
“Yes, assuming you’ve granted access. Just like in the shop. Of course you can access them as well, with your phone. Use the same log-in.”
I pushed open the patio door and was greeted by the smell of pine. The sun set in a melt of blood orange and crimson, an autumn sunset despite the temperature. I couldn’t hear even a hint of traffic, only the distant hum of a club cart, the delicate rubbing of leaf against leaf. I looked under the eaves and spotted the state-of-the art surveillance camera mounted in the corner.
“Also,” Trey continued, “I’ve set up breach alarms on the doors and windows. I’m texting you the code so that you can use your phone as the keypad. I’m enabling that now.”
My phone beeped with the incoming text. When I opened it, a link appeared. When I clicked it, a new app bloomed on the screen.
I went back inside. “Do I have any further instructions for tonight?”
“Nothing beyond the original plans. Did you get the clothes from Gabriella?”
“I did.”
I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear and unzipped my suitcase. I rummaged around until I found the tee shirt. I held it up for the camera. “See this? Two hundred and fifty dollars. For a plain white tee. She loaned me a suede vest too. Six hundred for that.” I held up a necklace. “This is a rock on a skinny leather thong. A designer rock, though, so a thousand bucks. Hang on a second, I’m putting you on speaker.”
I tossed the phone on the bed, pulled my old shirt over my head and slipped my arms into the new one. I had to admit, the fabric was lush and lovely, gliding like a whisper. I slipped on the vest, turned in the mirror. Trey still hadn’t said anything.
“You there?”
“What?”
I grinned up at the camera. “I’m not distracting you, am I?”
A soft exhale at his end. “I have to get back out front. Check your mic before I go.”
I pulled up the app on my phone. “One two, one two.”
“Copy that. Let me make sure it recorded.”
Another few seconds passed. A clock on the wall chimed eight. I turned my new bracelet in the light, admiring the way it shimmered.
Trey’s voice again. “Everything worked at this end. As long as you have the bracelet, all you have to do is turn on the app, and the system will start recording and transmitting.”
“And you can listen while it’s doing that?”
“I can.”
“From anywhere on the resort?”
“Correct. We can meet after the
