Page 30 of Intoxicating Pursuit

The First Threat

SAMMY

M om’s fever was already coming down the next morning and seemed to need only chicken soup and time.

She wasn’t quite herself yet, but she was back at her cottage, reading a novel, which I took as a good sign.

Plus, she had cut flowers from the garden that morning for her kitchen table.

That meant she was at least feeling good enough to go outside, another encouraging indicator.

Meghan had been remarkably kind since I got home. She sat next to me at the kitchen island, nursing an elaborate coffee drink with whipped cream and caramel. She was in full lounge mode this morning, sporting a t-shirt and pj bottoms, with her long red hair tied up in a scrunchie.

“Meghan, you did a great job keeping Grandma comfortable yesterday. I’m so proud of you.”

“Sure. What else would I do?” She spooned the whipped cream out of her mug, licked her lips, and shot me a side-glance. “So. . . How was North Carolina?”

“Well, I managed to leave the state, and the world didn’t fall apart. You held down the fort here like a champ.”

She rolled her dark, espresso eyes. “Yes, but how was it? Was the town cool like you thought? Are you gonna open another brewery?”

“Oh. Actually, the town was great. Really pretty and all surrounded by mountains. A nice downtown shopping district, too, and a big creek for rafting and boating. Maybe we can go there sometime.”

She mimed shock, grasping a hand to her chest. “And leave the state twice in one decade? No!”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Look, I know you’re cooped up, and I’m trying, Meghan. I wanted to see if I could do this without falling apart, and it sort of worked.”

She finished the whipped cream and sipped her drink while I munched on my cereal.

I remembered something I wanted to float past her.

“Actually, I’m thinking I should go check on a couple of the new breweries soon—Madison and Charlotte.

Would you like to come? We could explore a little, and I could teach you how to do an ops visit, how to root out problems.”

“Seriously?” Her face stilled. “Yes, Mom, please. I’d love that.”

Meghan’s high school offered great business classes, and she excelled at them. It would be a huge missed opportunity if I didn’t involve her more.

We finished breakfast, rinsed off a few dishes, and I climbed down the back porch stairs to check on Mom.

Shoppers Challenge chattered from the TV as she snacked on tea and honey toast. The color was back in her cheeks, and she had lots of questions about the trip. I settled into a chair and happily filled her in—at least the parts I could share.

She asked for more toast, and I made her a nice stack, with plenty of butter. She munched, and we continued to talk, but when the final round of Shoppers Challenge started, she unceremoniously kicked me out. “No more jabber. Gotta see who wins.”

I kissed her on the forehead and hustled back to the house, past the empty spot in the driveway where Meghan’s car had been just a few minutes ago.

***

I climbed the creaking stairs and settled in at the little desk in my bedroom to try and catch up.

Running through my IT to-dos first, I noticed the tablets I had ordered for Cape May arrived, and I emailed Griffin the instructions for getting them synched up to the point-of-sale system.

I checked our social media management platform next.

I’d received feedback on some of the negative comments from local management, and I left replies I hoped were gracious and accommodating.

We had no big promotions this week, so I sifted through the pictures submitted by staff instead and posted some of the best images, along with a profile on one of our chefs.

We liked to make personal connections with the communities and found the candid photos and personal stories generated a lot of engagement.

I was almost ready to log off when I noticed a direct message in my inbox. I clicked it open, anticipating another complaint or a recipe request—which we sometimes got—but not expecting what popped up on the screen:

BACK OFF BITCH! HE IS NOT YOURS! DON’T MAKE ME TAKE ACTION. YOU WON’T LIKE IT!

I stared in shock. What the hell? The account had no profile picture and was simply called Gabriel’s Grrrrl.

Confusion, anger, and fear all bubbled inside me, the entire message making so little sense that my body couldn’t figure out how to react.

First, as far as the public was concerned, I didn’t even have an acquaintance named Gabriel.

Of course, an intimate connection existed now—one that could conceivably threaten someone—but there wasn’t a soul alive who was aware of it.

Even if someone had seen us in Creekside or at La Fermata, they wouldn’t know who I was, let alone that I was associated with Forbidden Brews.

I stared at the screen a while before finally closing the laptop, baffled.

I picked up my phone to text Gabe, then remembered I didn’t even have his number. Peeved, but seeing no other option, I sent a text to Charlie, letting him know about the threat and asking for Gabe to call me.

***

A n hour later, I had showered, put everything away from the trip, and was generally getting my life back in order when the phone rang.

“Hey, Sammy.” Gabe’s low, comforting voice came over the line.

‘Hi.” I wedged my empty suitcase into the overstuffed hall closet, then returned to my bedroom. “Thanks for calling.”

“Meant to call last night, but we had a little chaos here. You made it home safe and sound?”

“Yeah. Trip was fine, and no worries about calling. We were running around helping Mom yesterday anyway.”

“Is she feeling better?”

“Much. Her fever’s already broken. She should be back to herself in no time.”

“Really glad to hear that. . . Hold on.” A muffled conversation filtered through the background and Gabe was quiet a moment before returning his attention to me. “Thanks for waiting. . . Charlie messaged me. He said something about a threat?”

I explained what happened, and how it made no sense.

“Okay, actually, that’s interesting. Can you send a screenshot of the DM to Charlie?

We’re trying to piece something together over here, and it might help.

” I heard him converse with someone again.

“Um, listen, we’ve got a bit of a situation, and I need to talk with you about it.

” He sighed heavily—maybe stalling—before finally spitting it out. “Someone got pictures of us.”

“Crap.” So much for keeping our connection private. I knew how much he hated this stuff. “I should have said something. I kept thinking you were a bit obvious with the helmet off at the barbecue place.”

“No.” A strange tone entered his voice. “The pictures aren’t from the barbecue place.”

“From town? How would anyone know it was you? Our heads were covered, and we were zipping by pretty fast on those bikes.”

“Sammy, they aren’t from our bike ride in town. The pictures are from the farm. It’s you and me in the grapevines.”

A chill swept over my skin. “Please, tell me you mean they got hold of our selfies.”

“It's not the selfies.” He paused for a minute before forging ahead. “And I’m sorry, but they’re pretty graphic. Whoever took these had either an excellent camera or a really good vantage point.”

“Are we recognizable?”

“Unfortunately, yes. You can make out our faces pretty well. In fact, there’s an awful lot you can see clearly. It’s practically stop-action porn.”

I shut my eyes. This just couldn’t be happening. I thought about Meghan—what she would learn about relationships and risk-taking. About what I was actually doing on a trip I said was for business. She barely spoke with me as it was. This could make it a thousand times worse. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Look, we’re doing what we can on our end, but they’re asking for a substantial sum of money to keep the photos off the internet.”

“Should we just pay? I can pitch in—or heck, I might be able to cover it. If those photos see the light of day, I can’t imagine how Meghan will react. Or Mom. Or for that matter, the drunk patrons at the brewery. Or the Chamber of Commerce. Good God.”

“Sammy, paying won’t stop this. They’ll just come back to the well again. We need to catch and capture.”

“Are you going to the police? I mean, this is extortion, right?”

“We’re trying to handle this in-house for now. Sometimes, legitimate photographers will exchange money to keep photos out of the press, so it’s conceivable this is a paparazzi. All things being equal, I’d rather not have this in the public domain at all just yet.”

“Can you send me what you got, so I know what I’m dealing with?

” Something occurred to me. “And actually, Marco’s fiancée, Ian, is a private investigator.

He’s very good. Maybe he can help.” The prospect of Ian seeing what Gabe had described was awful, but it seemed better than the whole world downloading it.

“I’ll send it.” He blew out another deep breath. “But, Sammy, can you turn on your video? I want to talk face-to-face for a minute.”

I clicked the video button, and his face appeared on the screen with a hard set in his eyes and a seriousness in his features I hadn’t seen before. He was still at the cabin, and a few security folks I didn’t recognize were exiting behind him. Had they seen the pictures, too?

“What is it, Gabe?”

“I need to ask you something.” He closed his eyes and pinched his brow with his fingers before finally looking up at me.

“Listen, this kind of thing isn’t common.

Yet, it’s happening now. Right after you drove halfway down the coast, then dropped your dress under the open blue sky.

At the end of a crop row, no less, where the view goes clear to the valley.

You know, you said some of your businesses were doing poorly.

” He looked downright pissed. “ Are you shaking me down? ”

I stared at him, dumbstruck. In the corner of the screen, I saw the shock and disgust register on my face, but right behind those emotions a healthy dose of anger waited to explode. He was handing me some sort of celebrity catastrophe, then laying the blame at my feet?

So mad I couldn’t speak at first, I closed my eyes, attempting to rein in my temper.

Finally, I released my words in a careful cadence.

“You think I did this? For money ?” I took a few more deep breaths.

“Gabe, I came all that way because I wanted to visit the town and help you—and because I wanted to spend time with you.” My words sounded clipped and angry, which was about as close to calm as I could get at that point.

“And I dropped my dress , as you say, because I wanted you badly, and I wasn’t sorry about that until this very moment.

” Oh, how I regretted it now. On so many levels.

“As for the money. . . Are the new stores struggling a bit? Maybe. But, I’ve got millions invested in business real estate and plenty of that Silicon Valley cash still in the bank.

I neither need nor want a single red cent of yours! ”

I paused to take a breath but had definitely not finished.

I could see my face on the screen, my dark eyes boring into him, my mouth in a severe tight line.

“And I have a seventeen-year-old daughter at home. You really think I would risk her seeing something like that? This , for me, is a nightmare !”

He seemed remarkably unmoved. “Yes, but those photos would never reach her eyes if you were the one who controlled them.”

I was so furious I was practically shaking. “Look, just send me the damn pictures and emails and whatever else you have. That way, I can actually do something about them, if you won’t!”

I disconnected the call and chucked the phone at my bed covers. What a complete ass! I couldn’t believe I’d gone all the way to North Carolina to spend time with him. To share his bed! Such a total waste!

I prayed the photos weren’t as bad as he described. If they were, I’d find a way to squash this. Whatever it took. With or without his help.

I paced back and forth frenetically, too riled up to figure out next steps. I finally threw on some running gear and headed out the door. If I didn’t burn off some anger, I was going to snap.