Page 48 of No Time Off (Lexi Carmichael Mystery #15)

FORTY-EIGHT

Mick Watson

M ick sat in his car with his camera propped loosely against the open windowsill and pointed toward a luxury brownstone condo in an exclusive neighborhood in Bethesda. He was about to take a picture he could sell for a tidy sum to the highest bidder.

Tom Senstrom, the young billionaire biotech CEO, had it all. Good looks, acclaim, a trophy wife, two kids, and lots and lots of money. He also had a company that hadn’t turned a profit in three years. None of it made sense to Mick, but he hoped a little of that money might rub off on him this afternoon.

Senstrom also had a date tonight with a certain Olivia Messandaro, a rising young supermodel who was in Washington, DC, to promote a new European fashion line with a photo shoot at the Lincoln Memorial. How they had hooked up, he didn’t know. But his source was impeccably accurate, and he had been well positioned for a few nice covert dinner shots.

He already had all the photos he really needed, but he’d learned that getting the perfect exposé photo with a shocked expression could triple the value versus an ordinary one. Scandal paid well in his line of work. Senstrom and the model had entered the condo building almost two hours ago. He knew Senstrom had about three hours until his planned departure on a private flight out of Dulles back to the West Coast. So, he would be exiting the condo soon.

The waiting was the worst part of his job. He loved the planning and the chase, but those minutes of excitement barely punctuated the boredom of hours of waiting. Still, it paid the bills, and these photos could bring him a tidy little sum. Scandal paid well. Almost as much as mystery, which was why bad Bigfoot images still had a market.

He sighed. Still no sight of either one of them. His camera was ready, but he hoped they hurried it up. He had hockey playoff tickets tonight and wanted the luxury of getting to the arena early enough to watch the teams warm up. At least he had his favorite tabloids to pass the time. He never read any of the articles. They were as believable as an IRS auditor saying he was there to help you.

Instead, he flipped through the tabloids looking at the pictures. What were the hot topics? Who was in the news? What made the first page? He thought of it as business intelligence. He might be old-school, but he knew that tastes and interests moved quickly these days, and he needed to keep up. After flipping through several of the lesser rags, he picked up the Global Enquirer , one of the heavy hitters in terms of paying for photos.

The headline articles included blurry pictures of UFOs and an “expert” discussing the presence of aliens among us. He was certain the UFO pictures were recycled. There were also the latest pictures of movie celebrities who were in the middle of their third cycle of an on-again, off-again relationship, and reports of a drug overdose for yet another rocker under twenty-five years of age.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. In the middle of the tabloid was a dark picture of three people. The headline under the picture read, Honeymooning Couple Helps Foil Cook Islands Coup.

What?

He looked closer at the grainy photo. The photo was backlit, clearly taken by an amateur. But, what the heck? Two of those people looked familiar. He tapped his finger on the young woman until it came to him.

That mystery power couple who’d evaded him on the way to the airport.

He squinted more at the photo. That’s who they looked like, but he couldn’t be certain because of the poor quality of the photo. The size and staging, including some emojis in the corner, looked like something a kid might post on their social media feed, and some opportunistic photographer had picked it up for a resell.

He quickly read the short article, noting unnamed sources saying the couple had stopped an assassination attempt on the prime minister and prevented a foreign-backed coup from taking over the country. The names of the couple were not mentioned, but that woman in the middle was clearly identified as Ms. Petra Askari, the official prime minister.

Mick sat back in his car seat, his mouth falling open. He had his answer. They had to be US agents sent abroad to stop threats around the world. A real-life Mr. and Mrs. James Bond.

Damn. Now it all began to make sense. No wonder the president had showed up at their wedding. He wasn’t sure how the pope played into that, but hey, no matter how you looked at it—this couple was one hell of a story.

He stroked his chin, thinking. He didn’t need to rush. They’d be coming back at some point, and he’d be ready for them. He knew where they lived; he knew what they looked like. They would be the biggest story he ever broke. He just needed to be patient.

Mick was still dreaming of how he would spend the ginormous amounts of money he would make covering this enigmatic couple when the young billionaire emerged arm in arm with his tryst partner. They paused exactly where he’d expected.

Swearing, Mitch fumbled for his camera, but it was too late. He’d missed a perfect shot.

Sighing, he watched Senstrom drive off and the model disappear back into the condo. That elusive, mysterious couple had bested him once again, and now, they owed him another one.