Page 35 of Obscurity (Pros and Cons Mysteries #5)

PRESENT DAY

O live woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves rather than the sharp alertness that usually marked her mornings. She felt surprisingly rested, warm and safe in a way that seemed impossible given their circumstances.

It took her a moment to realize why.

She was leaning against the wall, curled against Jason’s chest, her head tucked under his chin, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid warmth of his body next to hers.

For just a moment, she let herself enjoy the feeling of being held, of being safe, of waking up next to someone who cared about her. It reminded her of when the world had been simpler, and love had felt like something she could keep.

Then reality crashed back.

The investigation. Their cover. The professional boundaries she’d carefully constructed between them.

Olive pulled away, perhaps more sharply than necessary.

Jason stirred but didn’t wake. He merely shifted to accommodate her movement before settling back into sleep.

Pale morning light filtered through the cracks between the boards covering the windows. As the beams of light hit Jason’s face, he somehow looked younger, more peaceful than she’d seen him since they’d arrived.

She forced herself to look away and quietly stood.

The closeness, the shared memories, the feeling of connection .

. . they’d done something to her heart that she couldn’t let happen again.

Those feelings were too dangerous, too distracting, too likely to compromise both her judgment and her mission.

Stepping outside, Olive stopped short at the scene that greeted her.

The festival grounds looked like a war zone.

Though a few tents had been on higher ground and still stood, the storm had left its mark on everything else.

Collapsed tents lay scattered across the muddy ground like deflated balloons.

Their contents spilled out and were trampled into the dirt.

Camping chairs had been overturned and blown against buildings, creating small mountains of twisted metal and torn fabric.

Though the morning air was crisp and clean after the rain, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine, underneath it she detected something else.

The lingering smell of fear and desperation.

By the time Jason emerged from the church, other festivalgoers were beginning to stir, crawling out of their own damaged accommodations with expressions that ranged from hungover confusion to outright anger.

“What happened?” Maya’s voice carried across the campsite, shrill with dismay. She stood beside her tent, which looked surprisingly unscathed. “This is a disaster!”

Connor was already out and about, documenting the destruction with his camera. He moved methodically through the wreckage while shaking his head.

Dr. Z crawled out from his tent, which had collapsed.

People began gravitating toward the catering tent, moving like zombies in search of salvation. Their faces were pale and drawn, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled and damp.

The free alcohol from the night before had clearly taken its toll, and now they were dealing with hangovers on top of everything else.

“Coffee,” someone groaned. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

The catering tent had fared better than most of the camp, its professional-grade construction having weathered the storm with minimal damage. But as festivalgoers lined up at the service window, their expressions grew increasingly dismayed.

“What do you mean there’s no coffee?” an older man demanded, his voice cracking with desperation. “How can you not have coffee?”

The harried worker behind the counter—the same one who’d announced they’d run out of food the day before—spread his hands helplessly. “The coffee machine got damaged in the storm. We’re trying to fix it, but . . .”

“This is unacceptable!” Maya pushed to the front of the line. “People paid thousands of dollars for this experience, and you can’t even provide basic caffeine?”

“We’ve got granola bars.” The worker held up a box of the generic breakfast bars.

A collective groan rose from the crowd.

A mix of sympathy and relief rushed through Olive—sympathy for people who’d been genuinely deceived, and relief that her coffee allergy meant she wasn’t facing the same withdrawal symptoms as everyone else. She’d never been more grateful for her body’s inability to process caffeine.

“I want to speak to whoever’s in charge of this disaster!” someone called out. “Where’s Brad?”

“He’s . . . dealing with storm damage assessment,” the catering worker said, though his tone suggested he had no idea where Brad actually was.

Jason appeared beside Olive, calmly surveying the chaos. “This is catastrophic.”

As people reluctantly accepted their granola bar breakfast and wandered away grumbling, Olive scanned the crowd for familiar faces.

She spotted Connor, still documenting everything. Dr. Z, methodically eating his granola bar while reviewing something on his tablet. Tevin, maintaining his distance but clearly observing the crowd.

She would love more than anything to be able to go and sit beside him. To catch up over some Chinese food.

He was one in a million, and she hated that she had to keep her distance from him on this assignment.

But one face was notably absent.

“Have you seen Becca?” Olive tried to keep the concern out of her voice as she leaned toward Jason.

His expression sharpened as he scanned the crowd. “No. And given what Tevin told us about why she’s really here . . .”

They exchanged worried glances.

A young journalism student investigating her best friend’s disappearance, alone in a place where people routinely vanished, after a night when someone had clearly been searching through the camp?

Not good.

“We need to find her.” Olive abandoned any pretense of casual interest. “Now.”

Because Olive’s gut was telling her something was majorly wrong.