Page 39 of Obscurity (Pros and Cons Mysteries #5)

T ristan Pembroke may have looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a men’s fashion magazine, but right now his confidence was cracking around the edges.

Olive and Jason watched from Connor’s tent as Sorrel led Tristan toward a tent on the far side of the camp. Even from a distance, the tension in Tristan’s posture was obvious. His eyes kept scanning the ruins of Grayfall.

“We need to talk to him,” Olive said as she watched him from the tent. “Before Brad’s people get to him first.”

“Agreed. But we need to be smart about this,” Jason said. “If he’s working with them?—”

“Then we’ll find out quickly enough.”

They waited until Sorrel had left Tristan at his assigned tent before slipping out of Connor’s tent and making their move.

Using the scattered debris and ruined buildings as cover, they crossed the campsite, timing their approach for when security was focused on the newest arrivals’ continuing complaints.

Tristan had just ducked inside his tent when they reached it.

Without ceremony, Olive unzipped the entrance and stepped inside, Jason close behind her.

It was time to find out some answers.

Tristan spun around, his aristocratic composure dissolving into something much more vulnerable.

Up close, his movie-star good looks couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands, and the way his expensive outdoor gear hung loose on his frame as if he’d lost weight recently.

“Who are you?” he demanded. But his voice carried more fear than authority as he stood there with wide eyes and fisted hands.

“People who want to find Chloe.” Olive stood blocking Tristan’s only exit. “Same as you.”

Tristan’s defensive posture instantly crumbled, and he sank onto his mattress with the deflated air of someone who’d been carrying a terrible burden alone.

“You know about Chloe?” His accent was pure upper-class British, but stress had stripped away any arrogance. “Have you seen her . . . ? Is she . . . ?”

“She’s missing.” Jason sat on the other end of the mattress as he studied Tristan’s reaction. “Question is, what do you know about it?”

Olive stood across from them but still near the bed.

Tristan ran his hands through his hair, destroying its magazine-worthy arrangement. “I came here looking for her. I know how stupid that sounds, especially after . . . after what I did. But I realized what an absolute loser I’d been, and I wanted to make things right.”

“What changed your mind?” Olive settled onto an equipment case to make the conversation feel less confrontational.

“Everything.” Tristan’s voice sounded raw with regret. “Losing her made me realize she was the only real thing in my life. All the parties, the other women, the whole lifestyle—it’s all meaningless.”

“Keep going,” Olive crossed her arms.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling to their text conversation. “She actually seemed open to talking when I first reached out. We had several good conversations, and she said she was ready to forgive me, ready to start fresh after this festival was over.”

“But then she stopped responding,” Jason guessed.

Tristan’s expression drooped. “Completely. At first, I thought she was just busy or having second thoughts about giving me another chance. Then I started calling our mutual friends, and none of them had heard from her either.” Tristan’s hands shook slightly as he held his phone.

“That’s when I knew something was really wrong. ”

“So you came here,” Olive finished. She could only guess that Chloe discovered she was able to text if she got close to that house where Brad was staying. Maybe, as part of the planning team, she’d even stayed in the house.

“I hired investigators, tracked down information about this festival, and pulled strings to get a last-minute spot.” Tristan looked around the pathetic tent with disgust. “Though I clearly didn’t do enough research about what I was walking into.”

“You didn’t come here for luxury,” Olive reminded him.

His jaw hardened. “No, I came here to find Chloe.”