Page 61 of Tourist Season

S AM’S FOOTSTEPS ECHO ACROSS THE space that stretches around us, trapped between the beams of the distillery’s vaulted ceiling.

Though I strain against the handcuffs, I don’t make any headway.

The metal is flush against my skin. I try twisting my ankles, but that’s useless too, the duct tape wound in thick layers to bind my legs to the chair.

“There’s a great synergy to recording in this place,” Sam says as he brings a long, thin bag over from the mouth of the corridor and pulls a tripod from its interior.

He takes a deep, dramatic sigh, inhaling the scent of fresh paint and freshly cut lumber.

“Considering it was once the heart of Arthur Lancaster’s empire, interviewing another murderer here in the distillery that Lukas Lancaster is trying to bring back to life is a perfect way to tie all the pieces together. Don’t you think?”

I don’t answer. I have no intention of telling this man shit. Especially not on camera.

Sam smiles. It’s as though he can divine my thoughts right out of my head when he says, “We are going to talk, you and me. Or everything I know about Harper Starling will be thrown into this documentary, and trust me when I say, her life will be blown apart.”

“How do I know you won’t do that anyway, even if I do talk to you?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” He shrugs, adjusting the tripod and then bending to retrieve his camera bag off a drop cloth.

His eyes don’t leave mine any longer than they have to, as though he doesn’t fully trust how thoroughly he’s incapacitated me.

“Give me what I want, and I promise I’ll leave her out of it. ”

“And what do you want, exactly?”

His smile stretches. “The story of a lifetime, of course. And the recognition I deserve.”

I scoff, and Sam’s eyes narrow to slits of malice. “Recognition? Or do you mean ‘fame’?”

“I mean, acknowledgment . That my group has done what no one else could.” Sam presses a button on one of the black cords that surround him, and two portable studio lights flicker on.

I squint against their blinding white glare.

“We’ve solved cold cases when the authorities couldn’t. We’ve exposed criminals—”

“And now you’ve become one.” I jostle my wrists behind me, my arms hooked beneath the metal armrests of my chair. “Or did you conveniently forget that there are laws about abducting people at gunpoint and holding them against their will, to name a few?”

Sam approaches me with a wireless lapel microphone clutched in his fingers.

He attaches it to my shirt, avoiding my unyielding glare.

When he’s done, he returns to the mounted camera, putting his own microphone on before settling a pair of headphones over his ears.

“You know, since before I even started the Sleuthseekers, I believed some rules needed to be bent for justice to be fairly served. But of all people in this fucked-up town, I thought that you would agree with that.”

Sam adjusts the lens and buttons on his camera until he seems satisfied with what he’s seeing on the viewfinder, and then he grabs the film slate from the floor. He positions himself between me and the camera, the clapperboard clutched in his hands.

“ Action ,” he declares, whacking the black-and-white striped arm down onto the body of the slate before he rushes behind the camera, exchanging the clapperboard for his notebook. I wait until he’s looking at the viewfinder before I roll my eyes. “Is your name Nolan Caius Rhodes?”

“You already know my name.”

Sam glares at me from behind the camera. “We can skip right to Harper Starling, if you prefer.”

My blood boils. I strain against the handcuffs. I’m desperate to tear his fucking throat out. To dig my fingers into his flesh and feel it split apart in my grip.

“Yes,” I grit out. “My name is Nolan Caius Rhodes.”

“Where do you live?”

“Gatlinburg, Tennessee.”

“Tell me about what brought you to Cape Carnage?”

I release a heavy sigh, as though this is the most ridiculous fucking thing I’ve ever been forced to endure. “Bird-watching.”

“Bird-watching,” Sam echoes, failing to keep his triumphant smirk from bleeding into his voice.

He’s hardly the impartial interviewer, not that I expected any level of professionalism here.

“That’s right, Irene mentioned something about that to me.

I guess that makes a lot more sense now.

Tell me, do you ever observe starlings?”

I cut him with a vicious glare.

“Did you know that a starling can mimic the songs of up to twenty different bird species?” he continues. “They can even impersonate human speech.”

There’s something else behind the slow smile he gives me. Like he holds all the cards. Even the ones I don’t know about.

A suffocating blanket of unease seems to descend around me. “Ask me a relevant question,” I snarl.

“Sure thing.” The false brightness in his tone sets me even more on edge. Sam flips a page in his notebook, tapping a pen to his chin. “Ah, yes. I have a relevant question. Why did you murder Trevor Fisher? ”

My lips seal tight.

“What about Dylan Jacobs? Or Marc Beaumont?”

I say nothing.

“Or what about Jake Hornell? Would you happen to know anything about his disappearance on June seventh? Or how about you tell me what you were doing at the Ballantyne River last night? Because it seemed pretty fucking suspicious to me.”

Fuck. I never heard anything. Never saw a light or another car. It was a normal night at the river, except for the fact that Harper wasn’t with me, which I’m so fucking grateful for now. But clearly I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

When I still don’t answer, frustration rolls from Sam, his shoulders stiff with tension. I don’t believe he’ll ever leave Harper out of this. I’ll never take him for his word. But if I can rile him up enough, if I can force him from frustration and into rage, maybe I can coax him closer …

“Since you’re determined to make this difficult, Mr. Rhodes, we’re going to talk about what you know about Harper Starling.

And then we’ll talk about what I know about her.

” He flips a page in his notebook. “Harper was driving the car that crashed into you and your younger brother, Billy, four years ago. After the incident occurred, she drove away and left you to die. Isn’t that—”

A sudden sound echoes from the far side of the distillery. We both startle, Sam letting out a long breath as he shakes his head. “Fucking finally.” He checks his watch before pressing a button on his camera to pause the recording. “ Vinny, I’m on the landing ,” he calls out.

But there’s no answer.

Sam carefully withdraws his gun from where he’s shoved it between his belt and his back. Silence descends around us. It’s shattered by another metallic whack , like something striking one of the copper stills.

“Goddamnit,” Sam whispers. He checks my wrists and ankles, then moves toward the stairs that lead to the floor below, casting me a wary glare before he disappears. I hear his footsteps descend the rest of the stairs, and then he starts crossing the room, heading in the direction of the sound.

I resume my struggle against my bonds. But I stop the instant I see her.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss as Harper comes out of the shadows and into the bright studio lights. She crouches low, rushing toward me. There’s a slight tremor in her hand when she wraps it around my arm as she examines my predicament.

“Saving your ass, obviously,” she replies, letting go of my wrist. She drops to my feet, starting to slice at the duct tape where it’s stuck against the chair leg. “At least, I thought I was. How did you let yourself get handcuffed?”

“ Let myself? Who lets themselves get handcuffed?”

“You do, apparently. Like a fucking rookie. And if I recall correctly, this is the second time you’ve been played today.”

“Now is not the time , Harper.” I feel the give in the tape as it splits and she moves to my other leg. “You have to get out of here,” I whisper. “He’s unhinged. He’s got a gun.”

“I noticed.”

“If he sees you here—” My words are cut short as we hear Sam’s boots scuff against the lower stairs. Harper manages to free my other ankle. “ Hide .”

Our eyes meet for only an instant, but in that moment, I see fear in them. I’ve seen it in her before. I’ll never forget the terror and hopelessness that stared back at me from the abyss of the sea. But I also know that this time it’s different. She’s not afraid for herself. She’s afraid for me .

“Go,” I mouth, not letting any sound escape my lips.

Harper sneaks back to the corridor, her footfalls silent.

She disappears into the shadows beyond the bright lights just a moment before Sam appears on the landing, the gun still clutched in his hand.

He looks a little shaken, a little cautious.

But his determination seems to take over as he returns to his camera and presses a button. A tiny red light flicks on.

“Now,” he says, then clears his throat, “where were we?”

“I believe we were at the part where I tell you that you’re fucking unhinged. You abducted me and you’re holding me against my will, and you can go fuck yourself.”

Though Sam keeps the gun lowered at his side, he flicks the safety on and off as a reminder of his power over me. Knowing Harper is somewhere in the shadows is the only thing about his quiet threat that gives me true fear. But if I can just draw him a little closer …

“You know the thing about guys like you?” I ask, settling into my chair as though I have all night to play this game.

“You’re not that much different than the people you claim to hunt down.

You’ve just taken your true crime ‘infotainment’ ten steps too far.

But you don’t have the actual skill to back it up. ”

Sam might not move from behind the camera, but I can almost feel the heat of his rage.