Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Three?
Chapter Three Continued…
“We’re not celebrities,” I said “Not like that. I mean, he wasn’t
kidnapped by the paparazzi or anything,” I said.
Sergio made me walk through the events of the previous night one
more time. I knew the drill. He was listening for inconsistencies in my
The walkie-talkie on his shoulder holster beeped, a burst of
Spanish firing across the wire. I sprang off the bench.
Sergio listened, a grim look on his face.
“What is it? Did they find him?” I asked.
Sergio frowned as he listened, giving me an almost imperceptible
shake of the head.
Anxiety clawed at my chest. “What then?” I asked.
Sergio stood and walked away from the table, speaking rapidly
into the walkie-talkie. My heart raced and I felt like I was about to
come out of my skin. Even though I couldn’t understand Sergio’s
words, I could tell by the tone of his voice something was desperately
I rushed to the tent and called Becca’s name. She popped her
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“How good is your Spanish?”
She glanced toward Sergio and frowned. She shook her head after
a moment. “He’s talking too fast.”
I buried my head in my hands, the uncertainty taking a toll.
“Damn, he’s hot though, huh?” Becca asked.
“I hadn’t noticed” I lied.
She snorted. “Please. I know this is a tough time for you Georgia,
but anyone with a pulse can see the guy’s gorgeous.”
“Go for it,” I said.
Becca said, “You know I’m sworn off men, at least for the time
being. Plus, what kind of a jerk would it make me?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s trying to locate Scott. I don’t want to be the one to distract
him.” She batted her eyelashes at me.
We giggled. My shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, then I immedi‐
ately felt guilty. Scott was missing, what the hell was I doing, laughing
and yukking it up with Becca? Sergio turned around toward us.
“We have a situation, I need to leave you two ladies. Please call me
if you have any more information.”
“Wait, what? What situation?” I asked.
“I need to go check in with my team,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Becca asked.
He ignored our questions. He handed us a card and turned
without speaking. Becca and I shared a look. We’d follow him, wher‐
ever he was going. The search-and-rescue team hadn’t been gone that
long, they couldn’t be that far away.
Sergio hiked down the dirt trail toward the river, but took a left
instead of a right where Parker and I had fallen from the cliff the
night before. He walked with purpose, as if he had intimate knowl‐
edge of the trails. We kept our distance and followed him in silence.
The trail descended into a small canyon, the ground becoming slick
and muddy. I could hear the sound of running water up ahead. Sergio
ducked through some bushes, stepping over fallen branches and
avoiding protruding shrubs.
Despite last night’s freezing temperatures, the day was heating up
and sweat dripped off my brow as I struggled to keep my footing. In
the distance, the dogs were growling and barking. Montserrat’s voice
“Aquí!” she called.
Sergio moved forward, his gait steady and even. The trail gave way
to a small clearing that was bordered with several rocks large enough
to sit on. There was something in the ground, hidden near the bushes;
something large, like a heap.
My heart lurched and I took off in a mad dash. A scream echoed
through the canyon that I hardly recognized as my own.
Dear God, no, no, please don’t be Scott.
I ran so hard I collided into a bush and then Sergio in my attempt
to get to the body. Sergio grabbed me and said “Eh, eh, it’s okay,
His hand was on my head, pressing it to his shoulder, trying to
keep me from seeing the corpse that had already been burned into my
It was a woman. Her body was partially obscured by the bushes,
but I could make out dark long hair and a polka-dot skirt that seemed
gruesomely out of place.
Equal parts relief and distress coursed through my body. A
I was both elated and disappointed with myself at the same time.
How could I be happy over finding a dead body? But the singular
thought reverberating through my head was that Scott was still alive.
Montserrat was blocking Becca from coming any farther. But one
glance at my friend and I knew she’d surmised the same thing as I
had: The body was not Scott. Tears were streaming down my face
and I pushed away from Sergio.
“It’s not him,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “The dogs followed his scent up the road.”
He jutted his chin toward the hillside, where there was a narrow
“The scent has disappeared from there,” Sergio said.
The weight of what he was suggesting hit me suddenly.
“Scott didn’t harm this woman!” I protested.
Montserrat came to my side. ”Please, miss, we don’t know the
circumstances yet. Please go back to camp.”
The dogs were growling miserably at the woman’s body and hasti‐
ly unearthed something.
“Que es?” Sergio demanded.
“Un reloj,” Montserrat said. Next to the woman was a watch.
Seeing it, my mouth went dry and my stomach dropped.
It was undeniably Scott’s sports watch. Becca flashed me a look.
“Is that your boyfriend’s watch?” Sergio asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of people have watches like that.”
“Yeah,” Becca said, “they sell them everywhere in the U.S.”
Montserrat and Sergio said something to each other, again in
rapid-fire Spanish, their exchange ending with Montserrat turning to
us and saying in short, clipped English, “Ladies, let me take you back
to camp. Please.”
Sergio was on his walkie-talkie to another team, presumably the
crime scene team. Would they run a DNA scan on Scott’s watch? Did
they even do that in Spain? Or was the fact that a dog growled at a
watch enough to try to convict him? God help us.
Montserrat walked Becca and me back to camp. When we got
there, the cast and crew were huddled around the picnic table gossip‐
ing. They grew quiet as they watched us approach, the silence
“I’ll need your passports,” Montserrat said.
“Our passports? For what?” Becca asked.
“You and your friends”—she indicated the cast and crew—“will not
be allowed to leave Spain until we clear up the matter of the woman.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Becca said, pressing a hand to her forehead. I
knew what she must have been thinking, about the production sched‐
ules and the cost. Strange that it was the furthest thing from my mind.
I ran into my tent. They could have my passport because there was
no way I was leaving Spain without Scott. I rummaged through my
bag, immediately finding it. I dug through his gear. First through his
duffel, then his sleeping bag, then finally through mine again.
Where was Scott’s passport? Why wasn’t it in our tent? Did he
have it with him? Who went for a midnight stroll in the woods and
took his passport? For what? Just in case . . . of what? I battled the
sinking pit in my stomach. Emerging from the tent, I handed my pass‐
port over to Montserrat. She took it from me, still engaged in conver‐
sation with Becca.
I grabbed Montserrat’s arm. “Please, please keep looking for him.”
“We will keep looking for him, yes,” she said.
The unspoken implication hung between us; of course, they would
keep looking for him.
He was now a suspect in a murder investigation.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐”I couldn’t stop reading!”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”
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