CHAPTER TWO
Brody Collins sat in yet another airport. Sometimes he felt like half his life was spent on a stiff plastic seat waiting for a flight. As he watched planes come and go through grungy floor-to-ceiling windows, he absentmindedly wondered how much they spend on glass cleaner every year. Not enough.
An overhead announcement advised his flight to New Hampshire would begin boarding soon. It was his last assignment of the year. And thank goodness.
His phone buzzed with a video call request. Chloe.
He hit the button to answer, and his perky, perfectly put-together agent popped onto the screen.
Her lips pursed into a pout. “I don’t love the beard, Brody.
Shave it before you come home?” Chloe was his agent, but did double duty as his girlfriend.
“But then what will I stroke when I’m ruminating?” he joked, running a hand over his short beard.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I suppose it will work out nicely for your mountain man excursion. But seriously, lose it after that.”
Chatter arose around him, and he noticed people elbowing each other and nodding to the TV in the corner. Phones, books, and babies were abandoned as eyes and attention glued to the news.
There was no sound, but the closed-captioning revealed why the anxiety level was ratcheting upward for everyone in his general vicinity. An inmate from the New Hampshire State Penitentiary had escaped and was at large.
“Good morning,” a chipper gate agent greeted through the microphone, snapping the on-edge passengers to attention. “We’d like to welcome you to flight five-oh-three to Portsmouth.”
As she continued with pre-boarding instructions—stuff he’d heard a million times—her cheery attitude said she either hadn’t heard the news or wasn’t bothered by an escaped felon running loose in the very area this flight was headed.
Then again, as the gate agent, she would remain safe and sound working the counter at gate forty-two all day—nowhere near New Hampshire.
“Um, have you seen the news?” Chloe asked. “Something just popped up about a prison break in New Hampshire.”
“Watching it now,” Brody said.
“The prison’s not far from where you’re headed,” she said. “Should we cancel?”
A map had appeared on the screen, and he pictured her watching the same broadcast on the TV she kept on, but muted, in her office.
“Nah. They’ll probably have him back in custody before I land. I’m not worried.”
“Well, all right. It’s your call.”
He got up and walked away from the crowd for a bit of privacy.
“I’m sorry I won’t be there for our anniversary,” he said. Thursday would mark one year of dating. For him, that was a record.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We’ll celebrate when you get home next week. Beard free.”
He smiled. Her acceptance of his heavy travel schedule was just one of the things he loved about her. One of the many reasons he’d made arrangements to fly back mid-trip to surprise her on their special day. Which he intended to make extra special with a proposal. It was time to put a ring on it.
He reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the little black box he’d purchased on his last assignment. In a mere few days, he could call her his fiancée.
“So, the reason I called,” she said. “We need to talk.”
“Yikes.” Why did that phrase automatically strike fear into a man’s heart? “Please tell me you’re saying that as my agent and not my girlfriend.”
“Yes.” She chuckled. “Sorry.”
“Oh, good.” Brody breathed a sigh of relief. “You had me worried for a second. What’s up?”
“You heard about Globe Trotter filing for bankruptcy?”
“I did,” he said. “Another one bites the dust, huh?”
“It’s not funny, Brody. Print mags are in big trouble. I think we should start looking at other options for you.”
“Globe Trotter going belly up will only make Wanderlust stronger,” he said. As a travel journalist, he didn’t just write for Wanderlust. He’d given the last ten years of his life to them.
“I’m not sure about that,” Chloe said in a tone that put Brody on edge. Did she know something he didn’t? “There are rumors of layoffs coming to Wanderlust too.”
“Maybe for others, but they can’t fire me.
” He didn’t like to toot his own horn, but he also knew his worth.
The name Brody Collins had become synonymous with luxury world travel.
Heck, he even had coffee cups with his face on them.
If they fired him, what would they do with all the merch?
“I’m not worried. You shouldn’t either.”
“I don’t know. It’s not a good time for the industry. People can find everything on the internet for free these days. Why pay for information?”
“Hon, even if we go all digital, which is more likely than going under completely, I’ll have a place. Someone still has to travel after all. Take the pictures and write the articles.”
“I guess.”
“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” Was he being too cocky in his assessment? Could Wanderlust function without him?
“We’ll talk when you get back,” she said.
The statement sounded ominous, but nothing would change in the next seven days. They could rehash it later.
“This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight five-oh-three.” The agent’s subdued tone indicated she’d been clued in to the news. “We invite those passengers with small children and any passenger requiring special assistance to begin boarding at this time.”
He had a few minutes and went back to his conversation.
“I am so looking forward to coming home and staying in one place for a while,” he said. “All the ‘vacationing’ is tiring.”
“Well, this assignment will be right up your alley then. Peaceful Dove is in the backwoods, surrounded by lakes, trees, and mountains. Your relaxation oasis awaits. And that’s straight from the brochure.”
“Sounds perfect for some R and R. Who am I booked as?”
“Kevin McHale,” Chloe said.
“Celtics all-star,” he said. “Nice choice.”
It was essential that the places he stayed were unaware they were being evaluated and reviewed. Once Brody’s name familiarity shot high enough to be a problem, he’d begun traveling under an alias. He rotated through a couple of names of his favorite athletes.
The boarding call for first class was announced.
“They’re singin’ my song, babe. Gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”
He clicked off, slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, and headed to the gate. A smiley brunette scanned his boarding pass and waved him through to the Jetway.
Settling into his soft, roomy seat, he gazed out the window. Brody had spent the last decade as a transient. Globe-trotting from assignment to assignment all over the world.
The job had given him many once-in-a-lifetime, world-class experiences. And as one of the best in his field, had also been extremely lucrative. But lately, he’d grown tired of the hustle and bustle.
The flight attendant welcomed him with a hot towel and asked what he would like to drink. He politely declined both, still mulling over the conversation with Chloe.
What if she was right, and the company did go under? He didn’t have a backup plan. But he did have a mother who counted on him for support.
Perhaps it was time to look at other options. Not just because the travel magazine industry might be teetering on a fall. But also because every day, after every trip, he felt more and more eager to settle down. Get married. Hell, maybe even have some babies. Who knew?
The jump from New York City to Portsmouth was quick. He landed, got his rental car, and plugged the Peaceful Dove campground into the mapping system.
Once underway, he searched for a local radio station—a habit he’d picked up to set the mood for a new assignment. Usually, it was a good way to find out about local events and get a feel for the place. But today, every station was laser-focused on the at-large convict.
“More information coming in on the escaped prisoner,” the broadcaster announced.
“His name is Sean Dexter, and he’s serving three life sentences for killing his girlfriend and her two children.
A real monster if you ask me. He’s about six-two, has brown hair, and a beard.
Check your TV for a picture. Authorities say if you see him, call nine-one-one, and do not engage.
Catch any new developments right here on KYFP. ”
Brody turned down the radio, hoping all this wouldn’t overshadow his trip.
Ninety minutes later, he pulled into the Peaceful Dove parking lot and glanced around. This couldn’t be right. He was barely half a mile off the interstate. A far cry from “nestled in the backwoods” as the brochure had advertised.
He cracked the window and startled at the blare of a train horn—three long, ear-splitting blasts. So loud, Brody assumed the crossing must be within a stone’s throw. Once the honking stopped, the freeway noise took over. This place was anything but peaceful.
As he was about to get out of the car, a woman opened the office door, her ample backside holding it open while she continued talking to someone inside.
“I don’t care about your stupid gout,” she yelled. “Find a way to get the barf smell out of that cabin. The guy’ll be here soon to check in.”
Two humongous Mastiff dogs trotted out from behind the building, and Brody watched as one left an eggplant-sized pile of poop in the patchy grass next to the office entryway.
Brody restarted the car and threw it into reverse. The woman caught his eye, held up a hand in greeting, and started toward him. He backed up quickly.
“Nope,” he said, hitting the gas a smidge harder than intended. A cloud of gravel and dust appeared in the rearview mirror, obscuring the woman lumbering after him. “Not gonna happen.”
When he first started this travel writing gig, he’d stayed in places with the barest of amenities—dirt floors, no running water, even jungle huts. But he’d come a long way since then.
After a decade of paying his dues and working his way up the ranks, he’d earned the cushy assignments—downtown penthouses with gorgeous skyline views and lazy, sunny villas overlooking crystal blue oceans.
He wouldn’t consider himself spoiled per se, but he also wasn’t about to spend his last assignment of the year listening to train horns and dodging dog poop.
Rather than return to the freeway, he took a left and continued down a two-lane state highway heading toward the mountains. In the next little town, he pulled over, got out his phone, and searched “cabins near me.”
A couple of options popped up, but one in particular stood out.
Whispering Pines. It was close, just one town over, and was billed as a quiet place to unplug and relax.
He checked the map to verify it was nowhere near the train tracks or freeway and put the address into his GPS. Hopefully, they’d have room for him.
Passing under the welcome sign, he already felt better about his choice. A big, beautiful lake peeked through the trees on his right, and the mountain range towered off in the distance. It was mid-October, and the leaves were on the verge of debuting their gorgeous fall wardrobe.
He followed the small signs to the office, parked, and got out. A pretty young brunette paced the porch, ponytail swinging, a phone clutched to her ear.
“Oh,” the woman said into the phone. “Never mind. He’s here now.” She pushed a button, slipped the phone into her pocket, and turned to him. “’Bout time you showed up.”