Chapter 34 #2
We wander through the market. Cameron and Posey stop at almost every booth to examine extraordinary-looking vegetables.
"Fiddlehead! What a silly word," says Posey when a vendor tells her the name of a vegetable that looks like coiled green asparagus. Then she giggles at the sight of a purple carrot.
"Enough vegetables,” Posey says. “Candied apple time!”
Just as we head toward that booth, a man in jeans and a T-shirt taps Cameron on the shoulder.
"You're Cameron Crow,” he says.
Cameron's entire demeanor shifts.
"Yes."
"I'm looking for an autograph.”
"Thank you," Cameron says, signing the piece of paper the man holds out.
"And how about a picture with your daughter?"
I notice Cameron's forced smile.
"Thanks, but the concert's finished. I'm on private time now."
The man's eyes narrow slightly. "It would just take a minute. A picture of you and your little girl."
Something cold slides down my gut at the stranger’s tone. This isn't a fan.
"I said no, sorry," Cameron replies. His voice carries an unmistakable warning.
The man steps back but watches us as we move away.
We continue toward the candied apple booth, with my grip on Posey tight. I can't shake the feeling he’s following us.
Cameron must sense it too because his hand finds the small of my back, protective in a way that feels reassuring.
"Stay close," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. More fans approach as we walk. Genuine ones this time.
Cameron handles the candied apple transaction with practiced charm. But as we walk away, I notice how he positions himself between fans paying compliments and Posey, never letting anyone get too close to his daughter.
One elderly woman stops me while Cameron signs a napkin.
"Hello, dear. You must be Cameron's girlfriend." Heat flashes through me at the assumption.
"No, I'm just the nanny. For this little troublemaker right here." I instinctively reach out to ruffle Posey's hair affectionately, but when I look around, it’s as if Posey has disappeared into thin air.
"Excuse me," I say to the woman, panic creeping into my voice. I turn to where I last saw Cameron standing.
But he’s moved his position.
A sense of dread overwhelms me as I scout the market for Posey. She was just here, holding my hand a second ago.
The market suddenly feels enormous, full of hiding places and strangers.
"Edison!" I call out, hoping my dog can track her scent. He comes trotting toward me with something in his mouth. A cut of beef on the bone. It could have been given to him by a friendly purveyor.
Or fed to him by someone who wanted to distract him. I pull the meat from his jaws, my hands shaking.
"Help me find Posey!" Edison seems to understand the urgency in my voice. He goes into tracking mode, nose to the ground, leading me through the crowd.
My heart pounds as I follow him, calling Posey's name.
It takes a few minutes, but I finally spot Posey and the man. They're in a corner near the back of the market, partially hidden behind a display of bright sunflowers.
That rude man, crouched down with his camera. And there's Posey, a huge cone of cotton candy in her small hands, posing while he clicks away.
"Posey!" I shout, rushing toward them. She looks up with innocent confusion.
"But the nice man just bought me cotton candy and wanted me to pose for a picture—"
"It's okay." I scoop her into my arms, cotton candy and all, my maternal instincts blazing.
Then, I turn on the photographer with a fury I didn't know I possessed.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just a few more pictures," he says, continuing to snap photos of Posey. And of me holding her. "You're the nanny, right?"
"Stop! This is a violation of privacy!” My voice shakes with rage and protective fear.
But before I can move away, Cameron appears. The change in his expression when he sees what's happening is terrifying—from concerned father to something dangerous and primal.
"What's all this?" His voice is deceptively calm, but I can see the storm building behind his eyes.
"This man was taking pictures of Posey. He bought her cotton candy to lure her away—"
Cameron gives the photographer a look that could kill. Every muscle in his body coils with barely restrained violence.
Beneath his charming exterior, Cameron is clearly a man who grew up fighting for everything he has. "Stay away from my daughter," he says, each word precise and deadly.
I pull Posey back, not wanting her to witness whatever's about to happen.
But the photographer doesn't have the sense to retreat.
"Hey, man—chill out! I thought you'd want the publicity!"
Cameron's hands clench into fists. I can see him fighting for control.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid?" The photographer taunts, emboldened by Cameron's restraint.
"Why did you make your debut in this market? Afraid you're going to bomb? Afraid tabloids will—"
"Don't," I warn, seeing darkness descend over Cameron's features. I know how much he hates the media, how fiercely he protects his privacy. But the photographer taunts him again, and this time, Cameron's control snaps.
He lunges forward and tears the camera from the man's hands, then hurls it against the brick wall behind us. The expensive device shatters into pieces of glass and metal.
"Get the hell out of here!"
The entire marketplace goes silent. Every conversation stops. Every transaction freezes. The only sound is Posey's sharp intake of breath against my shoulder.
"Police!" the photographer shouts, pointing at his destroyed camera scattered across the ground. "Look what he did to my camera! Police! Police!"
My heart beats into a frenzy. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
"Come on, Cameron. Let's go." I grab his hand—still trembling with adrenaline—and try to pull him through the stunned crowd.
He's much stronger than me, but somehow my touch seems to break through his fury. Posey clings to my other hand while Edison rushes ahead, parting the way as we push toward the parking area.
We're almost to the Rolls-Royce when I hear the sound that makes my blood turn to ice. Sirens.
A black-and-white police car rolls up just as we reach the vehicle. "Are you Cameron Crow?" one officer calls out. Cameron stops walking. His shoulders sag under the weight of inevitability.
"Yes."
"You're under arrest for assault and destruction of property."
"Daddy Cameron!"
Posey screams as they produce handcuffs. The photographer appears with his cell phone, recording every second of Cameron's humiliation. I want to grab that phone and smash it too, but I have Posey to think about. I can't say anything.
All I can do is hold his daughter while she sobs hysterically and restrain Edison from lunging at the officers by his collar.
"Daddy! Daddy Cameron!"
One officer pushes down Cameron's head as they guide him into the back seat.
The car drives away, taking Cameron to the police station. And leaving me with his terrified child and the realization that our perfect moment just shattered.