Out of the Blue

by Kathryn Nolan

  “I will, and thank you,” I said before hanging up with my stomach in knots. I trusted Quentin’s expertise around this more than the need to follow procedures, but even though I was only doing it to keep her safe, something told me Marilyn wouldn’t feel the same way once she found out.

  Serena looked at me from where she stood in the lobby, dark eyes connecting with mine. It was like taking a goddamn arrow to the heart. But then she checked her phone and went totally pale at whatever she saw there.

  I was through those glass doors and by her side immediately.

  “Cope,” she whispered, unsettled.

  “Why don’t we wait on the couches over there,” I said, aware of people watching us. The receptionist waved and mouthed, “One more minute.” Serena smiled back weakly before following me. She sank onto the cushions, spine straight, and discreetly passed her phone over.

  The message was from a blocked number again. We know you have the information. Give it back, or things are about to get a lot worse for you.

  Fury churned in my gut. I took a screenshot and sent it to Quentin.

  They’re ratcheting up the threats, he replied. Will bring more news and intel tonight at Serena’s house.

  I slid the phone back and showed her Quentin’s response. She nodded, swallowing hard, before fixing her expression. She reached for the San Diego Times open on the glass table and angled it on her lap so I could read the article catching her attention. The headline was about Aerial sponsoring next year’s Olympics in Barcelona.

  Their investment in the world’s most famous sporting event marks a new tone, one that emphasizes sustainability and environmentalism over profit. Advocates for climate justice have praised the move as the right step forward.

  I scanned the rest of the article quickly and stopped at the space below the fold, where there was a sizable picture of Serena standing in her wet suit with her surfboard at the Jaws competition.

  She shifted on the couch and passed the article to me.

  The company recently announced the newest ambassador of its eco-conscious brand: the sometimes controversial Serena Swift, who caught Aerial’s attention after dominating what was measured to be a fifty-foot wave at the popular Jaws pro surfing event.

  That churning fury faded to a tiring disappointment in this description of her. There was no way to say anything or do anything in front of all these people, so I took out my own phone and sent her a covert text message: For the record, I thought your post about the Men’s Workout Journal list was hilarious, not controversial.

  Her lips curved into a smile. She responded: I was very proud of it.

  There was a beat, and then she said: Talking about the things people want to ignore is always controversial.

  Marty strolled into the lobby, whistling, and the back of my neck prickled with danger.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You two seem relaxed and happy. Serena, you’re practically glowing.”

  “I had a great night’s sleep,” she replied.

  He reached for the newspaper and snatched it from her fingers. “Did you read our big article in the paper? It’s only up from here.”

  Her smile was fixed in a way only I’d recognize. “I’m looking forward to representing a company with such a strong moral code.”

  I studied my shoes to hide my smirk.

  “And Mr. McDaniels, we’re happy to have Banks Security support us these next couple weeks,” he continued, giving me a jaunty little pat on the arm that made me want to break his fingers. “Serena’s profile is only going to explode from here, and we want to make sure you’re on high alert at the next couple events. Lots of fans, lots of admirers, and we know how those crowds can get a little overwhelming when you’re preparing to compete.”

  “Happy to do it, sir,” I said. “I shall remain dedicated and focused on whatever tasks Ms. Swift might need from me.”

  “Wonderful,” he said. “Dedicated and focused. What a guy, huh?”

  Her eyes flashed with secret humor. “Mr. McDaniels has shown himself to be quite skilled in many different areas.”

  You taught me how to give you the pleasure you deserve. You think I could forget how amazing this feels?

  “So glad to hear it,” he said. We followed him back down the long hallway with framed pictures of athletes in motion. My wife sensually swished her hips in front of me like a tease, making me want to break a lot of rules by catching her at the waist and dragging her into one of these empty offices. See what kind of sexy fun we could get up to in a building filled with flat surfaces.

  There was no preparing for the way it felt to openly desire Serena—and be desired by her in return. Her beautiful honesty this morning had pressed open the memories of our relationship I didn’t like to analyze because avoiding my own guilt and regret was easier than accepting it. I didn’t think I’d ever hear Serena say, ‘I miss you every day, and I’ve never been able to stop,’ didn’t think I had a partner in this mutual pining I’d carried for four years. Sex between us had always been intimate—but expressing our apologies and secret longings had only deepened it.

  Marty welcomed us into the room where Serena had been interviewed by Chase just two days ago. “Thank you again for coming down today. I’m sure you’re exhausted from competing.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. Her enthusiasm had dimmed as soon as we stepped through the doors. He didn’t seem to pick up on it, pouring her coffee and giving her a seat at the very end. The long table was full of Aerial employees—the marketing team, I guessed. They shared Marty’s affable, outdoorsy exterior and were busy examining large sheets of paper arranged in the middle.

  I placed myself in the corner, desperate to know what Quentin had found out and trying to decipher whatever game these brothers were playing. The messages were escalating in tone. And the look on Marty’s face yesterday—when he stared at Serena like she was his mortal enemy—didn’t match up with the friendly vibe permeating this room.

  One guy leaned over in his seat toward Serena. “Tough set out there at Trestles, huh?” he asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s just not your day.”

  “Fucking sucks,” he said. “We all pegged you for the top spot.”

  “And we’re perfectly okay with it,” Marty cut in. “Our brand sponsors don’t have to do anything for Aerial except be themselves. Besides, The Wedge is firing tomorrow, and I’ve got a good feeling about her chances. What do you think, Serena?”

  “I’m prepared to win,” she answered smoothly.

  I squeezed my left wrist tighter. For an extreme athlete like Serena, giant, unpredictable waves known for sucking surfers into whirlpools would be exciting. I had memories of my dad saying the same thing, getting up at 4:00 in the morning to surf The Wedge when the reports were favorable. He always returned, shaking his wet hair out like a dog and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Those waves today were priceless!” he’d say. Beneath the grief over his death was the reminder that this sport had meant joy to him. That grin on his face was the same one Serena wore walking out of the ocean, wild-eyed and elated.

  Her joy was priceless too.

  If Serena and I were attempting to move past our old hurts, then I was going to have to work on that whole worry and trust thing Caleb talked about.

  “I am loving your enthusiasm today,” Marty said, clapping his hands together. “Now let’s get a peek at the mock-up of this article. We’ve worked with Heavy for every ambassador debut we’ve done, and we trust them to find the right angle, of who you are and what you represent in our industry.”

  Serena seemed briefly nervous. “Did Chase say anything about the interview?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Only that you’ll be meeting next week so he can get a few final thoughts.” He waved her over to the table. I couldn’t see what she was looking at, but I could absolutely see her reaction to it.

  Her lips curled and her cheeks went red. She swallowed a few times before saying, “What
is this?”

  “Your article,” he said, sounding pleased. “I mean, we need your actual words and responses in here, but they were able to block a few items about you, and we’ll be photographing you wearing some of our newest line of bathing suits.”

  “Bikinis?” she asked.

  “Of course, why not? They’re made in America, sustainably produced, with recycled polyester. A real first for the industry, which is why it should be worn by a trailblazer like you.” He tilted his head as if just now realizing her very obvious discomfort. “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy. Is it the coffee? It’s fair trade, you know.”

  “It’s not the coffee,” she said slowly. She leaned on her hands across the table and tapped a large box of text. “We sat down with the hottest woman in surfing to talk about her favorite smoothie recipes, the mascara she can’t live without and how she gets that six-pack. Is that definitely going into the article?”

  Marty hesitated. “Well, to be honest, yes.”

  I fought to keep my face passive while wondering what it would feel like to kick Marty square in the nuts just for fun.

  “It sounds like you’ve already decided what my angle is going to be, then? Bikinis and smoothies?” She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m a professional athlete. I can hold my breath for four minutes under the water and can out-bench-press every person in here. This says I’m nothing but a sex symbol, and I expressed to Aerial from the very beginning that I wanted this company to actively combat diminishing women in the sport.”

  Marty set his own coffee down and gave Serena a sympathetic smile. “I hear you, and I’m listening. Let me be perfectly clear. This first article about you? We want it to be fun, personal, and positive. And yes, we even want it to be…” He dropped his voice like he was embarrassed. “A little bit sexy. We might be on the forefront of climate justice, but sex still sells, and we need to sell. Your role, in fact, is to help us sell.” He shrugged casually, even though he wasn’t the one being paraded around practically naked in a magazine. “We get a few of the sexy ones out of the way, right off the bat, and then you can start tackling some of that heavy stuff.”

  Serena arched her brow and didn’t back down. “You literally just said you wanted your ambassadors to be themselves. Nothing about the angle of this article feels like me. I can be a positive role model in this industry and draw attention to how we can do better. It’s not either-or.”

  He was nodding along in a parody of listening. Every interaction with one of the Lattimore brothers peeled back a layer of whatever fake personality they had constructed. Because as I studied the body language of the marketing team, they were annoyed and offended by what Serena was saying—the exact opposite of what they’d promised her.

  Maybe they were all liars.

  “At Aerial,” he said, tone patronizing. “It’s very important that our ambassadors have a positive influence and attitude.”

  Irritation was scrawled on her face. “I really want athletes that look like me to be taken seriously and given the respect they deserve. I’m pretty sure I can handle doing both of those things at the same time.” She shook her head. “I don’t approve of this article or the angle. I just don’t. Your last few ambassadors were giving interviews on harmful micro-plastics and low-waste lifestyles immediately. The only difference is that they were men.”

  There was an undercurrent of you’ll do what we say and shut up about it running through this conversation, and it had me on edge.

  For the forty-eight hours I had a gun trained on my face as a hostage, I’d watched Gary Duncan transform from his nice guy exterior to a man driven by pure greed and the belief that he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  I never forgot that, never forgot how he’d betrayed my trust as the person sent to protect him twelve hours a day. Those same vibes, that same instinct, were starting to go haywire now. Serena’s eyes darted to mine as if picking up on my concern.

  Marty moved to her side and lightly patted her shoulder. She stiffened next to him. My vision started to go red at the edges.

  “This is a long partnership. One that I’m truly looking forward to. Sometimes, during this partnership, we’re going to disagree on our shared vision or goals. That’s okay with me, it’s part of the process. Now, the icky part of this is that contractually you owe us this article. And while we appreciate your feedback, and we’ll take it into consideration, I wasn’t asking for your permission or approval.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “We’re going to move ahead regardless. This was more of a courtesy than anything else,” he said. “We thought you’d be excited to see such a huge piece of publicity.”

  I wondered if Serena caught the impatience in his compassionate tone. I sure did.

  She kept her posture straight and stared right back at Marty. “I won’t pretend that this—” She pointed at the mock-up. “—is okay with me. I’ll fulfill my contractual obligation, but I’m not going to stay quiet about the things I care about.”

  Her voice was hoarse with emotion—but I didn’t miss the fear in her eyes. She’d made this company unhappy, and they were about to be even more unhappy after Quentin broke whatever story this shit-show was actually about. Her fingers twisted together, but she held her head high with confidence.

  “And we would never ask you to stay quiet,” Marty said. He held his arm outstretched to the door, clearly indicating that this weird-ass meeting was over. “Just remember—positive. We’re happy, you’re happy, and together we’re going to make big changes. Big changes.”

  “Sure, but I still have—”

  “Mr. McDaniels?” he said, speaking directly over her. “Thank you again for your great work. Looking forward to seeing you both at The Wedge tomorrow for our press conference. It should be a beautiful day for Aerial and for you, Serena.”

  He shook her hand, and mine, with rapid-fire movements, ending the conversation and gently shutting the door in our faces before either one of us could blink.

  “What the fuck,” Serena said.

  I hid my nervous laughter with a cough into my fist. Then I placed my palm low on her back and guided her two offices down into a room I’d clocked as dark and empty when we passed it earlier. I hustled her inside and shut the door behind us.

  “Still what the fuck?” she repeated.

  “I have an idea,” I whispered, tugging her close to me. “And I’ll preface it by saying that this idea is a) absolutely not in the bodyguard handbook and b) highly unethical or, some might say, actually illegal.”

  Her lips were twitching. “Go on.”

  “I hate that Marty dude.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  “What if we broke into his office to search for incriminating information or clues?”

  She chewed on her lip, considering it. “This has get spontaneously married in Vegas vibes written all over it.”

  I flashed her my cockiest grin. “And look how great that turned out.”

  26

  Cope

  As soon as the elevator doors closed, Serena reached into her bag and handed me something slender and metallic.

  A bobby pin.

  “Reading my mind, sunshine?”

  “It’s all those spy movies you used to make us watch,” she said with a sly grin. “I picked up on some things.”

  I took it from her fingers and worked it open, slipping it inside my shirt cuff. Then I dipped my mouth to her ear. “But you never could focus on the movie, could you?”

  She twirled a strand of hair around one finger. “And you were so easy to distract, weren’t you?”

  The elevator doors opened.

  “After you, Ms. Swift,” I said. Her brown eyes sparkled when they met mine, and I couldn’t deny the simple satisfaction of flirting with my wife again.

  I followed behind her as she walked toward the office where Marty had first asked us about the missing information. Serena had prepared a flimsy excuse for why we w
ere up there—got lost looking for the bathroom—but Aerial employees didn’t appear suspicious. They bustled about, heading to meetings, and greeted her enthusiastically when she made eye contact.

  We turned the corner, and I saw Marty’s office door, closed and presumably locked. I would need to move extremely fast to pick this lock before a random staff member walked down this hallway. A group passed us by, gawking at Serena in a can I have your autograph way, and she stopped abruptly to address them.

  I stood by her for all of ten seconds before I realized she was giving me a diversion. As she chatted brightly, she pulled their focus, down the other end of the hallway, closer to the elevators. I backed away from them slowly with my phone to my ear in case I needed to pretend to be on an urgent call. Glancing both ways, heart beating a ridiculous tattoo, I leaned against the wall right next to Marty’s door while blathering into my phone.

  “Uh huh… wait, what?… no, that can’t be…”

  I slid the pin out, into Marty’s door, twisting the way I’d been taught. And, thank the gods of corporate scandal, it clicked open like a dream, and I stepped inside.

  I pressed my back to the wall and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. There were no overhead lights on, only what was filtering in from the windows, and right away I could see how clean and sanitized this space was. In the right-hand corner was a small white table with four blue chairs. There was a low, gray couch and a table with a coffee pot and succulents. His desk had multiple monitors, a few filing cabinets, and what I assumed was a coat closet.

  I scanned the room quickly for security cameras or any kind of motion sensors. My clients often had state of the art equipment in their offices, most barely visible, but I’d spent a lot of hours just standing around. I was basically an expert in spotting tiny, inconspicuous cameras. I didn’t find a single one but knew there was still a risk we’d show up on a video loop somewhere—Marty had told us himself that Serena had been spotted talking to Catalina by their external cameras. We could have been filmed in the elevator, filmed in that hallway…