The Hollis Code: They'll kill to keep it a secret by Welbourne HB

Author:Welbourne, HB
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

As the convoy weaves its way through the Delaware coastal towns, Sam clutches his phone like a lifeline, awaiting the digital pings that beckon like sirens to a sailor. Each vibration holds the promise of a breakthrough—a local informant with eyes fixed on their trio of interest.

"Sam got something!" Jenny’s voice chirps from the backseat, her enthusiasm capable of powering an entire fleet of news vans.

"Spill," Sam urges without glancing away from the road, his determination shining brighter than the morning sun's glare. The pieces are falling into place swiftly, like gossip spreading on an episode of Below Deck.

"Old man at Hocker’s grocery claims he spotted a woman and a man with a dog stocking up on snacks like they're preparing for hibernation," Jenny reports, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Alright, simmer down, Jenny," Sam says under his breath though internally, excitement surges through him. Thoughts of Denise's penchant for trail mix surface in his mind from past stories they had covered.

"Does Beau resemble a Vizsla?" another voice crackles over the radio from the third van.

"Yep, that’s our furry companion," Sam confirms, mentally picturing Beau's rust-colored coat that likely demands more grooming expenses than Sam’s entire wardrobe.

"Could it be them?" skepticism lingers in the voice.

"Could be? Beau sticks out like a sore thumb around here," Sam retorts, adrenaline coursing through him as each mile marker passes rapidly.

Arriving at Bethany Beach feels like an invasion; cameras and notepads serve as their weapons instead of swords and shields. The air brims with salt and anticipation while his phone buzzes once more—another sighting near beachfront properties. He notices something odd: a few figures lingering near the beach, not locals, not press—at least not any press he recognizes. A chill runs down his spine, but he pushes the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Get some shots of those people," he instructs his crew, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. They quickly snap photos, capturing the strangers in the background, while Sam’s worry simmers beneath his professional demeanor.

"It’s time to earn your stripes," Sam declares as he scans the pastel array of houses lining the shore. Finally spotting the beach house, distinct with its freshly painted shutters, triumph swells within him.

"Ready with your mic, Sam?" Jenny is already halfway out of the van, her camera slung over one shoulder.

"Let's not rush things," Sam cautions though he can’t help but admire her boldness.

And there they are, visible through the blinds covering the sliding glass doors off the porch: Denise, exuding Vogue cover model vibes despite being on the run; Ryan, retaining his rugged charm; and Beau, carefree amidst human drama, perhaps contemplating which seagull looks most appetizing.

"Jackpot," Sam whispers, every reporter instinct urging action within him.

"This is our moment, team. Stay vigilant, stay silent, and please silence your phones," he instructs, his voice steady with authority. The team buzzes with exhilaration, each of them keenly aware of the headlines and glory that await. But as Sam watches them gear up, a pang of guilt

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