What was with these people? Were they totally out of touch with what real life meant for the lower socioeconomic classes? He had bigger things to worry about than whether his water had been filtered, whether his vegetables were non-GMO and organic and whether the hamburger he’d had for dinner supported an industry that significantly contributed to global warming. He didn’t want some wealthy retiree wearing Birkenstocks and drinking kombucha lecturing him on the dangers of smoking, let alone the carcinogens in animal protein. And he sure as hell had no interest in hiking, biking or doing yoga. The people here had outlawed chain stores, for crying out loud. He couldn’t even get a Big Mac in this place.

Dropping his duffel bag on the floor, he sank onto the bed in the room he’d rented in a mission-style hotel. It was a much nicer room than he was used to, but all the places to stay out here were expensive. And he didn’t have a lot of time to mess around. He needed to get Tia’s photograph, and he needed it bad.

He hoped it would be worth the effort he was putting into it. He was going to be pissed if his informant was wrong, especially because he’d had to tell his editor he was certain he could get the shot just to get the chance to follow up on the lead.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check his messages.

His editor was on his ass again.

Have you found her yet?

Barely got here, Eddie. What, do you think I can just snap my fingers and she’ll appear?

It’s not that big a town, is it?

Jesus! It was a Saturday night. Didn’t the guy ever stop working?

No, but there are 7,000 people in the area, and she’s not exactly strolling down Main Street. She’s in hiding, remember? Otherwise, we’d be too late already. Someone else would’ve gotten what we want.

How long will it take to find her?

How should I know? A few days?

Let me remind you that the magazine’s paying your expenses. This is not a fucking vacation.

Irritated, he called his lousy editor an idiot before texting back. I get that. I’m not here for the hell of it. My informant knows what she’s talking about.

Then, have her give you the damn address.

She doesn’t have the address.

Can she get it before we get scooped?

We won’t get scooped. I’m the only one who has any idea where Tia Beckett is.

He’d given up a night out drinking with his buddies to work, which showed commitment, but he didn’t mention that. The sacrifice was nothing less than any good tabloid editor expected when a hot tip promised a big story.

How do you know?