The man riding a bicycle in the footage was dressed like a golfer; pastel green polo shirt, beige trousers, white shoes, sunglasses. And no, she had to admit that she hadn’t spotted him once. “You think he’s been following us?”

“I know he’s been following us. On foot at first. He didn’t appear on a bike until we were on horseback, must have rented one from the bike shop next to the stables.”

“You’re certain?”

“Adamant.”

“Okay, so now we have to find out which one of us he’s following, and why.”

“How do we do that?” asked Blythe.

“Leave that to me.” Rose’s stock reply when she had no clue how to proceed in a private investigation or a story for her column. Projecting confidence was important in every situation in a big city, she’d come to learn if a woman wanted to be taken seriously. Now it was a habit.

The guy was still there, peddling along the track parallel to the bridle path, at a discreet enough distance behind them but nonetheless exactly where she would be if she were shadowing a mark. This had to be about Bellamy. The timing was just too striking. His sudden appearance, unknown background, his mysterious assignment, her mom being so defensive about him; it all pointed to something unsavory.

She slowed down, waited for Bellamy to catch up. “Ever seen that man before?” She pointed out the solitary cyclist, and he must have seen her because he suddenly sped up and peddled out of sight.

“No.”

“Any reason you might be being followed?”

“None that can think of.”

“Just a leaf in a breeze, huh?”

He quirked a grin and met her stare. “If you like.”

Rose jabbed a threatening finger at him. “If I find out you’re lying, you’ll find out how fast that breeze becomes a freakin’ hurricane. Okay?”

He shrugged in reply, then motioned to a row of hedges ahead to their left. There was a long field beyond it, with soccer posts lying flat on the grass and a large, deflated bouncy cushion and some kind of generator with a fan inside. Bellamy dug his heels into his horse’s sides and geed it into a sprint. Rose watched in awe as Bellamy made his way ahead of them.

He cleared the hedge, circled the field, and jumped back onto the path they were on, drawing applause from passersby. “I didn’t spot the fellow,” he reported. No doubt the guy could ride, and shoot, and be sweet and polite. But right now, he was between Rose and the truth.

Not a place he would stay for very long.