Chapter165 Discovering the Surname
Luann Weaver sat on the sofa with a bowl of fruit salad Myron had made, watching TV. Without realizing it, she drifted off to sleep. When she half-awoke, she found herself in bed with Myron Curtis by her side.
Luann Weaver lazily turned over, planning to go back to sleep when her phone vibrated under the pillow. It was a call from Nicholas. She got up and walked away to answer.
"Did I wake you?"
"Your call did."
"I'm sorry," Nicholas said apologetically, "I got held up and couldn't find the time. I'll be recording a song soon, and once I'm done, I'll come see you."
Luann glanced at the clock. "Just send me your location, and I'll come over."
Nicholas dismissed it, saying, "No big deal, I'm heading that way anyway."
"Send it over, I've got nothing on my plate right now."
There was a brief pause before Nicholas flicked his location over through iMessage.
Luann Weaver rubbed her forehead in frustration as she saw the nearly ten-mile drive.
She quickly got dressed, firing a question at him, "Don't you usually rent a private studio? Why the wait this time?"
Nicholas was silent.
Luann raised an eyebrow. Hmm. It looked like someone had pushed him around.
She ended the call, grabbed her car keys, and hurried out the door, not noticing that, as the door shut, Myron Curtis' eyes flickered open from his slumber.
It was nearly 1 a.m., and Luann was rushing out.
Who was she so eager to meet?
It seemed like someone had suggested coming over, but she had turned them down.
Could it be... that very close male friend she met back in Europe?
Myron hurried to follow her.
On the nearly empty street with only a couple of cars, Luann's vehicle zoomed forward.
She tapped her pale fingertip to play a rousing track on the music player.
Driving along, something felt off.
"That car behind me... has been trailing me for a few blocks now..."
She glanced in her rearview mirror to confirm her suspicion, alternating her speed now and then.
However, the pursuer's vehicle maintained a constant distance from hers.
"Looks like Myron Curtis overheard my call."
Realizing who it was, she firmly pressed on the gas pedal.
The sudden acceleration caused a brief hiccup before the car surged forward.
Myron Curtis following behind tightened the chase.
Luann had thought that with her driving skills, it'd be easy to shake him off.
After swerving a sharp corner, she glanced at the complex GPS map.
She had just taken about six twists in the streets, a maneuver not even professional racers could handle smoothly with her full-speed cornering tactics.
"This Myron Curtis is definitely keeping something from me," she concluded, aware that his driving was no less adept than her own.
"Fine, if he wants to tail me, let him," she decided.
Noticing that Luann had eased off, Myron also realized her intent.
Myron Curtis's knuckles turned white from the death grip he had on the steering wheel, but he slowly loosened his hold and gave his fingers a shake to relax them.
He had recognized Luann Weaver's skill on the track.
But facing her head-on, Myron was truly taken aback.
He couldn't let his guard down against this gal, not even for a second.
Just then, his cell phone started to ring.
He ignored it until the fourth ring, then finally answered.
"What's up?"
"I found that guy in Europe!"
Myron's expression froze for a second.
And in that moment of distraction, he didn't notice whether Luann had taken the left or the right turn ahead of him.
In an instant, he lost her.
Frustration creased the handsome brow of Myron Curtis. "Where are you? I'm on my way."
"Alright!"
Ten minutes later, Myron arrived at a bar.
He recoiled slightly as the heady mix of alcohol fumes and frenetic energy hit him. Dodging the crowd, he headed down the corridor toward a private booth.
"Hey, isn't that Myron Curtis?"
Holly Weiss, coming out of the bathroom and shaking her hands dry, widened her eyes in disbelief at the sight of Myron walking into a booth.
"Holy crap, I just saw a bunch of hotties heading into that booth."
"Is Myron here for a sneaky fling?"
The thought struck Holly, and she felt a sudden urge to stand up for Luann.
Her hand had just grasped the door to the booth when a group of women came stumbling out, looking distinctly disheveled.
Holly quickly ducked behind a wall.
Once everyone had cleared out, the door slowly closed.
Holly hesitated, about to block the door with her foot but not wanting to startle anyone inside.
The music was blaring too loudly for her to catch what the folks inside were saying.
Myron Curtis gestured to Eddy.
"The intel."
Eddy handed over a thick folder with an almost reverent attitude.
Myron flipped it open to the first page.
Blank.
He flipped another page, still blank.
"What is this?"
Eddy grinned mischievously. "Just keep looking, you'll see."
Myron inhaled deeply, patiently leafing through the pages.
Finally, on the last page, there was something written.
A single, bold word——Garcia.
Myron's gaze rose, sharp and deadly as he locked eyes with Eddy. His voice was calm, almost ethereal, but laced with a deadly intent.
"Eddy, are you playing games with me?"
Eddy shook his head vehemently. "How could I ever dupe you?"
"So, all you've dug up is a single clue?!" Myron Curtis, fuming, tossed a stack of papers onto Eddy. "I really should've kicked you out of the country!"
He shouldn't have gone easy on him!
Eddy spread his hands in helplessness, his face the picture of innocence.
"Bro, you think this guy's easy to look up?"
"His last name? I had to pry it out of the regulars at his bar!"
"As for everything else, nothing!"
It was like the man didn't even exist.
Eddy spoke with grave certainty, "Someone's definitely shielding their information."
"You said before, Luann Weaver was the same, right?"
"I'm now sure of it, Luann Weaver is no ordinary person; she definitely didn't grow up in the boonies before she turned eighteen."
Myron Curtis stared at him as if he were an idiot.
"No kidding!"
Which regular Joe starts performing abroad at such a young age?
Or races like a pro and has a knack for design?
Eddy sheepishly scratched his head, "We need to think this through, can't rush it."
Myron Curtis, hands massaging his temples.
Outside the door, Holly Weiss, clueless to their conversation, had caught a glimpse of the name Garcia.
"Garcia... Adolph? Please don't tell me they're onto Adolph..."
A rare look of concern crossed Holly Weiss' face.
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