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“Guess your dumping him didn’t take.”
Jeremy’s gaze swept right between them and he frowned harder but kept going, finished his perusal, and finally got into the car.
“Maybe I should go find a phone so I can call him and ask why he’s looking for me.” Then she looked back down at Paul Quaid, who’d returned to the workshop, then came out carrying two more sculptures. One was a cartoon bulldog that made her smile. That had to be a good sign, right? “I think you’re right, Zig. I think he’s going to leave soon.” She couldn’t abandon this, not when they were so close. Not even to call Jeremy.
But she would call him later. As soon as they finished their mission here, she would call him. God, seeing him had made her heart crack and fall into a thousand pieces. She ached for him. She almost wished he’d seen her there.
She closed her eyes.
“You really love that guy, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Misty said. “But I love what we’re doing, too.”
Zig shrugged. “Don’t just assume you have to choose between them, though. Okay? I think there’s a way you can have both.”
“Really? How?”
“Didn’t say I knew how, just that there’s a way. There’s always a way.”
“Sounds like something my mom would say. Or Aunt Rache.”
“My mom’s been saying it my whole life,” Zig said. “And I’ve seen it proven true more times than I can count.”
Misty tipped her head to one side. “Actually, so have I.”
* * *
RACHEL
I sat at a table in the shadowed recesses of the dining floor where I could see everything I wanted to see and not be too noticeable myself. I watched every patron who came and went throughout the waning afternoon. The curtains were closed over the tank, but I knew the merfolk were in there, rehearsing for their next show. Mason still hadn’t come back, and he hadn’t texted an update in more than an hour.
It made me antsy.
There was commotion over by the entrance. Three drop dead gorgeous forty or so males had come in. They were wearing the entire wait staff’s income in brand names, and they were loud. To me, people who are loud in public places are shouting, “Hey! Notice me! I’m important!” And also, frequently, “I have more money than you!”
Mr. Mackey came hurrying from that little hallway to the right of the tank, smiling so widely I had to do a double take to be sure he wasn’t just some happy dude who looked like Mackey. But no, it was the grouchy asshole himself, grinning and pumping hands, first with the loudest one of all, he of the extra-long blond side-bang and clothes he probably thought were cool. The others deferred to him, and Mackey practically bowed.
I’d done my research. I knew their names and faces. They’d bought the place ten years ago, and Earl Mackey had been a mere bartender. Barron White was the leader. Raphael Jones and Andy Chay were his business partners and sidekicks. There were handshakes and shoulder claps all around, and then the entire group crossed the length of the room, talking as if everyone really should be able to hear them. They were staying at “the cottage up at Shoreline.” They’d arrived this morning and decided to “pop in early and see what really goes on around here.” Har har har.
Barron White veered behind the bar and helped himself to a couple of bottles from the top shelf, then rejoined the others at the far end.
He caught me watching him, though, and winked at me so I flipped him off. He burst out laughing, rejoined his cohorts and they chortled and all the way into that private room with a full wall of glass through which they could ogle the mermaids.
My phone chimed. Mason. It was about freaking time. I answered with, “A bad boy billionaire just winked at me. You should watch me better.”
“You want me to punch him in the nose?”
“I’ll let you know. What’s up on your end?”
“Kind of a lot. I need you.”
“Where?”
“Eventually, the morgue.”
“What?” My blood drained all the way to my feet. “Mason, what the hell is going on? I can’t leave Christy here, not with the boy band full of suspects who just showed up.”
“There’s a band?”
