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The reason I asked for them over his sausage-stuffed croissants became clear the second the food hit my tongue. He had eaten some of the hash browns. I must have noticed and filed it away, and our weird daemon quirk urged me to complete the loop by sharing food with him.
Mouth full, Clay answered around his fork when his phone rang. “Kerr.”
At his hand wave, Asa and I tuned in, with me straining to hear what came to them easily.
“Found some bones,” a low voice grumbled across the line. “Picked clean.”
“Where?”
“Folly Island.”
“We’re on our way.”
“Make it quick.” The caller grunted. “Had to pull one out of Fran’s mouth.”
“Thanks, man.” He pocketed his phone and rubbed his temples. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”
Since Clay knew everyone under the sun, I asked, “Who’s Fran?”
“She’s part turkey vulture, and yes, that is a weird-ass shifter designation.”
All I needed was for her to fall in love with roadkill to be in one of my romance novels.
He was clinging to life. She was swooping down to eat him. Then their lives collided, literally.
Yeah.
I might need to dial it back on the improbable shifters if I was blurbing their stories in my head.
“I’ll check on Colby.” I handed Asa the rest of my sandwich. “Then we can go.”
“I’ll give the Vandenburghs a heads-up,” Clay offered, “see if they want to join us.”
While the guys planned our trip, I ducked into her room and found her snoring on her pillow.
Knowing how she loved to sleep with it, I searched for her green blanket, but it was nowhere in sight.
I wrote a quick note and left it beside her, telling her where we had gone and ordering her to check in the second her eyes opened. Then we locked up and headed for the beach.
