Page 25 of Shark Cove

Mom had gotten Kylie moving too, so her little sister was ready at the front door on time as Malia unhooked their backpacks and handed her sister hers. “Bye, Mom!” she called up the stairs, but Harry was already in the shower.

Stepping outside into a cool morning filled with the chatter of mynah birds and the cooing of doves on the roof, Malia stiffened with shock. Blake’s Mercedes was parked in their driveway, and he opened the passenger door and stood out from it.

“Your chariot awaits, milady,” he said, with a flourish.

Kylie giggled. “Thanks.” Her little sister scampered to the car. “Don’t mind if I do. You can take that smelly old school bus, Malia.”

“Someone has to call the bus not to come by,” Malia protested.

“So, call,” Blake said. Just then the bus pulled up at the end of the driveway, and Malia waved it away. Yeah, they would send a complaint note later, but she’d probably be able to intercept it. The bus pulled away, and Malia advanced. “Kylie. In back.”

“I got here first.”

“Seriously? Airbags. Back seat.”

“I’m eleven, and you’re the same height as me,” Kylie sulked, but slithered into the back.

Malia slid into the buttery leather passenger seat, and Blake glanced down at her. “Guess she’s right. You are short.”

“Shut up.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.” He shut the door, then trotted around to the driver’s side and started the car. “I see you’re back in stealth mode.” He gave a nod toward her braids, hat, and big sweatshirt.

Malia ignored that. “Big news, Blake. I have to put an announcement on the blog about Camille. She’s been sent to Camp Willowslim in Idaho by her parents, supposedly.”

“What?” Blake hit the brakes. “You found Camille?”

“I just found out the story her mom told the police.” Malia filled him in on what Harry had told her as he got the car moving again. “And I called her dad to check.”

“What did Mr. William say?”

“He confirmed she was at the camp and shut me down.”

Blake cursed, then shot Kylie a glance in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, Kylie.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Kylie said, clearly enjoying her position leaning in between their seats. “Why don’t you believe Mom and Ms. William, Malia?”

“I’m having a hard time believing that Camille could be taken so far away, legally, by force—and not find some way to communicate. I’ve left my chat window open constantly; I’m always checking for text messages . . . I’ll let it go once I know she’s really there, and that she’s okay.”

Blake reached over to give her leg a pat and stopped, his hand doing an awkward movement back onto the steering wheel.

“You guys going out? Cuz that would be something to post on the blog,” Kylie said. Clearly, she’d seen his gesture.

“No,” they both said, and Malia glanced at Blake. “Glad we’re in agreement on that.”

Blake flicked his gaze to Kylie via the rearview mirror, and Malia thought he might have winked. Kylie removed herself to the back seat, smirking.

At school, they parked in the upperclassmen student lot. Kylie made a big production of leaving, pretending to lose something, digging under the seat and procrastinating. Finally, Malia barked, “Get lost! We’re talking here!”

“Well. Maybe you’re going out after all.” Kylie gave a sassy grin and trotted off.

“What did Leonard William say, exactly?” Blake asked. He seemed to have inched a bit closer toward her; in fact, he was definitely closer. His eyes were so dark, and those eyelashes were totally wasted on a guy . . .

Malia jerked back and turned away. “Oh. Mr. William. Yeah. He said Camille was at the camp with his permission. Said he was footing the bill, and that it wouldn’t hurt her to, quote, ‘toughen up and lose a few pounds.’ A mean old man. I was glad he wasn’t pissed at me for calling.”

“Too bad.” Blake was back in his own seat; it must have been her imagination that he’d been halfway into hers. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “That’s it then.”

“I guess it is. I’m out of ideas.”

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