Page 66 of Shark Cove

Harry came down the stairs, brushing her long brown hair. She’d put lipstick on, an unfamiliar touch of red, and she looked beautiful in a scoop-necked tee and tight jeans.

“Where you going?” Harry asked, slipping a pearl earring into one of her lobes.

“Just for a walk. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Dad’s outside and he’d like to see you.”

Malia hurried to grab her shoes by the front door, peeking out to make sure the reporters were gone. Thankfully, they were. She walked down to the turnout and paced back and forth, missing her phone and worrying about Camille.Why hadn’t her friend called yet?

She heard the Mercedes’s engine, and Blake drove up.

He’d taken time to shave and his hair was wet from a shower. He smelled minty and delicious when he opened the door for her. Malia wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Instead, she closed the car’s door quietly as she sank into the soft leather seat. “Thanks for coming.”

He moved a swath of hair out of her eyes. “Tell me what’s been going on.”

Malia pulled her legs up under her hoodie, turning to face him as she folded in on herself. “A lot. But you can’t talk to anybody about it until they say we can. Promise?”

“Of course.”

Malia told him everything about what had gone down at Shark Cove.

“So, while I was at football practice, you were stealing Camille’s car and chasing kidnappers around the island?”

“Borrowed. IborrowedCamille’s car. And even though I saved her, I had a totally scary interview down at the station, and I’m a witness in the case. Apparently, Leonard William, some other guys, and the main kidnapper I hit with the car died. Mom’s going to be at the station all day today, working on the case.”

“Holy shit,” Blake breathed. “You’re a hero.”

“What was I going to do? Sit in the car while Camille got shot? What surprises me about the whole thing was how easy it was for me to run that guy down. How much I wanted to drive right over him and finish the job.” Her teeth had begun to chatter again.

Blake pulled Malia over, pressing her close against him, his arms tight and strong around her. Her ear rested over his heart, the slightly accelerated thud of it matching hers, and for a long moment that was enough.

Slowly her arms loosened from around her legs as the tension melted from her body. She unfolded, sliding her hands up the muscles of his arms and around his neck, turning her head toward his, extending her legs for support. The shivering stopped, leaving a blooming warmth in its place that drove darkness out of her thoughts and anchored her in this perfect moment.

For long moments, nothing butnowhappened, and that was all, and more than enough.

Malia pulled back. “I haven’t talked to Camille about us yet. I tried to call her this morning from the house phone, but she wasn’t picking up. I don’t have any minutes on the burner, and I’m still grounded from my own phone.”

“I told you I’d talk to her. Let me try now.”

Malia’s throat went dry—would Camille be devastated?Was this the right time to tell her she and Blake were together, with the trauma from the kidnapping so fresh?

Camille might be even more hurt by hearing this from Blake, at a time when she needed all the support she could get. Malia opened her mouth to tell him to let her talk to Camille first, but he’d already called. “Camille? It’s Blake. Are you okay?” His voice was warm and soft.

It was wrong to sit here listening to him. Malia felt sick again, wishing she’d found some way to talk to Camille herself. She opened the door, gave Blake a little wave, and walked rapidly back down the road and back to the house.

When Malia got homethe house was silent, and the red rental car was gone. She hurried into the kitchen.

“Mom?” No one there. She peeked into the garage—her mom’s car was gone, too.

She found a note by the coffeemaker:“Malia: I had to go to work, and your dad’s got some errands. I’ll call later. ~Mom

Kylie came downstairs, pushing snarls out of her eyes as she headed to the pantry cupboard and got a box out. She shook some Lucky Charms into a bowl. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Malia looked at the clock—would Camille be done talking to Blake yet? As if on cue, the house phone rang. She ran over and snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Malia?” Camille’s voice sounded hoarse, thready. “When can I see you?”

“I’m so glad you called. I’ve been worried sick! But I’m stuck at the house with no wheels, and I can’t leave Kylie here alone even if I could get a ride.” Malia paced back and forth, brought up short by the beige phone cord.

“You can leave me here,” Kylie said, digging into her bowl of cereal. “I’m almost twelve, and that’s legal to be left alone.”

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