Page 39 of Pointy Ears and Purple Glitter
Malik’s lips twitched despite the serious situation. “Get some sleep, Ian. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
After ending the call, Tynan sat in stunned silence for a moment, his wings folding unconsciously closer to his body. “If Hayley’s still in town and someone else is controlling her social media…”
“Then she might be in real danger,” Malik said grimly. “And Mrs. Cooper’s desperation to stop our investigation makes more sense.”
“She knows something.” Tynan’s mind raced through possibilities. “The way she reacted when we mentioned ‘G’…”
“And now an account supposedly belonging to Hayley posts in the middle of the night, telling everyone to stop looking.” Malik shook his head. “This just got a lot more complicated.”
Tynan’s phone chimed with Ian’s message. The screenshots showed Hayley’s response exactly as Ian had described - formal language that felt nothing like her previous casual posts.
“Tomorrow we need to trace where this was posted from,” Tynan said, determination replacing his earlier contentment. “If Hayley’s in trouble, we need to find her.”
Chapter Nineteen
Malik woke before his alarm, his body tense and his mind immediately alert. The late-night call from Ian about Hayley’s social media activity hadn’t helped with his restlessness. As the first light of dawn filtered through the high windows, he carefully disentangled himself from Tynan’s sleeping form and slipped out of bed.
Padding silently into the kitchen, Malik started the coffee maker, his thoughts cycling through the recent events. The vandalism at the workshop, Mrs. Cooper’s threats, and now this mysterious Instagram post from an account that shouldn’t be active. His rhino stirred beneath his skin, sensing his agitation.
“You’re up early,” Sparky observed from his perch on the kitchen counter. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Just thinking,” Malik replied, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Tynan.
“About the girl?” Sparky tilted his head. “Or the increased presence of those thugs I’ve noticed hanging around the neighborhood?”
Malik’s head snapped up. “What thugs?”
“The ones watching your workshop. Three different groups over the past few days.” Sparky preened his feathers nonchalantly. “I didn’t mention it because they weren’t doing anything except observing.”
“Damn it, Sparky.” Malik ran a hand over his head. “You should have told me.”
“They weren’t doing anything threatening.” The raven shrugged, an oddly human gesture on a bird. “Just watching. Taking notes, maybe. I figured you knew.”
Malik’s jaw tightened. Surveillance meant someone was planning something. His rhino didn’t like being watched in his own territory.
“Do they look like Grok’s people?” he asked.
“I haven’t got anything to go on beyond those two goons who attacked us that first night. These guys are younger. More coordinated. They move like they’ve had training. Military, maybe, or they could be just trying to give that impression.” Sparky hopped closer. “Are we getting jam roll for breakfast? A bird needs sustenance for surveillance tales.”
Malik absently cut a slice of jam roll and placed it on a paper towel for Sparky, his mind racing through possibilities. The fact that they were younger men suggested they were part of Garrison’s crew. But why watch a place without making a move? Were they building a pattern of his comings and goings?They’re going to get bored pretty quickly if that’s the case.
The coffee finished brewing just as Tynan wandered into the kitchen, silver hair tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded.
“You should have woken me,” he murmured, accepting the mug Malik handed him.
“You looked peaceful.” Malik pressed a kiss to Tynan’s forehead. “But we need to talk. Sparky says we’ve had people watching the workshop.”
Tynan’s eyes widened, instantly alert. “Garrison’s men or Grok’s?”
“Garrison’s most likely. Grok would call me if there was an issue with his lot.” Malik leaned against the counter. “They haven’t done anything yet, just observing.”
“That’s not comforting.” Tynan took a sip of his coffee. “What are they waiting for?”
Before Malik could answer, his phone rang. The workshop line, forwarded to his cell outside of business hours.
“Malik’s Motors,” he answered.
“Boss?” Ian’s voice was tight with stress. “I think I’m being followed.”
