The Megalodon Mix-Up

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I’m not delicate or anything.” I chose my words carefully. “I simply wasn’t expecting to see what I did. It was … brutal.”

  “I know you’re not delicate.” Jack’s hand was big and warm as it covered mine. “You’re strong. It’s just ... .”

  “What?”

  “You went through a lot today.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to allow the fear in when I was trying to get you out of the water because I thought it would be debilitating, but you could’ve easily died, Charlie. It’s not just the sharks — although they were a concern — but you hit the water hard. I heard it. You could’ve struck your head going down and we might never have been able to find you if you’d lost consciousness.”

  “Then the sharks definitely would’ve gotten me.”

  “I would like to say that’s not a possibility, but you saw what happened to Shayne Rivers’ body. You got really lucky today.”

  “And what does that have to do with the fact that I believe a Megalodon killed everyone’s least favorite author?”

  “I’m choosing to believe your nerves aren’t allowing you to see straight.”

  “That’s kind of insulting.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to argue with you about Megalodons, because it’s the absolute worst thing to do given what you’ve gone through.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That doesn’t stop me from wanting to take care of you.” He squeezed my hand, earnest. “You drive me crazy. I’m not going to lie. There are times I want to shake some sense into you.”

  “That’s lovely,” I drawled, causing him to smile.

  “There are other times I want to wrap you in bubble wrap because you’re so freaking cute it makes my head spin,” he added.

  And my cheeks were burning again. “Um ... .”

  “Those two emotions often wage a tug of war in my chest,” he said. “But no matter how cute I find you, I’ll never believe a Megalodon killed Shayne Rivers. That’s ... ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure that’s how Martin Brody felt when people on Amity Island started losing limbs in the water.”

  Jack’s face was blank for so long I realized he’d lost track of the conversation.

  “Martin Brody is the chief of police in Jaws,” I offered helpfully.

  “I know who he is.” Jack’s expression was hard to read. “I happen to love that movie.”

  I brightened considerably. “Me, too!”

  “I don’t love that you’re using Jaws logic as an actual argument.”

  “Well ... would you prefer I use Sharknado logic?”

  “There is no logic in Sharknado.”

  “We can agree on that.” I pretended to study my fingernails so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “I’m not ready to give up the idea that there’s a huge predator out there. It might not be a Megalodon, but that doesn’t mean it’s not something else.”

  Jack took me by surprise when he answered. “Fair enough. You’re allowed to believe what you want. I simply want you to promise you’ll be careful around the authors.”

  “I’m not afraid of the authors.”

  “No, but you are attracting them for some reason,” he noted. “You’ve made friends with several of them, including the pimento cheese girl and that mystery author you were talking to last night.”

  “Lily Harper Hart.”

  “Right. Another serial killer name.”

  I snorted, genuinely amused. “I don’t think it’s fair to say I’ve made friends with them. I’m simply interested in what they do, so I ask the appropriate questions. Like anybody else, they’re eager to talk about themselves.”

  “I still want you to be careful.” Jack was firm. “If one of them is a murderer, you might make a likely target to elicit information from. You’ve had enough trouble for this trip. Additional danger will probably drive me insane.”

  He was sweet when he wanted to be, which tugged on my heartstrings, even though his overbearing attitude grated. “I’ll be careful, Jack. I always am.”

  “Ugh. The sad thing is you believe that’s true. Just ... keep your eyes open. Your safety is important to me.”

  “I promise I’ll take care. You have my word on it.”

  “That will have to be good enough.”

  JACK HAD WORK TO FINISH after lunch. He suggested I nap while he did it — something that made me laugh, which annoyed him — but instead Millie suggested an outing to the resort spa. I’d never been to a spa, so I was intrigued enough to agree. Jack wasn’t keen on me being out of his sight, but Millie put her foot down and he ultimately acquiesced. The resort was on land, and well lit, which meant no potential shark attacks. He had nothing to worry about, which is exactly what Millie told him before dragging me out of the condo.

  Once we arrived at the spa, Millie took over and arranged for hot stone massages, facials and pedicures. Since this was a new experience, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was still flummoxed when I exited the massage room and found Millie soaking her feet in a tub of hot water.

  “I was just rubbed down with burning stones,” I announced.

  Millie arched an amused eyebrow. “Hot stones, and it’s good for you. It gets out all the tension and rubs away dead skin cells. You’re fine.”

  How could she possibly know that? She wasn’t there. “Listen ... .”

  “No, you listen.” Millie turned serious. “You could’ve easily died today. I know you’re putting on a brave front for Jack — and that’s kind — but you need to take care of yourself now. That means you enjoy the massage and pedicure and shut up.”

  I was taken aback by her tone. “See if I almost get eaten by sharks again when you’re around to make me feel better,” I grumbled as I climbed in the chair to her left and watched a woman — she was entirely too smiley — fill a churning basin with steaming water. “I have sensitive feet.”

  “You’ll survive. Pick a nice color for Jack.”

  I slid her a sidelong look. “You need to watch what you say about that in front of him. He’s dealing with a lot right now and I don’t want him worrying that you’re going to let something slip.”

  Millie made an exaggerated face. “Oh, please. The only ones who don’t know are Chris and Hannah, and that’s because they’re wrapped up in each other.”

  “Are you sure Laura knows?” I was on the fence on that one. I couldn’t help but feel Laura would be angrier if she truly grasped the situation.

  “I think Laura suspects,” Millie corrected. “She doesn’t want to believe what her intuition is telling her. She’ll figure it out for certain pretty quickly, though. Jack’s reaction to you going into the water was a dead giveaway.”

  “That’s not fair. He thought I was going to be chomped on.”

  “Do you think he would’ve reacted the same way if I went into the water?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s very fond of you.”

  Millie snorted. “The boy almost fell apart. He managed to keep his head, which was good because it was a tense situation, but there were a few minutes when I didn’t think he’d be able to hold it together. I don’t care what you say, he wouldn’t have sat on the deck and petted me for twenty minutes after the fact.”

  “He was upset,” I said lamely.

  “Oh, you’re cute, too.” She poked my side. “You guys are good for each other. Er, well, you will be once you calm down a bit. You’re getting there, but still have a ways to go.”

  “Thank you,” I said dryly, forcing my eyes forward.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I lost interest in the conversation quickly when I recognized three women from the tiki bar sitting in chairs across the aisle. They were all deep in conversation, their heads bent together as they whispered. They had their toes stuffed under what looked to be dryers and were either oblivious to our presence or simply didn’t care that they had an audience.

  “Who is that?” Millie asked, lowering her voice as she followed my gaze. “Do y
ou know them?”

  I nodded, thoughtful. I didn’t remember the three women hanging around together the previous evening, so seeing them together now seemed somehow odd. “Leslie Downs,” I supplied, pointing at the woman who had helmet hair. “She writes thrillers with James Sanderson. I think she might have stalked him, too.”

  Millie widened her eyes, amused. “I know James. I can give him a call if you want.”

  I was dumbfounded. “You know James Sanderson?”

  “You’d be surprised at the number of rich people who travel in the same circles as Myron,” she replied. “I’ve met James quite a few times. I can get in touch with him if you want.”

  It couldn’t hurt. “If you can, that would be great. I’m dying to know the truth about what went down with him and her. I’m pretty sure she stalked him.”

  “I’ll call him.” Millie switched her gaze to the woman in the middle of the group. “Who is the one with the red hair?”

  “That would be Abigail James. She writes JAFF.”

  “What’s JAFF?”

  “Jane Austen fan fiction.”

  “I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

  “Join the club. She seems nice enough, if a little high strung. She talks with her eyes closed when she’s drunk. I thought that was weird until another writer explained she does it because she dictates her writing and it’s a reflex or something. I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Talking to someone when they have their eyes closed is disconcerting.”

  “Yeah, well, it was definitely weird.”

  “And the third woman?” Millie prodded. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Priscilla Jennings. She’s a romance writer who has nothing nice to say about Shayne Rivers.”

  “From what I can tell, nobody had anything nice to say about Shayne Rivers,” Millie noted. “She was essentially the most hated woman in publishing.”

  “Yeah, she seems like one of those people who keep doing everything wrong even though she knows she’s going down a dark path. From everything I’ve heard she was positively diabolical on some levels.”

  “Which simply means there were a lot of people who wanted her dead.”

  “I guess.”

  We lapsed into amiable silence as the nail technician ran what looked to be a huge cheese grater over the bottom of my feet and made me squirm. Millie found my reaction funny and burst out laughing while I scowled and stared at the ceiling to keep from kicking the poor woman — who was only doing her job, mind you — in the face.

  “Who is that?” Millie asked finally, inclining her chin toward the last pedicure chair in our row, to where a lone woman sat with knitting needles and a skein of blue yarn. “Is she one of the writers?”

  I stared at the woman for an extended period as I tried to remember her name. I came up empty. “I can’t quite remember. I know she’s married to one of the other authors. She had those knitting needles at the bar last night.”

  “She knit at the bar?” Millie was clearly amused. “That doesn’t scream ‘party person,’ does it?”

  “I kind of feel sorry for her. Her husband spends all his time boasting with the others — I mean, I have never heard a guy talk about himself as much as he does — but she’s always kind of quiet and isolated in the corner. I think she might be lonely.”

  “You could try talking to her,” Millie suggested. “The ones on the periphery are usually the ones with the best gossip.”

  That was an idea. “I’ll consider it ... after I’m done with this tickle torture.”

  Millie’s snicker was easy and relaxed. “You’ll have to let go of some of your pre-conceived notions about money and wealth. A pedicure is one of life’s little joys. You should learn to enjoy it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Ow! Don’t clip off my entire toe or anything ... and I don’t want pink nails. I will die of embarrassment if my toenails are pink. I want something strong ... like a blue or a green. Oh, but ... what’s that unicorn color over there?”

  Twelve

  Eavesdropping is one of those skills some people master without much effort and others will always struggle with. I fall into the latter category.

  Pretending I wasn’t listening to what Priscilla, Leslie and Abigail had to say wasn’t as easy as I hoped. Thankfully I was distracted by my newly-painted toenails. To be fair, I’d painted my own toenails before. They never looked as nice as they did now.

  “Why are you staring at your feet?”

  Jack found me leaning against a wall in the lobby shortly before dinner. I’d texted him my location — and he was determined the two of us would get away on our own this evening — so he made a stealthy getaway and tracked me down. I missed his entrance because I was focused on my jazzy blue toenails.

  “What?”

  He wrinkled his forehead, confused. “Do you feel okay? Do you want to go back to the condo and lie down?”

  “Not even remotely.” That was true. “Millie snores like a buzz saw. I hate sharing a room with her. She also kicks like a mule. This is the one and only trip I will undergo this particular sleeping arrangement.”

  Instead of being sympathetic, he snorted. “She says you’re the one who snores. I heard both of you through the walls, so I don’t know who either of you are trying to fool.”

  I balked. “I don’t snore.”

  “You’re asleep when it happens. How would you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Fine. I’m sure you’re a dainty sleeper. I ... why do you keep looking at your feet?”

  I wiggled my toes for his benefit. “What do you think?”

  He stared for a beat. “I like the blue. It’s cute.”

  “What about this?” I grabbed his hand and pressed it to the side of my face.

  His expression caught somewhere between a smile and a scowl, Jack merely shook his head. “Should I take this to mean you enjoyed your trip to the spa?”

  “I have nothing to compare it to — this was my first time — but it was mildly interesting. I got rubbed with hot stones by a hot guy.”

  He stilled. “You got rubbed by a guy?”

  I nodded. “My masseuse was male. Millie insisted. She says men have stronger hands.”

  “Were you naked?”

  I sensed trouble. “I was covered by a sheet. Millie was right about his hands. They were magical. I feel like a new woman.”

  Jack grumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like a curse ... or perhaps a threat. Once he regained control of himself he flashed me a tight smile. “What do you want to eat for dinner?”

  “I’m fine with anything.”

  “That’s what all women say and it’s never true. Trust me. I’ve been on enough bad dates to prove there’s no woman who will eat everything.”

  “How many bad dates are we talking?”

  “I’m not answering that question.” He flicked his eyes to the restaurant offerings. “We had Italian last night. There’s a steak place. Or, there’s a seafood place at the sister resort. It’s not a long walk and it supposedly has one of those huge aquariums that take up an entire wall.”

  I brightened considerably. “Oh, do you even have to ask?”

  He snickered. “Seafood it is.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the others track us down. I told Chris we should all break up for dinner tonight because spending too much time together is detrimental to the group’s mental health, but I wouldn’t put it past Laura to try to finagle another big dinner.”

  “Let’s definitely not allow Laura to get her way.”

  THE WALK TO THE OTHER resort wasn’t bad, other than the heat. I wasn’t used to humidity this brutal, and I was wet with perspiration when we arrived. Jack, of course, looked fresh and dry.

  “It’s not fair,” I muttered when I looked him over, taking an extra moment to stand under an air conditioning vent in the gift shop in the lobby.

  “What’s not fair?” Jack�
��s eyes danced over the souvenir offerings. “Do you see something you want?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  “If you want something, I’ll buy it for you.”

  I sighed. His moods were hard to gauge. He’d spent most of the day barking orders because my shark ordeal terrified him to the point he could focus on nothing else. Now he was more relaxed, but his attentiveness showed no signs of waning.

  “I don’t need anything. That’s not what I was referring to.”

  “Then tell me what you were talking about.”

  “We walked five-hundred feet in oppressive heat and you look better than when we left, but I feel as if I’m melting. I’m sweaty, my hair has started curling and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have pit stains on my shirt. You look perfect. That’s what isn’t fair.”

  “Oh.” His lips curved, lightening his features. “Do you want me to buy one of those fans with the turtles on it to cool you off?”

  “I think I’ll somehow survive.”

  “Good. Come on.” He gave my hand a tug. “We’ll get a table right next to the glass so you can stare at the fish. That will give us something to talk about besides how nice the restaurant is.”

  I blushed at mention of our nearly disastrous first date. “That turned out okay in the end.”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  Once we were settled, drinks and entrees ordered, Jack turned to business. “I started running a bunch of the writers, but only half of them publish under their legal names.”

  “That actually makes sense,” I said. “I mean ... think about it. There are some weird people out there who might stalk them under the right set of circumstances. That has to be freaky.

  “Plus, well, some of the romance authors are writing colorful scenes that might set off a pervert,” I continued. “I don’t blame them for not wanting their real names out there. I bet a bunch of them haven’t even told their families what they write because it’s too embarrassing.”

  Jack shrugged, noncommittal. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything embarrassing about it.”

  “I don’t either. I think some people — probably fathers and mothers — might be mortified to read something like that from their offspring, though.”