We might be on a wild goose—ahem, wildchicken—hunt, but it’s a lead I didn’t have before.
Sloane watches me loading up my backpack. “You think we’re actually going treasure hunting tonight?”
“Ready if we are.”
By the time I’m packed, Beck reports that he has a cat-sitter inbound for us, so Sloane and I climb into Chuck’s SUV, and soon, we’re pulling into Shipwreck.
Blackbeard Avenue is empty. The Grog’s closed. Don’t even catch sight of the cussing parrot that’s usually flying all around town.
“Where are the goats?” I ask Sloane. It’s unusual to be in Shipwreck and not see random goats wandering around.
“Every last one got rounded up before the wedding. They’re being sorted to figure out which ones still need to be fixed so that the goat population dies down.”
“It’s taking this long?”
“Tillie Jean’s also trying to get as much glitter cleaned up as possible before letting them loose again so that they don’t track it worse all over town.”
“Even Grady Rock’s goat?”
“Oh, no, Sue’s still at Grady and Annika’s house. And their house is already glittered, so that part doesn’t matter.”
That tracks.
Cooper’s the reason Tillie Jean outlawed glitter bombs, so it would be surprising if the third Rock sibling didn’t also have a glittered house problem.
Chuck pulls up behind the museum. Sloane hops out faster than either Chuck or I would like, and by the time I circle the car to join her, she’s already hitting the code to get into the museum.
“Ma’am, if you’ll wait a minute—” Chuck says, but Sloane doesn’t wait.
She’s not used to security details.
And that’s a problem.
Especially because the minute she flips on the light, she screams.
I grab her and pull her out of the way, diving into the back room of the museum myself, and when I spot what she’s screaming at, my blood pressure threatens to pull a Mount Saint Helens.
I need my goddamn manbun back.
It clearly held my peace and calm.
“What. The fuck.” I glare at the intruder who’s pushed himself against the side wall, nearly out of sight, but not entirely.
He’s balding, in his mid-sixties, with a slightly bigger belly hanging over his belt than he had the last time I saw him.
Lila’sUncle Guidogrins at me. “Your sister’s lying to you.”
No shit.
But if this fucker thinks that’s gonna offend me or throw me off with that statement, he’s wrong. Vanessa and I have been through thick and thin. I know when she’s holding information back because she knows I’ll use it wrong, and she knows when to hold information back because she knows I’ll use it wrong.
I stifle a growl of my own. “Why are you here?”
“Oh my god, you know this guy?” Sloane’s voice is high-pitched, and she’s breathing hard. Takes everything in me to not pull her into a hug and promise her everything’s fine.
There’s a no-touching rule with Sloane.
I know where it goes if I let myself touch her, and yes, it went there—my dick, specifically—even when I was trying to save her from the fucking raccoon that jumped on her head.
