Before my servant could take a step toward her car, two things happened.
One, lightning streaked from the sky, a jagged branched thing that struck not only her car, but also the nicer one parked in front of it. Sparks flew, and the acrid stench of smoke rising from the hood of Iolana’s vehicle stung my nose.
“No!” Iolana yelled, staring in disbelief at her smoldering metal box on wheels.
While she processed her car’s demise, the second event occurred. A torrential rain descended, whipped by a wind so vigorous the droplets stung even my leathery skin.
“Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere tonight,” Apollo announced with a slight hint of glee. See, he did want me living here.
Anyhow, the storm was how I ended up ensconced in a large and comfortable bed, with snacks and juice on the nightstand. Not that I needed them because the molt came upon me suddenly and I passed out.
Chapter Nine
I stared out the window for the umpteenth time, but the sudden tropical storm had yet to ease. Even if it did, my car, the rust bucket I’d bought new more than fifteen years ago, would likely never run again. Smoke pouring from the hood after lightning? Not a healthy sign.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here.” Initially, when Tigger declared he needed a bed, I’d planned to join him despite the early hour, but Jameson whispering, “Going to run away?” had been a challenge I couldn’t ignore. While I’d prefer to avoid his presence—which rattled me in ways that made no sense—my grandfather hadn’t raised a coward.
“Is my company that unpleasant?” Jameson lounged on the couch, his arm stretched across the back.
Wish I could feel so at ease. The man discomfited, but not because he’d done anything creepy. The more time we spent together, the more I caught myself staring at his handsome features, noticing—and even lusting after—his perfectly shaped body. I admired the way he moved with lanky grace, even how he smelled. To add even more annoyance to my attraction, I didn’t hate talking to him.
Unlike other rich guys I’d met, Jameson didn’t come across as pretentious or flaunt his wealth—other than the whole “my chef will prepare us a meal,” which, I hated to admit had been pretty damned good. I especially liked the part where I didn’t have to prep, cook, or clean up after it.
“You’re actually a decent guy,” I said finally in reply to his query. “Unlike some jerks who come here, buy the nicest properties on the island, and treat the locals like crap.”
“Having met a few of my neighbors, I wish I could disagree with your assessment. Some of them are genuine asshats.”
I bit my lip lest I giggle. I wasn’t the type to giggle. “Why did you move here?”
“Why relocate to paradise? Gee, I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes.
“But didn’t that mean leaving family and friends behind?”
“Don’t have any. Or, at least, none that could have swayed me to say.” Said with a shrug. “Mom died when I was young, and my dad’s keeping busy chasing the ladies in the retirement community. As to friends, the ones I had before I struck gold in the gaming industry struggled with my success and we no longer talk. The folks I’ve met since have been fairly superficial, more interested in what I can do for them than me as a person. I should add, I haven’t gone out of my way to really try and make any true friends. When I’m not working, I enjoy my alone time.”
Sounded a lot like me, minus the alone part. “I’m envious. Tutu isn’t exactly peaceful to live with,” I replied with a wry twist of my lips.
“How long have you lived with your grandfather?”
“Since birth. Mom couldn’t afford her own place plus daycare, so it made the most sense to live with her parents. And before you ask, my dad was never in the picture. Guess he didn’t want to be reminded of his summer fling.”
Jameson’s phone pinged. “Give me a second. That doctor I mentioned at dinner answered my message.”
I turned from the window. “You already contacted him?”
He replied without looking up from his screen and fast typing fingers. “While you were tucking in Tigger, I pulled up the list of speakers for that event. Once I had his name, it wasn’t hard to acquire his contact info.”
“What did you say in the message?”
“Not much. I asked if he still researched proof of the existence of mythical beasts, and if yes, what did he think of those dragon videos that had been surfacing?”
“And?”
Jameson held up his phone. “He says he has reason to believe they might be real.”
“No way,” I huffed.
“Apparently, he’s been gathering data on them but hasn’t yet had a chance to fly out in person to verify their authenticity due to a lack of funds.”
