Page 34 of Back in the Saddle

The third level of my bad mood had to do with the fact that I had to figure out a way to get the girls to back off about finding Jeff, and I had no clue how to do that.

Sure.

I got it.

That was what friends were for.

Especially good friends.

And they weren’t good friends.

They were great ones.

Still.

I pushed into the back entrance of SC and was immediately confronted with Harlow, who was tying a server’s apron around her waist.

She was wearing a cute lace dress with a high halter neck and a short swing skirt that was a sure tip inducer from the straight male and lesbian crowds.

It was also just her style.

Harlow was all girl, all the time, and proud of it.

Contradictory to her normal sunshiny outlook on life in general, she was also wearing a scowl that was pointed my way.

“Harlow—” I began.

She gave me The Hand and clipped, “Later. We’re meeting at the storage units tonight at eight. You can tell me then all about how you didn’t trust me to share your brother was missing, even after all that went down with Raye and her sister.”

Quick debrief: Tragically, Raye’s sister had been snatched at a playground nearly two decades ago. Also tragically, just two months ago, the men of Nightingale Investigations & Security had located her remains and obtained a confession from the man who abducted and murdered her, even though law enforcement was unable to solve the crime for nineteen years.

See what I mean about these guys (including Eric) being able to take care of themselves and the ones they cared about?

With what they did for Raye and her dad, it seemed like they could do anything.

And one might want to admit that this happening was the perfect segue to sharing about Jeff.

It also wasn’t (says me, though I was finding myself in the minority).

“Raye was going through a lot,” I pointed out.

“Yes, butIwasn’t,” Harlow clapped back.

She then flounced out.

Crap.

She was right.

But I thought she was also wrong.

I didn’t wear a server apron. It would mess with the line of pretty much any ensemble I put together (today, a fitted, black muscle shirt, black cropped cords and black fisherman sandals).

So I dumped my bag in my locker and headed out to the front of The Surf Club.

Clearly, there was no real surf to The Surf Club, considering Phoenix was landlocked.

Even so, SC was the hippest, chillest, awesomest hang in The Valley.

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