Page 36 of Saving the Last Heir
He patted my shoulder. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets. You’re an adult.” His smile faded, and he reached up and cupped my cheek, something he hadn’t done since I was a little girl. “It’s just that, if there is someone, make sure they treat you right. I won’t always be here, and it would be nice if I knew there was someone to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said, though not unkindly.
“I know,conejita,”he said, taking my hands in his. “I only hope you don’t alwayshaveto.”
While I was braiding my hair after showering, I kept scrolling through the internet. I poured over every story, legend, and hoax I could find when it came to dragons, werewolves, and sea monsters. I even searched the wordshifterand found a large underground message board community that discussed them. Apparently, people sort ofdidknow about them and discussed the possibility of shapeshifting people being real.
Half of what I read was either disputed by, or in conflict with, the other half. By the time I was done, I’d set aside a mental list of questions to ask Jackson the next time we were alone.
Outside, the sun had slipped to the horizon. My watch told me I had an hour to kill before meeting Jackson, and then Dusty. With nothing else to do, I flopped onto my bed, set my alarm, and drifted off almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“Are you sure you can remember the name?” I asked, staring at Jackson.
“Alcantara,” he said. “High-end synthetic suede.”
“Yes, and you remember the color, correct?”
Nodding, Jackson pulled out his phone. “I took a photo of it last night. I’ve got this.”
I was sure he did, but I wasn’t used to running cons like this, not when I could end up in jail if it went wrong. There was no way I could keep Dusty occupied for long. Jackson would have to be quick, and to be quick he had to knowexactlywhat he was looking for.
“Okay.” The nerves were making it hard to think. “I guess that’s it. Uhm, where are you going to wait?”
Jackson pointed at the skyline, Dusty’s shop was near downtown, shadowed by the massive skyscrapers that sprouted throughout the city like malignant concrete and steel growths. Following the line of his finger, I realized he was pointing at the JPMorgan Chase building, the tallest of all of them.
“Is that necessary?” I asked. “Or are you showing off?”
He shrugged. “Never perched there before. Thought it would be a cool spot to wait. I’ll fly up there, find a good spot, and shiftback. I’ll wait for you to send me a message. Then? I break in. Easy.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I’ll text you when I see Dusty. That will be your message to go for it.”
“Got it. See you soon,” Jackson said, then shifted and flew upward. Within seconds, I couldn’t even make him out. His camouflage was so realistic and seamless that it was no wonder humans didn’t spot them all the time.
Getting back in my Jeep, I drove to Dusty Millew’s shop. The place was huge and gaudy. Rather than the simple cinderblock building of our shop, this place was covered in glossy siding. The rolling garage doors were painted a vibrant red, and the huge neon sign shone with candy-like color: MILLEW LUXURY INTERIORS.
The interior lights were still on, but the parking lot was empty save for a F-250 pickup truck with twenty-two-inch chrome rims. It was theexactcar I could picture Dusty driving. A massive car, most likely to compensate for a tiny dick.
“And there’s the dick now,” I whispered to myself as I parked.
Dusty strode out the front door. I waited until the door closed behind him before sending Jackson the text and making sure he’d read it before I got out of my Jeep.
“Hello there, beautiful,” Dusty said.
The man was at least forty—probably closer to forty-five—but every time I saw him, he looked like he was trying to pull off the look of a man twenty years younger. He wore tight jeans that might have looked attractive on someone like Jackson who had the thick thigh muscles to pull it off. Instead, it onlymade Dusty’s gut more pronounced in comparison to the skinny chicken legs he actually had. His hair, blond to the point that it might have been white, was parted down the middle in a bad imitation of a nineties teen heart throb. His solid-white button-up shirt was only buttoned to his nipples, revealing curls of whitish-blond chest hair. I almost gagged, but plastered on a fake smile.
“Good evening, Dustin,” I said.
He jerked his head back as if I’d slapped him. “Dustin?Dustin?Really? I thought we were better friends than that. You know you can call me Dusty. We’re friends, right, Shy?”
“Please don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
“Bah.” He waved a hand at me. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” he said, rubbing his hands together like the caricature of the greedy bastard he was.
Inwardly, I cringed at the things I was about to say, but I had to make this good, and I needed to give Jackson at least ten minutes to be safe. As fast as he flew, he was probably already at the garage, and now he only needed a chance to get what we needed.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms, doing my best to look like the worried small business owner I was. “We aren’t doing well financially. You know that.”
“I do.” He put a hand to his hairy chest, his pinky ring glimmering. “Word has gotten around over the last few years. The Torrence cash cow went off to pasture, and now you and your shop are in trouble. Let me take it off your hands, Shy. I’d be happy to make you a good offer. You and your stepdad can spend time together.”
