Page 39 of Bargain with Fate
“Well, you certainly seem to have your finger on the pulse of this community,” Vale commented.
Stella responded with a toothy smile. “Or my fangs.”
“Thank you again for your help,” Vale said. “I’ll pass along the information you provided to the team handling the other cases in Savannah.”
“It’s been an honor, Protector.”
We left Stella’s and returned to the execu-cart.
“Friend of yours?” Vale asked.
I followed his gaze to the fifteen-foot reptile currently making her way across the lawn like she didn’t have a care in the world. “That’s Nessie, the island mascot.”
“How can you tell her apart from all the other alligators?”
“She’s the only one brave enough to stay. I think the others get a whiff of a werewolf and swim straight back to the mainland.”
“A wise decision.”
“Nessie prefers the watering holes at the golf courses, but we occasionally see her venture out of her comfort zone.”
“No one bothers her?”
“Why would they? She minds her own business, and we mind ours. Works for everybody.” I pointed to the trail on the left. “Buff Base is that way. I have a bottle of bleach in my office if you want to rinse your eyes afterward.”
He chuckled. “At this point, I’m far more interested in watching you interact with Franco than I am in collecting information for the case.”
We passed the sign that indicated our arrival—Leave your modesty and your clothes at the gate.
As I was here on official business, I’d be leaving neither. I braced myself for the upcoming view of the pickleball courts. Many balls were bouncing, and not just the ones in play.
“Park here. I see Franco on the court.” All of him, unfortunately. Like Bernice, he was a werekat. Short, lean, highly animated, and fast, pickleball was the ideal sport for someone with Franco’s particular physique and abilities.
“I’ve never seen so many pairs of white sneakers in one place in my life,” Vale remarked. “Does the HOA own stock in a shoe company?”
“They’re very popular among the Neighbors. They look nice and they’re comfortable.” I preferred flip-flops at home, but they weren’t convenient for work, especially if I needed to run.
We waited on a nearby bench, where we both took great interest in checking our phones and avoided the excess skin around us. The moment the game ended, I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Franco!”
His neck elongated, and he looked around on high alert until his gaze landed on me. I waved him over, trying not to look toorepulsed by the lines of sweat that trailed down his body and into crevices I didn’t want to contemplate.
“Maya, my sweet turtle dove,” he said, grabbing a towel as he jogged over to us. “What brings you to our naked neck of the woods?” His gaze drifted to Vale. “Are you the new security director?”
“This is Vale. He’s helping me with an investigation.”
“Are you a cop?” Franco sniffed the air between us. “You don’t smell like one.”
“Cops have a smell?” I asked.
Franco laughed. “Damn right they do. Coffee, cigarettes, pastries.”
“In that case, how do you tell them apart from the French?” I asked.
“This is America. The odds of a cop are much, much higher.”
“I’m the Protector of the Region,” Vale said.
Franco whistled. “Ooh, fancy.”
