Alyssa Day - Eye of Danger

L ife tip 101: When anybody says to you: "We need to talk"

Run for the hills.

Fast.

(Unless you're already in the hills. Then run for the valleys. Or the beach. Just run.)

W e were at the opening of the newly dedicated Dr. Linda Parrish and John Luke Arnold Museum of Pirate History when my uncle pulled me aside and said four terrifying words:

"We need to talk."

"Nothing good ever started with those four words," I said, my spirits plummeting. "Who died?"

"Nobody died," Uncle Mike said, his face shadowed. "It's your father."

My father had abandoned me abandoned all of uswhen my mother died.

"What about him?"

"He's on his way back to town, and he says he's in trouble."

Jackmy friendly neighborhood private investigator, and maybe something moretightened his hand around mine. "We'll handle it together. After witches, leprechauns, gators, and the Fae, how bad could it be?"

I'd heard some of those gators had never been caught. Still

"You know what you should never, ever say? 'How bad could it be?'"

Here we go again.

"I need donuts."

" I s there anything better than a sunny morning at Dead End's best pawnshop?" Eleanor practically sang out the words when I walked into work the next morning, worries about my long-lost father still hamster-wheeling around my brain.

I raised an eyebrow. "Last I knew, we were Dead End's only pawnshop. Or is there something you want to tell me?"

She shrugged. "Only. Best. Most awesome. All are true. And guess who brought in seven new items in pawn and rang up almost $500 in sales so far today?"

"Nice! You are my favorite employee." I grinned at her while I walked over to put my bag in the drawer behind the counter. "Definitely my favorite employee."

"I'm your only employee."

"Only. Best. Most awesome. All true."

She laughed and went back to filling out paperwork on the new intakes, and I took a moment to look around at what truly was the most awesome pawnshop in the world, at least in my somewhat biased opinion. Sparkling clean and neatly arranged, from the aisle of electronics to the magical potions counter, I loved every inch of it, even the walls, now that I'd finally sold the dreamcatcher that had an authentic nightmare trapped in its woven threads. It was a good business, and I got to meet interesting people and occasionally discover interesting artifacts, and it was even modestly profitable.

And it was all mine.

I'd never wanted to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a captain of industry. For a brief time, before the onset of my unique ability changed my life, I'd thought about studying art history. Maybe traveling the world to study ancient artwork in some kind of artist-meets-Indiana Jones job that probably only existed in my imagination. Instead, I'd become the manager, and then owner, of my very own pawnshop, in the same town where I'd been born and lived my entire life.

And, I had to admit, I loved every minute of it. Well, except for the two times people had dumped dead bodies on my back porch, but I had to hope that would never happen again.

"Seven items, huh? Does that include this? Again?" I eyed the stuffed Jackalope on the countera jackrabbit with antelope horns attached, taxidermied to look as if the creature had actually existedand could feel my lips curl back. It wasn't even cute, and I had no idea why anybody would want to keep making the things.

Then I blinked. Given the world we lived in today, with vampires and shifters and witches and Fae all walking around, right out of the pages of fairytales and into our neighborhoods and towns, maybe Jackalopes did exist.

I took a closer look.

Maybe?

Nah. That had to be glue around the base of the horns. Anyway, we had to draw the line somewhere. I glanced up and noticed that Eleanor was pointedly not meeting my gaze.

"I see Mr. Oliver was in again. How many times is he going to pawn this guy? Also, and not that I don't appreciate the business, but the man has a very successful plumbing company. Why does he need that fifty bucks so much every month? Does he have a deep, dark, gambling problem that nobody knows about?"

Eleanor's pale cheeks"a Southern lady always wears a hat to protect her skin, Tess"turned pink, clashing with the pristine red Dead End Pawn polo shirt she wore with white capri pants and red sandals. "I'm sure that Bill, I mean, Mr. Oliver, has no such thing. He just, ah, I think, um, he "

The light finally dawned in my apparently clueless brain. "He keeps coming in here to see you, doesn't he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tess." She grabbed the paperwork and clutched it to her chest. "I'm going in the back and finishing this up, away from any distractions."

I started laughing. "I'd think Bill would be more of a distraction than I am. Good for you, you man magnet, you."

She shot me a Look, but her cheeks, flaming red by now, told me I'd been right. I just grinned but didn't tease her anymore. She was in her early sixties, and she'd been alone for a long time since her husband died. If she found romance with Mr. Oliver, who was a very nice man, then good for her. I was still smiling when I put the Jackalope back up on the shelf next to Fluffy, the ancient taxidermied alligator who served as our shop mascot.

Thinking of romance made me think of other things, though, like dates, which made me think of a certain hot tiger shifter whose detective agency's office shared the building with my pawnshop. As if my thoughts had called to him, the connecting door he'd requested be built between our two establishments opened, and six feet, four inches of bronze-haired, hard-muscled deliciousness sauntered in, his summer-grass-green eyes sparkling in his gorgeous, tanned face.

"Eleanor has a suitor?" Jack grinned at me. "I can almost feel sorry for the man. She'll have him wrapped around her finger just like she does with the customers who come in here. And if he gets out of line, she can always shoot him."

"Hey! That was one time!"

Eleanor was my secret weapon. She loved people and adored bargaining and negotiated great deals that made everyone happy. Repeat business is the heart and soul of a pawnshop's business, especially in a small town, and she was a great part of our team.

I rolled my eyes. "Just because you have superior tiger hearing, that doesn't mean you need to weigh in on every conversation you eavesdrop on."

"Hey, I came over to invite you to lunch. The eavesdropping was just a bonus."

I glanced across at the antique cherrywood grandfather clock. "It's ten a.m."

"Breakfast?"

"You told me you ate a dozen donuts on the way to the opening!"

"Exactly." He patted his unfairly flat abdomen. "I'm wasting away."

"Maybe later. Like at noon. Eleanor has granola bars in the back, if you're dying."

He grimaced. "I'd rather eat tree bark."

I threw up my hands. "Then turn into a kitty and go catch some furry snacks. I have a business to run here."

The man who turned into a quarter-ton Bengal tiger raised an eyebrow. "A kitty?"

He glanced pointedly around my empty shop. "And, yes. I can see how you're swamped."