She laughed, easing into her role. “Oh yeah, spit it.”
“Uh-uh, we have to meet face to face. Can’t tell you these things over the phone.”
Curious now, Trisha stood and stretched her arms over her head. “Well, it’s gonna have to be fast. Don’t know if you remember that today’s the annual town play.”
A stupid tradition that for some reason she volunteered for every year. This year she’d got the lead part. Acting was easy. It was something she did every day of her life.
Several years ago, while in college, she’d been approached by a scout for an off Broadway production. Trisha had been so excited and ready to go, but then Betty’s life had gone to hell in a hand basket and she’d known she couldn’t just leave her friend to pick up the pieces alone. She’d stayed and eventually Betty had met Gerard and left.
It wasn’t the same thing as what’d happened with Jacq, but it stung sometimes, how it felt like everyone she ever loved, left. She was trapped in Missouri, a place she hated, and no one really cared. Not even her parents who now lived in Destin, Florida.
“Oh, yeah…that’s right,” Betty’s voice rose with excitement, “Awesome. I’ve got to pick up Briley, he’s hanging out with Uncle Gerard and I today, maybe we can head over to the play. What’s the show by the way?”
“Peter Pan.” She studied her blunt nails. “Guess who’s Peter.”
Again there was another long pause. Then a burst of laughter. “Oh jeez, Trisha, you’re never going to believe…” There was some mumbling behind Betty that sounded faintly like Gerard’s shivery voice. The tone of it never failed to elicit a tingly sigh in response from Trisha. Not that she wanted Gerard, but French accents were all sorts of sexy. “Yeah, she’s playing Peter Pan,” Betty spoke to him. There was a strong bout of laughter and something that sounded suspiciously like “Enfer” before Betty returned to the line. “Okay, seriously we gotta chat. I’ll take Briley to the park later. Can we do lunch beforehand?”
“Umm…sure.”
What was so funny about playing Peter Pan? Women played that role in plays all the time.
“You wearing the costume?” Betty asked.
“Pretty much have to, part of the role you know.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Betty squealed. “Okay, what time?”
Her friend was acting weird. Which was kind of not all that uncommon. Betty was a geek with a capital G. How the two of them had ever found common ground Trisha would never know.
“Six.”
“Good. That’s enough time. Kisses,” Betty breathed and then the line went dead.
Lifting a brow, Trisha stared at the receiver. “Weirdo.”
*
Danika was sipping a cup of tea at her kitchen table when the bellowing sound of her name jerked her out of the seat. It was a voice she was coming to recognize.
The Huntsman. Ever since Ewan and Red had married, Danika hadn’t had a choice but to seek out a new tracker. Next to the big bad wolf, Huntsman was said to be the best. But he’d not come cheap.
Growling, she opened the door of her mushroom cap home. The glare of sunlight made her squint as she stared at the shadowy silhouette. Shading her eyes, she shook her head. “Huntsman?”
Dressed in buckskin and covered in scars, his steel blue eyes locked with her own. Brushing brown curls out of his face, he clipped his head. “Danika,” full lips pressed into thin slits as he took a step closer. “You asked me to keep watch on the harbor.” His thick Gaelic accent increased with obvious agitation. “The ship has sailed. Headed toward the Glen.”
Leaping into the air, she flew toward him. “Damn,” she sighed, “I believe he’s searching for Tink again. I must warn my sisters. Keep an eye on the ship. If he gets there before I do, let me know.”
With a nod of his head he vaporized, sifting into a million grains of fine sand before swirling out the door and disappearing into the air.
Straightening her vest, Danika rolled her eyes. “Bloody Hook.” Now her tea would grow cold. With a long-suffering sigh, she took off, but knew in her heart she’d probably be too late for a warning. She could only hope Hook wasn’t in a killing mood.
*
“I swear to you, Dani,” Tink held James at wand point.
Unholy fire gleamed in the liquid ink of Hook’s eyes. Even with his hands bound behind his back and forced to his knees, he still managed to reek of defiance and fury.
Huntsman had a knee in his back and a fist in his raven’s wing black hair. Judging by the bloody marks and scratches covering the hunter’s face, Hook hadn’t given in so easily. Likely, without Tinkerbell’s assistance, Huntsman would even now be grappling with the enraged captain.