Wild Sky 2 by Suzanne Brockmann, Melanie Brockmann

prompted me.
    I set my phone on my lap, next to the binoculars. He’d been hitting me with Would You Rather questions all day. Would you rather go on a stakeout or stick needles in your eyes? was one I’d gotten more than once—and right now I wasn’t in the mood. “Focus. Please. And PS, you’re disgusting.”
    Calvin sighed mightily without moving a muscle. “I was trying not to focus on dying from terminal boredom. And PS, thanks for the compliment.”
    I matched Cal’s mighty sigh and changed the subject entirely. “So when exactly were you going to tell me that you were tracking down Morgan-the-Wonder-G-T?”
    He still didn’t lift his head. “So Milo kinda sucks at keeping secrets, huh? One touch, and you instantly know everything.” He made a rusty sound that might’ve been considered laughter among the undead. “That must be weird.”
    “That’s not the way it works,” I said, but then just shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about Milo, even though I could think of little else.
    Meanwhile, Calvin was waiting for me to continue. Or maybe he wasn’t waiting. Maybe he’d just given up on anything ever happening. His eyes were starting to glaze over.
    “Milo told me,” I told Calvin, nudging him so that he’d snap to it and listen, “with his words, intentionally , that you’d gotten an email from someone that you think might be Morgan. The G-T girl who can get inside Sasha’s head and help her, while also finding out what she knows about Dana’s sister.”
    “Yeah, I dunno,” Cal said listlessly. “For someone who’s supposed to be like the second coming of Jesus with her super-telepathy, Morgan’s kinda mercenary.”
    “Mercenary, as in…?”
    “She charges for her services,” Cal informed me. “Two fifty for a consultation, a grand for what she calls an intervention . That’s what she would do with Sasha. And? The consultation is required before she’ll do the intervention. And she’s apparently scoping us out during the so-called consultation. She decides, after she takes our two hundred and fifty dollars, if she can be bothered to do the intervention.”
    “That’s kind of…” I couldn’t find the word.
    “Bullshit?” Cal provided it for me. “Not just kind of. Absolutely.”
    “Does Dana know?” I asked as nothing continued to move in or around Rochelle’s beach house.
    “I told her this morning, when you and Milo were…” He made those obnoxious smooching sounds that I’d come to hate.
    I socked him in the shoulder, more because Milo hadn’t kissed me in a smoochy way. It had been more like a kiss for Great-Aunt Matilda.
    “Ow!” Cal still didn’t sit up. He just turned slightly and made a sad face at me.
    “Milo and I were eating breakfast,” I told Cal. “With Garrett.”
    My use of the G-word triggered even more pain than that pseudo-punch, and Cal’s sad face turned tragic. “Why, oh why did Dana take him on her errands instead of me?”
    “Probably because she didn’t want to leave me alone with him,” I suggested. “Which I appreciate. Also? I’m pretty sure whatever she’s up to, she’s paying for it with Garrett’s credit card.”
    “Do you think they had lunch?” Cal moaned. “Someplace nice? Someplace delicious? Someplace where they’ll get something to go, and bring it, here, for us to eat—and whatever you do, don’t say no. Lie if you have to, but for the love of God, don’t say no…”
    “Yes, I think she’ll bring us lunch,” I obediently told him, although I had no clue if Dana would give us as much as a second thought. “So what did she say when you told her?” I added, “About Morgan?”
    “She was pissed, and it got noisy,” Cal said, perking up a little because Dana’s creative use of f-bombs always delighted him. “She thinks Morgan isn’t real.”
    “We pay two hundred and fifty dollars for a face-to-face, so Morgan can choose to not do the intervention with Sasha?” I asked. “Do we still think