LOGAN WAS GOING CRAZY.
That had to be it.
Michael’s disappearance had sent him sailing over the edge of the cliffs of insanity because he was standing on a beach, looking for a kidnapping mermaid.
But what other choice did he have? The authorities would lock him up if he went to them with this story.
He should have gone to them with Angel. A mermaid. Jesus Christ.
Logan dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing himself to focus. Recriminations could come later. Right now, he had to find Michael.
So where did one begin to start looking for a mer-maid? Atlantis?
“Hey there, good-looking.” A female voice, sultry and sexy, came from behind him.
Logan looked over his shoulder. He didn’t have the time, nor the inclination, to fend off some woman’s advances.
But there was no one there.
Logan shook his head. He had to be hearing things.
That went with Crazy, right?
He turned back around and looked out to sea again, shielding his eyes with his hand, hoping against all odds to see her there in the waves. At the very least, see her tail.
Hell. Her tail.
“I might be able to help you.” Okay, he did not imagine that.
Logan dropped his hand and spun around. Again, no one.
He was really losing it because if anyone had been there, she would have frightened off the flamingo that was eyeballing at him.
Wait. Why was a flamingo staring at him? From six feet away? Why wasn’t the bird scared of him?
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” The flamingo’s beak worked in tandem with that sultry voice.
Logan looked around.
A “hmmph!” came from the direction of… the bird? That wasn’t possible. Flamingos didn’t speak English.
In sultry, come-hither voices.
And mermaids don’t show up in your bed either.
Logan’s heart was pounding in his ears. He was hav-ing a stroke. A heart attack. An out-of-body experience brought on by his son’s disappearance.
He took a few deep breaths, still staring at the bird. “No, you’re not going crazy, and, yes, I did speak.”
The bird took two steps forward. “So, can we dispense with the disbelief and discuss what you’re looking for? I have a feeling I know.”
“You… talk?” Logan was glad to hear he could talk.
Apparently, hallucinations went with Crazy, too. The bird could also sigh. Even roll her eyes. It was a her, wasn’t it?
“Yes. I talk. I also fly, but that doesn’t seem to be all that interesting to you, and I promise you it’s far more complicated than those airplanes y’all are so thrilled with. That’s why your kind can’t do it.”
He would swear the bird was putting a sway in her step as she came closer. “What… why… are you talking to me?”
The flamingo dropped her head to the sand as if her neck gave out. She looked at him upside down. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even bothering. You came flying down those steps like a bat out of Hades, and your first question has to do with why I’m speaking? Is that really the most pressing matter in your life right now?”
The bird had a point. Which was as bizarre as any-thing else in the last few days. Logan took another deep breath, then another, slid his hands to his hips, and tried to regain some semblance of sanity.
“You’re right. That’s the least of my worries. So… Miss…” What did you call a flamingo? “What do you know about my son?”
The bird picked her head up and stretched to her full five-foot height, beak in the air. “Ginger.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“My name. It’s Zingiber La Fleur, but feel free to call me Ginger.” She spread her wings and dipped her beak with a gracious bow, but the elegant image was destroyed by that name.
The bird had a stripper name. Would wonders never cease? Fine. Whatever. “Look, Ginger, it’s nice to meet you, but I have to find my son.”
She tucked her wings at her side again and picked up one of her bony legs.
“Yes, Logan. I know.” She spoke to him as if he were a three-year-old. “But standing here on the beach isn’t going to do you any good. He’s out in the middle of the ocean. Where I suggest you hurry up and get to.”
His hearing was going. First his mind, now his hearing. “What are you talking about?” Yep, sanity was gone.
The bird—Ginger La Fleur—sighed and did some weird twirling thing with her head. “Pay attention, gor-geous. Your son hooked Angel on your fishing trip the other day and helped her hide out in your boat. You brought her back. You let her live here. The kid got at-tached. So when you pulled your bird-brained move— No. Wait. Scratch that.” She did, with her bony toes in the sand. “That idiotic stunt last night isn’t even worthy of the name ‘bird-brained.’ When you pulled that slimy-like-an-eel move last night by kissing her off—and it was a kiss-off, don’t think a bunch of us didn’t see that PDA on the beach, by the way—she headed back home.
“Then Stewart, the brainiac, just had to tell your kid where she went, and a self-serving hammerhead showed up—and I’m worried that he will actually serve himself. Your kid hitched a ride out to the middle of nowhere with him. You know, you really need to have a life talk with the kid. Tell him all about the hazards of accepting rides from strangers, especially ones with fins—mrrrmmph.”
If someone would have told Logan that someday he’d find the need to muzzle a flamingo, never mind actually do it, he would have told that person to have his head examined. Now he was the one who needed to have his head examined.
“Can we just get back to what you said about a hammerhead?” he asked the flamingo—knowing he’d consider the insanity of that question after he had his son back.
She nodded her head.
“Fine. I’m going to release your beak.” Another sentence he’d never have guessed in a million years that he’d say. “I want you to stick to the facts. What exactly happened?”
Ginger—good God—expelled an indignant, fish-laden breath. “I may not seem threatening to you, but I’ve got enough pounds of pressure in this beak to do some serious damage. Try that again, and you’ll lose at least one finger, if not more. Got it?” She ruffled her feathers.
If he didn’t need her, he’d tie a knot in that neck of hers. “Fine. Sorry. Now what about Michael?”
She dipped the top of her head onto her back, strok-ing the feathers, then did a quick zip by her knees before staring him in the eye again.
“I’m guessing the hammerhead told your son that he’d take him to find Angel and, for some reason, your son figured a shark was a safe bet. I don’t know what you Humans teach your kids, but I’d think shark avoid-ance ought to be a mandatory school subject. Especially around here.”
A shark? His son was riding a hammerhead shark? There weren’t enough foul words in the English lan-guage to express what he was feeling.
Although, actually… he’d gone numb.
Michael was with a shark. In the ocean. Looking for a mermaid.
And he was talking to a flamingo… “Where did they go?”
“East.”
“Thanks, Ginger.” Logan took off at a run back
toward the steps. He had to get his boat out there and catch up with them.
“Hey!” the bird hollered from above him. Well that, at least, was normal. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Logan didn’t stop. “Forgetting something?” “Yes. Usually the informant gets a reward.”
An opportunistic flamingo. Which was better than any kidnapping shark. “Fine. Whatever you want. I’ll get it when I get back.”
“Or you can start by leaving your fridge open.” She flapped her wings and beat him back up to his lawn. “I’ll begin with the prawns and work my way to the scallops.”
Hell, he’d give her an entire freezer’s worth of the stuff if he got Michael back.