Wicked Nights by Anne Marsh Read Free Book Online Page B

dial. Unless she changed her cash flow, however, the outcome
    would be the same as the past two meetings. The banking professional would listen—professionally—and
    then recommend her application be denied.
    “I’m going to take that offer for my share.” And...with nine words, Del benched her. She fought the
    urge to fling the phone because she couldn’t afford to replace her phone and she definitely couldn’t afford
    to buy the dive shop. “Money talks and cash sounds mighty good to me.”
    “Del—”
    He talked over her. “You’ve had a month to meet my asking price. I need to unload the place. It’s not
    cash flowing, and I’m overextended as it is.”
    “I’m closing the Fiesta contract. Give me two weeks.” She was convinced she could turn the shop
    around and bring in enough business to make the place viable. Del, however, remained unconvinced.
    “This is business.”
    Her business.
    Del had never accepted excuses. He’d always said, “Show me.” She scrambled for something to sway
    him. “Have I ever not won? You know how I perform in crunch situations.”
    The brief pause on the other end lasted a year. Possibly three. Piper wasn’t entirely sure, but time
    slowed down in a very Matrix -like way.
    Del exhaled roughly. “Two weeks. I won’t accept any offers for two weeks. If your offer isn’t in my
    hands, it’s game over.”
    “Got it.”
    She had her time. Now all she had to do was deliver. She was used to crunch situations and performing
    under pressure. Just pretend you’re climbing the dive tower, mere points out of the lead. One perfect dive.
    That was all it would take.
    5
    PIPER RODE HER Harley down to the Pleasure Pier. A little sugar, a little fun. That was what she
    needed after her unwelcome call with Del had torpedoed her afternoon, and the Pleasure Pier was perfect.
    Built more than a hundred years ago by one of Cal’s enterprising island ancestors, a man who’d decided
    to combine beer sales with fish sales (pure genius, in Piper’s opinion), the pier stretched out into the bay,
    living up to its name. The piles were painted the green of Doublemint gum and winked with white lights.
    The place stayed true to its roots, selling fishing licenses and fresh fish. The occasional angler parked on the
    edge, trying his luck in the water below before hauling the catch over to the weighing stations and a dusty
    wall of old photos of oversized, prizewinning marlin and swordfish, and successful fishermen. For the less
    fish-inclined, the pier sold saltwater taffy, ice cream and churros. An old-fashioned lemon-yellow swing
    ride lit up the far end by the beer kiosk.
    A beer and candy sounded perfect, followed by a half-dozen, gut-churning rides on the swings. She
    wanted to fly through the air, leaving the day’s problems behind her. Ten minutes later, she traded in five
    bucks she should have been saving and acquired a fistful of paper tickets and a bonus bag of taffy. She’d
    passed on the beer, after all—she had the Harley, and some chances she wouldn’t take.
    The swings slowed, riders stumbling away, laughing. Kids shrieked while their parents snapped photos,
    creating a scene that was loudly happy and all chaos. Perfect.
    “Hey, Lenny.” She greeted the ticket taker, offering him the bag of taffy. Lenny had worked on the pier
    for as long as she could remember. Like the ride itself, he looked a little older each year.
    “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Lenny poked through the bag, looking for the red-and-white taffy, like
    he always did. “Got your favorite swing all ready for you.”
    “Perfect.” She laughed. Her feet flew to the bright red double swing she always rode. Deliciously garish,
    with over-the-top gold trim covering every edge, and faux rubies hot-glued to the sides, her swing winked
    at her just as enticingly now as it had twenty years ago. It also had the most lift of all the swings on the ride,
    or so she and her brothers had concluded after a