“Will you shut up already?” Mike shot Jo a quick, uneasy glance. “She’s fine. No harm done.” “Yeah.” Jo snorted. “She’s fine. You won’t be, as soon as Emma tells her mother. That happens and we’re—I mean you’re—dead meat.” Sunlight glanced off Jo’s sunglasses and seemed to bounce right into Mike’s eyes. Like she didn’t already have a headache, thanks very much. Her stomach was still doing a roll and spin and her palms were still sweaty. Not that she was nervous or anything. Hell, no. Just that the summer heat had really been beating down on them, practically melting the roof they were sitting on. The cast-iron weather vane—in the shape of Merlin, no less—stood stock-still atop the conical roof of the tower room, just twenty feet from them. No wind. No air. And the wide sweep of blue sky overhead didn’t harbor the hope of a single cloud. The first of July had arrived and was already making them wish for fall and cooler weather. But it wasn’t the heat making her flinch.
