My jaw dropped. “A—A wishing …”

He nodded. “A wishing fish, yes.” His thick eyebrows rose. “You really didn’t know? Do you still have it?”

I sat down on one of the cold benches. “Jenks ate it.”

The Were started. “Excuse me?”

I couldn’t look up. My thoughts went back to last fall and my gaze drifted past the gate to my shiny red convertible waiting for me in the parking lot. I had wished for a car. Damn, I had wished for a car and gotten it. Jenks ate a wishing fish?

His shadow fell over me and I looked up, squinting at David’s silhouette, black against the faultless blue of noon. “My partner and his family ate it.”

David stared. “You’re joking.”

Feeling ill, I dropped my gaze. “We didn’t know. He cooked it over an open fire and his family ate it.”

His small feet moved in a quick motion. Shifting, he pulled a folded piece of paper and a pen from his backpack. As I sat with my elbows on my knees and stared at nothing, David crouched beside me and scribbled, using the smooth concrete bench as a desk. “If you would sign here, Ms. Morgan,” he said as he extended the pen to me.

A deep breath sifted through me. I took the pen, then the paper. His handwriting had a stiff preciseness that told me he was meticulous and well-organized. Ivy would love him. Scanning it, I realized it was a legal document, David’s handwritten addition stating that I had witnessed the destruction of the fish, unaware of its abilities. Frowning, I scrawled my name and pushed it back.

His eyes were full of an amused disbelief as he took the pen from me and signed it as well. I bit back a snort when he brought out a notarizing kit from his backpack and made it legal. He didn’t ask for my identification, but hell, he’d been following me for three months. “You’re a notary, too?” I said, and he nodded, returning everything to his backpack and zipping it up.

“It’s a necessity in my line of work.” Standing, he smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan.”

“No sweat.” My thoughts were jumbled. I couldn’t decide if I was going to tell Jenks or not. My gaze returned to David as I realized he was holding out his card. I took it, wondering.

“Since I’ve got you here,” he said, moving so I wasn’t looking into the sun to see him, “if you’re interested in getting a better rate on your insurance—”

I sighed and let the card fall. What a weenie.

He chuckled, gracefully swooping to pick it up. “I get my health and hospitalization insurance for two fifty a month through my union.”

Suddenly, I was interested. “Runners are almost uninsurable.”

“True.” He pulled a black nylon jacket out of his backpack and put it on. “So are field insurance adjusters. But since there are so few of us compared to the pencil pushers that make up the bulk of the company, we get a good rate. Union dues are one fifty a year. It gets you a discount on your insurance needs, car rentals, and all the steak you can eat at the yearly picnic.”