Siren's Treasure
Debbie Herbert
A world where merfolk exist…Mermaid Jet Borsage never fitted in. Her dark hair and eyes set her apart from the other merfolk. Which was why she found herself falling for the wrong man… a crime for which she is still paying the price.Agent Landry Fields knows that this mysterious, beautiful creature is hiding something. The closer he gets to Jet, the more intriguing he finds her… However, when he discovers he’s falling for a real mermaid, Landry realises just how precarious the situation is. Can he save Jet… and claim a future with the feisty beauty?
Landry tried to remember all the reasons why this woman was off-limits, but he couldn’t name a single one.
Everything about Jet fascinated him and stirred his sensual appetite. The pale glittering skin, full lips and unusually dark eyes framed by black hair were so different from any other woman he’d known.
Jet crackled with energy and a directness that cut through his usual barriers and demanded sole focus on her own unique qualities.
She leaned closer, a glint of desire sparkling like pixie dust in her enlarged pupils, and Landry’s jaw tensed at his body’s immediate tug to draw closer.
She touched his chest with one hand, and even through his thick cotton shirt, the heat of her skin traveled downward, and his stomach tightened.
All reason fled. He had to feel her, taste her, claim her—
* * *
“These contemporary mers are a far cry from Disney characters, theme-park performers and creepy she-devil myths of the sea. Settle in for an exciting swim with a new breed of sirens.”
—New York Times bestselling author Deborah Smith on Siren’s Secret
Siren’s
Treasure
Debbie Herbert
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America. Debbie has a degree in English (Berry College, Georgia) and a master’s in library studies (University of Alabama).
As always, to my husband and parents for their support.
To my agent, Victoria Lea, Aponte Literary Agency, for her faith in my writing, and to Mills & Boon Nocturne editor Ann Leslie Tuttle, who gave me a publishing opportunity.
I also want to thank the amazing copy editors and proofreaders at Mills & Boon who whip my manuscripts into shape and make them shine.
Contents
Cover (#u857148b8-3f5c-5ebd-a5d4-91704717574f)
Introduction (#u90173a81-e25e-5aba-8de5-47dca1c1f013)
Title Page (#ufca73c33-66d8-53b6-aa81-b16db4da68a5)
About the Author (#ufdd22053-267c-5e06-a3b7-9448a7fad3bc)
Dedication (#u82eed367-15f2-51c6-bd59-1d5a4e7b1ba7)
Prologue (#u7ba2ddc0-c2e3-5d47-8a3e-8b2b3f95f308)
Chapter 1 (#ufe35f862-50cb-5af8-963f-e0e6ea012ef5)
Chapter 2 (#uf00b2aea-f354-5556-8f64-819650308806)
Chapter 3 (#ue73e1d45-f20a-5c47-b6d1-7bf4512b6816)
Chapter 4 (#u62a9a52a-755e-5588-b87d-489c6abff053)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_50b5d1f3-421d-56d7-9760-df3cff08ab68)
Away down deep in the ’Bama bayou,
You’ll find a mysterious Gothic brew
Where Spanish moss drapes ancient oaks,
And sea-slithery lizards and gators croak.
The swampy water creeps ever in,
And lured down many a man has been
By magical, whispering, haunting sounds
Where not another soul is found.
Stay out of the water, whatever you do,
Ain’t no telling what will become of you
If you can’t resist a quick little dip.
Let me give you a tiny tip:
Should you feel a tug at your feet,
It mightn’t be the tide pulling underneath.
Be wary, human, you must beware—
For some say mermaids lurk down there.
“Siren’s Song,” old folk tune, Bayou La Siryna,
Alabama
Placing second or third? Not good enough.
She had to win the Undines’ Challenge this year at the Poseidon Games, had to discover the reason other merfolk shunned her.
Jet whipped her tail fin and surged forward through the turquoise water—pushing, pushing—speeding through the sea like a rocket, streams of bubbles in her wake. Only one goal consumed her.
Winning.
The adrenaline rush, combined with Jet’s superior strength and determination, propelled her ahead of the other merfolk within the first minute. She took a quick peek over her left shoulder and found Orpheous mere feet behind and rapidly closing in.
Her nemesis was gaining.
Jet sped past the Dismals, a barnacle-ridden limestone outcropping, and toward the next hurdle of the race. At the entrance of the honeycombs she cast a quick glance backward. Orpheous grinned, displaying jagged, pointy teeth. His long cobalt hair and teal tail fin distinctly marked him as one of the rare full-blooded members of the notorious Blue Mermen Clan. Ruthlessly aggressive and muscular, his kind usually won most sporting events.
Jet slowed as she slid through the first opening of a large coral with a series of slender gaps. Although beautiful, the hot-pink coral was razor sharp and could gash exposed flesh and scales, causing painful injuries. Each contestant had to maneuver through the marked portals without any part of their body touching the coral. If they did touch, one of the judges on the sidelines would blow a conch shell, signaling the contestant must start over.
Halfway through the coral maze, the muted bellow of conch blasted. Jet’s heart tripped. She hadn’t touched, had she? She looked at the judges perched on a rock ledge twelve feet away, but they pointed to Orpheous and signaled him to exit and start over.
“Liars!” he screamed, ignoring the stream of blood spiraling upward from a gash on his arm. “I did not touch. You are prejudiced against my clan.”
Jet resumed swimming through the narrow twists and turns. She would win and take her place among the strongest and most skilled. Surely then they would respect her.
A quarter mile ahead, the Wrath of Mer loomed. Already, her breath grew shallower in the methane-laced water and her gills flared, struggling to suck in more of the declining oxygen. A methane vent disturbed the water’s buoyancy under the mile-long towering rock ledge.
The bubbling fields let Jet know what to expect. As her body hit the area, she propelled forward, as if powered by jet fuel. What a rush! Better than any runner’s high she’d experienced on land in human form. She luxuriated a moment in the sensation of near weightlessness.
A mass of black stone was suddenly three feet ahead.
She’d miscalculated.
Jet abruptly swished her tail fin to turn but it was too late. She slammed into the rock with her right shoulder and tail fin taking the brunt of the blow. Searing pain radiated from her shoulder down to her fingertips and she drifted downward, fighting unconsciousness. The metallic scent of blood prickled her nose. Jet surveyed her body but didn’t see any open wound.
Orpheous is near.
He shot through the swirl of bubbles, almost slapping her face with his tail fin. He leered at her briefly, his hair a storm of blue, before shooting away.
Jet clenched her jaw and thrust both arms forward. Her shoulder pain transformed to a numbing sensation. Keep going. Don’t stop. She swam out of the methane trap and came to the roofed cavern, selected for its strong crosscurrents.
Piece of salmon cake.
Orpheous entered the cavern and purposely whacked his tail fin against its walls before racing out. The wall appeared to disintegrate as dozens of disturbed gulper eels oozed out of its crevices, their long snaky bodies slithering into the churning water.
Great. She would have to swim through a mass of pissed-off eels.
She made it through without slowing. With her speed, she could overtake him en route to the Devil’s Well, an ancient, dormant volcano. But once inside, he would have an advantage.
Jet kept up the rhythmic pattern of swimming that best suited her—extending her arms forward first, then crunching her abs and thrusting out her tail fin. At the volcano’s tip, she dived into the narrow passage with Orpheous close by. The light quickly dissipated and Jet extended an arm along the side wall to keep her bearings. Each contestant had to swim the five hundred feet to its bottom and collect a piece of lava rock.
Halfway down, she realized something was wrong. Orpheous had stopped swimming and was moving upward. “Chickening out?” she asked. She swam closer to his vibration until she could make out the blue-white of his teeth.
He exposed his jagged molars in a grin that was half snarl, half glee and held up something in his hand.
Jet fumbled in the darkness until she found his fist, which was closed over a smooth, flat piece of lava rock.
“I’ve got my token.”
Jet’s mouth dropped open. “But how? We haven’t reached bottom yet.”
“I brought it with me. Rules are for losers. Better luck next year.” He turned his back, dismissing her.
Anger shot up from the tip of her tail fin to the top of her scalp like an electrical burn. Jet surged forward, bent her body in two and whammed her tail fin into the back of his scalp. A bubbling argh sound filtered down. The lava rock loosened from his grip and fell.
“I won’t let you cheat me again,” she shouted, racing down with Orpheous hot on her tail.
His voice vibrated close behind. “Ever ask yourself why winning means so much to you?”
She frowned. “It just does.”
“Look at you.” His tone was amused, condescending. “Hair so black it shines blue in the sun. So strong, so competitive. You’re nothing like Lily.”
“Leave my sister out of it.” She hated hearing Lily’s name on his foul blue lips. “You’re trying to delay me with stupid chatter.”
“True.” His voice was closer. “But the two of you look nothing alike. Ever suspect you are one of us?”
One of the Blue Clan? Impossible. “Never,” Jet hissed. She swam faster, all the while expecting Orpheous to grab her tail fin and drag her down into the black abyss. At the volcano’s craggy bottom, she extended her fingers until they scraped hardened lava and extracted a loose nugget. Jet surged upward, passing Orpheous moments before he touched bottom.
She pushed on, free of the volcano. Ahead, a crowd of merfolk perched on rocks, waiting for the winner to leap over Rainbow Rock and claim the golden trident.
Jet had envisioned this moment for years. She gathered speed, dived downward and then thrust upward, breaching water. As she crested the rock, she savored the moment—the drops of water coating her naked breasts, the dark blue and purple tail-fin scales glinting in the afternoon sun and her sleek, muscled torso poised in a perfect arc before diving under the sea.
She slowed and came to a halt at the winner’s platform, a tall, flat boulder where the head judge sat upon a chair of abalone shell, trophy in hand.
She’d done it! Finally she’d won the grand prize.
Jet held out her hand. Firth, a Blue Merman and former winner, was the honorary head judge. He examined the rock and scowled, blue lips twisting over sharp, pointy teeth.
She looked past him and spotted her mother and cousins seated in the first row, smiling and waving.
Orpheous swam to her side and Firth scowled at his fellow clan member. “You dishonor us. Yet, I must perform my duties.” He addressed the crowd. “Jet Bosarge is the winner,” he said flatly, then thrust the golden trident into Jet’s right hand.
Her arm was still numb from the injury but she managed to close her fist over the solid gold trident, which nearly matched her height. Jet stomped the base of the trident in the sand three times and chanted, “As descendant of Poseidon, I claim my reward.”
Instead of the thundering cheer Jet expected, the whistling and applause was decidedly lukewarm. Large swarms of merfolk swam away, moving on to the highly anticipated Siren Song event. Even her mother’s chair was now empty.
“You know how this works,” Firth said, nodding at the trident. “On land, the trident will shrink to the size of a charm pendant. It contains a onetime wish, good for one year.”
Jet bowed her head, eager to get away and watch Lily win the siren contest, but a strong hand closed over her arm. She frowned at the green talons and long fingers resembling seaweed.
“Not so fast,” Orpheous said, rubbing her arm suggestively. “Come with me and meet others in your clan.”
His breath smelled like fish guts and Jet tried not to visualize those jagged teeth ripping apart some tasty amberjack. “Go away, you thug fish.”
Orpheous was seriously getting under her skin. Damn it, she was a Bosarge woman, descended from a long line of mermaids well-known for exceptional beauty and intelligence.
He shrugged. “Deny all you like, but I see Blue in you.”
Jet smacked his midsection with her tail fin and he doubled over. She swam as fast as an eel and made her escape. At the crowded Siren Song competition, she saw her family had not saved a place for her at the front of the stage.
Jet regarded her mother and the rest of her family with new eyes. Every one of them was gorgeous, even by mermaid standards: petite, curvy bodies; pale, gleaming skin; lovely pastel hair tints and varying shades of blue eyes spanning from the lightest ultramarine to the deepest cobalt. All dripping with feminine allure and charm.
Not for the first time, Jet considered her own black hair, cut short to prevent drag in the races, and eyes so dark only a hint of brown radiated from the irises. Mom had even chosen the name “Jet” because of their color. No, she wasn’t a precious gem like Ruby or Sapphire or Pearl. Jet was nothing more than fossilized wood that had fallen into stagnant waters; so common it could be found on most beaches.
Clearly, she was no delicate aquatic flower like Lily.
A hush swept over the crowd as Lily swam to the front of the rock and took her place. Lily raised a hand and the crowd hushed again.
It was hard to call what came out mere singing. It was a symphony of sound, the epitome of tone meeting strength. Judges swam a hundred yards away, measuring the distance of the sound vibrations.
Jet closed her eyes and let the notes wash over her. Even though Lily could charm humans above, her voice was at its purest undersea with the crystal notes melding in the currents.
Jet gave a little shake and studied the seascape. All the hard training had been for naught. No one cared that she’d won the Undines’ Challenge. She scanned the crowd, all in awe of Lily.
At least she had the trident. She would return home, and when Mom arrived later, she would use the trident’s onetime wish. Jet tried to catch her mother’s eye to wave goodbye, but Adriana’s gaze was locked on the fair Lily. Typical.
She pictured Orpheous’s leering face. You are one of us.
Was this why most merfolk shunned her? Why she felt like an outcast even among her own family? Could it be that her bloodline was mixed with the shunned Blue Clan?
Soon, she would demand the answer.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_0b9411d3-7d77-5975-bf31-c5a3c3e37647)
Perry’s back. Two words that shook Jet’s world, but not in a good way. She’d returned home from the Poseidon Games two nights ago, exhausted, when her cousin Shelly had broken the news.
Jet sighed as she scanned the bored, impatient crowd packed inside the government-services waiting room, its ambience a curious mixture of sterility and shabbiness. The old building was painted an institutional green and smelled faintly of disinfectant, mold and stale coffee. In the lobby, cheap metal folding chairs were set up in rows.
Outside, the morning rain beat down in gusting sheets. Jet eyed the few people roaming Main Street, searching for a certain build, that certain shock of brown hair and chiseled profile.
Stop it. You’ll see Perry soon enough. And oh, how she’d make him pay. That rat would get on his knees, by Poseidon, and beg her forgiveness before she sent him on his way.
Oh, no. Huge mistake. She shouldn’t have pictured him in that position, those brown eyes staring up at her naked body with hunger. Jet squirmed. Think of something else. She closed her eyes, imagined swimming the warm waters of the Florida Keys and scooping up antique cuff links and coins sunk in ships hundreds of years ago, like a child picking up dropped marbles on a school playground.
It wasn’t helping. Jet placed a hand over her stomach. Sexual need fierce as a knife wound seared and twisted her guts. Damn, she hated that part of her mermaid nature that intensified sexual hunger. It could be a hindrance if she saw Perry after this meeting as she’d planned. But she had to face him eventually and see what he wanted. She would have to keep her sexual need under control and send him away with the tongue-lashing of the century.
Ugh, tongues lashing. Now she could taste his lips and tongue in her mouth, his long, slow, languid kisses that made her frantic with desire in nanoseconds.
There she went again. She was the biggest fool on the planet to pine for Perry’s kisses. He’d been out of prison for weeks. If he’d been languishing in a jail cell for the past three years, missing her and regretting his betrayal, he’d have shown up long before now. Forget him—he’d done the unforgivable.
“Jet Bosarge,” the receptionist called out.
She grabbed her backpack, and the man seated across from her frowned. “I’ve been here longer than you,” he grumbled.
She shrugged. “Take it up with them.” Jet marched down the labyrinthine hallway until she found a door marked IRS. No one answered her knock, so she opened it and stuck her head in.
The office was tiny and contained an old wooden desk. A metal folding chair, identical to those in the waiting area, was positioned across from it. The IRS could have sprung for better accommodations; it collected enough money to do better than this bare cubbyhole. A cheap, utilitarian clock hung on the wall; its secondhand clicked inconsistently—slow, fast, fast, slow—as if it were spitting out Morse code. She paused, wondering if she were in the right place, until she spotted the nameplate that read Landry Fields.
She dropped her backpack by the chair and stood at the lone rectangular window. Quite a show played outside with the swirling rain pounding the parking-lot pavement.
Jet pressed her face against the cool, damp pane. She loved the rain. Loved every pore on her body drenched in raindrops. The only thing better than land-walking on days like this was swimming undersea during a thunderstorm. She’d swim close to the ocean surface, watching raindrops bounce on top of the water and meld into a white, bubbling cauldron of energy while underneath, the pull of the tide crested and heaved in response to the wind. And if a rain shower coincided with the night of a full moon, the energy was electric with intensity.
She closed her eyes and touched her palms to the glass, imagined swimming under the rain’s onslaught right now. Her body came alive, prickling with sensation—
“It’s a mess out there, isn’t it?” came a voice, low, rumbling and way too close.
Jet jumped and spun around. Her eyes bored into a pin-striped suit covering a broad chest. Her gaze traveled upward, taking in a strong jaw and ice-blue eyes that pinned her as if she were a trapped butterfly the man wanted to dissect.
“Mr. Fields?” she guessed. Her voice came out a touch squeaky and she cleared her throat.
He extended a hand. “Miss Bosarge?”
His grip was firm and brief, but far from impersonal, at least on her end. Her palm tingled from the contact and she had a wild urge to curl her fingers over his hand and never let go.
Insane. Jet hastily withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her stomach. Fields gestured to the folding chair, his face reflecting no sign that their contact had affected him at all. “Have a seat.”
She sank into the chair, feeling underdressed. She usually sported black yoga pants, a T-shirt and sneakers, perfectly fine for helping Lily at the salon or working out at the gym. In honor of this visit, she had slightly altered her normal attire by wearing jeans, a purple long-sleeved top and a purple-and-red scarf. Jet wished she’d taken more time with her appearance and played with Lily’s boxes of lotions and potions. At the very least, she could have styled her asymmetrical bob. Oh, well, she had remembered earrings. Maybe her five-carat diamond studs would deflect attention from her plain, unadorned face. Humans seemed to care inordinately about such things.
Under his probing gaze, Jet readjusted the scarf to ensure it completely covered her three-inch gills, which extended from the top of the collarbone to her windpipe on each side of her neck. Although the slotted marks in her flesh were faint, she was careful to keep them covered to avoid questions by any observant human. And this guy looked way too sharp. Jet mentally noted to grow her hair out a few more inches so it would be long enough to cover the gills by the time summer arrived, when scarves and turtlenecks would appear odd. Since her hair grew an inch a week, it should be plenty long enough at summer’s advent.
Fields pulled out a single file from the front drawer and placed it on the desk’s otherwise bare surface. He opened the file and glanced through it, as if refreshing his memory.
“Your letter stated you only found an irregularity in my tax records,” Jet volunteered.
“Mmm-hmm.” He kept reading, never looking up, even when the printer kicked up an odd whirring sound, as if a hive of angry hornets had swarmed to life. The noise ended as suddenly as it had started.
Jet stifled an exasperated sigh and started swinging one crossed leg. The small room was stifling. The man’s mere presence completely engulfed her senses and she stared at his large hands with the clipped, clean nails. No wedding band, but he wore a ruby ring set in a gold band on his right hand. Some kind of class ring, probably from an elite college. His clothes looked tailored and his facial features bore a patrician vibe. The harsh planes of his face, strong jaw and chilly eyes made him appear stern.
The man certainly didn’t fit in with the shabby surroundings. Jet admired his clean, crisp aura and sniffed discreetly, picking up a lingering scent of soap, as if he’d just showered and dressed. And didn’t that make her squirm. Hell, what was wrong with her today? She didn’t even know this man. News of Perry’s arrival must have unsettled her more than she first suspected.
The silence got on her nerves. “Since when did our town warrant an IRS office?” she asked. “I don’t remember ever seeing one here before.”
His gaze stayed fixed on her file as he answered, “It’s a temporary field office for tax season. We’ll close by the end of May. It’s all part of our agency’s public service.”
Public Service? More like a public nuisance. What was so interesting about her tax records? True, she had bucketloads of money in trust funds, but her inheritance was legit. Her ancestors had always been careful to hire the best attorneys to cover where the real money originated—from expensive undersea trinkets strategically sold in bits and pieces over decades.
He finally gave a small nod and faced her. “I remember viewing your file now. The first thing that caught my attention was the income fluctuation in two of your businesses. Four years ago, you claimed a net annual profit of over fifty thousand dollars with The Pirate’s Chest. The business is still listed as open, yet no more profits have been claimed. Then three years ago, another business of yours, The Mermaid’s Hair Lair, reported steady profits until it shut down last year. For the past six months, you’ve been earning an income solely from the interests and profits of various trust funds and stocks.”
She couldn’t help but notice the slight, contemptuous curve at the corners of his mouth. Jet bristled; it rankled when people assumed she must be some sort of privileged society girl. She’d worked hard to contribute to the Bosarge family fortune with years of physically exhausting and high-risk ventures, reclaiming sea treasure with the rat-bastard Perry Hammonds. Not that she could tell this numbers nerd that particular bit of information. “Is inheriting money against the law? It’s not like I intend to live off the trust fund forever. I’m reopening The Pirate’s Chest. I’ve already purchased a downtown building and I’m stocking inventory. A big shipment of antique furniture should arrive from Mobile tomorrow.”
The auditor remained unruffled and silent while rain splattered the window, loud as a knocking at the door. The beating rain outside created a cozy sense of intimacy in the small room and Jet fantasized what it would be like to lean over the desk and kiss Mr. All-Business-Man until he lost that aloof self-control and had his way with her... Jet shook her head slightly and blinked. This had to stop.
Against her better judgment, she spoke up again, eager to get her mind back on track. “My sister, Lily, and I jointly owned the salon. She’s taken an extended leave of absence to travel. We might open it again one day, though.” Jet bit the inside of her lip at the white lie. Not likely the beauty shop would reopen; Lily seemed happiest living undersea and using her siren talent to attract mermen.
Fields wasn’t interested. “Okay, moving on. In reviewing your inventory and sales at the antiques store, I noted you sold maritime artifacts, some quite rare. Are the manifests for these items on file?”
Jet swallowed. As far as she was concerned, once a ship sank, whatever cargo sank with it became the property of the merfolk. What good was all that treasure sitting at the bottom of the ocean? The sea belonged to the merfolk, not humans, and they could keep it or sell it to dirt dwellers as they chose. But she could hardly tell him that, either. “Of course, I have paperwork,” she said coolly. “I also have an excellent accountant who filed my taxes. Perhaps I should have brought either him or my attorney with me. However, your letter phrased this meeting as discussing an irregularity and not a full-blown audit.”
“You’re always welcome to bring an attorney or accountant. That’s perfectly within your rights as a citizen.” He studied her, no emotion showing in those frozen eyes. His face was stern, his manner stiff and formal. “Moving on to your stock portfolio,” he said, as if she hadn’t voiced a concern. “Over twenty percent of your stock is invested in one company, Gulf Coast Treasures and Salvage, LLC.”
Damn. She and Perry had sold, without papers, plenty of shipwrecked, illegal items to that very company. In return, they were given cash, which they used, in part, to purchase stock in the salvage company. Jet kept her mouth shut and merely raised an eyebrow.
The silence between them stretched, but she refused to be the one to break it this time.
“These types of ocean recovery companies are very risky,” Fields continued. “Even if they do find treasure, they must have a profitable way to recover items and bring them up to land using approved archaeological methods. And if all that is accomplished, there’s the thorny issue of who gets a share of the profits—the state, foreign governments, the originating ship’s company, distant heirs of the original property—”
So maybe all this wasn’t about her, she decided with an internal whoosh of relief. It was about the government clamping down on these industries, making sure they got their own profit cuts. A treasure-salvage company in Tampa had been in the news recently when it recovered over five hundred million dollars worth of silver and gold coins from a colonial-era wreck near Portugal. Naturally, the Spanish government filed an immediate claim of ownership and refused to pay the company any salvage fee.
Jet hated worrying about pesky ownership issues. The mermaid philosophy of finders keepers seemed fairer. She was relieved to be out of business with Perry and leave that aspect of her life in the past where it belonged.
“So call me a risk-taker,” she replied with a shrug. “I think it’s a good investment. There are over three million known shipwrecks. It’s a potential billion-dollar industry.” She couldn’t resist showing off a little and letting him know why she suspected the IRS had a sudden interest in the maritime salvage industry. “Especially since an American salvage company found three billion dollars worth of platinum on a World War II merchant vessel.”
He ignored her mention of the platinum discovery. “But of those millions of shipwrecks, only thirty thousand of them are believed to have valuable lost cargo.”
Jet shrugged again. “Your point?”
“We’re taking a closer look at these companies. You have a huge amount of money invested in Gulf Coast Salvage, a disproportional amount of your assets.”
She surmised it must be difficult for a stodgy man like him to understand people willing to take risky ventures, and suspected the auditor was about to go down a path she didn’t want to follow. Jet stood. “Thanks so much for your concern about my portfolio. Warning taken.”
He rose also and frowned. “Sit down, Miss Bosarge.” This time his voice had an edge as sharp as a stingray’s barbed stinger. “Only a couple more questions.”
She reluctantly planted her butt back in the cheap chair.
“Are you acquainted with any of the officers of this company?”
“No.”
Perry had handled all aspects of their treasure sales to Gulf Coast Salvage. She’d checked the company out on the internet and they’d seemed legit. Her accountant had warned her not to put so many eggs in one basket, but he’d also found the company aboveboard. But if it was being investigated and about to go under, she’d better pull out quick.
“How did you hear of them to start with?”
Jet again stood. “They’re large and well-known. I live on the coast and have always been fascinated by treasure. Why wouldn’t I pursue my interest? I haven’t done anything wrong. I may be an incompetent judge in picking stocks—” damn you, Perry “—but that’s it. If you have any more questions, I’d prefer to exercise my right to have an attorney or my accountant present.”
He nodded and rose. “No need to be on the defensive. If I need more information, I’ll get in touch.”
Easy for him not to be upset—he wasn’t the one being drilled. Why did they always have to go after the little guy anyway? Plenty of hedge fund investors and private equity firms, with tons more money than she’d ever see, had been flocking to invest in increasingly specialized treasure ventures.
Fields walked with her toward the door. “Much success on reopening your antiques store. You already have employees hired?” he asked. His previously intense manner, combined with his sharp, wintry eyes, mellowed to a casualness that she suspected was false.
“No. Not yet,” she admitted.
“I see. Well, I wish you much success.”
His body was close to hers. Too close. The soapy, clean smell was strong. Jet swallowed and licked her dry lips. “Thanks.”
She swept around him and into the hallway, inhaling the stale air deeply, ridding her lungs of the auditor’s masculine, clean scent.
“Miss Bosarge?”
Jet whipped around.
“I’ll need to take a look at the manifests for all the items you and your business partner sold to Gulf Coast Savage.”
“All of them?”
His mouth curved upward, but those arctic eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. “Every last one.”
She frowned. The gleaming teeth made her think of a shark. Perhaps Landry Fields was as lethal on land as a shark was at sea. Only the faintest curling at the ends of his light brown hair ruined the predatory image. “I’ll have my accountant call you and make arrangements to send the paperwork.”
“No need for all that. I’ll drop by your store to collect them, or your home if you prefer.” His smile widened, but she wasn’t fooled by the offhand manner with which he requested the paperwork or by the way he casually leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Jet scowled back. She most certainly didn’t prefer Landry Fields inside her house. The whole thing reeked of unprofessionalism and an interest that went beyond the norm of an IRS audit. What was his real game? “Give me a couple days and come by the store. I’ll have them.”
“Thank you so much for your coop—”
Jet turned and scrambled away before he could finish the insincere thank-you. As if she had a damned choice, as if he wasn’t issuing an order.
The rain outside felt wonderfully fresh and she didn’t bother with an umbrella, unlike the few humans venturing outdoor in the storm. The contact of water on skin somewhat calmed her agitation and Jet smiled ruefully. How desperate was she that a number cruncher like Landry Fields could affect her body so deeply during an IRS audit? The man was probably as passionate as cold pudding and would laugh his ass off if he guessed her errant thoughts.
She lifted her face to the rain one last time before getting in the truck, absorbing moisture as if it were sustenance. The water fortified her. At least Mr. Conservative-Government-Man provided a convenient excuse to confront Perry today. Her pride no longer demanded she sit and wait for him to show up again.
Perry was the one with the contacts at Gulf Coast Salvage and had insisted the company provided a perfect cover for selling their stuff without bothering with legal hoopla. Did he personally know the company owners or major stockholders? Did it have a reputation for playing fast and loose with maritime-reclamation laws? She had never asked him.
That was what you got for trusting someone. It always came back to bite you in the ass.
* * *
What an unusual woman.
Landry Fields stood at the window, watching Jet Bosarge in the parking lot as she lifted her face skyward, closed her eyes and smiled. Rain ran down dark eyelashes onto an elegantly sculpted nose, lush lips and then down her long, pale neck before disappearing in cleavage. The wet purple cotton shirt molded to the curve of her breasts. Abandoning his usual professional detachment and gentlemanly manners, Landry leaned forward against the windowpane, curious if there might be an outline of nipples.
Damn, she was too far away to tell. He ran a hand through his hair, which annoyingly curled at the ends, despite his best efforts to comb it down straight. Bosarge wasn’t easy to peg, and he liked to classify people he interviewed into categories within minutes of meeting them: Con Man, Bad Guy with Attitude, Psychopath, Injured Wife, Slutty Girlfriend, or—more rarely—the Innocent or Unknowing. All part of his job as an FBI agent.
Too soon to know what type of woman he was dealing with. And the sexual tension crackling between them played havoc with his normal analytical observations. It made no sense. He’d never before had chemistry with someone he interviewed and Bosarge was unlike any other woman he found physically attractive. She was dark-haired, tall and athletic, deep-voiced and a bit edgy. His usual type was a petite, curvy blonde with a soft voice and an easy, uncomplicated smile.
The woman jumped into a battered red pickup truck and pulled out much too fast, tires squealing on the wet pavement. The corners of his lips involuntarily tugged upward. What kind of woman wore diamond earrings and drove a beater jalopy? She could easily afford a Rolls-Royce.
Everything about Jet Bosarge was a contradiction. Dark hair and eyes contrasted with pale skin and deep red lips. She dressed casually, as if she’d thrown together an outfit with no thought, but the choppy haircut and diamonds gave an air of natural, feminine elegance. At first, she gave one the impression of an overgrown tomboy with her lean, muscular body, short hair and direct mannerisms. Yet, her long legs and low, throaty voice had distracted him so much, only his considerable willpower had allowed him to remain professional during the interview.
He’d studied photographs of the woman, but those cold prints didn’t do her justice. Something about Bosarge in the flesh was vibrant and pulsing with energy. It was as if the rainy day had been nothing but gloomy shades of gray until she’d walked into the office. The effect was akin to when Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz tumbled out of the ruined Kansas farmhouse and stepped into an explosively Technicolor alternate universe.
Landry shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. The woman most likely was a thief and a liar. Getting personally involved with her would be inappropriate and potentially damaging to his career. He was here to do a job and at last things were moving. He’d spent a whole week in the bayou doing nothing but watching Perry Hammonds and reviewing, yet again, the case files with which he’d grown sickeningly familiar. Evidently, the suspect had been in a holding pattern like him. Hammonds did nothing but bum around his rental cottage drinking beer and watching television.
If there was one thing he despised more than deceit, it was sloth. Laziness should be one of the top sins; there was no excuse for sloppy living. You might fail, but at least you got up every morning and made your own way in the world. That belief had helped him rise above a childhood of poverty and emotional chaos.
He’d been about to approach Hammonds directly when Bosarge had returned from out of town. Past experience taught him it was always easier to get to the girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend—whatever the status of their relationship happened to be—and dig around for preliminary information.
Bosarge’s records were most unusual. She possessed a staggering family trust fund. The interest alone provided a comfortable living without her ever having to dip into the fund’s capital. And almost every dime she’d earned from selling maritime artifacts with Hammonds had been donated to various ocean-related charities: Save the Dolphins, Save the Whales, Save the Oceans, Save the Manatees.
Could be she was a spoiled princess who got involved with Bad Boy Hammonds for excitement. The philanthropy could be a smoke screen or a means of assuaging her guilt over stealing. Because it was theft if the collection site was close to shore. That salvage technically belonged to the government and the taxpayers. And Hammonds and Bosarge hadn’t owned an expensive vessel with all the bells and whistles needed for deep-sea extractions.
Landry picked up the fake tax file and shoved it into a drawer. She’d bought his accountant act hook, line and sinker. The important files were locked in his desk at home. He turned off the printer before opening and checking it for jammed papers. Nothing appeared wrong, as usual. With a sigh, Landry turned his attention to the clock and reset it to the correct time. He held it to his ear and picked up the slight hum of the battery he’d installed yesterday.
Finished with his afternoon ritual, Landry retrieved a jacket and umbrella. No need to hurry; he knew exactly where she was heading.
Sure enough, ten minutes later he drove past Hammonds’s cottage and spotted her red truck pulling into the driveway, splashing mud like an angry beast. Landry gripped the steering wheel tightly until the cottage was out of sight. He flipped on public radio, trying to lose himself in a news story, but it was no good. He couldn’t help wondering how the post-prison reunion was unfolding between them. No doubt they had once been lovers and not merely business partners. He’d been privy to many pictures of them embracing or kissing on board the boat they sailed in search of maritime artifacts.
Forget her. He had an investigation and he would concentrate on doing his job. His real focus was on Hammonds. Their past crimes, if they were guilty, were fairly small in the grand scheme of things—he had coworkers covering billion-dollar drug-smuggling rings, after all—but the FBI took notice when Hammonds was released early from a South American prison. That early payoff had been financed by one Sylvester Vargas, a known crime figure with a reputation for dabbling in foreign intrigue. Hammonds had wandered aimlessly for weeks until Vargas’s men collected him and put him on a one-way flight back to Alabama. Now Hammonds was back in the States, and the coupling of maritime salvage with foreign investors and criminal activity was a red flag.
The woods grew denser as Landry passed into a less populous area of Bayou La Siryna until he reached home. He climbed the wooden staircase to the humble cottage set up on stilts like many others in the remote bayou.
The plain door gave way with its customary squeak of rusty hinges. Most things eventually corroded in the salt air. If he took up permanent residence, his sleek BMW would have to be traded in for the ubiquitous pickup truck. Seemed Bosarge was onto something after all with her rusted truck.
The smell of lemon and ammonia mixed with brine meant the maid had come by today. He’d used the same one for years. The first time Landry returned to the cottage after Mimi’s death, the scent of musty decay had been depressing, so he had his real-estate agent hire someone to clean and air out the rooms before his visits. Now that he’d moved in for the next few weeks, he’d been able to keep the same cleaner.
His grandmother had taken great pride in maintaining the tiny place. The scarred pine floors were always waxed, the air-dried bedsheets were crisp and smelled of the ocean, and the cheap linoleum-tiled kitchen had smelled of corn bread, pecan pies, roasts or shrimp boils.
Mimi had spoiled him every summer, as if compensating for his shitty life with a careless mom and her string of increasingly sorry boyfriends. His mother’s house was filled with half siblings from stepfathers that came and went, and constant drama from financial pressures. Every new romantic relationship of his mother’s had created new sets of problems and complications.
Landry placed the car keys on a table in the den and surveyed the interior with satisfaction. Most of the furniture he’d replaced over the years. Mimi’s sofa had been upgraded to a modern leather sectional. He’d kept what he could. The leather couch was draped with one of her crocheted afghan throws, a patchwork of rainbow colors against a sleek sea of black. Her old wicker rocking chair remained in the same spot. The bathroom, however, had no sentimental value and he’d gutted and expanded it the first year after Mimi’s death.
He hung his suit jacket in the bedroom closet and stepped out of the black leather loafers. Back in the den, he adjusted a glass cat figurine on the battered sideboard. The cleaning company knew his peculiarity for detail and sameness, but they weren’t perfect. His fingers accidentally brushed against a red sequined coin purse and he recoiled, as if the haunting memories associated with it could transfer into his heart. It had been one of Mimi’s treasured possessions but he had never liked the purse openly displayed. After Mimi’s death, he’d taken it off the sideboard but then wandered about the cottage, unsure of an appropriate resting place for the ghostly memento mori. In the end, Landry had returned it to just where Mimi had left it.
After a few more minor tweaks to the figurines display, he slipped open the glass doors and stepped onto the wooden deck.
The scent of salty brine swirled in the early-April wind. He inhaled deeply and leaned over the wooden railing. Mimi’s house could best be described as quaint—or ramshackle to be more precise. But here lay its secret charm—the million-dollar view. Located at the bend of one of the bayou’s fingers, Landry could look over the pine and cypress trees hugging the shoreline and see the vast expanse of the Gulf of Mexico.
A tiny flash of orange darted at the base of a tree.
“I’ll be damned,” Landry muttered. He hurried inside and found the binoculars in the sideboard drawer, rushed back out, then focused in on the orange patch. A ginger tabby nestled in a bed of pine needles. Closer examination revealed a swollen belly. Landry set the binoculars on the rail with a sigh. The feral cat population was alive and thriving. It was a losing battle, but he’d try to entice the mama cat into a trap and do what he could to find the kittens a home.
His eyes scanned the ocean. The waters were calm, a blue-gray sheen with a few scatterings of tame whitecaps.
But despite its calm facade, Landry secretly suspected that beneath its placid surface lay a foreign world teeming with mystery and creatures beyond most humans’ imaginations.
He knew. He’d witnessed it with his own eyes.
No, don’t go there. Landry ran a hand through his hair and dismissed the foolish memories. He’d been a kid. A scared, ridiculous kid with a huge imagination. Nothing more to it. He reentered the cottage and made his way to the kitchen, determined to change the direction of his thoughts. He opened the fridge for a drink. His hand drew back abruptly at the sight of the porcelain cat figurine sitting on the shelf by the soda cans.
The same figurine he’d straightened on the sideboard less than ten minutes ago.
Damn. It was getting worse.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_7f13049c-1958-55a6-92ba-46ca133ef897)
Stay strong.
Jet repeated the phrase like a mantra as she sped through the rain-sloshed streets. Although it was not yet night, dark storm clouds blanketed the bayou. The town square was a jumble of small shops clustered around an old courthouse, much like any small Southern town.
But the life-size mermaid statue in the middle of the square was a departure from the norm. Rainwater streamed off the mermaid’s stone-and-steel form, giving the impression that the siren had just emerged, dripping, from the nearby gulf waters. The etched half smile on her face bespoke secrets buried deep within the mysterious body that was part sea creature, part human.
Bayou La Siryna’s founding fathers might have bought into the mermaid myth—old newspaper articles recorded local sightings—but nowadays, the natives scoffed at such nonsense. Most didn’t even recollect that the town’s name was given in recognition of the sea sirens.
Which suited Jet fine. With modern science, if humans suspected the old tales were true, mermaids would be hunted down and subjected to who-knew-what kind of experiments.
Her heart quickened as she rounded the curve on Shell Line Road with its row of rental bungalows nestled in thick pine and cypress. Lights glowed on porches and behind curtained windows like a promise, beacons of love and comfort that pierced her with longing. At one time she’d dreamed of fitting into this human world, since the merfolk didn’t have much use for her.
There it was. Third cottage on the left, where Perry had once lived. Light glimmered inside and a red Mustang was parked in the driveway, the kind of flashy car Perry would drive.
Three years. Three freaking years with no phone call, no letters, no nothing. She’d waited for an apology or any expression of remorse, had hoped incarceration would lead to introspection and recognition that he needed to change and beg her forgiveness. Stupid, stupid and more stupid. The memory of the last time she saw him replayed in her mind. During an expedition, Chilean marine police had caught them unawares. If only she had still been underwater, she would have heard the boat engine miles away. But after hours of bringing up the day’s catch, they’d taken a nap.
At their capture, Perry had pointed a finger at her, declaring it was her boat and her stuff. He’d even told them she was a freaking mermaid, a claim they laughingly dismissed. She’d had no choice but to jump overboard to protect her kind from possible exposure. The bleat of the horn and the shouting above had given way to the silence of the sea. But the usual numbing cocoon of the deep fathoms had failed to silence her despair.
In many ways, it still haunted her thoughts.
I’ve never gotten over it. All the pain of that betrayal churned inside her like a giant tidal wave as she pulled in behind the Mustang. Perry probably thought they would get back in business together. Hell, why wouldn’t he think she’d run back to him? In the past, she’d always done so, had overlooked his faults and dalliances.
She’d thought they really had something, until Shelly and her fiancé, Tillman, became a couple. Their trust and acceptance of one another had been a revelation. Jet realized that all along she’d wanted something Perry was incapable of giving—love.
She got out of her truck, hardly noticing the rain pelting her body as she strode to the door and rapped loudly. Deep inside came the muffled sound of a television. The volume lowered and footsteps approached. The door creaked open and there Perry stood.
White teeth flashed as he gave an easy grin, leaned his tall, sculpted body against the doorframe and crossed his arms. Jet reluctantly drank in the familiar image. Being near her former lover, with all their physical history, churned up memories and feelings she’d rather forget.
Don’t even think about it. Jet lifted her chin and met his amused smile. Conceited ass. Perry’s shoulder-length brown hair curled in waves, while a faint bit of stubble lined his jaw.
He gave a slow, knowing wink. “You are as beautiful as ever.”
“Prison seems to have suited you,” Jet snapped.
Perry’s smile didn’t falter. “Direct as always.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me in? I’m getting soaked out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Since when has water ever bothered you? I remember you love rain.” He stepped aside and waved an arm. “But do come in,” he added, as if offering the keys to the palace.
She swept past, careful not to brush against him. Still, she caught a whiff of his designer aftershave, which smelled of male skin warmed by the sun. Unable to pronounce the Italian product’s name, Jet had dubbed it Aqua de Sexy. It tugged at memories of them together, her face pressed against his chest.
But the memory didn’t devastate her as she expected. Instead, Jet recalled Landry Fields’s soapy after-shower scent: simple, unpretentious and casually masculine. No use dwelling on that. Fields was not potential boyfriend material. Besides, getting seriously involved with anyone would mean again confiding that she was a mermaid, which compounded the risk of their secret race being exposed to scrutiny.
Jet drew a deep breath. “I’ve just come from the IRS office. The auditor asked all kinds of questions about my investments with Gulf Coast Treasures and Salvage.”
Perry shrugged.
“Has anyone from the IRS contacted you?”
“Nope. The only good thing about prison is that there’s no paperwork to file. I haven’t had an income to report in years, so there’s nothing they could question me about.”
“You were sentenced to ten years. Why did you get released early?”
“Good behavior.” He lowered his chin and waggled his eyebrows. “You know how good I can be.”
He crossed the distance between them, but Jet turned away and walked to the window. She was too unnerved to handle the closeness. “How well do you know the owners of that company?”
He scowled. “Who said I knew them?”
“You did. When we first started selling stuff we pulled from the ocean, you claimed to know a company willing to accept our merchandise with no questions asked.”
“I heard about them from other divers and met up with a couple of them a time or two.” Perry laid his hands on her shoulders and guided her toward him.
Jet clenched her jaw, willed her body not to respond to the steady pressure of his palms.
“We have far more interesting things—” he gave a smoldering once-over gaze from the top of her body to the bottom “—to discuss.”
“Like how you tried to screw me over three years ago?”
He ran a hand through his long brown locks. “Yeah, that.”
Jet shook off his hands and paced. The cottage was sparsely furnished, like most rentals, but clean despite a dirty dish on the kitchen table and a newspaper spread out on a coffee table.
“I only told the police you were a mermaid to protect you.”
Jet stopped in her tracks. Somehow, he always managed to catch her off guard, like he had since they met five years ago. He’d reeled her in like a dumb, hungry fish. She’d been so lonely, so damned grateful he accepted her shape-shifting body. And when Perry went away, Jet was left gasping and flailing on land, like the same stupid fish she’d been all along.
Her jaw dropped and she snorted in disbelief. “You did it to protect me?”
Perry clasped her arms in one swift movement, his eyes a mask of concern. “I knew if I didn’t piss you off, you’d stay with me out of stubbornness. No sense both of us going to jail.”
She found herself drawn into an embrace. “Stop it.” She pulled away and inhaled deeply. “If I’d been captured and interrogated, my fate would have been far worse than your jail time.”
“Nobody would have believed me.”
“Not at first. No. But if they probed enough, saw holes in our story of how we accidentally found treasure, ran background checks on our enterprises...”
“I wouldn’t have told them anything else,” Perry insisted.
“And what if I’d gotten sick and they had a doctor find freaky things in my medical tests? Or what if the police had thrown me into the sea to test if I changed? You didn’t put only me in jeopardy. You put my entire race at risk of exposure.”
He gave a disarming grin. “Ah, come on, sweetie. Don’t get melodramatic on me now.”
Of all the nerve. “You really are a son of a bitch, you know that? You knew about my nightmare.”
His brow crinkled, then cleared. “The aquarium thing?”
Jet dug her nails into her fists, concentrated on the painful half-moon indentations in her fleshy palm, recalling one of the few times she’d shown her vulnerability to Perry. She’d awakened one night from that recurring nightmare, gasping for air, and spilled all about it. “Yeah, that thing,” she snapped.
“Never going to happen. But if it does—” he flashed a grin “—I’ll rescue you like a knight in shining armor.”
Right. Perry would be a hero only if it suited his own purposes. Jet sucked in the pheromone-filled air of the tiny room. The man grinned so confidently, as if the past three years had never happened. As if he’d been some noble person when he’d ratted her out.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t I come back?” He ran a hand down her hair and neck, pausing slightly as his fingers brushed the trace of her gills. “I missed you.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Missed this.” His lips dropped to her mouth.
Jet gasped as Perry’s hands cupped her ass and drew her against his body. It would be so easy to surrender, enjoy the moment before—
“No.” Jet tore away and drew in a few ragged breaths, unexpectedly grateful for the IRS meeting earlier. Landry Fields’s questions served to make her more wary of Perry’s lies and manipulation. “I need to set you straight on a few things.”
Perry scowled and flung himself onto the sofa. “I explained why I told the police you were a mermaid. What else do you expect me to say?”
“For starters, how come I didn’t hear from you the whole time you were locked up?”
“They wouldn’t let me post mail.”
“Bull. And you’ve been out for weeks before showing up here.”
Perry narrowed his eyes. “How do you know when I was released?”
“You don’t know?” No reason not to tell him. “The deputy sheriff, Carl Dismukes, told me. You remember him.”
Perry slapped his palm to his forehead. “Of course, the crooked cop. But how did he know I got out?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because your last driver’s license listed you as living here in the bayou and they notify law enforcement when an ex-felon is released.”
“Well, we aren’t paying him shit anymore. He had a lot of nerve, blackmailing us for his silence. I don’t know how he figured out what we were doing.”
Jet bit her tongue. Dismukes might be despicable, but distant merblood ran in his veins, and she wouldn’t betray his secret to a human. The deputy knew everything that happened on land and guessed a great deal about what happened undersea.
Perry narrowed his eyes. “Do you hear me? Dismukes gets nothing.”
“Obviously. There won’t be anything to split. You and I are history.”
“Come on, baby.” His voice grew husky. “Let’s do one more job together. Give me a chance to prove I love you.”
Her stomach clenched in response to Perry’s gruff, low tone and his familiar declaration of love. Stay strong. “After what you’ve pulled, I’d be crazy to do it.”
“I told you, babe! I honestly thought it was the only way to get you to jump ship and save yourself.”
Liar. Could he learn to love someone other than himself? Her thoughts shifted from Perry’s dark brown eyes to the ice-blue eyes of the IRS agent. Those penetrating, no-bullshit eyes that cut through her defenses. Landry Fields would burn through Perry’s charming facade like dry ice on tender skin. Too bad her eyes didn’t have a similar effect on Perry.
And why was she thinking of Landry Fields anyway?
“Please, Jet,” Perry wheedled in that tone he used when he wanted something. “One last big haul to help me get back on my feet.”
Her mouth widened in surprise. “What do you mean? You should have plenty of money socked away from all we’ve collected.”
He hung his head. “I, um, had lots of lawyer bills and stuff.”
“What about your fancy Mercedes-Benz? Your jewelry?”
“Gone.” His face tightened. “I bought everything on credit and when I got thrown in the slammer, everything went to shit with my finances. All that stuff got repossessed.”
Jet gave a low whistle. This was the real reason Perry had returned, of course. The guy was broke and needed her. Angry as she was, Jet couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him. “Maybe there is some way I can help,” she answered evasively. Perhaps she could buy him off and get him to leave her alone. “What did you have in mind?”
He brightened and Jet tried to ignore the gleam of triumph in his chocolate-brown eyes.
“There’s a site with a huge potential profit at Tybee Island, Georgia,” he answered promptly.
“Never heard of any shipwreck there.”
“It’s an old Spanish ship supposedly loaded with gold and silver colonial coins.”
Jet frowned. “Seems I would have heard about it. What’s the ship’s name? Do you have the cargo manifest?” It always amazed her that Perry got such great tips on treasure sites.
Perry waved a hand dismissively. “Leave all the research and details with me.”
“I’ll think about it.” Jet bolted for the door. She had to get out quick, before he suckered her into a commitment. That would be colossal stupidity on her part.
Perry overtook her and laid a hand on the door. “Don’t make me beg. All I’m asking for is one more job.”
Jet swallowed hard and stiffened her spine. He’d left her hanging for years with no word. She could make him wait a day or two. Let him be the one to sweat it out. She had to get out of the cottage and think over everything rationally. Despite the years of silence, Jet knew Perry wasn’t finished with her—she was much too valuable for him to completely abandon. Without her, he’d be back in the same boat he’d been in before they met, living a hand-to-mouth existence with the few treasures he could scavenge alone.
There must be some way to get Perry out of her life without agreeing to another treasure excavation. If she turned him down flat, there was no telling what he’d do for spite. “I said I’d think about it.” She yanked the doorknob, sending Perry stumbling back a few steps. “See you around.”
She stepped into the swirling rain and made her escape.
* * *
Jet was no fun anymore.
Perry kicked over the coffee table. She was playing a game. Trying to show who was boss, especially when he’d tried to stop her from leaving. Damn her abnormal mermaid strength.
But that freaky bitch still wanted him, would eventually cave in, and they could pick up where they’d left off.
Or maybe not. Sylvester Vargas claimed this Tybee Island thing was BIG. Enough money in it for all of them to live easy the rest of their lives. With enough dough, he’d move far away to someplace that didn’t stink of bilge and shucked oysters like this bayou.
And then he wouldn’t need Jet. At first, it had been fun, an ocean salvager’s dream come true. She knew where the nearest, best stuff lay on the ocean floor. And once he got over his initial revulsion about touching a mermaid creature, the sex had been great. But slowly, Jet had changed, had begun to stifle him like any other woman he’d slept with more than a few times.
That woman-animal-sideshow-thing believed she had the upper hand. But he was the one with the contacts to sell the shit.
The sharp trill of his cell phone went off and he glanced at the screen: Sylvester Vargas.
Damn. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“I see your girlfriend just left,” said a heavily accented Spanish voice. “When can we set the date?”
Wow. Are they watching everything I do? Perry cleared his throat. “She’s a little miffed at me right now. But she’ll come around,” he added quickly.
An ominous silence settled on the connection.
“I’m getting impatient.”
“Yes, sir.” He should have contacted Jet long before now but he’d had so much fun reacquainting himself with post-prison pleasures. The days had sped by with his indulgence of booze, women, gambling and partying.
“My company paid to get you out of that hellhole prison in South America. I’m beginning to think you’re stringing us along with your wild tales.”
“No, no. Not at all. Haven’t you checked out what I told you?”
“That’s the only reason I agreed to get you out of jail. I don’t believe in that mermaid shit, but I can’t deny how incredibly lucky you’ve been with sea finds. I contacted the managers of my salvage company you used as a front. They said you were their most reliable supplier.”
“Told you so.”
“No doubt something fishy is going on down there.” Sylvester barked out a laugh at his own pun.
“And don’t forget the police report.”
“All it stated was that a female went missing during the arrest and is presumed dead.”
“She jumped off the damn boat! That’s why she went missing.”
“From that I’m supposed to believe that your Jet grew a tail and swam hundreds of miles to some backwater Alabama bayou?”
Perry swallowed an angry retort. Sylvester was not a man to antagonize. He forced himself to speak with respect. “I need another week or so to convince Jet to go along with us.”
“You have until the end of this week. If she doesn’t agree by then, we’ll have to use force.”
Perry’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t sure if Sylvester was threatening him or Jet.
Or possibly both of them.
“Jet will come willingly. No need for force,” he said with false confidence.
But the line was dead.
* * *
The library was quiet and musty-smelling with an antiquated vibe only punctuated by the sparse number of elderly people at reading tables with magazines. All eyes turned to him. Landry gave a rusty smile that he suspected looked more like a grimace. Where was that woman? She’d entered ahead of him just minutes ago. Surprisingly, she had not stayed long at Hammonds’s rental.
“May I help you?” a middle-aged librarian asked, tilting her head slightly downward to examine him better with her bifocals.
“No, um...” He noticed the stairs to his right. She must have slipped up there. “I’m fine.”
The carpeted steps muffled the noise of his entrance. Despite the room’s small size, he couldn’t see her. But she was there. Ripples of energy stirred his senses, just like in the office earlier. Landry walked to the rows of bookshelves and spotted her running a finger over the spines of several titles. Time to up the pressure on Jet today and ask more direct questions.
“Find what you’re looking for?” His voice boomed like a firecracker in the muted space.
She jumped and nearly dropped a load of books cradled in one arm. “What are you doing here?” Dark eyes narrowed. “Are you following me?”
“Why would I do that?” He folded his arms and leaned against a shelf. “I mean, you’re not a criminal or anything.” Landry arched an eyebrow. “Are you?”
“Of course not.” Red flushed her pale cheeks. “What do you want from me?”
He wanted... Unbidden, he imagined the woman in his bed, naked skin against naked skin. Something about her stirred him deeply, in ways he didn’t understand. “Answers,” he said. “I want answers.”
“I’ll get those stupid papers to you.”
Landry leaned in close enough to read the book titles clutched against her like a shield—Treasure Hunting in the Gulf, Shipwrecks in the Panhandle, History of Tybee Island and— He snorted at the last title. “Little Women? Aren’t you a little old for that one?”
Her chin lifted an inch. “Never. It’s a wonderful book about family sticking together through hard times.”
“A fairy tale.”
“You’re a cynical man, Mr. Fields. Got family issues, huh?”
To put it mildly. His family was a disaster, had been since The Incident when he was five years old. Not that home had ever been exactly harmonious, but at least it had been stable up until that time. Landry pushed down the bitter taste of those childhood memories. “Doesn’t everyone have family issues?” he said with elaborate casualness. He didn’t talk about that past with anybody. No sense rehashing something he was powerless to change. All he could do now was try to prevent it from happening to anyone else.
The tight set to her lips relaxed a fraction. “I suppose you’re right, to some degree. But in the end, family’s all we have.”
Then I am so screwed. “I depend on myself and nobody else.”
“Guess you’re never disappointed, then.” She lifted a shoulder. “But it sounds a bit lonely if you ask me.”
“Hardly.” Landry stiffened. He had his share of women, had a few male acquaintances from work that he got together with for the occasional beer and football-game parties. Sure, a family would be nice, but you could live a perfectly fine life without them. He was proof of that.
“If you say so,” she said in a tone that conveyed she didn’t believe it.
Landry shook his head. Wait a minute. This conversation had taken a turn into the unexpected. He was supposed to shake her up, rattle her composure, not the other way around. He pointed at the book on shipwrecks. “You said you were through with the salvage business. But it looks like you’re still interested in treasure hunting.”
“It’s a hobby. You should get your head out of your ledgers and find one.” She turned and stormed toward the end of the aisle.
“A hobby?” He overtook her, blocking the exit. “So you didn’t meet with your ex-partner today after you left my office?”
She drew her breath in sharply. “How did you— You are following me.”
The flash of fear in her eyes made him want to pull her to him, to kiss her until she couldn’t even remember Perry Hammonds’s name, to protect her from her own dangerous impulses.
What was wrong with him? She crackled with spirit and a unique beauty that was downright unnerving. He’d never felt such a strong pull to a complete stranger. Especially a woman clearly on the wrong side of the law. But just how far had she gone? And was all that truly in her past?
Her eyes hardened. “Not that I have to explain anything to you, but my ex-partner is just that. An ex. I’m done with him.”
He wasn’t used to hostile female suspects. Most fell over themselves to be cooperative and friendly in the hopes of being left alone. Then again, Bosarge thought he was an IRS accountant.
Those people sure got no respect.
“I hope that’s the truth,” he said, meaning it. Bugged the hell out of him that he couldn’t pin Miss Jet Bosarge into his usual tidy categories of good or bad. He wanted to believe she had no involvement with a ruthless criminal like Vargas. But if she knew something, a cooperative informant in the investigation would be useful before the agency closed in.
“You don’t believe me,” she said flatly.
Landry shrugged. “Time will tell.”
“Look, whatever you may think of my past business dealings—”
A clamor erupted behind her and they both stared at the pile of books that had fallen and lay helter-skelter on the floor.
“I must have accidently knocked them off the shelf,” Jet said, forehead scrunching in confusion.
She bent down to pick them up at the same time he did, their hands touching as they picked up the fallen books. He glanced up, startled, and Jet’s face was mere inches from his own. He didn’t move—couldn’t if he wanted to anyway. Their breath joined and he felt absorbed in her impossibly dark, wide eyes. If he believed in magic—which he most certainly did not—he’d swear she was a witch casting a spell.
She broke contact first, swooping up the books and piling them haphazardly on the shelf. He stood, resisting the impulse to reshelf them in the correct Dewey decimal order. Keeping his own world in tight order was work enough. No need to take on librarian duties.
“As I was saying,” Jet said, standing with her arms crossed. “I’ve been out of that line of work for three years. Maritime salvage is a cutthroat business filled with lots of gray areas about what is and isn’t legal. I’m done with it. I’ve dabbled in a few other ventures since quitting and now I’m reopening my shop.”
Must be nice to dabble for years, courtesy of a wealthy family. He sure hadn’t had that luxury. Landry shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born into a family with advantages unimagined by his parents and siblings. Sometimes life just screwed you that way.
“Tell you what,” he said, as if coming to a quick decision. “I’ve got some photographs I want you to look at.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Right now?”
“Yes. While digging into your finances, my audit has broadened to other people and companies.”
She followed him to the unused computer in the corner and watched as he logged in and uploaded a photo from his personal email account. It wasn’t the greatest picture. Too bad he couldn’t display the mug shot on the FBI site. Landry scrutinized the photo along with Jet. Sylvester Vargas was standing with a group of men by the docks and wore a hat, but the lower half of his face was fairly visible. If she’d met him before, she’d recognize him in the photograph.
“This guy look familiar to you?”
She leaned in and he inhaled her scent—fresh and invigorating like cooling rain after a long drought. Except her closeness felt anything but cool. His gut clenched at the fierce stab of longing that washed through him.
“No,” she said, her breath sending tempting wisps of desire by his ear. Her arm brushed against his shirt, and even through the cotton fabric, heat spread over his entire body.
Landry fought not to squirm. If just being near her and not touching got him this aroused, what would it be like to have her in his arms? In his bed? He cleared his throat. “Are you sure?” Damn, his voice sounded husky and strained.
“I’m sure.”
He glanced up in quick surprise. She sounded out of breath.
Bosarge straightened and patted her black hair in place about her long, slender neck. Must be a nervous habit, because she did the same thing this morning when he questioned her.
So much for getting anywhere with a photo identification. Landry signed off the computer with a sigh and stood. He hadn’t gained a thing in this second meeting. All it had done was reemphasize the strange attraction to this woman. She met his gaze head-on, direct and unflinching.
“Your name matches your eye color,” he blurted. Hell, what a stupid remark.
“Really?” Her upper lip curled. “Thanks, I didn’t know that.”
Sarcastic witch. “Is that any way to talk to the man auditing your tax records?”
“It’s about as appropriate as a government employee commenting on my personal appearance.”
She had him there. “Touché.” He nodded before delivering a parting shot. “I look forward to examining your complete records in excruciating detail.”
* * *
Jet hadn’t planned on visiting Dolly tonight, but evidently her subconscious was in charge. She’d driven on autopilot, consumed with the day’s meetings with two very different men. One a stranger, the other a man who knew her secrets.
But Jet didn’t think of loam-brown eyes so similar to her own; rather she recalled blue eyes sharp as barbed wire. She didn’t think of the casually familiar bearing of an old boyfriend, but the tight, controlled precision of an auditor. Most surprising, she didn’t continue mulling over the long distances and spaces that marked her past relationship. Instead, her mind and body focused on the unexpectedly cozy intimacy of a library’s book stacks.
It was all very confusing.
She parked by the only other vehicle at the water park, Dusty’s old Cadillac. Jet beeped the horn in three short blasts and grabbed a tote bag from the backseat.
“Glad you made it today,” Dusty said as she approached. “Our girl is a bit down.”
Although his merblood was distant, Dusty had inherited a special feel for sea life. Jet impatiently shifted the weight on her feet until at last his gnarled fingers released the gate’s lock.
She swept past him to the restroom, changing into a tank top and bikini bottoms. When she emerged, Dusty was mopping inside the office. He nodded before turning his back.
At the pool’s edge, Jet bent down and slapped the water’s surface. In seconds, over four hundred pounds of sleek silver-blue dolphin breached the water in a graceful arc before swimming like a torpedo toward her hand. Dolly playfully pushed against Jet’s palm with her bottlenose beak and squeaked out a greeting.
Jet grinned. “I’m coming in for a swim.” This was exactly what she needed. To hell with the complex human male species. She shed the bikini bottoms and slid into the water, legs instantly fusing into a long, shimmering tail fin.
A whiff of urine and feces assaulted her. Andrew Morgan, the park’s owner, wasn’t using the equipment properly. Damn, he had no business keeping a wild mammal from its natural habitat. The saltwater pool felt sterile, so unlike the ocean, which teemed with everything from gigantic blue whales to tiny microorganisms like plankton drifting in the ever-flowing currents.
She reigned in her distaste and anger. Dolly sensed emotions and Jet didn’t want to add to her unhappiness. She ran a hand down her sleek side, fingers lightly tracing deep scars. Dolly was lucky that when she washed ashore on the bayou banks with severely lacerated flanks, a group of locals banded together to help save her.
Andrew, to give him credit, had provided a healing home as Dolly recovered. But instead of releasing her back to the sea, he discovered that Dolly’s popularity brought in enough money to refurbish his formerly run-down park.
Dolly clicked and chattered, leading Jet to her favorite toy, a purple beach ball. Once she reached it, Dolly tossed it to Jet with her beak. Jet dived down in the water and flipped it back to Dolly with a flick of her tail fin. Back and forth it went for several minutes.
But something was off. Dolly didn’t have her normal energy, her jumps weren’t quite as high, and her turns and underwater maneuvers were a tad slower, too. Jet swam closer to Dolly for a better look. The dolphin tossed her head, pointing it toward the deep end of the pool, where Andrew kept the food buckets.
“Is that all? You hungry, girl?” Relief bubbled inside Jet. The dolphin couldn’t be too depressed if her appetite was strong. Jet obligingly dumped a bucket of food for Dolly, who ate as if she were starving. Jet frowned. Time she had a talk with Andrew.
Dolly seemed energized after the meal and ready for play. She blew air from her blowhole, casting underwater rings. Jet gracefully swam through the bubbling circles, as eager as Dolly for companionship. She had precious little of it, since her family lived in near isolation. Oil spills had run off the few full-blooded mermaids who had lingered in the gulf. Lily had been at sea for months and Shelly was preoccupied with Tillman and their upcoming wedding later this summer.
Jet stifled a familiar pang of loneliness. She was happy for Shelly. It wasn’t her cousin’s fault that her relationship with Tillman was a constant reminder of what Jet lacked in her own life.
Yet again, Dolly tired quickly and floated, nuzzling her beak in Jet’s palm with a slight clacking sound that could have been a sigh or a whimper. Despite the dolphin’s appearance of a perpetually smiling mouth, something was definitely amiss.
Jet sang a lullaby, wishing Lily was here to soothe Dolly with her magical siren’s voice. Dolly floated as Jet stroked the rubbery-smooth flanks, careful not to touch any old injuries.
A tiny wave of motion rippled the underside of Dolly’s lower flank, so subtle Jet almost missed it. Her hand stilled on Dolly’s thick skin, and there it was again. Something inside Dolly was alive and flipping. Awe and understanding dawned.
Dolly was with calf.
“No wonder you’re so tired and hungry,” Jet cooed, doing some quick calculations. Dolly had been here six months, so she was at least halfway through a dolphin’s twelve-month gestation period. She laid a cheek against Dolly’s warm-blooded body. Dolly should be with other females in her pod, who would aid her during labor and later share mothering duties.
“I’ll get you out of here somehow,” Jet whispered.
Dolly faced her sideways; one small black eye gazed into Jet’s. Comprehension emanated like a wave of intelligent words. Dolly understood her heart’s intent.
“I promise,” Jet vowed.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_5f589fea-2e40-59f0-8a79-33329f741fd9)
The crunch of gravel lifted Landry out of his musings on Jet Bosarge. He didn’t know many people in Bayou La Siryna, preferring to keep to himself. Life was simpler that way, more predictable. Only a couple of old ladies at the humane shelter even gave him a casual nod of recognition. Landry went to the window and drew back the curtain.
Damn. He frowned at the battered Plymouth Duster. Only one person in the world owned that classic piece of shit. He rubbed his jaw, then stilled when two people got out of the car instead of one. And—oh, hell—they were unloading dozens of bags from the trunk.
He slipped a pair of sneakers on and walked outside. In the deepening twilight, Landry focused on the tall, lanky teenager. Which of his many half siblings was this one?
“Seth, say hello to your brother.” His mother banged down the trunk, the sound echoing in the lonely gloom.
The kid regarded him sullenly.
This was the youngest of his mother’s brood and the one he knew the least. She’d asked him if he could stay a few days this summer. Give Mom the tiniest opening and she’d bulldoze through it.
He eyed their cargo with mounting unease. “What’s with all these bags?”
“Seth’s here for a visit.” She stuffed some into his arms. “Help us get this stuff inside.”
“A little visit?” Between the three of them, there were over a dozen such crammed bags.
His mother stalked toward the porch before Seth found his voice. “You can’t make me stay here,” he complained. “This place looks like a shit hole and it stinks like one, too.”
His mother whirled around as if the words were a knife launched into her spine. “You’re staying. I’ve had all I can take of your stealing. And your mouth.”
“Stealing?” Landry asked, looking back and forth between them.
Seth kicked at the gravel with a pair of frayed sneakers. “It’s no big deal.”
Landry suppressed a sigh. “What do you expect me to do?”
She crossed her arms. “You work for the FBI, don’t you? Be a positive role model. He’s got no father to speak of.”
A flush of anger darkened the kid’s neck. “I’ve got a dad,” he said hotly.
His mother raised her hands and spun in a half circle, looking around the deserted stretch of bayou. “Really? Where is he?”
“He’s oil rigging. Making money.”
“Which we see precious little of,” she snapped.
Sounded like old times. Five minutes with his family and his stomach was knotted. He’d been on his own for so many years he’d lost tolerance for the past drama of Life With Mom.
Landry gave a time-out signal. “Truce. Let’s go inside and discuss this over dinner.”
His mother stalked off again. “I’m not hungry,” she called over her shoulder. “I need to get home real quick-like.”
“Well, I’m hungry.” Laundry motioned for Seth to follow them. At first it appeared the kid wasn’t going to budge from his slouch against the old Plymouth, but with a sigh worthy of a Shakespearian actor, he dragged his feet forward, shoulders slumped and head down.
Inside, his mother threw her load of bags onto the couch. “Nice setup. This place used to be a real dump when your grandmother was alive.”
Landry faced Seth and got his first good look at the kid. His chin-length brown hair hung in oily locks that partially shielded heavy-lidded dark eyes. He wore an olive camouflage jacket two sizes too large and a pair of faded jeans. “I’m grilling steaks. You hungry?”
“I’d rather have a hamburger. Can’t we just go to McDonald’s?”
Landry suspected the fast-food preference was a ploy for Seth to get rid of their mother faster. That had to be one tense ride from Mobile to the bayou. Landry grabbed his car keys and tossed them to Seth. In two seconds, the kid was out the door.
“You’re taking a mighty big risk with your expensive car,” his mother chastised.
Landry rounded on her. “I can’t believe you showed up like this.”
She had the grace to appear somewhat sheepish. “You agreed to a visit this summer.”
“It’s early April, not summer. And I’m in the middle of an investigation,” Landry growled. “For Christ’s sake, isn’t the kid still in school?”
Her hard eyes clouded with tears. “He was suspended for cutting classes. In fact, he missed so many he might as well stay out of school the rest of the year and make it all up in summer school. Please let him stay. You’re my only hope,” she sobbed.
The great big ole fake. He knew it, she knew he knew it, and yet it worked every time. Landry tried to remember her the way she was before their lives were destroyed. He’d lost more than a sibling that dark day; he’d lost his mother and father, too.
Landry groaned and threw up his hands. “Okay. Okay. He can stay a few days. I’ll try to talk to him but there’s no guarantee it’ll do one bit of good.”
Mom hugged him tight with a smug smile she couldn’t entirely hide. “You’re my anchor.”
“Just this week,” he reiterated.
* * *
Jet riffled through the stack of invoices and moaned. Paperwork sucked. Tomorrow would be much more fun when the delivery from Mobile came in.
A sharp rap at the front door startled her. The shop wouldn’t open for a couple more weeks. The front windows were taped over, so she couldn’t see who’d knocked. She stuffed her feet into a pair of flip-flops, went to the door and unlocked it.
Crap. If she’d known who it was, she wouldn’t have bothered. “Sorry, we’re not open for business yet,” she said quickly and began shutting the door.
“Not looking to buy anything,” Landry Fields said, stepping inside before the door closed. His sharp eyes roamed the mostly empty space. “When do you anticipate opening?”
Jet inhaled the soapy-clean male scent she remembered from yesterday. “Not for a few more weeks. I’ve got a big shipment of furniture coming tomorrow. It’ll take some time to get everything arranged.” She resisted the urge to touch a curling tendril of light brown hair grazing the auditor’s stiff white collar. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just showered or combed his hair down in a failed attempt to flatten the curly ends. Jet shook her head at the sight of his gray jacket and trousers. “You keep wearing suits like that and by next month the humidity will eat you alive.”
“I’m from Mobile. I’m used to it.” Landry didn’t even give a polite smile, bearing an air as formal and reserved as his attire.
It only sent Jet’s imagination into overdrive, fantasizing about what lay beneath the conservative clothing. She tried to convince herself Landry was probably pasty-white and about as fit as a dead June bug but as he walked away toward the front counter, something about the energy of his movements refuted that theory.
Landry stopped at the huge mahogany bar that served as a front counter and ran a hand down its gleaming, nicked surface. “Nice. You don’t see these kinds of large pieces anymore.”
Jet nodded, unexpectedly pleased at the compliment. “It’s the reason I bought this space to begin with. Came with the property.” She closed the door and walked to him. “I don’t have the manifests yet that you requested.”
Landry sat on one of the counter bar stools, as if settling in for a long chat. “How could you?” he asked with a wry smile. “I didn’t specify how many years back I wanted you to go.”
Jet scowled. “Years?”
“Correct. I want the documentation on all the salvage property you sold to Gulf Coast Salvage.”
“I didn’t think about it while I was in your office, but the company should have a record of that. Can’t you get it from them?”
“You should have a copy, as well.”
Landry didn’t look at her, instead he riffled through the invoices she’d left lying on the counter. Nosy man. Her pleasure quickly turned sour. “What are you doing?” she asked tartly.
He laid down a paper and faced her. “Just curious. I find everything about you curious and fascinating.”
A warm glow settled in the pit of her stomach at the words. No one had ever called her fascinating before.
“I want to satisfy my curiosity about you and your business associations.” His eyes returned to the icy-blue she remembered from their first meeting. “Especially your association with one Perry Andrew Hammonds. The third, to be precise.”
The warm glow died, replaced by a sharp chill up her spine. Damn. She knew it; Perry had somehow brought this fresh hell into her life. “What about him?”
“Now that Hammonds is out of prison, do you plan on resuming the treasure-hunting business with him?”
That was the million-dollar question. Jet opened her mouth, but no words came out. She’d had a sleepless night, debating whether to help Perry one last time. Maybe if she did he would make enough money to go away and leave her the hell alone. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
“If you’re serious about operating this store, you won’t have time for long excursions.” His eyes honed in on the help-wanted sign by the door. “Hired any employees yet?”
So, he was trying to see if she was truly making a run at this venture or if it might be a front to shelter money. “No.” Jet crossed her arms and changed the subject. “What about your plans? You said the IRS field office here would only be around for tax season. When do you go back to Mobile?”
The blue chips in his eyes thawed a bit. “Trying to get rid of me? I was actually thinking of staying in Bayou La Siryna permanently and commuting.”
She almost laughed. “Why would you want to do that?” Mr. Sophisticated-Government-Man would die of boredom. Nobody visited their town and stayed. The bayou was an acquired taste—you were either born and raised in it, so that over the years the place settled into your blood and bone and brain like a fever, or you married a local. A disturbing thought hit her. “Are you seeing somebody in town?”
“No. But I have roots here.”
Jet narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him. “What roots? I’ve never seen you before.” She’d sure as hell remember if she had.
“I used to visit my grandmother most summers growing up, out by Murrell’s Point.”
“Hmm, thought I knew most everyone in these parts. What was her name?”
“Claudia Margaret Simpson.”
Simpson, Simpson... Jet ran the name through her mind’s inner database but came up blank. “How about her husband’s or children’s names?”
“What is it with people in small towns and the need to identify someone’s family history?” he grumbled. “Doubt you ever crossed paths. Mimi kept to herself a lot.”
“A family trait?” Jet observed wryly.
Landry tipped his head slightly in assent. “Could say the same about your family. In spite of the fact that your kin is one of the wealthiest and oldest in Bayou La Siryna, the Bosarges have a reputation for being aloof and reserved.”
“Can’t deny that.” Jet grinned, until it struck her that he was prying again for tidbits of information about her. “Are all IRS guys as nosy as you?”
“If they’re any good—yes.”
What was good for the goose... “All right, then, since you seem to know so much about me, what are your grandfather’s name and your mom’s name?”
“Edward Fields. He died before I was born. And Mom’s name—get ready for this—is Clytie Sands-Fields-Riley-Johnston-Hogge-Riley-Grimes.”
Jet raised a brow. “Two Rileys?”
“Married and divorced twice.”
“Ouch.” Jet snapped her fingers. “It’s coming to me now. Did your grandmother live in that blue cottage on Adele Avenue and drive a yellow Continental?”
“That’s the one. Impressive memory.”
“We all knew her as the crazy cat lady.” Jet clamped a hand over her mouth. She really needed to get a mouth filter one day. She quickly grabbed a bunch of scattered invoices and stuffed them into a folder. Normally, it took a lot to fluster her, but something about Landry Fields kept her off-kilter.
A warm, large hand lay over her right arm, near the elbow. “It’s okay.”
The touch, combined with his low, husky voice, made Jet quiver even more than she had at the library. Her eyes slowly traveled up his forearm, across lean muscle and a coating of light hair that was so...damned...sexy. How could a man’s arm be sexy, for Poseidon’s sake? She met his eyes—so blue, so deep. As deep as the ocean she swam on summer nights. Landry leaned closer and Jet shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to smell his clean scent and feel his lips on hers.
The bells above the door jangled and a cool draft lifted the hairs at the back of her neck.
“Well, shit,” Landry muttered. “It’s Perry the Pirate.”
“Huh?” Jet abruptly opened her eyes and blinked. She’d been so totally wrapped in Landry’s spell that the worldly intrusion caught her off guard. In a nanosecond, Landry’s eyes returned to their previous remote chill. She stepped back and faced Perry.
He sauntered in, smiling easily, dressed in a white shirt and white jeans, just as he had the day she first met him at Harbor Bay. The Greek-god look, she’d laughingly dubbed it. Only now it looked more like a poor imitation of Don Johnson in an old rerun of Miami Vice. And since everything Perry did was calculated for effect, Jet wondered at the significance of his attire. His dark hair was artfully, yet casually, combed back and he sported a day’s growth of hair on his chin and jaw.
“That your BMW parked out front?” he asked Landry.
“It is,” Landry said stiffly, not returning the breezy smile.
“Classy car. A little conservative for my taste, though. I drive a red Mustang.”
Yeah, a rented one. The flashy clothes and cars gave a false impression of wealth, and Perry was dead broke. Or so he claimed.
“Sporty car. But a bit too lame on the engineering for my taste,” Landry remarked drily.
Perry pulled Jet to his side in a propriety gesture that made her want to give him a good kick in the shins. His Aqua de Sexy cologne did nothing for her after being so close to Landry minutes earlier. Everything about Perry now struck her as synthetic and fake.
It could never work between them again after all that had happened and the years apart. Still, letting go was like a little death. For too long, she’d clung to the hope they could be a real, loving couple, and dreams like that didn’t die easily.
“Perry, this is Landry Fields, the IRS auditor that I spoke with yesterday.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Perry Hammonds.”
Perry held out a hand, and for a moment Jet wasn’t sure Landry was going to shake it.
But Landry played the gentleman. “I know the name. You were once in business with Miss Bosarge.” Landry withdrew his hand. “Until you were sent to prison,” he added.
Perry’s smile flattened. “How nice of you to bring that up.”
“I believe in laying out all the facts.”
“Spoken like a typical accountant,” Perry observed. “Bet you’re a blast at parties.”
Landry crossed his arms. “Yep, we nerdy types also believe in having plans. What’s your game plan? Must be hard finding employment with a felony record.”
Perry shrugged. “Something will come up. It always does. Besides, I’m doing my best to talk my girl into going back into business with me.”
His girl? Jet stepped away from Perry’s overly tight hold.
Landry swept his hand over the room. “Looks to me like she’s got other ideas for earning an income. Guess Miss Bosarge could always hire you temporarily to help with shipments and inventory as her supplies arrive.”
Jet almost snorted. Perry work as a lowly stock boy? Not happening.
“I have a higher standard than that,” Perry scoffed.
The air between the two men crackled with animosity, all pretense of politeness worn thin. Time to break it up. Jet headed to the door, motioning to Landry. “I’ll have that paperwork for you no later than tomorrow,” she promised. Of course, she had access to the papers. The problem was that most of them were bogus.
Landry followed her while Perry leaned an elbow on the front counter and watched them.
At the door, he handed her a card with his phone number. “My teenage brother is staying with me a few days. A temp job would give him something to do while I’m at work. Think about it and give me a call later if you’d like to meet him.”
Suddenly, Landry bent down and whispered in her ear, “Don’t do it. Don’t go back into business with that guy. You’re better than that.”
Jet gasped at the feel of his hot breath at her ear, the touch of his cheek as he temporarily pressed against her neck. Even with the protective scarf to hide the gill markings, the silky material only served to make the contact more provocative.
Landry pulled away, his blue eyes inches from her own, intense and full of warning. Without waiting for an answer, he abruptly exited.
“Looks to me like that IRS dude is interested in more than your tax returns,” Perry drawled after Landry shut the door. “What gives?”
“None of your business,” she snapped. “Why did you come by?” She sat on a bar stool next to Perry and rubbed her temples.
Perry smoothed back her hair behind one ear and ran a finger along the marking. “Let him get too close and he’ll wonder about this.”
Jet slapped his hand away, hard enough that Perry winced slightly. “That your way of saying I should stick with you since you know my deep, dark secret?”
“It should weigh in my favor that I know all about you and it doesn’t bother me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. If I weren’t a mermaid, you’d still be collecting penny-ante treasure crumbs all by your lonesome.”
“That’s not true. I want us back together,” he said huskily. “The way it used to be in the beginning. Remember?” He leaned in and softly kissed her lips. “I remember. And while I was in that stinking prison I thought about you every single night.”
It wasn’t true. He’d never written or called. And when he got out, he took plenty of time getting back to the bayou. He nuzzled the tender flesh of her neck and rubbed her shoulders. “I missed you. C’mon, baby. Give me another chance.”
Don’t do it. You’re better than that. Landry’s whisper drowned out Perry’s coaxing. Jet sighed. “We can never be business partners—or anything else—ever again.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is it because of that accountant nerd? I saw the way he looked at you.”
Jet’s heart gave an odd tug at the idea. “Don’t be stupid. We just met.”
“Doesn’t matter. I heard him ask you to hire his brother. That’s his way of keeping an eye on you.”
“We were talking about us.” She took a deep breath. “It’s over.” There, she’d said it.
A deep red flush lit his pale face and his jaw clenched. “You don’t mean it.”
Jet stood. “Yes, I do.” She held out her hand. “Good luck with whatever you decide to do in the future.”
Perry grasped her hand. “Do this one last job with me. Help me get back on my feet.”
“No, but I’ll help you out.” Jet shrugged out of his grasp and lifted her backpack from a shelf. “I’ll write you a check. Enough for you to move and set up in some new business.”
Perry’s mouth dropped open and Jet smiled inwardly. He’d obviously expected her to fall into his lap. She found a pen and opened her checkbook.
Perry grabbed her writing hand. “I don’t want your money. I want you to go with me to Tybee Island.”
Jet jerked her hand away and gazed at him in surprise. “Since when do you not want my money?”
His flush deepened. “I like to earn my money and this is a big deal at Tybee.”
“I don’t have time for this. I’m opening the shop back up and moving on with my life.”
He rolled his eyes. “Bor-ing. You’ll be stir-crazy in two weeks.”
“Shows how little you know me.” She signed the check with a flourish and handed it over.
“I told you I don’t want your—” Perry read the dollar amount and paused. “On second thought, I’ll take it. Thanks.” He grabbed the check and stuffed it into his white jeans. “But I still need you for this job.”
Jet snorted. What had she ever seen in this man? “I gave you enough money to start over doing something else.”
Perry stood. “This is your last chance. Say no, and I’m never coming back.”
“Have a good life.”
Perry’s lips clamped together so tightly a thin white line edged the rims. “You’ll be sorry,” he warned.
“Get out,” she said flatly.
He stared at her with an unfathomable expression. At least he didn’t stoop so low as—
“I love you, Jet.” His eyes softened. “And I’m begging you. Let’s go now, right this minute. Forget your shop.”
Don’t do it. Landry’s whisper echoed in her brain. You’re better than that.
Yes, she was.
“No,” she said firmly.
He stiffened. “If that’s the way you want to play it.” Perry slapped the countertop. “But you’ll regret that decision before the week is out. Consider yourself warned.”
Chills skittered down her spine at his set face. There was something there behind the words, something twisted. Something more than Perry believing she would miss him.
She picked up the invoice stack Landry had looked through, determined to get right to work and set her mind on business instead of worrying. A strong scent of baby powder tickled her nose and she lifted the papers to her face. Hmm, why would paper smell like powder?
The shop door slammed shut as Perry left, chimes exploding in a riot of discordant clangs.
Jet no longer cared. Landry’s expressed faith in her character harmonized in her heart, outweighing Perry’s threat and pique.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_00ad5ee8-487a-5081-8d4a-ac62ffc8a22a)
A long rock guitar riff assaulted Landry’s ears as he entered the house.
“Hey,” he shouted. “Turn it down.”
Seth sprawled on the sofa, lost in the music, a crumpled bag of chips and half a sandwich by his side. Landry winced at the thought of meat grease staining the expensive leather.
He unplugged the cord and Seth jumped at the resulting quiet. “Wha—”
“Little loud for me. Is this what you’ve been doing all day?”
Seth sat up straight and stretched. “I got up about two o’clock, fixed a sandwich and listened to my iPod. Jeez, it’s so boring out here.”
“What do you usually do all day now you’re out of school?”
“Hang out with friends. You know.”
No, he didn’t know. He’d worked nights and summers since he was sixteen and put himself through college. And after college he’d been busy with his career. “What’s your game plan until summer school starts?”
Seth gave an elaborate shrug. “More of the same, I guess.”
The kid would drive him nuts. “We need to establish a few house rules.” Landry pointed to the food refuse. “Pick up after yourself and get in bed by midnight. Or at least turn the TV on low or read a book.”
“Read a book?” Seth snorted. “Yeah, this week is going to be a blast.”
Oh, hell, he could make more of an effort to be hospitable. A few days wasn’t forever. Landry regarded Seth’s bored, impassive features and sighed, trying to remember what he liked at that same age, besides the all-consuming testosterone-raging obsession with girls. He’d been a serious kid, always retreating from his noisy family and working jobs for some cash.
“How about a temporary job? I know a lady who might be interested in hiring you.”
Seth grimaced, as if tasting sour lemon. “Why would I want to do that?”
Right, whatever you want you can shoplift. “It’s not so bad. Be nice to have your own spending money.”
“Nothing I really need.”
“What about a car or money to take out a girl?”
“Don’t have a girlfriend and I could never save up enough for a car. Guess I’ll try to join my dad on the oil rigs in a couple of years. Might as well be a bum while I can.”
Landry thought quickly. “You could save up enough for a used car. Tell you what, whatever you save in the next six months, I’ll match it.”
It was easy to read the mistrust in Seth’s eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re my brother.”
“Half brother,” Seth corrected. “And I haven’t seen much of you in the last few years.”
Landry fought down the guilt that flared in his gut. “You should take the job. She needs a temp to stock. There’s a shipment of goods coming in tomorrow, so she’d need you right away.”
“Oh, all right,” he said with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “I don’t see why she can’t do it herself, though. Is she old or something?”
Landry snorted. Jet Bosarge was the complete opposite of old and frail. “She’s younger than me by at least five or six years.”
“She your girlfriend?”
The question took him aback. Jet’s sharp features sprang to mind. She was way too...intense for his taste. There was a storm in her eyes, a tightness and electricity in her every move that was disturbing. Everything in her manner suggested a hard, unbending nature. Despite it, there was no denying most men probably found her type alluring. He wasn’t one of them. He liked women that were more nurturing with soft, curvy bodies that promised a hot night in bed. And out of bed, he wanted the kind of woman with whom he could relax at home on quiet evenings. God, he sounded like a chauvinist. No wonder he was single.
“Well?” Seth asked. “Is she your girlfriend or not?”
“Not. Definitely not. I only met her yesterday,” he said way too loudly, pushing aside the memory of how they had almost kissed in the shop. “And I need a favor. Don’t tell her I’m with the FBI. She thinks I’m an IRS auditor.”
Seth scowled. “Why’d you lie?”
“It’s not a lie—it’s an undercover job.”
“Uh-huh. So you want me to spy on her.”
Landry’s jaw tightened. “Of course not.” Did the kid think the worst of everybody? He hadn’t considered it but... “If you do see anything weird, you could let me know.”
Seth snatched up the chips bag and stalked toward the kitchen.
Landry followed him, picking up a used drinking glass and an empty box of crackers. “And speaking of weird—have you noticed anything unusual going on around the house?”
“No. What do you mean?”
Landry felt the back of his neck heat. “Like things not being where they’re supposed to be and strange noises. Stuff like that.” Seth’s blank face reminded Landry why it was always better to just keep his mouth shut. “Never mind. How about we go out? We could swing by Miss Bosarge’s house so she can meet you, and then go to Mobile for pizza and a movie.”
“I guess.”
His brother’s lack of enthusiasm was irritating, but at least he hadn’t refused. During the fifteen-minute ride to Jet’s, Landry looked at Bayou La Siryna with new eyes. Much as he appreciated the lonely, mysterious swampland, which suited his own loner nature, it didn’t offer much for a teenager. If Seth stayed the whole summer, he might lose his mind from boredom. Landry pulled into the Bosarge driveway, glad Perry’s Mustang was nowhere in sight.
“Cool house,” Seth commented, sliding out of the BMW. “She rich?”
“Yep. Her family has a whole lot more money than we’ll ever earn in our lifetime.” The thought rankled. Jet’s wealth was one of a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t get involved with her. They were from different planets. Everything he had, he’d earned through hard work and disciplined savings, while she’d been raised in a life of ease.
They walked up the steps onto the wraparound porch of the large Victorian home. Wicker rockers graced the open space and large ferns hung from wooden rafters. The place didn’t reflect Jet at all, much too girlie. He rapped on the pale blue door and waited.
Loveliness, incarnated in human form, opened the door. She had long blond hair, green eyes, perfect skin and full, lush lips. Seth sucked in his breath beside him and Landry smiled. This must be Jet’s cousin Shelly, because Jet’s sister, Lily, had been gone for months. Whereabouts unknown. “I’m here to see Jet,” he said.
Those ocean-green eyes widened a bit. She opened the door and waved them inside. Some thing—some mixture of rat, possum and hellhound—scrabbled his way over, barking and snarling.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Our dog, Rebel.” Shelly commanded him to sit and the thing complied.
Landry looked at him closer. “What’s wrong with him—besides the mange? He’s covered in cuts and scars.”
Shelly scratched his hairless ears. “He doesn’t have the mange. He’s a Chinese Crested Hairless. Jet and I rescued him. We found him tied to a tree where a group of kids were stoning him to death.”
“Glad you found him in time.” No creature, no matter how hideous, deserved that fate. He followed her into the den. “Nice place,” he commented. Now, this was more like Jet, especially the collection of swords over the fireplace. “I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.”
“Not at all. I’ll get Jet.” She smiled warmly at Seth, who still looked a bit dazed. “Have a seat. Can I get you a Coke or something?”
“No, ma’am.” His voice squeaked and he sat down quickly.
Landry shook his head and sat, as well. What had he been thinking yesterday about wanting to be younger? Seth made him remember that adolescence sucked sometimes.
“This place is cool,” Seth said, eyeing the swords.
“Then you ought to like working for Jet.” Landry ran a finger over a brass antique compass lying on a coffee table. The magnetic needle jerked and spun frenetically in circles and he hastily stuffed his hands into his pockets.
Seth’s gaze turned from the Confederate sword he’d been studying. “This is the kinda stuff she sells? I thought it would be clothing or makeup crap.”
“I promise no makeup crap,” Jet’s voice rang out.
The air in the room crackled as if a high voltage of positive ions had been released, like a smell after a heavy rain at the beach, bracing and refreshing. She wore a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a gray T-shirt with Alabama Crimson Tide stamped across the front.
Landry stood and pulled Seth to his feet. “Hello again, Jet. This is my brother Seth.”
“Half brother,” he mumbled.
Jet shrugged. “Whatever. I could use some help tomorrow with a big shipment of furniture from Mobile. I’d only need you a day or two. You up for it?”
“Guess so,” he muttered.
“Tell me what time you need him at your shop,” Landry said.
“About ten o’clock.”
Seth’s mouth dropped open slightly. “That early?”
Landry elbowed him. “He’ll be there.”
Shelly walked up beside Jet. “What about school, Seth?”
Seth straightened and a dull red flush crept up his neck. “I’m done for the year.”
Shelly absently swirled a lock of honeyed curls. “I see. Since you’re at loose ends for a bit, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Do you swim?”
Landry shifted uncomfortably, hoping Shelly wouldn’t ask him the same question because he hated lying. What thirty-five-year-old man couldn’t swim? It was ridiculous. Yet he sank like a stone every time he tried to learn.
“Of course I can swim,” Seth answered.
“Then I want you to meet Jimmy Elmore at the YMCA pool. His grandmother Lurlene is one of my senior clients.”
Shelly turned questioning eyes to Landry. “Mind if I introduce them? Jimmy’s a good kid. You’ll see.”
“Sure. Seth could use some company his own age.”
“I’ll set it up now while you two talk business.” Shelly steered Seth out of the room. “Let’s call Jimmy now and work out a time.” Her voice became fainter, from the kitchen. “Then I want to show you our knife collection. Some of them are over one hundred years old—”
“My cousin loves kids,” Jet said. “Looks like she’s taking Seth under her wing.”
Landry couldn’t tear his eyes from Jet. For the first time, he noticed her dark eyes were rimmed with flecks of gold and green, like chips of orange citrine and emeralds. He stepped closer, watched them widen with a sudden wariness.
Jet fingered a red scarf draped on the sides of her slender throat as she inched backward. “Why are you staring at me?”
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