Siren's Treasure

“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.”