Siren's Treasure

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.