Siren's Treasure

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?