Watermark (The Emerald Series Book 3)

by James, Kimberly

  "He would have been better for you," Jamie said.

  Jamie had said that to me before when he was trying to convince the both of us we should never happen. I hadn't believed it then and I didn't now. I loved Noah, but never the way I loved Jamie. Noah had only ever been a friend. Jamie had been my world.

  Noah’s flower joined Jamie’s, pure white next to the purple. Noah faced his brother, lips tight as if he, too, were trying not to breathe too deep. I wasn’t the only one who’d grown up since Jamie had been gone. If I was now a woman, Noah was definitely a man. In so many ways, we’d grown up together. Jamie hadn't been here, but Noah had been. He held me when I cried. Cried with me more than once. Their embrace had nothing to do with a happy reunion. This was a sharing of grief. Noah's grief, old and buried by the passing of time, and Jamie's, fresh in the new knowledge of his loss.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said, drawing back, keeping his hand on Noah's shoulder, his eyes bright with moisture. “I know what you did for Erin. And I'll never be able to repay you."

  Noah flinched and his eyes found mine.

  No, mine said. I didn't tell him. He'd be so disappointed. He'd blame me.

  “You don't have to thank me," Noah's lips tilted in a partial smile. "We’re family, Jamie. All of us."

  Jamie placed his hand at the small of my back and leaned over, pressing a light kiss to my temple. His body was pressed so close I felt the change in his demeanor immediately—the tightening of his posture, the stiffening of his lips before he drew away, his eyes focused somewhere over my head. His nostrils flared slightly, and he held himself completely immobilized, his senses seemingly alerted. I followed his gaze over my shoulder and saw nothing among the scattering of old oaks surrounding the cemetery to explain his sudden unease.

  "What is it?" Noah asked as he too scanned the tree line.

  "Nothing," Jamie said, giving his head a shake, even as his eyes continued their guarded perusal. After a few seconds, he relaxed. "It's nothing."

  His hand pressed into my back, guiding me toward where we'd left my Tahoe parked on the shoulder of the road. I understood the haunted look that had passed through his eyes. I always felt that way when I came to see her, and each time I would tell myself I needn't ever come here again. But I knew I would. Part of my heart was buried here. The other part held my hand and led me back to the car.

  26

  It always started with a smell. The key to unlocking his mind was a scent, and once he caught it, the seed would sprout and the memory would grow.

  Memories of that morning flooded his mind. It rushed back in a barrage of images and voices and sound and pain. He'd been on top of the world that morning. Eager to perform a real mission. Doing something that would make a real difference. The first step to vanquishing the enemy was identifying them.

  Evidently, Sloan Nance, a known arms dealer, had no qualms about giving up the names of some of his most powerful customers, the majority of which were like Jamie, those of his kind who had secretly declared war among themselves on a common enemy. An enemy Jamie’s tribe didn’t share.

  Sloan's only stipulation was that the exchange of information be done in person. Sloan didn't trust technology, the risk of sending such incriminating evidence through the air where anyone could steal it, too great.

  Jamie had found Sloan's yacht at the exact coordinates Marshall had provided him, three hundred miles southwest of New Orleans. Jamie knew the minute he boarded that boat he'd walked into trap.

  "You're right on time," Sterling Flores said from his spot at the table. A table populated with the most powerful and influential of his kind. Some faces he knew personally. Some he could only guess. Jamie’s stomach rolled with revulsion. Four of the five tribes were represented by the men at this table, covering a distance from Texas to the Antilles. The fifth tribe being Jamie’s own, the final hold out. It was disheartening to see the reach of Flores’s influence.

  Sloan, the only lander present, sat at the head of his own table, hands bound at his wrists and laying in front of him. Carl Rogan stood behind him, sneering at Jamie over Sloan’s head as though Jamie were a parasite, a blight to their species. Jamie and Carl had fished together as boys in the days when the tribes hosted annual gatherings. In the days before the power struggles began with talks among the tribes of breaking free from what many considered a repressive society, building a world of their own.

  "Is this what you want?" The paper Flores tossed at Jamie drifted to the table like a falling leaf. "You would hand us over to our enemies? You would betray us?"

  "Your enemies. Not mine," Jamie said, holding Flores's gaze, showing no interest in the list.

  "Aren't you the least bit curious?" Flores asked in that honeyed tone that would lull a shark into passiveness.

  "Looks like I don't need it anymore.” Jamie’s gaze swept the men present, committing faces and names to memory. Something told him it wouldn’t matter. He doubted they were going to just let him walk, not after all the trouble they’d gone to to lure him here.

  “Still, I insist. You might find it surprising.”

  “I didn’t come here to play games,” Jamie said.

  “No, you came here to betray us.” Flores’s fist slammed on the table. “Read it!"

  Jamie stepped forward and reluctantly picked up the paper. He read the first name then the second. Ice ran in his veins nearly stopping his blood. His heart pounded to the point of pain.

  No.

  Jamie shot up in bed, gasping. Sweat rolled from his pores. The soaked sheets stuck to his legs. He kicked them off, seething as the dream faded. But it wasn't a dream, he knew that. It was a memory sparked by the scent he'd picked up on at the cemetery. Carl Rogan had been there, hiding and watching. Jamie had smelled him. His enemy. One of many. His only thought after that had been to get Erin away, get his brother away.

  Why? Why would Carl be here after all this time? But the fact that he was meant nothing good. And there was more to his dream. More to that day than his mind would share with him. Something was still missing. Some crucial piece of information his mind refused to divulge. He felt the knowledge lurking around his subconscious. Mentally his eyes scanned the list he'd held in his hand. He remembered the sinking feeling in his gut, the overwhelming despair, but he couldn't remember what had caused it. His hand clenched with the sensation of crumbling the paper.

  Jamie bounded from the bed. He hated his room. He was only sleeping in it in hopes it could somehow domesticate him further. Then maybe Erin would share it with him. She should have been here with him, and coward that he was, he hadn't even asked her to stay with him. He already knew her answer. Besides, he couldn't ask her to come home if he couldn't force himself to sleep in his own damn bed.

  Jamie padded down the hall to the living room where the sky outside the windows still lay in darkness. The dunes rose like rolling shadows and the sound of the waves tortured him, a taunt issued in every lick on the sand. He pressed his hands to the windows and stared at the Deep, ignoring her call. His dream had stirred something inside him, the thing he was trying to escape—his animal, his beast. If he went out there now, it would only fuel it. Encourage it. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, searching for a peace he'd failed to find. He was more his old self, but that part of him that belonged to the Deep remained strong, adamant in its presence.

  His unsettled mind once again returned to that morning and what he’d remembered. Jamie had listened to his mother and father talk about it many times. What Flores and those in his alliance proposed had its merits—an island community, surrounded by a floating city. The chance to self-govern free from hatred and bigotry. Their goal wasn’t simple recognition as a species, they wanted their own country. And they wanted to rule it how they saw fit. They possessed the means to fund such a venture. Thanks to Sloan, they’d acquired the weapons they’d need to defend themselves. In theory, the idea had appealed to his parents and many in his tribe. In reality, from his dad’s perspective, they'd be aband
oning one oppressive government for another, which was why his father had refused his support. Why Jamie had refused his. His tribe had been content in their autonomy. Jamie had inadvertently made his choice. He’d known agreeing to work with Marshall would piss some people off. He hadn’t counted on how much. His memory hadn’t stretched that far, but he was sure they hadn’t let him leave that boat.

  The faucet in the kitchen turned on and water ran in the sink. He hadn't meant to wake anyone, but he was oddly comforted when his mom walked into the living room and offered him a glass of water.

  "Here," his mom said. "This always helped when you couldn't sleep when you were a boy."

  Jamie took the glass, tilted it to his lips and gulped until he'd drained the glass dry. Wordlessly, he handed it back to her.

  "I see some things haven't changed," she said.

  Jamie loved his mom fiercely, would gladly die for her, but he'd never missed his dad as much as he did right now. His dad could tell him what to do. His dad could help him. Jamie was afraid without his dad's voice telling him his name, Jamie might never get that piece of himself back. That there was a part of him lost forever.

  His mom walked to the kitchen in an old familiar routine. When she came back with a refill, he drank that glass of water down too.

  "Thanks," he said, wishing this time a few glasses of water were enough to quell the unease left by his resurgent memory.

  "How many times did we go through this ritual when you were young? Hundreds? You never liked sleeping indoors. Even on the coldest nights." His mom stood beside him, her gaze cast out the window. "You'd drink a few glasses of water and pretend to go back to bed only to sneak out after you thought your dad and I were asleep."

  Jamie looked down at her in surprise. A wistful smile played on her lips. She was missing him too.

  "I'd lay in bed worrying," she said. "Your dad would laugh at me. He always insisted you could take care of yourself. That you simply had a wildness about you. It was just you."

  Jamie still had that wildness, that need, the urge to go. He'd tried not to examine it too closely, why he'd stayed away for so long. Maybe a part of him had wanted to. Maybe a part of him believed he was meant to.

  "And sometimes one of you would follow me." He let the half-smile form though he didn't entirely feel it.

  "Well, you were seven years old. What did you expect? The Deep can be a dangerous place."

  Jamie knew that well. It still amazed him how the Deep could be so fraught with danger and at the same time be solemnly beautiful, her unpredictability like the lure of an unruly lover.

  "You should go swim," she said gently. "Why fight it?"

  "I'm afraid." Because he wasn't entirely himself since he'd woken from the dream, his mind full of new memories. Memories that unsettled him with the gravity of the unfinished. Going to the Deep would only make it worse.

  "Of what?" She took a small step closer, resting her hand on the back of his shoulder.

  "That I won't come back," he whispered. "That I'll forget again."

  "No, Jamie, you won't forget. You've already fought that battle, and you came back."

  He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe he was safe. That he was home for good.

  "What's going on?" Noah asked through a yawn, joining them in the living room.

  "Apparently not sleeping," Jamie said, turning away from the window. He walked into the kitchen, and his mom and brother followed as though they were afraid he'd disappear again. Jamie went straight to the knife block and pulled out a paring knife. He offered it to his brother.

  "What is this for?" Noah asked, his eyes still full of sleepy.

  Jamie sat on one of the stools, offering Noah his back. "Back of my neck, right above the top of my trap on the right side."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "Microchip. Shouldn't be too far under the skin."

  Jamie felt the pinch of the blade as Noah cut into the skin.

  "How did you know it was here?"

  "I can hear it." A constant hum reverberating in his head. He not only smelled everything, he heard everything. He'd wanted to leave it. Not give them any reason to distrust his intentions, but the sizzle the device made was driving him mad.

  "You didn't think they'd actually let me escape without a way to keep tabs on me, did you?" Jamie's skin tingled where Noah had dug the device out. He looked sideways at his mom and brother, knowing what they saw. After a few seconds the tingling stopped, and Jamie knew the small cut was healed.

  "Neat trick," Noah observed, tossing the knife in the sink. "What? Are you indestructible now?"

  "Not hardly," Jamie scoffed. Though he supposed in the Deep, he was indestructible. She'd knit him back together, and he wondered why. He wondered if she would expect something in return for the gift of life she'd given him.

  His mom wet a paper towel and mopped the blood from the back of his neck, the crease in her brow deepening. "Did Marshall know about this?"

  "Honestly Mom, I don't think there's much Marshall doesn't know. But they'll want to put one of those in all of us eventually. Tag us like animals," Jamie snorted. Maybe he deserved to be treated like an animal. In many ways he was one. But no one else deserved to be tracked and monitored. He'd done that by coming back the way he did. Given fuel to their paranoia.

  "What do we do with this?" Noah held the bloody microchip on the end of his finger. Jamie picked it off and rising from the stool, smashed it in the sink. He let the water run and watched the pieces wash down the drain. It was a sign, he thought, of yet another part of his old life that couldn't go back to the way it was. As far as Jamie was concerned, the arrangement he'd had with Marshall had changed the minute he remembered boarding Sloan's boat and realized Flores and the other's had been waiting for him. They'd used Marshall to get to him and that changed things in Jamie's mind. This was no longer about breather and lander politics. This was inter-tribal, and he wanted to keep Marshall out of it. Moreover, he wanted to keep Erin out of it. Now all he had to do was figure out what it was.

  He hoped his mind would cooperate soon.

  "Well, since we're all awake." Noah opened the side kitchen door and the scent of the Deep assaulted Jamie's every sense—every inch of his skin, every pore constricted in response.

  "I could swim," he said, his voice steady, but the monster in him roared in triumph. It was all Jamie could do to walk to the open door and not flat out sprint to the beach.

  "You too, Mom," Noah said.

  "You go ahead. I don't do the whole night swimming anymore," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Believe it or not, I don't see as well I used to."

  "You don't need to see." Jamie took her hand and coaxed her forward. "We'll be with you." He needed her with him right now. She would help remind him why he should stay and not swim away into oblivion.

  "It'll be like old times," Noah threw in to sweeten the pot, winking at her from the door.

  "Oh, all right," she said and Jamie noticed the way her eyes brightened in anticipation. She was happy in a way he'd never thought to see again since his dad died.

  As he followed his mom and brother down to the beach, Jamie worried over the images of his dream and the unknowing still locked in his brain. His heart thudded and his chest expanded on a plethora of protectiveness. His monster sensed they weren't safe. It occurred to him as he dove into the surf that maybe this was why she'd saved him. She'd saved him for a reason. To keep his family safe. To keep his tribe safe.

  27

  I’d come to the lake hoping to catch a glimpse of Luna. I’d been counting on the sight of her twitching nose and the way she glided through the water to restore a sense of peace in the turmoil of my emotions. She was being ornery though, and I'd yet to see her.

  I recognized the fall of Michael’s feet coming down the boardwalk, the tempo of his gait, and closed my eyes. My heart shouldn’t leap at the sound. Michael being here didn’t add to my sense of peace. His presence only confused it.<
br />
  “You can't keep following me here,” I said without turning around.

  “Don’t.” He joined me on the bench, sitting a respectable distance away. We weren’t touching, not even close, and still I scooted over an inch. “I thought we were friends.”

  “I’m married, Michael.”

  “Yeah, I’m well aware of that. Last I remember that made us friends. Has something changed?" His face was so open, the expression in his eyes forgiving. I didn't deserve his patience.

  “No,” I said, unable to explain the confusion I felt whenever I saw Michael. Seeing him represented something I almost had. A future that almost happened. Now my future seemed not entirely my own. A few weeks ago, I had been moving forward. Now, with Jamie’s reappearance, forward motion had stopped. I was treading water again. None of which was Michael's fault. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey,” he said, giving my shoulder a gentle bump with his fist. “I’m not following you. I’ve been here on my own a few times lately. It’s part of my pre-game ritual now. I’m superstitious like that.” His dimple winked in his cheek, and I relaxed, finding a smile of my own.

  I stood and walked to the end of the pier and sat on the edge, letting my feet dangle over the side. Michael followed suit, keeping his knees bent, elbows hooked around them.

  “I read about you in the paper.” My toe sloshed through the water. “Thirty-four points. Not too shabby.”

  “I love nights like that. When it feels like everything I throw up has nowhere else to go but in the net. Those are the games I live for.”

  “You love it, huh?” He practically glowed talking about it.

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a great future ahead of you, so much to look forward to.”

  “You have a future too,” he offered in a quiet gentle voice.

  “I thought that. I can’t seem to escape the past right now. I don’t know. I feel stuck."

  “You’ll figure out the right thing to do.”

  “Will I?” I reached up and fingered the bump on his nose.