She ignored the jab. “Perhaps staying in Bayou La Siryna makes Sam feel closer to his Nellie.”
“Maybe. And he places importance on living in the land of his ancestors.”
She turned and pierced him with a direct gaze, an arrow that fissured his soul. Nash recalled the intensity of his sun ritual, when he’d felt the love and protection of all who had come before him and walked the same path in the same place.
“Don’t you feel it, too?” she asked.
Against the backdrop of the darkened window, her hair glowed in a tangle of golden curls, bright as lighthouse beams in a storm.
Your destiny.
The seagull’s message slammed into him anew.
“No,” he denied peevishly. “There’s nothing special about Bayou La Siryna.”
This was all a trap. He was being hemmed in on all sides—his grandfather’s expectations, the communion of his ancestors, but most of all, by the call of Lily. It was too much, too fast. He was being sucked in like quicksand. The longer he stayed in the bayou, the deeper he was drawn into the pit until the roots of the prevalent majestic oaks tangled around him deeper, tighter, until at last there would be no escape. The swampy miasma would swallow him up until it smothered and choked him into surrendering his freedom.
She walked to him and stopped an arm’s length away. “You don’t mean that,” she said, her voice all honey and harmony.
“Why do you stay here? You have enough money to live anywhere. Why this marshy swampland?”
“It’s been home to my kind—I mean, my family—forever.”
Not knowing better wasn’t a valid reason for exploring the world. He’d traveled it for years now, made a name for himself, been successful in a tough, crowded field. His life had been fine until some unknown enemy had slithered into his personal life, silent and deadly as a water moccasin.
Nash couldn’t shake the feeling that the unknown woman was nearby, lying in wait, coiled and poised to strike. And this time—the third time—she would kill Lily, sink her poisonous fangs into that fair skin. His brain ran in circles again—that endless groove of searching his past romantic relationships for clues. If only he could read people like he did animals and nature.
“I should leave,” he said, his voice guttural and harsh. “And so should you.”
“You’re thinking of the stalker again.”
“Not a stalker—a killer. Call it what it is.”
“Your grandfather needs you,” Lily reminded him. “I need you.”
He studied her sea-blue eyes. So blue and bottomless he could drown in them if he let himself dive into those tempting deep pools. She was like the bayou—mysterious, full of secrets and a living link to memories of his carefree childhood.
Lily stepped closer, toe to toe with him. “Did you hear me, Nash? I need you. Don’t go. Not yet.”
And then she kissed him, her soft flesh pressed against his, reminding him of their joining earlier this morning. But this time, instead of the purity and openness and sunlight of the beach, it was night and moonbeams and a sweet seduction into an unknowable magic.
One day she would regret he ever returned to the bayou. They were hurtling toward some dangerous day of reckoning; he sensed it with every glimmer of a gift that had been passed on through his Choctaw ancestors. If only she could trust him with her secrets, the way he had shared his own.
But for now, it was night and she was life and feminine energy and alive—and he’d spent all day with sickness and death and worry. So he drank in Lily’s comfort, rejuvenated by her essence. Nash returned the kiss, marveling at how perfectly they complemented one another in every way.
He abruptly pulled away and took her hand. A pause—a look, that unspoken communication that was timeless between men and women—and she followed as he led her to his bedroom. They undressed slowly under the flickering moonbeams pouring through the window. Her naked body filled him with awe—he’d never tire of the sight as long as he lived.
And this time their joining was tender. Nash took his time, determined to postpone his ultimate pleasure until he’d touched and tasted every part of her creamy, sleek body. He didn’t stop until her moans of demand could no longer be denied. He covered her body with his own and entered, sinking deep into her core, until they both found their release.
And so the night went on. He made love to Lily many times, as if it were the only night they were promised to spend together. When the first light of morning dawned, Lily lay in his arms, her mouth slightly curved upward in an innocent, trusting smile.
Whatever it took, Nash vowed to protect her from the danger that stalked.
Chapter 14
Gusting winds trembled the Spanish moss in the tall oaks, making the trees appear like old bearded men shaking their heads. The sky dulled from turquoise to smutty gray and scented the breeze with an electric charge that promised rain.
Not great weather for deep-sea fishing. Which meant that her chances of confronting Carl Dismukes alone on his boat were probably slim this morning. But she had to try.
Giving Nash the slip hadn’t been easy. She’d sat with him and his grandfather most of the morning before announcing she had a few errands to run. Nash made her promise that she would keep a family member with her for protection.
She’d lied, of course. This job was something she needed to do alone.
Lily parked her car next to the storage shed, got out and glanced back at her house. The old Victorian appeared the same as always—solid, feminine in its curved lines, inviting. Grand without being so majestic as to attract undue notice from the townsfolk. No hint that it had been trespassed, yet Lily wondered if it would ever seem as safe and secure as it once had.
How had the intruder broken in? All their doors were double-bolted, had been since the incident with the serial killer last year. They’d all believed their world was secure again, their haven in the bayou permanently restored. Until someone had trespassed yet again.
And then there was Dismukes.
The first raindrops sprinkled as Lily unlocked the shed. As she quickly secured it behind her after she entered, the familiar musk smell of enclosed spaces washed over her, comforting in its familiarity. This space had never been violated by outsiders. To the rest of the world, it appeared to be an ordinary detached shed, a stainless-steel safeguard against strong winds and the occasional hurricane.
Inside, the room was empty save for a shoe rack and a pegged rack for clothes, bags and robes. In its center was a hole about the size of a manhole cover on a paved street. Lily stripped naked and hung up her clothes, glad to be rid of their lingering antiseptic scent.
She picked up an oilcloth sporran from one of the pegs and discarded the items in it that she wouldn’t need for this trip—a few scavenged pearls and antique coins, a couple of seashells that had caught her eye, a small golden trinket to remind her of the sun while in the darkest realms, seaweed string for tying fish together and pulling back her hair while hunting, a mirror and various other knickknacks. Her sea purse was nearly as stuffed as the leather one she toted on land.
Lily carefully drew out a slender abalone vial and unscrewed its coral stopper. Excellent—it was more than half-full with a liquid neurotoxin harvested from sea-snake venom. This she would bring. She withdrew her knife from its leather case and examined the edges, satisfied it was sharp. This she would also bring. Last, she unclasped an airtight clamshell, ensuring that it was filled with sand. The shell was secured on a leather chain that could be worn like a necklace. She placed it in the sporran and belted it around her waist. These three items were all she needed to carry.
The sound of the ocean was louder inside than outdoors, the crash of waves reverberating off the steel walls. Splattering rain echoed on the tin roof, casting an illusion that the storm was already in full swing. During heavy rainfall, the
effect was like being trapped inside a steel drum during an air raid.
Compacted sand squished between her toes as she approached the portal. Generations of Bosarge women had used this same portal for shifting from land to sea and back again. Curiosity about land dwellers had always run high, and many mermaids and mermen had chosen to live among humans over time. Many of Bayou La Siryna’s citizens unknowingly carried distant merblood in their veins. Lonely, remote bayous had always appealed to merfolk as a portal because they afforded the needed privacy to mingle undetected.
She entered the water feetfirst, legs instantly melding into a fishtail that shimmered with a glow that cast rainbow prisms on the shed’s walls and ceiling, as if someone had switched on a jeweled candelabra. Down she went, until the narrow tunnel widened. Lily swam out of the tiny undersea cave and into the Gulf waters.
Briny tang coated torso and tail in welcome and Lily luxuriated in its caress, as if the ocean were lover and mother and friend. She flipped and rolled, playful as a dolphin. Bubbles and billowing hair swilled about her body, drawing the attention of a few rainbow runner fish that brushed against her arms and tail. The eternal swish of the currents roared in her ears, a muffled static to the chirps and hums of sea creatures teeming below on their eternal quests for food and mates.
Too bad today wasn’t a mere joy swim.
Lily quit the acrobatics and used her sonar senses to set her course. Past experience had taught her where Carl best liked to anchor down for fishing. With his enforced retirement, the man’s passion for fishing was indulged almost daily. An impending storm wouldn’t deter him as quickly as most humans. He was one-eighth merman, so in any boating disaster he had the advantage of being an exceptional swimmer and could even stay submerged underwater for a good length of time. Perhaps as long as ten minutes, Lily guessed from various accounts she’d heard from other mermaids.
Still, he was no match for her at sea. Especially with her advantage of surprise.
Distant churning vibrations signaled a boat ahead, exactly where Carl preferred to fish most days. Lily swam closer, the roaring of the motor louder, more strident, churning a thick maze of foamy bubbles.
Abruptly, the motor cut off and silence reigned. A fishing cable plunked in the water ahead with a bit of shrimp dangling at the end as bait.
Lily circled underneath the boat and studied the hull. Made of white fiberglass and at twenty-five feet long and eight and half feet wide, it fit the dimensions and color of Carl’s vessel, which she’d observed many times in previous swims. She swam near twin one-hundred-fifty horsepower motors with their ominous black blades, careful to keep a safe distance in case it roared to life. She read the Yamaha label, which was the brand Carl used. Yet she had to be 100 percent certain this was Dismukes and that he hadn’t brought a friend out on this expedition, although that was a rarity.
She sped out fifty yards from the boat and calculated the risks. First, the location was too far from shore for anyone to spot her from land. Two, she’d only raise her head above water for an instant. Three, she’d perform this final check on the boat’s stern. More than likely, Carl’s back should be to her while he cast his fishing lines.
With a mighty swoosh of her tail, Lily wiggled up and broke surface. The nictating membrane in her eyes instantly adjusted to air and she spotted Dismukes’s profile. His white hair fell in a damp, untidy mess about his long, angular face. He was bare-chested and she was surprised that despite his age, he had good muscle tone in his chest and back.
No matter. This was her chance and she was taking it.
Lily sped forward, deadly and silent as a torpedo, slowing only as she neared the boat’s low-sided stern. She took one last quick peek at Dismukes, who was absorbed in baiting the troll lines. The opportunity would never be greater than this moment. She slithered up and over the low side as soundlessly as possible, tail instantly morphing to legs. Lily curled into a ball, casting an anxious eye to the boat’s bow.
Dismukes’s back was to her. Success! No doubt the low rumble of thunder now tumbling in from the west had helped shield any noise from her landing. Heart hammering, she glanced around the interior for something to throw over her naked body. She shouldn’t give a damn about modesty, but couldn’t bear the thought of his crude leering.
Lily spotted a beige cotton shirt on the floorboard underneath an empty cooler. Carefully, she pried it loose. Fish blood and slime were smeared across the front and it smelled as awful as it looked. But it was long and oversize, which was what mattered. She slipped it on, grateful that it fell midthigh. It was damp on one side from the steadily increasing rain, but it would have to do. She unsheathed the buck knife from her sporran, hung the clamshell necklace over the front of the shirt and left the sporran flap open in case she needed quick access to the poison vial, her last desperate weapon for self-defense.
Lily padded forward on bare feet until Dismukes was within six feet. “Are the fish biting?” she called out.
Carl jumped and swung forward, jumbo shrimp scattering down his legs. A fishing pole clattered to the floorboard.
“Wh-What?” he sputtered, the whites of his eyes exposed in fear.
Lily took momentary pleasure at his terror. After all he’d put her family through over the years, he deserved that and so much more.
He looked past and around her, evidently checking for any more unpleasant surprises. “How?” Carl shook his head. “You swam out here.” His gaze swept the sea. “Alone?”
“Maybe,” she brazened. “Or maybe there are a dozen mermaids below, ready for my signal to sink your precious boat.”
Carl’s spine stiffened and his face resumed a cunning edge she always associated with him.
“Nah, you’re alone.” His lips curled into a sneer as he pointed at the weapon held loosely in her right hand. “Gonna take more than a buck knife to scare me, little girl.”
Show no fear. “We’ll see.” Lily kept her voice cool, face composed. She raised her right hand and waved it loosely, the sun sparkling on the knife’s metal surface. “Nice vessel. Folks around here always wondered how you could afford a sixty-thousand-dollar boat on a county deputy’s salary. I’d say you owe me and my family a huge thanks for past services rendered.”
“That what you sneak on board for? To force me to be polite? Okay, then. Thank you. Now get the hell off my boat.”
“Not until I get what I came for.”
“Which is?”
“To make you understand my family won’t be blackmailed anymore.”
“Jet and Shelly put you up to this?” He spat off the boat’s side. “Bitches. Shelly’s a weakling. And now that Jet’s knocked up, they elected you to do the dirty work.”
Crude old bastard. “The balance of power has shifted in the bayou. Tillman and Landry are the head honchos now, and you’re a nobody. Stay away from us.”
“Or else?” He raised a shaggy gray eyebrow and grinned, as if she’d delivered the punch line to a joke.
“Don’t underestimate our kind’s ability to protect one another. We’re not without our own defenses. Once we spread the word to other merfolk about your threats, these waters will swarm with some pissed-off mermaids and mermen.”
“So what?”
“Look at you. You’re out here almost every day—even in this.” Lily raised a hand skyward, indicating the storm. “Keep messing with us and you’ll have to give up your passion for boating. You will never be safe at sea again.”
“Passion, you say?”
His words came out garbled, husky—not his usual raspy bark. Carl’s face had gone funny, too. His eyes were glazed and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Lily glanced down, following the path of his eyes, and immediately realized what had distracted Carl.
Rain had plastered the grimy cotton shirt to her breasts, exposing the outline of her nipples and the thatch of hair
between her thighs. She needn’t have bothered putting on the filthy rag, for all the protection it offered.
So much for modesty.
“Look at my face, you pervert.”
Instead, his gaze drifted lower. Lily fought the impulse to cross her hands in front of her thighs. Don’t let him know it bothers you. He wants to humiliate you, gain the upper hand. “Enjoying the view?” she asked, acting as if she could give a rat’s ass.
“I ain’t looking at nothing that half the men in Bayou La Siryna haven’t done seen.”
Fury lanced, as sharp as if her mermaid tail had slashed against needle-pointed coral. She’d been offended when her family thought she’d murdered Perry, but now Lily believed she truly had it in her to kill. The knowledge of the poisonous vial in her sporran made her hands itch to fling it in Dismukes’s lecherous face.
Stay calm. Think. “Too bad you’ll never get further than the looking stage, asshole.”
He chuckled and gave a wink. “I’ve had my eye on you for years. Maybe we can work out our own little deal.”
“No deals.” She gripped the knife tighter. “I’d rather die than let you touch me.”
“Methinks you protest too much.” He stepped forward. “I could satisfy you more than that Indian dude you’re sleeping with. Slut like you probably likes it a little on the rough side, I bet.”
“Shut up.” She was getting nowhere talking.
“Does he know you’re a freak of nature? Play nice with me and it’ll stay our little secret.”
“I’ve told him,” she lied.
He grinned and advanced another step, almost in arm’s reach. “You’re bluffing.”
Lily scooted backward and fumbled with the necklace clasp, not daring to break his stare. She emptied the clamshell and cupped the sand in her left palm.
Carl’s bushy gray brows drew together. “What the hell you got there?” he asked incredulously. “Sand?”
Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 19