Читать книгу Siren's Call - Debbie Herbert - Страница 8
ОглавлениеThe whir of electric grinder against metal grated on Lily’s ears. She whistled and waved her arms to get her sister’s attention.
Jet frowned and switched off the grinder. “What?”
“Are you almost done? You’ve been at it long enough I’m surprised you haven’t sanded a hole through my car.”
They stared at the long, narrow patch of bare metal on the red Audi S4. Lily ran a finger over the warmed surface, perfectly manicured nails and graceful fingers a stark contrast against the ugly gash. She tried to joke. “Sure can’t see those words now.”
Jet scowled, not amused. “’Bout time I had a word with Twyla Fae and her posse of bitches.”
“Don’t. You’ll make it worse.”
“Can it get much worse? They’re crossing the line into criminal territory with this latest harassment.” Jet gripped the sander so tight in her right arm, her biceps bulged and a network of veins popped against taut flesh.
Her sister was strong enough to best any man in a fist fight, courtesy of the supernatural strength from her paternal Blue Clan merblood. But against the verbal warfare of scorned women, Lily considered her own reserved veil of indifference a superior tactical maneuver. “Ignore them like I do.”
“Don’t see your plan working,” Jet grumbled. The fierce glow in her dark eyes contrasted with the large, womanly bump at her waist. Lily shook her head in bemusement. On the surface, their beauty and temperament appeared leagues apart. If she was the ethereal one—silver sparkles drifting on moon-drenched water, soft and shifting and subtle—Jet was more like the oft-admired coral undersea—brittle, bedazzling, with razor-sharp edges that wounded the unwary.
Down deep, they could each be deadly in their own way.
Lily placed a hand on Jet’s belly bulge. “Don’t get worked up and disturb the baby.”
“And don’t you try distracting me.” Yet Jet’s harsh features softened. “Seriously, how about we get Landry and Tillman involved? File a formal complaint.”
“I’ll think about it.” She had no intention of seeking help from her cop brothers-in-law. Lily sensed their wariness of her, their suspicions about her morals.
Jet returned the grinder to a shelf. “Translation—you’re too proud to seek help.” She dug into her baggy, denim jeans and produced a set of keys. “Drive this until the body shop in Mobile repairs the damage. I’ll rent something in the meantime.” Jet tossed the keys.
“Or you could buy a soccer-mom van.” Lily caught the keys and cast a sly smile. No way Jet would forego her clinker of a truck. They could afford anything, thanks to a tidy trust fund built from pawned sea treasure sold by generations of Bosarge mermaids. Why Jet chose to drive the monstrosity was a mystery. Lily’s own aesthetic sensibilities ran along a selective, pricey line. She’d drive something even flashier, but the bayou brine rusted everything eventually.
Besides, Lily drew enough attention from her voice. No need to give the locals more fodder. They’d be convinced she had a rich sugar daddy in hiding.
“Maybe I will.” Jet grinned. “But it won’t be as funny as you driving my truck.”
“Got me there,” Lily conceded. She started the truck, wincing at the beater’s clickety-clackety rumbling. She fumbled with the clutch and, with a loud screech, backed out of the driveway, nearly sideswiping the mailbox. Jet’s smirk faded and her brows knitted.
The beater’s ornery procession out of town matched Lily’s fitful mood. She’d had a restless night. Not even a long swim beneath the slithering roots of sea grass last night had calmed her restless spirit. The twin mysteries of Nash’s indifference and the anonymous etching on her car both tossed and swirled in her mind like a lingering storm.
Today, she would confront both issues directly. If Twyla wanted to get nastier, she had to up her own game. As far as Nash went...perhaps there had been some flicker of interest in her siren charm, but like her, he’d learned to hide emotion. At least that theory made a little sense.
Houses grew sparser and paved town roads ceded to red-packed clay lanes as she headed out of town. Live oaks and palmetto shrubs spilled over from the side and encroached until only one vehicle could pass at a time on the narrow lane. She hadn’t traveled this way in years and didn’t recall it being so forsaken. A curlicue of claustrophobia flickered at the edges of her mind as the choking foliage strangled the open air. It was as if the bayou’s wilderness soul were slowly clamping down and reclaiming its territory from human invasion.
Good thing she’d driven the truck after all. Lily’s jaw clamped at the jarring scrape of branches against metal. The high-pitched squall set her nerves pulsing and she cursed the siren nature that made her so sensitive to sound vibration. Although excellent for detecting predators at sea, it was hell on land with certain tones and pitches.
A log cabin came into view. In spite of its rustic nature, Lily appreciated the way it seamlessly blended into the landscape. The scene would make a cool picture.
She got out of the truck and lifted her cell phone for a photo, eyeing the detail of the log pine’s myriad grooves and knots. This piece wouldn’t be a watercolor like her ocean scenes. Only a detailed pen-and-ink composition would do it justice.
Disappointed, she noted that there was no other vehicle in the driveway. Nash had mentioned he wouldn’t start the job on Herb Island for a couple of days. Maybe he and his grandfather were in town and would return shortly. Lily scanned the backyard and found the small opening for an old trail she and Nash had hiked often. She’d take a little walk, and with luck, Nash would be back when she finished. Lily ditched her silk scarf and switched from designer sandals to a pair of old Keds that Jet kept on the back floorboard. They were a size too large but doable.
Lily hiked the narrow trail, the ground as familiar as when they’d explored the area as children. Pine needles cushioned the sandy soil and released bracing wisps of fragrance as her feet crushed them, a smell she’d forever associate with Nash.
At the clearing, Lily leaned against a large oak and listened to bird calls—the distant screech of seagulls, thrush and coots. He’d taught her so much, passed on everything his grandfather had taught him, including Choctaw animal folklore and legends.
How she’d longed to share her undersea world in return, show him their sea vegetable garden and swim past the salt marshes and explore a different, equally fascinating new world. But her family’s vow of secrecy was absolute. If one mermaid was exposed, their entire race was in danger.
Her eyes swept the clearing, then doubled back to the far edge of the tree line.
A coyote fixed its gaze on her, unmoving, eyes gleaming with intelligence and feral hunger. Lily didn’t move either and didn’t break eye contact. Coyote is a trickster, she remembered, a sign of an ending and a new beginning. She wasn’t alarmed, but aware. Nash used to say that was the most important thing—to stay aware. He’d even admitted once that he could sense what animals were thinking. Become one with them or some such thing.
The coyote lowered its head and took a step closer, still staring. Its copper eyes held a feral sheen that made Lily quiver from her scalp to the soles of her borrowed sneakers.
To hell with spiritual communication.
Lily turned and ran back down the trail. Twilight had deepened and the trees cast long shadows. Spanish moss hung from live oaks, fluttering in the breeze like ghosts. The cushioned, pine-needled ground gave way to a labyrinth of twisted, jutting tree roots. Lily stumbled but stayed on her feet. I’m being ridiculous. It isn’t after me.
Yet she ran on. The sound of blood roared in her ears as if she were swimming undersea against a powerful current. Lily wanted to peek over her shoulder but didn’t dare divert her attention from avoiding the tree roots, which now appeared as black and deadly as the moccasins that slithered through the swamps.
She ran and ran and ran until the accelerated beat of her heart matched the panicked cadence of her thoughts. Coyote is the end. Coyote is the end.
The end, the end, the end.
* * *
A violent cracking of twigs, the rustle of leaves and snapping branches, a vibration under his bare feet—Nash stilled and searched the woods. Something was spooked and running toward the cabin. He focused on the dark edge of the tree line and felt to his right for the shotgun. Smooth metal cooled his fingers. Found it.
He soundlessly exited the porch, shotgun at the ready. Unlikely it was a chased animal—he hadn’t sensed that faint odor of musk and sweat or picked up the panicked energy of an animal hell-bent on escape.
An apparition of white burst into the clearing, like flood waters over a dam. A ghost? Grandfather told tales of the kwanokasha, or Kowi Anukasha—the tiny, fairy people of the forest. But this was no pygmy-sized being. His eyes narrowed, and like a camera lens focusing on a subject, the wall of white morphed into detail: a tall woman with waist-length, pale hair lifted in every direction by the sea breeze.
“Lily?” he called out, his voice sharp and biting. It was as if his own brooding melancholy had summoned her from the forest’s darkness. He scanned her white shorts and T-shirt and the scratches decorating her arms and legs like tattoos.
But no blood; she was unharmed. His relief quickly gave way to anger. Was someone after her? Nash’s right index finger curled on the shotgun trigger and he searched behind Lily for the danger.
Nothing was there.
He hurried forward. “What happened? Is someone chasing you?”
Lily looked back. “I don’t know.” She turned to him with a sheepish half smile on her paler-than-usual face. She drew a jagged, uneven breath. “It may not have even followed me.”
“It?”
She rubbed her arms, stomach heaving with labored breath. “A coyote.”
He raised a brow. “I’ve never known coyote to chase humans. It’s probably more afraid of you than you of it.”
“Not this coyote.” She shook her head. “The way it looked at me...” She bit her lip. “As if he were sizing me up for dinner. Instead of running off, it lowered its head and stepped toward me. I didn’t hang around to see if it chased me or not.”
He’d accuse Lily of making a ploy for attention, but she didn’t know he’d returned to the cabin and he could see her fear was real. “Go up on the porch and I’ll take a look around.”
“Why?”
“If a coyote really chased you, it must be eat-up with rabies. It’s not normal behavior. If it’s got rabies, the kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery. And it sure as hell doesn’t need to infect other animals and cause an epidemic.”
“Be careful,” she said in a trembling, faint voice.
Lily’s vulnerability left him flushed with an overwhelming desire to protect her from all danger. And he didn’t like the feeling a bit, didn’t like the peculiar pull she had on his senses. He stalked toward the woods and tried to concentrate on the immediate problem. If the animal was sick or deadly, he’d pick up on it easily. He’d been near infected, diseased creatures before. Rabies had a metallic smell of pus combined with sweaty musk from an animal’s scrambling terror over its changed condition.
Nash entered the tangle of trees and shrubs, into a world he was uniquely attuned and equipped to master. A world where sound was amplified and the energy of every living thing—animal, mineral and insect—vibrated inside him at a cellular level. Even the energy of trees, moss and stone whispered its presence. The rustling of the wind in branches and leaves was nature’s murmur and sigh.
He used to struggle more against this odd communion, creeped out by the immersion of his senses. He’d even tried staying indoors most of the time, only emerging to go places in the city surrounded by people and the noisy clutter of civilization. But it was no use. The abstinence made him restless and edgy. Midway through college he changed from a business degree to photography, determined to put his skills to use as a wildlife photographer.
But it was an uneasy compromise. Yes, he worked outdoors. But he erected strict mental barriers to keep from being entirely sucked in by his senses. Lily disturbed this equilibrium. Something about her was too different...too intense. She drew him to her like a force of nature.
Nash inhaled deeply and slipped into the woods’ living essence. Beneath the pervasive undercurrent of sea brine nestled the scent of pine and leaf mold. He paused, listening. A faint crackle of dry leaves, a bit of rustling of branches from above, a squirrel several yards away scrambling up an oak. He went farther up the trail, which he well-remembered traversing with Lily. What had she been doing out here? Was the woman determined to hound him? He’d come home to escape that kind of attention.
There. Faint, but detectable, was the smell of sickness. A rabid animal had indeed run along the trail. But the scent was so subtle, he knew it was no longer in the area. He’d have to be on the lookout for the coyote and alert a wildlife management officer of the potential danger.
Nash trudged back down to the cabin where Lily waited on the steps, eyes troubled.
“Did you see it? I didn’t hear a shot.”
“It was long gone.” Nash walked past her and put the shotgun away. “I did pick up a trace of something, though.”
“How do you do that?”
He shrugged. “You get a feel for it when you’re in the woods for long stretches all your life.” Nobody’s business about his freakish talent.
“Hmm,” Lily said, cocking her head, as if assessing something left unsaid between them.
Nash crossed his arms, daring her to challenge his answer.
“So you say,” she drawled.
He stared into mesmerizing blue eyes that he was sure had enticed many a man. The world narrowed until every detail of Lily enveloped his senses. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, found his own breath synchronizing to hers.
No. This won’t do. If you get involved, you’ll only hurt her in the end. Just like all the others. Nash’s fingers curled into his palm. Lily was too alluring for her own damn good. He suspected no one had ever rebuffed her advances or broken her heart.
Lily spoke, breaking the spell. “Your grandfather used to say the coyote was a clever trickster. It probably made me more afraid than it should have.”
“You can’t be too careful when you’re alone in the woods.” He regarded her sternly. “Especially when you’re alone and unarmed.”
Lily laughed, not intimidated. “Didn’t think I’d run into anything more ominous than the fairy forest dwellers.”
Grandfather and his wild, crazy stories. “His old Choctaw tales did a number on you, huh?”
“They’re fascinating. Where is he, by the way?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered around his right shoulder.
“He works at the animal shelter on Fridays. I expect him home for supper any minute.”
Damn. He shouldn’t have said that. Now the woman would stick around and try to wrangle an invitation. He narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing on our property?”
She didn’t flush or look away. “Don’t see any harm in it. I’ve walked here over the years and your grandfather’s never complained.”
Nash opened the screen door and went into the house, Lily close on his heels. He snatched his car keys from the kitchen table.
“Where are you going?” she asked quizzically.
“I’ve got errands to run.” He lowered his chin and stared at her without smiling. “I really don’t have time for your friendship. Sorry to be so abrupt, but I’m busy.” And the last thing he needed was a gorgeous woman hitting on him—again.
“Who doesn’t have time for friends?” She tilted her face to the side and studied him.
Damn, he felt like a jerk. But she was far too beautiful. What if it became more than friendship? He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Two women were already dead because of him.
“Look, you’re better off forgetting you ever knew me. I’m poison. Okay?”
Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
Nash ran a hand through his long hair. “Drop it.”
“No way. I can’t believe you’d say something like that. What’s happened to you over the years?”
“Life happened,” he said past the raw burning at the back of his throat.
“More like a woman is what I’d guess.” She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Someone break your heart?”
Other way around. An image of Rebecca, broken and bleeding, the steel frame of her car bent in two, flashed in his mind, immediately followed by an image of Connie, ashen-skinned and lifeless, a bottle of pills by her side.
“Maybe I don’t have a heart to break,” he rasped. Nash rubbed his forehead, as if by doing so he could erase the deathly images. “Besides, I’m not the only one who’s changed.”
Lily’s impossibly large eyes widened a fraction more. “How have I changed?” She swept a hand down her body. “Other than the obvious physical development, I mean. I was a flat-chested twelve-year-old girl last time we were together.”
He considered. “You used to be...more open. Easier to read. Now it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Except for the obvious fear on your face when you hightailed it out of the woods just now.”
She gave a snort that contrasted with her pristine, angelic features. “I’m hard to figure out?”
His lips twitched involuntarily. Even as a child, his nature was to retreat to silence when disturbed. And Lily would bug him until she unearthed the problem. “Guess you’re as outspoken now as when you were a kid. Always pestering me about things I didn’t want to talk about.”
“And you used to answer all my questions. How come you stopped coming every summer? I asked your grandfather, but he only said it was a family matter.”
The woman was relentless. And shameless. Better to answer what he could and get her off his back. “My parents divorced and Mom got custody. She wasn’t too hip about me spending so much time away from her, much less with my paternal grandfather.” He continued walking to the front of the house, Lily close in tow. Parents were a safe topic. Events of the past four years overshadowed painful childhood memories.
“Your mom ever remarry?”
“Nope. Don’t see that happening. She’s not the marrying sort.” After his father’s numerous affairs, his mother had soured on marriage.
They reached the front door, and Nash opened it, beckoning her out with a grand sweep of one arm. She slowly, reluctantly stepped outside.
Another twenty yards and he’d be rid of her and her questions. She made him uncomfortable and want things he had no right to want anymore. Time to turn Twenty Questions on her. “Did your mother ever remarry?”
“No. She’s not interested in marriage, just like your mom.”
Lily’s reply was quick enough, but he’d always sensed there was much left unsaid, even when they were young. She’d been an open book about most everything except her family. When they weren’t outside, they were at the cabin listening to his grandfather’s stories.
But he had met her family a few times. Lily had grown into her mother’s beauty. He remembered going into their house was like stepping into fairyland. Their huge home had an old-world, rich vibe with carelessly cluttered gold coins, heirloom pottery and solid pieces of antique furniture.
A pair of elliptical beams pierced the twilight. Nash wanted to groan. He was only a few feet away from escaping in his truck. But his grandfather would disapprove at the lack of hospitality. The old man was bound to invite Lily for dinner.
“Your grandfather,” Lily squealed. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Sam Bowman exited his truck and approached, eyes focused on Lily. “We have a guest tonight,” his baritone boomed, half statement, half question. “Hope you’re staying for dinner.”
“She was leaving. Maybe next—”
“Why yes, that would be lovely,” Lily interrupted, cutting mischievous eyes at him.
Nash stifled a groan. The more he was around Lily, the more she seemed determined to snag him. And the greater his temptation to let her.
His grandfather raised an eyebrow. “You’re the little Lily that used to run around here in pigtails with my grandson?”
“The one and only.”
“Please, come inside,” he invited. Even dressed in worn khakis and an old University of Alabama T-shirt proclaiming national championship number 12, Samuel Bowman garnered respect.
As a kid, he might have sassed his parents all day long, but when his grandfather laid down the law, he unquestioningly obeyed. Not from threat of punishment, but because of his grandfather’s unfailing politeness and show of respect to everyone, including smartass kids.
“This will be like old times.” She had a hop in her step that took Nash by surprise. Such a contrast to her guarded nature at the grocery store this morning when he’d asked about her paintings. There was something mystical about her, like she was fae or one of Grandfather’s mystical creatures come to life. For the first time he noticed her voice held a musical quality—as if several voices were harmonized into one melody. A bell tone of fairies singing in the woods, beckoning small children and the unwary to enter their realm.
Nash shook his head at the fanciful images. He wanted no part of anything that smacked of otherworldly. He had enough weirdness on his own without adding more to the mix.
If he wasn’t careful, Lily Bosarge could be trouble.
