Читать книгу Siren's Call - Debbie Herbert - Страница 9

Chapter 3

Ugly.

Hideous.

Monstrous.

Opal scrubbed the wet washcloth against her right cheek, leaving a skid of pigmented foundation on the yellow terrycloth. With the tip of her left index finger, she traced the white scar that ran from under her right ear to the corner of her mouth. Three plastic surgeries had smoothed the ridge of keloid tissue, yet the white pigmentation of dead skin would always remain.

Scarred for life. If she could only get the last of it gone... But the doctors assured her this was as good as it would get.

She threw the washcloth against the shower wall. The abomination was a curse. A person as perfect as Nash deserved so much more. Opal pictured his smooth, unmarred olive skin and grimaced at her reflection.

It’s okay, love, Nash whispered in her mind, the way he did every night. Soon I can declare my love for you in person.

The moist heat from the shower was like his hot breath caressing her skin with endearments. You’re all I ever wanted, Opal. The others meant nothing to me. It was always you I secretly wanted. Always you.

Opal’s fury evaporated, the scent of soap morphed to Nash’s scent of sandalwood and musk. He was here, caressing her. Opal cupped her breasts and moaned. Yes. Yes! One hand sank lower and the wet heat between her thighs was as scalding as the hot water pounding her skin.

Nash wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her hands were his hands, touching the soft folds of her womanhood. A finger slipped inside and she clenched as it went in and out. Harder, faster. An orgasm violently racked her body and she slid down the shower stall, weak and sated. Only he could do this, make her crazy in dreams.

Dreams that would soon be reality. He spoke to her like this, and more frequently since she’d taken care of Rebecca and Connie. He hadn’t been with a woman in almost a year now.

Now it was her turn. Her time to show Nash that she was his one true love. He’d open his eyes. The veil would lift. Oh, Opal. How could I not see it? How you must have suffered. No more, my darling. From now on, you are mine. I’ll adore you forever.

Opal rose unsteadily and shut off the water. The signs all pointed to this island assignment as the right time to make her move. And when she did, Nash would remember every conversation, every murmur of endearment he’d been whispering in her brain for the past five years.

He’d never loved those other women, or so he claimed. But she didn’t believe Nash and couldn’t stand the thought of another woman in his arms. So she’d done them both a favor getting rid of Rebecca and Connie. No one could love him as much as she did. She alone knew his secret, had watched him meld into nature and mesmerize wild beasts with a whisper. Nash was extraordinary, otherworldly, and she wanted him to tame the wild storms of her internal landscape. No other man could understand the violent, explosive yearnings in her soul. No one else could save her from this crushing isolation. Only one other man had ever come close.

And he was dead.

Opal dried off, caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and drew in a sharp breath. That slightly overweight woman—with muddy-red hair plastered like rotten seaweed around her head and neck and that hideous scar—wasn’t the real Opal. The real Opal, the one Nash would see, was impeccable. Like...that Lily woman.

She scowled in the mirror—making her image that much more repulsive. The ghost of an old nursery rhyme skittered through her brain.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

Lily. The slut bitch.

She was the most beautiful woman Opal had ever seen. That hair, with its pastel strands and silver-blond shine; creamy skin unmarred by any scar; and lush body all combined into an irresistible package. Worse, something about Lily’s voice was almost...magical.

It wasn’t fair.

And the looks that had passed between her and Nash. You could feel a sensual alchemy brewing between them. Plus, they were old childhood friends—which meant they had a history together, an old bond to explore.

This was supposed to be her time. He should be here at the island cabin with her instead of spending so much time in the bayou with his grandfather. She’d taken care of Nash’s old girlfriends, had undergone all that plastic surgery, arranged and finagled assignments so they worked alone together on a beautiful, practically deserted island, and then this Lily had come along, upsetting her careful plans.

Opal tried to resist, but the compulsive need to again scrub the facial scar festered in her fingers. They twitched and tingled until she caved, soaping up yet another washcloth and scrubbing at the old wound. If only she could get rid of it, her problems would be solved. But no, the damn thing would haunt her forever. Opal flung the washcloth against the mirror and soapy water dripped down, distorting her scar into a mélange of distorted pixels.

Bet Lily had been brought up like a little adorable princess while she’d been shuffled around in foster care. Just when she’d gotten used to one place, she’d be uprooted. The only childhood constant was the fantasy Norman Rockwell world in her mind. A safe retreat.

At least she’d had a little luck today. What a coup to catch that woman keying the car with the “Lily” vanity tag. How convenient that Lily already had an enemy. If it became necessary to kill the blond whore, a suspect was ready for framing. Opal hoped it didn’t come to that, hoped that Nash would have no time or inclination for a dalliance. She’d gotten away with two eliminations; a third might be pushing it.

Still, sluts needed to be warned and punished. As the woman and her brat-in-arms tore it out of the parking lot, Opal had dashed over and carved “Die Slut” alongside the gash the other woman had made. In a burst of inspiration, she’d run into the nearby pet store, bought a rat and disemboweled it by Lily’s car.

A cache of stainless-steel razor blades were always stashed in her purse.

Cutting open the rat’s tender flesh had relieved some of the tension and anxiety from seeing Nash and Lily together. Just like cutting her arms and wrists eased pain in those moments when memories clamored and gnawed.

She’d have to find out more about this Lily. This time, unlike the others, there wouldn’t be weeks of warnings and warfare. Time was precious. This assignment was only for a month or so and Nash would be hers by the time it was through. Nobody would stand in her way.

Earlier, she’d driven by Nash’s grandfather’s home, saw the light from the curtain-less window, saw the cozy bunch at the table eating. Stabs of jealousy prickled her skin all over like leprosy. She was in the dark, on the outside looking in. Her childhood repeated. The ugly redheaded foster kid no one wanted.

* * *

Lily bit into the hot, buttered corn bread and forced the crumbly mixture down her throat. “Delicious,” she lied, chasing it down with a sip of sweet tea. More like wet sawdust. Determined not to offend her hosts, Lily swirled a mound of pinto beans around the plate and lifted a forkful to her mouth. This tangy rotten mush was worse than the tasteless corn bread. Human food—bleh. Soon as she got home she’d eat a real meal—a bowl of seaweed salad and a barely blanched lobster. Still, she enjoyed sitting in their cozy kitchen with its rustic pine cabinets and table. This place had been a second home for her growing up.

“Nash says you volunteer at the animal shelter,” she said, diverting attention from the uneaten, rearranged food on her plate.

Sam nodded. “Every Friday.”

“What do you do there?”

He chewed a piece of venison and put down his fork and knife. He always spoke carefully, as if mindful of the power of words. “Clean cages, bathe them, take them for walks.”

“That’s admirable.” She didn’t care for animals all that much. She loathed cats and the way they licked their chops around her, as if she were a delectable morsel they wanted to devour. “Jet has a dog that’s around a lot. Ugliest thing you ever saw.”

Neither man responded. Lily wanted to stamp her foot in frustration, but instead she surreptitiously studied the two.

They were similar: tall and large-boned with prominent cheekbones and the same aura of strength. Both had long black hair, although Sam’s was streaked with silver. Each had olive-colored skin, Sam’s a shade darker. Nash was a younger, more virile version of his grandfather. The only other striking difference between them was the green eyes Nash had inherited from his mother.

Those eyes that avoided her own at every opportunity. How could he resist her siren’s voice? The more he retreated, the more determined she became to get answers.

Lily took another stab at starting a dinner conversation. “The dog’s name is Rebel, and he’s supposedly a Chinese crested, but I say he’s a mutt. Got the ugliest yellow teeth and mangiest fur ever.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t fond of animals?”

Rats. They would find that odd. Nash worked photographing wildlife and Sam was devoted to all kinds of animals, even nursing wild ones back to health. She remembered an orphaned squirrel he’d fed from a dropper bottle that had hung around their backyard for years before disappearing.

Lily lied for the second time. “They’re okay.”

A corner of Nash’s mouth turned up, as if realizing she wasn’t being truthful.

“I have a saltwater aquarium,” she said in defense. “It’s like an undersea rainbow of colors. I’ve got violet dottybacks, blue damselfish, spotted dragonets and orange pipefish—” Lily broke off, aware she was rambling.

Nash nodded at his grandfather. “She still fits the name you gave her long ago.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Chattering Magpie.”

“I am not—” Lily closed her mouth abruptly. Defending herself with more words was a trap. She smiled sweetly at Nash’s smirk. “Perhaps a bit.” She didn’t often have much opportunity for conversation. Truth was, she didn’t often have anyone to talk to. No girlfriends. And Mom gallivanted at sea most of the time. Jet and Shelly, her cousin, had their own lives now, complete with adoring husbands. Jet had a baby on the way and Shelly helped her husband care for his teenage brother, who had autism.

Damn, so much had changed the past two years, and not all of it in a good way. She’d always been the special one of the family, the youngest and fairest and most beloved. Now she felt alone and outcast, taking refuge in her painting. Why the hell didn’t she leave Bayou La Siryna? Undersea with the merfolk, her siren’s ability made her special—admired by male and female alike—not despised, like in this place.

“He teases you,” Sam said. “Your voice is most engaging. This old cabin’s been too quiet for too long.”

A flicker of something—guilt or annoyance?—crossed Nash’s face, and she sensed the tension between them.

“I’ve invited you to go on assignments with me,” Nash said to his grandfather, a muscle working above his jawline. “Get away from the bayou. It wouldn’t kill you to take a trip once a decade.”

“I can’t leave.”

“You don’t want to leave. Big difference.”

“My home is here,” Sam insisted with a trace of stubbornness.

“Home can be anywhere you want.”

“I have no need for traveling the world, nor the time. I provide healings for our tribe. And I have my shelter work and my fishing.”

“You can fish and work with animals anywhere,” Nash countered.

“This is my place. Bowmans have lived here since the Choctaw first claimed this land as theirs. It means something to me to walk the land of my ancestors.”

Was that a veiled jab at his grandson’s wanderlust? Sam must be lonely living so far from town. A nicer person, like Shelly, would have been thoughtful enough to visit occasionally. Lily bit her lip. It had never occurred to her. Lily took advantage of their absorption in each other to rise from the table and scrape out her almost-uneaten meal in the garbage can.

She spotted a pie on the counter. “Who’s ready for dessert?” she asked brightly. “Smells heavenly.” The third lie at dinner. She was on a roll. Lily set the pie between the men. “Is this pumpkin or sweet potato?” she asked.

“Sweet potato. Nash’s favorite.”

The tension eased at Sam’s olive branch of peace.

“Thank you, Grandfather.” Nash cut a slice. “I haven’t eaten this in...” He paused. “I guess it’s been decades.”

Lily cut a piece for Sam.

“Aren’t you having a slice?” Nash asked.

“I’m stuffed,” she said, waving a hand to dismiss his comment. She beamed at Sam. “Dinner was wonderful.”

His deep wrinkles settled into a frown as he folded his arms and nodded at the scratches on her arms and legs. “What happened?”

“Got them walking on that trail behind the cabin.” She sipped more tea, reluctant to tell more.

Neither man said anything but their unblinking stares meant they were waiting for her to elaborate. Lily flushed and twirled a tendril of pale pink hair near her neck. “I got spooked by a coyote,” she admitted.

Sam glanced at Nash.

He nodded. “I checked it out. We may have a rabies outbreak.”

Sam turned back to her. “Why did it spook you?”

“It...it stared at me weird. After a few seconds—or maybe minutes—I don’t know—it lowered its head and started toward me. I took off. Was I wrong to be scared?”

Sam frowned. “Normally a coyote is more afraid of you than the other way around. But rabies can make animals do strange things.”

“That’s what Nash said, too.”

Sam pushed away from the table. “Think I’ll sit on the back porch a spell. I’m sure the two of you have lots of catching up to do.”

Nash rose immediately. “Actually, I’m retiring early. Got to get up before dawn to catch the first ferry to Herb Island.”

Lily sighed inwardly. No gracious way to stay longer and probe for clues to explain Nash’s strange indifference to her voice and his cryptic remarks about poison. She stood also. “I’ll clean up in here and head on out.”

“You are an honored guest.” Sam held up a hand. “I’ll take care of the kitchen later.” He nodded at Nash. “You should walk Lily to her car. Just to be safe.”

“Of course,” Nash said stiffly, in a way that meant he’d rather not.

Too bad. She lifted her chin and forced a smile at Sam. “Thanks for the delicious dinner.”

“You are most welcome.”

She edged past Nash, brushing against his right arm and shoulder. Heated energy danced between them. On her end, anyway. His face was as rigid and inscrutable as ever.

“Wait,” Sam called out. “I must warn you. Although it could be aberrant behavior from rabies, consider another possibility. If a coyote singles you out in the woods. It is a sign.”

Nash gave a low growl.

Lily frowned at Nash’s rudeness. “What kind of sign?” she asked. “I remembered you once said the coyote was a mischievous, sly trickster and that it could mark an ending or beginning.”

“In this case, I would say your coyote sighting was meant as a warning.”

Her throat went dry. “Warning?”

Sam’s brown eyes held the wisdom of experience and secret knowledge. “You are being deceived.”

Chills crept up her spine as she pictured the precisely vivisected rat by her car, the Die Slut etching. Not hard to figure out the enemy. “I know who it is.”

“You do?” Nash narrowed his eyes.

“There’s this petty woman in town who hates me over something that happened years ago.”

“Why would anyone hate you?” Nash asked.

If Nash stayed around the bayou all summer, he was bound to hear the rumors of her loose morals. But she’d rather he learned it later, after he knew her better. That way, perhaps he wouldn’t judge her too quickly or unfairly. Lily shrugged, watching Sam rummage through a kitchen drawer. She hoped Sam’s isolation had kept him from hearing talk of her in town.

“There’s one,” he muttered, returning with a smudge stick in his hand. “This is for protection.”

Nash rolled his eyes.

“White sage?” Lily guessed.

“Smudge your car and your home every day. It may help keep away trouble.”

“Thank you.” And she meant it. It might not even hurt to pay Tia Henrietta a visit and get some backup voodoo protection; if nothing else, the woman was entertaining. She hadn’t seen the crusty old hag in ages.

Impulsively, Lily gave Sam a quick hug for his kindness. When she’d first met him as a child, she’d found the man intimidating with his stern features and the Native American symbols tattooed on both sides of his neck and forearms. But she’d quickly come to realize his gentle heart.

She and Nash slipped out into the humid soup that marked bayou summers. A fine coat of perspiration popped all over her body, making the scratches on her arms and leg itch.

They said nothing until she reached Jet’s truck.

“I don’t like all this talk of danger and deception,” Nash said, leaning sideways against the Chevy truck. “Grandfather’s superstitious, but you believe you really have an enemy. Who is this woman you mentioned?”

Lily sighed. Should have known Nash wouldn’t let it go. “Her name’s Twyla Fae.” Warmth flamed her face and she was thankful for the cover of darkness. “She thinks I’m after her husband, J.P.”

A beat passed. “Are you?”

“No! I have no interest in married men.”

“Then why does she think you want her husband?”

“Because J.P. dumped her for a few weeks and dated me. This was before they got married,” she hastened to explain.

“Sounds like you were the injured party.”

“No. I realized we weren’t suited before they got back together.” It had started out like all the others. She began each new relationship with hope that it would lead to love. The men groveled and proclaimed undying love—but only because of her voice and looks. No one saw her. It was always kindest to say goodbye sooner rather than later. A fact that no man appreciated and that had lead to her name turning into the town joke. Lily was that girl in the bayou. The one men were sure was an easy lay and the one women condemned as guilty.

“I don’t understand why this Twyla is still angry.”

“J.P. broke off with me when she told him she was pregnant with his child. Guess Twyla suspects he married her out of a sense of obligation.”

“That behavior’s juvenile. What’s the woman done to you?” he demanded.

“Usually she and her friends settle for whispering behind my back or giving me the cold shoulder. But yesterday morning was different. One of them called me a slut and when I went outside they’d left me a nasty surprise.” She quickly filled him in on the details.

“That’s beyond petty. She needs to be prosecuted.” His green eyes darkened to the color of an Amazon rain forest at midnight.

“You sound like my sister,” she said lightly.

“Maybe I should talk to this Twyla.”

Lily’s heart lightened at his defense. He had to care about her—at least a little bit. “No, I can handle this,” she said hastily. If Nash talked to Twyla, the woman would cast her in the worst possible light. “I was going to confront her today, but it’s too late tonight. When I do, I’ll carry the sage your grandfather gave me—as a precaution.”

Nash snorted. “The old man must be the last Choctaw who takes all the old stories and ways as truth.”

“And you don’t?” His attitude surprised her. They used to sit around for hours listening to Sam’s stories. Back then, Nash was proud of his tribe and its traditions.

“Let’s say he takes it too far. Besides, we were talking about you and your problem.”

Lily leaned into him and gave in to the urge to touch him again. She lightly ran a finger along the stern edge of his jaw. A delicious frisson of awareness shot down her spine at the contact. Nash didn’t move. Did he truly feel nothing between them?

“Don’t,” he said in a harsh, tight voice.

“Why? You don’t really believe you’re cursed, do you?” And he accused Sam of being superstitious? Her hand crept to the back of his neck, fingers combing his black, smooth hair.

Abruptly, Nash pulled her to him, lips crushing against hers. Heat flared and liquid warmth pulsed through her body. His strength was more than the physical, unyielding planes of his mouth, chest and arms. It was an aura as primal and mysterious as nature’s spring fever erupting in every creature and living organism to mate and bring forth new life. Lily parted her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

Nash thrust her away. “Goodnight, Lily.”

Shock doused her like a blanket of snow. “Wh—Why did you stop?”

He didn’t answer or look at her, but walked back to the porch, hands thrust in his jeans pockets.

“Of all the rude, inconsiderate...” Lily sputtered, at a loss. She was the one who walked away from men, not the other way around. She folded her arms and smiled grimly at his fading figure.

You can run, Nashoba Bowman, but we aren’t done. I’ll find out all your secrets. And in the end, I’ll be the one to decide when it’s over.