by Judi Fennell
“Of course you’re Reel. That’s your name, right?”
It earned her another devastating smile. Give the guy brown hair and a five o’clock scruff, and he’d be Matthew McConaughey’s twin brother.
She’d always had a thing for Matthew.
“So, Erica.” Was it possible he had a slight Texas drawl as well? “What’s with the polished stones?”
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about your defense or something? The diamonds aren’t important.”
“Au contraire, ma chérie. Those stones are directly responsible for you being in my waters. If I’ve got to defend myself, it’s best if I know the whole story. So, talk.”
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“You speak French?”
He exhaled. “French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Cajun, Gaelic, Welsh, Greek, Crustacean, Cnidaria, Chordata, Porifera, Mollusca, a smattering of Italian, Norwegian, Finnish, Dutch—”
She put a finger on his lips. “I get it. You’re a regular United Nations.”
He let her fingers stay a moment too long. Or had she allowed it? He took her hand in his, intertwining fingers.
“And you’re stalling. It won’t do any good. Even Chum can’t pull it off with me around, so start talking. You have a vested interest in the outcome of my interrogation.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Which was why she didn’t remove her hand. Or so she rationalized.
“It wasn’t meant to be. Talk.”
She sighed. Damn, water came out. She could not get used to that. “Okay, here’s the CliffsNotes version,” she said, sitting up straighter on the sea cucumbers. “My grandfather wanted his ashes scattered over the Minnow, his favorite dive site. He used to take me there when I was younger.” Before The Incident, but she wasn’t about to share that.
“I, um, didn’t get to it right after the funeral and put his urn in the office. Last week, a couple came in to charter a trip out to the Minnow. I figured it was the perfect time to honor his wishes, so I took the urn along. What I didn’t know was that Joey had hidden his diamonds there. I guess he figured if Grampa hadn’t made it to the dive site by that time, he never would.”
“So you tossed the urn overboard, and Joey found out when he returned to the office,” Reel guessed, followed by a series of clicks.
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A yellow sea raven rose from behind the echinoderm pile and circled around them, clicking and nodding to Reel before it headed out the doorway. The water rippling from its long fins created a mini-current, causing Erica’s hair to drift over her shoulder as if in a soft breeze. She tried to flip the hair back, but it just floated in the fish’s wake and settled again over her collarbone.
“Well, no, I didn’t toss the urn, just his ashes. Grampa wouldn’t have wanted to spend eternity in an urn. He loved the water. I brought the urn back as a remembrance of him. When Joey went to retrieve the diamonds and found it empty, well… Let’s just say it wasn’t my choice to board his boat or get in the water. But then, I didn’t really have one.”
“What’s so special about these diamonds that he’d kill you for them?” He reached over and flicked her hair back.
“He said something about a kimberlite vein.” Of course the hair didn’t stay. Reel swept it away again, and she lost her train of thought.
Oh, for pete’s sake—he was just a man…
Well, sort of.
Reel’s hand stilled. “Kimberlite?”
She cleared her throat and nodded. “He says he found a vein of it. And for some reason, those specific diamonds are very important—even though I offered to buy him other, bigger ones so I could get out of the water. He wasn’t biting, though.”
Reel’s sexy upper lip disappeared. His eyes narrowed.
“Why would he hide them in your office? Doesn’t he have his own guarida? ”
“His own what?”
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“Guarida. Lair. Home.”
His knees brushed hers. His naked knees. Which led up to even nakeder parts. Was that even a word? And why was she thinking about naked parts?
Erica stood up and did the best impersonation of pacing anyone could do beneath the waves.
“Hell yes, Joey has his own lair. He just spent two hundred grand on a boat. And I’m beginning to guess where he got the money for it.”
“So why your office?” Reel headed her way, abalone shell in place (pity), stopping so a herd of sea horses could pass between them. A larger one and several smaller ones, all chattering away in some language she couldn’t understand. But they seemed to. The little ones lined up next to each other, side by side, and nodded their elongated heads to Reel. He returned the move but never took his attention off her.
“Beats me. But then, who’d ever think to look in an urn? I certainly didn’t. But, boy, do I really wish I had.”
Their dorsal fins fluttering behind them, the parade of sea horses motored across the watery expanse of the room to the anemone table, where they wrapped their prehensile tails around whatever anchor they could find. The twittering started again.
“So where are the diamonds?” He touched her arm.
“Somewhere on the dive site, I guess, but I couldn’t find them. They must be buried in the sand or something. Maybe a crab stuck them in its hole.” She pulled away from his touch. It wasn’t right to feel an attraction toward a guy who lived beneath the waves. Besides the waterbreathing thing, it was just… well, weird. Not that she wanted to feel an attraction to any guy—ocean or not. InOverHerHead.indd 48
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Reel’s fingers drummed against the edge of the abalone shell, the iridescent mother-of-pearl lining flashing in the water like a psychedelic aura around parts that needed no highlighting. At least not in her mind.
“We need to find those stones,” he said.
“We do?”
“Definitely. The Council is going to want to know about this. We can’t let them fall into that Human’s hands again.”
“Why do they care about a handful of diamonds?
What difference could it possibly make?”
He raked a hand through his hair then scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh, really.”
“Yes, really. It’s a Council decree.”
“Kind of like the no-turning-humans thing?” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. The sandy floor pretty much negated the effect, so she added a huff for good measure. A huff of water… oh, hell. His lips twisted. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that.”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you why, Erica, but trust me, The Council is going to want to know about this. It might work in our favor, actually.”
“Not to be rude, but why should I care if this Council is happy with me or not?”
Reel’s mouth was a thin line. “Do the words, ‘social outcast’ and ‘price on your head’ mean anything? Not to mention, The Council has been looking forward to something like this for years. I’m thinking this information might mitigate the punishment.”
Price on her head? For what? Having the extreme bad luck to be found by an ocean dweller?
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“Wait a minute. Why is The Council so interested?”
“Because they’re always looking for a reason to hold me to tighter scrutiny, and I’ve just handed it to them by turning you.”
“Why you?”
Reel turned to an alcove in the wall and started rummaging through it, which gave her a really good look at that trident tattoo above the tightest glutes she’d ever seen up
close and personal. How was it possible for someone’s—namely hers—mouth to water underwater?
A harpoon fell out of the alcove, bringing with it what looked like a lamp and a picture frame. A rust-covered fork. A utility ladder.
“Let’s just say that I’ve probably overstayed my welcome where they’re concerned.” Reel pulled out a pair of navy swimming trunks and stepped into them (another pity), then took out a knapsack, shoved a few items inside, then pushed the harpoon and other items back into the alcove. He faced her, slinging a strap over his shoulder. “And anyway, the head of The Council likes to make sure I set a good example. Always has, so this’ll be the perfect reason to give me my just rewards.”
“What does this guy have against you?”
“Oh, it’s not what he’s got against me. It’s who I am to him.”
“And just who are you?”
The whoosh of exhaled water fed the silence while Reel’s jaw ticked.
“I’m the High Councilman’s prodigal son.”
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Chapter 7
“Your father? So that makes you, what? Royalty?”
“Why is it that everyone always goes right to that point?”
Reel shook his head and turned away. “Yeah, I’ve got a title, but for all intents and purposes, it’s negligible.”
He hated this part. Was sick to death of it. He’d been explaining his lot in life for longer than he cared to and hated the reality of it. He didn’t get why everyone insisted that being part of the royal family was a coup. It wasn’t as if he had any power.
But Rod did. By virtue of a four-minute head start in life.
The biggest race of Reel’s life, and he’d lost it by a mere four minutes. And it made all the difference in the world.
Rod, who looked like the rest of their people, would inherit the throne and all the power and Immortality that went with it, while he was stuck with legs, a normal life span, lip service from the court, and the dubious distinction of being The Spare.
His life would have turned out so much better if he’d been birthed into a different family—where at least he wouldn’t covet his brother’s position, his brother’s life. He could’ve had a feeling of value. Made his own way in the world. Been like others of his race instead of stuck with these stupid appendages. He could’ve been somebody. What was he now but insurance?
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“Okay, then.” Erica glided over to him. Her legs flickered through the water, so much gentler than the heavy whumph of a tail. No matter how graceful the Mer, that powerful swish of a tail couldn’t compete with the ineffectual flutter of legs. He should know. Funny how something he hated about himself he found fascinating on her.
“So, if we give The Council this bit of news that, for whatever reason, is important to them, we should be able to undo all this?” She fluttered her hands in front of her mouth, her smile hopeful.
He really hated to take that sparkle out of her eyes. He hiked the remaining knapsack strap over his other shoulder then somersaulted through the water to scoop up the pile of Ulva lactuca. He flipped open a giant empty clam shell and deposited the meal inside. “Uh, not exactly.”
Her legs were fast for limbs he considered ineffectual. He turned around to find her right behind him. Right behind him. Close enough to feel the tips of her shell-fillers brush his chest.
Close enough to see that the sparkle in her eyes had changed to fire.
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?” She poked him in the chest.
His libido started dueling with his sense of fairness and honesty. He should tell her the truth, but then she’d really be mad at him for turning her. Of course, the woman should be down on those cute, silky, ineffectual knees thanking him because she’d be a Hades-of-a-way worse off if he hadn’t. Death by shark was not pretty, nor quick.
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Honor won out. “I’m not going to be able to turn you back, Erica.”
When she stamped her foot, sending a cloud of sand over his feet, he put a hand to her mouth. Mer or Human, females sure could screech.
“First of all, sweetheart, I honestly don’t know if I can. I wasn’t sure I could turn you in the first place, but I had to give it a shot.” He took his hand away, but when she took a deep gulp as if she was about to start on a tirade, he put it back.
“Second, The Council won’t let me turn you back, even if I could. Humans can’t know we exist, hence the pain-of-death ultimatum. Which is what The Council’s interest in those diamonds is about.” He took his hand away. Now she could scream. He’d rather she got it out all at once so he didn’t have to listen to it over and over. But she was proving legs weren’t the only difference between her and the other females he knew. She closed her mouth, crossed her arms, and tapped her bottom lip. It was a cute bottom lip, a little fuller than the top one. It’d been incredibly soft when he’d kissed her—
“There has to be some way for them to let you turn me back. What if I promise not to tell anyone Mers exist?”
Reel shook his head. “Not going to happen. They’ve only let one person off the hook, and no one’s rested easy since. Some liberal on The Council decided we should have a friend on the outside, someone to ensure we wouldn’t be discovered, but…”
Reel shrugged his shoulders. “We’re still waiting for that volcano to erupt.”
“Wait. Someone else, another of my kind, knows about you guys? Who?”
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“I doubt you’d know him. He’s spent more time underwater than on land, and there are a lot of you people—”
“Who, Reel?”
“You know, you’re awfully cute when you’re angry.” Reel couldn’t help brushing her hair back over her shoulder. It’d come back with the current, and he couldn’t seem to keep his fingers to himself.
“Cut the flattery. I’m not going to forget the question.”
She pushed his arm away as she huffed back over to the holothurians, but even that had its rewards as her skin caressed his. His gono was starting to take notice. And she’d certainly notice that. These shorts might bag around that area, but when it was rising to the occasion, it’d be hard to miss. And he’d like to think his would be harder to miss than most—
“Reel? Who else knows about you?” she asked from the seat she’d retaken.
Right. The conversation. Down boy. He exhaled.
“Some guy. A Frenchman. And we know how you feel about them.”
“Who?”
“Why is it so important?”
“Why is it important another person out there knows about Mers? Are you serious? Besides the fact that the man knows one of the biggest oceanic secrets of all times, it’s also a basis for the argument that some people, namely me, can be trusted to keep the secret. Obviously one already has, so why not me? Who is he?”
She had a point. “His name is Jacques Cousteau.”
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“Great. It figures. The one person who could help, and he’s dead. Fabulous.”
“Dead?”
“Yep. And that explains his success with all the underwater films he made. Hmm, he does have a son. Two, I think. I wonder if either of them knows.”
“Well, we’d better not find out because that would shoot your no-telling argument to Hades. My father only told Jacques, and then only because the man was like a dogfish with a whalebone. He kept coming back to the same spot over and over. We finally decided to try to scare him off, but that only made him more curious.
“In the end, my father decided, with The Council’s backing, t
o approach him with the truth. He’d been observing our world but not harming anything. It was a risk, but if the man had kept up his surveys, we would have been discovered anyway. Since then, no one’s been poking around.”
“Voila! The basis for my argument.”
“Except for the kimberlite.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“A lot, Erica. More than you know.”
“So tell me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. She might be beautiful, but arguing with her was giving him a headache. “I can’t.”
“Chicken.”
Chicken? He wasn’t familiar with the term—“Ah, one of your flightless birds.”
“They can fly. Just not very far.”
“Useless.”
“Hardly. They make a great meal.”
Reel laughed. “This from the woman who mocks snail and Ulva lactuca. ”
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“Whatever.” She fluttered her hands again. He found himself mesmerized by the grace in her fingers. Like a sea anemone in a gentle current or the lazy turns of a dolphin playing in the sun-warmed sea. Hmm… thinking of dolphins and lazy, sun-drenched days… he could just imagine the two of them lolling about on a beach, the sun overhead, the water lapping at their feet… no one around for miles…
There was that newly emerged wreck behind Cubagua Island… He’d wanted to explore it with someone. And not just anyone…
His gono was going to be the death, or at least embarrassment, of him any minute now.
“So,” she continued, obviously unaware of the part-ay going on inside his shorts, “you’re saying that even if we tell The Council this big undercover information about Joey’s kimberlite, they’re still not going to let me go? Why bother to tell them in the first place?”
The Council letting her go.
Those words socked him in the gut like a descent into the Puerto Rico Trench on the back of an angry manta. Let her go.
He didn’t want to let her go. Not yet. Hades, she’d just arrived.
“I don’t know that letting you go is even a consideration, sweetheart. Right now, we’re fighting for my life, and therefore, yours.”
