Watermark (The Emerald Series Book 3)

by James, Kimberly

  "What was it?" Marshall asked, his voice almost hypnotic.

  "Blood." Jamie blinked through the memory, the way the coppery scent caught at the back of his throat and wouldn't let go. He'd been like a frenzied shark, a vampire of the Deep, the scent of the blood more than his instinct could ignore. "A pod of about ten dolphins preying on a small school of porpoises. They'd already killed most of them. Brutal attacks. Blood clouded the water so thick it was hard to see." Not that Jamie needed his eyes to see in the Deep. He could "see" with his nose and his signature, those echoes of sound providing his mind with vivid pictures of his surroundings.

  "What did you do?"

  Most landers believed sharks posed the greatest threat in the ocean. Jamie's kind knew different. Sharks were evolutionary throwbacks. The instinct to survive was about all that drove them. That made them predictable. Dolphins, on the other hand, possessed an unmatched intelligence. The group of young males Jamie encountered that day had been aggressive. They'd also been afraid of Jamie. They'd seen Jamie as a threat. An enemy. A rival.

  "They attacked me," Jamie said. He'd had no weapons. Nothing but his bare hands. His brute strength. "I killed them. All of them."

  And he hadn't regretted it. Hadn't really given it much thought until last night. He'd been helping his mom move some tables and chairs into her new restaurant and he'd wanted to see what it would be like for him to walk down the sidewalk. A test to see if anyone would notice him. And then he'd seen Erin's Tahoe in the parking lot behind Sharky's and without thought he'd walked inside and been looked upon by all those human eyes as though he were a pariah.

  "You did what you needed to survive, Jamie. That's nothing to feel guilty over." Marshall's expression blanched.

  Did he feel guilty? Jamie wasn't sure he did. Killing had been easy. He'd almost enjoyed it.

  And that's why when Jamie looked at Erin and sensed her indecision, the fear of him she wasn't willing to admit, he wasn't going to beg. Maybe it was up to her to do what he lacked the strength to do himself. She deserved someone better. And like her mind couldn't forget how much she'd grieved, his mind couldn't forget that though most of the outward signs were gone, he was still an animal. A part of his mind would always be a monster.

  She deserved more. And if she asked him to let her go, he would. Because he loved her.

  He and Marshall fell into tumultuous reflection. Jamie had been right. Marshall understood. He understood survival.

  "All right," his mom said as she joined them on the patio, slipping her purse over her shoulder. "I'm leaving you to it. Beer’s in the fridge. Gumbo's on the stove. It should be enough," she said, setting her gaze out on the beach where Noah, Jeb, Daniel, and Cree were throwing a football around the second sandbar.

  His mom was constantly experimenting with dishes for her new restaurant, which meant their house had become Grand Central for Noah and his friends—half the damn tribe.

  "How's Trevor working out?" Marshall asked.

  His mom surprised him by leaning over and kissing Marshall on the cheek. "Trevor has done an amazing job with the renovations. Especially to the outdoor area. Thanks for recommending him."

  “That’s good to hear. He does great work but he can be crass."

  "Thomas has this whole venture more or less handled. I'm going to give my final approval on the kitchen design. Really, it shouldn't take long. Help yourself to the gumbo when you're ready."

  "Thanks, Mom," Jamie said, but she still lingered over his shoulder. “Go. We'll be fine."

  "I know, but it's Saturday. I wanted to spend some time with you today."

  "I'm not going anywhere," he said, turning away from the pity in her gaze.

  Once his mom was gone, Jamie figured if Marshall was so keen to play the shrink, Jamie would let him. He was a friggin’ fountain of information today.

  "I dreamed about it the other night. That morning." Jamie was reluctant to share all he knew about what his dream revealed. He'd been filled in on the barest details of what had gone down with Flores in the past month. The way he'd come here, exercising an authority Jamie wouldn't have extended to him. Not since his dream. Not since he remembered Flores was the enemy. Rage bubbled inside him that Flores had been here in such close contact with his family and Jamie hadn't been here to protect them. Jamie wished Flores were dead. But his tribe had chosen to act with civility and handed him over to the proper authorities. And while Jamie appreciated the hope burgeoning in his tribe under Athen Kelley's guarded leadership, knowing Flores lived rankled Jamie's monster.

  "You remember anything new?" Marshall shared Jamie's frustration at his locked memory. But until Jamie had all the pieces, he would remain quiet on the details. He had a feeling his idea of justice and Marshall's no longer matched.

  "Nothing that means anything," Jamie said, and for the most part that was the truth. "I'm not sure it matters anymore.”

  Jamie had to blink once when he saw Noah trot out of the surf and make his way toward the house. His arms and chest had filled out and for a split second, Jamie imagined it was his dad coming out of the surf and not his younger brother.

  "He's not doing anything dangerous for you is he?" It was obvious Noah could take of himself, had been taking care of himself and their mom, but old habits died hard.

  "No," Marshall said. "Your mom made me promise."

  "Good. Let's keep it that way," Jamie said as Noah made his way up the path and climbed the two steps to the patio.

  Jamie fished in the cooler for a beer and tossed one to Noah as he settled onto one of the seats. It creaked under his weight.

  "So is this a private conversation? Y'all look serious. Or will you have to kill me or some shit if you tell me?"

  "Not a private conversation, just a tired one. Trying to figure out what happened," Marshall offered, his frustration renewed. They’d had this same conversation a half-a-dozen times over the last few days.

  "So you don't remember?" Noah put to Jamie.

  Jamie's senses kicked into overdrive at the subtle shift in Noah's tone of voice, the slight dilation of his pupils.

  "Bits and pieces," Jamie said, fixating on his little brother. "Nothing that makes any sense."

  "I've gone over it a million times,” Marshall began. “Two people dead. One of them a kid. You MIA for almost two years. Those aren't results I like to live with."

  Jamie's mind froze on the word kid. Marshall had never mentioned a kid before. He heard it again, the crying. He'd wondered on more than one occasion if he were remembering himself crying. He'd felt like it a few times. Maybe it hadn't been him. Maybe it had been this kid. He racked his brain, trying to force a memory, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. In some ways it remained a steel trap, and no amount of prying would spring it open.

  Noah's gaze shifted to Marshall as though he were hesitant to talk in front of him. Unlike Erin, who had wanted answers, Noah hadn't asked Jamie one time what had happened. It was like he wanted to forget. Or maybe he already had an idea.

  "What's on your mind, little brother?"

  "What if I told you it was Sol Kelley who set the bomb that blew up the boat," Noah said, leaning back in his chair, leg crossed over his knee, as nonchalant as if he were commenting on the weather.

  "I would ask you how you know that," Marshall said as Jamie continued to watch his brother.

  Jamie hadn't even thought about Sol Kelley since he'd been back, but the mention of his name, like the kid, had his brain grinding to a halt.

  "He told me," Noah confessed, fingers picking at the label on his bottle. "The day we got Flores."

  Marshall leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. "Son of a bitch, Noah, that was weeks ago. Why in the hell haven't you told me this? You knew about Jamie and didn't tell me and now this? What will it take for you to trust me?"

  "Give me a break, Marshall. It's not like you've been a fountain of information yourself."

  "He was there," Jamie heard himself say, his mind snapping with d
izzying force. "He warned me. But I heard a kid crying."

  "We don't have much time," a voice said. Sol? What was Sol doing here? A knife cut the bindings on his hands. "We've got about thirty seconds before this boat blows to hell."

  Sol hefted Jamie to his feet. Jamie swayed, breathing deep. Sloan moaned from the floor a few feet away. They’d left him to die along with Jamie.

  "Save him," Sloan said on a strangled breath."Save my boy."

  That's when Jamie heard the crying.

  "There's no time, Jamie." Sol's voice was an echo in Jamie's ears, drowned out by the crying of the kid.

  Jamie wretched out of Sol's grasp. "Go," Jamie rasped. "Get Sloan. I'll be right behind you."

  "Jamie!"

  But Jamie was already stumbling toward the sound of the crying. Sol cursed behind him. Jamie kept going, staggering down a hallway. Fighting for balance.

  He found the boy huddled by his bed, a Superman action figure clutched in his arms. Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks. Jamie scooped him up. How long had it been? Fifteen seconds? Twenty? Jamie sprinted for the door, but it felt like running through mounds and mounds of sand. He wasn’t going to make it. The boat erupted underneath him, a beast roaring to life. Jamie jumped.

  Jamie's body seized with phantom pain, the feeling of being ripped apart. Eyes staring and seeing nothing but the deep green of endlessness. He found enough of his voice to whisper, "I guess I didn't make it."

  But somehow he had. He remembered relentless darkness. Mindless floating. And then, like he'd told Erin their first night together, he just was. Like he'd been remade. Reborn. Jamie shook his head and found his focus again, eyes intent on the hand gripping his knee.

  "You made it," Noah said, gripping tighter.

  Jamie lifted his gaze. "But no one else did."

  He'd failed. His first time out and he'd failed.

  "It wasn't your fault, Jamie."

  Maybe not, but something was still missing. Something his mind refused to share with him as if it were trying to protect him. He thought about bringing up Carl Rogan to Marshall. Ask if he'd heard anything, but the last thing Jamie wanted was to put Marshall on alert. And he'd already said more about that day than he was comfortable with. Besides, Jamie already knew Carl was here, skulking in the peripheral. After nearly two years the men who had been on that boat weren't done with him.

  And it wasn't Marshall's problem. It was Jamie's.

  "Give it time, Jamie. When your mind is ready, you'll remember."

  Or maybe he wouldn't and this sinking feeling would never go away. Jamie downed his beer and reached inside the cooler for another bottle.

  Marshall cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, looking between the two of him. Then, as if coming to a decision, he let out a pent up breath and said, "Before we eat and while I've got you both alone, I want to say something about your mother."

  "What about her?" Noah asked, his tone bristling.

  Marshall searched over the dunes where Jeb and Cree were still throwing and diving for the football. Daniel was nowhere in sight.

  "I don't know if she ever told you, but she saved me once," Marshall said.

  "No," Noah said, rubbing his neck as if he too suffered whiplash from the abrupt change of subject. Not that Jamie cared. He didn't want to talk about the day he died anymore. "She never told us that."

  "My family used to come here for summer vacation. When I was seventeen, like an idiot, I was trying to learn to surf on a day when a tropical storm was brewing. I wiped out. Hit my head. I most likely would have drowned if it hadn't been for Lara." He snorted derisively, but his tone told Jamie all he needed to know. Marshall had loved his mom for a long time. And then he felt bad because his mom had been crazy about his dad, and that had to suck for Marshall.

  "By the time she hauled me to the beach I was half in love with her already. Have been ever since. But then she only had eyes for your dad, and Shay became a friend too." He made a point of looking each of them in the eye, but his gaze settled on Jamie's.

  "It's no secret how I feel about her. We're friends. And whether we ever become more than friends is up to her. I would never push her into anything she's not ready for. That's not how a man treats a woman he loves." Marshall's focused gaze remained pointed, a weight on Jamie's conscience.

  "I couldn't agree more," Jamie said, digesting Marshall's thinly veiled warning.

  "Though now that you're back," Marshall settled back in his chair in defeat, “the point is probably moot anyway." Marshall tried at a smile and failed, his disappointment clear in the inflection of his tone.

  Was there anybody's life he hadn't screwed up by being alive?

  30

  Steam clouded around my face as I took a sip of my hot chocolate. My mom watched me from across the granite counter top of her kitchen island, wearing that patient look she'd perfected over the years. Her pinked lips curved subtly, her brown eyes amiable.

  I'd shown up at her store near closing time and she'd taken one look at my face and escorted me upstairs. I'd been going for self-possessed and sure. Guess I needed a bit more practice. But then she could always see right through my facades.

  My gaze dropped to the mug cupped in my hands and the way my fingers clung in desperation to any comfort a cup of hot chocolate offered. This mug was about as old I was. The rim was chipped and the handle had been glued back on several times. When my mom had moved into her flat and bought all new dishes, she'd wanted to throw the mug out. I'd convinced her hot chocolate didn’t taste as good in her newly matched set. This mug had gotten me through some of the hardest conversations in my life. Like when I’d sat on this same stool at sixteen and told her I was pregnant. The words had stuck on my tongue, and I'd been too afraid of the inevitable disappointment, knowing with just the telling that her perception of me would change forever.

  Only it hadn’t. She’d still loved me. She was still my mother even though I had been about to become one myself. She’d cried with me. She laughed with me. And then she did it all again when the unthinkable happened and at seventeen I thought my life was over. She’d helped me see it wasn’t and even the most unimaginable pain would eventually fade and life went on. Life was different, but it went on.

  So I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the words were so hard now. Maybe it wasn’t her disappointment I was dreading, but my own.

  "What happened with you and Dad?” They’d never told me the real reason they split up. They’d reassured me none of their problems were my fault, and told me how much they loved me no matter how things had changed. And I’d never doubted either. "I mean, neither of you are with anyone else, so that wasn’t it.”

  “One day I figured out your dad was in love with somebody else.” She shrugged as if that was explanation enough.

  When her eyes met mine again, they were uncharacteristically susceptible. I loved my mother. She meant the world to me, but I had always believed, of the two of my parents, she was the one most likely to fall into the trap of infidelity.

  “Dad had an affair? With who?” I couldn't hide my surprise nor my indignation on her behalf.

  “I didn’t say he had an affair. I said he was in love with someone else. And you know me, I don't sit well in second place.”

  “But he’s not with anyone.” I set my mug on the counter, thinking of the show of affection I’d witnessed between my dad and Mrs. Jacobs at the Facility.

  “No. He wanted to stay married for you, and it’s not like he didn’t love me, but I couldn’t get past the whole second place thing. That he loved someone else more. I deserved better and so do you, Erin. You deserve a chance to find your place without feeling guilty. I won’t have you feeling guilty anymore. There’s been enough of that going around.”

  “Is that why you didn’t put up a fight when I wanted to live with Dad? You felt guilty?” I remembered the day I'd come home from school and all her stuff was gone. She'd sat me down in the living room and explained how much m
ore sense it made for me to stay with my dad, and while I'd felt torn, I'd also been thankful she hadn't forced me to choose between them.

  “That was part of it. I also thought he would be better for you on a day-to-day basis than I would. For all his hard edges, he has more of a maternal instinct than I do. And it was clear from the time you were six months old you were his girl."

  “Don’t say that. You're a great mom. The best. This…” I lifted my mug in an all-encompassing gesture of the room, the perfect blend of elegant and homey, “this is exactly what I needed. I just wish you weren't alone."

  "Oh honey, I don't resent in any way the relationship you have with your father. One of the things I still love most about him is the way he is with you. And I may be alone, but I'm not lonely. I have my work and I enjoy it. I have wonderful friends. I have you. I don't need a steady man or romance in my life to be happy. Besides," she waved offhandedly, her cheeks staining slightly, "I have several men I can call if I need—"

  I held up my hand. "TMI, Mom."

  She laughed and sipped her wine, settling back on the bar stool.

  "Just so you know," I said, "I would have lived with you if you'd asked."

  "I know. But sometimes decisions should be made based on what's best for the people we love." She looked at me, her dark eyes conveying the willing sacrifice she’d made for me. "Part of what happened between us was my fault. I knew when I married your dad a piece of his heart belonged elsewhere. I guess I hoped I'd be enough for him, and I never felt like I was. Sometimes we have to think about what's best for ourselves."

  "You mean me and Jamie," I said slowly.

  "Well, I meant me. Only you can decide what's best for you. But I don't want you to settle for a life you don't want because you feel like all of your choices have been made. It's way too soon for that," she said, a distinct passion coloring her tone. "Where exactly do you see yourself in two or three years?"