by Judi Fennell
Jesus.
Logan dropped his head back on the pillow, his arms flopping to the sides, his hand curling into an indenta tion he found on his left. When he realized what he was doing, he yanked it away.
She. Was. A. Mermaid.
Logan ran a hand over his face. He needed a shave.
Hell, he needed a lot of things. A shave, a shower, a drink, and a trip out of town. Not necessarily in that order.
Michael.
Logan closed his eyes, groaning. How was he going to tell Michael about Angel leaving?
How was he going to tell Michael about Angel?
Uh, son? Remember when I said mermaids don't exist? Well, I was wrong. They do, and they're every bit as sensuous and desirable as the legends say.
Yeah. Not kid material.
Seriously, what was he going to tell Michael?
Kicking the rest of the sheet off, Logan groaned his way to sitting. He dropped his hands between his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs, chin to his chest, and took a deep breath.
And another.
Somehow he was going to have to explain to his son that the woman he'd come to care about was gone. Logan wasn't sure if that "he" referred to Michael, or to him.
Logan stood up. It didn't matter who it referred to. She was gone. It was over—and there was a mer maid swimming somewhere out in the water off the coast of Florida and he was the only one who knew about it.
As if anyone would believe him anyway.
He turned on the shower, the quick hiss of the cold spray hitting his skin with the brutality he needed to really wake up and get out of this fog. So, okay, he wouldn't be telling anyone he'd seen—slept with—a mermaid. Life could go on just as it always had. As it had before she'd shown up.
Ignoring the fact that the shampoo in his shower was the same one he'd stocked the guesthouse with—he was not going to remember what she'd smelled like—Logan poured some onto his palm, then rubbed it into his hair— a little too vigorously.
Good job on the ignoring…
He took a breath. Life would go on as it had before she'd shown up.
Except life wasn't the same, and she had shown up—
And he'd gone and fallen in love with her.
His eyes started to burn. Shit. He'd gotten shampoo in them.
Logan ducked his face beneath the spray, gritting his teeth against the pain.
In his eyes. The pain in his eyes.
Yeah, right.
Okay, so what? Yeah, it hurt. He'd never been in love with anyone before, not even Christine, and now, when he did go and fall in love, she was a freaking mermaid?
Talk about fucked up. And he'd thought the circus was bad. Wouldn't his parents just love to get their hands on her? The perfect sideshow.
Hell. That damn prediction of Nadia's. She'd actually been right.
But so what? There could never be anything between him and Angel. She was a mermaid.
Maybe if he said it enough, it'd start to make sense.
Blinking his eyes, Logan turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, scrubbing his face with it, trying to stop the pain.
If only it were that easy with his heart. How the hell did you fall out of love?
He wrapped the towel around his waist, tossed back a few aspirin, then headed to his closet. However you fell out of love, he was going to do it. He wanted Normal. Not the sideshow. Not a scientific anomaly or a legend come to life. Normal. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently it was, and now he had to tell Michael.
He was probably looking forward to that less than trying to get last night out of his head. All of last night.
Logan pulled on his shorts and grabbed a button-down off a hanger, folding the sleeves back on his forearms as he walked down the hallway to his son's room. Ten o'clock. They'd both overslept. No surprise why he had. But, Michael? Actually, that was surprising.
Logan opened the door. "Hey, Mi—"
The bed was empty. Great. Real responsible, Hardington, letting a six-year-old get up for breakfast on his own.
And he thought he could do this parenting thing, how?
Logan scratched his chest, then looked down. He'd buttoned the damn buttons wrong. And he wondered how he could sleep through Michael getting up? Obviously too damn easily.
Reworking the buttons, Logan headed downstairs, checking the kitchen and finding it empty. No cereal bowl in the sink. He opened the dishwasher.
Not there either.
He walked down the half-flight of stairs to the family room. "Michael?"
No answer.
Now he was worried.
Logan ran out the back and headed to the pool, dread pulling at him, weighing down his legs.
He jumped the gate and ran to the edge.
Oh thank God. No Michael.
So where the hell was he—
The ocean!
Logan ran across the flagstone path, down the steps, and onto the beach. Sand filled his shoes as he ran. He kicked them off.
"Michael!"
God, had Michael wandered down here? Had he seen Angel?
Had she taken him?
The thought punched him in the gut, and he stumbled to a stop.
Had that been her plan all along?
The thought sucked the rest of the wind out of him.
No. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't do that. Not after last night.
But what did he really know about last night? Hell, what did he really know about mermaids? They had to have gotten their reputation somehow.
Oh, God… he'd willingly brought her into his home. Set the stage for this…
Then he saw Rocky.
And the sneakers.
"Michael!"
The word tore from his throat, burning raw with re gret as he fell to his knees at the water's edge.
Chapter 29
"NICE." GINGER TSKTSKED AS SHE WATCHED LOGAN FALL onto the sand, then she turned to stare at the brown liz ard sunning himself on the guesthouse's eave. "You re ally performed a public service this time."
The lizard didn't say a word.
Ginger sighed. "You do know I can see you, right?"
He still didn't respond, but one of his eyes rolled her way.
"Don't you go rolling your eyes independently of each other at me." She undulated her neck. "I call it like I see it. And you blew it, buddy. Big time."
The lizard turned even darker brown. That was such a neat ability, being able to change color. Too bad the only way she could do it was by giving up her favorite food in the world, shrimp. And even then, it took a while and she only turned white. White. Big flappin' deal. Thank goodness Roger adored her in pink, but still… It'd be nice to change for a change.
She took a step closer to the house. "Stewie, I really think—"
"It's Stewart." The lizard turned green with indignation.
Wonder what color he turned in envy? Ginger shook her head. She was stuck with pink, even in envy. "All right, Stewart. What were you thinking sending a child to the beach? Alone? Anything could happen. Take, for instance, that overblown hammerhead out there. He actually talked the kid into going along for a ride. What do you think is going to happen, hmmm? Didn't think about that, did you? Now you're going to have that kid's death on your bony little prehensile fingers. I hope you can live with yourself."
Stewart's tail twitched, and his hind legs bunched beneath him. "Hey, I can't help it if he's as bright as a gecko. He wanted to know, and he was waking the entire neighborhood. Do you want all the other Humans to find out about her? What do you think would happen when his father found the kid bawling his eyes out? The story would have come out."
"Look, you undersized dinosaur, the story already did come out. Logan found out about her last night. Was quite nasty about it, if I do say so myself."
Not that she'd been listening or anything. Well, okay, yes, she had been listening. But they'd had their little tell-all right next to her roost. She hadn't gone out of her way to listen in. Really, no one co
uld have avoided hearing what they were saying.
That was her story and she was sticking to it.
Not that it was any of Stewart's business.
"You know, Stewart. If you'd kept your big ol' dew lap shut, Logan would have calmed the kid down and that would have been that. But, no. You just had to get involved, didn't you?" Ginger rotated her neck to get the kinks out. She really hated when animals did stupid things; it gave Humans the right to think all animals were stupid. "Now he has to go after her, and the entire Mer world is going to know that she let the catbird out of the cage, and all of Atlantis is going to be up in fins. Not to mention, you know how Humans are when it comes to their young."
"Something you obviously don't have a clue about." Stewart, the little smart-ass, leered at her. "Besides what do you care? I didn't know you were a member of the Angel Tritone Fan Club."
"Look, you komodo wannabe, just because I don't want to sit at home on any guy's roost doesn't mean I don't like kids. Or have a conscience. You just sent one off to his death. How can you live with yourself?" When would the dinosaurs stop trying to take over the world? They'd botched that job millions of selinos ago—had gotten them selves extinct to boot. Now their upstart ancestors were trying to do it again. Would the reptiles never learn?
"There's only one thing left to do." Seriously, birds were so much better equipped to deal with these kinds of emergencies—which was why they'd survived and the dinosaurs hadn't.
"You're quite right. There is." Stewart turned to face the other way, a co-mingling of brown and green over taking his scrawny little body. "Go back to sleep."
On second thought, perhaps that color-morph thing wasn't the most attractive trait. "If I were you, Stewart"— perish the thought—"I might want to find another spot."
"What are you talking about?" Stewart asked, doing that independent eye-rolling thing again. That wasn't attractive either. Yes, she was very glad she'd been hatched a beautiful, lithe, seductive flamingo. "You don't eat lizards."
Heh. Let him sweat it. Well, only figuratively, since reptiles were physiologically incapable of that—another reason she was glad she was a bird.
"Correction, genius. We aren't known to eat lizards. That doesn't mean we don't."
Not that she'd come near him with a ten-foot beak, but he did deserve a little angst for the big angst he'd contributed to.
And now he turned so light brown that he was almost white. Ah, blanched with fear. She'd heard the term be fore but had never seen it put into practice. And it soooo wasn't attractive either.
Yes, Ginger, ol' bird, being a flamingo is where it's at.
That's why she was going to do what she was about to do. After all, the lizard caused it, but she got to be the heroine. Let those Orlando chicks eat their shriveled, old, gossipy hearts out.
She took a step forward, hiding her smile when he took a step back. "Listen up, Stewie. You need to fix this. Go find a storm petrel or someone who knows one. Get that bird in the air after Angel. She needs to know what's going on."
Hmmm… Who would play her in the movie? There weren't many Hollywood-ified flamingos.
Hey, she could do it. After all, who better to play her than her?
She'd show those Orlando babes a thing or two. There was a big ol' movie studio there. She didn't have to hang out at the marine park with them. Nuh-uh. Not her. She was headed for the bright lights and the big time.
Giving the lizard one last look, Ginger straightened the feathers on her crown, fluffed her back and then her breast to glam up for her trip, and took off down the beach to give Logan the low-down.
She just hoped he'd listen.
Chapter 30
LOGAN WAS GOING CRAZY.
That had to be it.
Michael's disappearance had sent him sailing over the edge of the cliffs of insanity because he was standing on a beach, looking for a kidnapping mermaid.
But what other choice did he have? The authorities would lock him up if he went to them with this story.
He should have gone to them with Angel.
A mermaid. Jesus Christ.
Logan dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing himself to focus. Recriminations could come later. Right now, he had to find Michael.
So where did one begin to start looking for a mer maid? Atlantis?
"Hey there, good-looking." A female voice, sultry and sexy, came from behind him.
Logan looked over his shoulder. He didn't have the time, nor the inclination, to fend off some woman's advances.
But there was no one there.
Logan shook his head. He had to be hearing things. That went with Crazy, right?
He turned back around and looked out to sea again, shielding his eyes with his hand, hoping against all odds to see her there in the waves. At the very least, see her tail.
Hell. Her tail.
"I might be able to help you."
Okay, he did not imagine that.
Logan dropped his hand and spun around.
Again, no one.
He was really losing it because if anyone had been there, she would have frightened off the flamingo that was eyeballing at him.
Wait. Why was a flamingo staring at him? From six feet away? Why wasn't the bird scared of him?
"Yes, I'm talking to you." The flamingo's beak worked in tandem with that sultry voice.
Logan looked around.
A "hmmph!" came from the direction of… the bird?
That wasn't possible. Flamingos didn't speak English. In sultry, come-hither voices.
And mermaids don't show up in your bed either.
Logan's heart was pounding in his ears. He was hav ing a stroke. A heart attack. An out-of-body experience brought on by his son's disappearance.
He took a few deep breaths, still staring at the bird.
"No, you're not going crazy, and, yes, I did speak." The bird took two steps forward. "So, can we dispense with the disbelief and discuss what you're looking for? I have a feeling I know."
"You… talk?" Logan was glad to hear he could talk. Apparently, hallucinations went with Crazy, too.
The bird could also sigh. Even roll her eyes.
It was a her, wasn't it?
"Yes. I talk. I also fly, but that doesn't seem to be all that interesting to you, and I promise you it's far more complicated than those airplanes y'all are so thrilled with. That's why your kind can't do it."
He would swear the bird was putting a sway in her step as she came closer. "What… why… are you talking to me?"
The flamingo dropped her head to the sand as if her neck gave out. She looked at him upside down. "Honestly, I don't know why I'm even bothering. You came flying down those steps like a bat out of Hades, and your first question has to do with why I'm speaking? Is that really the most pressing matter in your life right now?"
The bird had a point. Which was as bizarre as any thing else in the last few days. Logan took another deep breath, then another, slid his hands to his hips, and tried to regain some semblance of sanity.
"You're right. That's the least of my worries. So… Miss…" What did you call a flamingo? "What do you know about my son?"
The bird picked her head up and stretched to her full five-foot height, beak in the air. "Ginger."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"My name. It's Zingiber La Fleur, but feel free to call me Ginger." She spread her wings and dipped her beak with a gracious bow, but the elegant image was destroyed by that name.
The bird had a stripper name. Would wonders never cease? Fine. Whatever. "Look, Ginger, it's nice to meet you, but I have to find my son."
She tucked her wings at her side again and picked up one of her bony legs.
"Yes, Logan. I know." She spoke to him as if he were a three-year-old. "But standing here on the beach isn't going to do you any good. He's out in the middle of the ocean. Where I suggest you hurry up and get to."
His hearing was going. First his mind, now his hearing. "What are y
ou talking about?" Yep, sanity was gone.
The bird—Ginger La Fleur—sighed and did some weird twirling thing with her head. "Pay attention, gor geous. Your son hooked Angel on your fishing trip the other day and helped her hide out in your boat. You brought her back. You let her live here. The kid got at tached. So when you pulled your bird-brained move— No. Wait. Scratch that." She did, with her bony toes in the sand. "That idiotic stunt last night isn't even worthy of the name 'bird-brained.' When you pulled that slimy like-an-eel move last night by kissing her off—and it was a kiss-off, don't think a bunch of us didn't see that PDA on the beach, by the way—she headed back home.
