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?” Her hand crept to the back of his neck, fingers combing his smooth black hair.

Abruptly, Nash pulled her to him, his 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 anything nature could produce. Lily parted her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

Nash thrust her away. “Good night, Lily.”

DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America.

Siren's Call

Debbie Herbert

www.millsandboon.co.uk

First and always, for my husband, Tim, who has always believed in me. For my father, J.W. Gainey, who takes such pride in my accomplishments. And I want to mention several special friends who have helped me on my writing journey with either their support or the brainstorming of ideas, or critique of this book as it was written: Sandra Wilson Cummins, Sherrie Lea Morgan and Becky Rawnsley.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Look at her...”

Snicker. “Thinks she’s somethin’...”

“Heard about her latest?”

Lily ignored the whispers and kept the corners of her lips slightly upturned as she studied the dead fish on display. Her insides churned as cold and slushy as the fishes’ beds of ice.

“Miss Bosarge!” The portly seafood manager beamed behind the counter. “What can I get ya?”

She pointed to her selection and he wrapped it in white paper, all the while looking her up and down, a lecherous glimmer in his eyes. He winked. “I’ll make a special deal for you.”

The buzzing from behind grew louder.

“Disgusting.”

“Slut.”

That was going too far. Lily placed the fish in her cart and withdrew her makeup compact. She held it up and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss, checking out her latest tormentors. Yep, Twyla Fae was with a couple of friends and no doubt the ringleader. Twyla still smarted from the time her then-boyfriend-now-husband briefly dumped her to pursue Lily. You’d think the woman would be over something that happened two years ago.

Lily composed the habitual all-is-well smile as she faced Twyla. “How’s J.P. doing?” she asked with double-sugar-fudge politeness. “I haven’t heard from him in the longest. I really should drop by and say ‘hey’.”

Twyla paled beneath her tan but quickly recovered and glowered. “You stay away from J.P.” She shifted the whining toddler in her arms. “We’re a family now.”

Lily moved her cart straight at the trio. They jumped out of the way.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” she threatened in honeyed tones, strolling down the aisle. Never let them see you care—her mantra since puberty, when her siren’s voice had developed and unleashed its power over the entire male population of Bayou La Siryna.

Lily took her time filling the cart with dozens of cans of sardine and tuna and cases of bottled water. The usual fare.

An explosion of green bean tins hit the floor, but she didn’t flinch. A teenaged stock boy gathered the spillage, so focused on Lily he made a worse mess and cans rolled in all directions. Almost without fail, men ran into stuff or dropped what they were doing when she walked by. She would have helped the boy, but experience proved it would make matters worse. He’d say something stupid or his girlfriend would see them and get mad, or he’d continue to bumble on or... It was always something.

The grocery store’s sliding glass doors opened, bringing in a wave of humid Alabama air. A tanned stranger walked in with an aura as hot and powerful as the bayou breeze. He didn’t look around the store to get his bearings, but immediately turned right and went to the produce department. He had a patrician vibe, as if he were Mr. Darcy strolling across English moors, not a local good ole boy grocery shopping at Winn-Dixie.

Lily leaned against the cart and watched as he efficiently grabbed a sack of potatoes and loaded it in his cart, paying no attention to the admiring glances of all the women. Something about the angle of his jaw and the gleam of his long, dark hair looked familiar.

Tingles of awareness prickled her arms and legs. She had to get closer. He drew her like a thirsty traveler to an oasis. Is this how men felt around her? The same clawing need for contact? It was a new experience, and Lily wasn’t sure she liked the loss of control—no matter how exciting the sensations.

Ignoring the dirty looks from other women, she approached. Bettina, once an elementary school friend, rolled her eyes and deliberately jostled against Lily.

“Fresh meat, huh?” Bettina whispered, breath whooshing against Lily’s neck like a poisonous vapor. “Can’t you leave one guy for the rest of us?”

Lily refused to glance at her old friend, afraid of losing it. Bett had deserted her like all the other jealous bitches. She lifted her chin and continued toward the stranger, who was culling through vegetables. What to say? The only opening line running through her brain—Hey, haven’t we met before?—was way tacky. But really, it didn’t matter what she said. The mere sound of her voice would be enough.

“Hello,” she purred, pulling her cart alongside Mr. Darcy-cum-Brad Pitt.

He threw some corn in his cart without looking up. “Hi,” he answered in a voice so clipped he might as well have said back off.

Shock disconnected Lily’s brain from her limbs and she stood immobile while pounding blood made her ears ring. How odd. He acted impervious to the dulcet tones that made other men cross-eyed. Lily stiffened her spine. She’d bowl him over with more talking, would force him to look into her ocean-blue eyes. That ought to do the trick.

“Are you from around here?” she asked.

“No.” He pushed away and started down the dairy aisle, his back to her.

What the hell? Lily froze again as she tried to grasp the foreign concept of being snubbed by the opposite sex. It really kind of sucked. Snickering noises from all around sent heat rushing to the back of her neck.

“About time she had a comeuppance,” Bettina said with a loud snort.

Lily faced her directly. “What’s your problem?” she snapped. “What have I ever done to you?”

Bettina’s lips curled. “You really don’t get it, do you? How about stealing Johnny Adams in junior high? And then Tommy Beckham in high school?”

It’s not my fault, she wanted to scream. But they would never understand. Their dislike and mistrust ran as deep as the Gulf waters, their tears and anger as salty and bitter as the sea that encompassed the bayou. Forget them.

Lily shoved away in a huff, turning her attention once again to the handsome stranger’s retreating figure. Her fingers gripped the cart handle until her knuckles were white as sea foam against her already pale skin. She lifted her chin. Nobody ignored her. Envied, yes. Lusted, of course. Later left humiliated and angry at her inevitable rebuff, check. But never this total lack of interest.

Lily hurried toward the mystery man. “Hey, you. Wait a minute.”

He slackened his pace but didn’t stop as she drew close.

“Have we met before?” She’d thought so at first, but she must be wrong. This brutal disregard would have been memorable.

The man turned so slowly, Lily had a sense of inevitability as the seconds wound down into a series of freeze-frames. One: broad shoulders flexing under a dove-gray T-shirt. Two: a profile of a strong chin and deep facial planes. Three: a lock of obsidian hair falling across high, prominent cheekbones.

It wasn’t a tan after all; his skin was the shade of light cinnamon from Native American heritage. Leaf-green eyes lit upon her, so shot through with a golden starburst they were startling in their brightness. Not a speck of recognition sparked in them, though.

But, oh, Lily knew those eyes. “Nash,” she breathed. “Nashoba Bowman.”

He frowned slightly. “Do I know you?”

She swallowed down the burn at the back of her throat. Not only was he immune to her siren’s voice and unaffected by her physical beauty, but also he didn’t even remember her. A riptide of humiliation washed over Lily. Only years of hiding her emotions kept her from betraying hurt. She licked her parched lips. “You used to spend summers here with your grandfather when you were little.”

Nash stared long and hard. The brightness of his pupils deepened to a darker hue as the seconds—minutes?—sped by.

He had to remember. She held up her right hand and twirled her wrist. His gaze shifted to the colorful beaded bracelet he’d given her when they were children. Friends forever, he’d said when he’d tied it on her wrist. Lily willed him to recall those long-ago walks on the shore, the jaunts in the woods, the picnics and bike rides and... A glimmer of warmth lit his face.

“Lily?”

“Yes,” she whooshed in an exhale of relief.

He gave her the once-over, a slow appraisal that left her hot and breathless. His dilated pupils and smoldering aura suggested he might not be as indifferent to her as he tried to act. Or it might be wishful thinking on her part.

Did Nash also remember that chaste, sweet kiss they’d once shared as curious twelve-year-olds?

His eyes met hers again, blazing green and gold. Yet the stoic, expressionless face more resembled Nash’s inscrutable grandfather than the kid she used to know. The heat from his skin and a faint, familiar scent drew her closer, strong as the full moon’s pull on the tide. The same odd compulsion to approach Nash now drove her to touch him. Lily dropped her gaze and rested her pale hand against his bronzed forearm, admiring the contrast of fair and dark. Her gaze swept lower, noting that no gold band adorned his fingers.

Nash’s skin was hot as the Southern sun and his muscles rumbled and flickered under her touch, like thunder over deep waters. His jaw tightened at the brazen contact, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled tightly on his cart. Indifferent, my ass. Lily closed her eyes and inhaled, using her heightened senses to identify Nash’s enticing scent—a woodsy, sandalwood base with wisps of pine and cedar and perhaps a touch of oak moss. He smelled like the backwoods they used to roam together.

Bet his kiss was anything but chaste now.

“There you are!” a trilling voice bore down upon them.

She opened her eyes and watched a tall redhead grin as she lifted a couple of plastic bags. “I picked up the last of what we need for the shoot. Doughnuts and dozens of protein bars while we stalk the elusive mating habits of Alabama clapper rails.”

Lily blinked and glanced at Nash as he subtly inched away from her touch. The loss of contact left her oddly disoriented. “Elusive... What did you say?” she asked the woman, feeling stupid.

“They’re birds. Also known as marsh chickens or clappers.” The redhead held out a hand. “I’m Opal Wallace, Nash’s photographic assistant.” Opal’s face was sprinkled with freckles, and a faint scar marred one cheek. A bit plain overall, but her wide smile and merry eyes made up for any lack of sculptured perfection.

A flush of pleasure shot through Lily at Opal’s kind greeting. It had been a long time since a female, outside of family, had bestowed a genuine smile her way. She shook the proffered hand, pathetically grateful for the friendly gesture.

Opal winked. “Figured I’d introduce myself since Nash appears speechless.”

Nash cleared his throat. “You didn’t give me a chance to introduce you,” he answered, frowning slightly. He lifted a hand in Lily’s direction. “This is Lily Bosarge, an old friend.”

“Hey, ole buddy Lily.” Opal waggled her eyebrows. “How close of friends were you two?”

“Purely platonic,” Lily joked. Well, mostly. Except for one experimental kiss. “Can’t get into too much trouble before the teen years.” Nash had been long gone by the time she’d developed her siren voice. Not that it mattered; he seemed unaffected by its magic. This time, she was the one flushed and bewildered in the presence of the opposite sex.

And she didn’t like it one little bit.

“Let’s get together one evening, okay?” Opal whipped out a business card from one of the many pockets on her khaki vest and pressed it into Lily’s palm. “Gotta run. There’s a ton of stuff I need to set up before we get to work.” She gave Nash a brisk wave. “See you on the island in a couple days, boss. I’ll have the area scouted out and set up, the usual.”

As suddenly as she’d intruded, Opal disappeared in a swirl of red hair and a cheerful smile.

Awkward silence descended and Lily felt an odd jolt of dismay when Nash glanced down at his watch. She didn’t want to say goodbye. If he walked out now, would she ever see him again, ever discover why he acted immune to her enchantment? Besides, he was the last good friend she’d ever had, and certainly the only one in the male species. Everything had turned to shit in junior high when the guys started chasing her unmercifully. At first it had been tremendous fun—for maybe half a year. Until the girls turned as one against her like a tsunami of destruction.

Lily grasped at the first conversational thread that popped into her head. “I hear you’re a famous wildlife photographer now. I remember how you used to carry around an old 35 mm camera your grandfather bought at a thrift store.”

“Most of the time I didn’t have enough money to actually load it with film.” The taut muscles in his jaw and chin relaxed and the green eyes grew cloudy. He shook his head slightly, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a semismile.

Warmth spread inside at this glimpse of the boy she used to know.

“And you were never without your sketchpad,” Nash said. “You were damn good, too. The detail of your drawings impressed me. Please tell me you still draw.”

Lily returned the smile, delighted she’d drawn him into a real conversation. “I do some. Mostly, though, I paint with watercolors.” She kept her tone deliberately light and casual, as if painting were a mere hobby and not a passion.

His brow furrowed. “Watercolors?”

“It’s not like the kiddie paintings you make with cheap dime-store kits,” she answered quickly. Too quickly, judging from his knowing expression, as if he’d guessed her art was more than a casual hobby.

“I see. Didn’t mean to belittle your art.”

Lily shrugged, let her facial features smooth into its familiar mask. Nash wasn’t the only one who’d learned to hide emotion over the years. “I’m no artist.”

“So you say.”

Perceptive eyes drilled into her, as if he saw past the pretty, past the superficial shell she presented to everyone in town who only viewed her as the slutty dumb blonde who’d worked as a hairdresser until a few months ago.

It was exhilarating.

It was scary.

Lily retreated like a trembling turtle, so different from the young girl who had scouted the piney woods and shoreline with Nash. Deflection time. “I’m not surprised you photograph animals. You have some kind of...rapport...or something with all living creatures. It was downright eerie.”

Nash shrugged and the warmth left his eyes. “Not really.”

“Yes, you do,” Lily insisted. “Anytime we were in the woods it seemed the trees would fill with birds and we’d almost always startle a deer or raccoon by getting so near them. Once we even found that den of baby foxes—”

“So what?” Nash cut in, lips set in a harsh, pinched line. “This place is so isolated even the animals are bored out of their minds. Makes them overly excited when anyone draws close.”

Ouch. What kind of nerve had she hit with her innocent remark? “You used to love coming here in the summers,” she reminded Nash. “Said it was an escape from the city and a chance to run free.”

“I get it.” His lips curled. “I’m Indian, so I must have a special communication with nature, right? Since we live so close to nature and worship Mother Earth and the Great Spirit and all. Well, that’s bullshit.”

Damn. Her own temper rose at the unjust accusation. “I don’t deserve that. We used to be friends and I thought we still could be. Guess I was wrong. You’re nothing like the guy I used to hang out with every summer.”

First Twyla and Bett, and now this. Lily jerked her cart forward, eager to escape the grocery trip from hell. Sexy or not, some men weren’t worth the trouble.

Warmth and weight settled on her right shoulder. Fingers curled into her flesh, halting her steps. “Hey,” Nash said. “Look at me.”

Lily turned. The harsh stranger melted and his face softened.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger deflated in a whoosh. If Nash was anything like his grandfather or the guy she used to know, he spoke the truth. Lily nodded. “Well, okay, then. Let’s start over.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “How about dinner at my place tonight or whenever you’re free? Your grandfather’s invited too, of course.”

Nash rubbed his jaw, as if debating whether to accept the invitation. Any other man would have followed her home then and there. Any other man wouldn’t have picked a fight or brushed off her advances.

But Nash wasn’t like any other man she’d ever met. And Lily was more than a little intrigued.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m pretty busy right now. Maybe after I finish this assignment on Herb Island we can get together. Grandfather always liked you. He’d enjoy seeing you again.”

The novelty of male rejection left Lily nonplussed until the sting of it burned through the haze of disbelief. “You’re turning me down?” she squeaked.

Nash retreated a step. “Like I said, I’m swamped at the moment. Good running into you again, though. Take care.”

Unbelievable. Lily mustered her tattered pride. “Okay, then,” she said in a high falsetto, gripping the cart. “Tell your grandfather I said ‘hey.’”

She hurried down the aisle, not daring to look back and risk exposing her feelings. The air pressed in around her, leaving her a bit dizzy. She scrambled through the line, paid the cashier and stumbled out of the refrigerated environment into the untamed, sizzling bayou air that always held the droning of insects and an echo of the ocean’s wave. First thing when she got home, she’d go for a long, cool swim underwater, get her bearings.

Instead of heading immediately to the car, Lily strode down the boiling sidewalk to the drugstore next door. She left the cart by its front door—it would be safe for a minute. Inside the store, Lily hurried to the makeup aisle and gathered up half a dozen lipsticks in every color from baby-doll-pink to siren-red. She peeked at the mirrored glass lining behind the shelves, half expecting to see some glaring new imperfection marring her appearance. But no—same long, flaxen hair, creamy skin and large blue eyes.

So what had gone wrong with Nash? Why hadn’t he been attracted to her?

Lily grabbed some blush and a tube of mascara. She’d have to try harder. She hastened over to the cashier and dumped her ammunition on the counter. I’ll go see him. Pay a visit looking my best. She dug into her pocketbook for a credit card, but the purse lining blurred and morphed into a pool of filmy sludge.

“Are ya crying?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked.

“I’m not—” Lily paused, hands touching her damp cheeks. “Guess so,” she admitted in surprise.

The lady handed over an opened box of tissue. “Yer a pretty little thing. Some man ain’t treating ya right, get you another.”

“Right,” Lily sniffed, swiping her cheeks. She had to get out, get herself together before she ran into anyone she knew. Twyla Fae and Bettina would find the tears a hoot. “Um, thanks. I’ll take the tissue, too.” She paid, retrieved her grocery cart and got to the car. Another five minutes and she could be alone with her thoughts and cry as much as her heart desired. Lily carelessly shoved in the bottled water, bags of seafood and tuna cans. Almost home free.

She corralled the cart and returned to her car, not noticing anything amiss until she almost stepped on it.

A dead, bloody rat lay directly outside the driver’s door. The entrails were fresh, and blood was seeping into the shelled pavement. Its skin was precisely cut down the tender underbelly.

Lily pressed a hand to her mouth as bile threatened to creep up her throat. It’s only a rat. No big deal. Just an accident.

She clutched her purse tightly against her side and glanced around the parking lot. The few people around paid her no attention, yet the tingles shooting along her spine alerted Lily that someone was indeed watching.

Watching and enjoying her fear.

She turned back to the car and noticed the long key scratch that started from the front left tire all the way down to the fender. Anger outweighed fear as she read the large, childlike scrawl etched on the car door.

D-i-e S-l-u-t.

Chapter 2

The 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.

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.

Chapter 4

Nash crept closer, honing in on the low, slow snorting. Bup-bup-bup. Definitely not the high-pitched clattering of the common Rallus longirostris. Ever so carefully, he raised his binoculars. There... This bird was the size of a chicken, rusty-feathered, long-beaked. It lifted its head, revealing chestnut-hued cheeks instead of the gray of its close relative, the common clapper. He’d found the species he’d come to photograph.

Camera replaced binoculars. Nash focused the telescopic lens and started snapping away. Good enough shots, but he wanted something spectacular, more worthy of the Nashoba Bowman standard he’d developed over the years. He crept ahead on all fours, the razor-sharp sea grass edges cutting his fingers and palms. It didn’t matter.

His heart fluttered faster, like that of the bird. For every yard forward, Nash halted five seconds, until he drew so close the bird lifted its beak and black, wary eyes focused on him.

Not here to hurt. I’m admiring you. Nothing to fear. Nash pushed the thoughts toward the Clapper Rail before raising his camera again and taking one incredible close-up.

A haunting melody sounded through the brackish bayou island, disrupting their connection. Startled, the clapper opened its beak. Bup-bup-bup-bup. In a bustle of feathers and churned water, the bird half flew, half swam in a mad scramble for safety.

Damn. He’d been so close to connecting with the bird, so close to slipping into its essence and establishing trust.

The singing grew louder, sounding like a chorus of perfectly blended tones. Did Opal have a hidden talent for singing? He’d never heard her sing before. But she knew better than to interrupt a shot. Besides, she was supposed to be on the other side of the island photographing another species.

Lily emerged from a clump of cypress trees. Only this time when she came out of the woods she was smiling, not running from a demented coyote. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and grinned and waved, holding up a wicker picnic basket.

“Hello,” she sang out.

Nash frowned. He should have guessed it was Lily. Looking as damn beautiful in the summer sun as she had last night under the moonlight. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, tamping down the memory of that scorching kiss.

Her smile faltered. “Didn’t you hear me sing?”

What a strange response; the woman made no sense. “Of course I heard. You were so loud you scared off the bird I was stalking.”

“Loud?” Lily’s eyes widened. “That’s all you have to say about my voice?”

He cocked a brow. She sounded mildly outraged when he was the injured party here. Although to be fair, Lily might not have realized she was interrupting. “It was...uh...nice, I suppose.”

“Nice?”

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say? ’Cause I’ve got lots of work to do.”

Blue eyes blinked and she breathed deeply, as if to regain her composure. “You are an unusual man, Nashoba.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Only Opal might have an inkling that he’d gained fame as a wildlife photographer because of his unnatural ability to sense animals’ thoughts and calm them with his own form of mental telepathy—or whatever the hell it was that gained their trust for the few nanoseconds it took to get the perfect picture.

Lily held up the basket. “Figured working outside would make you hungry, so I brought us a lunch.”

She assumed too much from that short kiss. It meant nothing. Nash pointed to the sketchpad in her other hand. “What’s that for?”

“I come out to the island often and sketch. We’ll probably run into each other lots while you’re here.”

Nash stifled a groan. “I was—” he held up a thumb and index finger an inch apart “—this close to getting some incredible shots. You scared off my bird.”

“Ah.” Lily muttered a sound of sympathy but kept smiling. “It’ll come back.” She gave him a coy sideways glance. “You sure you didn’t think my singing was more than nice? I’ve been told my voice is quite...enchanting.”

“I noticed my shoot was ruined.”

She tapped a finger on the edge of her cupid’s-bow lips. “Hmm... Sorry, I suppose.”

An unexpected chuckle rumbled in his throat, like a motor sputtering to life after months of neglect. “You don’t have any self-confidence issues, do you?”

“Not until you started giving me a complex.”

“If people say your voice is enchanting, maybe you should have taken up the opera instead of painting.” He imagined Lily onstage—the limelight highlighting that mass of blond hair and white skin.

“I could have become a prima donna, but it didn’t seem fair.”

Again, Lily threw him off with an odd answer. The woman was either incredibly conceited or mentally defective. Perhaps both.

Fair. Was it unfair of him to compete in his field? He’d always thought he’d made a brilliant career choice. Now Lily made him wonder if he exploited his natural gifts.

“Really, your ego—” He stopped abruptly and bit back his annoyance. Lily was an old friend. He could let it go. A few weeks and he’d be on the road somewhere again. “Never mind,” he said with a casual flick of his wrist. “Who am I to shake your wonderful self-esteem? More power to you.”

“Power, indeed,” she mumbled, so faintly he wondered if he’d heard correctly.

She beckoned him with a crook of his finger. “This way.”

Nash hesitated, scowling. No harm in taking a short break, though. Now that his prey had scattered anyway. He fell in step behind Lily, his gaze involuntarily dropping to the womanly curves of her hips and luscious ass. Now that was impressive. That was power and a temptation he didn’t know if he could resist. It had been too long... His breath hitched like that of a hormonally charged adolescent. Stop it. Old friends make complicated lovers. Next assignment he’d have to do something about his self-imposed celibacy. Find some uncomplicated part-time lover with no expectations of commitment.

Lily spread out a blanket beneath a gigantic oak and began unpacking plastic containers.

He hadn’t realized until now he was hungry. And thirsty. “Got some water in there?”

“Even better. Sweet tea.” She handed him a sealed mason jar with ice cubes floating like crystals in an amber ambrosia.

Nash removed the canning lid and downed half of it in one swallow. “That’s good,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten how hot it is down here. How do you stand the heat and humidity?”

“You’ll acclimate to it again. I would think you’d be used to all kind of conditions in your line of work.”

“Nothing like Southern humidity.” He took off his shirt and used it to wipe sweat from his face and eyes.

He glimpsed Lily getting an eyeful of his chest and abs. The lady was definitely interested. Nash groaned inwardly. But what did he expect? He’d been a fool to kiss her last night. Of course she thought he was interested in her. Especially since— Well, he didn’t want to think of the last two women he’d dated. Guilt rose in his throat like bile.

“What you got?” he asked as she opened containers.

“Fried chicken, pimento cheese sandwiches, pecan pie, shrimp cocktail and lobster salad.”

He picked up a chicken wing. “I’m going to gain twenty pounds this summer,” he predicted. Nash bit into the buttermilk-soaked and flour-coated goodness and sighed. “But I’ll enjoy every damn minute along the way.”

Lily laughed and ate a spoonful of lobster salad. “Live in the moment, I always say.”

Ocean-blue eyes fixated on him and Nash couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes. Energy crackled between them, every bit as scalding as the noon sun.

This wouldn’t do. “Show me your drawings,” he commanded, opening her sketchpad without waiting for permission.

Lily’s hand rested on his forearm and his skin tingled at the light touch.

“Just so you know, I’m mostly self-taught. I’m still learning and hoping to find a professional tutor at some point. If I can find one that deems me worthy of his time.”

So the lady’s armor of self-confidence had a chink. “Understood.” A self-taught amateur? He braced himself for convoluted drawings of fruit still lifes, paint-by-number ocean scenes or Victorian-looking flowers and hearts.

“Let me see what you got there,” he said huskily, conscious of her fingers over his knuckles working magic on his libido.

Lily released her hand and the tingling ceased. Nash opened the sketchpad and gave a low whistle at the detailed pen-and-ink drawings of birds, sea grass, fish and trees. This was more than mere talent. It was...seeing the bayou through Lily’s eyes. Each composition was vibrant and unique as a thumbprint.

“What do you think?” Her voice was high and reedy, anxious. She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “If you don’t like them, it’s okay. Like I said, I’m—”

“I don’t like them.” He paused at a watercolor depicting swirls of light in dark liquid. “I love them.” He studied it closer—saw an outline of individual fishes swimming in a school spiraling upward, their bodies incandescent in an inky darkness, like a lamp lit undersea. At the bottom of the painting was a large chunk of coral, the top alit in a violet haze and underneath gray shadows bottomed out to black. He flipped the painting toward Lily. “What kind of fish are these?”

“Myctophids, also known as lantern fish. They’re as common under the sea as squirrels in a cove of oaks.”

“Amazing.” As much as Nash’s soul longed to traverse the world, seeing new landscapes and animals, so it now also longed to be undersea, to capture the ocean’s deep magic—an unexplored galaxy. Again, he had the oddest tingling that something about Lily was different. Too perfect. Too powerful. He looked up from the sketchpad and caught her twirling the ends of her hair—a nervous gesture she’d had when they were kids. Underneath her confident exterior was a sensitive artist. He returned his gaze to the sketchpad and examined the drawings.

In the midst of shades of gray pencil drawings, he came upon another watercolor popping with vibrancy. Striated bands of blue and green progressed from deep to lighter hues as if Lily’s perspective originated on the ocean floor, looking toward the sky as the sun’s reflection filtered down. The perspective was unusual.

“How did you capture this image?” He opened the book to the watercolor and laid it open between them. “Do you visualize the scenes in your mind or do you paint from photos?”

Lily took a long swallow of tea, canting her long neck upward, exposing the vulnerable hollow of her throat. Damn. He’d never before admired a woman’s neck, for Pete’s sake.

Her head tilted forward and she delicately patted her upper lip before speaking. “That one was inspired by a picture Jet took swimming one day. Have you done underwater shoots?”

“No. But I’d love to.” Would he be any good? His talent came from an unnatural connection to the earth and its creatures. But fish? Undersea life? He didn’t have a clue.

“I stopped by and saw your grandfather this morning,” she said, turning the conversation. “He showed me a collection of your work. Very impressive.”

Nash shrugged, but his gut warmed that his grandfather was so proud of him. “Did he give you any more sinister warnings?”

“No.” A shuttered look crossed her face and she glanced sideways, as if expecting another coyote to leap from behind a tree.

“Old man got to you, huh? Used to scare me as a kid sometimes with his tales of the supernatural.”

Lily giggled. “Every rustle I hear in the woods, I look for the Little People sneaking up on me.”

“Ah, the Kowi Anukasha,” he nodded. “They’re mischievous and like scaring humans, but they aren’t evil. Not like the Nalusa Falaya.”

Lily’s smile dropped. “The Soul Eater.”

“Our Choctaw version of the bogeyman.” Nash scooped up a couple of shrimp and popped them into his mouth. “Grandfather has plenty of tall tales.”

“Who’s to say they aren’t true?” She set down her plate and gave him another of her unnerving stares.

Nash shifted, uncomfortable with the question. He didn’t want to believe. Life was tough enough without looking for monsters in the shadows. And despite his gift, he’d never seen anything to support the old Native American legends. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. The bayou’s full of magic and mystery.” Lily leaned into him, so close her breath flamed his jaw and neck. “Can’t you feel it?” she whispered.

He felt something, all right—a fierce longing to meld into her essence. The need was even stronger than it had been last night. Nash closed his eyes, let the inevitable happen. Lily’s lips brushed his. Talk about magic. His body thrummed at the contact.

“How do I wrangle an invitation to this picnic?” a cheery voice called out.

Nash winced at Opal’s abrupt appearance. Normally, he heard others approach from great distances. It was a real testament to how Lily engrossed his senses. He squelched a renewed flush of irritation—this time because he wanted to be alone with Lily, wanted to explore her curves and secret places. He shouldn’t feel this way. He should welcome the interruption.

Opal plopped onto the blanket between them so that the three formed a triangle.

“Thought you were miles away,” he said, relieved Opal didn’t mention seeing them kiss.

“Started that way this morning, but steadily edged closer here, following a blue heron.” Her smile was toothy and catching. “And then I heard this...angelic singing.”

Lily waved a hand. No blush stained her face and her manner gave no indication of embarrassment at being caught kissing. “Sorry I interrupted everyone’s work. I come here occasionally to draw,” she told Opal.

Opal leaned his way and glanced at the open sketchpad.

“Wow. You can paint and sing and look like a goddess. It’s so not fair.” Her smile stayed intact and the words didn’t seem malicious. That’s what he liked about Opal—she was an open book and was never catty.

“Your job must be fun. Bet there’s not many women who can do what you do,” Lily said.

“There’s a few.” Opal lifted her face to the sun and raised both arms by her sides. “I love working outdoors. The more primitive, the better.”

“Can I see the pictures you took this morning?” Lily asked.

“Sure.” Opal shifted her weight toward Lily and unhooked the camera cord from her neck. She tapped a button on the digital screen, revealing a dozen close-ups of a blue-gray crane.

Lily scanned the photos. “These are beautiful.”

Opal grinned at him. “Hear that, boss? Remember that at my next performance evaluation.” She turned back to Lily. “Nash takes the superhard shots, though, catching wildlife at intimate or rare moments hardly ever witnessed by humans.”

Lily handed the container of chicken wings to Opal. “His grandfather showed me his work this morning, and I was impressed.”

Nash finished another chicken wing and polished off a few more shrimp while the two exchanged pleasantries. It allowed him time to cool off and regain his composure. If a mere kiss made him fevered, what would it be like to make love to Lily? Don’t even think about it. He scrambled to his feet.

“You can’t be going back to work already.” Lily pointed to the pie. “You haven’t had dessert yet.”

A few more minutes alone and she would have been dessert. Nash studied the slight upturn at the corners of Lily’s mouth but couldn’t decide if her remark was a deliberate sexual innuendo. “Been fun, ladies, but time for me to go hunt that clapper rail again.” He took off his bandana and swiped the sweat from his face again.

“Why don’t we take a quick swim and cool off?” Opal suggested. “The heat’s brutal.”

Lily shook her head. “I can’t swim.”

Opal gaped at her. “You practically live on an island and can’t swim?”

“I had a bad experience as a child. Went to swim before a storm and an undertow almost swept me away. Been afraid of the water ever since.”

He’d forgotten that. When they were young, Lily had gamely kept up with him on the hiking and biking but refused to ever get in the water. “Yet you paint it so much—one as if you were actually undersea,” he mused aloud.

Lily set aside her plate of lobster salad. “Our fears become our obsessions.”

“But couldn’t you go in the water up to your knees and splash yourself if we stand with you?” Opal pleaded. “It would be fun.”

“’Fraid not.”

“Later, ladies.” He pulled back on his T-shirt, slung the camera carrier around his neck and took several steps before remembering his manners. He turned around and waved. “Oh, and thanks for lunch, Lily.”

Nash sucked in a breath of hot air laced with a bracing, salty tang. Good thing Opal had come along when she had. He’d taken this assignment not only to visit Grandfather, but also to escape from women constantly chasing him and from the memory of his last two disastrous relationships.

From here on, Lily was off-limits.

* * *

Lily touched her lips and sighed as he walked away. That kiss had been pure magic.

Opal gave a little laugh. “Enjoying the view? I totally see why the ladies all go for him. He’s a hunk, all right.”

Lily gazed at her curiously, wondering if Opal had feelings for Nash. “What about you?”

“Nah, I’ve got someone in my life. And it’s never a good idea to date anyone you work with, especially your boss.”

Lily prodded for more details. “So women swoon over him?”

“Breaks hearts everywhere he goes. Women constantly fall at his feet.”

And I’m behaving like every other woman. “He have anyone serious in his life?” She put lids on some of the containers and returned them to the basket.

“Not anymore. Not since—” Opal broke off, staring out at sea.

“Not since what?”

“Not since his last girlfriend, Connie, died.” Opal dug into the lobster salad. “Mmm...de-lish.”

Lily gasped and stopped packing up food. “That’s awful. What happened?”

“Suicide. Connie was found dead one morning, an empty bottle of pills on her nightstand.” Opal downed a long swig of tea. “Sad, huh?”

Poor Nash. No wonder he’s bitter. “Tragic,” Lily quietly agreed. “Did she leave a note?”

Opal nibbled on a chicken wing and delicately wiped her mouth before answering. “None was ever found. But he’d broken up with her a couple days before.”

“How long ago did she...did this happen?”

“About a year ago. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except...” Her voice trailed off.

Lily didn’t see how the story could get any worse. “Except what?”

“I really shouldn’t say anything. It kind of slipped out, ya know?”

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Opal spooned up more salad and chewed, as if mulling over the answer. “Thing is,” she said at last, setting down the plate, “two years earlier, another of his girlfriends died. Rebecca.”

The knot of dread in Lily’s stomach grew. “How?” she whispered.

“They had an argument—probably over his lack of commitment—and she drove home. Hours later, apparently drunk, she got back in her car but lost control of it, ran off into a ditch and hit a tree.”

Goose bumps pricked Lily’s arms and legs and a chill set in that no blistering Southern sun could warm. I’m poison. Nash’s clipped words echoed round her brain like gunshots in a canyon. No wonder the guy was aloof. She’d be bitter, too.

“That’s—that’s horrible,” Lily said, putting her face in her hands. How the hell did someone cope with that much pain? One death was bad enough. But two? She shuddered.

“Sure.” Opal sighed. “The doctors said Rebecca died instantly. So there’s that.”

Lily didn’t want to hear any more details. It was too much to take in all at once. She wanted to be alone and deal with the knowledge of all Nash had suffered, was still suffering. Lily abruptly gathered up food containers and stuffed them in the picnic basket; even the smell of it nauseated her. “Don’t say anything else.” Lily shut the picnic basket with a snap. “Nash will tell me when he’s ready.”

“Sorry to spoil your lunch.” Opal eyed the pie. “Mind if I keep a piece for later this afternoon?”

Lily wrapped the whole thing in aluminum foil, her movements jerky with haste. She thrust it at Opal. “Take it.”

“Thanks. I’ll share it with Nash.”

They both rose unsteadily to their feet.

Opal frowned. “Look, I hope I didn’t scare you off Nash. He’s a great guy who’s had a bit of bad luck lately.”

“A bit of bad luck?” Lily snorted. “I’d say it’s more serious than that.”

Opal flushed. “Absolutely. You’re right. It’s— I like you, Lily. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

“No need for the warning. Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said curtly, wanting to end the conversation.

“Of course not.” Opal squeezed Lily’s shoulder and dropped her hand to her side. “Just thought you should know. I’d hate to see him break your heart.”

“Some would say I have no heart to break,” Lily muttered.

“Why would they say that?”

“Not important.”

Opal’s face crumbled. “You don’t trust me to keep my mouth shut. Which I can totally understand, given how I blabbed Nash’s history during lunch.”

“It’s not that.” Lily’s fingers rubbed an itchy scratch on her leg leftover from the run in the woods. She supposed this was what girlfriends did, exchanged secrets and confided in one another. Maybe Opal had done her a favor in revealing Nash’s painful past. At least now she knew the problem and could be mentally prepared when Nash brought up the news himself.

And it would be wonderful to have a real friend because Jet and Shelly were busy now with their own lives. She drew a deep breath. “Okay, you’ll probably hear this anyway if you meet people in town, but I don’t have a great reputation.”

“Why’s that?”

“I went through a bit of a wild stage years ago and no one will let me forget it. That’s a small town for you. You’re doomed to never live down your past. Although, in my defense, rumors of my promiscuity are greatly exaggerated.”

Opal patted her shoulder. “Poor Lily. Don’t worry—I won’t say anything to Nash.”

Lily shifted uncomfortably. Opal made her feel...beholden. Guilty. As if they shared something dirty. “Doesn’t matter. He’s bound to hear the talk, too.”

“Maybe not. He and his grandfather live pretty isolated. And Nash has been reclusive the past couple of years. He doesn’t get out much.” Opal winked. “So you see, probably nothing to worry about.”

Again, a prickly unease settled over Lily. She smiled uncertainly. “If you say so,” she agreed. Her family had grown up secluded from the townsfolk, making it easier to keep their shape-shifting abilities a secret.

Secrecy was a habit she’d have to let slip if she wanted a girlfriend.

Chapter 5

Sunset through the pines cast coral and mauve spears of light across land and sea. Nash had returned to the cabin on the evening ferry, bent on a mission. Now he trudged through mosquito-infested lowland, shotgun at his side. Diseased or not, the coyote was clever at eluding him. In spite of pain and fear, the will to live was strong in the animal. Nash respected that.

The wind shifted, hot air rippling across his sweaty skin. The fresh scent of pine needles had an underlying taint. Nash followed it, back on the coyote’s track. Another fifty yards ahead, the smell of sickness grew thicker and obliterated the pine odor.

Black energy seeped inward as he drew near. Most likely the unfortunate coyote had been ousted from his pack, a threat to the group’s survival. Cold fingers of loneliness fidgeted along his spine as he sensed the animal’s toxic miasma. Nash picked up a faint, rumbling groan. Not the growl of an aggressive animal, but the mewling of one suffering.

Nash emitted a calming message. Your time has come. Let’s end the pain.

An answering whine came from behind a dense clump of saw palmetto trees not a dozen yards to his right. The coyote emerged, trembling, its amber eyes dull and flat. Mottled gray fur encased an emaciated body. Telltale foam bubbled along its tapered muzzle. Rabies had rendered the animal unable to swallow its own saliva.

Nash ever so slowly raised the shotgun, not wanting to provoke the animal. I’m sorry. This will be quick, I promise you. His right index finger crooked onto the metal trigger.

The coyote leapt, snarling and baring sharp teeth, amber eyes alit in a last-shot bid to escape death. Fur, fear and fury hurled toward Nash and he pulled the trigger.

An explosive boom rang out. The reverberation from the shot was still echoing as the dead coyote’s body hit the ground with a thump. Nash closed his eyes and drank in the silence until peace washed through the woods.

It was done.

He took out the garbage bag and latex gloves he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans. To prevent spread of the rabies virus, it was necessary to bag the coyote and put it in a protected place until he could return in the morning with a shovel and bury the dead body.

Quickly, he attended to the last rites. You were brave. A fighter to the end. May you join a ghostly pack in happy hunting grounds. Satisfied with the work, he retraced his path. The air was a shade darker than when he’d first set out. At a fork on the dirt trail he hesitated. Better check on the old man. Grandfather had missed dinner and the thought of his eighty-two-year-old grandfather being unaccounted for left Nash uneasy. Instead of continuing home, Nash set off for the marsh. Sam often fished all day out there.

Sure enough, he found his grandfather sitting in a chair, fishing pole in hand. The tip of his cigar glowed in the gathering twilight. Nash walked up behind him.

Without turning around, Sam spoke. “Heard the shot. You get that coyote?”

“I did.” Nash settled on the ground close by after making sure he was clear of fire-ant mounds. Their sting was like being poked by flaming hypodermic needles. “Sorry I haven’t been to see you in a couple days.”

“You’re busy. Besides, I went years without seeing you. Two days is nothing.”

Guilt made him defensive. “You were always welcome to visit me. Why do you stay here all the time? There’s a big, wide world outside this backwoods.”

Sam stared ahead at the black water. “True. But there’s also a whole world here you’re missing.”

“Hardly. I’ve hiked every inch of this area over the years.”

“Ah, but you haven’t swam all over it.”

Nash gave him a sideways glance. “And if I did, what would it matter? I’ve swam in all the seven seas.”

The tip of Sam’s cigar glowed brighter as he took a draw.

“Should you really be smoking with your heart trouble?”

“I’m not forsaking my little pleasures. I’ve lived over eight decades, you know.”

“Yeah, but if you want to make another decade, you need to give up those things.” He pointed to the cigar with a jab of his finger.

Sam tipped his head back and exhaled a smoke ring within a smoke ring.

“When do you go back for another doctor’s visit? I want to go with you.” Guilt lashed him; months ago when Sam had undergone a triple bypass operation, Nash had been on an African safari assignment. His grandfather had recouped alone until he’d finagled an assignment nearby. Nash had sent a paid home health care assistant, but his grandfather had dismissed her before two weeks were up, claiming he could take care of himself.

“At least think about giving up frying everything in bacon grease,” Nash urged.

Sam didn’t respond and Nash frowned at the grey tinge that underlaid Sam’s olive skin. The fishing pole trembled slightly in his grandfather’s unsteady hand.

A rush of nostalgia overcame Nash. As a child, his grandfather’s cabin had been a haven of peace from his parents’ tumultuous marriage. He’d missed the summer visits after Mom had whisked him away to her home state of Massachusetts. His grandfather could have visited them, but he refused to leave the bayou. Nash doubted he’d ever been north of the Mason-Dixon line his entire life.

The pole jerked and Sam smiled, face crinkling. He detached a good-sized brim and placed it in a rolling ice chest with several others. “Fried fish dinner tonight.”

Nash shook his head. He’d suggest baking the fish but knew his grandfather wouldn’t go for the healthier option. “Ready to get home and eat? It’s getting dark.”

“I can see well enough, plus I have my flashlight.”

A knowing look passed between them. They could each sense their way in darkness. His grandfather had some of the same supernatural senses that he did, although not as strong. By agreement, they seldom spoke of it.

Sam closed the lid of the small cooler. “Let’s sit a spell afore we go. Have I ever told you the story—”

Nash almost groaned. Not another story.

“—of the Okwa Nahollo?”

“No,” he said, surprised. He thought he’d heard every Choctaw tale a thousand times, but this was new. “Does that translate to ‘pale water people’?”

“White people of the water,” Sam corrected. “Extremely white.”

An image of Lily’s soft-hued face flashed through him. He hated admitting it, but he’d missed her the past two days he’d stayed on the island.

“With skin the color of trout because they lived undersea,” his grandfather continued.

Talk about a tall fish tale. Nash refrained from grinning. “Like mermaids?”

Sam shook his head. “No. They aren’t half fish and half human. They have human form except their legs are almost twice as long as ours. Their fingers and toes are webbed and their eyes glow like some deep-sea fishes do.”

“Of course, so they can see better in dark water.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, as if suspicious Nash was amused. “Exactly.”

Nash wrapped his arms around his bent knees and stared out over the marsh. “Go on.”

“Whenever you find patches of light-colored water in the bayou, that is where they live. If you swim near them or fish near them, they’ll grab your ankles and pull you under.”

The theme from Jaws played in his mind. “So don’t worry about sharks. People should fear capture by mermaids.” Death by mermaid.

Not even a ghost of amusement lit Sam’s eyes. “Yes. Except, like I said, they aren’t exactly mermaids, although they must be closely related.”

“C’mon. I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t really expect me to believe that tale. Surely you don’t either, do you?”

“It’s passed down from our ancestors.” Sam’s eyes flashed and his spine stiffened. “Every word is true.”

Nash kept his face blank and his tone neutral. “I mean no disrespect.”

“Of course you do. You think I am a foolish old man.” Sam eased up out of the chair and stood, looking out to sea.

Nash reached up his hand and touched his grandfather’s knee. He might be a skeptic and occasionally amused at his grandfather’s ways, but he would never think him foolish. “Not foolish. Please sit.”

Sam stayed rooted, as if debating. Finally, he sat. “I’m an old man. I’ve kept in shape by walking these woods for years, but my time’s short. So while you’re here I need to explain more of your heritage.”

“I’m listening.” He felt chastened like a small child. “I respect my people and their ways. Nothing will ever change that.”

“I know it makes you uncomfortable when I speak of the spirit world. But it’s there. It’s real. Just as you are sensitive to nature and its creatures, my gift is seeing the spirits around people. They can be human, animal or plant spirits, sometimes all three.”

“Father said you chose my name because you saw a wolf spirit near me.”

Sam nodded. His serious, deeply lined face rearranged to an unexpected, wistful smile. “When you were born, I fasted three days and went on long walks, seeking guidance. The first time I held you in my arms I heard a wolf howl. I envisioned a pack of wolves celebrating your birth, tails wagging, the males wrestling one another in a show of affection.”

“So you named me Nashoba—Choctaw for wolf.” He’d heard this before, remembered Mom rolling her eyes at Dad’s insistence on naming their children with traditional names. “So how did you end up with a name like Sam?”

“My parents did it to honor a gentleman named Samuel who was good to them. He hired my father as a laborer and paid him a decent wage for the times. But my middle name is Chula.”

“Chula means fox,” Nash said, combing through his memory of their native language.

Sam fixed his gaze back to the water’s expanse with an absorbed look Nash remembered from childhood. He would stay in this same spot for hours in deep contemplation, the fishing pole loose in his hand like an afterthought.

“Do you think about grandmother out here?”

She’d died decades ago from a boating accident. The one memory of his grandmother was of her shucking corn in the kitchen. The room was cozy and warm, smelling of fried goodness, fresh vegetables and herbs. When he’d entered, her dark eyes sparkled in greeting. She’d dropped to a knee and held out her arms and he’d run into them. The safest, most loving, secure spot in the universe. And it was but a thirty-second memory.

“Yes. And all the others that have passed before and since.”

It was a shame he’d never remarried. Nash struggled for words to convey sympathy while not sounding like a condescending jerk. “I wish you would leave this place. At least for a few vacations. You should see new things, meet new people.”

“I can’t leave.”

More like don’t want to leave. Sam was old and stubborn as barnacles clinging to a ship hull. No changing him at this late date.

The silence stretched between them as the sun had completed its day’s journey and disappeared. All that remained was the water’s memory of it in coral-and-purple sheens that rippled in the Gulf breeze. Grandfather turned to him. “The spirits say it is time.”

“Time for what?” So that’s what he did alone out here—communed with spirits. He should have guessed.

“One last story.”

Alarm brushed the back of his neck like a nest of crawling spiders. He half rose. “Do you have chest pains? Should I call a doctor?”

“It’s not my time tonight. Although it draws near.”

“Don’t say that. There must be something the doctors can do.” A suspicion gurgled up. “Are you taking your medicine? You can’t depend only on the spirits and herbs for healing.”

“There’s more to tell you of the Okwa Nahollo,” Sam continued, ignoring Nash’s question. He fixed him with sharp, dark eyes. “You are a descendant.”

“Of the mermaids?” Nash scoffed. Really, Grandfather had gone too far this time.

Sam’s jaw clenched and his mouth set in a determined line. “It is in your blood.”

* * *

“I want purple or pink highlights. Something striking.” Opal fingered a lock of lavender in Lily’s hair. “Something deeper than this.”

No point mentioning the subtle pastels in her hair were entirely natural. Fortunately, Lily kept a rainbow of hair-dye colors stocked because so many requested some version of her unusual hair hues. The beauty shop, Mermaid’s Lair, was officially closed, but Lily did the odd job for customers who begged for her service. Plus, it was convenient for Jet and Shelly to come in for weekly hair-and-nail maintenance—important because both grew at three times the normal human rate.

Jet winked at Lily from behind the desk where she sat running the numbers for their various family businesses: a maritime and antiquities shop, aquatic therapy and the small income from the beauty shop that kept the rent and utilities paid.

“You made a grand total of fifty dollars in profit last quarter,” Jet said, frowning.

Lily laughed, expertly assembling mixing bowls and chemicals. “Ah, but it was double that amount if you included tips.”

“I’ll tip handsomely,” Opal promised, an earnest look on her face.

Probably thought she was broke. As if. Lily styled hair because she enjoyed it and was good at it. “This is on me.”

“Maybe you should reopen full-time,” Jet persisted. “It would give you something to do.”

Hell, no. She’d had enough of the town women’s snotty, superior behavior and the men ogling her breasts as she stood close by to trim their hair. Besides, shop hours would interfere with her painting.

“Don’t need to.” They were stinking rich.

“But you’re home alone. What do you do all day?”

Lily shrugged. “Paint.”

“She’s really good,” Opal cut in. “I saw her sketchbook.”

“Sure, I know that.” Jet waved a hand around the room. “She did this, after all.”

Opal surveyed the varying shades of coral, rose and ivory on the walls. Lily had painted pearly tones that gave the effect of being enveloped in the shelter of a giant conch shell.

“Remarkable,” Opal said in a hushed tone.

Lily felt a tiny glow of satisfaction at the praise. She’d spent lots of time with Opal the past couple of days, enjoying the novelty of shopping with a girlfriend and showing her around the bayou.

“But I don’t see art as a career path.”

Jet’s acerbic observation squashed the flicker of warmth. Her sis was in a lousy mood today. Must be some hormonal pregnancy thing.

Lily absentmindedly brushed Opal’s red hair. She’d been thinking of entering the prestigious Garrison Hendricks art contest. All finalists would be invited to showcase their work at a premiere gallery in New York City. The chances of placing were slim, but the rewards could launch her fledgling dreams.

The click of Jet’s fingers on the adding machine resumed.

“How’s Nash’s work going?” Lily asked Opal casually.

“It’s been a challenge, but he enjoys it. Doesn’t he talk to you about it?”

“I haven’t talked to him in a couple days. Maybe I’ll run out there tomorrow.”

Opal winked. “Bet he’d love to see you. You two can pick up with the passionate kiss I interrupted at the picnic.”

The clicking stopped. “Passionate kiss? I thought you were seeing Gary Ludlow,” Jet said.

“I cut him loose last week.” Lily sharpened her scissors, ignoring Jet’s exasperated sigh.

“One day you’re going to run out of men to date around here,” her sister warned.

Lily placed chunks of Opal’s hair between her left index finger and thumb and made the first cut. She didn’t defend herself against Jet’s remark. It wasn’t that she deliberately set out to hurt anyone. When she saw it couldn’t work, she ended it quickly, figuring that was the kindest thing in the end.

A ping sent Opal scurrying through her purse. “Gotta take this,” she apologized, scooting out of the chair. “Is there somewhere I can talk privately?”

Lily pointed to the break room in back.

“Be back in a minute.” Opal hurried away, the black vinyl cape flapping behind her like a bat.

Jet arched a dark eyebrow. “Kind of secretive, isn’t she?”

“A little.” She wondered if Opal’s boyfriend might be married.

Jet sipped from her water bottle, then set it down slowly and deliberately. Her gaze drifted to the shop window. “I went for a swim last night and the current brought interesting news.”

“Let me guess. Mom’s coming.”

Jet nodded. “Judging from the sound-wave strength and pattern, I’d say to expect her in about two days.”

Mother was the last person Lily wanted to see right now.

“Maybe she wants to check on you. Make sure everything’s okay with the pregnancy,” Lily said hopefully.

“Nah. It’s you she’s concerned with.”

Lily swept up snippets of Opal’s hair on the floor, aware of Jet’s scrutiny. Damn, she didn’t want maternal pressure to leave the bayou for good and “resume her rightful position as the best siren of the sea”—words her mother eschewed with increasing regularity. Mom had gone from baffled to miffed to frustrated over the past few visits.

A few minutes of silence descended before Jet spoke up. “You okay?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. She’ll just pester me to take my rightful place with other merfolk.”

Jet regarded her, eyes direct, brows knitted and chin down. A fierce look that Lily knew masked concern. “Not such a bad idea. Especially with this Twyla business.”

“Twyla still bothering you?”

Lily jumped at Opal’s voice and cast a furtive look at Jet, wondering how much Opal had overheard. She patted the seat for Opal to sit down. “Maybe.”

She stirred the color and developer together and brushed streaks of color on Opal’s hair. The bright colors should perk up the rather plain face with its scattering of freckles and a slight scar that spread across one cheek. “This is a temporary dye,” she explained. “You can try out the effect and see how you like it.”

Jet persisted with her questioning. “What does maybe mean? Either she is or isn’t bugging you.”

“I got several hang-up calls last night. They never spoke. After the third one, I turned off my ringer.” The scissors trembled slightly in Lily’s hands as she trimmed a few uneven locks of Opal’s hair. “When I checked this morning there were seven missed calls and no voice-mail messages.”

“Ouch!” Opal swiped the side of her neck and stared at a blood splash on her fingers.

“I am so sorry.” Lily grabbed a towel and wiped the nick. “That’s never happened before.” Geez, how embarrassing.

“No problem, I’ll live,” Opal assured her.

Jet cut in, still focused on the phone calls. “Did you call back the number on the screen?”

“Of course. But I got a recording saying the number was no longer in service. Must have used a throwaway phone.”

Opal circled her index finger around her right temple. “Somebody’s cra-zee.”

“Say the word and I’ll have Landry talk to Twyla,” Jet said.

“No need to drag him into it.” Lily didn’t want her brother-in-law knowing her business.

A collective mewling of cats turned their attention to the shop front. More than half a dozen felines in various colors and sizes perched along the window ledge, motionless and unblinking except for licking their mouths. As if they observed a delectable treat fit for a feast.

Jet frowned. “We ought to bring Rebel to chase them away.”

“Dog’s so ugly he wouldn’t even have to bite or bark to scare them,” Lily said drily, returning to the familiar routine of coloring and styling hair.

The three settled into a comfortable silence as Jet continued crunching numbers and Opal observed Lily at work.

A loud rap on the front window scared off their cat stalkers. A husky guy wearing a camouflage shirt waved and motioned for someone to open the locked door.

“Who’s that?” Opal asked.

Lily unfastened her apron with a sigh. “Gary.”

“Thought you broke it off with him,” Jet said.

“I did.”

Jet scowled at Gary and motioned him to go away.

Gary rapped harder on the glass. “Open up,” he yelled. “I need to talk to you, Lily.”

People passing by on the street stopped and stared.

“He’s making a scene,” Opal noted, tapping her lips.

Jet stalked to the front door in brisk strides. “I’ll get rid of him.”

“No. Let him in before he breaks the glass,” Lily said. She picked up a pink chiffon scarf from the counter and knotted it at her throat, hiding the faint line of scars where gill slits aligned both sides of her neck. She didn’t bother with it around Nash because he’d seen the marks when they were children and she’d made up a story about an accident. And she hadn’t bother to cover it up around Opal. Seeing as she had her own scar to deal with, they figured she wouldn’t ask prying questions.

“You sure?” Jet hesitated, hand on the doorknob.

Lily touched her scarf in a silent reminder.

Jet turned up her collar, covering the gills that were also three inches in length on either side of the neck, extending from the top of the collarbone to her windpipe.

At Lily’s nod, Jet unlocked the door. The smell of whiskey preceded Gary as he staggered straight to Lily.

“Whatever I done wrong before, Lily, I’m sorry.” His eyes were weepy and red-rimmed, yet also held an odd glimmer of hope.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lily said, sweeping up her station. “I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

“But why? I must have done something.”

She almost winced at the pleading note in his voice. Best to cut him off quickly.

“I promise whatever it was, it’ll never happen again.” He stumbled closer and drew his face next to hers, trying to kiss her cheek.

Lily stepped back, eyes watering from the whiskey fumes on his breath. She hated these kinds of scenes.

He straightened, took off his baseball cap and began twisting it between his hands. “I couldn’t believe it when I got your message. Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

“Message? I didn’t send you any message.” Her sympathy vanished. Stupid drunk. What a lame pretext to make a play at her again. “For the last time, Gary, I’m not interested anymore. Let’s leave it at that.”

He flushed. “I can’t believe this. I thought you wanted to get back together but you’re so...” he waved a hand in the air “...so cold-acting.”

Lily shrugged. “Move on. I have.”

Gary rocked unsteadily on his heels, as if she had struck him. “But...I broke up with Wanda to see you.”

Jet stepped in front of him. “You heard her. Time to move on.” She laid a hand on his arm and pulled him forward.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gary jerked his arm back and glared at Lily. “Not until she explains why she’s playing games.”

Lily crossed her arms. “I’m not playing and I don’t like your game.” Despite the show of bravado, Lily’s stomach fluttered. Had someone—Twyla—set this up to cause trouble?

Opal stood and placed a hand on Gary’s arm, trying to ease the confrontation. “This is obviously not working out. Maybe you and Wanda can get back together.”

“But I want Lily,” he insisted like a two-year-old denied his favorite toy. He advanced toward the object of his desire.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Jet clamped an arm on him and yanked. “Time to go.”

“No, I don’t want— Hey, you’re strong.”

Lily almost laughed at his stunned expression. Jet, with her rare blue mer-clan bloodline, had the strength of two men. Too bad they didn’t share a paternal parentage. The physicality could come in handy.

Jet pushed him out the door hard enough that he fell on his ass. Gary shook his head as if to clear his mind, obviously stunned he’d been manhandled by a woman. Jet locked the door behind him and pulled down the shades.

“Wow.” Opal pressed her fingers into Jet’s biceps. “You’ve got muscles.”

“Um...yeah. I work out a lot.” Jet went back to the desk and resumed working, head bent over the figures.

“Do you get that a lot from old boyfriends?” Opal asked. “Must be scary.”

“Sometimes. He was more forceful than most.”

Opal clutched the plastic cape closer to her body. “Twyla might have done it to piss you off.”

“Maybe. You think so?”

“Sure. Could be a warning for you to cool it with the men awhile.”

Lily studied Opal’s blue eyes. They were shot through with alarm. Nice to have someone outside of family actually give a damn.

“You could be right.” Lily lifted her chin. “But my interest isn’t with a local man right now. That should keep me safe.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be so sure.” Opal absently ran an index finger over the scar on her cheek. “If I were you, I wouldn’t see anyone for a few weeks. Let everything cool down a bit.”

Lily lifted her chin. “No way. Nash will be gone by then.”

“Okay, ignore the warning signs. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “Your decision.”

Chapter 6

The red moon of August lay low and full, as if scorched and swollen from summer’s heat. Lily’s step skipped in time to the rhythm of her rapid pulse. It seemed like it’d been three weeks instead of three days since she’d seen Nash. She grinned at the sight of his truck and the light in the cabin. Even better, Sam Bowman’s vehicle was gone. She rapped at the door, feeling like the wolf descending on the innocent Little Red Riding Hood.

The door flung open and she was eye level to Nash’s bare chest. She looked up and stared into verdant green. He registered no surprise at finding her on his doorstep. Casually, he leaned an arm against the doorframe.

“You again,” he said, voice tinged with smoke and velvet.

The low, deep timbre of sound vibration made her gut clench. Is that what her voice did to men? It was wonderfully disturbing.

“What kind of welcome is that?” she purred, reaching up and laying a hand on the curve of his jaw.

Nash stepped away from the heat of their touch and waved her inside. He shut the door behind her, and Lily was struck by the fact they were alone and sheltered from the world. A cozy company of two. Without a word, Nash walked into the den, snatched a T-shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it over his head.

Darn it.

“Why are you here, Lily?” he asked, plopping down on the sofa.

She sat across from him and crossed her legs demurely. “To see you, of course.”

“What do you want from me? I get the feeling it’s not to resume a childhood friendship.”

She leaned into him, resting her hands on his bare knees. “Don’t you find me attractive?” Her lips curled upward, certain of his answer.

“You’ll do, I suppose,” he said drily.

Lily straightened. “Why are you so hostile? I thought after our kiss we were on more...friendly terms.”

He frowned. “You know I’ll be leaving in a few weeks. I’m not the settling-down type.”

But that’s because you haven’t known me. “So you say.”

He crossed his arms, studying her. “I’m not in the market for a permanent relationship.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Nashoba Bowman. You haven’t heard me say I want anything of the kind.”

“Then that leads back to my original question. What do you want?”

You. I want you. “While you’re here, let’s see what happens,” she answered carefully. After what had happened with his past two girlfriends, she didn’t want to push too hard and scare him away. “Look, you used to be my best friend. Can’t we at least be friends now and explore if something else is there for however long you’re here?”