Part 2 (1/2)

Bitterness twisted her mouth. ”I knew. When I was twelve years old, I knew something was wrong. And when I tried to tell them, they didn't listen. They didn't listen for ten years, until it was too late. And now look what's happened.”

Maurice closed his eyes. ”The Consortium will be stopped, Jenny.”

The Consortium. Sins of the parents, straight out of h.e.l.l. If A Priori was the good side of the family, then the Consortium was everything that had gone wrong-in the most terrible ways possible. All the contacts, all the connections, all that power-used not for research or knowledge, or even just to fill a bank account-but to control others. To shape the world in ways that none of them could yet predict.

”They won't be stopped,” she whispered, compulsively touching her abdomen. Maurice's gaze dropped to her hand, and pain filled his gaze.

”I'm sorry,” he whispered. ”I-”

Jenny didn't let him finish. She couldn't stand it. She turned and walked away.

It was quiet belowdecks. Jenny had to pa.s.s the small science lab on the way to her quarters. The center of the door was made of gla.s.s, and she glanced inside out of habit. She was shocked to see Les slipping out of the cold locker.

Jenny froze, backed up a step, and opened the door. Les faltered, but only for a moment. He slid past her, out of the lab, into the hall. Not smiling, but not looking worried, either.

”I needed to see her,” he said. ”Because of my reaction today. I had to face up to it.”

Jenny fought down the urge to go and check the body. Trust, Maurice was always telling her. You need to trust.

Right. Fine. She'd wait until after dinner to check.

”You feeling better?” she asked him, turning with difficulty away from the lab and continuing down the hall.

”A little,” he said, following her. ”Something large killed her, Jenny. Teeth marks wouldn't have made those injuries.”

The cuts were too clean for claws, she added silently. Unless they were razor-sharp and thin as a blade.

”There are defensive wounds on her arms,” Less said quietly, as she reached her door.

His voice sounded hollow, preoccupied, as though he was speaking mostly to himself. Jenny caught him staring at his hands, which he closed into fists. An odd gesture, pained, with a hint of violence. Les rubbed his knuckles against his thighs.

Jenny said, ”You noticed.”

”You keep me around for more than my good looks.”

She tried to smile. ”Sharp man. I know you flirted shamelessly with the Human Resources manager before she hired you.”

”Nah.” Les leaned against the wall beside her door, flas.h.i.+ng her a rueful grin. ”I'm just good at what I do.”

”The Indiana Jones of marine archaeology,” she replied. ”How many s.h.i.+pwrecks have you found?”

”Enough.” But there was an odd gleam in his eye when he said it. Bitterness, maybe. She realized it was the same look he'd had on his face right after he had come out of the cold locker. Before he saw her watching.

The base of her skull began to throb. Jenny didn't feel like talking anymore. She needed to lie down and think about that dead woman-and what could have killed her. She had been attacked first in the sea. Jenny was certain of that. No other way she would have allowed herself to be stranded onsh.o.r.e. She had been chased, driven on land. And yes, it was possible that the fishermen had added to her wounds. That was the logical explanation of those fine cuts.

But this situation was not logical, or rational. And Jenny had her own memories to draw from.

Her cabin was small but comfortable. She had been in earlier to change into her wetsuit, and had forgotten to turn off her battery-operated candles-which mimicked the flicker and glow of firelight and even gave off a vanilla scent. A bookcase covered one wall, a wooden lip built across every shelf to keep things from sliding off when they hit rough water.

Jenny had painted the walls pale lavender though it was difficult to see behind the tacked-up paintings and photographs she had collected on her journeys. Her bolted-down furniture was white and simple; and her desk was covered with her laptop and stacks of paper, including a handwritten unfinished article for National Geographic that was due in a week. A braided chenille rug covered the floor, and an old quilt had been laid upon the twin-sized bed. Two portholes revealed miles of sea.

She had her own bathroom-all of them did. She glanced to the right and saw Les reflected in the mirror. He was watching her. He hesitated in the doorway, then took that final step into her room, walking up behind her.

She turned before he could get close. ”Stop.”

”You always say that,” he said, going still. ”No preamble, no discussion.”

”We've talked about this before.”

”For years,” he said. ”And in all that time, you've been alone.”

The base of her skull throbbed. ”What do you want me to say? You're gorgeous, Les. You're smart, nice, everything a girl could want.”

”Every girl but you.”

”You're not . . . right . . . for me,” she told him haltingly, wis.h.i.+ng he would just leave her alone. Wis.h.i.+ng, too, that she were the kind of woman who would ask him to stay. She wanted to be that woman. She wanted to want him. It would be so much easier.

A bitter smile touched his mouth. ”You're looking for . . . magic.”

”Just a feeling,” she whispered. ”I'll know it when I find it.”

And if you don't? If you never feel that way again?

Jenny swallowed hard and turned from Les. She felt him watching her, silence thick between them. Maybe he was angry. He got that way, sometimes. Jenny didn't care. Some things couldn't be changed, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

Les walked to the door but paused at the last moment. ”You ever think maybe you see everything except what really matters? What you're looking for could be right in front of you.”

Jenny closed her eyes, and the strain of an old melody poured through her mind, followed by an embracing warmth that felt like sunlight on her face.

Blue eyes. Pale skin. Strong hand.

Followed by another, more recent, memory-and a harder, fiercer, heartache. One that would never leave her, that she could only chase away, in pieces.

”Jenny,” Les said.

”No,” she replied hoa.r.s.ely. ”I never think that.”

Chapter Two.

The dolphins knew something was wrong before Perrin did.

He was too busy getting punched in the face to notice. Down on his knees, trying to breathe as blood trickled down his chin from his mouth. He licked his lip, tasting the cut. The salt from his body was good as seawater, and he was so thirsty.

”Crazy f.u.c.ker,” whispered Dmitry. ”Stay away from me.”

Perrin licked his lip again and started laughing. All that got him was another slam behind the ear, but he was ready for it. Knuckles glanced off his skull. Perrin hardly felt the blow. He turned his head to the right and saw his reflection in the blue shadows of the viewing gla.s.s: a ghost, pale and sharp, half his face obscured by tangled blond hair coming loose from the knot at the back of his neck.