Part 12 (2/2)

Good. Bad. Maybe she would feel nothing at all. Perhaps some part of her would shut off, dead to taking another life-those lives, those Consortium lives.

”I want to live,” she said, feeling ill again. ”But no, I don't want to kill them. Most are probably just locals, hired to do a job. Pirates. Bad guys. But not . . .” Jenny stopped, unable to finish, unsure what she was trying to say. Stupid p.a.w.ns? Poor, ignorant men trying to make a living? Whatever. Even if that was the case, it didn't make it better. Most of them probably had blood on their hands. They wouldn't hesitate to hurt her if that was what they had been paid to do.

Truth was, she just didn't want to take a life. Not again. Not unless she had to. Killing a stranger wouldn't be any easier than killing a family member. She didn't want it to be easy.

”Do you want to kill them?” she asked, tripping over the words.

”No,” he said, after a moment that lasted just a little too long. ”This isn't the O.K. Corral,” he added, surprising her with the reference. ”And men who are shot at shoot back.”

She glanced at the old bullet wound in his chest and felt relieved by his answer-though she didn't know why. It shouldn't have mattered.

Always matters, her grandfather would have said, as memories flashed, memories of that bad day. Jenny's nausea kicked up another notch. She wished she had chewing gum, and barely noticed when the man pointed to the unmasked mercenary. ”That one is no simple pirate.”

”No,” she admitted, touching her throat, trying to think very hard about bunnies and daisies, and-and blood-all that blood from the bullets, and oh, oh G.o.d, the pain in her stomach- Jenny bent over, gagging. Covering her mouth, tears streaming from her eyes. The man's strong arm stayed around her waist. She tried to wriggle free, or at least turn away from him-tried to make herself as small as she could without actually curling up on the floor-but he moved with her, holding her, until finally she gave up trying to maintain even one ounce of her pride.

”Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth.

”Don't be,” he said, with surprising gentleness. ”You'll feel better now, I think.”

Jenny wanted to disagree with him, but the truth was, her nausea was gone. Even if her mouth tasted like s.h.i.+t, and the base of her skull throbbed.

She straightened slowly, still wiping her mouth and eyes, and stared blearily through the window at those speedboats and the men inside them. Her heart thudded. It was hard to breathe.

”I hate them,” she heard herself say, and stared at the mercenary in his nice boat, trying not to flinch or back away when his gaze settled on the bridge-and, seemingly, her. ”I hate them so much.”

The man drew her from the window. ”A'lesander warned me you were being hunted.”

It took her a moment. ”Les?”

”Who wants to hurt you? Besides him?”

Jenny fumbled for words, still grappling with the idea that Les wasn't human. ”I don't know how to explain. We were double-crossed by a person who works for a . . . a rival organization. He tried to kidnap me.”

”That was more than two days ago. If he was supposed to contact someone-”

”Wait,” Jenny interrupted, frowning. Hit, again, with how little she knew about this man. He wasn't human, he was frighteningly familiar-he had sung the song, the song she had sung to the boy, the boy on the beach, oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d-but that was all.

And she-who was usually so careful-had let him a.s.sume a peculiar command over this situation. She had even accepted medication from him, drinks that could have been drugged. Based on nothing more than instincts that were so insidiously rooted in her unconscious, she hadn't even given it a thought until now.

You know him, whispered a tiny voice. Don't fight it. He won't hurt you. He could never hurt you.

Jenny shook her head in denial. ”How do you know how long it's been since the attack? Why are you even here?”

He hesitated. ”I was in the region on . . . other business. We found an old man in the sea. He said there was a woman in trouble, and I had . . . strong reason to believe it might be you. So I came.”

There was a great deal in those words that needed questioning, but Jenny could focus on only one thing. ”Old man?”

”With a bullet wound. Alive when I left.”

Jenny felt feverish again. ”Let go of me.”

”I don't think-”

”Let. Go.” Her voice was so cold, so hard, she didn't recognize it.

The man's jaw tensed, his gaze utterly unreadable. Jenny suspected she should be afraid, but right then, she was too numb for fear-so close to losing it, she couldn't even feel her own body anymore.

The man's arm slid from her waist. ”He was very concerned about you.”

Jenny shoved him. He didn't have to move, but he did, and she staggered past him to the control station, leaning hard against it. Staring at him with new eyes, unsure what she was looking at anymore. Merman one minute, man the next, something else . . . something else now.

”His name is Maurice,” she said, hoa.r.s.e. ”I watched Les throw him overboard. We were . . . attacked. Someone shot him, but Les . . . finished the job. Are you sure he was okay?”

”Not okay, but alive. Fighting to stay that way with . . . friends of mine. The Malaysian Coast Guard was coming for him when I left.”

Friends. Malaysian Coast Guard. Business in the region. Words that registered, and skipped like stones through her mind.

Oh, G.o.d, she thought. Oh, my G.o.d. Maurice.

”I need to get to him, and contact . . . contact our . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she peered at the man, blinking hard as light trickled briefly through the clouds, from the sun behind his head. His hair resembled a silver halo, and she could see, finally, the boy he had been-in those cheeks, in that mouth. A hard, terrible loss settled in her heart, and it wasn't because of betrayal or attempted murder.

”You,” whispered Jenny, and the moment she spoke, she had to escape. Runner, she accused herself, but she didn't care. She'd finally found the impossible, and it hurt too much to be near him.

She pushed away from the control station, heading for the stairs. Not thinking. Acting only on instinct. He caught her before she went two steps.

Jenny elbowed him in the gut. He grunted, loosening his grip-which nearly sent her toppling over. She managed to catch her balance and staggered backward, fighting for distance.

”Stay away,” she warned, breathless, light-headed. ”Stay the f.u.c.k back.”

But there was nothing Jenny could do when he grabbed her arms with his big rough hands and leaned in, breath hot. She had to crane her neck to meet those glittering blue eyes, and it made her dizzy, nauseous.

But what was worse was the eerie resolve in his face. Not fury. Nothing cruel. Just a cold determination that sank through her like a knife.

”Maybe I don't know you,” he whispered impatiently. ”Maybe you don't know me. But there is something between us. You feel it. I know you must. So trust that. Please.”

Jenny swallowed hard. ”And if I don't?”

Disappointment flickered. ”Too bad.”

He let go of her, far too abruptly. Jenny sagged backward against the smashed console. Outside, men shouted, but she hardly heard them. Her heart pounded too loudly, and there was a roar in her ears when she stared at the man. He wasn't looking at her now-away, out the window-but she felt his eyes on her all the same, burning ice in her veins. She suffered a gnawing, grinding hunger, pus.h.i.+ng and pus.h.i.+ng until she thought she would explode with the sensation, the terrible knowing of it.

”There was a beach,” she heard herself whisper.

His shoulders sagged. ”And I was a boy who had never seen red hair.”

Her legs couldn't hold her weight. Jenny sank to the floor, trembling. Wondering, dimly, what was wrong with her. She had waited a lifetime to hear those words. She had never stopped looking. Never stopped hoping.

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