Part 14 (1/2)

Perrin took the bullet from her. ”This is what killed her?”

”It wounded her. I think it took her several days to die.” There was no good way to say that, but he needed the truth. She tried to gentle her voice.

His jaw tightened. He still refused to look at her. If he did, Jenny suspected there would be grief in his eyes.

Maybe he loved that dead woman. Maybe he had someone else. Children, even. She didn't know how it worked amongst his kind or what his life was like.

Just violent. Bitter. That much was written all over him.

”Why would Les try to kill her? He did, didn't he?”

Perrin rubbed the back of his neck. ”Later. Too much story.”

”No. I've worked with him for years. I thought we were friends. I never guessed. And if he . . . if he used me-”

”Were you close?” he interrupted sharply.

”Don't ask it like that.”

”Did he . . . did he hurt you?” His tone wasn't any gentler, but his voice roughened, and broke. She knew what he meant, though-and that question was almost worse. Jenny could still feel Les's hands on her, unb.u.t.toning her shorts. She settled back on her heels, staring at him. Staring, until he finally had the good sense to look down at the bullet in his hand.

”No,” she said.

He put down the bullet, very carefully. With equal care and silence, he opened up his other hand. The scale lay on his palm, on top of the pouch. It glimmered like a pearl from white to silver, to pale ice blue.

”This was mine,” he said quietly.

Jenny held out her hand. Perrin stared at the scale; and then, gently, gave it to her.

”Thank you,” she whispered, finding that it hurt to look at him. She tucked the scale back into the pouch, which she placed into the waist pack. She stood, awkwardly. Perrin rose, too, watching her. Jenny could barely meet his gaze.

”You look feverish again,” he said.

”No,” she said. ”I'm ready to go.”

He placed his palm against her brow, but his hand trailed down to her cheek and stayed there. Made it hard to breathe. His eyes were so cold, but there was something else there, too. Hunger. Regret.

”No secondary doors,” she whispered, trying to stay in control. ”Have to go on deck if you're planning on taking us into the water. We'll be exposed. They all have weapons.”

Perrin removed his hand. ”We'll move fast.”

He had left the air tank at the end of the hall. Jenny checked the regulator to make certain it was mounted properly, and slowly opened the valve to check for air. She examined the pressure gauge, too. Quick, throat tight. Perrin helped her slide on the harness, and she tried not to stagger under the weight of the tank. She hated feeling so weak. He handed her a mask. ”Let me do all the work. Just hang on.”

Perrin hooked his fingers beneath the waist of his swim trunks and began to pull them down. Jenny tensed-he hesitated-and for the first time since encountering him, he seemed embarra.s.sed.

”I'm sorry,” he muttered. ”I can't s.h.i.+ft-”

”Yes, I know,” she said quickly, then added, ”I have some experience with shape-s.h.i.+fters.”

Perrin tilted his head, but Jenny didn't want to answer the question in his eyes. She waved her hand at him, heat crawling into her cheeks. ”Go, strip.”

His mouth twitched. ”Now I feel awkward.”

Jenny stared at the ceiling, listening to cloth rustle. ”You weren't earlier.”

”I didn't have time to think about it.” His face appeared in her line of vision. She couldn't look away from him, not even when he tugged the pack around her waist. She heard the seal suck open, listened as he pushed the shorts inside. He didn't look away from her, either. Not once.

Jenny stepped back, needing room to breathe. Rattled. Even when he finally dropped his gaze and turned from her to face the outer door, she suffered a jolt.

His every little move made her heart feel heavy and strange, as though she had awakened never knowing another living creature, except him. Every gesture new. Every breath. Those eyes, and the way he looked at her.

As though she was just as new to him.

They made their way down the narrow corridor, and up a short set of stairs to the main salon and the outer door that led to the aft deck. Her fingers trailed against the walls. Her home, another home she was running from.

Perrin reached the door first and peered through the window. Jenny joined him. One of the boats had stopped circling and drifted in plain view. Men watched The Calypso Star, guns at the ready. Some watched the sky. Gulls winged overhead, hundreds of them. An eerie sight. Unexpected.

Not so unexpected was the man who stood on deck.

The mercenary. Alone, a gun held in his right hand, his eyes dark and narrowed as he stared at the door. He wasn't tall, but he was whipcord lean, and looked fast. Jenny went very still on the inside when she saw him. Still and afraid.

”h.e.l.lo,” he called out, his surprisingly elegant voice carrying through the steel door and tinted bulletproof gla.s.s. ”I know you're there, Ms. Jameson. I can practically feel you breathing.”

He turned in a slow circle, his gaze falling on the dead dolphin. ”This doesn't have to hurt.”

Jenny whispered, ”We'll need a gun, after all.”

”Fastest draw in the West?” Perrin rested his large hand on her back. ”Wait.”

She looked up at him. He was staring out the window at the mercenary, expression cold, hard, his gaze so level and intense she wondered if mermen could kill with a stare. Because if they could, she suspected that mercenary was about to drop dead.

Instead, she heard a scream.

Not human. Jenny looked up. Found that entire winged ma.s.s of seagulls cras.h.i.+ng from the sky like one giant fist-plunging toward the speedboats. And the mercenary. He turned, eyes widening, raising his gun.

Perrin yanked open the door and grabbed her around the waist. ”Hold on.”

There was nothing to hold except air. Perrin held her tight against him, lifting her feet off the ground as he slipped out the door and made a sharp left to the rail. She felt like a rag doll, legs swinging wildly, arms flopping. She couldn't see anything but his chest and a glimpse of wings. She heard gunfire, men shouting.

Perrin threw her over the rail into the sea.

The impact stole her breath. Jenny sank, grappling for the mouthpiece. She shoved it into her mouth, reached back to start the flow of oxygen, and forced herself to take shallow breaths.

Again, she felt a pulse in the base of her skull, terrible aching pressure-and for one desperate moment she wanted to swallow salt water.

You breathed, she told herself, remembering the sensation of drowning without choking. You breathed.