

### Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Copyright 2013 Jay Greenstein

Other Titles by Jay Greenstein:

Science Fiction

 As Falls an Angel

 Samantha and the Bear

Wizards

Foreign Embassy

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

 Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romance

Sisterhood of the Ring – Six linked novels

 Water Dance

 Jennie's Song

 A Change Of Heart

 A Surfeit Of Dreams

Kyesha

 Abode Of The Gods

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

° ° ° ° °

A word or two, if I may...

The book you are reading is free. Why? The answer is simple. In today's literary world, where placing a book on the market is a single-click operation that requires neither writing nor storytelling skill, the market is flooded with so many entries that it's impossible to choose.

But at the same time, we ask you to spend money on an author you've never heard of, for a story that may, or may not (and too often, not) be worth the investment.

Because I know I have to prove myself, and because The Sisterhood of the Ring is a series of six novels detailing the curious adventures of the women chosen by the ring, I've elected to give away the first volume. In return, I ask only one thing: if Ann's adventures please you, take a moment to rate the story. A writer lives or dies by word of mouth.

And of course, if this story did please you, there are five more adventures—which are not free.

So that's my pitch. I hope you enjoy meeting my mermaid. I fell in love with her. But then I love all my heroines. In the best sense of the word, I am an incurable romantic.

Enjoy!

# Jay Greenstein

# ° ° ° ° °

#

# Table of Contents

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

Author's Note

Excerpt from, As Falls an Angel

Other novels by Jay Greenstein

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 1

The door swung closed behind her, cutting off the icy wind and bringing a sigh of relief. Likely, the stay would be short, but at least the next few minutes would be warm. That was something.

Ann inhaled. Fast food or not, it smelled positively wonderful. Eyes closed, she spent a long moment identifying each component of the total while mentally counting the money in her pocket.

Not enough for a burger. Maybe a small order of fries?

Clamping down on her hunger pangs she forced a smile and headed toward the counter.

"Excuse me," she said, trying to sound casual. "Are you accepting employment applications?" Arriving between lunch and dinner appeared to have been a good choice. The counter was empty of customers.

The woman, who appeared to be in her thirties, studied her for a moment, lips pursed, before saying, "Lawyer?"

She sighed. "Engineer."

The woman pointed toward an older man, busily scraping down the grill. "Sid's an engineer, too." She pointed to the attendant at the drive-through window. "Gail's a lawyer, and I'm a personal trainer...or was."

So much for that idea.

Before she could turn away the woman said, "You look as if you could use a cup of coffee. I'm about to go on break if you'd like to join me."

"I, uhh..."

The woman flipped a hand as if the offer was no big deal. "It's on the house." She reached under the counter and pulled out two coffee cups, adding, "Fill these at the urn and grab us a table. I'll be there in a minute."

As Ann turned away she added, "I like mine light, with two sugars.... I'm Jenna, by the way."

"Help yourself," Jenna said, as she slid into the table's other seat and placed her tray on the table.

"Thank you," Ann said, a bit overwhelmed. "You didn't have to—"

Jenna cut her off with a wave of the hand. "You're right, I don't...but there's a time limit on cooked burgers. These were about to be thrown away, so it's not charity. And the fries are for my lunch. Feel free to take some." She pushed a burger box and one of the containers of fries across the table.

With a, "Thank you," and suppressed tears for the unexpected bit of kindness, Ann swallowed her pride and tried not to do the same with the burger, at least not all at once.

"So how long have you been out of work?"

"Almost seven months," she said, around a mouthful of hamburger. "A layoff notice was my least favorite birthday present this year."

The sandwich was fantastic. Hunger truly did make the best condiment.

"And you've had no nibbles?"

"Oh, I've had nibbles...but that's all."

"That's tough." Jenna took a sip of coffee. "I got lucky and walked in here on the day someone gave notice." More gently, she said, "We don't bother taking applications these days because no one quits. But if they did, I'd fill the job in seconds by whispering, 'I have work available.' " She waved a hand toward the counter, saying, "Last year at this time only kids worked back there because the pay is awful. Today there's no one under thirty. It's a hell of a world." A shrug, then, "So what will you do, beside pray?"

"Same as I have been doing, I guess...look for work. What else can I do?"

The woman shook her head, then pushed another burger across the table, saying, "You had better fatten yourself up, love, because there are lean times ahead for all of us, I think."

° ° °

Ann leaned close to the intercom's speaker. "It's me Mrs. Snow. My key isn't working. Can you buzz me in?"

".... I'm sorry Ann, but I have no choice. I can't let you in."

_Damn._ Fingertips to temples she tried to push away the depression that had its claws plunged deep into her soul. The woman had used the word "sorry," but precious little regret warmed the words coming from the intercom box.

Every day, in every way, my life has turned to shit.

Probably a waste of time, but she had to try, so she said, "If you could give me another few days, Mrs. Snow? Just..." She shivered against the cold and closed her eyes, voice a near whisper as she said, "Just two more days?"

Out of habit she crossed her fingers. If the woman would only talk directly, rather than through the damn front-door intercom—if she could see her face—the answer would be yes. But face-to-face wasn't going to happen, not with two months worth of rent unpaid, and no prospects of coming up with it. Not in two days, and not in two more months. The company, and her future as an engineer were gone—one more victim of the depression eating away at the bowels of the country.

"I'm sorry." The ancient intercom made the words almost unintelligible. "I really wish you could stay. I _hate_ doing this, but I need to pay my bills, too. That apartment and my social security check are all I have, and I've been eating a lot of macaroni these past two months because you fell behind."

_Macaroni? I'd kill for macaroni.... Hell, I'd kill for a single lick of a lollypop_.

But self-pity wasted time. Better to focus on what might be salvaged. The laptop was the last thing worth selling, so she said, "How about my stuff? Can I—"

The old woman's words took an edge as she said, "It's in the basement. Pay what you owe and it's yours. Till then..." Her voice softened. "Till then I won't throw it out, or sell it." The intercom went silent, then, without even the buzz that said someone was listening. She leaned her forehead against the unfeeling door, the scent of death in her nostrils, tears forming cold pathways on her cheeks. It was over.

° ° °

"I'm buying, Blondie. You selling?"

She looked up from the gritty concrete. The gaps in the man's hopeful smile coordinated well with his wardrobe. He wasn't a threat, though, so she shook her head and returned to her study of the pavement. After a moment, the man left. From the looks of him, bathing was being caught out in the rain.

So it had come to that. Slouched into the doorway of a closed office supply business she was indistinguishable from the skid-row hookers.

How had it happened? Every job review heaped praise on her talent, energy, and the fact that her projects came in on time and under budget. She was the youngest project manager in the company—or had been before the disaster. Finding another job should have been easy. But even the job placement firms that used to call her, week after week, trying to pirate her from the company, had nothing.

Damn this depression. Damn my life. Damn Mom and Dad for going broke...and for dying in that damn fire.

Perhaps she should have taken the man up on his offer of money for sex. A couple of bucks would pay for something to eat. Perhaps chastity wasn't as sensible a strategy as it once seemed. But not yet. Maybe when she was hungrier.

She checked her watch. Well after midnight, and past time to find a safe place to sleep.

_A shelter?_ Unacceptable. The depression had them overflowing. And if the news stories of the past week were to be believed, there was a better than even chance she'd end up a group sex-toy when they found a decent body under her clothing. Better to sleep out of sight behind a dumpster.

But better not to stand in one place too long, either, and announce that she had nowhere to go. That invited attention of the kind she didn't want.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the building and started toward the harbor, seeking a place out of the wind by one of the old warehouses—a place to get a few hours rest and mull over how to survive.

"Are you okay?" Hands caught Ann's shoulders, bringing her to a stop, and back into the world.

"What?" Head down, she'd almost walked into someone.

"I said, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered, without looking, as she took a step back, then to the side, to go around the woman. But she stepped in the same direction. That happened twice more before it became obvious that her action was deliberate, not the accidental parody of a dance.

Ann looked up to see what new disaster fate had in store for her, but a wide smile and laughing eyes met her frown.

"I wondered how many times I'd have to do that before you noticed," the woman said. "I called you three times before I stepped in front of you, and I was beginning to think you were sleepwalking. Are you okay?" The woman must have come from one of the office buildings, because there had been no one walking toward her the last time she'd been paying attention.

"What? I..." Was she okay? Hell no, she wasn't okay. But she'd die before admitting that to _this_ woman. Dressed in a tweed coat that probably cost more than everything in her own wardrobe, combined, the woman might have stepped off the pages of the latest fashion magazine.

It might be the act of a fool, but she still had some pride, so she straightened her spine a bit, and said, "I'm sorry, I was distracted. Can I help you?"

The woman didn't respond. She'd taken a step backward, and was, obviously, studying her, head cocked a bit.

_What the hell?_ Ann spread her hands in inquiry. "I don't know what you—"

"You're the one, I think."

"I'm.... What?" She _had_ to stop saying that word.

As though reaching a decision the woman nodded, slipping something from her finger as she did. "Yes, there's no doubt of that. Give me your hand, please." She said it as a request not an order, but the words were spoken with such assurance that her request would be honored that Ann extended her hand—or at least began to before she forced herself to stop, hand half-raised and feeling foolish. Then, curious, she continued, holding out her hand, wishing her fingernails were not so battered looking. But she'd been chewing them a lot lately, and a manicure was another luxury not in the foreseeable future.

Warm fingers touched her own as the woman took her hand, then turned it to receive the ring she slipped on the third finger. She retained a gentle grip as she said, "You'll wear this until it's time to give it to another woman...as I did to you. Never take it off, and never tell anyone about it."

"I..." Ann studied the ring. Heavy, carved from a circlet of stone as a single piece, far from what she might wear, it could be pawned, and buy a day of eating and a night of sleeping—maybe two. That would provide time to think, and perhaps time for a miracle. Lord knew she needed one.

The woman released her hand, saying, "Just be ready for wonder." With that, and a "good luck," she stepped past and walked toward the corner, her heels tap-tapping as she walked, not looking back, the whisper of expensive cologne a reminder that it hadn't been a dream. Then she passed around the corner and was gone.

Had that actually happened? Had the woman been real? She thought for a moment of following her. But what if she hurried to the corner and the street turned out to be empty? Not the ghost of a footstep, now. Were they simply muffled by the remains of the snow? And of more importance, where had she come from? The street's buildings were shuttered and dark. Someone working late would certainly have parked in front of the building for safety. But the woman had been walking. With a shiver that wasn't for the weather, she turned toward the harbor and hurried on her way. Had that been an encounter with a guardian angel? If so, it was damn late in the process of having life come unraveled.

It wasn't until she crossed the next intersection that a cough from behind brought her back to the present. She held her breath and softened her footfalls to give hearing more of an advantage. She was being followed, and by more than one person, from the sound of it. They must have been in that alleyway she passed in the previous block. Perhaps they had seen her with the woman—had seen her take the ring. Perhaps they had just...seen her.

She didn't turn. At this time of the night the chance of a police car, or anyone, coming by was slim. So, best they were unaware that she knew about them. If they thought her ignorant of their presence they might take their time, and give her a better chance of finding help. One more block to Front Street. Then, only the waters of the harbor. But if memory served, a pier sat close to the intersection, which might bring safety.

What other options were there? Perhaps barter for her life with the ring as tender toward staying safe? She worked her fingers around it, trying to slip it off and into a pocket, where she could get at it quickly as an offering. But the ring stuck, and even trying to remove it using the other hand didn't work.

With no time for more than a muttered curse she increased her pace.

"Hey Coot, you figure she's gonna be worth all this God-damn walking?" Someone with a voice like loose phlegm wanted her to know they were there. Another voice, equally unpleasant, answered in kind. Bad news. There were at least two of them. Also bad was the dark pier that stretched its empty way into the harbor. The next pier, a long walk to the right, pushed back the night, spotlights silhouetting equipment in motion.

But heading there meant crossing the street, and one of the men was already on that side, nearly abreast of her. While she was fast, the distance was such that he'd almost certainly cut her off.

Would nothing go right?

Left with no choice she sprinted for the darkened pier. Best not to give the men a chance to act. Certainly, they didn't run for sport as she did, so perhaps, if she hid among the shadows and equipment of the pier until they passed, she could double back to the street and run for the lighted area.

As she came up the ramp onto the pier, a flat expanse of snow-speckled concrete stretched before her, lit by a nearly full moon. The closed mouths of roll-up doors lined the building that stretched the length of the pier. Here and there the bulky shape of loading equipment shouldered up from the concrete. No sanctuary to be had there. Snow piles dotted the concrete, left from the freak storm—some nearly waist-high—but they offered no shelter in this deadly game of hide-and-seek. As she ran she risked a glance behind her. Three man-sized silhouettes showed against the lights of the city. They weren't strolling, but they didn't appear to be hurrying, either. They didn't have to. Each step she took placed her further out over the water. She ignored their shouted catcalls.

_Maybe something useful at the end of the pier?_ Something to use as a weapon? Perhaps a matching roadway back to shore on the other side? That sounded reasonable.

Well ahead of her pursuers she turned the far corner of the building and stopped.

Shit! What kind of an idiot engineer builds a pier and doesn't use the other side to at least tie up a ship till it can be unloaded?

Apparently, the one who designed this one. Scarcely a car's length of concrete extended past the end of the building, and the roadway didn't continue on the other side. She sagged, in mind and body. But then, the significance of the waist-high concrete at the outer corner of the pier brought hope, and the advantage she needed. In a single leap she'd be atop a platform from which to launch herself over her pursuers. The timing would have to be perfect, with the men close enough to leap over, but that seemed to offer the best, perhaps the only, chance. And if the distance was too great to jump _over_ them she'd have the satisfaction of jumping _at_ one of them and driving a foot through someone's teeth—perhaps several someones.

Scents and sounds, even the texture of the night, seemed spiced by the danger, as the night and the waiting pressed in. But fright was oddly missing.

_I should be scared. Why am I not scared?_ Maybe because there wasn't time to think about what was going to happen? Maybe because the men pursuing her were about to find she was no rabbit, timidly accepting what came. Maybe because she'd been visited by a guardian angel. Stupid thoughts, but she could no more control them than will herself to stop breathing.

No need to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. The men were free with their suggestions as to what they would do when they caught her—that and their anger over the prolonged chase. But they were puffing as they shouted, and that was to the good.

While she waited she blew on her hands to warm them, then stole a moment to look at the ring. Designs were carved into the stone, a dark tracery in the moonlight, but she couldn't make them out. Probably someone's souvenir of a foreign vacation. But now wasn't the time to wonder about that. Now was time to focus.

As she counted off the seconds an odd tingling sensation crawled her skin, as though an electric field was gathering, growing stronger with every second. Lightening getting ready to strike? No way to tell, and no time to dwell on that because the men burst around the corner.

As expected, they were spread out, killing any chance of sprinting past them. The moon hung high in a cloud free sky. No chance they'd overlook her form, huddled against the side of the building, so she moved away.

So be it, you bastards. Catch me if you can.

She took a fast step toward them—a taste of the unexpected. Then she shot both arms to the side, to startle, adding an angry, "Ya!"

Giving them no time to recover, she shouted, "Follow me, you morons," and headed for the corner of the pier, just fast enough to keep them close behind. At least she hoped they were. Without time to look, she could only pray she was judging it right. Certainly, they were close enough to smell, or had been. One more reason for wanting to escape.

Then she was at the bulkhead, hands gripping the edge and converting forward momentum upward. She landed atop the slab, crouched, and already turning for the jump that would put her ahead and on the way to safety.

But a layer of dirty snow, packed hard and invisible in the darkness, provided treacherous footing. Helplessly, she sprawled, sliding toward the edge, and over, to drop into cold beyond all imagining.

Frigid water gripped her; embraced her; drove the breath from her lungs in a single convulsive shout. In one shiver of shocked surprise it destroyed the power—even the will—to struggle. Helplessly, she tumbled downward through black water.

Pressure built against her eardrums.

Thinking was like stirring mud, but one thought was clear. Ahead lay the yawning abyss of the grave.

Even were she to regain control of her cold-shocked limbs and stroke upward, at best, she had moments to live.

Reaching the surface would bring no comfort. Should she, somehow, find a ladder and regain the pier, the men waiting there wouldn't take her to shelter, they'd prolong the path toward death—make it even less comfortable.

Maybe this way was better. Cleaner, at least. And the end would come on _her_ terms. No futile attempts to save herself, just a single inhalation of the fluid surrounding her. No more trying to survive in a world gone mad; no more seeking explanation for things that defied explanation; no more wishing for a fairy godmother.

Then she saw it: the ring was alight, its patterns etched in lines of blazing white. The delusion of a mind shocked beyond rational thought? Something more? Something magical?

But it was too late for magic, and too late for life. No choice but to embrace the sea or reject it—and die anyway.

With tears for what could never be, bathed in light that shimmered through closed lids, she chose the embrace. She opened her mouth, said a tiny prayer of goodbye, and sucked water into her lungs.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 2

Chill water followed by quick death was what she expected, not the lung-full of air that came. But that was impossible, given that she was under the sea. Still, a second breath of what was clearly air said she hadn't been mistaken.

This is crazy.

Added to that, the paralysis was gone and she was upright, submerged in water streaming with sunlight and warmth.

Obviously she was dead. But that made no sense, either.

Heaven is wet? My afterlife is under water?

Impossible. Unthinkable. But she _was_ breathing, and clearly was still under water. Above, some twenty feet away, the surface glistened with steeply slanted light—dawn or sunset. And waving a hand produced the resistance of water to movement, not air.

With growing wonder, she blew—first gently, then harder, finally, with all her strength. No bubbles. The air _wasn't_ going into the water. Where it went she couldn't say, but that was a problem for later.

She scanned the area. Nothing but featureless water, roofed by that sunlit surface. She looked downward. The water was fairly clear, and the sea bottom was visible—though the light was too limited to make out much fine detail. In any case, the sea floor was little more interesting than the water around her, just sand, scattered patches of seaweed, and growths of what was probably coral here and there.

Unfortunately, her lower body was clearly visible. Her legs were gone. In their place a slim gray body tapered to horizontal flukes, like those of a porpoise.

_Oh my God. I'm a...mermaid?_ _This is getting crazier by the moment._

Clearly, what she was seeing was impossible. But there it was.

Experimentally, she tried to bend her knees. Instead, the lower section of her body swung in a smooth arc—the movement of a fish. An odd, though not unpleasant feeling, so she added hip movement, and her lower body, from belly to flukes, flexed sinuously. Apparently, she no longer had a defined knee or hip joint. Something else best not thought about.

But the flukes moved, and as a result she glided upward. The effort required had been small.

_Have I been reincarnated?_ That made no more sense than being under the water, since if she were reborn as a porpoise it should be as a newborn, not an adult.

Confused, she raised her arms for inspection. From what she could see they were the same arms she'd been using for the past twenty-four years. With no mirror she couldn't verify that the face adorning her body was the one she was familiar with, but it felt like her face when she explored its contours with her hands. Certainly, the usual features were all there.

Clothing had vanished, somehow, but her upper body was as it had always been—including the tiny birthmark above her left nipple. Below the navel, however, lightly textured pearlescent gray skin stretched downward, shimmering in the spears of sunlight. Not unattractive, just strange—to the eye and the touch of the hand.

The water was warm, but the chill of the harbor clung to her thoughts as she replayed the fall, and what came after, seeking meaning. But understanding refused to come, and the weight of the impossible and the unthinkable bore on her, leaving her unable to function.

I died.... I fell in the water and drowned. More than that, I took my own life. Shit!

Had it come to that? Was life so out of control that she willingly chose death? Unthinkable. Yet it had happened.

She turned, seeking something, anything, to anchor her to the here and now and give context to the situation. There had to be some way to tell whether this was more than the fantasy of a dying mind. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Overwhelmed, unable to find even a bit of reality to cling to, and unable to crumple to the ground, she turned inward, rejecting the madness, cradling her face in her hands, sobbing as she had as a child.

She was lying on sand. Apparently, she'd settled there when she stopped moving. For a time she focused on that. But self-pity accomplished nothing, so she pushed herself away from both the sand and useless introspection, arm-stroking upward, scanning the area.

More sand, even less interesting than what she'd been lying on. Above, the sunlit surface sparkled, seeming treetop high from the sea floor, so the water was no more than seventy feet deep.

Is this real? Am I locked in a padded room somewhere, dreaming this?

Perhaps so. Certainly the most likely explanation. But if so, was there a way to tell, and to find a way back to reality?

The answer was no. This was reality, for now, and had to be treated as such because this was an unknown and possibly dangerous environment. Self-pity wasn't a viable survival tactic. Where she was and what the options were, was what mattered.

She swept her hand in a sidestroke, to rotate and get a view of the entire area. But as she did the ring seized her attention, driving all other thought from her mind.

Son of a bitch!

Abruptly, everything fell into place, and a memory surfaced, of electric tingles in the air and of the ring shining like the heart of a star, there under the harbor's water.

"Just be ready for wonder," the woman had said. Well this sure as hell fit the description of wonder. The why of this was unknown, but the ring _had_ to explain the how—or at was least the cause of being here.

Wonder? That has got to be the understatement of the century.

So she wasn't dead. At least for the moment. That was something to build on. But she was no longer human. Did that mean being forever a mermaid? Or would removing the ring bring back legs? Possibly. But equally possible was undoing the magic, which meant being transported back to the harbor—back _under_ the harbor. Definitely something to avoid.

Okay, so the tail stays, and impossible or not, for the moment, this is reality. But, does that mean there are mer...men, too?

An interesting idea, though from a glance at her body, what romance between mer-people would entail wasn't clear. Hell, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to eat, or how. And how to drink was another problem, even assuming a mermaid could safely drink the water, because opening her mouth created the usual opening, but didn't let water in. Something else that made no sense.

But she was alive! That was the single most important fact. And she certainly didn't have to worry about finding a job. That idea brought laughter. Perhaps it was being released from her problems. Perhaps because this was so far outside any possibility she might have imagined. Or perhaps she was insane—the most likely answer. But whatever the cause, she was beginning to feel very, very good. She hadn't a glimmer of what was to come next, nor the faintest idea of where she was, where she was going, or what surprises even the next hour might bring. But she _had_ been visited by a fairy godmother, and was the recipient of a precious gift. And since gifts were to be used and appreciated, time to explore a bit—to work on what could be seen and touched.

But exploring the environment was possible only with a way to move within it. So swimming—acquiring the means to avoid becoming a snack for a passing shark—came before anything else. The trite expression, "man up" came to mind, and prompted, "Okay...for me, I guess it's time to mermaid up." The laugh that idea brought helped restore equilibrium.

If I'm a mermaid I guess I can swim pretty well. The question is, how well?

She studied her lower body. Certainly, she had proper swimming equipment, so she straightened.

"Okay tail, let's see what you can do."

_Damn!_ Running into the bottom face-first hurt. Fortunately, it was sand. Not a crash into a feather-bed, but still, better than the coral outcropping she'd been so desperately trying to avoid.

Frustrating. A mermaid _should_ be graceful. Maybe grace would come, eventually. But for now there were too damn many things to think of at once. Yes she could control the angle of those flukes, and yes she could move the tail with reasonable control. But more was required than mere movement of the appendage. Coordinated movement of the entire body—done without any more thought than when walking, was a prize that eluded capture.

Like learning to roller skate, or to juggle, it would come. But improvement was so frustratingly slow. Hopefully, whoever or whatever agency was behind the transformation to mermaid form wasn't observing her, directly, because at the moment they'd be laughing. Certainly, the fish in the area must be.

Swimming seems straightforward enough. Fish swim effortlessly, after all. Sweep the tail and off you go. But obviously, as she'd just demonstrated, there was more to it. A _lot_ more.

But hard or easy, nothing was to be gained by lying on the bottom, so she pushed off and focused on holding a straight line, heading away from the bottom. Turns were for later. And up was definitely better than down. Hitting the surface by accident would be a _lot_ easier on the nose than crashing into the sand again.

° ° °

Ann streaked toward the surface, to burst into the air and arc over the waves until the sea reclaimed her.

_Wow!_ That was the only word that fit. Learning the skills of a mermaid hadn't been an easy thing. It wasn't until she let the natural reflexes of her body take over that she began to make progress. She might be new to the sea, but this body knew how to swim, so she concentrated on clearing her mind and focusing on the goal, rather than the elements of achieving it, so as to tap into that ability. And now, those skills were hers, as that jump proved.

With a bit more confidence in her control, she flipped over and aimed for the surface, driving hard and trying for even more speed, culminating in a jump that sent her soaring over the waves. Those flukes were _powerful_ —so powerful that when they propelled her through the sea at speed the flow of water kept her arms pinned to her side. Only fingertips and the attitude of the torso were available as a steering aid. But that was enough, and she could fly through the sea with the control and agility of a fighter plane. This was fun! She, of all the people on the planet, truly knew why porpoises dance through the waves.

That taken care of, time to explore. First came the world she was most familiar with.

She broke the surface and took a careful breath, then blew with a hand in front of her mouth. The warmth of breath played on her palm. Interesting. It said nothing about how she could breathe air underwater as easily as above the surface, but still, interesting. Putting that aside she licked her lips. They tasted of salt. Could she drink it in this new form without harm? That sounded reasonable, given that the sea would be the natural habitat of a mermaid, but that was a worry for later, when thirst became a problem.

In front of her open sea sparkled a reflection of a sun that had just cleared the horizon. Going by the way the sea had been brightening since she found herself under the water, and the warmth of the water, it appeared to be morning, and she was somewhere on the eastern coastline of North or South America—though off the coast of Asia, or on another world, entirely, was a possibility, too. And since there was no way to tell, time to accept the situation and build on that.

To that end she looked around, above the surface, to help build a table of options. To the right, a few minutes swim away, a boat rocked in the gentle swells, engine silent and no one in view. Beyond that, miles away, the gray of a low-lying coastline merged with the clouds on the horizon. In every other direction featureless seascape stretched to the limits of vision.

The boat obviously came first, so she submerged and headed in that direction. As yet, it wasn't certain that she was still on the Earth, but a closer look might clarify that.

As she swam the thought came that she had a new problem. The water was clear and she was nude. But did that matter? Were a man who saw nudity as a come-on to jump in the water, a flick of the tail would take her where he couldn't follow. And in the end, what could she do about her state of dress? Nothing.

The boat's stern said Jennie's Promise, and listed the state of origin as Florida, which not only placed them on Earth, and in the vicinity of the United States, the English language name meant she could probably speak to whoever was on board, should there be reason to show herself.

The boat was close to forty feet long, its hull ending a few feet above the waterline—a trawler, if she remembered correctly—and lacked the flying bridge of a pleasure boat. At the stern, a small work platform extended rearward for a few feet, at the waterline. Obviously, a boat designed more for utility than sport.

Curious, she made a pass under the boat, seeking a clue to why it was drifting. The hull, rudder, and propeller appeared normal, but oddly, no anchor was deployed. The sea was shallow enough for one, though. Had the boat been abandoned? That seemed unlikely. It wasn't a new boat, but the condition was such that no one would willingly abandon it.

She came to the surface at the stern. Should she should call out? Certainly, were there to be an answer, it might prove this more than a fantastic dream—but also add complications she wasn't sure she was ready to face.

"So where the hell are you?" a voice called, frustration strong in its masculine tones. "I'm running out of time, you bastard, so show yourself." The voice came from somewhere near the bow, at the opposite end of the boat. He could hardly be referring to her. But who else was there?

She eased to the edge of the stern and peered around, eyes barely above the surface, steadying herself with a hand on the work platform. The deck, what she could see of it, was empty.

Whoever had called was beyond the curve leading to the bow. She moved away from the boat for a better look, hoping she wouldn't be noticed. And there he was, nearly at the bow, so striking a man that she had to suppress a whistle. He was tall and had the build of an athlete, but he was leaning forward, bracing himself on the railing, so it wasn't possible to tell how tall. Sandy brown hair, just off blond, had been tousled by the breeze in a way that brought an urge to smooth it. He was, quite simply, the most attractive man she'd ever seen, and she could see quite a bit of him. He wore only a bathing suit, which contrasted nicely with his tanned skin. He was also wearing a frown.

He was alone, and staring intently at the water, as if he expected someone to appear in answer to his command. In response to that an imp of perversity whispered in her ear. The man had, after all, asked for someone to appear. Should she? He might be armed, and view her as trophy. But so what? With a stroke of the hand she'd be safe under water and away before he could take aim.

_Maybe it's time to stop being so damn conventional. I'm a mermaid, for God's sake._ She shook her head. _And that man is beautiful._ He definitely deserved a closer look.

Before she could think it over any further she acted. Dropping below the surface, she swam to a point about twenty feet below where the man's gaze was fixed on the water, then finned gently upward. Her judgment had been good, and she broke the surface at exactly the right place to look into his eyes. They were blue. And they were _very_ wide. She smiled, at that. He was better looking than she thought, even wearing a face-full of surprise.

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"Me? I was born in Spokane. You?"

"No, I mean—" His lips clamped into a line, and he straightened, scanning the area as though seeking something. Finally, his gaze settled back on her. "Where's your boat?" Tones of annoyance sharpened his words. Obviously, he hadn't seen her tail yet.

"Don't have one. Don't need one, either." With a twitch of her tail, she brought her lower body closer to the surface. He didn't react, so he either hadn't seen, or was used to mermaids—which was a possibility if she was in an alternate reality universe, she supposed. But she was tired of waiting for him to notice, so, with a stroke of the flukes she surged upward, then flipped over, lifting the lower part of her body out of the water as she did, splashing water in his direction as she went under.

"That's not funny," he said, as she resurfaced.

"What's not funny?"

"The phony tail. It could kill you if you get tangled in it. I assume you have a float. Where is it?"

He was cute even when he was scowling. Nice to know he was the kind of man who worried about the safety of others—though why that should be nice she didn't know, since they were now of different species. Still, her sense of rightness was assuaged by his concern. The game she was playing was entertaining, though, and any danger he might represent seemed small, so she said, "It's not phony."

"Yeah, right."

"Come in the water and check for yourself if you don't believe me. By the way, where are we? I'm lost."

"Come closer." He refused to be distracted.

She hesitated, and the giddy mood, brought on by the strangeness of the situation, and the feeling that her fairy godmother would watch over her, vanished. Yes, she'd already decided that nothing could be done about her state of dress. But saying something and living it were two very different things. He was calling her bluff on being a mermaid, and she was nude, and had never been so in front of a stranger, or with someone so handsome—or with any man but a doctor, for that matter.

But in the end, she was what she was, so she'd damn well better get used to it. That being the case, she took a deep breath, blew it out, and swam to within a few feet of the boat. Once there, she did a slow roll, ending with her tail above the surface and waving a hello, holding herself there for a moment with back-paddling arms. When she righted herself he was frowning again.

"This isn't possible." There wasn't the same assurance in his voice as there had been.

"I agree."

"There's no such thing as a mermaid."

"True." She couldn't disagree with him there, or at least wouldn't have till today.

"Evolution won't permit such a thing."

An interesting thought, so she asked him to explain.

"Mermaids are a sailor's sexual fantasy," he said, waving a hand in her direction. "No more. On an aquatic creature protruding breasts are inefficient. They'd slow you, and their reason for evolving vanishes in the water. In fact, they..." He stopped, and the frown was deeper, if possible.

"They what?" She tail-danced a foot or so further from the boat, to see him without having to look straight up.

He straightened, before waving a hand in seeming frustration, saying, "I just realized...I'm arguing with a mermaid about mermaids being impossible."

"There is that," she said, with a little shrug of the hands.

He didn't speak like a fisherman, and though he was deeply tanned his skin wasn't weathered. So who and what was he? College professor seemed a good bet, though had her own teachers looked like him she would certainly have paid more attention.

"But you...I mean this isn't...isn't—" With an almost audible snap the man closed his mouth. He opened it twice as though to say something, only to subside, all the while slowly shaking his head.

Seeming to reach a decision, he took a deep breath and blew it out, forcefully, then pointed toward the stern. "Meet me back there. I can't..." He stopped and showed both palms in a wait gesture before continuing with, "Meet me back there."

Not "will you." Not "Please." Just an order to meet him. So like a man to assume his word was law. She rejected the impulse to swim away in response. Where was there to go? Under the water? The bottom was unexciting, at best—sand and seaweed stretching endlessly in all directions. Land showed on the horizon beyond the boat, a long swim away, but what could she do there without legs? Certainly, he was a better conversationalist than the fish who'd been her company till now.

She went.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 3

He was climbing onto the work platform when she surfaced, very conscious of her nudity. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice her blush. Going from the warmth of her cheeks as felt from the inside, though, he probably would.

He caught sight of her and froze, to stand that way for a moment, mouth open in surprise, which brought some consolation.

Finally, he shook his head saying, "I'll give the legends one thing...mermaids are supposed to be beautiful, and you certainly live up to your reputation."

She clamped her teeth together to keep from saying, "Really?" There weren't many men telling her that. In fact, thinking back, there had never been men bestowing such complements, the result of her decision to focus on earning a grade point average that would result in something more than a nowhere job in a nothing company. Still, being told you're beautiful is a very nice thing.

"Thank you," she finally said, wishing her breasts were not on display, and that he wasn't looking at them so fixedly. But then, with a quick shake of the head and, "I'm sorry," he turned away.

"What? Did I..." The man wasn't going to answer. He was laughing.

He waved a hand in a wait gesture, which served only to create greater confusion.

"Excuse me? Am I that funny?" Given that he'd just told her she was beautiful this made no sense. Had a new metamorphosis occurred? She moved a few feet from the platform and did a fast check. The answer was no. He was facing her again, but avoiding her eyes, his face flaming red, and he seemed to be having difficulty speaking.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "It was...well, I had a stray thought—one of those random things that have no connection with the real world. It..." He took a breath, making an indeterminate hand gesture before saying, "Well, it struck me as funny."

"Maybe it did, but it had to do with me, so what was it?"

That sobered him. He took a deep breath and said, "It's not something I can share, I'm afraid."

"Something about me and you can't share it? Since you were staring at my breasts at the time, I think it is."

He looked away for a moment, before saying, "It's not really about you, and your breasts are..." He hesitated for a second, before saying, "You're quite beautiful. But do you remember my saying that human breasts don't make sense in a seagoing creature?

"Mmm...yes?" Though it was nice to find he was impressed with her physical assets he hadn't answered the question. As she waited, she moved her hair away from her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her bare shoulders. Above, a gull was calling.

"Well, I started thinking about what might make them useful to an animal in an aquatic environment. That led to wondering if an older, or better endowed mermaid might have sagging breasts."

"And?" She wasn't sure she liked the term, "better endowed."

"And I had the thought that if you could flap them you might swim faster. I'm...I'm sorry."

Swim faster? An absurd image came to mind, perhaps the same one that had occurred to him. A snort of laughter escaped her control, and she shook her head before saying, "You're forgiven."

She waited, shaking her head. After a moment, when he said nothing, she glanced upward, shading her eyes against the sun-glare reflecting from the boat. "So now what?"

In response he came to the edge of the platform and knelt, ignoring the water sloshing through the grating as the boat rocked, saying, "If you will, I'd like to look more closely at your...uhh."

"They don't flap, and you can't touch them." Time to pull his tail a bit.

"No! I was talking about your tail. I just—" His lips thinned, and he rocked back to sit on his legs, saying, "I didn't know mermaids liked to bite." But he was smiling when he said it so she gave a knowing smile in return and raised an eyebrow a bit. He was cute, and flirting with him was fun—until her internal censors kicked in with a hard nudge.

Oh my God...why am I doing this?

Flirting led to relationships, and she had neither the time nor energy to spare for a relationship—had never _allowed_ herself to have one.

But with both of them aware that such things could lead nowhere, perhaps it was a different matter? Perhaps not. Still, it was fun.

But he wanted to assure himself that the tail was real, so she took hold of the platform and twisted her body to bring her flukes to the surface.

"Amazing," he said, leaning down and cocking his head this way and that as he studied her lower body. "I can see the interplay of muscles when you move. It's just...just amazing." He lifted a hand, stopping short of touching to say, "May I?" At her nod his fingertips descended. They were warm. With gentle strength, and brows lowered in concentration he sought for something beneath the skin, muttering, "Very like a porpoise in the surface flexibility, but very different below that." He was, obviously much more than a fisherman.

He leaned back, then, frowning down at her and lost in thought. She was about to ask what he'd found when his eyes widened and with a shout of, "Shark!" he bent to take her under the arms, coming to his feet abruptly, lifting her with him as he went.

He was _strong_. Unfortunately, he was also intensely male, and as he took a step backward, and away from the edge of the platform, she found herself against him, his sun-warmed chest pressed tightly against her own. Before she could even think about how to respond to that he lowered her a trifle, allowing her to settle onto her feet and push herself back a bit.

_Feet? I have feet?_ Pulling free, she took a step backward to allow herself a look downward, and promptly fell into the water.

_Damn!_ It solved the problem of being in a man's arms sans clothing. Except...there was a shark around. Quickly, she recovered and swam a circle to scan the area. Her tail was back, apparently appearing as she hit the water. No sign of the shark. The splash as she fell in had probably spooked it into a dash out of the area. She circled the boat, searching. Better to know where the shark was than have it know where she was. No shark, so she surfaced at the boat, intensely conscious that her tail was hanging below her, unprotected, and that the shark, should it return, might attack without warning.

"Do that again," he said, as soon as her head broke the surface.

"Do what?"

"Swim by me, moving quickly."

A surprising request. She'd expected him to ask her to grow legs.

"Why?"

"I'll explain afterward. I thought I saw something, and I want to be sure I did."

Mystified, she moved away from the boat, then turned and raced by, feeling vulnerable as she did so. Could she swim faster than a shark? Uncertain—and a race best not to run. She certainly couldn't bite them with any authority. She might have the swimming ability of a porpoise, but her biting equipment certainly wasn't in the same league.

"Well? Did you see what you hoped for?"

"I saw it, but I still don't believe it." He hesitated, before saying, "But given that you've already performed several impossible acts, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I— Oh..." His eyes narrowed, as he said, "Of course." He frowned, and his voice was cautious as he said, "What's really going on? It's obvious your people have technology far above anything to be found on Earth. What are you doing here?"

"Doing here?" She stared for a moment, uncertain of what he meant. Then understanding came. He thought her a being from another world. Seen from his point of view, what he said made sense, though, and made her view the ring she wore with new eyes. Was that what the ring was, an artifact from an alien culture? Something technological loose among the primitives and running amuck? Or had it been given as a deliberate act, part of a study of Earth's cultures? Interesting to speculate on, but fruitless, so what she said was, "I'm here because _here_ seems to be where I am." That made no sense, even to her, so she tried to clarify it with, "But as for technology, I have nothing but this, and I have no idea of what it is." She held her hand up, showing the ring.

With the hand still extended for his inspection a voice came to her mind, unasked, bringing a chill, "Never take it off, and tell no one."

_Shit. Am I about to be punished for revealing state secrets?_ She held her breath, but nothing happened, other than his pointing below her, so she put her head beneath the surface. Below them was a shark that massed at least twice what she did. As yet it was paying her no attention, but that might be subject to change at any time, and she wasn't going to wait for it to make up its mind. She was also not going to place herself in his arms a second time. Instead, using her arms, and aided by a surge of her flukes, she slid onto the platform. Her legs returned, but for the moment she lay face down on the grillwork, uncertain of what to do next. In the water lay danger. But on the boat lay...what?

From above, in a voice filled with wonder, came, "Amazing. Positively amazing." There was nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

After a moment, when she remained frozen, unable to decide on what to do next, he said, "Are you planning to lie there all day?"

"I don't have anything on."

"And this is something new?"

The man was infuriating, and the situation made her feel so _damn_ foolish.

"I wasn't human, then," she said, hating the way that sounded. Being so out of control of the situation was abhorrent. But the alternative was to throw herself back into the water and swim away, which was _not_ a good idea. Not with the shark around. While it made no sense that her fairy godmother would have changed her into shark food, was there any confidence that the shark knew that?

The sound of fingers being snapped came, followed by, "Sorry. This is a new situation for me. Give me a minute."

The boat rocked a bit as he clambered over the stern and to the deck, presumably going in search of something for her to wear. After a moment to reflect, she sat up. He'd seen her breasts and even commented on them. He'd also seen her as a naked human, albeit briefly, as she fell into the water. So what was she hiding? Besides, the grating was uncomfortable to lie on.

He was gone for nearly five minutes—long enough to move onto the boat's deck and take a seat on the stern compartment, to think over the events that had placed her on the boat. Had the woman who gave her the ring known of her future? Had her falling in the water been predictable? Or would the ring have rescued her in another way, had she not fallen? Interesting to speculate on, but again, something on which she had absolutely no data.

"You can come—" He stopped, momentarily, on catching sight of her, as if embarrassed to have caught her unclothed. Turning away before she could cover herself with her arms, he said, "Follow me. You can get dressed in my cabin. I've laid jeans and a shirt on the bed."

"Thank you." She followed him forward and up a short stair, onto a narrow section of deck that led past the boat's superstructure, then through a door and down into the main cabin, which also appeared to be his office. One wall had a rack of electronic instrumentation that looked interesting, but was for later. To the left a compact galley stretched most of the way across the cabin, with a wide shelf-like platform beyond and above, for the pilot's station. He pointed toward a door at the right of the galley, leading forward, saying, "You can dress in there and meet me on the foredeck when you've finished. The head is aft of that, on the starboard side if you need it."

"Starboard? I don't—"

"It's to the right if you're facing forward. Port is on the left." At her frown, he said, "The way to remember is that if you're at sea, you must have _left_ port."

"Ahh, left side is port side, and by a process of elimination the right side is starboard."

"Exactly." He pointed toward a doorway. "In any case, it's through that door."

"Thank you."

He made a gesture that said he might not deserve thanks, and said, "Don't thank me yet. I planned to visit the laundry tonight, because I have nothing that hasn't been worn, so..."

With little choice in the matter, she gave him a polite, "That's okay," then went into the cabin. She turned and shut the door, expecting to find him watching, but he'd already left.

She snapped the lock on the door, with a sigh of relief, then explored the cabin. Close to the bow, narrowing almost to a point at the front, and very compact, the floor space was limited to an aisle stretching forward from the door no more than eight feet. To the left a bunk, wide enough for two, formed the top of what appeared to be a built-in storage unit/closet combination. The bunk's height above the deck, and the lack of even sitting space above it, might make it difficult to get in and out, she guessed—though a step at one end would aid in that.

On the other side of the cabin a dresser filled most of the wall, with just enough room to stand between the dresser and the bed with a drawer open. Another cupboard lay forward. In all, a useful, though claustrophobic bedroom. Still, very efficient use of the available space.

The place was well worn, and had been painted an uninspired brown, but he kept it surprisingly clean. _A definite point in his favor._ Whatever else he might be, he appeared to be organized and neat about himself.

A laundry bag lay on the deck at the bow, stuffed like an oversized football.

How much of the time while she waited for his return had been spent shoving his scattered clothing into the bag? Given his gender she gave better than even odds that neatening up his laundry accounted for at least part of it.

_Okay, maybe only a half point in his favor_.

On the other hand, if he had cleaned up his scattered laundry, he was trying. And the place was clean. So either way, the scales of trust had moved a bit in the positive direction.

But time was passing, so she checked the bunk. As promised, he provided a shirt and jeans, both well worn.

He'd also provided a towel—A thoughtful touch—and a piece of rope, presumably to act as a belt, since he probably didn't own a belt that could cinch tightly enough to keep the jeans from falling to the floor.

She dried herself, then sniffed at the shirt, trying to decide if she should rinse it in seawater before putting it on. The idea of wearing something that had been sweated into, especially sweated into by someone else, was enough to bring a crawly feeling on her skin. But the shirt smelled of the outdoors, with an underlying tang that she supposed was his sweat, but which seemed oddly interesting. She sniffed again. Sexy, almost. That idea was more disturbing than the crawly feeling, which had dissipated. She should rinse it to get rid of his scent, but for reasons she could never have explained she slipped on the shirt, feeling almost as though she'd wrapped him around her, rather than something belonging to him. Did he really smell that way up close, or only when he was sweaty? She tried to recall if there had been the same scent when he lifted her against him but brought that to a stop. What in the hell was she doing? This was a line of speculation that most definitely had to be brought to a halt.

The pants were baggy and had to be rolled up at the bottom, but the rope worked well in supporting them. Finished dressing, and about to leave, a folded sheet of pale rose paper lying in a depression on the dresser top brought her to a stop. Who but a woman would choose that shade?

_A letter to him?_ She hesitated, debating the wisdom of what she was about to do.

But curiosity won out over good manners, and after a glance to verify that he wasn't peering through the porthole, she lifted the paper. The letter carried a date that said it arrived the previous week.

Dearest David:

Yesterday was a good day. A bird chose my windowsill for a perch, and he was there when I woke. I watched from my pillow, as he sang his heart out, wishing you could be here to share it.

I spent the morning doing the usual things, but in the afternoon I went to the bridal shop and finally made my decision. I can't show you a picture of the gown. That would be bad luck. But I can tell you that it's truly, truly beautiful, and I know you'll like it. But you like me in anything—or at least you lie and tell me you do, which is just as good.

I miss you terribly, sweetheart. It's not the same without you here. There's no one to tell me lies and cheat at cards. And no one to tease me, or watch out for me the way you do.

You never told me when you hope to finish your work there. Will it be long? Will you be here to help me choose the centerpieces for the tables and talk with the caterer? You know how badly I do with that sort of thing, so you have to get yourself off of that stupid boat and back home to me. 'K?

Love & Kisses

Your Jennie

She folded the letter, placing it back on the dresser, then frowned at herself in the mirror over the dresser.

You had to pry, didn't you dumbass? He's engaged to be married, and even named his boat after her.

Still, he might have made a nice prince charming. Maybe even someone to break a vow of chastity with. Certainly, from a physical point of view he made a good candidate.

About to head for the deck, a twinge of conscience brought her to a halt. Had that idea of him as a lover come before she learned he was to be married? Or was the letter a convenient excuse, a way to pretend she hadn't institutionalized the rejection of male advances? No way to tell, and this was certainly not the time or place for self-analysis—though the latter seemed the more likely of the two.

With a sigh she took a comb from the dresser, and after a quick check to be sure it was clean, headed for the deck, where she found him sitting with his back against the pilothouse, looking over the bow. With no anchor, the boat was drifting, the direction it faced set by the prevailing winds, which currently had it aimed away from the shore. The same gull, or another like it, was calling overhead. It, and the noises of the sea formed a soothing ambiance.

She sat, leaning back against the pilothouse a few feet to the side of where he rested. Better than facing him. Less confrontational. The sun lay behind the boat, leaving them in the shadow of the pilothouse, but the day was brilliant, and the light reflected from the water was warming. The air had a clean smell, and she sat for a moment, watching the gulls patrol the sky above. Finally, she pointed toward the shore. "Where are we?"

He turned his head. "You really don't know?"

"I really don't." She began to comb out her hair as a way to delay while she decided what to tell him. So far she'd been reacting to what had been happening. Time to be more in control of the situation.

Apparently, he didn't subscribe to a non-confrontation theory because he moved forward on the deck, then turned to face her more directly, sitting tailor fashion, leaning forward and pointing toward her head.

"Your hair has been styled."

"And?"

"And they don't have hairdressers in the sea. At least not hairdressers indulging in the styles popular on land this year. Besides, hair is another thing that makes no sense in an aquatic creature. Fur, maybe, for insulation, but not hair of the kind you have."

It might be nice if he wasn't so damn smart.

Obviously, he was right, so she continued working on her hair. Perhaps, he had a hair dryer and enough fresh water to wash out the salt? If not, it would end up frizzy.

Finally, he said, "Do I at least get your name?"

Not an unreasonable request, so she said, "I'm Ann Nan."

"You're kidding me. No mother would do that to a child."

"Mine did. She named me Annabelle Corey Nan, but that's scarcely an improvement, and she called me Ann...as did everyone else. So you can skip Ann-nan-nanny and Banana Ana, and all the rest of that crap...forever, if you don't mind."

He stared, mouth open and head slowly shaking in negation, before he extended a hand and ventured, "You...you _are_ real."

"Of course I'm real."

"No, I mean you're from here...from the Earth. No one who hadn't been through such baiting would say that about their name...or even know about it." He waved his extended hand in confusion. "Can you tell me anything at all? Like why you're here on my boat?" Before she could respond he added, "And don't tell me I invited you on board, or that the shark frightened you. I mean why you're here in this little chunk of ocean, and why you popped out of the water at the exact spot I was watching. _That_ was no accident."

It wasn't, and he was too damn good at picking up on clues. Satisfied that her hair was free of tangles she put the comb aside, saying, "Do I get _your_ name? And do I find out why you happen to be drifting through this little chunk of ocean? Do you have an engine problem?"

"Fair exchange. Quid pro quid." Something for something. He expected an answer to his questions first.

She nodded. "Fair exchange, then. Quid pro quid means I get _your_ name."

That brought a quick smile, and an extended hand. "Fair exchange. Hello, Ann Nan. I'm David Nan."

"You're kidding." His expression said he wasn't. Had her fairy godmother directed her here as a cosmic joke?

He shrugged, and dropped his hand. "Maybe we're related. Did your grandparents come from Iceland?"

"No. What are you searching for out here?"

He got up and walked to the railing, staring at the horizon and leaning his hands on the rail. "I'm searching for a little security. Maybe a fragment of hope." He said no more for a time, then turned to lean against the railing, saying, "Your turn."

"Ask."

"Ask hell. You know what I want. Stop playing games."

He was right. She _was_ delaying. Why? Afraid that if she told him the truth he'd declare her insane? Afraid she'd find herself back in the frozen waters of the harbor, lungs filled with water, dreaming all this as she drifted toward death?

He was already opening his mouth to speak when she pushed fear aside and said, "I'm an engineer...or at least I was. But my company folded, and I've been out of work for almost ten months."

His mouth turned down. "That's tough."

"Worse than tough. My unemployment ran out almost three months ago, and I haven't been able to find work anywhere—even flipping burgers. Last night I was evicted from my apartment."

"Family?"

"Dead. My parents died in a fire six years ago, just as I went into college. No other family that I know of."

"But how about—"

"How about there being no jobs to be had because of this damn depression?" She suppressed a flash of anger. He wasn't prying, he was trying to be helpful, but his questions reminded her that she'd been unable to solve the problem of providing herself with food and shelter.

He thought for a moment before saying, "Savings?"

She shook her head. The mention of flipping burgers set her to hoping he had food aboard. Now that she could finally relax, her stomach was shouting that it'd been more than a day since she last ate. But how could she ask for a meal without seeming to be taking advantage of him? She sighed, then closed her eyes as she said, "One day I was a project manager with five people working under me. The next, I was on the street, along with almost everyone else. Bang, and it was gone." And with the telling, the emptiness that had enveloped her on the previous night settled around her. She might be out of the water, and certainly, life had taken a crazy turn, but the future looked no less bleak than it had then.

"Life can be a real bitch." Something in his voice brought her eyes open, along with speculation on what had made him say that with such intensity.

"Tell me about it. Someone on Wall Street yawns and my job is gone."

"No warning? No rumors?"

Dwelling on the past accomplished nothing, so she waved that away, saying "Your turn."

He studied her for a moment, as if he might be going to refuse, and demand she finish her story first. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. David Nan, Age thirty-one. Profession: marine biologist, though at the moment I'm on sabbatical. I was working out of Woods Hole and loving every minute of it. But then Jennie got sick. She's—"

"The Jennie the boat is named for?"

"That's her."

"You really love her."

"Oh yeah." He rubbed his forehead with fingertips, shaking his head, a grin on his lips—as though the question had reminded him of a happy memory.

"Do I love Jennie?" His eyes met hers over his fingertips and he gave a rueful little chuckle. "Hell, yes I love her. More than that, I adore that lady. Have since the first day I saw her. She's the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" This was getting interesting.

He straightened, pushing away from the rail, before saying, "Wait," and hurrying around the pilothouse, presumably to get a picture. Silence for a time, then a quiet whirring noise, as an unknown device ran for a few seconds. Several minutes later he returned, carrying two glasses filled with what looked like orange juice, saying, "Thirsty?"

"Very, thank you," she said, getting to her feet. She took the proffered glass and lifted it in thank you, then took a took a sip.

"Wow...this is _good_. Smooth, bubbly..." She inspected the juice before saying, "I heard something running. What did you do to it?

"I deserve no credit," he said, raising his glass in a return toast. "I open the can of concentrate, add water, and whir it in the blender to add froth. It's a trick my mom taught me."

He took a large envelope from where he'd been carrying it, under his arm. Then, faced with the problem of opening it with his other hand occupied with the glass, he handed his orange juice to her. That freed him to search through the pictures in the envelope, and he extracted a portrait-sized shot of a dark, intense looking woman with jet-black hair and cheekbones she'd cheerfully kill for.

"She's beautiful. Is she a model?"

"Was," he said, smile fading. "She had a great future."

"Had?"

He gave a sharp sigh. "She has MS."

"Shit." She turned away, not wanting him to see her face as an image of Susan at the end, came to mind. Though there were various degrees of the disease and how quickly it progressed, based on the way David had spoken its name, Jennie could probably expect the same.

"Shit is right. As if that weren't bad enough, she was traveling so often she lost track and forgot to pay her medical insurance. She was in Italy when they diagnosed it, and medical costs have eaten up everything she had, and then some."

"And the wedding she's planning?" She turned back to face him "I...forgive me, David, but I saw the letter on your dresser. I wasn't sure of who you were, or your past, so I—"

He waved that away. "It's okay. She's been talking about that a lot lately, and..." He bit his lip. It was, obviously, a painful subject for him. He gave a little nod that might have meant anything, and his voice was stronger and more decisive as he said, " _Nothing_ is going to come between that lady and whatever chance for happiness she may have. Not if I can help it."

She digested that for a time. As bad as she might have thought life was, others were having a worse time of it. Good to remember that, because it put things into perspective.

She waved a hand to include both him and the boat, nearly spilling the orange juice. She lowered the level of liquid in the glass before saying, "So how did you end up here? I assume you're searching for treasure."

He grinned. "Smart as well as beautiful. How nice.... Yes, I'm searching for the wreck of the Three Kings. The ship was what they called a naos, a merchant ship, part of a convoy carrying gold to Spain, and went down in a storm. It's the usual story. The ship was overloaded and couldn't handle the unexpected."

"So why hasn't it been found before this?" Perhaps he was interested in a partner capable of making a personal inspection of the sea-bottom? Then she remembered the shark.

He shifted position, looking uncomfortable. Finally, he slipped the picture back into the envelope, took his orange juice, and began studying the horizon as he drank, thoughts unknown.

Finally, he said, "It happened within swimming distance of land, during daylight. It wasn't all that big a storm, but the ship hit something, maybe a floating log, maybe coral." He shrugged. "Maybe anything.... In any case, it began taking on water. A short time later the crew abandoned ship, against the captain's orders. Most survived. The captain later claimed that his crew _caused_ the sinking by deserting the ship with no valid reason to have done so. The men claimed the water was coming in faster than the pumps could handle it. But according to the captain, the leak was under control, and it would have been a simple matter to beach the ship, as he ordered, to repair the hull."

"Was he right?"

"Who knows? Whatever the reason, my belief is that the ship didn't sink. At least it didn't sink where they abandoned it, which was much closer inshore."

She sat up straighter. "So that's why you're drifting. You started where the ship was abandoned, and you're hoping the currents will carry you to wherever the ship actually went down. Very clever. I assume there's a magnetometer in operation down in the cabin." She suppressed the urge to hurry into the cabin to see what kind of instrumentation he had.

"As we speak," he said, grinning.

He waved a hand in her direction. "Your turn, again. How long have you been able to do the fish thing?"

"What time is it?"

"Huh?"

"What time is it, and what time zone are we in?"

He nodded, then pointed toward the shoreline. "That's Mayana. We're in Southern Florida...western shore and it's..." He checked his watch. "...ten of eight."

"Mmm...I'd guess it's been about three hours now." Adding up the time she'd been on the boat and the time she guestimated she'd spent learning to swim yielded the three hours she told him. Allowing for that, and the three-hour change to West Coast time, it said her fall into the water took place at two in the morning. That matched the actual time of her fall, which meant the transition from the harbor to these waters took place in the blink of an eye. That was reassuring, though she wasn't certain of why.

"Three hours." His voice was flat and disbelieving.

"Three hours ago I fell off a pier wearing this." She held out the ring. "I died, and ended up here."

His expression, and the snort of derision that remark provoked provided his opinion of that, and that probably wouldn't change if she told him the whole story. But maybe if she did it would clarify things in her own mind. She finished the juice and put it aside, on the deck by the pilothouse, then started with her eviction from the apartment. He was an attentive audience.

"And you can breathe air underwater? That makes no sense."

That brought a laugh. "David, my _tail_ doesn't make any sense. My zapping from a harbor in Washington State to the ocean here makes no sense. After that what's a little thing like being able to breathe underwater?" She held back the exact location of her demise, but couldn't explain exactly why. Perhaps it was a matter of trust.

"Well..." He shook his head rejecting that. "No. It's not a little thing. It's a big thing because it's flatly impossible."

"And my tail isn't?"

He laughed. "I guess that's a big one too. But if you breathe as easily at depth as at the surface it's a big thing, because the air has to be at the same pressure as the water—which means it's either pumped from the surface or...or..." He waved a hand in frustration.

"Or?"

"Or it just appears as you breathe, created as you need it. I find that more frightening than the change itself, because it implies moment to moment supervision of what's happening." He pushed himself away from the rail, retrieved the empty juice glass, and headed past the pilothouse, motioning for her to follow.

"What? I—"

"This is all I can handle at one time, so I'm going to make us breakfast while my brain comes out of overload mode. Your choice is eggs or hotcakes, though I do have fruit in the fridge if you prefer that."

"Eggs sound good. Thank you." Both eggs _and_ a stack of hotcakes sounded better, but best not to seem too greedy—especially since it appeared that he would provide lunch, as well.

Thankfully, he said, "What with all that swimming, it might be a good idea to have a big breakfast. I was in the mood for hotcakes, so I'll make both. Scrambled? Or I can make you Blind Tom, to soak into the hotcakes."

She followed him through the hatch, saying, "I'll bite, what's Blind Tom?"

A grin warmed his voice as he bent to root in a cabinet to search for something.

"It's really called steam-basted eggs, I think—at least that's what someone once told me. My father taught me the technique."

He stood, holding a frying pan. "You make the pan hot, to the point where the butter is just beginning to smoke. That's for flavor. Then you add eggs as you would for sunny side up. After that, you add a bit of crushed ice next to the egg and cover the pan so the top of the egg steams as the bottom fries."

"Ice?"

"It doesn't all boil away at once, so the steam continues as the egg fries. That way you don't have to turn them over, and maybe break the yoke. It puts a white film over the yoke, though, and I suppose that's why dad called it Blind Tom." He laughed. "Though I have no idea of who Tom was. He also called them eggs of great violence because the butter really spatters against the lid, in response to the ice."

She made a "what the hell," gesture of the hands and said, "Blind Tom of great violence sounds interesting. And since this seems to be a day of firsts for me, go for it."

He pointed toward what looked very like a restaurant booth, built into one corner of the main cabin, saying, "Sit. This will take a few minutes. Tell me about your past. You said you were born in Washington State."

"What?" She stopped, with a bite of hotcake poised on her fork. "Do I have something on my face?" He was staring again.

He looked away, his cheeks red. After a moment he said, "No. Your face is...I just..." He waved his free hand in indecision, then deliberately took a bite of hotcake and chewed it before saying, "I'm sorry. I know I was staring again. It's..." He blew out a long sigh, before finishing with, "I find myself about to say something and then I remember who you are, and what you are, and how you got on the boat. And that...well it blows my mind every time it happens."

His words served to remind her, too, but the events of last night and the aftermath, before she changed back to herself, were something best put out of mind, at least until later, because she had no answers and no prospect of getting answers, she changed the subject, with "You had me swim by you before I got on the boat. What were you looking for?"

"Huh? Oh, I wanted to see your arms change to fins. I nearly forgot, but I wanted to ask if you controlled that or if it was automatic."

"My arms change to _fins?_ I..." His words explained something she'd wondered about. When swimming at high speed she assumed she was unable move her arms due to the pressure of the water rushing by, but this explained why she could use only fingertips. Apparently, they weren't fingertips. At least not then.

"Then...you didn't know?"

"I knew something was going on, but not what. It makes a weird kind of sense, I suppose, to make me more streamlined, but this gets more and more strange, by the second."

"Agreed."

"Look, David...can we not talk about this for a while? I need time to get a little more..." More what? Comfortable? She hesitated, trying to come up with something that fit a little better. Finally, she shrugged and said. "I need to get used to all this and...well, I'm kind of hoping I'll wake up and find this was a dream. So tell me what you do all day, instead. Surely you don't just stare at the sea." He couldn't know she'd seen him doing that, so she added, "I saw the boat, earlier, and came over, wondering why you were drifting. You were staring at the surface and demanding that someone show themself. That ship, I assume. But..." She spread her hands in an, "I don't think that's going to work," gesture.

That brought a grin, and, "Are you finished with the plate?"

She nodded and passed it to him, after using the final bite of hotcake to wipe up the last of the egg, pleased that it came out even. Hopefully, he didn't think her a pig, but that breakfast was positively wonderful, and went a long way toward lowering the clamoring of her stomach for food. He took their plates to the sink, then pointed toward her coffee cup saying, "Bring that and I'll show you. But let me put in a vote that this isn't a dream, because that would play hell with my life...unless it's my dream, of course."

Taking his own cup he led her to the bank of equipment she'd been wondering about and opened a laptop computer secured to a table there.

"This is my readout." He woke the laptop and brought an image to the screen. "And this is the track of the night's drift." The screen showed a nearly flat line, with several small bumps and one large one. "These lumps represent magnetometer abnormalities, which are usually concentrations of metal on the sea floor."

"And the big one? Is that a possible ship?"

"A barge or two, I'd guess. They take the older ones and sink them to make fish shelters for the party-boat fishing fleet. It's a bigger bump than the wreck of Three Kings would show. I'll check it, though, because it could be right over the wreck I'm seeking. That's happened before."

"And the little ones?"

"Junk, probably. There's a lot down there. I'd expect the Kings to be between the two, in size, and maybe spread out more." He tapped a key, changing to another screen—this one showing lines of text. He pointed, saying, "This is the same data with coordinates from the GPS system for each bump. I use the coordinates to locate the spots shown so I can check them out." He keyed again and his printer began to produce a sheet of paper, with data matching that of the screen. He closed the laptop and carried the paper to the pilot's seat, where he placed it into a clipboard before bringing the engines to rumbling life.

"So you dive on a spot that looks good?" she called. The engines were anything but quiet.

"Yes." He pointed to his control panel. "My GPS will put me within a few-dozen feet of the point, and the magnetometer readout here at the wheel gets me pretty well over it. I have a camera I can lower, but if it looks good I'll inspect it personally."

"But nothing so far?"

"Well, I've found two ships from the period." Before she could respond he waved a hand in dismissal. "Not worth salvaging. As far as, The Three Kings, though, nothing." He pushed a lever, probably the gearshift, because a clunk came from under the deck, and in response, the boat began to ease forward. "Engines coming up," he called, before pushing the throttles away from their stops. The rumble became a roar, and the boat began to cut through the water. When she asked, he said they were doing eight knots—the boat's cruising speed. Certainly not a speedboat. At his called suggestion, she left the cabin and went forward, to sit against the pilothouse as she'd been doing earlier. A relaxing ride, but she was painfully conscious that he was watching her through the window.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 4

"So you didn't follow the path you drifted last night?" With the anchor down the boat was rolling a lot more than when drifting free. The breeze had it at an angle to the waves, which made for an unpleasant ride. Hopefully, a bout of seasickness wasn't in her future, though the idea of a seasick mermaid did bring a smile.

"No, I try to parallel the drift track a bit to one side, so I can scan on a new section of the seafloor as I go. That way I check what I see during the day and visit the interesting sites from the night before. I'm really drifting because I have to sleep, and can't run under power with no one at the helm."

"Ahh. I wondered about that."

"You did? Good. It's nice to talk to someone who has intellectual curiosity. In reality, the chance of my following the path the ship took is pretty slim. The currents aren't likely to be the same today as they were at the time the ship sank—nor the winds."

"So drifting gets you extra search time. But isn't that dangerous? You could hit a reef, or run into...well, Florida."

"Could happen, I suppose, but my instruments should wake me if the bottom gets too shallow, or if I'm about to hit something, or be run over. And remember, I pretty much know where I'll be going, because I have weather and ocean-current data."

She didn't have his faith, but he was the expert, so she pointed toward the water, saying, "Is this something from last night's drift?"

"No. What I'm checking now is something that popped up on the screen a few minutes ago." He was carrying a video camera, mounted within a clear plastic box, to the rail, where he attached it to a winch. A second spool on the winch was wrapped with electrical cable, which she assumed was both power and signal to the camera. The sea had turned from the gentle rise and fall of when she boarded, to swells of three feet or more, setting the boat to moving, strongly. But he seemed not to notice, his movements precise and effective.

The freshening breeze toyed with her hair. Perhaps a storm on the way? But the day was still clear, so weather was worry for later, if at all. Certainly, a shipwreck would be more an inconvenience than a danger.

"What did you see that made you stop here? Something big or another of the little ones?"

"Something between," he said, as he swung the hoist-arm out over the rail. He flipped a switch on the winch box, then moved a small lever. The camera began to move, but stopped before reaching the water. He muttered under his breath, and used the controls to move the camera upward, then back down. It got no further the second time.

"Problems?" He appeared to be trying to make it work by glaring at it, without much success.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, with a sigh. "The winch is old, and the brake release is probably sticking, again. I'll have to pull it apart and see." He moved the camera upward, and swung the hoist-arm back inboard as he said, "But not while the boat's moving like this. Screws tend to roll away and get lost if you drop them, so I'll do it when we get to the dock."

"So the day is a loss?"

He shrugged, then grunted as he carried the camera back to its storage locker. "Not really," he called, the upper half of his body in the locker. "I'll parallel last night's path and get more data. I'd have liked to get a look at this one, though. It seemed about right, so far as metal content."

She stared at nothing for a time, thinking, before nodding and saying, "Okay. You talked me into it. I'll be your eyes, if you'll tell me what to look for."

"You're serious? I was hoping you would, but I didn't want to ask."

"I'm serious." Tempting the local sharks might also be indulging in foolishness. But of what use was a mermaid out of the water?

Apparently, he saw the danger too, because he said, "There could be sharks. That's part of why I didn't ask." His voice seemed bit tentative, as though he was concerned, but also concerned he might talk her out of what she was suggesting.

"I know," she said, after a moment of hesitation. "About the sharks, I mean. But does it make any sense to be a mermaid who's afraid of the sea? I should be able to keep away from a shark and get to the boat if I need to." She waved a hand in question as she said, "You're more of an expert than I am on this. Are sharks going to attack me on sight?"

He hesitated before speaking, and sucked on his lip before saying, "Probably not. In general, sharks will go after what they see as food. It's been said that they swim, they eat, and they make baby sharks, and that's it. But they do seem to show curiosity, and sometimes even to play. I'd guess that if you don't look like prey, and you aren't at the surface dangling your tail at them like a wounded fish, you should be okay—especially if you treat them with respect and keep out of their way."

That tipped the scales in favor of giving it a try. He needed her help, and it would demonstrate that she really had been able to make the change to mermaid form. That seemed almost a distant memory, and the time on the boat with him served to bring a feeling of normality. Time to become abnormal again.

"Stay where you are and don't look," she called, as she headed toward the stern.

"Scout's honor."

She hoped he meant it. After watching his unmoving back for a moment, she climbed over the stern and onto the work platform, holding onto the stern railing as her legs plunged in and out of the water with the boat's pitching. She removed the shirt, but then remembered that while she'd agreed to look, he'd not told her what to look for.

"Don't turn around," she called. "But tell me what I need to look for."

Whatever he said was carried away by the wind and the sea noise, so she sighed and held the shirt against her, then told him he could turn around.

His eyebrows raised and he smiled, then said, "Look for something buried in the sand that looks like the remains of a boat. After all this time not much other than the ribs will be left, so anything that looks like parallel lumps in the sand is a clue. Anything unusual is fair game, though." She turned, tossed the shirt toward the deck, and was about to dive in when he added, "If it will help, I can give you a shovel, or a rod to probe with."

"Later, if I need it." With that she dove, holding her breath until she reassured herself she was once more a mermaid.

The bottom was a flat expanse of sand, matching what she'd seen when she first found herself in the sea. To one side, a sizeable growth of coral spread, the many types giving the impression of someone's underwater garden. Pretty. How was it possible that she could see more clearly, and over greater distance, than a human swimming without a facemask? Another thing to ask David about—perhaps something to have him check on. The only thing that made sense was that her eyes changed when she went under the water, because above the surface vision was as it always had been.

Yet another mystery.

Unfortunately, no mystery about what had brought her to the sea-bottom. To her right a worn old boat lay upside down but undamaged, obviously a recent addition to the sea floor. The name, Luz De La Estrellas, or starlight, was painted on the stern. A grand name for such an ignoble fate. The wreck was probably that of a boat escaping Cuba, or coming from Haiti.

The idea that there might still be people aboard, killed in the storm that sent it to the bottom, brought a shiver. She moved away, to take a look at the coral. It was an extensive growth, with a fair amount of sea life taking shelter there. Two in particular attracted her attention. Following David's advice not to come in contact with the coral, she picked up the two rock lobsters and carried them toward the surface.

"No luck," she called, breaking surface near the boat. "It's a recent wreck, and probably not worth salvaging. But I found these. Do you like lobster?"

That brought a smile. "Do I like lobsters? Hell yes, I like lobsters. Wait till I get a net and you can drop them in. Easier than trying to get aboard carrying them."

He headed into the cabin, returning with the promised net. Then, while he went to store them, she headed for the stern and got out of the water. Thankfully, she was able to dress before he returned, though the time was long enough that she suspected he was being polite.

"Wait a minute, Ann. I want to try something."

Poised to enter the water she paused. "Yes?"

"Leave the shirt on this time. I want to find out what happens when you go into the water wearing one. If it keeps you from changing that might be useful to know."

She shook her head. "That's not how it works. When I fell into the water I was bundled up against temperatures that were below freezing, and you saw how was dressed when I got here. I have no idea of where my clothes went, but they...well, they went."

"Oh..." He shrugged, spreading his hands as he said, "Well, try it anyway, I'll risk the shirt, and who knows, maybe the rules are different if you're going into the water because you want to. Maybe the shirt will reappear when you come back on the board."

She hesitated, thinking. The tail came and went, why not a shirt? None of it made sense, so what's another impossibility in a day filled with impossibilities? In fact, were the shirt to come back when she left the water it would certainly make things easier, because it was long enough to act as a short skirt by itself, making the jeans not strictly necessary—though after the fifth time she appeared nude in front of him she stopped blushing. After the ninth she was surprised to note that she was no longer worried that he might be peeking. An odd, and unexpected, notion.

But yes, risking the shirt to find out what happened made sense. As she turned toward the water, she reflected that he thought like an engineer. Or perhaps she thought like a scientist. Either way the idea was interesting.

To her surprise, though she changed form on entering and leaving the water, the shirt remained a shirt. The rules for what was happening, were, as always, decidedly opaque.

° ° °

Docking was interesting, and showed off his piloting skills. He was quite good at handling the boat, and managed to bring them into the slip and secure the boat without assistance, which was impressive. It might have been a lot more difficult had the wind not died to a gentle breeze when they got inshore, but still, he was a competent seaman. The problem was that now, with the boat secured, the world had intruded. She was in Florida, with no money, no clothing except for his jeans and shirt, and no job. Options were limited, beginning with where she could stay tonight. His bed wasn't a possibility, even had he not been engaged.

"Let's go."

"What?" She controlled the shock his words brought. So wrapped in her own concerns that she wasn't paying attention, he'd come up behind her without her noticing.

Apparently, he saw her reaction, because he said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." He stepped onto the dock, and turned back to extend a hand to her, to help her do the same, Repeating, "Let's go."

Automatically, she took his hand and stepped from the boat to the dock. "Go? Go where?" It was after five in the afternoon, and the winter sun was nearly to the trees on the western horizon.

He held up the laundry bag he'd apparently picked up after securing the boat and killing the engines. "We have to run this through the laundry if you and I are to appear in polite company. We also have to get you something to put on your feet and something to, umm...wear under the jeans."

"I can't pay you back, David. I can't even—"

"And?" He was smiling.

"And it's not the kind of thing I do. I appreciate the offer, but I don't take charity." She'd been about to, before her fairy godmother stepped in, but best not to mention that.

"It's not charity."

The man was infuriating. Couldn't he hear? She put hands to hips, and tried to keep her voice level as she said, "David...I just told you. I can't pay you back. I have nothing left but my PowerBook and that's three thousand miles away." She didn't bother adding that the computer was in her landlady's basement, and unavailable even were she on that coast.

"Of course you can pay me back," he said, unmoved by her words. He didn't even lose that damn grin. If anything, it got wider, as though he was laughing at her. Infuriating.

"But..."

He stopped her with a finger to her nose, saying "Aside from anything else, I owe you wages for your help today. Remember? And before you tell me it was nothing, I got two days work done with your help, so it counts. I owe you dinner, at the least. And...if you want to hire on as crew the job is yours. I can't pay a lot, but I _can_ pay you, because you're saving me real money. And that may help you get back on your feet." He held up a hand, palm out, saying, "Treat it as a straightforward business deal. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. No strings, and no pressure, but the job is yours. Besides, I absolutely _have_ to find out how this mermaid thing is going to go...from a marine biologist's point of view, of course."

"Of course." That brought a smile. In his place she would probably have felt the same. Working for him was an interesting idea, too, though she wasn't sure about being around him full time. He was too damn male. With that came the urge to sniff at her shirt—his shirt, in reality—but she cut off that line of thought, quickly. Definitely too damn male, and far too handsome.

"Okay. So that's settled and we can go. We'll talk more in the car, okay?"

".... Okay."

"So what now?" she asked, as they drove out of the marina, crushed coral crunching under the tires. The general area appeared rural, but the marina itself was modern, and of good size, with dozens of large boats docked there—expensive boats—raising the question of how big a town Mayana was.

"Now we drop my laundry in the washing machine. After that we get you something to wear while it twirls." He stopped at the end of the driveway and waited for a truck to pass before easing his ancient Subaru onto the highway.

"And then?"

He looked over at her, quizzically. "What are you really asking me, Ann? I'm not terribly good with woman-speak."

She took a deep breath. "I was wondering what happens later tonight."

He was silent for a long time. Thinking or just concentrating on his driving? No way to tell without asking, so she elected to wait.

Apparently Mayana was a fair sized town, because they passed a large shopping mall, and were now passing side streets that led to what appeared to be housing developments of some size. The road, too, had changed from blacktop with dirt shoulders to paving that included gutters and curbs.

"There's a self service laundry about five minutes further on, but the mall we passed is where we'll go shopping for your things."

"I don't get an answer to my question, then?"

"You get an answer, just let me think about it. I assume you're asking if you can expect me to make a pass...among other things."

"That too, I suppose."

He was silent for several minutes, before he said, "I take it a pass is a no-no?" His raised eyebrows said he didn't take the question as seriously as an engaged man should, which didn't track, given his behavior so far.

In the interest of diplomacy she said, "It might not be if you were available, but you're not, and I don't poach on other women's territory." Diplomatically, she didn't tell him that the very idea of his suggesting they get better acquainted, while engaged to another woman, lowered her opinion of him and strengthened her resolve to keep away from the opposite sex, so far as romance was concerned.

He went silent for a moment, forehead furrowed, before he said, "I must have missed something, Ann. When did I become unavailable?"

Was he so casual about his attachment to Jennie that he truly believed in "out of sight, out of mind?" Unable to keep an edge from her voice she said, "You became unavailable, so far as I'm concerned, the moment you asked Jennie to marry you. Did that little detail slip your mind?"

He laughed. "Small problem with that. I'm not engaged to Jennie. Never was, and never can be."

"But you said...I mean she talked about a wedding in the letter. And you told me..." She shook her head. "What? What did I miss?" Damn him, he was _laughing_ at her.

He looked over at her, grinning. "Ann...Jen is my sister."

"Oh." She _hated_ looking like an idiot. Positively hated it.

Trying to salvage something, and demonstrate a _little_ intelligence, she said, "She's actually your half-sister, I assume. Same mother or same dad?" The difference between them, visually, was too great for a full sibling relationship. He was fair and slim, with a Nordic look about him, and she was dark and curvaceous—obviously a different genome type. Not a chance they could share the same parents.

"Same everything, as far as I know. Though I have to take my mother's word for that. Could be the letter carrier was friendlier than I thought, I suppose."

Infuriating. And the man did it deliberately.

"But you and Jennie are so...so different. She's dark, and you're fair. She's—"

"She's _so_ different from me. I've heard it before. She's also five-feet six to my five-feet fifteen."

"Well..." Somehow her foot was in her mouth, again. And he was pushing it down her throat.

"Sometimes you look like the mommy," he said, as though talking to a child. "And sometimes you look like the daddy. And sometimes you even come out looking like great grandfather Sven, who jumped ship in Atlanta one rainy night in the last century. Genetics can be funny that way."

It hurt to admit it, but he was right...again. She'd tried to be so damn smart about his parentage, rather than asking, and had virtually waved that foot in front of her face, asking him to push it down her gullet. _Damn and double damn_.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I jumped to a conclusion, and I should know better." And she should have. But nothing was going right. He confused her. Something about him brought out a sense of competitiveness, yet kept her off balance at the same time, so she kept tripping over her own foolishness.

Her apology brought another grin and a shrug. "It's happened lots of times when people see us together. It's no big deal." He waved a hand, and glanced over at her, a little boy grin on his face as he said, "So.... You said you'd be interested if I was free. And I _do_ happen to be free. Can I take it that you—"

"No!" _Damn. Why did I have to say that so forcefully?_ Was she unable to do even the smallest thing right? It certainly seemed so.

That brought a sharp look, and silence till they reached the laundry, in a tiny local shopping center. She had the door part way open when he touched her arm and said, "Wait. We have to resolve this."

She pulled the door shut and leaned against it, keeping as much distance between them as possible. His hand on her arm made her jerk, as though at an electric shock, and his touch was warmer than the heat of the day could justify.

Dusk was casting shadows, and the day had a softness to it at odds with her mood. Birds were calling and kids playing in the distance. It should have been a pleasant time, but for no reason at all sadness came, as though she'd lost a friend. Perhaps she had.

"I'm sorry, David," she began. But he let her get no further. He touched her hand again. Again she jumped. Hopefully, he hadn't seen. Shadows did nice things to his features, she noted, before rejecting the thought.

For a long moment he said nothing, then took a deep breath, loud in the confines of the small car, before he said, "I don't know what it is about me that sets you off, but I don't mean to be a threat."

"It's not you."

"Then what? Help me understand. Since we hit the dock you've been acting like..." He sighed. "Are you afraid of me? Because there's no reason for that. Jennie made sure I'm housebroken, so far as behaving like a caveman where women are concerned. And daddy would—"

"It's not that."

"Mmm? It's not me, it's not fear...we're running out of things for it to be, Ann. It's not the mermaid thing because that didn't change with the docking. You could spend the rest of your life out of the water and that ceases to be a problem. Be like the sailor who wanted to retire from the sea. He put an oar on his shoulder and kept on walking inland till someone asked him what that damn thing on his shoulder was. You could do that."

She shook her head, rejecting his attempt to lighten the atmosphere, unsure of why. Had the ring short-circuited her brain? Had he? If only there was somewhere to go, a place where she could be alone to think. But he was going on, so she dropped the mood of self-pity to focus on his words.

"I thought it started when I offered you the job, or maybe when I mentioned shopping for clothing. But that's not it. I'm guessing it began when you realized that you had no choice but to stay on the boat with me, for now."

He was damn close to being dead-on right, but she wasn't about to let him know that, so she said, "I hate having to depend on someone else for things I should be able to provide. That and this change thing has me on edge. That's all. Can you blame me?"

He stared for a long time—an unnervingly long time, before he opened his door and said, "This is going to take a while. Let me get the washing machine started. I'll be back."

"So you hate depending on others." They were nearly at the mall, and her stomach was complaining again. The sandwiches he made them for lunch should have kept her stomach happy, but the work of swimming apparently took more fuel than walking. Given what she'd said about not needing anyone, asking him to advance the money for food wasn't an option. Instead, she said, "I've always been that way. I can pretty much do everything for myself. If you depend on other people you're subject to their whims, and their memory, and their screw-ups."

"Yet in the end you need other people as much as I do."

"No. Not in the way I mean. Sometimes you need people to help with something you can't do yourself, like building a house, but aside from that they distract you from what's important."

_Damn. Why did I say that?_ He'd react to it, certainly. But it was true, and something to live by all through school, and through the past few years at the company.

He pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition. "You need _me_."

"Agreed, but that's because I was thrust into a situation where I lost everything, including the clothes I was wearing. I fully intend to pay you back."

He shrugged, leaning against his door. "Don't. I forgive any cash debt. It's only for lunch and breakfast, anyway. Just walk away and prove you don't need anyone, if you feel that strongly."

"What?" He was, clearly, out of his mind.

"Do it. You don't need anyone. And you can get along by yourself. So prove it, to me and to the world. I bother you. That's obvious. You hate to be in my debt. That's also obvious. Take yourself away from me, then, since I annoy you that much. Just..." He waved a hand, as he said, "Just walk away."

Angrily, she opened the door, saying, "Okay...if that's the way you want it you have your wish. Thank you for the ride."

Halfway out of the seat, he stopped her with, "You're forgetting something." When she held out her hands in question, he pointed, "I said cash debt. My jeans and shirt, if you don't mind."

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 5

She stared. "You're not serious."

"Very."

"I..." Take off her clothes and walk away? Where to? She was in the middle of a public parking lot. Impossible. _He_ was impossible, but she was left with no words to tell him so, his remark was so outrageous. He, though, wasn't finished.

"You're trying to prove you don't need me, so why take the things you got from me? Are you saying you needed me, before, but now you don't because you got what you wanted? Is that what not needing people is about...using them, then discarding them?"

"Stop playing with me!" Now it was word games and an attempt to humiliate her.

_Damn him. Damn that shaking head and that tolerant expression. Damn him to hell._ She fought back tears of frustration. He would _not_ see tears.

"You okay, Miss?" A young couple, the woman wheeling a baby-carriage, the man burdened with packages, stood at the rear bumper, apparently stopping on the way out of the mall. They had probably seen what appeared to be an argument and had stopped to help.

She forced a smile. "It's okay, we're just arguing politics, as usual." Left with no choice she got back into the car and closed the door—back where she started. It might be nice to pretend she did it to relieve the couple's suspicions, but in reality it was an excuse to get back into the car and try to make some sense out of what was happening. At some unknown point the conversation had taken a bad turn, and somehow, she'd been powerless to stop its progression toward anger. But where? And of more importance, why?

"I'm not threatening you," he said quietly. "I was trying to show that you do need people, and that it's okay to do that. If I _had_ been giving you a problem, and you truly needed help, suppose that man had said, 'She doesn't need me. She can take care of herself.' "

She didn't want to fight, so she said, "Where do I sleep tonight?"

"Shit!" He let his hands fall into his lap. "Is _that_ what this is about? You were afraid I was going to drag you into my bunk? Ann, you sleep in the aft stateroom, of course. Didn't you look in there? It's bigger than my cabin, but I don't like the way the wake slaps at the stern when other boats pass the marina, so I usually sleep where you got dressed. But you can have that one if you like."

She bowed her head. Stupid again.

The man has a positive talent for making me feel stupid.

Ann hesitated before lifting the blouse from the rack. She'd agreed to four changes of clothing, at his suggestion, all casual things for use on either the boat or dry land, based on his being in port often enough to get by with that number of changes. Sharing his shirts was also an option—though clean ones from now on. She wouldn't be staying on the boat any longer than necessary, but still, four seemed a reasonable number. It put her in his debt, true, but what choice did she have? The problem was that, by his expression, he'd assumed a woman's jeans and top cost close to what a man's did. He'd tried to hide it, but his eyes widened when he read the price tag on a blouse from the rack near where she was browsing. He hadn't seen her watching, or at least she didn't think he had, and now his expression was carefully neutral.

Smile while the fox gnaws at your entrails.

He was the kind to do that once he'd given his word. That much was obvious.

Footwear was still to come, a pair of sneakers for use on deck, sandals for everything else. Still, it wasn't going to be cheap, and there was a good chance that he was regretting his decision. He had volunteered, though, and made a big deal over it being nothing special, so it was his own fault. Still, would three tops be enough?

He must have seen her hesitation, because he said, "I can afford it, if that's what's worrying you." She nodded, but, based on her success in placing her foot in her mouth thus far, said nothing.

Damn the man. Now he's got me afraid to even express an opinion. Damn the man!

Sleep took its time in coming, in part because it took a while to get used to the motion of the boat, which wasn't just the slow rocking caused by action of the waves, combined with the round bottomed hull. Each time the mooring lines snubbed the boat's motion, gentle or not, she came awake.

So this night she grumped away the hours, wondering what to do—wondering what she _could_ do. Twenty-four hours ago she'd been knocking on her landlady's door, begging to be let in. Now she was lying in a trawler's bunk, a continent away from the apartment. Within that twenty-four-hour period she'd been stalked, attacked and had even died.

The less thought given to that, though, the better. She'd done a handful of impossible things. She was a mermaid, for God's sake. But now she was worried; not about what had happened to her; and not about that amazing change of form. She was worried about a man, and the effect he had on her—a man who, improbably, carried her surname. What were the odds against that?

She lay thinking for a long time without reaching any conclusion, except that she _had_ to get off the boat and away from David Nan. To stay would mean the death of her dreams.

She finally turned over and burrowed her face into the pillow. Its scent was his scent.

Damn.

° ° °

"Morning has arrived, milady." David's call, through the door of the cabin, brought her awake.

"I'm up, what time is it?" Sleepily, she rolled onto her back and laced her fingers behind her head, blowing out a wake-up breath.

_Not the best of nights._ Too much time spent chewing over might have beens, followed by a night of tossing, and of frightening dreams. Little of the nightmares remained, but the aftermath was a bitter taste and skin that ached for a cleansing.

"It's nearly seven," he called. "I've used the shower already, so the bathroom is all yours. The blue toothbrush in the holder is new and there's shampoo on the bottom shelf. Just remember to put your towel, clothing, and the toilet paper on the top shelf before you turn on the shower. I'm going to start working on the winch."

A few seconds later the sound of his footsteps on the deck came from above.

The bathroom was unlike any she'd used before. For starters, it matched the size of a shower stall, and not a large one, at that. One didn't go into it so much as put it on. You closed the door and either used the toilet, turned on the water and showered, or made use of the sink jutting from the sidewall. There were even combinations, should you care to indulge. An interesting experience. His was the first shower where she could sit and wash her legs while under the spray.

She blinked against the sunlight reflecting from the water as she tried to see over David's shoulder. But, hunched over the winch's gearbox, a toolbox at his feet, his body blocked much of the view.

"So is it something that can be fixed?"

"I'm not sure," he said, wiping oil from his hands with a rag as he turned to her and stood. "It's always been a bit sluggish. I changed the oil in the gearbox last week, and that solved the sticking shift lever problem. But from the look of the oil, that's not going to help this time." He nodded toward a bucket, partly filled with what looked like new oil. He was right. Replacing that would change little.

"Can I look?" she asked, pointing toward the gearbox. "I'm a mechanical engineer, so maybe I can see something you missed."

"Be my guest," he said, moving aside and motioning her to take his place.

She took a seat on the milk crate he'd been using, acutely conscious that he was standing behind her. With a snort at her own foolishness, she focused on the task of tracing out the winch's mechanism.

A small electric motor drove a gearbox—a fairly conventional layout. A simple transmission, with a brake arrangement allowed the winch's line to pay out as gravity, and the brake lever, dictated, when the transmission was placed in neutral. She moved the brake release lever. Nothing obviously wrong there, and locking the brake froze cable movement. Releasing it didn't seem to free the cable, fully, so she continued her search, focusing on the brake mechanism, itself.

And there it was. She pointed to a small peg protruding from a band-brake assembly. "There's supposed to be a spring here, but it's missing. Without it, the brake never fully releases." She searched further, and found the spring, still hanging from its other attachment point. The hook at the brake mechanism end of the spring was gone, probably worn though or fatigued. The winch was that old.

"Can it be fixed? There's an auto store at the mall if that helps." He leaned closer, presumably to study the problem, and his breath tickled her neck. Was he doing that on purpose?

Damn, she was back in "suspect David's motives" mode again, wondering at the purpose of every breath he took. She'd vowed that wouldn't happen again, but the vow had lasted no longer than it took to be in his presence. She had the solution to that, though, and would apply it presently.

She shook her head in response to his question as she searched the toolbox for what she needed, grunting as she found the pair of long-nosed pliers she sought.

"The hook at the end of this spring snapped off but I can make a new one. It'll change the length a tiny bit, but not enough to matter. It holds the brake out of contact with the drum when it's not needed, so it shouldn't make a difference." She detached the spring from its support and held it with a rag while she bent the final turn of spring to form an attachment loop, then reattached it at both ends. It looked good, and a quick test showed that it worked as it should.

Wiping her hands she stood, saying, "I'm going to wash my hands. You can replace the box cover and put the oil back in. That should do it."

"There's stronger soap in the medicine cabinet if you need it. And thanks. This should be finished in ten minutes, then I'll cast off. You can make breakfast while I guide us to the first target."

This was the moment she'd been dreading. Time to tell him she wasn't going with him.

"Now let me get this straight. You think you can get a job as a mermaid at Sea Kingdom? Are you out of your mind?" His voice had risen, till the final word had been virtually shouted.

"No. I am not out of my mind. I'm taking over my life."

He stopped with his mouth open, visibly deflating before he said, "You're taking control of your life...by putting yourself in danger. That makes no sense at all."

She stiffened, drawing resolve around her like a suit of armor.

"It makes a great deal of sense, David. Letting events carry me in random directions, that's what makes no sense. And I sure as hell can't find work in the field I've been trained for in this town. I read the papers we picked up last night and there wasn't one single ad for an engineer or tech. Nor was there anything in the yellow pages that looked promising. So what's left...flipping burgers?"

"It's honest work."

"That may be, but I can't support myself on that, and I've already tried finding that kind of job, remember? Burger joints are hiring unemployed bank presidents these days, and there are a lot more people than there are jobs."

"But..." he waved his hands, aimlessly, before frowning and saying, "But I've already offered you a job, one that _does_ allow you to support yourself. Useful work, too. Jennie needs what you can help me provide for her."

His tone carried more than the disappointment of losing an assistant. He wanted her. That much was obvious. And that was the real problem. If she spent time on the boat it would be between them constantly, in silent counterpoint to every word they spoke. And every action on his part would make her wonder why he'd done it. Worse yet, she found him intensely interesting. He was levelheaded, intelligent, handsome, and infuriatingly accurate when it came to giving advice.

He was all the things she had worked hard to avoid. And, he was dangerous to her peace of mind. If for no other reason, she had to get away from him for long enough to think through what to do next.

"Ann?"

She'd been ignoring him, lost somewhere inside her mind.

"I'm sorry," she said, wishing that just once, she wouldn't look the part of a fool. "I can't. I have to try to get my life back in order. I can't go on letting you take care of me. I appreciate it, but I can't. Surely you can see that."

"I see it, but I'm pretty sure you're making a mistake."

He took out his wallet, and handed her ten dollars, saying, "I'll drive you there. The money is for lunch, a loan till your first paycheck comes through...assuming you're not pinned to a specimen board in someone's lab by next week."

"Thank you. I..." Nothing else came, so she repeated, "Thank you." She didn't bother to tell him he didn't have to give her money for lunch. He was the kind of man who'd help someone in trouble without hesitation. It was how he was made. Not her way, but maybe it should be. She had to think on that, and on the interrelationship of people. He'd changed her, at least in that, though she could never tell him. Instead, she asked, "Will you be back here tonight?"

"I'll be back. I can check on a few hotspots today and tomorrow, and arrange my schedule so the Jennie's Promise boat-hotel is in port when you need her."

"Thank you, again."

She went to clean up and give him time to work on the winch, then made breakfast. If only she didn't have to keep blowing her nose it would have been easier.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 6

Ann stood looking at the gate, nerving herself. She might be about to find herself in big trouble. But the alternative, to spend her days and nights with David in the close confines of the boat, while acting as shark bait, was to invite an even worse disaster. Somehow she had to find a way to earn enough money to provide a living that _didn't_ involve being in close contact with a man who angered her so. And the worst part was that there seemed to be no reason he should have that effect on her. Yet he did.

Damn the man.

The want-ad section of the newspaper, as expected, held no positions for a trained engineer. Mayana seemed a nice enough town, but not exactly a hotbed of manufacturing. So it was this, assuming they were in the market for a mermaid, or stay on the boat.

Making sure the shirt hung well below her waist, she took a deep breath, straightened, and headed for the gate.

At eight in the morning the ticket booth hadn't yet opened, but the employee entrance stood open, so she strode through, certain she was making yet another mistake. But this run of bad luck had to stop sometime, and at least she was taking control of her own destiny again. That had to count for something.

The souvenir shop near the entrance but was still closed so she followed the signs toward what was billed as the theater. She passed an area designed to look like a section of mangrove swamp, then another exhibit, this one full of alligators. That pool she hurried by, seeking someone who might direct her to the office. The only one in sight was a man sweeping the sidewalk, and he moved as though he had a lifetime in which to complete the job.

"Excuse me, but who would I see about employment?" The man stopped and frowned. Apparently, she was straining his resources.

After scratching his head to speed the thought process, he said, "That'd be Mr. Marston, I reckon. He's the boss."

"And where can I find Mr. Marston?"

That brought on another bout of thought, one that went on for some time. She appeared to have triggered an endless loop in his computing processes, so she said, "If you tell me what he looks like I can probably find him myself."

The man nodded, as though she'd said something profound, before he said, "Might you can. I seen him headed toward the pools, earlier."

"And what does he look like?"

"Who?"

"Mr. Marston." She wasn't dealing with a genius. Hopefully, he wasn't representative of the people in the area. If he was, she was taking the first bus out of town—as soon as she could afford bus fare.

"He's a tall fella. Got black hair. Got him a mustache, too."

She had, obviously, gotten all she could from the man so she thanked him and headed toward the bleachered area visible through the trees, assuming the pools he spoke of were the focus of the seating.

She passed around the edge of the bleachers and onto a blindingly white concrete apron, bordering several pools. The largest matched what she saw in her visit to Sea World, in size. On the far side—in front of a small building—a curved area jutted into the pool, forming a stage. Props lay scattered about, and a man was hosing the deck. Unfortunately, the man was blond, which eliminated him as the elusive Mr. Marston. Beyond the pool was a larger building, which, she assumed, housed the snack bar and access to any windows the pool might have for underwater viewing. The sign in front of the complex had advertised an extensive aquarium. Exotic creatures of the sea, it claimed. That collection, presumably, was within the building, as well, because there were no other structures. A second, smaller, pool, long and narrow, lay close by the first, with a raised rear wall, made to look like a tropical waterfall. Decorative boulders surrounded it on the narrow sides and it was fronted by a long bench, where the visitors could sit and watch the porpoises. In all, the whole installation appeared new, spotlessly clean, but not terribly exciting.

Marston was probably in the larger building, but to be sure, she went to the pool's edge and called, "Have you seen Mr. Marston?"

The man with the hose pointed behind her so she turned and started toward the bleachers, to search for him, but ran into the man behind her. Apparently, he'd seen her, and had followed to the pool.

Strong hands steadied her before she could fall, and she found herself looking into a pair of narrowed brown eyes, set in a face whose ancestors had come from one of the southern European countries. He didn't seem pleased to see her.

Releasing her, he took a step backward, looking her up and down, while she speculated on what she'd done to make him angry.

Finally, he took a deep breath and made a motion of the hand that might have been a shrug and might have been dismissal. "You're pretty enough," he said. "I'll give you that. But I can't use another mermaid. The business I do hardly supports those I have now. And there are no other jobs open. Sorry."

"But I—"

He'd already turned in the direction of the walkway leading toward the main building. He waved a hand behind him, saying, "Gate's that way."

He was dismissing her? Just like that, without hearing what she had to say? The hell he was! She was damn well tired of _that_ nonsense. Straightening her spine and glaring at his retreating back she said, "The gate may be that way, mister, but the water's right here, and I'm going into the water. Take a look at what I can do or you'll miss the best thing that's _ever_ going to happen to this damn two-bit flea-circus...me!" With that, and not waiting to see if he followed, she strode toward the pool, stepping out of her sandals, not breaking stride before entering it in a shallow dive. Under the knee-length shirt—another of David's—she wore nothing, in anticipation of having to give a demonstration. She drove forward as soon as her tail bit water, furious. By God, that man was going to have his dismissal rammed down his stupid throat. Everything that had happened to her, from the time she lost her job to the arguments with David, last night and this morning, boiled up within. No one was going to dismiss her. No one. Not now, and not _ever_ again.

Avoiding the porpoises scattered through the tank she streaked toward the end of the pool closest to the main building—not as a destination, as a starting point. She needed room to gather speed. What she had in mind was foolhardy. But if this worked she'd have his undivided attention. Assuming, of course, that she didn't break her neck.

But she was too angry to dwell on that, and once in motion toward the opposite end of the pool she angled toward the bottom, still heading for the far end and stretching herself to top speed. Then, as the pool's end flashed toward her, she streaked upward, to break water in a climbing arc that barely cleared the pool's edge. She was airborne, sailing over at least fifteen feet of flat, hard concrete and aimed toward the smaller pool.

She almost didn't make it. It was that close. Afraid she was about to hit the rocky edge, she tried to stretch out her arms to break the fall. Apparently, though, having left the water in the form where her arms had become fins she was maintaining that form in the air. She had time to briefly wonder how the fins were possible, given that she was still wearing the long sleeved shirt she'd borrowed from David. But fear put that from her mind, and in any case, fear was short lived. Though it felt as if she had been falling for an eternity the time was blessedly short, and with inches to spare she hit the water of the second pool, to slide cleanly in.

Weak with reaction, she headed toward the pool's edge—more slowly now, glad to have her arms back in operation. She took hold of the edge and pulled herself up a bit, searching for Marston and hoping she hadn't performed that little show without his seeing. Knowing how close she'd come to disaster, she wasn't looking forward to trying that particular trick a second time.

He stood where he'd been when she dove in, but facing her, now, mouth open in shock. A glance toward the other side of the big pool showed the man there had seen, as well. His face was a mirror of Marston's.

"So? Are you interested?"

"Am I...Jesus Christ, how did you do that? How the _hell_ did you do that?" He closed his mouth and started toward her. "I saw it, but I still don't believe it." He hurried to the pool's edge, confusion evident in the way his eyebrows were drawn down.

She was about to speak when he pointed accusingly at her tail and said, "When the hell did you put that on? And who the _hell_ are you?" Hell seemed to be his favorite word.

"You're interested, then?"

"Am I— Hell yes, I'm interested. I want to know how you did that."

"Turn around."

"What?"

"I need you to turn around, while I come out of the water," she called, as she moved toward the ladder at the end of the pool.

"I...okay" Reluctantly, the man turned away.

Next to the ladder a tunnel yawned, presumably leading to the main pool, but a closed grate currently blocked entrance. The ladder couldn't be used without legs, but next to it was a spot where she could pull herself out of the water.

"You, too," she called to the man with the hose. She had to repeat herself to get his attention, the man hadn't moved, and his mouth still hung open. As soon as he turned away she lowered herself in the water, then with a surge, pulled onto to the pool's apron and got to her feet. Once again the shirt acted as a dress and provided a modesty covering.

"I'm Ann Nan," she said, walking around Marston rather than waiting for him to turn to her. She held out her hand.

"Gil Marston," he said, taking the hand. He dropped it again, and stepped back as though her hand had been scalding hot, saying, "Hey! Where'd the damn tail go?"

"It's under the shirt," she said, smugly. "And no, you can't look." This was more like it.

The man tried to speak. He tried several times, before he managed, "What you did is flatly impossible. No human can swim that fast—or fly." He said it, but his tone was tentative, because she had done it, and had done it in front of him.

"You're absolutely right, of course. It's an illusion. You only thought you saw it happen. The tail, too. But I'm not going to tell you how it's done, and neither you nor anyone else is going to get this close when I change as part of the show. That's part of the deal."

"Part of the deal?" He echoed her words, but obviously, his brain wasn't fully functioning as yet. It was probably still arguing with his eyes over the image they had insisted on presenting.

Before he recovered she said, "I'll work as a mermaid when the show's not going on, and I get paid twice what you pay the other performers. I don't feed fish, and I don't sweep floors. And, if business takes an upturn because of my part in the show, we talk about my pay again."

"You have an act?" Apparently, the mention of money had shocked his brain back into operation.

"Not really, but we can work one up when I see how I can fit into what you're doing now. You can bill me as a mistress of aquatic illusion."

"You've performed somewhere before this? Under what name?" When she shook her head he nodded, and said, "Well.... It's still impossible, but if you can do that on cue, and can make that tail appear and disappear the way you just did.... Hell yes you have a deal! Hell yes." He extended his hand. She took it, and he said, "Now come to my office and let's talk about this. I _still_ don't believe it."

As they walked away the blond man with the hose was still staring.

"Okay, now tell me how you did it." Gil Marston sat across from her, at his desk, both hands held out in inquiry. As advertised, he was tall, had dark hair, and a mustache. He also had the beginnings of a potbelly, looked to be close to forty, and had a face that wouldn't sell her a used car.

"Easy," she said, waving a hand airily. "I really am a mermaid. My tail appears when I get wet."

"Yeah, right. And I'm the queen of England." He pointed to her shirt, saying, "You're still wet, kid. Tell me another one."

She glanced down, wishing the shirt didn't cling so. She shrugged. "I have to be under water, too."

"Okay, so you won't tell me. How soon can you start?" He picked up the coffee he'd gotten on the way to the office, sipping while he waited for a response. He made a face, but took another sip. He hadn't offered her one.

"Is now too soon?"

He digested that, before saying, "Yeah, maybe. At least for starring in the show. We'll have to..." He stopped, and rubbed his mustache, as though thinking, before saying, "Can you dive from a platform? Say, the one out there at the pool?"

_Starring?_ What a nice word that was. _Wait until David's hears that._

But the man had asked her a question, so she shook her head. "One look at the water's surface from twelve feet up was enough to convince me that diving wasn't my sport."

He chewed on his lip before saying, "We'll have to work on how best to work you in after the last show, then. It's too easy to screw things up if you go in cold. Till then you can work with Trina and let her teach you the ropes and show you around. During the show you can help with the props. Do you have a way to get out of the water without everybody having to turn their back?"

"I think so. I just had to have you turn around because I didn't have the time to get ready, before I dove on." With time to straighten the shirt and a way to pull herself onto the deck around the pool there shouldn't be a problem.

"Fair enough. In that case, you can jump in and swim around with the tail showing, today, to see what kind of reaction we get. You and Frank can decide on when." He reached for the Danish he'd taken from the snack bar, and waved it toward her shirt as he said, "You got something a little nicer than that crap? A bikini top, maybe? The rubes want to see a little cleavage." When she shook her head he took a bite of the pastry and licked his lips before saying, "Well get one, because the shirt doesn't go with the image. Ask Carla. She may have a spare in her locker for today, she's more your size than Trina. But you need to get something decent of your own. Got that?"

"I've got it."

"Good." He dug in his desk and extracted several forms, saying, "You need to fill in this stuff so I can put you on the payroll. The top one needs to be filled out before you get wet..." He smiled and looked pointedly at her shirt before saying, "Before you get wet again, so you're covered by insurance. As for the rest, do them when you get the chance...as long as it's before Friday." He stuffed the rest of the pastry in his mouth. His mustache had crumbs in it.

Trina turned out to be a very pretty, and petite, black girl, in her mid-twenties. She and another girl, a bronzed Colombian Amazon of the same general age, carrying the unlikely name of Carla Goldberg, took turns in the large fish tank, an affair that measured eight feet deep and some forty feet long. It formed one wall of a large room that had fish tanks inset in its other walls, holding a variety of aquatic life. Cool and damp, the room had the vague scent of humanity overlaid with pine-oil clinging to it. She was given no time to look over the other exhibits, but made a note to study them when she got a chance. Trina led her to one end of the main tank, stepping around a shallow puddle, a reminder that the room had been hosed down not long before.

"You take your air from there," Trina said, pointing to an open pipe that emitted a cascade of bubbles. "There's one at each end and one in the middle. How are you at holding your breath?"

"Not a problem," she said, stepping aside so a group of tourists could peer at a small shark resting on the sand. Would she even be able to get the air-pipe into her mouth? Perhaps block the opening with a finger to stop the bubbles and simulate use of the air supply?

"How long is 'not a problem?' "

"I can go for a minute or more."

"Repeatedly, or just the first time?"

She shrugged, unsure of what answer she should have given. Was she expected to have more endurance or less? Underwater swimming hadn't been one of the big interests in her life, and she had never timed her endurance. This was turning out to be more complicated than expected.

"I don't know for sure," she said fudging things a bit, and adding, "But I think so."

"Really? A whole minute?" Carla said, envy in her tone. "I can never go more than thirty, forty, seconds."

"That's because you don't blow out _all_ the old air before you take your second breath," Trina said, frowning. She turned back to Ann, saying, "If you can go that long, that's great. You can always sneak a breath by doing a rollover at the surface. Blow out before your mouth breaks surface and you can grab a lungful of air, in passing, without anyone getting wise. You can also surface in an emergency. There's a couple of feet between the water and the roof if you get into trouble." She went on to provide a great deal of information about what was expected of her in the tank, and what to expect of the customers. Apparently, if finding someone to squire her around was her goal, all she had to do would be to wink at a customer. In fact, getting them _not_ to make a pass was the problem.

"I'm on first today," Carla said. "You can watch me."

"Okay."

"Then, when it's my turn, you can come in with me," Trina said, "and mimic what I do, to give you a head start. That way if you get into trouble I'll be there to help."

Nice to know she would be working with decent people. Gil Marston hadn't generated a good feeling about the place.

"Thank you, Trina. This will be my first time, and I appreciate your help."

Trina laughed. "Hey, babe, us mermaids have to stick together, so relax. It's easy work and we take turns, fifteen minutes on, and fifteen off. Now let's go find you a tail before Marston starts to bitch that no one's in the tank."

The girls directed her to a changing room, a little concrete-floored dressing room just above the tank. A locker-room mixture of damp concrete, mildew, and humanity hung in the air. At one side, water showed, presumably an entrance to the tank where she would be swimming.

Before she could investigate, Trina said, "Here you go, honey." She held out a false tail. "It looks to be about your size. Try it on. It goes on like a bathing suit, and your legs stick out here till you're ready to go into the water." She laid the suit over the back of a chair and showed how to adjust and secure it.

Ann reached for the tail, then stopped. How could she tell them she didn't need it? David's comment that she'd be pinned to a specimen board in someone's lab came to mind, and that didn't appear as unlikely as it had when he said it.

Now what?

Her hesitation was noted, and Carla, probably assuming she was hesitant because of having to undress, said, "Modesty goes out the window pretty quick, honey. Give it a day or two and you'll see." She suited action to her words and began to remove her clothing, hanging her things on a rack that stood to one side of the room, saying, "You don't have to worry about your stuff, the door's locked, only the mermaids and staff have the combination and staff has orders to keep out." Nude, she was an impressive woman.

"So what made Gil decide to hire another mermaid?" Carla asked, as Trina hooked her bikini top for her.

"Yeah...he cries poor so much I figured he'd never spend for a third fish-girl," Trina added. Her words carried a trace of something odd buried within. Concern about competition, or something more?

"He hasn't. I'm part of the show, but I agreed to help out, here."

"Honey, we're _all_ part of the show," Trina said, laughing. "Didn't Gil tell you that? That's the fun part. I love working with the dolphins. They're adorable, and having Keiko tow me is flat-out the most fun you can have in the water without a man around. There isn't anybody down here by the tank when the show goes on, anyway."

Finished dressing, Carla moved to a bench fronting the opening to the water and sat to zip the bottom of her suit, saying, "You don't want to be far from the ladder when you do this, honey, because it's murder to hop to the water when you're zipped." Tucking her legs into the tail she closed the zipper, saying, "You can do this in the water, but it's easier to work the zipper if you keep the tail tight by holding the material against the floor with your feet. On the way out of the water you can pull the zipper down, and walk up the steps. The tourists can't see into that part of the tank."

With that she eased herself onto the floor, extended her legs into the water, then slithered down till only her head showed. "See you later," she said, and with a wink she was gone.

° ° °

"So, are you ready?" Trina said, as she finished pulling the zipper up and slid to sit with her tail in the water.

"This is why I came here today."

"But are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I suppose." But she was far from ready. Would her own tail appear and rip the suit to shreds? Would she keep her legs, yet still be able to breathe under the water? Only experimentation would provide the answer. But Carla was standing by the steps, and would be watching. She'd shed her own suit and insisted on helping Ann adjust hers.

"Okay, then." Trina said. "Take your time, and when you're ready give it a try. I'll be right there. Like sex, it's only scary the first time."

Big help that was. She had more experience with being a mermaid than with sex. And that particular thought brought an image of David, which did absolutely nothing to help her state of mind. Would he not have the decency to keep himself out of her skull?

_Christ, he's only a man_ , she raged, all but throwing her hands up in anger. _A handsome man, granted, and an intelligent one as well_. But also impossible, and frustrating, and too damn...too what?

_Too damn intrusive._ She was finally away from him and he _still_ wouldn't leave her alone.

"Ann?"

"What? Oh...I'm sorry, I was woolgathering. Something you said made me think of something else, and..." She waved her hands in frustration, saying, "You know what I mean."

Trina stared for a long moment, before saying, "Well I hope he was worth it, honey. I really do." With that she dropped under the water, turned with a lithe movement, and stroked into the fish tank proper.

"Did I miss something?" Carla asked, sounding interested.

"Nothing important." She took a breath and slid to sit on the edge of the steps, gathering courage that refused to come. Once again David had been right. This was dumb, really dumb. But what other choice did she have?

So it's now or never. And never means he wins.

"Damn!" What could've put a stupid thought like that in her head? And why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? She closed her eyes, acutely aware of Carla's eyes on her.

She was surprised, therefore, when Carla said, "I'm going to watch, and cheer you on from out front. You take your time and go in when you're ready." She hesitated, before adding, "And if you don't go in nobody's going to say a word, so don't do anything you're not ready to do. Okay?"

"Okay" Carla truly was a sweet girl, as was Trina. And Carla's gift of privacy also solved her most pressing problem.

As soon as the room's door closed, leaving her alone, she stripped off the tail and rolled it into a compact package, one she could grab when she came out of the water. She tucked it behind the railing the swimmers used to help get out of the water, stashing it below the surface, where she hoped it wouldn't be noticed. With luck she could come out of the water with it in her hand, as though she'd removed it on the way out.

Remembering Gil Marston's advice regarding cleavage she unbuttoned the shirt and tied it under her breasts. Then, before good sense could prevail she was under the water and out in the tank, lazily finning over the bottom. A decent crowd fronted the tank and Carla, wrapped in a terry robe, was coming into the room at the far end. Trina was at that end of the tank, taking a breath, so she turned toward the glass wall and went to say hello to a little boy, standing with his family. She waved, and he waved back, but when she came within a few feet of the glass his smile broke, replaced by a look of fear.

Aww. The poor kid's shy...and cute.

She gave him a reassuring wave, then turned to parallel the glass and move toward Trina's end of the tank, smiling for the tourists, though they didn't smile back. Had her shirt had come undone? A quick check showed it hadn't, so she was at a loss to explain the shock showing on the faces of those on the other side of the glass.

Puzzled, she stopped, midway, to maintain the image as a human in a mermaid costume by taking a breath from the bubbling pipe. At the end, a short section of flexible hose sent a stream of bubbles toward the surface, and to her surprise, she had no problem taking a breath from it, though she had no need of doing so. It was still impossible to produce an exhalation plume of bubbles, though. With luck, no one would notice.

She released the hose to find Trina next to her, grinning and giving a thumbs-up sign. The grin faded when she turned to face her, and she read, "Mother of God," from Trina's lips before the girl turned away and headed for the far end of the tank. Something was seriously wrong.

Unsure, she followed, though perhaps the best thing would be to head for the dressing room and just run for the front gate.

Ahead, Trina turned for a look behind, then swam faster, obviously still frightened. Apparently that first impulse, to leave the tank, had been correct. Trina had come to the end of the tank, and turned, sliding herself into the bottom corner, facing her, as though she expected to be attacked.

With a muttered, "Shit," she headed back toward the stairs. It was over.

About to slip behind the screen, she turned, to check on Trina. The news was bad. When she'd wedged herself in the tank's corner, the air-pipe had slipped inside her suit at the back, and she was trapped. Apparently she'd panicked, and was in a desperate and impossible struggle to reach the surface. She'd managed to bring herself upright, but that had caused the pipe slide further inside the tail, locking her more firmly to it. She might be able to slip out of the suit, but it wouldn't come free by itself, and at the moment Trina wasn't thinking.

In an instant, Ann was in motion, moving fast enough to momentarily trigger the change from arms to fins. Braking to a halt restored her arms, and she reached for Trina's waistband, to release the catch. But the pipe was putting such pressure on the catch that it wouldn't move. Tear the waistband? Unlikely. The material was a synthetic, stronger than cotton, but tearing was something to try if nothing else worked, as was pulling the pipe free of the mounts.

First, though, came trying try to get her off the damn pipe. It'd been less than a minute since her last breath, and Trina wasn't yet in danger of drowning...if she could regain control and cooperate.

"Trina, you're on the pipe," she shouted. "It's caught in your suit—in back. Let me help you slide down and get it out." One of the advantages of having no breath bubbles was the ability to speak underwater and have her voice be understandable. Trina's panic-filled face turned in her direction, and for an instant it appeared that her fear was worsening, but abruptly, intelligence returned to her eyes and she nodded, seeming herself once more. She dropped to the floor of the tank and let herself be guided free of the pipe, but her eyes never left Ann's face.

Once Trina was free, Ann pointed to the surface, but Trina shook her head. The rubber end had been torn from the air-pipe, so she took several breaths directly from the pipe, then turned to the glass, making a shrug of the hands, before rubbing her derriere and wincing, as though in a little pain, reassuring the audience that she was okay.

For the first time since finding Trina in trouble Ann paid attention to those on the other side of the glass, now gathered at that end of the tank, staring. Carla stood in front, her face a mixture of confusion and fear. When she and Trina began to move toward the dressing room Carla turned to push her way through the crowd. All in all, not an auspicious beginning to a career as a professional mermaid.

Any thought she might have had about slipping the suit on was a waste of the time, because by the time she and Trina broke the surface Carla was already there, ready to help Trina out of the water. Her own exit would have an audience of two. Three, if the banging on the room's door meant they would have company.

"Are you okay, Trina?" Gil Marston called through the door.

"I'm okay, my suit got caught on the air-pipe and Ann had to help me get free. That's all."

"Are you sure? People were shouting that—"

"I'm sure, Gil. Go count your money or something, we're naked in here."

Silence followed, so Ann assumed the man had left. Unfortunately, she was still there, and two sets of eyes pointed toward where she floated. She untied the blouse, pulled it down, and began to button it, bobbing with only her head showing. She hoped she hadn't damaged the tank. That run to save Trina had stirred up a lot of sand. But that was insignificant. What mattered was what she could say to Trina and Carla. David would just love saying, "I told you so," about this.

The silence was broken by Trina, who said, "Are you an...angel?"

"No."

"Then...what? What are you? And what happens to your eyes when you go under the water? That was the most frightening thing I've ever seen. You had the eyes of a shark...all flat and evil looking; more like buttons than eyes." That explained why the child had been frightened, and why the adults had stared. She'd meant to ask David to check that for her, but it slipped her mind. It explained why she could see so well underwater but helped not at all with the present problem.

"To hell with her eyes," Carla put in. "I want to know how she did that thing with her arms, and how she grew a _tail_." She pointed toward the water, adding, "Because that sure as hell isn't a bathing suit she's swimming with. I never saw _anything_ move that fast before."

Faced with no choice in the matter Ann grabbed the railing and pulled herself onto the floor, then stood, pulling the shirt down to cover her lower body. Trina stared at her legs, and Carla begin, "Hail Mary, mother—"

"Stop that," Ann snapped, unable to keep the frustration from showing. "It's no big deal. I'm a mermaid, that's all. So what?" Trina was still staring. Not having the faintest idea of how to proceed, she finished with, "That's it. I'm just...just a mermaid." Carla crumpled to the floor.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 7

"Now, for obvious reasons, you can't tell anyone about this."

Trina laughed. "Tell them what? That you fell in the water in Washington State, died, and then woke up as a mermaid in Florida ten seconds later? Who would believe me? I don't believe it, and I saw you change."

"The people out there might," Carla said, pointing in the general direction of the aquarium room. "You should have heard the things they were saying when you were freeing Trina from that damn air pipe."

"There is that," Trina said, sipping the soda she'd gotten from the snack bar.

"Gil Marston might believe. He's probably still trying to figure out how I do it. Right now, he thinks I have a hologram projector under my shirt, and God alone knows what he would do if he found I was the real thing. Maybe stuff and mount me."

Again Trina laughed. "Well you're right there. Gil's ready to believe damn near anything. On the way back from the snack bar I stopped by the office to let him know everything was cool in here, and that we'd be back on the job by ten. He damn near pinned me against the wall to keep me from leaving, and then peppered me with questions. 'How did she do it,' he wanted to know. 'How did she do that thing with her eyes? Were they contact lenses, or what?' The man was positively wild—he's heard things from the people who were in the room when you did your trick, and when I told him I had no clue, he had the nerve to demand I find out your secret. I told him to pound sand."

Ann groaned. It never got easier. Finally she shrugged. "I guess that tears it. If he's not going to let me alone I had better get out of here."

That brought a snort of derision, and "Hey girl, you do no such thing. Didn't you hear me? I told the man no. I said it was a secret between us girls, and that he damn well better learn to live with it." She smiled. "He didn't take that too well at all. Called me a few choice names till I told him I'd deck him if he didn't shut up. I also told him it was a trick, and that I've seen it but didn't understand how it works."

"Thank you Trina," Ann said. "It's good to have you for a friend. But it's better if I leave. I certainly can't go back in the tank."

"Well, why not?" Carla asked, fully recovered from her light-headedness. Ann wished she would put something on, though. The air in the room over eighty degrees, due to warm water below, and she _was_ a very attractive woman, but still, a robe might have been nice. Though maybe she was being a prude. Something else to think on. But now wasn't the time for that, because she owed Carla an answer.

"Why not? How about because I can't control what happens with my eyes? I don't want to scare the customers away."

"We tell people it's contact lenses?" Carla essayed.

"That might work, I suppose," she said, still unconvinced.

"We do better than that," Trina said, excitement strong in her voice. She put her drink on the room's table and turned back to Ann. "You mentioned telling Gil you were an illusionist. Right?"

".... Umm, right?"

"Then here's what we do. When it's your turn, and before you go on, one of us goes into the aquarium and beats the drum."

"Beats the drum?"

"We announce you, and tell the rubes they're about to see the world's first underwater magician." Trina hesitated, biting her lip before changing it to, "Better yet, you're what you told Gil. You're the first underwater illusionist...Arianna, the world's only living mermaid."

"Arianna? You couldn't pick something better than Arianna? Anyway, I—"

"But I like Arianna," Carla said. "And I like the idea of making everyone think it's a trick. People are dumb, and once you plant an idea like that you'll have asshole men walking out of here swearing to their wives that they know how you did it, but it's pretty technical and a woman wouldn't understand.... Bet you on that."

"You really think that would work?" Ann sagged back in the chair, wanting to believe, but still unconvinced. Given that the alternative was to work on the boat, this would be a godsend. And certainly, Gil Marston would like the idea of giving the tourists something to talk about to their friends. Word of mouth is the best form of advertising.

Trina was fairly bouncing with enthusiasm, now that she'd gotten over her shock. "Will it work? I don't think it'll work. Honey, I _know_ it will. And it sure can't go worse than last time, so why not try it to see?"

"And I'll beat the drum for you," Carla said.

"The hell you will," Trina said. "At least not the first time. This was my idea." Trina was the smaller of the pair, but still, the obvious leader, because Carla held up her hands in surrender and said, "Okay, okay, but I'll help. I want to be there to see if anyone else faints."

"Now you know what to do, right? When I bang on the glass with my key ring you come out. But not till then."

"I've got it."

"Okay, but I wish you'd let me buy those phony fangs." With that she was gone, and Ann readied herself to get into the water, wondering if she was making yet another mistake. She slid Trina's dive mask over her eyes—a bit of showmanship Carla suggested.

As she waited, she couldn't quite make out Trina's words, as she sing-songed an introduction. Hopefully, the claims being made weren't too extreme. Before she could more than begin to worry, though, the sound of metal on glass came, the signal to begin.

Taking a final breath of surface air, and breathing a little prayer, she eased her head under the water, relieved that the change in form wasn't prevented by the facemask. As she hoped, vision was unchanged because of the air in the mask. At least she thought her eyes were still normal. She swam the length of the pool, then turned to swim back at a slightly higher speed, not yet triggering the change from arms to fins. A quick glance showed the room to be far more filled than last time. Apparently, those who had been there when last she was in the tank had stayed in hopes of finding out if their eyes had deceived them. Marston leaned against a side wall, arms crossed. The fat was in the fire, so she threw him a little wave and continued cruising, adding a few slow rotations about her long axis as she did, smiling at the customers and concentrating on being graceful. She didn't fake a breath, deliberately.

After a few minutes she moved to the center of the tank and put herself into a vertical position, facing the window. She held there for a moment, meeting the eyes that were focused on her, smiling a welcome. Then, she closed her eyes and removed the mask, pointedly dropping it to the sand. Theatrically, she tipped her head back and slowly extended her arms to the side, in a, hopefully, graceful motion. She held the pose for a moment, balancing with minimal tail moment, as though gathering her resources. She moved her hands to cover her eyes with fingertips, lowering her face until she faced the glass, directly, then opened her eyes and moved her hands apart. Jaws dropped all over the room.

Maybe Carla's vampire fang idea would have been a good idea, after all.

For the next fifteen minutes she had a perfectly marvelous time. She shadowed a shark, and played with the host of fish in the tank. She swam vertical figure eights, adding twists and flip-overs. She came to the window to stare into the eyes of the visitors, teeth showing, and was always the last one to look away.

Only once did she go to the air pipe. Let them make of that what they wished.

Finally, Trina pointed to her watch, so she made a lightening run from one end of the tank to the other, to trigger the change of arms to fins, and back. This time she did it far enough off the bottom of the tank that she didn't stir the sand excessively. Finally, she went to get the face mask and put it on. She looked at the audience, giving them a chance to see that her eyes were still in their underwater form. Then, she swam upward, to do a back rollover and swim back toward the bottom. Since she produced no bubbles when she breathed, breathing air into the mask, to force out the water, was probably out—or at least must wait until she had time to experiment with it. As she broke water she lifted the mask away from her face to empty it, in passing.

Just before she ran into the sand she leveled off and swam toward the glass. As a result, when she moved into a vertical position once more, the change back to "above the surface" eyes came as a surprise to the audience. Once again jaws dropped throughout the room, starting with Gil Marston's.

° ° °

"Girlfriend, you were _awesome!_ " Trina was virtually dancing as she came through the door to the little room. "Awesome. I thought they were going to crap themselves when you opened your eyes that first time. Hell, even I shivered, and I _knew_ it was coming. Whatever Marston is paying you, it's not nearly enough."

"Really? You don't think anyone caught on?"

Trina laughed. "To what? That it's real? Hell, at least half of them _knew_ it was real. The rest thought you must be some kind of hologram. You should have heard them. And didn't you _see_ what happened right after you did it?"

Ann shook her head. "No. Unless you're talking about the way their jaws dropped. I saw that part, but I wasn't paying attention because I was too distracted...and nervous." This thing was getting out of hand.

"No? Well, you missed something special, honey, because I've never seen anything like it. Anyone who was wearing a cross decided it looked better on _top_ of their clothing, rather than under. Like Jesus was gonna jump in the tank and do battle with you."

"Where's Carla?" This wasn't good. Ann was suddenly very conscious that the room had only a single exit.

"Carla?" Trina laughed. "She's still out there spinning stories about how you came to be working here."

Even worse news.

Before she could comment, though, Trina picked up her drink can and swirled it, gently, determining how much soda remained. She sipped, then said, "So tell me why that thing happens to your eyes. Does it help you see underwater?"

"Hmm? Yes, I suppose so. The refractive index between the eye and air is different from that of water, so the shape of the lens has to change." At least something from her background helped understand the change. Interesting, in that it showed that no matter the cause, it still had to work within the constraints of the physical universe—though nothing in those constraints explained an instant change in form.

But that was neither here nor there, and changed the current situation not at all. The knock on the door that came then did.

"Ladies? I need to come in," Marston called through the door

"Go away, we're still naked, Gil." Trina said it but she smiled, and made no move to push the lock button on the doorknob.

"Then get un-naked, I need to talk to Ann."

"We are, and you can buzz yourself in in," Ann called. Better to face him now, rather than later.

"There's a guy from the paper on his way here right now," Marston said as he came through the door. He twirled a chair on one leg, turning it backward and seated himself on it, facing Ann, his arms resting on the chair back, "I have no idea of how you do it, and I'm starting to believe you weren't kidding when you said you really are a mermaid, but I don't give a damn. The TV people will be here at three."

"I—"

"And you're in the noon show in the main tank, too. I don't know what you'll be doing, you can work that out with Frank, but it doesn't matter, so long as people see you and tell their friends about it."

"I—"

"And you really need to do something about the damn shirt. It looks okay the way you tied it, but..." he waved his hands, while making a face, finishing with, "I like the shirt about as well as I like Arianna for a name. Where the _hell_ did you get that?"

"The shirt stays. I need it for the act." Finally, she got to finish a sentence.

Marston rubbed a finger alongside his nose for a moment, before nodding, expression pained. Saying, "Okay, the shirt stays, but get one that's better looking, will you? That thing looks like something out of _my_ shirt drawer."

"Uhh.... Okay, but you'll have to wait till I get paid. I'm broke right now." None of what she bought the night before would cover her lower half when she left the water. Not a problem in the fish tank, but in the main pool, after her part in the show, it would be. But Marston had taken out his wallet and he handed her a fifty dollar bill, saying, "Buy two, they're on me." He went to the door, then. But before he left he pointed at Trina, saying, " _You_ get back in the water. I'm paying for swimming, not talking." His aim shifted to Ann, and he said, "You...thank you. You were right." Then he was gone.

"What did he mean by you being right?" Trina asked, slipping off her robe to put on her costume.

"I told him I was the best thing to happen to the place," she said, absently. It seemed she was about to mount the whirlwind. Whether or not she could ride was yet to be seen. Getting off didn't seem to be an option.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 8

"So, Ann," Trina said, "Tell me more about the guy who fished you out of the ocean yesterday. What's he like?"

"David? He's a marine biologist who's doing research in the area. I just happened to arrive close to his boat." Their steps echoed hollowly in the stairwell as they made their way to the pool area.

Trina gave her a sharp look before saying, "Why would you say he _happened_ to be there? Whoever, or whatever brought you from that pier just happened to put you in water where the temperature was right for survival as a mermaid. You just happened to end up in daylight, and in a country where your language is spoken. You just happened to end up close enough to a boat, so you don't have to swim ten or twelve miles to shore. Are you telling me you just _happened_ to land within catching distance of that particular man, rather than closer to shore with no man...or next to a different boat?"

"Well, I, uhh..."

_Why indeed?_ What an unsettling notion. Was he part of the fairy godmother package? Had it been expected that she would stay with him and help him with his search for the Three Kings? Was she screwing up more than her own life by not following the script provided by whoever, or whatever controlled the ring and its powers? Luckily, before she had to think deeply on that footsteps sounded behind them.

"Wait-up, guys!" Carla called as she hurried up the stairs, dressed in a bathing suit, for her part of the noon show.

"Give me your opinion, Carla...is the guy who fished Ann out of the water part of the fairy godmother package or was he just driving by in his boat."

Carla laughed. "I dunno, Trina. Maybe we're the fairy godmother package and.... What's his name?"

"David."

"Maybe David is only the taxi driver."

Trina stared at Carla for a moment, as though she'd been betrayed, then shook her head and turned toward the pools, saying, "So tell us about the taxi driver, Ann. Handsome...ugly.... What?"

She took a deep breath, visualizing David, as he'd been when she saw him for the first time.

"Well...he's tall, maybe six-three. He has sandy hair, cut long enough that it almost brushes his shoulders. Nice hair, really thick." The wind was riffling it in her mind's eye, so she froze the picture before she went on. "Umm...tanned...tennis player build...nice hands..."

When she didn't add anything else Carla asked, "Jock?"

She shook her head, glad they had arrived at the pool. "No. I'm pretty sure he's a teacher."

"So you like him."

That brought her to a stop, as though Trina had put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to the girl, as she asked, "Why would you say that? I didn't say—"

Trina responded with a grin, and interrupted with, "I notice that you avoided mention of his face."

"Did I?"

"You did. Tell me about his eyes."

"Great eyes. Ice blue...almost transparent. You can drown in them." Now why hadn't she just said blue?

Damn the man.

Trina laughed. "Yeah...you like him."

"You're right, Trina," Carla put in. "I heard it in the way she talked about him before. I think she's got the hots for the guy."

"The hell I do!" Ann turned on Carla, saying, "I do like him, though not in the way you mean. He's a decent man. But he drives me crazy, and I don't mean in a good way." Unfortunately, that statement didn't have the desired effect, that of driving the grins from their lips.

She threw up her hands and started toward the stage area, saying, "Okay, he is pretty good looking, I'll give you that, and if I was in the market for a man he has a lot going for him. But I'm not, and he's only a friend. That's all." When they didn't respond, she repeated, "That's all," a little more strongly. She didn't even convince herself.

"Hi, Ladies. How's it going?" The blond man, who had been hosing the deck when she arrived, smiled in greeting. He appeared to be positioning props for the show. No sign of Frank Sutton, who, according to Trina, was dark and very Russian.

"Hi Fletch," Carla said, with something in her voice that Ann couldn't identify. On the surface she appeared friendly, except for a trace of something in her tone that might be meant as derision.

No time to speculate in that, though, because Carla was pointing toward her and saying, "This is Ann. She's the new mermaid." She waved toward the man, then, saying, "Ann, this is Fletcher Hatch. He's Frank's assistant."

Hatch extended his hand, saying, "I was here when she auditioned. I'm glad to meet you."

She took his hand and murmured a meaningless pleasantry about being glad to meet him. He didn't let go, as he said, "Your accent says you're not from around here. If you need someone to show you around the town, call on me."

Trina spared her the indignity of having to ask him to release her hand by taking her wrist in one hand, his in the other, and pulling them apart, saying, "Give the nice lady her hand back, Fletch, or I'll feed you to the fishes." She said it in a pleasant tone but something else was going on under the surface.

Hatch wasn't intimidated, and with spread arms bowed to Trina, saying "Spare me, oh Nubian princess. This unworthy worm grovels at your feet." With a laugh, and a, "See you later," directed toward Ann, he went back to what he was doing.

When Hatch was out of earshot Carla said, "We call him Fletch-the-letch, so be careful. He's harmless, but not terribly bright, and very, very, arrogant. He's also related to Dum-Dum, so you can see what—"

"Dum-Dum is what Carla calls Dominic, who cleans up around here," Trina said, interrupting her. She pointed a finger at Carla, saying, "And we agreed you'd stop calling him that. It's cruel, and Dominic can't help being what he is."

Carla shrugged, but she didn't meet Trina's eyes as she said, "Maybe not, but they both give me the creeps." Once more, Ann wondered at the relationship between the women.

But again, she was given no chance to speculate, because Frank Sutton had arrived. He appeared to have once been a taller man, now pounded down and widened to barrel proportions. Life hadn't been kind to Frank Sutton. He walked with a pronounced limp, which Trina attributed to a mistake made while learning to handle lions. Apparently, that field was an unforgiving one. His face, too, bore witness to the incident. His expression, not happy to begin with, was made angrier by a scar that meandered across his face like the map of a stream. He was, obviously, not given to beating around the bush because he came directly to her, saying, "You are one called Ann." An accusation, not a question, the words accompanied by the smell of beer. When she nodded, he said, "I am told you take part in show..." He thumped his chest. "My show."

So he was a petty tyrant. Fortunately, she didn't have to kowtow to him because he didn't sign her paycheck, so she waited, meeting his gaze and keeping her expression neutral.

Sutton looked away first. He threw his hands up, snarling, "Okay, you take part. Part is watch and look pretty for audience. Tonight we talk what you do." With that, and without waiting for an acknowledgement, he turned his attention on Trina and Carla, barking, "You take place now...is time." For her he had only a pointing finger, showing her where to stand.

The show brought a mixture of frustration and disappointment. To stand and watch, this first time, made sense. After all, she wasn't even certain of how to fit her abilities into the existing show. But still, humiliating, because she had no role in the show, not even to hold the bucket of treats given to the porpoises for a good performance. To the watchers she must seem a dunce, and that nettled. It nettled more and more as the show progressed.

Another girl, Beth, from the snack bar, had joined Trina and Carla. Their job was primarily to look decorative and move equipment as Frank Sutton and Fletcher Hatch put the porpoises through their paces.

She should have enjoyed the show, especially seen from a spot right next to the pool. But compared to what she'd seen at Sea World it seemed a bit amateurish. With a sigh, she resigned herself to a role as a viewer. But then Carla caught her eye. She nodded toward the pool, with her head, while her eyes swept toward the water in a "jump in," gesture.

She shook her head, but Carla, idle while Trina readied herself to be towed by Keiko, sidled closer.

"Go on, Ann," she said. "Now's your chance. This is the finale."

"But what can I do? "

"I don't know, but swimming is why you're here, isn't it? And Gil said you were to be _in_ the show, not watching it. So jump in."

"But Gil said we'd work on my part later, after the last show."

"Didn't he also say to jump in and swim around?"

"Well..."

"So swim. People already know about you. You can bet that everyone who saw you in the tank will be expecting to see you now." She flashed a smile, as she added, "So show your fans a little tail. And while you're at it, thumb your nose at Frank."

About to say no, she had a flash of inspiration, and touched Carla's arm.

"Do you still have that granola bar you put in your purse?" At Carla's nod she said, "I'll give you a signal to take it to the top of the ladder. When I wave, stand on the platform, open it and hold it out the way you did for Makara, when he jumped."

Carla's face showed confusion for a moment, then she bared brilliant white teeth in a grin. "Yes! I _love_ it...but are you sure?"

"I'm sure.... At least I think I am." She wasn't, but that wasn't going to stop her.

Carla turned toward the ladder, but Ann stopped her and said, "Wait till I'm in the water before you climb. I'll signal when I'm ready. That way Frank will be watching me and won't be paying attention to what you're doing." Carla had been the one holding the porpoise treats during the show, so this would be a logical extension of that.

As Carla went back to her regular position, Ann moved to a position by the pool, as if to get a better view of what Trina was about to do. The announcer was rhapsodizing about the danger to Trina, citing the sharp teeth and blazing swimming speed of the porpoise. A silly thing to say, because the audience had already been told how playful and intelligent the mammals were. But faced with the task of finding something exciting about a woman hitching a ride on a porpoise, this apparently was the best they could do. With luck, she was going to improve on that.

Trina, dressed in a pretty bikini, dove cleanly into the water and swam toward the center of the pool, where Keiko, the largest of the pool's porpoises, met her. She swam with grace. After allowing the porpoise to tow Trina around the pool Ann made her own dive.

Without giving anyone time to react, she headed for the bottom, then turned toward the surface, moving quickly and aiming for a point to the side of Keiko and Trina. Adjusting as she went, she burst out of the water on one side of the girl and arced over her, to splash in on the other side, giving a whoop of joy as she did. Not as clean an entry as she wanted, but it would do, and practice would fix that. Certainly, she had the audience's attention.

She headed toward the bottom, intending to do the leap a second time, but when she looked upward, Trina was swimming alone. Apparently, Keiko had spooked at having something unfamiliar in the tank. Hopefully, she hadn't triggered an attack reflex. Porpoises are known to have killed massive sharks by swimming into them at high speed and rupturing their internal organs. Excited chirps filled the pool, as the other occupants noted her arrival. But they hadn't attacked earlier, and that gave some comfort. Of course, she'd given them scant time to attack, then. She tried not to think of that.

Deprived of something to jump over, and not wanting to swamp Trina when she had no support in the water, she repeated the jump, this time parallel to the stands and close to the pool's edge.

She swam to where Trina waited, wiping the water from her eyes.

A wide grin split Trina's face "I love it," she said. "Are you going to take Keiko's place?"

"You got it," she said, fairly bubbling with excitement. "But first, turn on your back and brace yourself, I'm going to try to lift you." This was something she'd been thinking about as she watched the show. If she had the strength, it would be impressive.

"Awesome." Trina was already turning to float on her back.

Dropping below the water, she put extended hands in the small of Trina's back, then poured on all the power she was capable of producing, hoping she had enough. And she did.

She wished she could be a viewer to what she was doing, because from a prone position on the water, Trina's slim body rose as if on an elevator, followed by her own head and upper torso. As she rose, Trina arched her body backward, arms extended, one leg bent, in a graceful dancer's carry. Apparently she had dance experience. Interesting, but something to ask about later.

There were drawbacks, though. Her tail, sweeping rapidly, made her upper body shimmy, as though hula-dancing to a rock-music beat. This was hard work!

Fortunately, she didn't have to work for long. With no experience at such a lift, she held Trina clear of the water for only a few seconds before beginning to lose control. Before that could happen, she lowered Trina into the water, took her hand and began to tow her around the pool. As she did, she caught Carla's eyes and motioned toward the ladder.

"You're kidding," Trina said, as Ann brought her to the edge of the pool. She'd apparently seen Carla climbing the ladder. "You've never done it before. Even if you _can_ get high enough, you could overshoot and bash into the platform."

Something to worry about, certainly. The ladder leaned well over the pool. And if she came out of the water too close to where Carla stood she could well bash her head against underside of the platform, more than two body-lengths above the water.

"You're right, so I'll practice first. Tell Carla not to hold out the candy bar until I give the sign."

With that, catching her breath from supporting Trina and towing her, she swam easy circles around the pool, staying close to the surface, breaking water as often with her tail as her head—for effect. On an inspiration she submerged, then turned on her side and extended an arm upward, until her hand just broke the surface. Then, she turned her palm to the water, imitating a periscope, and rotated her arm, "looking around" as she cruised the pool one more time. When her periscope "saw the crowd," she spread her fingers in pretend surprise and dove, only to break water in a forward flip. And surprisingly, as she spun in the air there was still laughter from her periscope trick—interrupted by a gasp of surprise at the flip. That should impress that surly trainer.

When breathing had eased to nearly normal, she tried a jump.

A straight up jump was a new experience, but she came well clear of the water. She did it again, at the other end of the pool—adding more power and getting a little more altitude. By the third jump it appeared that she had it right, and a pass under the tower showed it to be visible from the bottom. That would help. She jumped again, and yet again, refining the technique to be on the safe side, facing the audience as she did. She had their rapt attention. At the speeds she was moving, she left the water with fins instead of arms, and that caused jaws to drop.

Finally ready, she signaled Carla to peel the candy bar, which she did with great showmanship. That complete, she held the result out for the audience's attention before moving to the edge of the platform and extending it, as she had held the treats for the porpoises. Apparently, she'd been watching as Ann practiced, because she first held the candy at the height she'd used with the porpoise. But then, she held up one finger of her other hand in a wait gesture, then used that hand to grip her forearm and raise the arm supporting the candy, as though the extra height was significant.

As Ann studied the jump one last time, Trina's voice came from behind her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began. "It gives me great pleasure to introduce, for the first time anywhere...Arianna, illusionist of the sea!" The applause was a balm to the soul.

° ° °

"I thought your dismount was perfect," Carla said, as they hurried toward the main building.

"Dismount?"

Before Carla clarified, Trina touched Ann's shoulder, saying, "Not that way." She pointed to a door near the end of the building. "Stay on this side of the fence or you're going to have to sign a million more autographs." She pointed. "That door leads to the hallway between the office and our dressing room."

"I like that idea. I wasn't looking forward to facing the crowd by the snack bar."

"So tell me what you meant by my dismount, Carla. The way I came out of the water when I left the pool?"

"Right. How'd you manage that? You said your tail wouldn't change back if you swam fast enough to jump out of the water. When you shot over the edge of the pool, I thought you were going to end up flopping on the deck like a fish."

About to laugh at the image Carla's words called up, she stopped, thinking. If they placed a pad on the crowd side of the pool, to soften the landing, it might make sense to do just that, come out of the water, fins, tail, and all, to give the crowd a look at the full mermaid form. Following that she'd roll back into the water and then surface with her arms on display, hesitate a beat, and exit, again, in human form. That not only gave a good finale, it would drive people absolutely crazy, trying to see through what they _knew_ had to be an illusion.

An interesting idea, but rather than talk about it she responded to Carla's question, on how she'd managed the exit.

"I didn't do it just by swimming; at least not entirely. I used my arms to pull myself up as I pushed from below. I was moving just fast enough that with help from my arms and my tail I landed on the edge squatting and followed that with a jump to my feet. You can do that as easily as I can."

"I guess," Carla said, dubiously, "If I had a tail. But I still liked it, and the crowd went wild."

"True, but that was because I had legs instead of a tail, not because of how I came out. I thought I was about to be attacked when they came out of the stands that way. I almost turned and dove back into the pool."

Trina leaned around Carla, to say, "That was cool, but what I loved was when Frank hobbled over and shouted, 'How you do dat?' He didn't know if he should be pissed or excited."

"He was pissed, Trina," Carla said. "He didn't get to take a bow, and no one came to get _his_ autograph. Plus he looked like a smacked ass after blowing Ann off the way he did."

"Well, he got what he deserved. Gil told him to put her in the show, not make her stand there with nothing to do. He could have at least let her help. He's a pain in the ass, in any case. If Gil could find anyone else he'd be gone in a second, and he knows it. He's a drunk, and he's an asshole."

"You know Gil told him that?" she said to Trina. "He asked Frank to put me in this particular show?" Gil _had_ told her she'd be in the show, but had he told the trainer? Certainly, the man deserved the benefit of the doubt.

"He already knew your name, remember? So Gil told him." Trina wiped her hair with a towel as she walked. "I know Gil. And I know Frank, too. You saw Gil's eyes light up after what you did in the tank. There's no way in hell he'd forget to tell Frank after something like that—though he couldn't have expected you to put on quite such a good show."

"I second that one," Carla said.

But Trina wasn't finished, and as she led them through the door to the main building she said, "He probably told Frank exactly what he wanted you to do, but Frank is such a stiff necked bastard he _forgot_ as soon as Gil walked away. Or maybe he's been on the bottle already. That wouldn't be a surprise."

I wonder what he'll say tonight, when I play fish out of water as part of the finale?

His reaction to that would be fun.

Serves him right.

° ° °

"Girls. I've been looking for you." Marston was leading another man, this one carrying a camera.

"Well you found us, but it's lunch time, so go away."

"Come on, Trina," Marston said. "You two can eat till you burst for all I care, but I need to talk to Ann.... That is, _we_ need to talk to Ann." He indicated the man with him. "This is Brad..." He frowned, and looked at the other man, who supplied, "Brad Casey."

Casey held out a hand, saying, "I'm with the Intelligencer, and I just caught your show. Wow!"

More complication. Damn. She took the proffered hand. Soft, sweaty, and freckled pretty well described it and the rest of the man, as well, other than a fringe of ginger hair edging a shiny pate.

"I'm glad to meet you Mr. Casey," she said, feeling anything but glad.

"Come to my office," Marston said, waving toward the stairs.

"Wait a minute," Trina said, stopping Marston.

"Now what?" He sounded annoyed.

"Now what, is that we need to eat now and then. You've been sitting on your ass all morning, but we've been burning calories, and Ann's been working harder than any of us. She's probably starved by now."

She was. Sure, food had been scant in the days before the ring appeared, but Trina had a point. She _had_ been working hard, and that probably explained why she was so hungry.

Marston stared heavenward, as if for strength. Looking pained, he reached for his wallet and peeled off a bill, saying, "Okay. God forbid I should starve anyone, least of all the star of the show. Grab a cheeseburger and—" He stopped and glanced at the reporter, asking with raised eyebrows and a pointed finger if the man wanted something to eat, too. Receiving an affirmative nod, he said, "Grab three cheeseburgers with fries and drinks and bring them to my office. Is that okay, your highness?"

Trina grinned. "Five lunches, but you only get three. I charge for home-delivery."

"Five," he said, with a sigh, peeling off another bill. "But you tell no one about this." Trina had already turned away, but waved the bills over her head in thank you, bringing the question, again, of if she was just that kind of person or if she had some hold over Marston. No time to think on that, though, because Casey was talking.

"So the ni— The black girl said this was your first performance when she introduced you. Is that true?"

"It's...true." And with that admission she'd opened the door to...to what? He was certain to ask for more, and every lie would beget more lies.

Being interviewed certainly hadn't been on the plan for a first day at work, or for any day, for that matter.

There was the not-so-small matter that the man was an ass—and the larger matter of what to tell him that _wouldn't_ lead to disaster. That was far from clear.

She suppressed a sigh. If only she'd had an attack of good sense in the morning, and stayed on the boat. Spending her days with David seemed a lot less of a problem, now. But this morning who would have guessed the complexity that looking for work as a mermaid could bring? Unfortunately, the answer to that was, David.

° ° °

"Hey, Ann. So how did the interview go?"

She walked through the dressing room door and past Trina, to slump into a chair, saying, "It went okay, I suppose." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember what life had been like a year ago. But that was a waste of time. _Hell, I can't even remember what it was like two days ago._

When she opened her eyes she was the center of attention. Both Carla and Trina stood staring down at her.

"Well?" Trina stood, hands on hips, as she said, "Tell us how it went. What did the reporter ask you, and what did you tell him? Give, girlfriend. We've been waiting almost an hour for this."

"Here? You haven't been in the water?"

Trina squatted, taking hold of her forearms. "Ann...listen. We've been in the water, and we've been out of the water, and at this moment I don't care a flying fig about the damn water. You know what I mean? I want to know how it went."

Trina's enthusiasm helped restore a good mood. She thought back over the interview for a moment, before rocking a hand to show ambivalence, as she said, "I guess it went okay. It was interesting. At first, I tried to tell him as little as I could, but that didn't work."

"Why not?"

"Because he wouldn't take no for an answer, and found something else to ask about, instead."

"Like what?"

"Like who I was, and where I came from, and..." She waved her arms. "All the usual stuff. I tried to be evasive, but that got Gil taking his side, because he could see dollar signs in any story the man might write."

"I'd probably have peed myself, in your place," Carla said. "So what did you do?"

She laughed. "I damn near did, but then I borrowed a page from Trina's book."

"You borrowed a page from—"

For the first time since they met, Trina appeared to be speechless, and her head jerked back till her chin nearly vanished.

Laughing, Ann said, "I was trying to decide what to say, when I heard your voice in my head, saying, 'Don't take this too seriously, girl. Have fun with it.' I'll probably go to hell for it, but that's exactly what I did."

"So, what did you say?"

"Well...I realized I wasn't being interviewed as myself, but as my persona." Trina's worried expression changed to a smile. "Thanks to you, and that announcement you made, I'm now Arianna, the great and powerful. After that it was easy, because I made things up as I went along."

"But...well, what did you tell them?" Carla demanded.

She shrugged. "Whatever came to mind. As it stands now I was born in Latvia.... My real name is Nancy, my father is a genetic scientist who experimented on my mother, and I really am a mermaid." That brought a grin from both Trina and Carla. "I said it in such a way that the reporter is sure it's a lie, though, and that Gil is in on it."

"How did Gil take that?"

She laughed. "As if he'd swallowed his tongue, till he recovered. But remember, I didn't actually say he was in on it. In fact, I said the opposite. I just didn't do it very convincingly."

"I'll bet," Trina said, coming to her feet. "I'd love to have been a mouse in that office." With that she went for her mermaid-tail, saying, "Okay, break time is over, and it's my turn in the water.... But you're next."

"So where are you going to stay?" Carla said, as Trina vanished under the water.

"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought. David's going to be coming back to the marina every night for the next few days, so I'll probably stay on the boat."

"And after that?"

She shrugged. "After that I guess I'll need a place to stay...if I can talk Gil into giving me an advance."

Carla turned to the portable radio on the room's table, tuning it from the country station it'd been playing to another with the same kind of music. She would have preferred jazz, but apparently Trina agreed with Carla's taste in music, because that was what they'd been playing all day. Carla's voice was hesitant as she said, "I'm looking for a roommate. Susan left for Arizona a few months ago, and I haven't been able to replace her yet." She turned to face Ann, adding, "The rent isn't due for two weeks, so you won't need money right away."

"Uhh...that's an interesting idea. Thank you. But let me think about it. This day is so full of surprises, that..." She finished with a shrug.

"Oh." Carla sounded hurt, then brightened, as she said, "You can look at it when you get a chance—maybe later tonight. It's in a nice building, clean, and fairly new."

This was unexpected, but interesting, so she responded with something meaningless but affirmative. Housing was something to look into, but not critical at the moment.

° ° °

The afternoon sun warmed Ann's neck as she walked toward the pool, wearing one of Carla's terry-cloth robes. It was large, annoyingly so, but a necessity given that her skin was beginning to wrinkle from wearing the wet shirt without a break.

Perhaps a synthetic, one that dried quickly? Definitely something more attractive. Gil was right. She'd have to find something pretty to wear for the shows. Maybe tonight, if she could borrow a few dollars from David. The fifty Marston had given as an advance wouldn't cover what she had in mind.

As she approached the pool area she searched for Frank. He wasn't in sight. Fletcher Hatch sat next to the smaller pool, though, on one of the boulders at the pool's front border, talking with the customers. The scent of saltwater and growing things filled the air, along with a background sound composed of equal parts conversation, walking feet, and the shouts of excited children.

"Hey, hey...the star of the show is here." Fletch turned toward her, waving an arm in her direction and saying, "Folks, this pretty lady is Adrianna, the star of the show you'll be seeing a little later. You don't want to miss it, because what she does is positively amazing."

She forced a smile before saying, "It's Arianna, but thanks Fletch. Have you seen Frank? Gil said he was looking for me."

"Not lately," he said, coming to meet her. "Are you going to let me buy you dinner tonight?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I have someone coming to pick me up."

"Boyfriend? Or is there still hope for me? I haven't disappointed a woman yet."

"I'm sure you haven't, but I'll take a pass this time." Before he could respond Frank Sutton called her name, from the door to the supply building. She excused herself and headed in that direction.

As she approached Sutton, his eyes tracked her, smoldering anger alight in their depths. She'd made him look foolish. Never mind that he tried to humiliate her in front of the staff. She'd bested him—all that would matter to someone like him. That was certain, so this wasn't going to be an easy interview.

He wasted no time saying, "What you doing for noon show is what you do for all show. No more. Is clear?"

Clear, yes, and the demand certainly wasn't unexpected, but just leaping from the water a few times and then leaving the pool was unacceptable. Enough anger showed on the man's face that anything she said but, "Okay," would be waste of time, so that was what she said. But he didn't sign the paychecks, so Gil was the one to ask.

For a few seconds, Sutton glared, as though he had expected an argument and wasn't certain of how to handle acquiescence. Finally, he nodded, and said, "Is good we understand each other."

She started to turn away, but he stopped her with, "Is more." When she said nothing, only waited, he said, "You wait in fish house until called. You wear makeup, too. Performance makeup. You have?"

"No."

"I have. I do for you." He pointed. "In fish house, before show. Tomorrow you buy...you do. You have robe?" He looked disgusted when she shook her head, and he said, "You buy, for tomorrow. Long, like flag as you walk. Bright color, too, with maybe crown for head."

"I'll see what I can do."

Again Sutton stopped her before she could leave.

"One thing more." He was frowning more deeply. That combined with his scar, was terribly intimidating.

Stiffening her spine she said, "Yes?"

"You show me."

"Show you?" What he wanted was obvious, but what could she say?

"Don't play me for fool, woman. You show me how you do trick."

Faced with no choice but to tell the truth she shrugged and said, "There's no trick. I'm a mermaid."

She walked away. Trying to convince him that a mechanism under the shirt produced the illusion, without demonstrating it, wasn't worth the effort of trying. When she reached the main building she looked back before she closed the door. He stood where she left him, watching.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 9

"You're a fool, David. A complete and total fool." His reflection agreed.

"You're making an ass of yourself for someone who wants no part of you." Again, no argument. So if he and the mirror were in agreement why was he putting on his best shirt and pants? And why was he as nervous as a teenager on his first date?

Finished with dressing he leaned forward, putting his hands on the edge of the dresser and glaring at his reflection. "She's just a woman, you idiot. A woman who will be here and gone in less than a week."

_Just a woman? Only if you define that as someone who has the ability to grow a tail on command, and who had a miracle transport her across the continent in the blink of an eye_.

He turned and leaned back against the dresser, closing his eyes and seeing Ann as she'd been when he first saw her.

And she happens to be gorgeous. She has hair the color of a daffodil and eyes the color of an angry sea. And her skin...

Her skin. Like warm silk and flawless wherever you looked. Unfortunately, that memory brought with it a vision of sweetly rounded breasts, tipped with coral, and a waist that flowed to hips that called out for the touch of his hands.

"Shit. I absolutely have to stop that." He grabbed his comb and turned back to the mirror. But a sunlight yellow hair clung to it. Her hair. And that started him on the same circular track he'd been traveling throughout the day. Again and again he found himself staring at nothing, not even thinking—simply mesmerized by what had happened...and what hadn't happened.

He stopped at the bottom of the step leading to the deck, hand on the door-latch. "Okay, get a grip. She's pretty, but not that pretty. She's smart, but not that smart. And she hates you, and the very idea of being on the boat with you. So keep your objectivity." With a tightening of his internal resolve he headed for the dock.

"So Dave.... Who's your new girlfriend?"

"I beg you pardon?" The last thing he wanted to do was to talk with Skip Daws, the owner of Harpfish, the charter fishing boat in the slip next to his.

"That blond bombshell you had on the boat last night. She's amazing. Great body and a face to die for. You planning anything special with that one? 'Cause if you aren't, I want a shot at her." Daws put down the mop he'd been using and came to the stern, by the dock's walkway.

"Well...I—"

"I could use someone smart enough to fix a winch and pretty enough to fix me.... You bringing her back tonight?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. At least not for sure." The man was at least two decades too old for her, but that had never stopped him before, from what he'd seen.

"Well, if you do, bring her over for a drink or two...even if you plan to keep her. I want to hear if she got that job she was talking about."

So her work on the winch, and their conversation, hadn't been private. But that was the way it usually went, living in a small and close-knit community as boaters did. In fact, his conversation with Ann had probably been making the rounds all day, especially since Skip Daws heard it. If he didn't have a charter, the man spent his days gossiping.

As he got into his car he said, "She's pretty, but not that pretty. She's smart, but not that smart." He didn't believe that for even a second.

The sign outside said the park's hours ended at seven—nearly ten minutes in the past. As expected, the gate was unattended—though the turnstile didn't move when he pushed, so he vaulted it, then followed the sign pointing toward the theater. That would be a good place to start.

He came around the corner of the bleachers to find her arguing with a blond man who wore only a bathing suit.

"But why?" The man said. "What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Fletch," Ann said, sounding exasperated.

"Then why won't you have dinner with me? Hey, try me on for size, and maybe I'll be a good fit. Lots of women have, and no one's complained yet."

The man might fit many things, but a woman like Ann wasn't one of them, so David interrupted with, "I'm afraid you can't have dinner with her because she's eating with me."

"And who the hell are you?" The man stiffened, noticeably, a dog with a stranger in his territory.

"David Nan," he said, holding out his hand, as though pleased to meet the man. That should put him off balance. "And you are?"

"Uhh..." The man she called Fletch turned to Ann, his face expressing disbelief. "You're married?"

"Brother, actually," he supplied. "Been that way all our lives."

"Uhh..." The man seemed to have a limited vocabulary. He took the man's hand and pumped it with false enthusiasm.

"I hope my Annie hasn't been making trouble. She seems to have the ability to do that, you know. Quite the trickster, my little sister."

"Uhh..."

_Definitely a limited vocabulary_. Given that, he turned to her, saying, "Are you ready? Since you're still here I assume you got the job." He offered his arm, but she pointed toward the building behind the pool, saying, "I have to tell Carla I'm leaving. She was going to find me a ride to the marina."

"Lead on," he said, bowing her forward. She was better looking than he remembered. To Fletch he said, "It was nice meeting you. We'll have to have dinner some time." With luck he'd understand the insult, but that didn't seem likely.

"So how did your day go?" he asked, as they walked toward the building.

She waved a hand, shaking her head as she said, "You don't want to know." She met his eyes for a moment, before grinning and adding, "I guess you do, but I'll tell you about it in the car.... And thank you for rescuing me." An odd note in her voice said she probably had an interesting story to tell.

"Carla!" Ann shouted to a statuesque brunette with skin like burnished copper, who waved in their direction before turning to say something to a very pretty black woman, who looked to be in her late twenties. Something about her seemed familiar. As the women waited for them to arive, he was quite obviously under inspection. What had she been saying about him?

"You must be Ann's David. I'm Trina," the black woman said.

"Guilty, I'm afraid." _Ann's David? What the hell does that mean?_ Apparently, he'd been a topic of conversation.

"I'll take him if you don't want him," Trina said, smiling. "He's beautiful."

_Ann's David?_ And what does one say to such a thing as a woman calling you beautiful? Obviously, he should get out more if this was how strange women were going to react. Again, he wondered what she'd been saying. To Trina, he gave a smile, and a "thank you," hoping that would be appropriate. Social graces were something neglected during his school years. After that, caught up in the world of research, there'd been little time for the niceties of a purely social setting.

"So...I have to know what you thought about Ann," Trina said, crossing her arms and looking at him, quizzically.

"What I thought? I'm sorry, Trina, but I don't—"

"When you first saw her."

"When I..." He shot a quick glance at Ann, hoping for enlightenment. Did Trina mean their first meeting, when she'd been in the water by the boat? Hopefully, his face didn't show his confusion.

"It's okay," Ann said, touching his arm. "Trina and Carla know everything."

As if that weren't bad enough, Carla laughed, and said, "Damn near the whole world knows about it by now."

"Uhh..." He seemed to be suffering from the same condition as the man by the pool. Perhaps it was endemic where Ann was concerned.

"Not about you meeting her," Trina said, smiling at his discomfit. "She means about her changing to a mermaid. But they think it's a trick."

"A trick? I'm not sure I..."

Why do I always have to look like a complete idiot when I'm around her?

While he was trying to frame a reasonable question Carla said, "It's okay, we'll explain later. We're having dinner with you two tonight. Then you're taking us shopping. Or at least you're taking Ann shopping and we're going along to help. We just decided that."

"Shopping? Shopping for what?" Things weren't improving a great deal.

Trina grinned and touched his chin, pushing upward and saying, "Close your mouth, honey, you're letting the flies in. We'll explain on the way."

° ° °

"So they liked what she did?" He paused with the hamburger halfway to his mouth.

"Liked it? Babycakes, they _loved_ it. When she came shooting out of the water and chomped that candy bar out of Carla's hand they went wild."

Ann snorted. "Well I almost didn't make it that first time. I was way too far out, and off to the side, too. If Carla hadn't moved her hand as quickly as she did I would have missed."

Carla shook her head, licking ketchup from her lip before saying, "Practice.... But it makes no difference. You did get it. And even if you'd missed, you were still way out of the water when you did it, with your tail flapping and fins where your arms should be. That was what got them cheering and screaming."

"And they saw her swimming, and leading up to the jump?" he asked, putting the burger back on his plate.

"Saw her every time she did it. The water's pretty clear and not all that deep."

"Then...well how do they think it was done? I mean...couldn't they see it wasn't a trick, and that she was real? That's the part I don't understand. You might claim to have a false tail under that shirt, but it wouldn't make you swim that well. Nothing could."

That brought a laugh from the three of them.

"I worried about that," Ann said. "But who's going to believe I change from having legs to sporting a tail the instant I hit the water? So it _has_ to be an illusion...a trick."

"The name helps," Trina put in. "Don't forget that."

"Name?"

Ann laughed. "I seem to have become Arianna, Illusionist Of The Sea, thanks to Trina. I took that and ran with it."

He threw up his hands. "And you believe no one is going to figure this out? Are you all out of your minds?"

Ann held out a hand in inquiry. "Probably. Was there a choice?"

He took a breath, and kept his voice deliberately quiet as he said, "You could have stayed with me. Still could. I don't have a lot of confidence in this. There are too many unanswered questions."

"Questions?"

"Like where are you going to stay? And is there security there to protect you from people wanting to share your 'secret?' Do you—"

"She's going to stay with me," Carla said, decisively. "And there's a doorman for security in the lobby. Nobody gets upstairs without permission." That brought all eyes on her, so she said, "With the money I save by owning an old car, and by sharing the apartment, I can afford a nicer place. I'm on the tenth floor of The Towers, on Vesta boulevard."

Ann's "Uhh..." went a long way toward restoring his confidence. Apparently, this was news to her, as well.

"So tell me what we have to shop for," he said, changing the subject. Her walking out of his life was something for a more private conversation.

Ann paused before turning away from Carla, still frowning, to say, "I need clothes to go to work in, and something to wear in the water—a nicer shirt at least. Though I've been thinking of wearing the top of a two-piece bathing suit...at least for the fish-tank inside the building, when I'm just swimming around. For the show I can wear that, and have a cover-up stashed where I can get at it underwater." When he nodded, she said, "The problem is that I only have fifty dollars, so if you could—"

"Sea Kingdom will pay," Trina said.

"What?"

"The place will pay. We'll advance you the money."

"But.... How do you—" Ann sounded badly rattled.

Trina took a deep breath, biting her lip for a moment, before saying, "Gil works for me."

"For you?" That was both Ann and Carla, in obvious surprise. They didn't explain who Gil was, but he assumed Ann had had dealings with him as the owner.

A long silence, while Trina obviously fought an internal battle over what to tell them. Then something clicked.

"Trina Locust," he said. "You're Trina Locust...or used to be."

She gave him a long look before nodding and saying, "That used to be my name...a long time ago." She was older than his first guess, by perhaps a decade.

Ann looked from him to Trina, and back, several times, seeming confused. Before he could explain, Trina said, "I used to be a model, Ann. I used to be..." She sighed, and stood, saying, "Tell them, Dave. I need to be alone for a few minutes." With that she turned and headed toward the door, going through without looking back.

In response to the stares of the women he said, "Trina Locust was one of the top models in the business. Wherever you looked, her face was looking back. She could look like the girl next door or the hooker around the corner, and make you want her for your own, either way...at least if you were a man. She even did a Playboy centerfold. Then she got tied up with Tic-Toc Barnes."

"The rapper? The one who died in a fire?"

"That one."

"Wow." That was Carla.

"I'm not sure wow applies, because from what I remember—and assuming the tabloids had the story halfway right—she was pretty straight before she met him."

"Shit. Drugs?"

"From what I hear. That and anything else in fashion at the time."

"So, what happened?" Carla asked.

He shrugged. "The usual, I suppose. Remember, What I'm telling you is what I read in the papers at the time, so.... Well, her career went to hell, because no one could predict what she was going to do. She might show up for a shoot so stoned they had to prop her against the wall to get a picture. She might not show up at all. When Tic-Toc died it was the best thing that could have happened to her, I guess. I always assumed she ended up dead in an alley, or selling herself on the street for a fix. But here she is, and she looks pretty good, so I guess she straightened out. And since she seems to own Sea Kingdom, she must have either saved her money or inherited Tic-Toc's."

Ann put the sandwich down, saying, "I'm going to find Trina. I'm sure she needs a hug about now."

"Want company?"

"Give us five minutes."

° ° °

"So why don't you let people know you own the place, Trina?" The inside of the Subaru was dark and the rear view mirror showed little but the outline of her head.

"Are you kidding, Dave? Let a southern town know a black girl owns one of bigger businesses in the city?"

"That's not fair, Trina," Ann said, turning so she was facing the back seat. "Things have changed a lot in this country."

That brought a laugh, and "Maybe in the country as a whole, but not in a hick town like this. Didn't you hear that reporter today when he almost dropped the 'N' word on me? He thought I was too far away to hear, but I have good ears."

"I heard, but—"

"But nothing. The facts of life are the facts of life, honey. I'm not going to change that man's opinion, or the way people behave, so I act through Gil. It works, and with luck I won't lose everything I own." She leaned toward Ann and rested a hand on her shoulder as she said, "That's why I was so glad to see you come along. Yesterday I was worrying that I'd have to declare bankruptcy before spring. Now I'm thinking of adding those exhibits I had to leave out when we built the place."

After a moment Carla asked, "So where did you find Gil? I've always wondered about the way he treats you."

"Gil was my manager, back when I was a model. A friend, too—the best one I've ever had. Of all the people I knew, only he stood by me when the trouble came. And he kicked my ass when I was screwing up, trying to hold me together. I hated him for it at the time. But he was the one I turned to, and the one who helped me gather the pieces of my life together after the fire." She was silent for several seconds before saying, "It was my fault that Tic-Toc died. He was freebasing coke for me."

What does one say to that? This was turning out to be an educational day. But, what had led to Trina confiding in Ann the way she had? And what was she hoping to gain from relating her story? To keep her from going back to work on the boat? To keep her from taking a job with another sea park? A need to talk about her past? No way to know.

"So what made you go into that business?" he ventured. "And how did you end up with your manager running it? Surely—"

"I'd rather not talk about that," Trina said. "Maybe some other time, but I've talked too much, already."

Was it his presence that caused her to end the conversation? Probably. He made a note to talk to Ann about that, later.

"Okay then, so tell me what happened today, after Ann got there. I spent much of my day staring at sand and coral on a TV monitor so I'm ready for a bit of excitement."

"I had a bit of that," Ann said, chuckling. She turned back to face him. "Well, it started out when I came in and met..."

° ° °

"Pull in here," Carla said. "I have an idea that might help with the costume."

"Oh?" David slowed, as he prepared to turn into the small shopping center she'd pointed to.

"I want to see what they have in that sewing shop. If they have what I want I can make up something nicer than that wrap she bought—something a little flashy, with a big stand-up collar and a gold tie at the throat, like circus performers use."

"You sew?" Trina asked, sounding interested.

"Used to work in a sweatshop when I was a kid in Colombia. We were poor, so I started working when I was seven. We didn't come here till I turned eleven, so I did a lot of sewing...not to mention making my own clothes, now."

He stopped the engine and reached for the door handle. Before he opened the door, though, he said, "So how did you end up in Florida?"

Carla laughed, before saying, "I came in the back door, so to speak. They were charging admission around front."

"Then..."

"Then I'm a wetback? Sí señor. Guilty as charged. But no one will ever know about that...unless you guys blab. I'm an American now, and I like it here."

He nodded. "So your name isn't Carla Goldberg. I wondered about that."

"You've got it." She directed her attention toward Ann, saying, "Your boyfriend is pretty smart."

_Boyfriend?_ He'd have to think on the implications of that remark.

"True," Ann said, not contradicting her. "But I'm not, so you'll have to explain."

Feeling pleased that for once he wasn't making an ass out of himself he said, "She took someone else's identity. She probably went to the cemetery looking for a girl born in the same year she was, but who died shortly thereafter, then took her identity."

"I took her whole family...or my mom did," Carla supplied. "The girl's parents had headstones next to her, and the year of death was the same for all three, so I suppose they died in an accident. You can't simply order birth-certificates, though, because they check for people stealing identities that way. But mom had friends who specialize in such things, and in a few days she and I had new names, with documentation to back them up."

"Cute," Trina said. "It seems we all have secrets. So what was your original name?"

Another laugh. " _Concepción_ , and don't you _dare_ say anything about that." With that she opened the door, but she stopped with her hand on the door latch, saying, "I do have another little secret Ann needs to know, though."

"I've already guessed," Ann said, opening her own door. "I'm not that way, if it makes a difference."

"I suppose not. And the roommate offer is still open. It's a pity, though."

In answer to his questioning look, Ann said, "She's a lesbian," then followed Carla and Trina.

He decided to wait in the car. It'd been an overwhelming evening.

Boyfriend?

° ° °

Ann poured water into the tank of the coffee maker and flicked on the brew switch. After readying their cups and digging out the sugar and cream, she went to sit across from him.

"So how did your day go, David?"

"The usual. I looked at a lot of sand. The winch worked perfectly, though. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, as she slid into the seat.

"So, I guess I'm up-to-date on the happenings of your day. What next? Will you stay with the show?"

"Why not? The work's not hard, though the hours are long. And the pay is pretty good. If the gate numbers jump as a result of me being there my pay will go up, too."

"And if the secret gets out that it's not an illusion?"

He'd hit something she was mildly worried about. But the result of that happening was unknowable, so she shrugged and said, "If it does, it does. I am what I am, after all. What can they do, sue me? Phony mermaid or real, people will pay to see me perform."

Silence reigned for a long time, his expression changing as he thought about that. Finally, and in an unsure voice he said, "I can think of several things that might not be to your advantage."

"Like?" So like a scientist to put it that way.

"Like the government deciding to see what makes the goose lay golden eggs. Suppose the navy's seals became real seals while they're in the water...or better yet, mermen. The navy would be _very_ interested in that aspect of it."

"Ouch."

"Ouch is right. You could quietly vanish into a secret government lab. And how about the reaction of the religious fanatics when they decide that what's happening is the work of the devil? Will they come here hunting you? And what about those who decide you're holy because God is the one making you change?"

She blew out her breath. "I hadn't really thought of that. I might—"

"You might also become famous, like a rock star, and have people treat you like a tin god." He gave a dismissive shrug. "Could be fun, I suppose." The sarcasm in his voice gave his opinion of that.

Rather than reply she said, "Let me get the coffee," and went to ready and fill their cups. "Same as usual?"

"Yes, thank you.... So?"

"So I don't know. You make a good point...several good points. I'll try to keep any of that from happening, but what else can I do?"

"You can quit."

She thought that over while she filled the cups and came back to the table. "Out of the question," she said as she put his cup in front of him. "You heard Trina tonight. She needs all the help she can get to keep the place running. And the people who work there need their jobs. Even Frank Sutton and Fletch-the-letch."

_I've got to stop calling him that_. Though he definitely was a letch. The man mentally undressed every woman he met. And, according to Trina, he hit on anything female and drawing breath.

David shook his head, as though shaking away a mosquito buzzing around his ear—or maybe shaking away an idea he disliked. Then, with an expression like a man tasting a lemon he said, "You're not responsible for Sea Kingdom staying in business, Ann. I like Trina, but you just met her—and the rest of those people—today."

"And that means?"

"Well..." He moved his hands indecisively, before saying, "I suppose I should admire you for your selflessness, but...well, you're not being very realistic about this. There are too many ways for you to get into trouble." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "And as grist for your mill, think about this: You say you want to trust no one, and ask nothing of others. Yet here you are helping someone you just met. Is that how it works? Others need your help, but you're so self-sufficient you need no one?"

She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was right, as usual, but she _had_ been given a gift. Was it to be used as personal entertainment? Had she been transformed only as a means of getting away from the men attacking her? That didn't work. It would have been far easier for whoever or whatever had rescued her to drop her next to the pier, clothing and all. She'd been sent here, and given a unique ability. Deliberately, it appeared. So there _must_ be a reason. She told him so, as much to change the subject as for any other reason, and that caused him to blow his breath out through puffed cheeks.

"You have the proverbial date with destiny, then? There's some grand purpose in what happened?" He got up from the table, adding, "I have chocolate cake in the fridge if you'd care for a slice. Not as good as being among the chosen few, but pretty close to second best." Apparently, he was as uncomfortable with the subject as was she.

"I would...like the cake, that is. As for having a date with destiny...how can I know? But I can't believe what happened to me is a random thing. Something or someone did it, and did it with purpose. I just have to wait to see what that purpose is."

A trace of sarcasm flavored his voice as he said, "You have a lot more faith in that than I do. And remember, if I'd heard of you, rather than knowing you, I'd have moved heaven and earth to get a look at you, and to get you into a lab where I could study you. Never forget there are people who'd cheerfully slice you up to get a look at what makes you tick...and not worry too much about how you felt about it." He put the plates of cake on the table, then went to get forks, saying, "I don't want to upset you, but you should know what might happen if you keep this up."

She leaned back in the seat, studying him. As attractive dressed as in a bathing suit, his taste in clothing left a lot to be desired. _Maybe take him shopping before moving out?_ Maybe not the best idea.

"I'll be careful," she finally said. "That's the best I can promise. Now tell me about your friend Skip. I got the impression he was waiting on deck for us to come by." An urge to brush his hair back from his face came. She ruthlessly suppressed that, only to have it replaced by speculation on what it would be like to kiss him. His lips were truly beautiful.

"Skip?" he said, with a chuckle. "He _was_ waiting. When I talked to him this morning, he said he wanted you if I was going to throw you back."

"And what did you tell him?" Now why had she asked that?

"That you'd be gone in a few days. I..." he stopped and put his fork down, locking her eyes with his. For too long he didn't speak, and the intensity of his gaze brought a tightness in her chest, a band constricting her breathing.

"I need to know if we'll still be friends after you move out." His tone placed more into his words than a simple request for friendship—much more. But until things stabilized in the present, planning for the future was impossible, even were she to want him to be part of it.

She had no choice but to say, "We'll be friends, David. I'll always want you for a friend."

He tried not to show his disappointment. But it was there. Hurting him, after all he'd done for her, was wrong and cruel. But was there choice in the matter? No. No choice at all.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 10

"Are you Arianna?" The man, cadaver thin, held something he glanced at as he spoke, probably a picture.

Ann stopped, then moved aside from the gate, to let the other employees pass.

"Who?" She hadn't used the name for long enough to attach it to herself.

"The mermaid in the show...Arianna. You're her, right?"

"Well..." It wasn't something she could deny. The man apparently had her picture. And certainly, he wasn't going to give up when a ticket to the park would allow him a close personal look as she swam in the aquarium tank.

"Look," The man said, "My name's Hank Jones, and I'm a reporter. I need to talk to you for a few minutes."

Reporter, he said. But he hadn't identified the publication, so he was probably a stringer, rather than an employee, and a stringer for a tabloid at that. Not the best news. But he had asked nicely, so she nodded, and said, "I'm not going to tell you—or anyone else—how I do it. Aside from that, what would you like to know?"

"What do I want to know? Hell, I want _everything_. Even before I caught you on the tube last night my editor called and said to get over here quick like a bunny." Apparently, he'd seen the on-camera interview, mixed with video taken when they shot the three o'clock show.

Deciding to defer the decision as to how much to tell him until she knew him a bit better, she said, "Well, you can come with me and we can talk over coffee."

She waved to Carol in the sales booth, then pointed toward Jones, and they were buzzed through.

Deferring their talk till they reached the snack bar, gave a chance to organize her thoughts. Should she expect to be paid for the interview? And what was the difference between a paid and an unpaid interview? Trina might know, but since a paid interview would probably go a lot deeper than she planned to go, for now the man would get generalities.

It appeared that a quiet walk wasn't on the man's agenda, though, because he said, "So I got your real name as Nancy Something, with no last name given. Fill me in."

With a sigh, she gave in and said, "My name is Arianna, no last name specified. And anything that happened to me before yesterday is none of anyone's business. You can quote me on that."

"Hah! A beautiful woman of mystery. I like that. So tell me what you _can_ tell me."

"Such as?"

"Such as...did you develop the illusion yourself, or with someone's help?"

"Yes."

"Cute. Do you mind if I record this?" He pulled a small dictation machine from his pocket, and when she nodded he clicked the unit on and said, "Well can you tell me what subjects you took in college?"

That brought her to a halt. "What makes you think I went to college?"

The man smiled. "Bingo! I was pretty sure, so the next question is where, and what was your major."

"You haven't answered _my_ question. What makes you think I went to college?" Was it so obvious in her manners and word choices?

He studied her for a moment before saying, "You don't stand like a down-home girl, and you don't talk like a down-home girl. You said, 'What would you like to know,' not, 'Tell me what you want.' My guess is somewhere on the West Coast—Washington State from your accent."

How someone living in Florida would recognize her state of birth by her accent was incredible.

"How did you—"

He grinned at her confusion. "I spent a few years at Antioch's Seattle campus, till I decided I didn't want to be a psychologist. So how am I doing so far?"

She started walking, and he stayed silent for a time. When she didn't answer, he said, "I don't buy the foreign birth, either, so where _were_ you born?"

"Spokane, but you _can't_ quote me on that."

He laughed. "So tell me something I _can_ quote. Why this place? You could have gone to Sea World in an instant."

"I like the people, and I like the town. Next?"

"Why are we in a hurry? You walk like you're on your way to a marathon. How many hours a week do you work out?"

She replayed his last remark. She _was_ walking fast, and had a spring to her step that had never been there before. And she was stronger than she had been—a good deal stronger. Part of the ring's gift or the result of so much swimming? The transformation seemed the likely cause, since the time since becoming a mermaid was too short to have changed her strength and stamina very much through exercise.

"Arianna?"

"What? Oh..." He was still waiting for an answer. "Sorry. I overslept this morning so I don't have a lot of time. I'm in the water in about twenty minutes." Actually, she'd gotten up late deliberately, so she wouldn't have to sit with David or think about him, and the effect he had on her. "As for working out, the swimming keeps me in shape."

"Okay. So you're college educated, you're officially born out of the country, and you aren't talking about how you do the fish trick. Hows about filling me in on the other things, like when you became interested in this kind of thing, and who influenced you?"

"Hows about telling me who you're writing for, first?" She stirred the coffee, then tasted it, suppressing a grimace. She excused herself and got a donut to kill the taste of the coffee, making made a mental note to talk to Trina about having them clean the coffee urns more than once a century.

"So? Which one are you writing for?" she asked, as she pulled the chair closer to the table.

".... I'm free-lance."

"But you said, 'my editor called.' So which tabloid do you write for? And how far did you drive to get here?"

"Ouch. You have teeth...and a memory." He tried to disarm her with a smile before saying, "I'm with, The Review. And I came in from Tampa."

"The Review? Really? The last time I saw it the headline claimed that someone found Jesus frozen in a glacier, and that he needed to talk to the Pope." She cocked her head and studied him as she said, "Not your story, I hope?"

He shrugged it off, with, "Not mine. But there are crap stories in all the papers. Tell me enough interesting things and yours won't be."

"And if I don't?" She wasn't sure if she should be angry or laugh at the audacity of the man.

"And if you don't, I'll have to dig around and speculate a bit on what I find. What else can I do?" He leaned toward her, resting his arms on the little table, saying, "Tell me enough to keep me honest, lady." He sat back and waved a hand. "Or don't. Either way people will read it and be sure to make a stop here to see you, so _you_ can't lose."

"Well...in that case—" About to call Trina over, she stopped. If this man recognized Trina's face he'd have a story better than any he might write about her. But she'd raised her arm, and the man had seen, so she called, "Hey, girl, I'm being interviewed this morning. I'll meet you in the dressing room in a few minutes."

Trina hesitated, then gave a thumbs-up to show she understood. She didn't head toward the dressing room, though, but went upstairs to Gil's office. Yesterday she would have wondered why. This morning she understood.

"Who was that?"

"One of the other mermaids."

"Really? I want to talk to her, too, to get her slant on the show."

"I'll tell her, but I'm not sure she'll want to. She's sort of shy." She'd have to warn Trina to be on guard.

"But you're not. You have teeth, and you're the best-looking mermaid I've ever seen. So talk to me, and contribute to the 'Keep Hank Jones employed' fund. My editor is a bastard about me taking paid vacations when he's the one paying."

° ° °

Ann hit the water with a splash, pleased that she had been in exactly the right position to snap a bite of candy bar from Carla's fingers—close enough to tap Carla's shoulder with a fin-tip before she fell away.

She turned and searched for her shirt. It wasn't where she left it.

_Damn!_ Now that she wore a bikini top under the shirt she assumed it would be safe to slip the shirt from her shoulders as she dove and let the water strip it off as she entered the water. The arrangement worked for the act, but without the shirt there'd be no no lower body covering when she left the water

She swam a fast loop of the pool. No shirt. Obviously, one of the porpoises had taken it. Again she searched. And there it was—the object of a game of tag, apparently. As she watched, a porpoise—she wasn't sure which—snatched it from the jaws of another, shredding the cloth as it did. Perhaps shredding it further was more accurate, because it hung in streamers.

_Damn! Now what?_ Certainly, coming out of the water on the grandstand side of the pool, as planned, wasn't an option. The opposite side offered little more, because the staff was gathered there.

_Call for a towel?_ Possible, but too slow. The robe Carla made wasn't an option, either, because it was too sheer—and would cling when wet.

_So now what?_ Perhaps the time she'd spent with David, sans clothing had acclimatized her. Perhaps it was Carla, who didn't give a damn if she was dressed or not; perhaps it was that grinning reporter sitting in the stands; and perhaps it was the accumulated effect of all that had happened in the past few days that made the decision for her. Whatever it was, a line was crossed. Unlike the person she'd known all her life, she acted on an impulse she should know to her bones was wrong.

Before she could change her mind she swam to the pool wall facing the audience, stripping off the bra as she went, crumpling it into her hand.

Screw what should be!

She surface-swam straight to the wall opposite the stands. In one motion, without losing the velocity she'd gained crossing the pool, she pulled herself from the water to stand, arms raised in exultation, back arched and on her toes. She held that pose, smiling at the open mouths on Fletch and Frank Sutton, until Trina shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls...I give you Arianna, Mistress Of Illusion." Then, to the best applause she'd had thus far, she trotted for the supply building. Next time, she'd have Trina fish out the shirt and toss it to her, because for certain, that reporter and his camera would be on the supply building side of the pool for the next show.

Two days later she found her picture on the front page of The Review—arms raised, dimpled backside exposed. In all, she looked pretty damn good. Then she opened the paper and read the article.

° ° °

"You have a...a twin? How the hell can you have a twin?" David's face was furrowed with disbelief.

"Here, read the story yourself." She handed him the paper.

He pushed his plate out of the way and spread the paper out before him, brow knitted in concentration. After a moment he looked up. "You have a twin sister? Your father experimented with her genes and created a monster, half woman half fish?" He glanced down at the paper as though to assure himself it was still there, then looked up, shaking his head. "Is the man out of his mind?"

"Either that or one hell of a creative writer. Read on. It gets better."

"Better?" He stared for a long moment, before looking down at the paper again, muttering.

"So let me get this straight," he said at last. "You have a twin sister who's the real mermaid, and in the instant you hit the water she takes your place while you swim through a tunnel to a hidden exit, or air supply."

"And my twin does all the tricks until I take her place at the end. Makes sense, I suppose, if the only other choice is that I grow a tail, which you and I both know is flatly impossible."

"Impossible? I suppose so, to someone who's never watched it happen up close. But did he even ask you about this? Did he let you read the story before this issue went to print?"

"Of course not." She pointed toward his plate, saying, "Eat, David. You're paying for this, and it's not cheap. So you damn well better enjoy it."

That brought a scowl, and "How can I enjoy my dinner after reading crap like that?"

"Want my fish instead? I've developed a craving for it since the change, but I'll give it up for you if you want."

That got his attention, and he leaned toward her as he said, "Really? Did it develop over time, or was—"

"I'm kidding. Eat your steak...or take the fish if you want. I like both. And stop grumping."

"Well I can't help it. I don't want you to go. I like having you on the boat. I like that a lot." His voice carried echoes of a child denied an especially desired treat. She supposed she should be flattered, but that was part of why she had to leave. In many ways he was the best friend she'd never had. Ten times a night she asked herself if it would be so wrong to be more than a friend. An equal number of times she wondered if it would be a crime to taste his lips, to see if they were as soft and welcoming as they looked. That thought, repeated now, brought a warm shiver of anticipation, which she instantly rejected, because there was another side to the man, one of equal importance: he was impossible to live with.

So alike in many ways, except in matters of trust. Always, he urged trust in others. But if she were to trust Fletch he'd betray that trust. That was assured. If she trusted her life to someone like Frank Sutton she'd lose it. That, too, was assured.

Love people too much and they vanish from your life. Her parents proved that.

Now she was leaving the boat and moving in with Carla—who had her own agenda, of course. People always had an agenda, from Trina, to the reporter for The Review, to David, himself. He wanted to help his sister, and anything that got in the way of that desire came second. Sure, he offered to change his schedule and be at the marina every night, but only because he had the same designs on her that Fletch did. He was just more of a gentleman about it. And he _was_ tempting—the first man who had really tested her resolve. But in that he was the enemy. Maybe later, after she was where she wanted to be, but not now. Not now.

But he was waiting for an answer, and as usual, she was woolgathering.

"I like being on your boat, David. And you're a good friend, even if you do drive me crazy, sometimes. But I have to be on my own. We've been over this before."

"With Carla.... You have to be on your own with Carla instead of on your own with me." He took a slow breath, then looked down at the table as he shook his head, hiding his expression. After a moment he met her gaze, and something behind his eyes had been switched off. He sat up straighter, more formally, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, before folding the paper and pulling his plate back in front of him, "Okay. Come and see me when you're in the mood for company. I'll drive you over there tomorrow night."

Of itself her hand went out to touch his. It was warm...so warm. "Please don't be angry, David. Give me some time."

He nodded and picked up the paper, cover facing up, changing the subject with, "So is this how you end the shows now?"

She stared for a moment, then released his hand. "No," she said, matching his formality. "One of the girls tosses me a cover-up and I come out of the water on the audience side, to sign autographs."

He met her gaze for a time, then smiled, relaxing a bit, as he said, "Well I'll take an eight by ten and a wallet size, if you can get copies."

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 11

Ann studied the dingy and its lone passenger as it buzzed toward them across the glassy water. In casual clothing, the man still seemed more formally dressed than one might expect a sports boater to be. And he was aiming directly toward Jennie's Promise. Most odd, given the early hour.

"David?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you expecting anyone? There's a dink heading in our direction."

"No. I'll be there as soon as I get my pants on."

The dinghy's engine sound died about twenty feet from the boat.

"Excuse me," the man called, as David emerged from the cabin. "I'm looking for the Nancy B?"

"She's over there," he said, pointing.

"Which one?" The man stood, looking in the indicated direction, a dangerous move, in her estimation. The boat was small, and tippy.

"It's the one with the Bimini bridge. The one with the cocktail glass flag."

The small boat had weathervaned, driven by the slight breeze, and the man turned, trying to keep himself facing the Nancy B, but he apparently caught his foot on something and nearly fell. Unfortunately, to catch his balance he had to take a step to the side, and that put his weight right at the edge of the boat. The opposite side of the lightweight boat shot upward in response, spilling him into the water, where he floundered.

"Oh shit...I can't swim. Help me!"

"Grab the boat," she shouted. "It's got flotation compartments." The man didn't seem to have heard. About to go to his aid she stopped. Something wasn't right. It was far too convenient a happening—as though staged—so she scanned the area. Sure enough, Hank Jones' cadaverous face was visible, peering around a piling only a few feet up the dock's walkway. He was squatting, intently watching, camera at the ready. When her eyes met his he stood, shrugging, a small smile playing at his lips.

David tossed his shirt to the deck, saying, "I'll go after him."

She touched his arm. "Let him drown."

"What?"

"Let the man drown, he's trying to get me to jump into the water." She nodded toward the walkway. "My friend the reporter is over there waiting to get a picture."

"Shit."

"I agree." It might be interesting to see how long the man in the water would maintain his charade in the face of their indifference.

Before that happened Skip Daws shouted, "Are you two out of your minds? That man needs help." He'd snatched up a life preserver ring and was readying the line for a toss. Apparently, he kept them handy in case one of his customers fell overboard.

"Forget it, Skip," she said. "He's a phony."

"What?" But her words had come too late and Skip tossed the ring. Unfortunately, she'd distracted him, and instead of going past the man, and giving him a rope to grab, the ring hit him full in the face. He vanished.

For a frozen moment no one moved. Then, when the man didn't resurface Skip dove cleanly into the water.

She held her breath. For nearly thirty seconds the water's surface remained placid. Finally, Skip appeared, blowing loudly as he took a breath.

"I can't see very well. It's still too dark. I'm going back down, but you need to call for help." With that he was gone.

She shook her head, wishing there was another way. But there wasn't. Turning her back on Jones and hoping he didn't have the camera pointed in her direction, she flipped the button of the waistband on her shorts loose and yanked the zipper. In one motion she pulled both shorts and panties free, to drop around her ankles. Stepping out of them she dove, heading for the bottom.

Why must life be one unending series of disasters?

The man was there, lying limply on the bottom. Hopefully, he wasn't dead. She snatched him up in passing and headed for the boat, anger flooding through her, focused on Jones. How dare that man abuse her trust? She gave him the interview he requested—had spent more than an hour with him—and told him everything she dared reveal. The man hadn't even had the courtesy to ask for a second interview. Well if David wanted proof of why she didn't trust people, this should do, nicely.

Before she reached the surface the man began to struggle. Apparently, he was recovering. Reassuring yes, but she was in no mood to appreciate his good fortune. She just wanted to be rid of him and Jones, both.

She broke the surface near the boat, taking hold of the stern platform to steady herself, holding the sputtering man's head out of the water as his breathing stabilized.

"Here, Mr. Jones," she said, "He's yours." With anger ready and willing to guide her tongue, she didn't trust herself to say more than that.

The reporter stood on the dock, camera pointed in her direction..

Then, David reached the work platform and bent to take hold of the man she'd rescued, lifting him, seemingly without effort, till they were virtually nose-to-nose. He was _strong!_ The expression he wore said he was also furious.

He held the man there for a moment, apparently assuring himself that he was breathing and awake, before saying, "If I ever see you again, I had better be looking at your back, running. Because the next time, I will kick your ass from here to whatever swamp you crawled out of. Understand?"

The man nodded, by way of answer, and David, still holding him by the shirtfront said, "Are you okay?" Again the man nodded, and in response he said, "Good," and threw him into the water, saying, "Then swim for your damn boat and get the hell out of here!"

She waited, ready to go to his aid again, if necessary. His boat still floated, thanks to built in flotation tanks. It hadn't turned over in the mishap, though the side where he'd been standing had dropped far enough under the water to flood it. Still, the outboard hadn't been underwater, and should still function.

For all his ordeal, the man swam well.

She turned back to the boat again in time to see David spring to the dock, anger apparent in the lines of his body and in how he moved. Jones took a step backward, but he had to either stop or go into the water on the other side of the walkway so he stopped. Heads were beginning to show on nearby boats.

"Hey," Jones said. "Keep your hands off."

"The film," David demanded. "Now."

"The hell you say. This is my camera, and she's _my_ story. I knew that crap about it being an illusion was just that...crap. And now I have proof."

"The hell you do," he said, snatching the camera from his hand.

"Hey, I—" He probably had a lot to say, but David's other hand clenched his shirtfront, below the collar, and lifted. A moment later his feet hung over the water, discouraging conversation.

"Without turning, David tossed the camera in her direction. She managed to catch it, though he'd probably been aiming for the water.

Turning back to Jones, David lowered him to the dock, to stand on his toes, then began talking to him. She couldn't make out what he said, but his voice was tight and angry.

Skip Daws reached the platform, to take hold of it—still looking toward the water—and say, "I see it but I don't believe it. When you came past carrying that man I nearly crapped myself." Yet another complication, in a situation already far too complicated.

But explanations would have to wait. Coming out of the water by the boat, wasn't an option. Too many people around, and in a few seconds there'd be more, right on the dock, so she deferred his questions with, "Later," and asked him to get her pants from the deck.

She took the pants and handed him the camera, then submerged and headed toward an abandoned shrimper's dock where she could come out of the water and dress without being seen. Wet clothing was beginning to seem a natural state.

"So what happened?" she asked, as she came onto the boat, still angry. The walk back to the marina hadn't helped.

David pointed. "I sent them away."

The little boat, still brimming with water, slowly worked its way to wherever it had come from, its tiny outboard whining complaint. Both Jones and the stranger were aboard. Jones didn't look happy, which gave a grim sense of satisfaction. His stupidity had nearly caused his friend's death.

But it was unlikely that Jones would stay away, now that he'd seen her change with no possibility of being an illusion, which meant more complications. As always, it was, hooray for the rings blessings, counterbalanced by curses for its complications.

But David had talked with him, so she said, "What were you telling him before I left? I couldn't hear."

David's lips bent a trifle, into a grim smile. "I didn't _want_ anyone to hear. I told him that if he wrote one single word of what happened he'd be visited by people who change into things a lot less benign than a were-mermaid."

"A were-mermaid?" She laughed. The label certainly fit, though applying the term "were" to anything but wolves tickled. An interesting idea, though.

"So you told him something horrible would visit him? Really? Like what?"

This was something to think about. Certainly, he'd been trying to scare the man, but how many magic rings were there, drifting from hand to hand around the Earth? Certainly one possible explanation for werewolves, and tales of magical transformations.

His grin broadened. "Well, I told him the were-people of the Earth had a pact to help each other, and that you were in trouble already, for letting someone like him know we exist. I told him you were were-mer, and that I—"

She couldn't suppress the snort of laughter that came. "Were...mer? That's..." She laughed. "That's brilliant."

"Thank you. I thought so.... Anyway, I told him I was a were-tiger"

"A were-tiger?"

She couldn't help the grin that came. The man certainly was inventive. The grin evaporated when he shrugged and added, "I think he bought it.... We'll have to see what happens, and be careful."

"And his camera?"

"In the cabin. It's a digital model. I not only erased the pictures, I took new ones over them, then erased them, too, to be sure there's nothing he can recover. I said you'd leave the camera at the front gate when you went to work."

"Umm...can I interrupt for just a second?" Skip Daws stood on the deck of the Harpfish, drying his hair with a towel. When he saw he had their attention he said, "When you're done talking do you think you might let me in on the big secret? Like what the hell is going on with Ann and her..." he glanced around, apparently checking for eavesdroppers, before saying, "Well, whatever that was that I saw?"

She turned to David, in question. He gave a little shrug, as though to say, "It's up to you." So she said, "Come have breakfast with us Skip, and I'll tell you about it." Everyone else seemed to know, or at least find out about it, so what was one more?

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 12

David took the boat out of the slip before they turned in for the night, to continue his drift data-gathering, and to ensure that neither Jones nor any other reporter could find them.

A quiet evening followed devoted to conversation on no particular subject. She exchanged personal anecdotes, talked politics, and even argued religion without coming to blows. He showed interest in virtually everything, and had a way of expressing things that seemed to anticipate, and answer her every question. As teacher he must be an especially good one. Unfortunately, his profession, other than the generic term, oceanographer, was a subject they had yet to cover. She made a mental note to ask.

Breakfast was a silent affair. And that continued, as they headed for the marina. Tonight she would sleep at Carla's apartment.

As they approached the dock she leaned back against the pilothouse's front wall, enjoying the sunshine and reliving the events of the previous morning, with the reporter. If only things wouldn't keep getting more and more complicated. Jones was the first of many. So, she now had to suspect anything and anyone out of the ordinary. One of the prices of fame, it appeared, but getting used to it would take time.

David knocked on the pilothouse window to get her attention, then called, "I'll need you at the bow lines. I'll get the stern." They were the first words he'd spoken since "Good morning."

Her decision to leave disappointed him, obviously, but living on the boat wasn't a viable option, for several reasons, not the least of which was the effect he had on her. Looked at in retrospect, last night, with conversation, wine, and coffee had been far too comfortable a way to spend an evening.

The engines rumbled at just above idle speed as they entered the marina and worked their way to their slip. She stopped at the hatchway before going to the bow, to make ready to secure the lines.

"David? I'm sorry I've made you unhappy."

"Not your fault," he called, waving the comment away. "It's just that I've come to enjoy having you here. I hadn't really known how lonely I was before you came on board. I guess I was too busy, and too worried about running out of time to think about it. It's nice to have someone to talk to, though." Unfortunately, his back was to her so she couldn't see his face. But taking his attention from maneuvering the boat this close to the slip would be foolish.

He waved her to the deck, saying, "Go. We'll talk later."

As she walked to the bow the engines ran up the scale for a moment. The boat came to a stop, then began to back into the slip. His seamanship was impressive. The old trawler wasn't terribly agile, but he threaded it between the pilings, compensating for wind and current, until the stern was inches from the dock, then stopped with a tiny burst of power. She reached out with the gaff to snag the windward mooring line and pull it in, then hauled on the line till the boat was centered in the slip before she tied it off. She secured the lee side, as well, before making her way to the stern, where David was finishing up.

"I wish I could stay. I've enjoyed being here. And I liked our talks, but..." She shrugged. So much unsaid. So much she couldn't say.

"But it won't work with me not in port most of the time. I know that, but it's..."

He finished securing the line and turned to face her, leaning against the stern trunk. "I know. I also know I'm acting like a kid, so I'm sorry. I don't handle disappointment well, I suppose."

"Who does?"

He smiled at that. He had such a sweet smile that it never failed to cheer.

"Who indeed? But the past few months have been a bit out of character for me." He waved an arm, encompassing the boat and the sea around it, saying, "I love the sea, but this kind of thing isn't exactly what I do for my life's work."

That brought up the subject she'd been planning to ask about, so she said, "What exactly _do_ you do for your life's work? I know you trained as a marine biologist, but that's all. We've been so busy discussing my problems that you never really told me about yourself."

"Don't you have to work?"

She smiled. "Yes, but as the star of the show I do have a few perks, so come have another cup of coffee and we can talk."

"Okay," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "I graduated from Boston University, and went on to get my doctorate at M.I.T., which has a partnership with Woods Hole. I took one trip there and fell in love. I was teaching undergrads at M.I.T. when the job came up at WHOI, which I sort—"

"WHOI?"

"Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. Sorry. It's in Falmouth Mass." When she didn't react to that he added, "It's across the bay from Chappaquiddick, on Martha's Vineyard."

That clicked. "Ahh...it's a school?"

"A bit of everything. Woods Hole is he center of the universe for things oceanographic."

"Then you're a teacher?" That had been her first guess.

"That, too, but my real interest is something that probably won't excite you."

"Try me."

"I'm interested in sensory mechanisms, physiology, and lately I've taken a sidetrack into holographic imaging."

That perked up her interest. "Really. That last sounds like something I _would_ like to learn more about. But that's for later. Right now I want to know how you went from there to treasure hunting."

That rated a laugh. "That's easy. I wanted to be a treasure hunter long before I thought about biology. Now it's a hobby. I let it slide for the past few years, though, until Jennie was diagnosed. It looked like a way to help, so...well, here I am." He took her cup, along with his, and carried them to the sink, where he poured them out, saying, "And here you go. I could talk all day. But I have to get to work and so do you."

Apparently, he didn't want to talk, and she respected that by saying nothing, but as they got in the car, he said, "I'll tell you the rest tonight."

"Tonight?"

He grinned. "It's unreasonable of you to expect me to do this cold-turkey, so to speak, so we're having dinner. Okay? You can bring Carla, if you want." He headed for the deck, taking the suitcase that contained her clothing.

"Well..."

"Just call me when you're ready," he said over his shoulder. "You can leave your stuff in the car's trunk. That way I'll pick you up and deliver your things at the same time, and you don't have to worry about them during the day." That made sense, so she thanked him and followed as he stepped onto the dock.

"Do you have a ride to Carla's place, or shall I pick you up at the park for dinner?" Efficiency appeared to be his watchword today.

"Pick me up at Carla's place. One of the maintenance men takes her up and back every day. He said I could come, too."

His eyes met hers over the car roof, as he said, "Well, when you're ready, call, okay? And I meant it about Carla being invited. Trina, too."

"Umm.... Okay, I suppose. I'll ask." But she wouldn't. She knew that, but wasn't sure why.

° ° °

"Wow!" It wasn't just an apartment. This was something very special. The building had a doorman, and the decor in the lobby was better than the furniture in her parents' house. Her own apartment furniture could most charitably be called castoff chic. This place even smelled expensive. "Are you a drug dealer on the side?" She ran a hand over the fabric of the sofa.

Very nice.

Carla laughed. "Me? No. But mom was."

"You're kidding?" But knowing Carla, she probably wasn't. She studied the place with new eyes, as she speculated on how much money went into the furnishings. Tastefully done in a highly modern style, with enough disarray visible to mark Carla as neither a slob nor fanatic about housekeeping, it projected a welcoming feel—a good sign if they were to share the place.

"Me kidding? No. We came from Colombia, and if you get involved with the Colombian community, here, you are sooner or later going to come into contact with the drug community, as well. Mom caught the eye of one of the bigger importers, and became his stateside mistress." Carla laughed. "We lived pretty well for a couple of illegals."

"So what happened? You said your mom _was_ a drug dealer. Is she...I mean you didn't, umm...become part of the operation?"

"Me? No way. As for mom, she never did get into the business. She simply...well, mom was more of a party girl than I am. Though she truly loved the man. For me, it was like having a part time dad. He might have been a drug dealer, but I didn't learn about that till later, and he was a really nice person, so far as the way he treated me."

An odd concept—the idea that someone could be morally reprehensible in one area, yet be a loving father. It made sense, but would take some thinking about.

She went to look into the kitchen, calling, "So is he still around?"

A good place to cook, she decided. The range, alone, called out to her to, demanding she make something challenging.

"No. He's long gone. About three years ago, because of a disagreement among importers someone put a couple of sticks of dynamite under the hood of Estefan's car. Damn near launched it into orbit, from what I've heard, and they say it'll be another year or two till all of him comes back down." As she came back into the living room Carla pointed toward the sofa, saying, "Sit. Relax. Can I get you a little wine?"

"No. But thanks. I need to keep my head tonight. I hope your mom wasn't in the car at the time."

Carla laughed "As I see it, you want to _not_ keep your head, tonight; but that's your choice, I suppose. Personally, he can have his way with me any time he wants to.... But no. Mom's fine. It happened in Colombia, and poor mom was stuck here holding the key to a safe-deposit box that held lots and lots of Estefan's money."

"Nice."

"Mom thought so. After that she changed her name again and disappeared. Since she'd never been connected with the sale and import of the crap he sold, that was pretty easy to do. Right now she's married and living in a little town outside Chicago—a typical suburban housewife. I even have a stepbrother." Carla allowed herself to fall into a huge chair that looked to have been sculpted from stone, but which gave when she dropped into it like a block of foam.

"So tell me about this date of yours, Ann. Where's he taking you?"

"No idea, and it's not a date. We're having dinner. But I thought you weren't interested in men."

"I'm not, usually. Though for him I'd make an exception on any given night. Will he pay?"

_Will he?_ The point hadn't been mentioned, but Carla was right. It did matter—though how was still a bit uncertain.

"He didn't say, but I think he said, 'We're having dinner.' He even said I can bring you along. So do you—"

"I don't. And it's a date. He asked you to come, so he's paying. Order something expensive."

"Carla!"

She grinned and stood. "Let's go find you something to wear. You're more mom's size than mine, and I have few things of hers that will knock him dead." She pointed toward Ann's jeans, saying, "First thing on the agenda is to get you a decent wardrobe."

° ° °

"Carla?" Ann knocked in her bedroom door a second time. "Are you in there? I need your help."

"What's wrong?" Carla said, opening the door, wearing her favorite outfit: skin.

She frowned. "Don't you wear anything to sleep?"

"Naa...interferes with spontaneity, and in Florida I sure don't need something to keep me warm. Is that what you woke me for? To talk about what I wear to sleep in?"

"Umm, no. I'm sorry. I wanted to know if you'd teach me to dance."

"You woke me to ask me that? What time is it?"

"A little after twelve. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

She waved that away. "Never mind, I had to get up to answer a knock on my bedroom door in any case." She grinned, touched Ann on the nose, and then walked past her, toward the kitchen, saying, "Come on, I need a cup of coffee if I'm going to hear about this."

"We can talk in the morning."

Carla stopped, and turned to face her. "We can talk right now. I want to hear how it went with your boyfriend, anyway. And I _need_ to hear why you want dancing lessons so badly you woke me to ask. Come on." With that she went to the kitchen, where she made them perfectly awful cups of instant coffee.

"Now," Carla said, as she came to the table and slid Ann's cup toward her. "Tell me what happened."

"He asked me to go dancing on Saturday night."

"And you don't dance...at all?"

That brought a wobbling of the hand, and, "A little. I learned when I was in high school, but I never danced with a boy, then, and never with a man. And the dances have changed since then, so..."

"Well I haven't danced with a lot of men, either, you know."

Carla was smiling as she said it, so Ann chose not to take the bait. Instead, she said, "But I've seen you dancing, and you know what you're doing, so...will you teach me?"

"It's Saturday night, right?"

"Yes."

Carla sipped at her coffee, then leaned back in the chair and nodded. "That gives us four days. Enough time to teach you to dance, and to get you something nice to wear. Trina will do your makeup and she can help with the dancing, because she's actually a lot better than I am." She sat up again, making Ann—who had been afraid she'd spill coffee on her bare belly, or worse, and burn herself—feel better.

"Hell, Ann, this is going to be fun!"

° ° °

Ann studied the array of makeup on the table next to her. She hadn't the faintest idea of how to properly apply most of it. She recognized it by function, yes, but how best to select and use it was a black art she'd not studied—or needed—till now.

"Hold still, I'm almost done," Trina said, as she used the blow dryer and a pick to make a final adjustment to her hair. She'd insisted on cutting and setting it herself, forbidding her from having it done at a salon.

The dryer cut off and Trina set it aside, to sit in the facing chair and study her work. She picked up Ann's hand and inspected her nails, which she'd also dressed.

Finally, Trina nodded. "Okay. That will do. Now we start on your face, so look at me."

She complied, and Trina studied her, as a sculptor might study a block of marble before applying hammer and chisel. After nearly a minute she reached for a bottle of foundation, holding it next to Ann's skin for a comparison before discarding it and taking another.

"I wasn't sure, so I picked up a selection." She tried and discarded another color, saying, "I took the price out of your salary." Carla snickered.

For the next half hour Ann sat, wishing she could see the mirror, but Trina had her seated with her back to it. As she worked, Trina explained each step, but she'd probably forget what had been said before she tried to do it on her own. Besides, she was preoccupied with what would happen, and what would be said during dinner. Before Trina finished, the doorbell rang, and Carla went to entertain David.

"Okay, we're finished," Trina said at last. "Show me what you're going to wear. And _don't_ look in the mirror till I tell you to."

"But..."

"Not till I tell you to. Show me the dress." Reluctantly, Ann went to the closet and took out the skirt and blouse Carla insisted she wear, holding it where Trina could see.

"I thought she might pick something like that. The answer is no. That won't do."

"But—"

"I know. She said drab people wear drab colors, right?"

"Well..."

"She's right, but not for tonight. What she picked is something to get you noticed, but he's already noticed. What you don't want is something to make him think he's taking you behind the bushes when dinner is over. Tonight you want to be Mona Lisa, not hot momma on the prowl. Okay?"

"Okay, I guess. But what should I wear?"

"That." She pointed. "The thing I made you buy."

"But Trina..." She didn't have much control of the conversation.

"No buts, put it on, take a look, and _then_ you can complain. Trust me in this. If there's one thing I know well it's clothing. And I know how to pick out what will make a man happy. You can ask my husband if you don't believe me."

"Husband? I..." Her eyes widened. She couldn't help it. "You don't mean you and..."

"Me and Gil? I sure do. We've been married for three years, now—more than friends for a lot longer than that."

"But Trina..." _I have to stop saying that_.

The term shock hardly expressed the feelings coursing through her, though Trina's declaration explained a lot. Gil's treatment of her, and her response had always been more than employer, employee, no matter which of them was the employer.

"Put that dress on while you talk, honey. You heard right. It's something I don't hide, but I don't billboard it, either. Not in a little Florida town like this one."

"So you're going to live here for the rest of your life and never be able to tell anyone? That's...well, it seems a cruel way to have to live."

"It is. But it's how things are, honey. Maybe when Sea Kingdom is a fancy place that can compete with Sea World, and when this town is something more than a ten-minute drive-through. But till then.... Let me zip you. Then you can look in the mirror."

Ann stared back at the beautiful stranger who met her eyes in the mirror. Yes, the stranger looked a bit like her, in the way a sports car resembles the family sedan. But that was all. Trina had been right. In the outfit Carla chose she'd have been a knockout, but in this, the understated elegance spoke of limousines. It said fine wine and chateaubriand, not beer with a side of nachos.

"Come on, girl. Stop gawking. Dave's waiting for you."

Absently, she said, "He'd rather be called David, I think."

"He told you that?"

That brought her eyes away from the mirror, at last. Reluctantly, she said, "Well, no. I just got that impression."

"And you think his poker buddies, and the people he works with don't call him Dave?" That was something she hadn't given thought to. Did they? He seemed more David than Dave, but Trina might be right. Should she ask?

Trina settled the question, at least for the present, by saying, "To you he can be David, but till he tells me different, or till you tell me he mentioned it, I'll call him what I call him."

"Okay, here she is for your viewing pleasure, Arianna The Great!"

"Very Funny, Trina," she said, as she came out of the bedroom.

"All glory to the great..." David stopped in the act of standing, and of speaking, his mouth gaping open. For a long moment he stood, frozen. Then he must have realized what he looked like because he straightened and closed his mouth. He blew out his breath, sharply, then turned to Trina, saying, "Who is this beautiful stranger, and what have you done with my friend Ann?"

"You like?"

"Like? I'm completely blown away. I..." He turned toward Ann, then, speaking directly to her as he said, "I've always known you're beautiful, but I've never seen you with..." He shrugged and said, "Well, I've never seen you with clothes on before."

"As I remember, you have, once or twice." She smiled at the thought that he could almost literally make that statement.

"Not this kind of clothes. Like this you're not beautiful you're spectacular...absolutely spectacular."

"She does clean up nice," Trina said.

"And if you don't want her, I'll take her," Carla added. "On any given night."

° ° °

"Ann? Can you stay for a while tonight? I'll drive you to the apartment afterward."

"Sure, Trina. What's up?"

"I want to try something out for the show, and I don't want Frank to know, at least not yet. So if you have the time, we can go out for dinner and then come back when he's gone. I asked Carla. She said she'd stay as long as we needed her."

"It's okay with me, too, but why? What did you have in mind?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Right now, I have to help Gil close the office."

"So tell me the deep secret, Trina" Ann said, as she dipped a french-fry in catsup.

"It's something Carla suggested. While she was teaching you to dance she had the idea that you could do something to music during the shows. She said you picked up dancing like you've been doing it all your life, so..." She raised her hands in a "What do you think?" gesture

"I like it. Tell me more." What Trina wanted was exactly what she'd been thinking about, herself. Perhaps something along the lines of a hula? That would fit, because pushing her upper body out of the water gave a hula motion in any case—though now that she thought about it, with a bit of practice, it would be easy to adjust her strokes to provide almost any motion.

"That's all there is so far. It's like the old films, where people say, 'why don't we put on a show?' Now we have to figure out what the show will be. It's not going to be something we can do in a night, though. For tonight let's try a few things to see what works. You game for this?"

"Will it piss Frank off?"

"Royally." She grinned.

"Then lets do it. Let's drive him crazy."

Ann hit the water with a splash, chewing the bite of granola snatched from Carla's hand. She headed for the bottom, and to the box she'd placed there, opening it and extracting the leis she needed for the next part of the show, slipping them over her neck, hurrying, because the music had started.

Hanging just below the surface, she listened for Trina's introduction, and right on cue, came, "Ladies and gentlemen.... For your viewing pleasure, I give you Arianna, mistress of illusion, and her...Water Dance!"

Grinning fiercely, she lifted her torso free of the water and began to move across the pool, shimmying in time to the music. Now this was more like it!

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 13

"I think you, ummm..." The man hesitated, studying the show's program as though something was wrong, but Ann had no idea of what it could be. On a whim she'd taken the time to get his name, and autograph his program with: "To my new friend Tom, from Arianna." He was a good looking man, in his early forties, well dressed and apparently successful, though not the type she might expect to be looking for an autograph. Frowning, he turned the booklet over and checked the back, then looked up to meet her eyes.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"I can't find it."

"Find...it?"

"Your phone number. I can't find it anywhere. How can I ring you up without that?"

She relaxed. "Very funny, but my phone number is one thing I never give out. Too many people want to know my deep dark secrets." The man was handsome, though, and one of few who actually tempted.

"But now I have a problem. Maybe you can help?"

Obviously a come-on, of course, but was that a bad thing? Since Saturday night with David, one question circled within her mind: did she have such a marvelous time _because_ it was him, or because going out with a man who found her interesting was, in and of itself, fun? This might be a chance to find out, so she said, "Let me guess. The problem is that you can't get to know me better if you can't call me. Right?"

He smiled. "No. That's true, too, but my problem us that, I can't find out when to pick you up if I can't call." He grinned, as he added, "I thought you might like to go for a swim some night."

She laughed. "Not unless you're a merman. My moonlight swims usually involve catching dinner." Not that she ever would swim in the dark. Her sight might be improved, underwater, but her eyes hadn't been changed to see in low light. Or had they? An interesting idea.

"Ahh? You hunt for your dinner, too?"

Too? Had she just met another of her species, whatever that might be?

Before she could frame a reply to test for that he laughed and said, "I mostly do my hunting in the kitchen.

"Seriously, though, I find you beautiful and interesting, and I'd like nothing better than your company for dinner tonight. I even promise not to talk about..." He waved a hand in the general direction of her torso, finishing with, "Your professional secrets."

She hid her disappointment with a small smile. It might have been nice to meet someone who could answer a few questions.

"I'm tempted," she said, placing enough warmth in her voice to avoid making it seem like a rejection. "But I have an appointment I can't break." Tonight was dinner at Trina's place, and a chance to see where she and Gil lived, so even had she wanted to say yes, a date was out.

His face fell. "You mean I have to wait until tomorrow night? That long?" He hesitated, and giving no chance to respond, said, "I guess I can make do with lunch till then. That way you'll get to know me better and can decide if you _do_ want to come tomorrow night. Okay?"

"Well..." He _was_ interesting. And _something_ had to take her mind away from the problem of David, and what to do about him.

He smiled and shook a finger at her, saying, "You didn't say no, you said you were busy _tonight_ , which means you were thinking about going out with me. So...make it tomorrow, instead, and let me be one of those impulses you're glad you had."

That deserved a laugh, and, "You must be a salesman." He was doing the same thing Fletch had so often tried, but with so much more skill. She should suggest that Fletch contact the man and take lessons—except that Fletch was a hopeless and unrepentant letch, while this man had possibilities.

He raised an eyebrow. "I am. Am I selling you?"

"Maybe. At least you've sold me on lunch."

"Good. My car awaits." He held out his arm, but she shook her head.

Get into a car with a man she just met? Absolutely not. Aside from anything else, he could be another reporter of Hank Jones, ilk.

But she didn't tell him that. Instead, she diplomatically said, "I only have a half hour for lunch, so after I dry off and change I'll meet you in the snack-bar. Give me ten minutes."

She definitely wanted to run a comb through her hair and touch-up her makeup before she spent any time with the man.

"So, Ann, you want to eat out today? I'm in the mood for pizza." Trina was already dressed, and putting on her lipstick.

"Sorry, I have a date for lunch."

Trina's reflection raised an eyebrow. "Dave isn't working today?"

"It's not him," she said, trying to be casual as she adjusted the spacing of the hangers on the clothing rack. But that rated Trina's turning fully in her direction, lipstick tube in her hand, lipstick covering one-half of her bottom lip.

"Say what?" Trina laid the lipstick aside and put hands on her hips as she said, "And where did this man come from, pray tell?"

"Oh, around. Where's Carla?"

"Taking a crap. Which makes two of you, but at least she has the decency not to dump it on me."

"Very funny, Trina. He's someone I met by the pool, and we're having lunch at the snack bar. That's all."

"Uh-huh. Tell me about it...I mean about him." She sounded unconvinced, and a little bit flustered.

Ann began to towel her hair. One advantage of the style Trina gave her when she cut her hair was ease of maintenance. A toweling to more or less dry it, followed by a few minutes with the blow-dryer as a finish, and she was ready to go—though the result was nowhere near as good as what Trina achieved on the night of that date with David.

"Well?" Trina wasn't being patient.

"Well, there's nothing to tell, as yet. His name is Tom and he's pretty good looking. He's a salesman, I think, and he's buying me lunch, with the idea of talking me into dinner tomorrow night if he makes a good enough impression."

"And selling you a lot more, I'm sure."

"Probably. And who knows? Maybe I'm buying."

"You? Since when?"

"Since now. You can never tell."

"And Dave?"

She stopped toweling her body, to say, "David doesn't own me."

"He'd like to. And you're not as much against that as you'd like to think." She turned back to the mirror and raised the lipstick tube. "Not _near_ as much as you think you are."

"All the more reason, then, to..." Ann waved a hand, trying to bring words that wouldn't come, so she settled on, "All the more reason to check his qualifications against the current market conditions."

Trina laughed, as she uncapped the brush for the lip-liner. "That man you met must have something special if he's got you saying things like that. What's his name?"

"Tom.... Tom something. I didn't get his last name, yet."

"Uh-huh." Trina took a breath, meeting her eyes in the mirror and staring with disconcerting intensity, before saying, "Well, girl, you go have lunch with your Mr. Tom, and you check out your market conditions. Maybe Carla and I will drop by and check him out for our own selves."

"Don't you dare."

Finished with her lips, Trina turned and leaned back against the sink, resting her elbows there as she said, "Which are you more afraid of, Ann...that we won't approve, or that we will?"

To that she had no answer.

° ° °

Ann toyed with her wine glass before saying, "You have the approval of the women who work with me. They checked you out while we ate lunch yesterday."

"Ahh...thank them for me."

She studied him. Unbidden, came, He's handsome...but not as handsome as David.

_Damn the man._ Even here with someone else he wouldn't leave her alone.

Through the drive to the restaurant and through the beginning of dinner, every time she made an observation about Tom it triggered a matching thought on the same trait within David. But Tom was a pleasant man, and handsome to boot. Maybe she just needed practice.

"Arianna? Where are you?"

Damn. Woolgathering again. She shook her head. "Sorry, Tom. I do that sometime. I lock out the entire world when I'm thinking about something."

She touched his hand in apology. "It's not you. It's me."

He shrugged. "I don't mind. I could watch you for the entire night and feel the evening was well spent."

"Thank you. You're a true gentleman." _A bullshit artist, but a gentleman, nonetheless._

"So you were talking about the girls you work with? What was their final verdict?" He grinned. "Or don't I want to know?"

"You do. They think you're handsome. In fact, I said yes to dinner because they said it was okay." She suppressed the urge to ask him not to talk with his mouth full.

"Oh? Interesting. They didn't come over at lunch. And since you said yes before you finished your ice-cream sandwich, I assume they gave you some sort of signal?"

"You got two thumbs up."

He laughed. "I thought I was being inspected. A pretty black girl at a corner table was watching every move I made."

"That was Trina. Carla was the one with her."

He didn't respond, so apparently he expected her to continue the conversation. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind.

She was out of conversational gambits, and already knew all she wanted to know about the man. He'd gone to college and had a degree in business. He was on vacation, and willing to talk, endlessly, about his career—apparently, he owned an importing business—but that held little fascination. Her mind ran more to problem solving than selling.

Finally, seeking a neutral subject, she said, "So are you interested in sports?"

That brought animation to his features. "Am I? Lady, you're talking to the primo sports fan of the city of brotherly love. It's the only thing I like more than making money—though it does come in second to spending time with beautiful women like yourself."

She leaned toward him, ignoring the knee-jerk complement, interested in what he had to say on the subject. "So what do you play? My love is tennis, and skiing, though it's been a while since—"

"Play?" He sounded confused. "I play basketball with my buddies, but I meant _sports._ I'm the biggest Eagle's fan in the whole damn city. I have my own box, and I make every single game. Same for the Flyers. I support my city's teams...except for the Phillies, who I can take or leave this year."

"Oh, I...oh." Best not to tell him that cheering for a team simply because they played in whatever town you happened to live in seemed silly.

Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, he said, "So do you like the Marlins, or what?"

° ° °

She tried to leave him at the elevator in the lobby, but Tom insisted on walking her to the door. Before she could open the apartment door he'd removed the keys from her hand.

Now he had the door open and was waving her forward. And when she turned to take the key he was already inside. Smooth. She had to give him that. He also got credit for the way he headed toward the kitchen, asking, "Where do you keep the coffee?" Not admiration, but credit for turning the situation to his own advantage.

"It's late, Tom." A diplomatic way of saying he wouldn't be spending the night, she hoped.

"You're right," he said, apparently unimpressed with diplomacy. "Caffeine's not a good idea this late. So, do you have decaf? Or we could have wine, instead, if you have any. That's relaxing."

His behavior brought back something a teacher once said about the art of salesmanship: "Never give the customer the choice between yes and no. Always make it between yes and yes. For a girl scout it isn't, 'Will you buy my cookies?' but 'Which do you like, the mints or the Tagalongs?' " This man was in complete agreement that it was late, yet he neither showed an inclination to leave nor did she have a strong reason to put him out. She also had no reason to keep him there, because while Tom was an attractive man he was also the true and only center of his universe. He virtually defined the term shallow, and if something didn't have immediate interest or value to him it didn't exist. He had strong political opinions, but even they consisted of prepackaged slogans, for the most part.

Perhaps a sip or two of coffee would complete the dating ritual for him and get him out of the apartment. She definitely should have left him at the parking lot; or the elevator, which was the backup plan; or the front door; or...

With a sigh, she said, "Sit. I'll make coffee." If only she were a bit more clear-headed. He hadn't asked before refilling her glass, often after she'd taken just a few sips. He was smooth. She had to give him that.

Somehow, and she wasn't sure how, she was in his arms. She told him no. Several times she told him no. But it had no effect. He hadn't forced himself on her, exactly, but always, when she'd taken the lesser of two evils, he got exactly what he wanted. The wine wasn't helping. One issue had been settled, though. Given a choice, between kissing him or David, he would lose—though kissing David wasn't going to happen, either. Except...Tom's lips were on hers, his tongue invading her mouth.

"No." She pushed away, but couldn't break free.

"You know you want to, honey. We're here, and you're in my arms. Listen to your body. It's calling out to mine."

"No. It's not. It's telling yours to let me go."

He relaxed, with a sigh, but he still didn't let go. "Okay. One kiss...one real kiss, as a thank you for dinner. Is that so much?"

He planned to "one kiss" her right into bed, but that _wasn't_ going to happen. Time to draw the line—in fact, well past time to do that.

She braced her hands on his chest, saying, "Please, Tom. I want you to let me go right now."

But he didn't. And somehow, he made it seem reasonable that he didn't. But if she couldn't convince him to go without an argument Carla would hear, and explaining how she'd managed to get herself in such a fix would be embarrassing.

Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work, and they were at the door to her bedroom.

Then, Carla's bedroom door swung open and she was in the doorway, wearing her usual sleeping costume.

"Hey Asshole. Over here!"

Tom released her and turned toward Carla, obviously startled. Ann had a view of the man's mouth dropping to an "O" of surprise before Carla's foot landed and he doubled over, then dropped to the floor.

Carla wanted to call the police, but Ann said no. That would only bring the news media spotlight on her more brightly, along with more complication. So after giving him time to recover, Carla hustled him from the apartment, gifting him with a final kick that toppled him to the floor just outside the door. He seemed disinclined to get up so they closed the door and called security.

After a hug, a thank you for the rescue, and "Give me a moment," Ann sank into a kitchen chair and closed her eyes, doing nothing but breathing for a time, calming, and beginning to feel a lot better. The rush of adrenalin, brought by the events of the past few minutes, had apparently burned most of the alcohol away, or had at least negated its effects for now.

Back to herself, she sipped at the coffee Carla presented—awful, as usual—and said, "I don't know how many times in his life Tom's been kicked in the balls by a beautiful naked woman, but I'll bet he thinks twice before he tries what he did with me again."

"I doubt it. Slime is always slime, and that kind never learns by experience." Carla grinned, then, and sat up straighter, striking a pose, as she said, "But when he stops hurting he'll probably decide it was worth the pain just to have gotten a look at me. Men usually do."

Ann joined her in laughter.

"So I've been meaning to ask," Carla said. "What was Trina's place like?"

"Well..."

Before she fell asleep, Ann replayed the evening's events from the beginning. What had she proved, and what had she learned? Probably nothing. Nothing at all.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 14

Ann swam lazily through the pool, relaxing and thinking. In the three weeks since joining the show the visitor count had skyrocketed. Gil added an extra performance each day, and longer hours, to handle the increased traffic. And still, the stands were packed. In fact, since she started, she hadn't had a day off. But who could take her place? People were coming to see her, trying to pierce what they were still convinced was an illusion. There had been several articles of the type written by Jones, but he, thankfully, had taken David's words to heart, and she heard no more from him—though it seemed reasonable that he hadn't given up.

A pull at her fluke brought her eyes down to see that Gray, the smallest of the pool's denizens, had nipped at her, trying to egg her into a game of tag. She smiled. So like a puppy, Gray hung in the water by her, hoping she was in a mood to play and all but wagging his tail. And she was. She turned and went after him. He spun away before she more than started to turn, but what she lacked in animal reflex she made up for with power and intelligence. She could out-swim the smaller animal, though he had greater maneuverability. In the end, with her ability to anticipate his moves the contest was fairly even, and brought back memories of the chase games played as a girl—with the added benefit of the game being played in three dimensions. Four, if you counted leaps into the air to escape a pursuer. With her arms unavailable because of the change to fins she emulated porpoise style, and a nip on the tail counted as a catch. Soon the whole pool joined in the game.

Breathing hard, she let herself drift for a moment, as she caught her breath, then surfaced to check the path to the parking lot. No sign of Carla. Apparently she hadn't finished with whatever she'd been doing on her day off. But she was due, so best to get out of the water and dry off. Before she did, though, Keiko nudged her, so she stopped to scratch his belly—something the porpoise adored. Amazingly, the group accepted her as a playmate, almost from the beginning. They probably saw her as an improved version of humanity, one that swam decently. And swim well she did. The work of performing, and swimming in the aquarium, plus the fun of playing with the porpoises, brought strength and endurance that made jumping for the candy in the show easy, even when Carla held the candy as high as she could reach. In fact, the show, itself, had become a bore. The dancing was nice, but becoming commonplace. Something new was needed, but what?

Idly, she toyed with what might add spice to the show. Screw Frank Sutton and his demand that she do nothing but what she'd so timidly ventured that first day. Rather than spring the dance number on Frank, unannounced, she tried to bring it up gently, herself, and maybe make peace. His angry, "Nyet," served up with a flat-handed cutting motion said there would be no argument. He sulked for days when Gil told him she'd be adding the dance, like it or not. Now, he was glowering every time she looked in his direction.

So, what will he do if I add something new, like me less?

She let herself sink back into the pool, staring at nothing and weighing the factors involved. She was a far stronger swimmer. So was it time to think of jumping to the grotto pool, as she'd done for Gil that first day? Then, it'd been foolhardy and dangerous. Now, with power and control both vastly improved, it would be easy. The problem wasn't making the jump, but doing a jump that long gracefully, and landing with style. At the end of the dance sequence? At the moment, the tunnel connecting the pools lay open, making it easy to swim back to the main pool for another try.

"Yes!" She split the water with a nearly perfect entry. The third time _was_ the charm. The first landing was best forgotten. A belly flop in fish form is every bit as painful as in human form, and hers was classic.

Once more, and it's time to dry off.

She surfaced in the main pool. No Carla, yet, but Frank Sutton stood in the doorway of the supply building. Shadows obscured his face, but certainly, he would be steaming. He'd know she planed to use the jump in the show, and that he had no more say in that than when she added the dancing. And it would chafe, because any glory she gained reduced his. Well that was his problem. A word spoken differently when they met and she'd be working _with_ him, adding to his stature, rather than working at cross-purposes.

She thought over the possibilities. Maybe add a front flip into the jump? A couple of floats in the big pool would simulate the distance between tanks and provide safe practice, till she got it right. Then she could add it to the show, first in the performance tank, and then between the pools. That would really put a twist in his drawers.

But that was for tomorrow, after the last show. She checked the light before lining up for another practice jump to the small pool. It would have to be the last one, though, because the gathering dusk made it difficult to see. She hung for a moment, centering herself, then sprinted for the pool's far edge.

In the groove, moving fast and cleanly, a shadow abruptly resolved itself into Gray, hanging in the water directly in front of her. He'd been hidden by the shadows, and if she hit him at speed she was going to break her neck.

Without thought she braked and jinked, while Gray flicked forward. A touch—a brush of his fluke across the face—and she was past, scant feet from the edge of the pool and moving far too fast to stop or turn.

Faced with an impossible problem she put on speed and launched herself upward, breathing a hurried prayer.

Too close to the surface when she started her leap and too close to the pool's edge, she knew she wasn't going to make it before she broke water. Below, nothing but uncaring concrete waited in welcome.

She had time for an absurd thought of, _Oh David, I'm so sorry._ Then, nothing.

Pain. She woke to brutal mind-destroying pain. Something inside was terribly broken, and the moaning she heard was hers. She hadn't just struck the concrete between the pools. She lay across one of the boulders outlining the grotto pool. Her head hung over the water, but from the shoulders down cold unyielding stone cradled her. A few inches less and her skull would have been shattered on the rock, bringing instant death. Such good luck brought no comfort.

Below the waist, no feeling at all. Above, screaming agony everywhere, making rational thought nearly impossible. The very act of breathing plunged daggers into her chest, bringing the urge to curl her arms around the center of the pain and cry. But she'd left the pool with fins in place of arms, so even that trace of comfort was denied.

But tears and pity were an unaffordable luxury, because the time before she blacked out for good was fast approaching. Already, peripheral vision had faded, which meant shock might soon take control, so she forced pain aside and focused on ways to achieve the one possible solution to the problem. Somehow, she had to get into the water. Once there she should revert to the traditional mermaid form, and at least have hands with which to grasp the ladder. If she could get out of the water and revert to human form it wouldn't fix the injuries, but at least as a human, a doctor could treat her. Certainly, she had more options as a human.

But the water, so close, was forever out of reach. She was on her side, and even trying to lever herself onto her belly brought such agony that she blacked out for a time. A hated voice brought her back to herself.

"So...fish-woman falls, and illusion is made lie. But I know. I know from _start_." Frank Sutton had seen. And from his tone her agony brought him pleasure. The urge to tell him to go to hell was strong, but she needed his help.

"Please, Frank. I need to get into the water. Help me."

In response he called, "Fletch!" When Fletch called a query in answer he shouted, "Come look what I find. Fish-woman has fallen."

"Oh shit," Fletch said, as he trotted up. "What the hell is she, some kind of a space alien?" He squatted, staring at her lower body for a moment, prodding her fluke with a finger before meeting her eyes and saying, "You okay, Ann?"

"I'm hurt, Fletch. I need to get to the water."

"No water." Sutton said, sharply. "She not go in water."

Pain made thought nearly impossible, but she could think well enough to know that the nightmare wasn't going to end. Sutton not only planned to pay her back for every perceived slight and humiliation, the man enjoyed pain. That was obvious in his tone and the smile he wore as his eyes swept over her.

"Uhh.... Any special reason to keep her out of the water?"

"Reason is...mermaid worth money. Human woman is not worth nothing to nobody."

"Ahh...you mean to that reporter guy." Fletch stood, and his voice carried a trace of anger as he said, "Well if we call I get half the money, because he made the same offer to me."

A hesitation, then "Da. Half for you." His tone said there was doubt that Fletch would see the money, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"So should I call him? The reporter? I have his card."

"We wait."

"Wait? Why wait?"

"He wants me dead, Fletch. Please help me." Dead she was worth a good deal of money, and dead she couldn't tell anyone how he'd ignored her suffering and contributed to her demise.

Fletch stared down at her for a long moment, and she had a surge of hope, but he turned to Sutton and said, "So I can see why you don't want her talking. But isn't she worth less if she can't change? I mean, there's nothing they can do to us for talking about this or for calling a reporter."

"Can't look inside if alive. After reporter take pictures I sell. Sell for much money."

"Ahh..." He looked down at her for a moment, then squatted, to say, "Sorry, baby, but you know how it is. You really should have been nicer to me." With that he pulled her top down, to roughly fondle her breast. Then he stood, saying, "Nice tits. It's a damn shame the rest of her isn't there to play with, too." In that moment she lost all hope of seeing the next sunrise. Her head hung downward, toward the water, and wetness trailed up her neck and toward her face—probably blood. She would have cursed the pair of them but didn't have the strength. She could only weep, and listen, as they determined the course of her final moments. If she didn't die within the next few moments Sutton planned to break her neck.

"Ann! Are you down here?"

_David?_ Roused from a pain-induced haze she shouted his name.

"Where are you?" He called, closer now.

"Kill her," Sutton hissed, fury in his voice. "Kill her quickly." The men had been sitting a few feet away, on one of the boulders, talking of the money her death would make for them. Now they hurried toward her, rushing to stop her from calling out. Why David was there she had no idea, but she thanked whatever divine power had intervened on her behalf.

A horny hand clamped over her mouth. Whether it belonged to Fletch or Sutton she didn't know, or care. Another hand clamped on the back of her skull, and pressure began to build as whoever it was tried to snap her neck. But the pain had lessened a trifle, and she could think more clearly. More importantly, she could to do something toward saving herself. She opened her mouth wide and jerked her head, moving the man's grip slightly and allowing her to clamp teeth on the fleshy part of the palm, by his thumb. She bit hard, ripping through flesh and tearing a chunk free as if she were taking a bite of steak. The hands on her head jerked away, and the voice that shrieked in pain was Sutton's. That was good, and should tell David where they were.

"What the hell is— Ann? Oh my God!"

"They're trying to kill me," she said, hurriedly, a spark of hope flickering to life. "Be careful, David."

Full dark was nearly upon them, and the boulder that had broken her body mostly blocked her view. But there was the sound of running feet, then blows, and finally, David's voice, saying, "If either of you two bastards make one single move toward getting up I'll kill you out of hand. Bet on that!" With that he was by her side, saying, "What can I do?"

It took an endless time before speech came, and her words were a thready whisper she barely recognized as her own. "Get me in the water, and when my arms return pull me out. If I can change back to myself maybe you can get me to a hospital before...." Best not to say more, though, she hardly let herself dare hope she had that much time.

"Right." A hesitation, then, "This is going to hurt, Ann, so brace yourself."

"I'm okay. Just do it...and hurry." With no idea of how much longer she had, she prayed that the situation wouldn't worsen when she became human; _if_ she became human.

Gently, and with care, he lifted her, grunting with the effort.

"I'm going to have to jump into the pool, there's no stairs. Is it shallow enough for me to stand?"

"It may be. I'm not certain." Numbness had set in, making the pain more bearable, though something grated each time she breathed, and that brought knives of pain.

Then, a moment of weightlessness as they fell toward the water, a splash, and sudden blessed relief. Her arms were back, the pain in her upper body gone, as though it had never been.

"Are you okay?" She floated on her back, supported by his hands, but David, himself, was struggling to keep his head out of the water. Apparently, she'd been wrong about the depth of the pool.

"I'm okay, and I can float without help, I think. I still can't feel anything below my waist, but I can use my arms to swim for the ladder."

"You're not in pain?"

"I can't explain it, but there's...nothing."

"Amazing...I—" He must have realized that conversation accomplishing nothing toward getting her out of the pool, because he said, "I'll help you get to the ladder, so start in that direction."

She backstroked toward the pool's end-wall, with his help. As soon as they reached it he hoisted her over his shoulder and climbed the ladder, muttering something to himself about her weight. But his comment mattered little. What counted was that as she cleared the water she changed. Her legs were back, and with them a wealth of feeling—none of it painful. Then, she was supported in his arms, her own arms around his neck, whole again. Relief flooded through her, making her lean against him, head on his shoulder, comforted and protected, weak with relief.

"You okay?"

"I think so." She flexed her legs. "There's no pain, and my legs seem to work. So I..." She sought his eyes. "Thank you, David." Words were far from adequate to express the emotion flooding through her. He was always there when she needed help.

"You saved my life. And I can't—"

He laughed, cutting her off. "I did, didn't I?" With that he kissed her.

His lips _were_ soft. Wonderfully soft and sweetly clinging on hers. A gentle kiss; a warm kiss; a kiss that seemed to last forever, yet ended far too soon—but still, a kiss returned.

Such a tiny thing is a kiss. No more than lip touching lip. Yet that touch warmed her entire being in a way she'd never known, and made her very conscious that her shirt had hiked up past her waist, placing bare skin against his arms and body. She didn't care.

But then a hated voice said, "Very pretty," and brought her back to the world, and to the realization that she was being very, very stupid. What she was doing would destroy her world, and her career, be that as a mermaid or engineer. Enjoy his kiss too much and Nan Design Inc. would never come into being.

Before she could speak he placed her on her feet, then turned to the two on the ground by the pool. Fletch lay sprawled bonelessly, probably unconscious. But Sutton sat, arm held against his chest, a handkerchief clamped against his hand, obviously in pain but little cowed by what had happened.

"So big man. What you do now?" His sneer colored his voice in tones of disdain.

In response David turned to her. "Tell me what happened," he demanded. "Who did this? Him?"

"No." She filled him in.

"Then your getting hurt wasn't their fault?"

"Well...no. But Frank _did_ try to break my neck when he heard you coming." The very enormity of someone doing that, treating another's life with such casual disregard, was almost beyond comprehension.

"Is big lie. Have no proof," Sutton said, derisively. "I not care you call police. You have nothing. Where are marks? Where is fishtail? You show fishtail?" His voice fairly dripped with disdain.

She wasn't sure of how to respond, but David gave her no chance. He took three fast steps and had the trainer by the shirtfront, twisting it in a way that seemed to be tightening the collar around his throat, rather than simply immobilizing the man. His voice a growl, he said, "Listen...I'm going to make you a deal. You never let me see you again and I don't kill you. Okay?"

Sutton's voice showed the effects of that tightened collar, but the man remained unbowed, and said, "Not okay. You hurt me and you pay. You make mark on me and I call police. You have nothing...but I have mark to show. So you let go, now." She hated the man, but she certainly had to give him high marks for guts.

David must have twisted the shirtfront further, because Sutton's breathing became more ragged. And David, obviously not impressed with the threat, said, "You didn't hear me, buster. I said I'll _kill_ you, not bruise you. And I will, without the slightest trace of regret. Am I understood?"

Apparently they were not yet in agreement, because Sutton croaked out, "You kill me you go jail."

David nodded. "Fair deal." He jerked his head in her direction, adding, "Protecting her is worth that. I may end up in jail, but she'll be safe...and _you'll be dead._ I especially like that last part so _don't_ push me. Bet on it; harm her in any way and it'll take you hours to die."

Without waiting for an answer he dropped Sutton and stood, saying, "Let's go, Ann, before I perform a service to mankind." To Sutton he said, "Tell your friend what I said when he wakes up. Both of you out of here before morning or you deal with me."

She would have stood by the pool dithering, still stunned by what happened, but he took her arm and led her toward the parking lot, anger showing in the way he walked, and in his harsh breathing.

On the way to the car, he asked if she was okay. She wasn't. The world seemed unreal, as though she'd fallen from a high tower and hadn't yet reached the ground. But she told him she was okay. In her mind she'd been prepared to die—had expected to die—but now it was as though it'd been no more than a terrible dream.

But it hadn't been a dream, and her mouth still tasted of blood. _His_ blood. Before they reached the gate she stopped, unable to even will herself to move, tears streaming from her eyes. Her hand in his pulled him to a stop, and he turned, to take her into the protection of his arms, then to lift with gentle strength and carry her to the car, where he sat holding her as she sobbed.

How long they remained that way she was never sure, but finally, she drew away and borrowed his handkerchief, then got into the car while he want around to the driver's side.

"I'm okay, now," she said, wishing she really was. It was going to take a long, long time to erase the memory of the pain, and of the horror that had enveloped her when it appeared that life was about to end.

He started the car, but before he put it in gear he reached out to touch her shoulder. In reassurance? To see if she was real? In affection? Impossible to tell. One thing was certain, though, and one thought circled as they drove: _He loves me._ She had no idea of what to do about that, and the idea frightened almost as much as had the events by the pool.

As the car carried them further from the park she finally permitted herself a measure of relaxation. The trembling of hand and body continued to annoy, but diminished steadily. Time to take control of both herself and the situation. Time, also, to think of something other than David, and her reaction to his kiss.

To that end, she said, "So what were you saying when you carried me out of the pool?" The subject of his feelings toward her was best left for another time.

"What?" He'd been concentrating on his driving, or perhaps he'd been lost in his own thoughts.

"You said something like, "Where does it go?"

"Go? I don't...oh that. I was wondering where the extra mass that made up the tail goes when you change back to human. I'd guess you lose, or gain, nearly a hundred pounds when you change."

"Really?" It made sense that if she changed size her weight would change—must change, in fact—though obviously, that was ridiculous. Unless magic wasn't quite as impossible as she'd always believed?

He chuckled, the anger apparently gone. "Really. And I'm in a position to know, having carried you before and after the change—during, too. Are you sure you're okay?"

".... I think so. At least the pain is gone." The puzzle of the vanishing pounds had to be put aside for another time, though it seemed unlikely that she'd find the answer then, either.

"Well don't be doing that jump again, okay? I may not be there to pick up the pieces the next time you have an accident."

"The fall was my stupidity, not an accident. I should have known better than to try something like that when it's too dark to see properly. But thank you for being there."

"I won't say, 'my pleasure,' but I'm glad I was."

"Me too. And you get your wish."

"Wish?"

"That I don't do that jump again. I can't _let_ myself change back. Among other injuries, the mermaid has a broken spine, and that's not going to heal."

"I forgot...and I'm sorry. I wish I'd gotten there earlier, though."

As did she. She also wished she hadn't been so incredibly stupid in the first place. But wishing for that wasted time. She might as well wish she hadn't lost her job, or had taken a different job offer when she graduated. Being grateful for his arrival made more sense, but that brought up another point.

"That reminds me. Why _were_ you there tonight?"

She took a mint from the package he held out handing his handkerchief back in exchange. Certainly, the mundane act of peeling the wrapper and eating the mint would serve to bring her back into the world. Perhaps that had been his goal in offering the candy.

"You can thank Carla for that. She stopped by the boat and asked me to pick you up, because she had something going on tonight. A party, I guess, because she had a rather pretty redhead with her and they were dressed to go out."

"That's Kelly, her new girlfriend."

"Ahh. I thought so. So I said yes, and I'm glad I did."

"I'm glad you came, too, because I still get the shivers every time I think of what happened. I knew Frank hated me, but not how much. And Fletch...the man is slime."

"Well, he'll leave you alone from now on. They both will."

"I hope. Which reminds me.... What did you do to them? I never thought of you as the brawler type."

"More the bookworm?" He wore a playful smile, one she couldn't help but match.

"I suppose. I knew you were strong, but I looked at you as someone who would avoid a fight." She bit down on the mint, shattering it—rewarded with the icy tang of mint.

The smile faded. "I do, but there are times when nothing but violence will solve the problem. And the time to use force is when you're sure it's needed, not when you're lying on the floor looking up. Knowing that, I prepared for a time like tonight.... And stop chewing those mints, it sounds like you're eating broken glass."

"Oh." She grinned and took another candy, feeling better. She chewed this one, too. Deliberately.

His smile returned. "Besides, self-defense classes counted as physical education, and since karate was more of a challenge..."

"Well thank you," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. In response he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. He didn't let go, and she surprised herself because she didn't want him to. Instead, she wanted to move closer and lean against his strength. But thankfully, the old Subaru had bucket seats with a console between, and that helped. Her body, obviously, wasn't on her side in this.

"You missed the turn, David."

"I know. We're not going to the apartment."

"But—"

"No buts. It's too dangerous to stay there tonight, and probably tomorrow, as well, because either of that pair could take it into their head to come after you."

She shook her head. "The boat is no safer than Carla's place. They probably know where you dock it. Now that I think of it, Fletch is the kind of person to follow me home to find out where I live."

"Makes no difference. The boat will be a lot safer than the apartment because the boat will be several miles out to sea, with radar and sonar watching while we sleep."

"Oh...I suppose you're right. But stop somewhere, first, so I can call Gil. He needs to make arrangements to have someone there tomorrow to take care of the pool critters. With Frank gone he'll need a trainer, too."

He reached for his belt. "Use my phone."

"Are you _sure_ you're okay, Ann? Should I call the police?" Gil sounded as though he didn't believe her when she said she was fine, even though, in telling of what happened, she understated the events, saying that Frank and Fletch had attacked her in retribution for their loss of status.

"I'm okay, but I may not be able to perform tomorrow," she said. For certain she wouldn't be able to perform, but better to break it to him gently.

"I— wait a minute." Silence, as if his hand were muffling the mouthpiece. He'd been doing that throughout the conversation. About to ask, she remembered. Of course Trina would be there.

Abruptly, came the sound of the phone being handed to someone else, followed by Trina's voice saying, "What the hell is going on, Ann? I can't buy what you've been telling Gil. Not where Frank's concerned, so tell it to me straight."

Straight she wanted it? She covered her own mouthpiece, and to David, said, "It's Trina. She's with Gil."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Not funny. But the answer is, both." Ignoring his look of confusion, she turned back to the phone, holding up a hand in a wait gesture. Explaining about Trina's marriage was for later.

"Okay, Trina. You're right, it was more than getting even. Frank tried to kill me."

"Shit. Tell me. Tell me the whole damn thing. I should have fired him months ago."

Ann told her

"That bastard...then, you're not hurt?"

"I'm okay, but you need a trainer...or at least someone who knows how to take care of the critters."

"That's easy, I can borrow Sam Gabriel from Sea World. He covers for Frank now. And I can run the show. I'm worried about you, though. Especially on that boat. What happens if you end up in the water? You won't be able to swim."

She had to smile. "It's a big boat, Trina. Hardly ever sinks."

"Very funny. I—"

"Relax. I'm safe, and I'll see you in the morning."

"First thing, honey. You come see me first thing."

° ° °

"No!"

Ann sat up, terrified and lashing out, wildly, but she couldn't push Frank Sutton away—couldn't even grip the arms that were locked on either side of her head, rocking her back and forth as he readied himself to break her neck.

Then the world settled into place. She was on the boat—safe. The rocking that had frightened her so was the sign of safety, as the boat moved in the gentle embrace of the sea. The pressure of his hands, only a headache.

"Ann?" David appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the main cabin lighting, urgency in his voice. He visibly relaxed, as he said, "Bad dream?"

She nodded, and he came to sit on the edge of the bed and touch her forehead, as though she was a child being tested for illness. The light coming through the open doorway hurt, and her eyes felt achy. The concern was back in his voice when he said, "You're warm." He touched her shoulder with his palm for a moment. "Too warm. And you're soaked with sweat." He stood. "I'm heading in."

"Wait." He stopped in the doorway. "I think I'm okay. I feel as if I had a fever, but it's breaking. Give it a little time."

"You're sure?"

"No, but I think I'll be okay. I can't explain it, but it feels that way."

He nodded. "Okay. It's your call, but I'm getting you aspirin for the fever...and another shirt, because this one's soaked."

"Thank you."

He took the water glass from her and put it on the nightstand.

"Can you stand? We need to get you changed."

With his help she moved to the edge of the bunk and sat up, then shook her head. Standing wasn't going to happen. And shaking her head had been a mistake, too. Dizziness, combined with the movement, had her head pounding again.

He nodded. "Okay. If you can't stand, we'll try something else. See if you can slide back on the bed." When she did, he lifted her legs to turn her and to put them on the bed, then moved to sit against the headboard, behind her, and pull her into a sitting position, lending his strength in support. He lifted the shirt in back, saying, "This has to come off. Raise your arms so I can get it off. I'll stay back here, and I won't peek...at least not much."

Holding her as he was, he couldn't help but do so. But it didn't matter, and in any case, he was telling her that he wouldn't abuse her trust, not that he wouldn't see her.

When the dizziness of sitting up subsided, she said, "It's not like you haven't seen me that way." After a moment's thought she added, "Pretty much everyone has, I guess."

That brought a chuckle, and, "I suppose you're right. But I meant I won't ogle. Okay?"

"Fair enough." She lifted her arms and he peeled the shirt over her head, without bothering with the buttons, leaving her nude. Surprisingly, there came not even a trace of embarrassment over the idea he'd see her undressed. It wasn't that he'd seen her already, or even that others had. He had her total trust—that, and not a little pleasure that he found her beautiful. Both were notions that fit, not at all, into her world picture, but they were, non-the-less, there.

The touch of a cold washcloth on her shoulder brought a shiver. She should have expected it—he'd made no secret of either it or the bowl of water he brought with him when he returned with the aspirin—but she hadn't been paying attention. Once the shock faded, though, the cool cloth was soothing.

"Thank you," she said, raising an arm at his urging, allowing him to wash that side and under the arm. "This is decadent, I think." He chuckled, as he did her back, then the other side.

The idea of a man doing such a thing for a woman hadn't even occurred to her, and certainly, was something that would be even better were she no longer sick. Best not to find out how much better, though.

Before she speculated very far on that he applied a towel and rubbed briskly, then touched her shoulder and said, "lay on your stomach and I'll get the rest. Unless you'd be...uncomfortable?"

She kissed his cheek. He really was sweet.

The nightmare was receding into a memory. The headache, too. Apparently her fever _had_ broken.

"Hey!" Finished drying her legs, he bent to place a kiss on her bare derriere. What does one say to _that_?

"Don't get upset, lady. Now you can point at me and say, 'The man worships me. Hell, he'll kiss my ass on command."

Without thought, she turned and sat up, forgetting her nudity and placing a hand across his lips. "Don't say that, David...please. You _don't_ love me."

He pulled her hand away.

"Why not say it? It's true. And I do love you. Tonight, when I thought you were going to die I started to die myself." He straightened, and his gaze swept over her body, his hunger a palpable touch—a touch that burned as though it had been his hands sweeping across her body not his eyes. _Damn!_ Why had she done such a stupid thing as to flaunt herself that way? Certainly, he'd seen her nude before, but was that a reason to encourage him, as though offering something more than friendship? He pointed toward the shirt on the night table then turned away. She put it on.

Dressed and armored once more, she said, "You don't know me. You know almost nothing about me."

"Bullshit." He turned back to face her. "I probably know you better than you know yourself. You're running, and you're wounded, and I don't mean because of tonight, or from what happened to start this mermaid thing. I mean from yourself, from human contact, from everything that makes life worth living."

"No."

"Yes!" He pointed a finger toward her head, saying, "There's a hurt little girl in there, Ann, angry that her parents deserted her when she needed them." He looked away, and his voice filled with emotion, as he said, "And there's a warm, loving woman in there, one who needs to break free before she dies of loneliness. I've seen her, and I've spoken to her. She comes out now and then, when you're not..." He lurched to his feet, then, tension showing in every line of his body, saying, "I'm sorry. I have no right, and you're certainly not yourself right now." Then he was gone, and she was wiping away tears, wondering why she should be crying. She sat looking at the empty doorway for a long time, before clicking off the lamp and lying down.

The man had kissed her ass! What in the _hell_ did that mean? And _why_ did the spot tingle as though he'd done it again, on the mere thought of it? Damn!

Well, it took her mind from the events that placed her on the boat, but that helped little, and sleep took its time arriving.

° ° °

"He kissed your what? The man kissed your ass? Marry him, Sweetpea. And do it quick before he changes his mind."

"Come on, Trina. Tell me why he did it." Mentioning it had been a mistake, obviously. But his act, so outrageous, left her at a loss to explain what his motive had been. Had he expected her to invite him into the bed? Had it been a joke?

Carla laughed, not giving Trina a chance to respond. "It was because he was hoping you'd turn over, you dummy. And you should have, because it's a _lot_ better if he kisses you on the _other_ side.... But Trina's right, marry the guy. He's a great person, handsome enough to make _me_ notice, and he obviously adores you. What more could you want?"

What indeed? Certainly, David represented everything she claimed that people weren't, and certainly, she'd trust him with her life. And without doubt, she cared for him. The question was, did she care for him enough to throw away her dreams? Reluctantly, the answer had to be no. She'd worked too hard and too long to give up now.

"Shut up, Carla," Trina said. "We have a much more important question to discuss, like why she was in the man's bed naked."

"It was my bed, and I—"

"All the better. Why was he in your bed with you naked, and what happened after he told you he loved you?"

She stared. "How...how did you know he told me that?"

Trina crossed her arms. "Come on, honey. You're a pretty smart woman. The man told you that when he pressed his lips to your cheek—and I don't mean the one on your face. He was giving you the right to tell him to kiss your ass when he deserved it. Now start at the beginning. I want to hear what happened from the time I left you by the pool last night till you walked in here this morning. I want to know _everything_."

"And you let him walk away?"

"Well...what was I to do?"

"She was still feverish, Carla," Trina said.

"It's not that, Trina. I let him walk out because he's...well, he's just a friend."

Trina's expression showed her opinion of that remark. "I don't think you really..." Trina trailed off, eyes unfocused. Before Ann could ask what was wrong, she snapped, "Take off your clothes, Ann."

"What?"

Carla sang chorus to her words, matching expression and tone.

"Take off your clothes. Hurry." She made shooing motions with her hands, as if to speed the process.

"But...why?" This made no sense.

"It's that fever you had last night. I think you had it because you were _healing!"_

Ann just stared at her, before saying, "Healing? I don't think—"

"You sure didn't. And neither did I, but think about it now. People who have been injured often run a temperature while they're healing."

"But I'm not injured. The mermaid form was, but I wasn't in that form last night."

"And that makes a difference?"

"Well, I..." Was it possible that the fever had been connected to the healing of the immaterial part of her body? Certainly worth a try. The worst thing that might happen was that Trina and Carla would have to help her out of the water. In response to Trina's "hurry up" gestures she began to disrobe, rigidly clamping down on the hope that was trying to slip past her control.

"Wait a minute."

"What?" Legs in the water, Ann looked up from nerving herself to slip the rest of the way in.

Trina came to squat by her, saying, "I want to try something, okay? But to do that I need you dressed as you are."

"Dressed as I...am?" That made no sense. Since she had no intention of swimming into the main tank, where someone could see her.

Curious as to what Trina had in mind, though, she made a "go ahead" motion of the hand. Carla came to squat next to them, looking interested.

"I need you to close your eyes. Okay?"

Mystified, she complied. "Now what?"

"Now I want you to go back to last night, just after Dave carried you out of the pool. I want you to relive that moment, Okay?"

She opened her eyes, but Trina ordered her to shut them again. "Humor me. I want you to remember how you felt. Can you do that?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Forget why. You're humoring me, remember?" When Ann nodded, Trina said, "Dave's holding you in his arms, and he looks into your eyes. Live that moment and tell me how you feel."

She swallowed, and remembered. "I feel warm...all over. He's looking into my eyes. It's dark, but the moon is out so I can see his expression."

"Good. What is it?"

"I...I don't know. It's so intense it almost frightens me."

"And now what?"

"He kisses me."

A good kiss?"

"Ohhh...yes, it's a _wonderful_ kiss," she breathed, recalling the way his lips had claimed her own. It stirred fires within even now.

"See that, Carla?" Ann opened her eyes to find Trina pointing toward her breasts.

"They stood up like a marine sergeant called them to attention," Carla said, laughing. Almost wistfully, she added, "Wish they did that for me."

Ann glanced down, but she didn't need to look, her nipples were so tight they physically hurt.

"Tell me again the man doesn't move you, Miss Self-Control. I can _see_ his effect on you. Now get that white ass of yours in the water, cause I _ain't_ gonna kiss it." Trina was still laughing when she slid her head under water.

It looked like the show would have a mermaid after all.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 15

Ann sat watching the rain patter on the water. The wind was picking up and the chop that dominated earlier had settled into low rollers that had the boat tugging at its leashes. The rudder's control wheel she rested against pulled in response to the wave motion as the boat tossed, but she paid no attention. She was chewing on a problem, and the outside world was of little importance, for the moment.

Finally, without turning, she called, "How many men died in the shipwreck?"

"Mmm? Four, according to the records. Why?" He didn't ask which shipwreck.

"No special reason, but do you know who they were? Not their names, but their jobs?"

"I'm not certain, but memory says one was a bosun's mate, one a steersman, and the other two were common seamen."

"Uh-huh. One man to steer, one to handle sail, and two to work the pumps." She pivoted the pilot's seat to face him, where he sat doing paperwork at the table, very sure she had the answer.

David dropped his pencil and stared for a long time before he whispered, "Son of a bitch. I've been working on the wrong problem. Lady, you're a damn genius."

"So you think I may be right? The boat was hijacked?"

He waved his hands, excitement growing in his voice as he said, "You _have_ to be. It's the only thing that fits, because I can tell you for certain, the ship is _not_ on the bottom; at least not where it would be if the story is true. I've looked at miles of sea floor, and I've all but tasted the sand to see if it's there." With the instrumentation Jennie's Promise trailed as it drifted, he'd looked both at, and under, the sea floor.

"So where is it?"

He leaned back in the seat, rubbing his chin and lost in thought for a time. Then he went to the laptop and began to call up maps. She left the pilot's seat and went to stand behind him and watch. After a moment, she put a hand on his shoulder to brace herself against the lurching of the boat as the mooring lines snubbed its motion. When she did he put a hand on top of hers, rubbing it in a casual gesture of friendship that brought warmth and caused her to squeeze his shoulder in return. The stray thought occurred that since her accident, now nearly five days in the past, there hadn't been a single argument. Just quiet evenings spent talking about the past, and of learning each other's views—conversation and surprising agreement. Had she lost the battle? Perhaps. She admitted to him that she did need people, and trusted him without reservation. When he asked, she also acknowledged that Trina and Carla ran a close second. The problem had been related to her ability to pick those who were worthy of trust—or more properly, her reluctance to even try. Perhaps this new confidence was no more than rationalization. But she'd been sleeping far more peacefully since the change, and that counted. Though lately there'd been rather disturbing dreams about David. She'd have to ask Trina about them later. Now, he was answering her question as to where the ship had gone.

"The storm was recorded as being a northeasterly blow, and blustery. Short-handed as the hijackers were, they would have run before the wind and gone wherever that wind took them. The problem is, there's nowhere to land within any reasonable distance because they'd have gone straight out to sea. And loaded as that boat was, they could never have sailed any distance without a crew. Any sudden squall would rip their canvas off before their man could reef it." He blew out his breath in a long sigh, before touching the map with a forefinger and saying, "Now if they'd been blown the other way, along the coast, there are places to land, including the beach north of here." He sat staring at the screen, as though glaring at it might change the display.

"So, does a northeast wind blow _toward_ the northeast or come from there?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Mmm? Winds are named for where they come from. Why?"

"Suppose the man writing the information thought a west wind blew _toward_ the west? Are you sure the locals didn't think that way? Having had no training I'd have guessed a northeast wind went toward the northeast." He turned to stare at her, lips inches from hers. It appeared that he was going to kiss her, but he just blinked for a moment, looking at nothing in particular, before turning back to the screen. That brought a stab of disappointment. Since moving back on the boat there had been no contact with Sutton or Fletch. He'd even stopped taking them to sea to sleep. But his behavior suggested friendship, not courtship. A disappointment? Uncertain. Also uncertain was if she'd driven him away, so far as sharing more than friendship.

She sighed. A decision had to be made on what to do about the two of them, and soon. At the end of the week he would have to give up his search—out of time and out of money. Within days after that he'd be gone. Perhaps another nightmare to bring him to her cabin? Perhaps suggest they go dancing again?

Nan Engineering Inc. wasn't looking quite as attractive as it had.

He looked up from the map again, saying, "How the hell did I manage before I met you? I haven't even been looking in the right _direction_. What a moron I am." Then he did kiss her, but with a quick peck on the lips in thanks, one that brought surprise but no satisfaction. Then he headed to the pilot's station before she could do something about that.

"Where are you going?"

"To check the weather. If it's not too bad a storm..."

"Wow," she breathed. Maybe Jennie's promise would be kept after all.

"You can use my car to get to the apartment, or to head over to the park," he said, as he slipped on a pair of headphones. "They're open today, aren't they?" The storm, with its threat of lightening had washed out the shows, and Trina insisted she take the day off—her first since she began working there.

"They're open, but I'm not going anywhere except with you. There's no way you can put the camera in the water today, so I'm your eyes if you need to look at the bottom." A thought occurred, and she added, "Umm...this boat is safe in a storm, I hope. I won't have a problem, but you..."

"It's safe. And thank you. You seem to be there to supply all my needs. Could be that the fairy godmother was mine, not yours."

She grinned.

The rain lashed at her, saturating her clothing. But being wet was how she made her living, and no longer worth responding to. David, working on loosening and re-attaching the bow lines with a slip knot, was equally wet, and his hair hung over his eyes in a way that brought a smile. Even soaking wet he was handsome, and looking at him brought a warm glow to her thoughts. With reluctance, she damped that glow and paid attention to what he was saying.

".... and pull on this to loosen both bow lines. I can swing the stern with the rudder, to keep from being driven into the pilings, but once you let go the bow-lines we'll have to get out of the slip fast. Okay?"

"Got it. You get to the wheel. I'll get ready to loose the stern lines." A clap of thunder drowned her words, so she pointed to herself, then the stern. He nodded and said, "Follow me aft and get ready to loosen the stern lines while I disconnect the utilities." She'd forgotten about them.

While he disconnected the power cable and water hose she untied one of the stern lines and waited, holding tightly, so the wind couldn't carry them into the pilings of the slip, or into the next boat. When a gust of wind hit the boat it was all she could do to hold onto the line.

Finally, he headed into the cabin. A clunk, more felt than heard, came as the propellers were engaged, and the putter of the exhaust climbed from an erratic burbling to a steady rumble. The wash from the propellers roiled the water moving under the dock, as the boat surged forward against its restraints. She waited until the stern centered between the pilings, no longer a captive of the elements but subject to the discipline brought by David's hand on the wheel. Quickly, she tossed the line she'd been holding and moved to free the remaining stern line and throw it toward the dock. That finished she hurried to the bow.

The rain-slick deck pitched under her like a living thing bent on ridding itself of her presence, but she made it safely and gave him a thumbs up sign through the windshield. He returned the sign, so she picked up the bow lines, took a deep breath, and then pulled sharply, releasing the slipknots. As the lines slid into the water the engine noise rose. Smoothly, Jennie's Promise eased from the slip. They were on their way.

"Towels are over there." He pointed to the worktable. "I pulled a few out before we went on deck. Figured they might prove useful."

"Smart. You want one?"

"Yes, thanks. I didn't want to leave you out there in the rain, so I didn't take the time to dry off."

She came to the pilot station, handed him a towel, and braced herself by leaning against the back of the chair, wishing the boat had a passenger seat at the pilot's station. "So what's the forecast? Any change?"

"Some. There's a small craft advisory for this morning, but they expect the storm to track well east of us. This should be the worst of it. By late this afternoon the winds should be calm and we'll even have sun."

"Are you going to drift, the way you've been doing?" She tucked her hair into a towel and began to wrap it around her hair.

"No. There's a good chance they never did go down...at least not till they deliberately stopped pumping. There are several small islands out there. We'll work them one at a time, looking for something lying on the bottom close to the island. They may have scuttled her with the cargo on board or removed it first, but they _would_ have scuttled her...probably by burning, because they wouldn't want her to be lying where someone passing might see it. The water's pretty clear in this area."

"So they were aiming at a particular island? Is there one they might have favored?"

He shook his head. "I'm willing to bet the hijacking wasn't something they'd planned long in advance, because there would have been more men involved. My guess is that the storm gave them the opportunity. They were separated from the fleet and taking on water. All they had to do was convince the others to abandon ship and they were rich...at least they were if they pulled it off. They might not have even known there were islands out there."

"And if not? If they didn't find a place to land?" Now that they were clear of land the boat cut through larger seas. He peered through the windshield, intently, too busy with his navigation to dry off, so after she finished placing the towel around her hair she began drying his.

He purred in appreciation. "Lord, that feels good. Thank you." She grinned, and put the towel over his eyes for a moment, then went back to rubbing his scalp, as he said, "If the boat went down before they found a safe place to hide it they simply got into a longboat, rowed away, and became survivors of the terrible sinking—and could come back later to recover the gold. A win/win situation."

"If they made it back," she said, thoughtfully. "They certainly didn't show up telling everyone they had heroically stayed with the boat, so they either got the gold or died in the attempt."

"You have a point. If they were successful I've been wasting my time." He was almost shouting, to be heard over the storm noises. Something below the deck creaked in complaint every time they crested a wave. Hopefully, not a bad sign.

"Well, for your sake, and your sister's, I hope they never got to spend their stolen gold." She finished with his hair and tossed the towel into his lap, while she dried her face and neck with the third towel. Unless she changed clothes, which might be worth doing later, trying to do more than that wasted time. With the air as warm as it was, being wet was an inconvenience, not a discomfort. The thought that she was getting used to squishing when she moved brought a smile.

Finished, she put the towel aside, saying, "So do we have a first destination?"

"Yes. We're headed for the island closest inshore. If they could have, they'd have hugged the coast, so if they had to they could beach her. That way if they were caught they could always claim to have been trying to save the cargo." Fully clear of the breakwater He slid the throttles forward nearly to the stop and the twin diesels wound up to their full working speed. The ride smoothed. Satisfied that he had the situation in hand, she went to change into dry clothing.

The lashing rain had eased, for the moment, but clouds scudded close above the water, and the wind had picked up, forcing Jennie's Promise to plow through a rising sea. They were running through a series of squalls, now, some of them vicious and lightening filled, the strikes that hit the water around them bringing a rising fear.

"So what are you going to do with your share of the money, lady?"

"What?" The sound of his voice snapped her from her focus on the storm.

"I said, what will you do with your share of the treasure?"

"My share? That's Jennie's money, David. I don't get a share." She wished, again, for another seat by the wheel, because the constant vibration of the old engines was a tickle underfoot, and her legs were tired of bracing against the pitching of the boat.

"Sure you do. There's plenty for us all. If the records are correct, and if it's all there, your share, alone, should amount to several million. And that's after taxes."

"It's _not_ my money."

"Is too. But if you insist, you can marry me for _my_ money. I'm going to be very wealthy. I plan to endow a chair in my name at the university. I'll even finance Nan Engineering, as long as it carries my name on the sign and not yours."

"Very funny. Is not."

"Is too...why won't you marry me?"

"Is not...because I don't love you."

"Yes you do. Besides, I love you enough for the both of us, so it doesn't matter." His voice had been light, but with an undercurrent of seriousness.

"But I really don't...at least not the way you want me to. I value you as a friend—even love you as a friend. I admit that. But..."

"But you stayed here...on the boat. I told you Sutton was out of his apartment days ago. Yet you stayed...and you certainly didn't kiss me like a friend."

"When did I kiss you?"

She _had_ stayed on the boat. He was right in that. But why had she? For the friendship? The nightly conversation? Now wasn't the time to speculate, though, because he wasted no time in responding.

"When? I kissed you when I carried you out of the pool. And as I remember, you kissed me back pretty damn well." His voice was quiet, hard to hear over the sound of the sea and the rain now sheeting against the windshield as they moved into another squall.

She shook her head. "Doesn't count. I was...well, it doesn't count."

"I think it does. But if you don't, you can kiss me again, to see if it was only gratitude." He flipped on the autopilot switch, then turned the chair to face her and took her hands in his, saying "Kiss me right now."

"I..." What could she say to that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He made no move to kiss her, but his hands were applying gentle pressure, urging her closer.

"Afraid, Ann Nan? Afraid of me? Or are you afraid of you?"

And she was. Terribly afraid that if she once placed her lips on his she'd never want to take them away. Perhaps pulling free was the cowardly way, but she did, and went to the galley, calling, "Maybe later. I'll make lunch." But a kiss hung in the air between them, and it _would_ happen. That was a certainty. As she made lunch he watched, from above. She felt his eyes on her every single second.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 16

They were less than a half-mile from the island when it happened. She was once again standing behind David when the view through the windshield exploded into pinwheels of white, and a sound like the cracking of the world filled her ears. The boat's motion came to an abrupt halt, throwing her forward against the pilot's seat, hard. Then, as the world shifted again she lurched back, forced to take a step off the platform, seeking a balance that never came. She fell into darkness, then struck the deck in the galley hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

Lightening. We've been struck by lightening.

The sound of angry water pouring through a breach in the hull came from somewhere forward of the galley.

"David!" Was there a response buried within the noise of rushing water? No way to be certain, but lying on the deck accomplished nothing, so she struggled to her feet, an exercise in pain management.

But pain could be pushed aside, and she was functional. What mattered was David. A mermaid had no fear of the sea, but he was human, and vulnerable. Terribly vulnerable. Jennie's Song would founder. The lightening must have struck the foredeck, cutting through the deck, then piercing the old wooden hull and doing unknown additional damage as it exited to the sea. Assuming she could get him free of the boat, a lone human at the mercies of such violent seas, even with a mermaid's help, was in deadly peril.

"David!" she shouted, as she struggled out of the galley through ankle deep water. Saving him was critical, but finding him came first. The cabin lights were out, and that, coupled with the after-image of the lightening strike that still glowed at the center of vision, rendered her blind, for now. Breathing a prayer, she fumbled her way toward the ladder that led to the pilot's station.

"Here." His voice, barely audible above the sea noises came from what she assumed was the base of the ladder leading to the pilot's station. "I was looking for you."

The boat was beginning to tilt nose down, its movement on the water terribly sluggish. They had moments, only.

A hand brushed her arm. Then he pulled her close, saying. "Thank God. I thought you'd been hurt."

"I'm okay. You?"

"Bruised, but everything works. Hurry and get your clothes off, we'll be in the water pretty quickly."

He made sense, so she fumbled for her waistband, saying, "Find a life preserver and meet me at the rail outside the port hatchway. Hurry." She let herself fall to the deck, which was already awash, and began peeling off the jeans.

But meeting him at the rail was not to be, because moments later, with a shriek of sundered planking, the trawler died, broken open and spilling her guts toward the sea floor. A wall of invading water carried her against a bulkhead with stunning force, holding her there and leaving her almost unable to think. When she came to herself again, Jennie's Promise was under the sea and taking them toward the bottom.

_David?_ Where was he? She tried to push away from the bulkhead but the force of the inrushing water pinned her at what felt like the joining point of bulkhead and deck. With virtually no light she wasn't even sure of which way to go. He'd been going for the starboard equipment locker, but even if she were able to swim, which way was starboard? And where had the water taken him?

Finally, the boat struck bottom and she was free. Thankfully, the sea was shallow and their fall, short. But that helped not at all in her search. Darkness was the enemy, not depth.

"David! If you can hear me, bang on something. Help me find you...please." That last was a prayer.

"Up here. I'm above you."

He must have found an air pocket. Carefully, she moved upward, bushing drifting debris aside. After a moment her lips broke water in a shallow space, perhaps six inches deep.

"I thought I'd lost you," she said, feeling for him. "We have a problem."

"Let me guess. There's a leak in the boat." He found her hand and pulled her against him. She closed her eyes for a moment, relief at finding him tempered by knowledge of the danger he faced.

"The problem is that I don't know the way out, and it may be too dark to find you again if I leave and go looking for it. Do you know where we are? I'm disoriented."

Silence for a moment, as he felt the boat around where they were.

"I'm pretty sure we're above the doorway to the head, on the starboard side." He guided her hand downward. "That has to be the door."

"If so, the way to the deck is to my right. Can you hold your breath for long enough to get out of here?"

Grayness filled his voice, as he said, "Probably, but it won't do a lot of good."

"Why not? Are you injured?" His words made no sense.

"Not injured, but there are twelve-foot seas out there, Ann. Apparently, the storm _didn't_ miss us. The waves were beginning to break across the deck, and I was starting to worry that we'd be driven under. There's no way you can keep me above water in that kind of storm. Not for long enough." He clung for a moment, then added. "I wish to God there was a way, because I..." He stopped. He'd been about to tell her he loved her, but stopped, because he didn't want her to feel guilty over that. He loved her that much. In an instant, every dark place in her mind had been illuminated by that love, as though struck with soft lightening—a love he would deny to protect her from pain after he was gone—a love so strong that it coursed through her, filled her, and changed her; forever. It was time to stop denying what she'd known was true from the beginning. She loved him, and had loved him from the moment his eyes had met hers.

"And I love you, too, David," she said, surrendering to the inevitable and drawing him closer. Her voice hardened. "And because I love you, I'm damn well _not_ going to let you die. Bet on that."

His arms pulled her close, and suppressed tears thickened his voice as he said, "It sure takes a lot to make you tell someone you love them, Ann Nan. Do I at least get a kiss out of this?"

Oh yes. You get a kiss.

His lips were warm, and infinitely soft on hers.

My God, why did I wait so long to do this?

Softly, gently, he gathered her closer, till his body fully molded itself to hers. She melted and flowed against him, floating free and wrapping herself around him, glorying in the feel of his body against hers.

His tongue touched, then probed, welcomed, as she opened her very soul to this dear man.

What a fool I've been. What an utter and complete fool.

After an eternity she slid her mouth from his to whisper, "I do love you. I always have. I just didn't know it."

"I know. I've always known."

She rested her face on his chest, content to be held, and to listen to the beating of his heart while she replayed his words in her mind, glowing. Then it hit her. _His words_? He was speaking underwater?

She pulled back to look into his face, but could do no more than make out the outline of his head.

"Excuse me? You can breathe underwater? All this time you've been—"

He laughed. "Hey, slow down. It's a brand new ability. I swear. Let go of me for a few seconds." She complied, beginning to understand. When she took his hand once more he said, "Exactly what I thought. When we're in contact I can breathe." He laughed. "I'm _really_ beginning to love that ring."

She relaxed. "Me too. More kissing please." Had that been her voice? Did she just demand that he kiss her? She had, and that meant she was doomed. If she gave in to desire she would follow in the footsteps of her classmates and friends, Nan Engineering only a memory, as she changed direction and built her life around the man she loved. For just a moment she was filled with depression, until it burned away in a bright flash of understanding.

_Doomed? The hell I am!_ Nan Engineering was who she was, and forever would be, as was the way she loved David Nan. And _that_ was the most startling revelation of all. She loved the man. Loved him with an intensity that threatened to consume her. But she was still who she was, and that made her want to shout her joy.

But now was for kissing. Shouting was for later, as was telling him he'd been right in even the smallest thing. Now was for kissing, and loving, and for wrapping herself around him.

Wrapping herself around him?

I have...legs?

"What? Ann, what's wrong?"

"I...I seem to have legs."

"Oh. Ohhh...how nice!" He ran gentle fingers down the outside of her leg, and as though electricity had trailed from his fingers to her skin, his touch burned a pathway to the nerves of her leg. He must have felt her jerk at his touch, and been pleased, because his other hand traced the same pathway on that side, turning her breathing ragged. Gently, he pulled her toward him, and of themselves, her legs wrapped around him, joining in the back to pull him even closer.

"Legs," he rumbled as his arms enveloped her again. "I _like_ legs." He nibbled at her ear, and whispered. "I like floating like this, too." After a moment he leaned back a bit and put a hand to the top button of her blouse, saying, "Do you suppose you have things in there I'd like as much?"

"I...I suppose so."

He gets points for asking.

Then he was unbuttoning her blouse, the single most sensual thing that had ever happened to her. Carla had been right. _Like marines snapping to attention._ But now her entire breast ached for his touch. She wanted to rip the buttons from the shirt and offer her breasts to his lips, but was unable to move, unable to do more than focus on the slow delicious progress of his hands on her clothing.

At last, her blouse was opened and his lips were at her breast—warmth on warmth on warmth, bringing a deep growl of pleasure to her throat.

All my life I've waited for this man.

She astounded herself with the writhing of her hips as fire began to envelop her loins.

All my life I've waited to love him.

Greedily, she held him to her breast, while waves of pleasure rolled over her, triggered by his teeth, and his tongue, and her desire for this man who had transformed her. Her hands went to his shirt, tugging...telling him what she wanted. And then his lips were on hers again, the warmth of his skin electric against hers.

They were drifting, set in motion by the movement of their bodies, though she had no idea of where they were. Nor did she care. She would have this man, and she would have him now. She reached for his belt, but he brushed her hand away, saying, "Your job is to feel, not think." And with that he slid his palm down the length of her belly, bringing madness as he moved warm fingertips between her legs, to make her incapable of doing more than just feeling.

All my life.

"Please, David. Please love me." He'd given her pleasure beyond pleasure, but had held back one thing, and that she could not allow.

"There's danger. I'm not...I don't have—"

She took his face between her hands and kissed him on the mouth, hard, before saying, "I'll marry you. If we live through this I'll marry you. Does that make a difference?"

His cheeks curved into a grin, as he said, "Hell yes it makes a difference. But will you respect me in the morning?"

"David..."

But he was already reaching for his belt.

All my life.... He is my life.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 17

"Do you suppose anyone else in the history of the world has ever done this?"

She reached a lazy hand over and stroked his cheek as she said, "Not nearly as well."

That rated a kiss that left her purring with contentment. She settled back into the sand and looked toward the ocean's surface, some sixty feet above them.

How many people have made love on the ocean floor, then spent their afterglow watching the sun play on the surface of the sea?

After a time he pulled her closer, then sighed—a strange sound to hear underwater. "I hate to bring it up, but the storm seems to be over, so we probably should think about rescuing ourselves."

"I suppose so. Any ideas?"

"Well, we can head for that island we were going to check out. It's only about a half mile away."

"Dressed like this?"

"What's wrong with this? I've always preferred you this way."

"Nothing's wrong now, but when a boat comes by?"

He sat up, retaining her hand. "Tell you what. I'll swim to the surface and wait there, while you go back and get us clothing and the raft."

" _And_ the raft? Why take the raft?"

"So you can get your tail back in working order."

"Ahh." He had a point. As they were, the island was a long tiring swim away. But with him in the raft and no longer in physical contact, as a mermaid she could push the raft to the island in minutes. Plus, the raft offered an escape means if no boats passed close enough to hail within a reasonable period. Food was no problem, because a seafood dinner would lay a few tail-strokes away.

"You know," he said, taking a last look around. "I'd probably kill for the chance to be what you are. For a marine biologist this is dream come true."

"I know. You've been paying more attention to what came swimming by than to me, lately."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You can run me through marine biology 101 when we have more time. I'd like that. But for now, start swimming. And remember to blow out all the way to the surface, because I do _not_ need to lose you from an embolism now."

"Okay, I'll be careful. But you— Wait a minute!"

"Mmm?"

"I have to come with you."

"Oh? Why? It might be easier if—"

"Two reasons. One you just reminded me of. We've been down here for hours, and we've been breathing pressurized air."

"I'm not certain that's true. I asked you to blow out on the way up as a precaution, not because I actually know, one way or the other."

"We have been. Trust me on that. This may be magic, or miracles, or whatever, but the physical world intrudes, too. We've been breathing air that matches the pressure of the water at this depth, which means there's a danger of the bends if I come up too quickly."

"Makes sense," she said, after thinking it over. With the weight of more than sixty feet of water pressing in on them, the air they breathed had to be at a matching pressure or they wouldn't have had the strength to inhale.

"So we have to stop for a while—part way to the surface—like divers?" That didn't make sense. She'd never hesitated on surfacing, and had certainly had no problems. But then, she'd never been at this depth for more than a few minutes.

"Probably not. I'd guess you, at least, don't have to decompress, because mermaids would either instinctively know they had to wait, or not need to stop. I'm betting on my not needing it, either, _if_ I'm still in contact with you. Without that contact, though..."

He'd left the rest unsaid, but it made sense to err on the side of caution, so she nodded approval. "Agreed. We'll still take it slow, though, in case you're wrong...but you said _two_ reasons."

"Exactly. There's something I need to get from the boat, and I'm not quite sure where I left it. I just hope it wasn't damaged."

"David? I need you to help me get this thing into the raft. It's too heavy to do without help." The orange life raft bobbed next to them in the calming seas. Hanging from it was the package he tied on prior to inflating it.

"Okay, I have my stuff in so hang on, I'm coming." He made his way around the raft, to help with the bulky instrument case.

"What's in here, anyway?" she asked, as they pushed the box over the side of the raft, to fall inside.

"My metal detector. It's designed for underwater use, but it'll operate as well above the surface. I thought we might as well spend our time checking out the island, because there aren't any boats in sight." He reached a leg out to stroke her, then frowned. "No tail?"

She shook her head. "Nor can I breathe under water anymore. Not since I broke the surface. Do you suppose it's gone for good, along with my virginity?"

He laughed, and gave her a quick hug, acknowledging her gift. "I doubt that was the reason, though it probably was part of it. Solving your problem was that made it happen, I think."

"Or maybe solving _your_ problem?"

"Could be. So climb into the boat and start paddling. I'm starting to have a problem again."

She laughed, not terribly disappointed to be land-bound once more. Though how to explain it and the loss of her star attraction, to Trina, was not going to be a easy.

° ° °

"There it is, David. It has to be your ship, but it's awfully close to shore."

"Kind of looks like it. It's the right size, that's for sure. If so, it's close to shore because they couldn't keep it afloat without continuous pumping, so they ran it in till the bottom hit sand, pulled out the gold and burned it to the waterline." Below them lay the remains of a ship. Had she come across it while boating she would have passed by, not recognizing it as what it was. Only the faint outline of the ship's spine in the sand showed, with the stubs of its framing extending to the side, like the ribcage of a beast.

"It's been burned. I can see black peeking through the sand, where debris fell as the ship burned. I'm guessing that the storm uncovered it."

He sat looking into the water, silent, and chewing his lip.

"Is something wrong?"

He sighed, then shook his head, as his hand sought hers. "It's not that. It's just that I've been looking for so damn long. I've been digging out information since it caught my attention a few years ago. Then, since I got here, this boat has dominated my thoughts day and night. Now it's over. It's too sudden, and too..." He waved his hands, seeming unable to express his frustration.

"But it's not over. Now we have to find out where they hid the gold."

That roused him, and he pulled her close. "To hell with the gold. I found you. That's better."

° ° °

"So, if you were a pirate, and you wanted to hide gold where you could find it again—but where someone else won't stumble on it—where would you put it?"

Ann turned to survey the island. Their walk around its periphery had taken less than an hour. The place had few noteworthy features, especially close to the ship. She pondered the problem for a time, before venturing, "Well, they had to ferry the gold to shore in a dingy, or whatever. And, unlike the movies, where people carry bags of gold as though they weigh no more than wooden blocks, carrying gold is like carrying lead, which means a _lot_ of work. They probably didn't have a wagon, and a wheelbarrow doesn't work well on a beach, so it can't be all that far from the water."

"But not close enough to the boat that someone could guess where it was, or that a storm could uncover it."

"True. Can I also assume these men weren't terribly smart? They didn't make a real effort to hide the boat after it burned. It wasn't broken up, and since it only burned to the waterline, was easily visible from the surface." The work of the boring creatures that had reduced the framework to lines on the sand would have taken many years to turn the wreck to what they had found.

"Uneducated, but possibly smart...though you have a point. Why?"

She smiled. "Because, husband to be, there are damn few landmarks on this piece of real-estate. My guess is that they'd choose the closest permanent part of the island, like a big rock or a hilltop, then counted paces from that. And I'd further guess the paces were toward the beach, which reduced the distance they had to carry the gold, and meant digging in sand rather than hard dirt."

"Mmm...but it's hard to dig to any depth in sand because the sides of the hole keep collapsing."

"And that means?"

"It means the gold can't be very deep, which makes the metal detector's job that much easier. Good thinking, Lady. I like my new title, by the way."

She grinned.

Ann sat with her legs in the hole, looking down.

"So how the hell are we going to get this off the island? Whoever responds to us waving them down is sure to decide the gold needs rescuing more than we do."

He rubbed his chin, reaching out with a foot to nudge her toes. "We bury it again and come back later, of course. That's easy. And we can use the raft to paddle to the mainland when the sea eases a bit more. The forecast for tomorrow is for dead calm conditions. At least that's what they were predicting the last time I listened. What's hard is deciding what to do with the money."

"What's hard about that? You set up a trust fund and give it to Jennie. I can't wait to meet her, by the way. I want to be there when you tell her about this." When he didn't respond, she looked up see why and found him studying her, a look of bemusement on his face.

"You're grinning again. Why this time?"

"Just you. You're so damn beautiful. I sometimes find it hard to accept that you ended up with me."

She patted the dirt next to her and he came to sit there, putting his arm around her and bringing the kind of peace to her soul that only his touch could provide.

"What do you think happened to the men who did this?" She waved in the direction of the gold.

He shrugged, then pointed toward the coast, on the other side of the island and invisible behind the trees. "When this happened there weren't any settlements in this part of the mainland. The area was virgin woodland and swamp, filled with game, and whatever preyed on that game. They would have to contend with alligators, coral snakes, puma, bear, and more, depending on where they landed."

"Ouch."

"I doubt they were familiar with the area, either. They were Spanish sailors, remember, merely passing by on the way home. If the animals didn't get them they faced local tribes, who wouldn't be pleased about having been driven from the best real estate by people who looked and dressed like those sailors. And since the gold is still here..."

It made sense, though they'd probably never know for sure. She told him so, but instead of responding, he turned to face her more directly, taking her hands and saying, "So tell me...what _are_ you going to do with your part of the money?"

"My part? Are we going—"

He bent to kiss her hands, one at a time, nibbling on her fingers and setting her to giggling, something she hadn't done in years. But than, she hadn't felt this good in years, either.

"Okay," he said, after collecting a kiss. "Since you insist: what will you do with your half of _my_ half of the money? You'll open Nan Engineering, but what else?"

What else? She would ask him to invest in Sea Kingdom, and help Trina turn it into the kind of place she dreamed it could be, and be recognized for her own accomplishments. But for herself, she'd given little thought to what came after she achieved her heart's desire. And now it seemed that Nan Engineering wasn't it. David was, as was the peace he brought. She would start the firm, and make it a success, if for no other reason than that it carried his name, as well. But with the admission that she was in love with him came the realization that life is a journey, and that you can never know what your heart's desire is until _after_ you achieve it.

So what would she do? The money didn't matter. The journey did. Being rich or poor in worldly things mattered little. Her life would be rich because of him, and that did matter. She would bear his children, and she would grow old with him. And one day she'd look back and see that their life together...that had been her heart's desire.

° ° ° ° °

Chapter 18

"We're here. Now be good," he said, as he pulled into the driveway, next to an ancient Dodge sedan "I haven't told Jennie we're married—or anything but that I think you're pretty special. I wanted to give it to her as a surprise, along with the money."

David seemed tense. It showed in his voice and the way he moved. Worry that Jennie wouldn't approve of her? Whatever the cause, his mood needed to be lightened.

She bumped her hip against his as they walked from his car to the house. "I'll try not to slobber, and only grope you when she's not looking. Okay?" She demonstrated, but he intercepted her hand.

"Just be good."

Frustrated in groping him, she tried to open the buttons of her blouse, but he was equally vigilant, so she brought him to a halt and took his cheeks in her hands, saying. "David what's really bothering you?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing. It's.... Well, it's so damn hard to see her like this. Some people take years to..." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and a trail of wetness showed on his cheek when he took it away. "It's going so fast, Ann. So fast. It seems like I turn my head for a moment, and when I look back she's had a little more of her life cut away. And this time I've been gone for months." He bit his lip, as though cutting off something he'd been about to say, and turned away, taking out a handkerchief and rubbing his eyes.

"But what about her fiancé? Surely he—"

"He doesn't exist. She made him up."

"But that letter I read. What about that?"

He shrugged. "It started as a game. It's a fantasy wedding."

"A fantasy...I don't understand. Why would she—"

He turned to face her, his face showing how deeply his sister's illness affected him.

"She's marrying the devil, Ann. He's the groom."

"Oh my God." She stared for a moment. What he said was so sad that she could do no more. Then, with nothing to say—nothing that could be said—she reached out, drawing him close, offering comfort in the only way available. Each day spent with him gave more reason to love him. He truly was her soul mate, and to see him hurting this way tore at the heart. But to have him any other way would lessen that which made him what he was, so she released him and waited until he folded the handkerchief and put it away. He straightened and took a deep breath before saying, "I'm okay, but give me a second. I don't want Jenny to see me like this. Hell, I don't want _me_ to see me like this."

She wrapped her arms around him, once more, pulling him fiercely against her, as if to shield him with her body. "It's okay, love. It's what you are, and I wouldn't want you to change. Not ever."

When she released him he kissed her forehead, then took her shoulders, to look into her eyes for a long time. Finally, he shook his head, as though waking, and said, "We should get into the house. The neighbors are probably watching."

As they walked, she studied the house.

"This is your parents' place?" A modest house on a modest, tree-lined street, the buds of spring announcing the change of season.

"When they're home it is, but dad works for Mobile Oil, and they've spent half their life overseas. Right now they're living in Australia, somewhere." He opened the front door and they stepped into a pleasant living room, furnished in an antique, though comfortable style, one she found to her liking. A pleasant home, not a showplace. She sniffed. The house had a clean scent, but it carried no overtones of family dinners. A glance around showed that it could use a dusting.

"Is somebody there?" a woman's voice called. The accent had been urban black.

"It's David."

"Davy? Oh my God. Is that really you?" That had to have been Jennie, and the excitement in her voice was that of a child on Christmas morning, as she said, "Cassie, get me up, and hurry!" As he led her up the stairs Jennie called, "You fink. You couldn't call and warn me that you'd be here today? I hate you." But no trace of anger tinted her voice, only great and overflowing joy.

Ann stopped in the doorway, so as to not intrude in their reunion. David had thrown himself onto the bed, to envelop Jennie in his arms.

While he was occupied she studied the bedroom. A large hospital style bed, the head end raised nearly to vertical, dominated the room. Next to it an older woman stood, the bed control still in her hand. The car in the drive was probably hers.

The woman, who had been watching the two on the bed, raised her eyes to meet Ann's, flashing a pleasant, but insincere smile. A comfortable chair sat at the foot of the bed, with a large purse next to it on the floor. A book lay open and face down on the seat.

Interrupting her inspection David called, "Come in, Ann. You have to meet Jen."

Jennie was leaning back against the raised mattress, her hand clutching his.

With a sense of relief Ann turned away for the moment it took to walk to the other side of the bed and sit where he indicated. Once, Jennie had been a stunningly beautiful woman. That much was obvious from the pictures scattered on walls and furniture tops. But that woman was gone—painfully and terribly gone. A caricature of what she'd been remained, sparely drawn in tones of gray and ivory. Gaunt features echoed past glories in a way that threatened to bring tears. Now she truly understood why David had been crying.

With an obvious effort, Jennie slid her hand to take hers, saying, "I have so wanted to meet a woman dumb enough to put up with my brother." Her eye flicked to David's for an instant, with so much love in that glance that Ann's breathing literally stopped. It took a conscious effort to force herself to say, "And I've wanted to meet you. David has been telling me stories of his little sister all the way here."

Jennie punched his leg, saying, "Lies. All lies." She had, Ann noted, thrown her hand in the direction of his leg, without either control or power. Memories of Susan, her dearest friend, lost to the same body and mind eating disease, threatened to overwhelm her. For David, and for Jennie, too, she clamped down on her emotions, as Jennie said, "So tell me how you met and became friends. I—" He stopped her with a touch to the hand.

"More than friends, Jennie." He reached out to caress his sister's cheek.

"I'll be downstairs, if anybody needs me," the nurse said, picking up her things and walking to the door.

Jennie turned to David, then to Ann, eyebrows raised, quizzically. "What means more than friends, brother mine?"

"We were married on Thursday, Jennie."

Ann held her breath waiting for Jennie's reaction.

"You were married on..." For a moment she stared. Then, with more control than she'd shown thus far, she threw herself at her brother, face inches from his, bracing herself with arms on his chest and saying, "You stinking bastard! You got married and you didn't even tell me? No letters? Not even a call? You didn't even let me know you were _thinking_ about it? You...you..." She shook her head, lips working but nothing coming out for a moment, before clasping him to her and saying, "I am _so_ happy for you. But I hate you're guts for not telling me. I still hate your guts."

"I love you, too." He looked at her over Jennie's shoulder, saying, "She's a little emotional at times."

"I am not," Jennie said, drawing back to lean against the raised bed, once more. "I'm well and truly pissed...and with good reason. Now get me a tissue and tell me all about this." She included Ann in the conversation with a glance, saying, "I want to know how you met, and what happened, and how your search went, and...and _everything_."

David reached for a tissue for Jennie, then took one for himself, as well. He wiped Jennie's eyes, then his own, and at Ann's pointing at the tissue box gave her one, too.

"Well," he started, tossing his and Jennie's tissue in the trash and taking both of Jennie's hands. "To start out with, you're now filthy rich."

"You found it? The ship?"

"Ann found it. The treasure, too. That's why I married her...for her money."

"Don't believe him, Jennie."

"I never do, but.... Maybe _you_ should tell the story. Maybe somebody will start at the beginning?"

Start at the beginning. When was that? When he rented the boat, or when Mrs. Snow threw her out of the apartment? Or did it start on the day her parents died and she vowed never to depend on others? Before she could decide, though, Jennie cocked her head and said, "I've seen you before. Who do you model for? I—"

"She doesn't model, Jennie...though she could. Her stage name is Arianna."

Jennie's jaw dropped, and she stared for a moment. "The mermaid? You're...her? Oh my God. I can't believe this. I—"

"I was a mermaid. But I don't...I'm not her anymore." So much meaning in such simple words.

"You don't..." Jennie shook her head, and her expression hardened. "Okay. Enough bullshit, and enough teasing. _Please_...won't somebody tell me what happened?"

Decision made, Ann went and closed the door to the room, then sat on the bed and said, "For me it started the night my landlady evicted me. I was living in..."

° ° °

Jennie sat blinking at her for a long moment, in reaction to her tale, before saying, "And it doesn't work anymore? The ring? Its power is gone?"

"Seems to be. At least where I'm concerned."

"Then that means...if you take it off you won't find yourself back under the water?"

"I doubt it. The woman who gave it to me told me to pass it on, and she didn't vanish when she handed it to me. At least I don't think she did. I never followed her. David thinks it does what it does till the person wearing it has solved their most pressing problem. I thought mine was to find a job, but it turned out to be learning to trust people, and to find someone to love." Without thought she reached out for David's hand.

Jennie never took her eyes from the ring as she said, "God, I wish...I..." She sighed and shook her head. "Never mind."

As though an electric shock had passed through her Ann stiffened. "You're the one," she said, wonder filling her mind, while sudden tears sprang to her eyes. But this time they were tears of joy.

"What?"

Certain she was doing exactly the right thing, she brought fingers to Jennie's cheek as she said, "Listen to me, Jennie. Listen carefully, because I have something important to tell you...something wonderful." David straightened, and he reached to touch her, as though to give his approval, but he said nothing, only beamed.

She slipped the ring from her hand, a momentary pang of fear dissipating as it broke contact. Nothing happened, and the ring no longer circled her finger. Releasing the breath she'd been holding, she slid the ring onto Jennie's finger, saying, "Never take it off.... Tell no one about it.... And pass it on to another woman as I did to you—another woman who needs its help." Under her fingertips the ring moved, shrinking to match the size of Jennie's emaciated finger— working its magic.

"But..."

"Touch it, Jennie. Just touch it." That hadn't been part of what the woman told her, but the words felt right. Jennie needed to touch the ring, because the _ring_ wanted her to touch it. How she knew that was impossible to define, but true, none-the-less.

Jennie looked up, meeting her eyes. "I...touch it? But what happens if I—"

"No answers, Jennie. And no questions, either. Just do it, and you'll— Wait." She searched her memory. Something else needed to be said—a word or a phrase, but what? Something the woman who gave her the ring mentioned? Probably, but memory refused to cooperate. She thought over the time since receiving the ring. And then it came, and it _was_ important. Perhaps it wasn't part of the spell, or whatever drove the ring. And perhaps it didn't matter if she did or didn't say it, so far as Jennie was concerned. But still, it was the most important part. She straightened, and pointed to the ring, as she said, "Touch the ring Jennie." Then, with a grin for all that was, and would be, she added, "Just be ready for wonder."

Jennie reached out with a tentative and trembling hand. She touched the ring.

A faint pop, and the bed lay empty.

"Where do you suppose she went," David said, looking back into the room.

"Not the faintest idea. I hope it's _warm_ water, though."

He laughed, then turned toward the stairs, saying, "We had better tell the nurse she has the rest of the day off and get rid of her, because there's no way we can explain where Jennie went. No way in hell."

Ann laughed.

Jennie watched them go. Her shouts went unnoticed. And it seemed she couldn't have an effect on them—or anything in the room. Things were there, and could be touched, but not moved. All her strength couldn't so much as straighten a crease on her brother's shirt. Though she tried to stop him from leaving, his smallest movement pushed her aside as though she didn't exist. And small objects might as well have been both glued in place and magically resistant to breakage. Very strange.

Ann and David obviously couldn't _see_ her, either. But she could walk again, and move in a way that had been barred from her for far too long. With her touching of the ring the world snapped into a pale echo of itself, colorless and gray. But it wasn't the world that changed. And she sure as _hell_ wasn't a mermaid. She, Jennie Nan, was now a ghost.

She looked down at the ring and laughed, feeling better than she had since being handed her death sentence. So now she _was_ dead. Or was she? Certainly, this didn't feel like death. But either way, the future had become something to be anticipated and experienced, not dreaded. And that was a miracle.

"Excuse me," a voice from behind said. "Do you know the way out of here?"

She turned.

And it had begun again.

° ° ° ° ° ° °

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed Ann's journey. It was great fun to write. And truthfully, I didn't know what Ann would do with the ring until Jennie looked at it longingly. She and I realized at the same time. And in doing so, ensured that I had no choice but to write Jennie's story, too. I absolutely had to find out what would happen. And since the only way to do that was to write it...

If you will, take a moment to review and comment Water Dance where you downloaded it, and perhaps share it on any social medium you favor. I would be very grateful. And drop by my blog to say hello. I have a handful of stories posted there for your enjoyment, ranging from romance to horror.

Jay Greenstein

° ° ° ° ° °

###  As Falls An Angel

An excerpt:

We begin with an angel:

### Assume for the moment that they exist. Assume, too, that while their powers are impressive, they operate within the physical laws of the universe. Now, assume that one beautiful angel has, for reasons of her own, left the comfort and safety of heaven. And because she has, the futures of humankind and those who dwell in heaven hang in the balance.

### Here's the opening section of the novel. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

###

Chuck stared into the campfire, wishing that life had a rewind button. How nice it would be to roll the clock back for even the past few days, to gain a second chance.

A gust of wind stirred the fire, bringing the taste of wood smoke, then a shiver that the fire's warmth was unable to quell—a reminder that the night was rapidly turning chill.

He glanced at the sky, ablaze with October stars _._ Apparently, the moon had crossed nearly a quarter of the sky and set without his noticing. There was no comfort to be found in the stars.

_I should just say the hell with it and turn in_. But crawling into the sleeping bag would be a waste of time. Sleep wasn't going to come for hours this night, and the cold was an annoyance not a problem. _She_ was the problem.

_So, what do I do?_ An answer refused to come, and a rewind button wasn't available.

He watched the flames for a time while he thought back over the day's happenings. Had any of it been real?

That thought brought his eyes to the cloth of his pants legs, where they ended, raggedly, just above his knee. Experimentally, he took the cloth between his fingers. Using both hands, he tried to rip the denim by pulling it apart. It didn't work. Yet _she_ had pulled the cloth apart without apparent effort. So, the shortened pants legs were proof that she was real, at least.

Or were they?

With a sigh, he pushed such speculation from his mind. He turned to the woodpile, and to the mundane task of feeding the flames, before settling back on the log to think back over the past few days—yet again.

Perhaps, if he started at the beginning, on the day when it all began to come apart? Maybe there was something he'd missed. He thought about Stern and Sons, and about Betty, and how little he knew about women—and how much less he knew about angels.

° ° °

"Hey Boswell."

Without looking up Chuck waved a finger to show he'd heard.

"Boswell, I'm talking to you, damn-it."

He took a deep breath before saying, "Glen, can you hang on for a minute? Something's come up." He put the phone on hold and forced a neutral expression before turning toward the man blocking the entrance to his tiny cubicle.

"Yes, Ralph?"

"Altman wants to know where his God-damned lamps are. I want to know why you haven't called him back yet."

Forcing calm, and wishing fate hadn't dealt the man physical perfection and vanity in place of intelligence, he said, "The lamps are on a boat that's two days away from port and five days away from the contract date, so both of you can stop worrying. As for why I haven't called him, I've been working on the Berkawitz deal, which you said was the _only_ thing I should be doing this afternoon." In the interest of continued employment, he kept silent on why their best customer was so angry. _Ah, the joys of working for an imbecile._

Ralph's expression twisted into a frown, as he said, "You have a lousy attitude, Boswell—a damn lousy attitude. I don't know why the hell my father's carried you all this time." With that he turned and headed back to his office where he would pretend to be busy.

He frowned at the man's back. _Maybe the fact that I bring in ten times as much money as either you or your idiot brothers, combined, has something to do with it... You think?_

Quietly, he sighed, deciding he'd better update his resume and do something about finding a new job.

Fifteen minutes later, at three thirty, he was heading out the door, only minutes after Ralph departed for his weekly golf lesson. The situation at Stern and Sons was turning toxic, and he was far too grumpy to deal with clients, so maybe make some calls from home, to check the job prospects within the competition? In any case, this was Betty's day to get home early. He could use a bit of cheering up, and her smile always did that.

He took the steps to the apartment two at a time, wondering if it was time to talk with Betty about the future. After living together for three months, and dating for nearly a year, maybe it was time to stop pretending they were only friends. He was whistling when he came through the apartment door.

"Hi, my love, I..." He stopped. There were suitcases lined up by the door. Curious.

Confused, he continued on to the bedroom, saying, "Betty, uhh...is there something I should know?"

She was there, dressed as if she were going to a party, in the act of putting a blouse into yet another suitcase. For a moment she just stood there, seeming surprised to see him. Then, with a deliberate movement, she tucked the blouse into place and turned to get another, folding it as she said, "I'm leaving. There's nothing to talk about."

"But..." He waved his hands in confusion, seeking something that would put the situation into some sort of focus. All he could come up with was, "But you said you loved me. Last night you said..." He sighed. "I don't understand."

She shrugged, and didn't meet his eyes as she said, "I was coming when I said it. What else would I say?"

"You were..." Again he shook his head, licking suddenly dry lips, unable to find a handle to which he could attach any sort of logic. "You _did_ love me, and I do love you, so what—"

Betty straightened, her body-language showing annoyance, as she snapped, "I did, okay? Now I don't, and I _don't_ want to talk about it. Right now I can't stand you, so get the hell out of here and let me pack."

He spent a few seconds weighing the probability of them having a meaningful conversation, while Betty continued with her packing, pointedly ignoring him. Finally, he turned and left. Obviously, he only _thought_ he knew about women.

Three times on the stairs to the street, he stopped, only to shake his head and move downward once more.

When he reached the street, he decided he should talk to someone about what had happened. It was early, though, and anyone he might turn to was at work, so he headed for the corner taproom and a serious conversation with his favorite brand of scotch.

It didn't help.

°

He should have known better. Only a fool goes camping solo, but Chuck was distracted. Betty dumping him for no apparent reason was something that kept his thoughts running in circles. Added to that, the job was becoming ever more frustrating. He was good at what he did, but he could remain at Stern & Sons forever, bring in a million dollars a day, and be no more appreciated than the people who emptied the dumpster.

For a week after Betty left he tried to carry on normally, hoping she would have a change of heart. She never called, and didn't even bother to have her mail forwarded.

He showed up at the office and went through the motions of working. He even put up with Ralph Stern's holier-than-thou attitude. But in the end it was spend some time alone or go out of his mind, so there he was, burning vacation time on the Appalachian trail. A bit of time away from everything and everyone might clear his head.

Thursdays in mid-October aren't exactly the busy season on the Appalachian Trail, and though he was three hours from the parking lot, he seemed to have the trail almost to himself. But that suited him well, because he wasn't fit company, in any case. He focused on the trail in front of him, thinking of nothing more than where to place his foot for his next step. And that was how he wanted it.

Though he was paying little attention to such things, it was a magnificent day. The leaves had turned, and were drifting groundward like a bright colored snowfall. Before and behind him the trail melted into thick forest, with trees pressed closely in on either side. The scent of pine perfumed the air, mixed with the aromatic tang of wood-smoke—someone's campfire. Above him, the contrails of passing airliners drew chalk lines in the nearly cloudless sky.

As the slope steepened he paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. He slipped off his pack, then his sweatshirt, tucking it into the pack before trudging on. The jeans and flannel shirt he was wearing balanced the chill air by enough to offset the heat brought by exertion, as he headed upslope—bound toward The Pinnacle, some eight miles away.

The waning daylight finally penetrated his fog-wrapped thoughts and he began to think of finding a campsite. Unfortunately, because of the late start, he wouldn't come close to reaching his goal before dark. But that was of little import, because in reality, with no goal other than solitude a ground-bed here would be as good as one in another spot. There was enough food in the pack for three days—perhaps four with a bit of fasting. Hunger has a way of focusing the mind, and he certainly needed a little focusing.

He stopped to refill his canteen at the next spring, and place dinner—a foil envelope of freeze-dried stew—into a zipable plastic bag, along with a cup of water. When he finished setting up camp dinner would be fully reconstituted and need only a gentle warming to make it complete. Dessert would be freeze-dried ice cream.

Glancing upward, he checked the sun, visible through the thinning canopy of leaves. It measured about two finger-widths from the horizon to the bottom of the sun, using his extended hand. Allowing the traditional fifteen minutes per finger, that meant the sun would touch the horizon in about thirty minutes—with full darkness less than an hour after that. Time to think about setting up camp.

Turning off the trail he began to work his way upslope, headed toward the ridge the trail had been paralleling. He wasn't familiar with the area, but it sounded reasonable that there would be a level spot at the ridge's top, at least. A sleeping spot wouldn't need much room, and if necessary, a line stretched between two trees, with his rain-poncho laid over it tent fashion and tied down at the corners would make a primitive but adequate shelter. The overnight temperature was supposed to be chilly but bearable, with no rain predicted, so a tent was a luxury easy to forgo.

Luck was with him. The perfect spot was only a ten-minute scramble up the rocky hillside, with room to set up the tent, and even enough open space for a small fire.

Digging out the camp stove, he set the stew to warming, while he cleared twigs and stones from where his bed would be, then turned to setting up the tent.

Dinner finished, he was out of tasks that needed doing so he manufactured one and began to gather wood. He didn't really need a fire, but he wasn't ready to think about the events of the past week yet, or sleep. The idea that a woman could turn from loving him to not caring for him at all—without his even knowing it—was one that shook him to the core of his being.

_How could I have been so blind that I didn't have even a hint that it was coming? And what the hell did I do that was so wrong?_ Questions he had. Answers, though, were in short supply.

The light was going and he was in trouble. The candle-lantern that would have acted as a beacon to the campsite was still in the pack, along with the matches and the flashlight that _should_ be in his pocket.

_This is crazy_. The campsite was within a stone's throw, but was it to his left or right? Upslope from where he was, or down?

Stupid, Chuck. You're stupid. You have a nice warm sleeping bag, just waiting, and you're going to freeze your ass off sleeping against a damn tree.

He wasn't actually worried about the cold. Leaf-fall covered the ground, so a thick insulating blanket of leaves was there for the taking. All he needed was an armload of evergreen boughs to make a ground bed that would keep him off the damp earth.

That settled, he started looking for the nearest pine tree. Finding one turned out to be harder than expected, because there was no moon and the light was fading to a dim glow overhead. But, the outline of a pine tree is unmistakable, and there was one about thirty feet downslope. Cautiously, he headed in that direction, placing his feet with care, waving his hands in front of him and hoping he wasn't wading through a patch of poison ivy. Where he got the boughs was where he would make his bed.

He covered about half the distance to the tree before it happened: the earth began moving under his feet. He had no idea of why, perhaps it was just his weight on a bit of loose gravel, perhaps the area had been undermined by erosion, but whatever the reason, the slope under him came apart and began to travel downhill, leaving him waving wildly, looking for something to grab hold of and desperately trying to regain his balance.

Frantically, he backpedaled, trying to stay in one place. He nearly made it. Abruptly his left foot was on solid ground. Unfortunately, when his other foot came down there was absolutely nothing there, causing him to topple in that direction. Against his will he found himself on uneven ground, running, and trying to regain enough of his balance to allow him to stop. That was when he ran into the boulder. At least he thought it was a boulder. It certainly hurt like one. Whatever it was, it brought the lower portion of his body to an instant halt, while the upper half continued forward, falling, now, hands seeking _anything_ to break his fall. After that it was a blur of tumbling down the hillside, pain his close companion. Then he fell free because there was nothing under him. It was an "Oh shit," moment, followed by a sudden stop, and the knowledge that the pain he felt as he tumbled down that rocky slope was only a teaser. The star of the show had arrived, and it was time to raise the curtain.

He blacked out for a time. That was a good thing, though, because it stopped the pain. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

His leg was broken. He was pretty sure of that. Someone once told him that if you think you have a broken bone you probably do. In this case, he was fairly sure he'd broken it when he first fell, a result of having been wedged against whatever it was that had tripped him. He remembered hearing the crack. Everything else seemed more or less intact, except for what he suspected was a cracked rib or two—though about that he wasn't sure. Other than the leg and the ribs there was virtually nothing that didn't hurt, but he would live. As for internal injuries, only time would tell, but he thought he was in surprisingly good health, given what had happened. He couldn't move, though. He was against a tree, his head more or less downslope, wedged between the tree and something else that pressed against his back, painfully. Breathing was possible, but made difficult by the pressure of the tree against his chest. Behind him, his probing fingers touched damp stone that extended upward an unknown distance. Neither it nor the tree were going to move. He'd have to stand in order to free himself, but standing was out of the question, at least until he had some idea of where he was, and what resources might be available to grab onto. And, there was little sense dragging himself out of there only to fall the rest of the way down the hill.

Gritting his teeth he took stock of his assets. He was alive, and would likely stay that way for the foreseeable future. That was it for the good news. His phone was gone, the holster lost in the fall, so there would be no help in that direction.

He was closer to the trail by a fair amount, which meant that if he was still alive by morning there was a good chance he could call out to those passing by on the trail—assuming anyone did. Certainly, with a little light to see by he could free himself and work his way down to the trail. The leg he could do nothing about, but while it was almost certainly broken, he could move his toes, and the pain was bearable, so it was a green-stick fracture, which meant he probably wasn't losing large quantities of blood.

Time passed. He had no idea of how much because his watch didn't have a lighted dial. The pain was easing off a bit, which allowed more rational thought. Unfortunately, there was little to think about, other than what a total ass he'd made of himself. This trip to the wilderness was supposed to heal the pain of Betty's leaving. Not only was that a failure, now he'd managed to add physical pain to the mental. His opinion of himself wasn't the best at that point.

Shaking his head, he called, "A miracle might be a nice idea about now, because my guardian angel seems to be asleep on the job."

"Well if you weren't such a moron you wouldn't _need_ a guardian angel," a voice said, above and to the right of where he was lying.

"What?" He was hallucinating. He had to be because there was no light at all, and the slope where he was lying was far too steep for him to have landed near someone else's campsite.

"I said you're a total idiot to have gotten yourself into this. Is there any rule of camping you _haven't_ broken? No light, no partner and no brain. I should just leave you here."

The voice told him it was a woman. Not the pitch. That was deep enough to have been either man or woman. No one but a woman was capable of putting that much scorn into their words, though. He should have thanked her for being there, but the words stung and he was feeling stupid enough on his own without her help, so he snarled, "And you're doing better with no light and no buddy of your own?" That was stupid, because the very _last_ thing he wanted, at that point, was a rescuer who says, "Screw you," and walks away in anger. He thought of telling her he had been having a rather bad week, and she wasn't seeing him at his best, but bit his tongue to keep from compounding his stupidity.

There was silence for a time, then, "So...do you actually _want_ my help or—"

"I'm sorry," he said, interrupting her. "I really could use some help, or at least someone to go for a rescue team. I think I've broken my leg."

"At least...plus a cracked rib. You also have a few dozen cuts that need work and what will certainly be a black eye by dawning." There was the sound of footsteps on dry leaves as she began to work her way closer, and in a few moments he could hear quiet breathing nearby.

For a time, the woman said nothing. She seemed to be studying the situation, though that was impossible, given the near total darkness. As for him, he was trying to get his brain functioning. There was something decidedly strange about this. He was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity got the better of him, so he said, "How can you see to get around?" Had the pounding his head had taken rendered him blind?

She sounded distracted, when she said, "I can see in the infrared range. Shut up for a minute while I figure the best way to get you free."

Just like that. She had night-vision eyeballs. For that he had no response.

After a moment she moved, and he could sense her squatting next to him. There was enough starlight filtering through the trees for him to make out her shape, but human was all he was able to determine. Gently, she probed, then shifted his position slightly, pressing him more tightly against the tree. Her hands were small and warm.

He was hurt, and he was uncomfortable, but he couldn't help it. He sniffed, not quite sure what he was seeking. There was a faint musky tang mixed in with the scent of the woods. Definitely a woman.

"Could _you_ pass that test?" she asked, a hint of disgust in her voice.

"Sorry, I..." What could he say? There was no response, other than a small grunt that could have meant anything. Her hand pressed against his back, shifting him even more tightly against the tree. The rib was definitely cracked. There was the sound of stone moving against stone, and whatever was pressing against his back first pressed harder, making him grunt in pain, then slid away, taking a bit more skin from his back as it did. He could take a full breath once more, though.

There were several thuds, the result of rocks tossed aside, he assumed. Then she gently rolled him onto his back and said, "This is probably going to hurt, so brace yourself."

He expected her to pull on his leg to set the bone before she splinted it—that the break was more severe than he thought—but she slid her hands under his body and lifted him into her arms. This lady was _strong_. And she'd been right. It hurt a lot. After that she began to thread her way through the trees, carrying him. He could count her steps because with each one his unsupported leg flexed a bit and a bolt of pain shot through him. He tried to suppress a whimper by taking a breath when the pain hit, but that flexed the cracked rib and made him decide to stop trying to impress her with his manly ability to bear pain. She already thought him stupid, so why bother?

But even that kind of pain is manageable. He learned to anticipate the swing of his leg in response to her footsteps and brace as the pain came. When he was able to concentrate once more he found she was carrying him upslope, still cradled in her arms. Apparently, she was wearing a sleeveless blouse or tube-top because his face was resting against a bare shoulder. An odd choice, given the season. Not that he was in any position to enjoy that, though. For one thing, he was a bit distracted. There was the pain of his injuries, plus the small matter of her being able to carry his one-hundred-seventy pounds up a steep slope as fast as he might move carrying no one, without even breathing hard. Of equal importance, she was doing it in nearly pitch darkness.

° ° ° ° °

To purchase your copy:  As Falls an Angel

Other Novels by Jay Greenstein

Science Fiction

 As Falls an Angel

 Samantha and the Bear

Wizards

Foreign Embassy

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

 Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romance

Sisterhood of the Ring – Six linked novels

 Water Dance

 Jennie's Song

 A Change Of Heart

 A Surfeit Of Dreams

Kyesha

 Abode Of The Gods

