Angel stopped swimming. That’s right. Logan had made his damning accusations, his pronouncement of how things would be, and she’d slunk back into the sea with a broken heart and a big ol’ pity party.
What happened to her backbone? She used to have one. Angel grabbed the hair that was floating around her like sargassum in a hurricane, perfectly mirroring her mood, and draped it over her breasts and tied it in the
back like a Human halter top, but not.
She did used to have a backbone. And she wanted it back.
“Hey, Ang.” Mariana dove into a somersault and headed back Angel’s way. “Let’s not go back to Atlantis just yet. A group of my friends are vacationing in the South Pacific right now. Let’s join them. A girls’ week-end. Or two. Relax, sun ourselves on a deserted beach, drink some fermented pineapple, have a grand ol’ time. We’ll just pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Really? And what are you going to tell Rod when he wonders what took you so long to bring me back?”
Mariana went for Innocent and I-Don’t-Know-What-You’re-Talking-About. “What do you mean?”
It was Angel’s turn to yank on Mariana’s hair. “Mare, I know Rod told you he’ll give me an interview, but he has no intention of giving me the job. He told you to bring me home so I’d be where he wants me. Where he thinks it’s safe.” Never mind that he might actually have a point… “He’s not going to let either one of us head out on some vacation.”
“Honestly, Angel, where do you come up with these thi—?”
“It’s all right, Mariana. You’re just doing what our ruler commands. I get it. But, this did happen, and you know what? Logan doesn’t get the last say. Fine if he wants nothing to do with me, but I’m not leaving until I do what I came to do. In for a periwinkle, in for a porgy, I always say.”
And she did. She’d never done anything relating to Humans halfway, and she wasn’t about to start with this. He might have hurt her—okay, no “might” about it—but she was a professional. She had an agenda.
Okay, so sleeping with him hadn’t been on that agenda, and doing it—no surprise—hadn’t been the best choice. She should have stayed true to her purpose and been that professional she’d prided herself on being.
Professional. Ha. Professionalism had gotten tossed out the porthole the moment he’d shown up.
Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. The only way to fix her mess with The Council—and the problems with the planet—was to actually succeed in what she’d set out to do.
She did a quick back-arcing dive toward the coast. “Go without me, Mariana. I’m going back.” She felt bet-ter just by saying it.
“To land? Are you crazy? The Council will definitely crucify you for this—and I’m scared they might actually do that. Trident and all.”
“That’s why I have to try, Mariana. I have to make something good come out of this.”
Big words. But she was equal to them. Besides, what was her ego in relation to making the world a better place with harmonious interaction between their races?
Damn important, that ego grumbled deep inside her heart.
She ignored it. If she went that route, she’d be back on the pity party, and she did not want to go there. Time to focus on what she had originally planned. Get her life on an even keel and—
“AAAAAnnnngggeeellll!” A storm petrel dove into the water above her, his screech carrying downwards with impact.
The “even” part of that keel went bottoms-up. “Ginger… A sea… Hike… Broken…” the bird
garbled through the water.
Angel kicked toward the surface. She had no clue why the flamingo would go on a hike, and could only imagine what she’d broken, but screaming and Ginger never went well in the same sentence.
“Ang! Just where do you think you’re—”
Angel broke the plane of the water before Mariana got the last word out. She scraped a few escaped strands of hair off her face and asked the petrel, “What about Ginger?”
The bird hacked out some water, then sucked in air, rustling his wings as he settled them against his back. “Ginger. Sent me. Tell you.”
Angel nodded with the bird, willing his breathing to get back to normal. “What does she want?”
The bird nodded, then took another gulp of air. “She said… She said Hike went… shark.”
“Hike?” That made no sense. Sharks didn’t go on hikes. “She said… Brogan… getting on his boat.” Another
couple of gulps went in.
The poor thing was really out of breath. He must have been flying as fast as he could. But the message didn’t make sense—
“Logan? Do you mean Logan? Logan is on his boat?”
The petrel cocked the feathers over one eye at her. “That’s what I said.”
She wasn’t going to argue with him. “Why does Ginger want me to know this?”
“Ginger?” Mariana appeared beside the bird. “Ginger’s involved? Gods help us.”
Angel shushed her sister while the petrel took another deep breath. “Ginger said Logan went after Michael and the shark, and she thought you’d want to know.”
Angel held up her hand to stop Mariana’s inevitable question. These were her Humans, and she was going to be asking the questions. “Shark? What shark?”
The storm petrel blew out a big, fishy breath. “Gods, woman, empty the water out of your ears. Ginger said that Michael went with a shark—on a shark were her exact words—to find you. Who the shark is, is still un-known. But when Logan found out, he jumped in his boat to go after them.”
“The kid’s with a shark? How in-the-sea did that hap-pen?” Mariana could only hold back for so long.
What was that shark up to? Angel had yet to meet one who had any tender feelings for the Human race—other than as a tender meal.
And Logan knew? Great.
And, oh gods, Michael was with a shark.
“Logan’s going after him?” Mariana continued her in¬terrogation, and Angel was glad for the help because words were beyond her. “Why does this not sound good?”
“It’s not.” Ah, some words weren’t beyond her. The fact that Ginger didn’t know the shark worried Angel as much as the fact that a shark was involved in the first place. Ginger knew everyone, and if she didn’t know this guy, that was even more trouble.
“Where are they?” She had to save Michael. She’d deal with everything else—Logan, her job, The Council—later. In the scheme of things, Michael’s life was far more important than Logan’s anger. Or her self-flagellation.
“Heading east was all I got out of Ginger,” said the petrel. “Her beak was stuffed with prawns.”
With prawns? Either Ginger had gotten into Logan’s kitchen or…
Or what? Ginger had talked to Logan?
In the realm of possibilities, that was definitely one, because Angel would bet sand dollars to dor-sals that Ginger knew exactly what had happened between her and Logan last night, right down to the humiliating scene on the beach. That bird did like her gossip. But the flamingo wouldn’t speak to a Human unless she knew that he knew birds could speak—or that he’d seen a Mer. Angel could only imagine Logan’s reaction.
On all fronts, she was in a sea of trouble. But the bigger issue was… so was Michael.