Sins Against the Sea Page 9

  She looked at him strangely. “My mother drowned in the ocean…and was human. As far as I know, anyway.”

  His hope sank, but only for a moment before floating back to the surface. Perhaps the half-blood came from her father, who might be a Finman. Given her beauty—and that her mother was Orknian—it was another distinct possibility. Finmen had a bad habit of carrying mortal women off to Finfolkaheem, the finfolk equivalent of Tír fo Thuinn.

  Unfortunately, the Finfolk were sworn enemies of the Glauckodai, though not foes on the same scale as humans. Fins were selfish, scheming creatures, but still showed respect for the sea. For the most part, anyway.

  “And your father?”

  “My dad, I’m afraid, was about as human as it gets.” He understood only the word “human,” which undercut his theory. “For starters, he grew up in Castroville, a small town in central California. On an artichoke farm.”

  “Art-a-choke?” he repeated, sampling the strange new word.

  “A kind of thistle that people cook and eat.” She met his gaze, provoking a shiver of longing. “Speaking of food…you must be starving.”

  The last part he understood perfectly. Nodding, he reached toward the basket.

  “Have some patience.” She swatted his hand away. “I thought we might share this time.”

  “Share?” He shook his head to let her know he did not understand the word’s meaning.

  Smiling softly, she opened the basket and removed several parcels wrapped in white paper. The luscious aroma of scallops and crabmeat teased his nostrils, making his stomach rumble loudly. She unwrapped the packages one at a time, splitting the bounty of shellfish and crustaceans between them.

  When she handed him a rather sizeable oyster, he pried open the shell with his fingers, slurped it down, and licked the briny liquor from his lips. “This is to share?”

  Nodding, she pointed back and forth between them. “Yes. This is to share.”

  While they ate, he remained watchful for any hint of what her non-human half might be. She broke open her oysters and crab legs with a rock, sometimes shattering the shells in the process—crude habits that were altogether human. It was all he could do to keep a straight face as she gingerly picked the meat out from between the shards.

  If he had his legs, he might seize her—as Peleus did with Thetis—and wait to see if she changed her shape. If she did, he would know she was part Nereid. Then again, being part human, she might not have inherited the ability to change her form. Achilles certainly hadn’t, though perhaps the half-blood daughters of Nereid’s did.

  Chapter Seven

  Dread knotted Corey’s stomach when, upon returning to the cottage after lunching with Kew-in, she found Lachlan MacInnes waiting for her on the front porch.

  “Well, isn’t this nice,” he remarked, frowning at the basket over her arm. “While I’m waiting for answers, you’re off having a bloody picnic.”

  “What are you still doing here?” she returned with barely veiled hostility. “I told you to go to the command center.”

  He laughed. “So your superiors can spoon feed me the Conch party line, and then prevent me from returning to the scene of the crime? I don’t think so. I just got off the phone with my editor. It seems he made some calls—to see if your company had followed the rules by filing an emergency response plan for the mystery tanker.”

  By “the rules,” he meant OPA 90, though she couldn’t imagine what he was driving at. When he didn’t go on, she prompted him impatiently. “And…?”

  “According to what he was able to dig up through his sources, Ketos was decommissioned and scrapped more than five years ago.”

  Her suspicions of malfeasance solidified and settled in her stomach like an anchor. “What?! Are you sure?”

  “Quite,” was his clipped reply.

  She sifted through her mental archive for anything to explain why a scrapped tanker might still be afloat. “Maybe it was a clerical error of some sort…or maybe this one’s a different tanker with the same name.”

  “Or maybe your company is engaged in some kind of unlawful activity,” he offered spitefully. “Even more unlawful, let’s say, than failing to file a transport plan.”

  With a hard swallow, she climbed the steps and pushed past him. Once inside, she closed the door on him. There was nothing more to say until she got some answers.

  Corey pushed her fingers into her hair and squeezed her forehead between her palms. What in the name of God was a phantom Aframax doing in the Minch? Obviously, the records had been falsified, but for what purpose? What was the tanker being used for? What kind of illegal activities was Conch involved in?

  Thoughts hopping between the sinister possibilities, Corey deposited the picnic basket in the kitchen and looked out the window toward the cliffs. What if she spoke to Peter Blackwell directly and demanded the truth? Would he stonewall her? Would he fire her? Maybe if he did, it would be for the best. She believed in loyalty—some might say to a fault—but she drew the line at knowingly covering up criminal behavior.

  MacInnes’s face popped up on the other side of the window, nearly giving her a heart attack. “Just know this, lassie,” he snarled through the glass. “I mean to find out what you lot are up to—if it’s the last thing I bloody well do.”

  She flinched and turned away. Obviously, she could not attempt the call until MacInnes backed off. As she sought refuge upstairs, memories of her dad’s shipwreck flickered. He’d been tight-lipped about his project in the Hebrides, but he’d always been secretive about his work, so she’d thought nothing of it at the time. She’d always just assumed he didn’t like his job and preferred not to talk about it during his off hours.

  Could she have been wrong? Just before he died, he mailed a set of blueprints home from Skye. She’d found the mailing tube propped on the porch when she returned to the house to prepare it for sale. Curious about what he’d posted to himself from Scotland, she opened the tube and glanced at the plans. They were diagrams for a revolutionary new drilling platform. Thinking nothing of it at the time, she’d put the blueprints in the box with the other mementos she meant to keep.

  Shortly after she started working at Conch, Peter took her out to lunch and asked her about the blueprints. When she admitted having them, he’d insisted they belonged to the oil company and demanded their return. She readily complied, thinking it was no big deal.

  Now, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d been too trusting. Were those plans somehow related to this odd business with Ketos? She dredged her memory for what she’d seen in those diagrams, but came up frustratingly empty. It had been ten years ago and, even at the time, she’d only given the blueprints a cursory glance. All she could recall was that the plans made her think of Jules Verne.

  Before joining Conch, her father had worked for a company that developed submarine technology. He’d also worked on the space station when she was too young to remember. Conch had recruited him, he’d once told her, which didn’t seem noteworthy…until this instant. Had they maybe sought him out for his particular set of skills? It seemed a reasonable conclusion, but she couldn’t imagine what sort of project they might have hired her dad to work on.

  She steered her thoughts back to the blueprints and her only lasting impression. She’d only ever read one of Jules Verne’s novels. Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, which chronicled the adventures of Captain Nemo and the crew of a fictional submarine called Nautilus—the same name as the corporate yacht she’d watched go down with her father aboard.

  Was that why she’d thought of Jules Verne? She didn’t think so. She was almost sure it was something about the blueprints themselves…but what? As she racked her brain, a chilling new thought dawned. Did the Blue Men have a hand in sinking the Conch company yacht? As she considered the prospect, Mrs. MacLeod’s words echoed hauntingly: Glauckodais only harm those who sin against the sea and her creatures.

  If that was right, Conch was definitely up to no good, which was bad
enough without considering what it might also mean: if the Blue Men sank Nautilus, Kew-in may have been involved in killing her father.

  * * * *

  Cuan clenched his jaw against the dull, pulsing ache in his lower extremities. Under the thin, brittle skin of his tail, the bones of his legs were growing sturdier. Reaching down, he massaged the appendages through the crisp silver-blue membrane. As the casing tore away, he stretched out on the cold, wet floor of the cave, as helpless as a newly hatched heron.

  By sunset, his new legs would be strong enough to walk upon for short distances, but would need time and exercise before they could carry him all the way to Eriskay. Not that he wanted to go there anymore. He’d much rather stay here with Cordelia. Well, not here precisely, but he could imagine how comfortable he might be tucked up with her in that bonny wee cottage.

  First, however, she needed to survive his trial.

  * * * *

  Corey, still upstairs with acid burning a hole in her stomach, moved from room to room and peered out every window in search of MacInnes. Seeing no sign of him, she decided to chance a walk up the hill. After she talked to Peter, assuming she could get a signal, she’d stop by the cave to check on Kew-in.

  She’d decided not to ask the merman about Ketos and Nautilus. Not yet, anyway. If he admitted to having a hand in the accidents, she could no longer help him, and that would go against her conscience. Even if he’d played a part in her dad’s death, her scruples wouldn’t permit her to leave him in the cave to starve to death.

  So, why even go there? Especially when she had enough trouble on her hands already. Besides, if the Blue Men had sunk Nautilus, they surely had cause. The men aboard the yacht, her father and Peter included, must have been involved in something nefarious—some terrible sin against the sea.

  What might it be? Something to do with Ketos being in the Minch? Probably, but she’d never find out for sure if she showed her cards too soon. Therefore, the wiser course was to carry on as usual and keep her eyes and ears open. She would move Kew-in to the cottage—after his legs emerged—to avoid calling suspicion to herself. There was plenty of room, and it would be easier to look after him if she moved him in. Sneaking back and forth to the cave with food was both inconvenient and chancy, especially with MacInnes on the prowl.

  It shouldn’t be hard to invent a story to explain Kew-in’s presence at the cottage. He might be a marine biologist friend from her graduate program who studied the impact of oil on rocky terrain…or, better yet, a cousin from Orkney who’d come down to help with the clean-up operation. Since her mother was from Orkney, it wasn’t implausible that she would still have relatives there.

  Anything she dreamed up to explain why Kew-in was staying with her at the cottage would be far more believable—and less damaging—than the whopper she’d have to invent if she got caught smuggling food to him in the cave.

  Grabbing her cell off the charger and some prawns from the freezer, she headed up the hill, keeping an eye peeled for MacInnes. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Finlay Trowbridge, oddly enough. Not that she was overly concerned by his absence. He was a nasty piece of work, not unlike MacInnes. With any luck, both had gone to the command center for the afternoon she’d be free from interference for a few hours.

  At the top of the hill, just outside the cave, she checked her phone’s reception. Three bars. With trembling fingers and a knot in her gut, she placed the call. Peter answered, sounding gruff and impatient. After she told him what MacInnes had shared, she innocently asked what he knew. He claimed to be as surprised as she was about the tanker’s status, and promised to look into the allegations and get back to her with all due haste.

  Yeah, right. I won’t be holding my breath.

  She disconnected the call and stuffed the phone in her pocket. Taking a seat on a boulder, she sifted through what she knew so far. A clerical error no longer seemed probable. Obviously, the oil company had used a phantom tanker to keep the mission off the record, meaning whatever Conch was up to was very bad indeed.

  But what might it be, damn it?

  She bit her lip and finger combed her wind-tousled hair as she considered the worst-case scenario. Beneath the Minch lay rich, untapped reserves of oil, yet drilling was forbidden because of the channel’s diverse ecosystems—and rightly so. Even if Conch was underhanded enough to attempt the unthinkable, there was no way the company could construct an offshore drilling platform without attracting the attention of the maritime authorities.

  No way she could think of, anyway. A deep-water well and the traffic and equipment needed to erect one would be impossible to hide, especially from the environmental watchdogs like Ocean Watch and Greenpeace.

  So, that must not be it, but she still, couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion her father’s blueprints, the sinking of Nautilus, and the attack on Ketos were all somehow related.

  The question was, how did they tie together? Try as she might, she could not see the connection.

  Gaining her feet, she started toward the cave with a churning gut. A new thought stopped her just outside the entrance. If the Blue Men had driven Nautilus and Ketos into the rocks, they must know what Conch was up to in the Minch. Would Kew-in tell her? Probably not, given that she still worked for Conch and they could barely communicate. Perhaps if he got to know her better, he’d come to see her heart was in the right place where the ocean was concerned. Just because she was deathly afraid of drowning, didn’t mean she didn’t love the sea and its creatures anymore. Getting well enough acquainted for him to trust her, however, would take time she didn’t have.

  She might be able to fool Peter into believing she was loyal for a day or two, but there was no way she could keep the charade up indefinitely. Once he knew she was on to him, she’d be out of a job and on the first flight back to Los Angeles…unless she talked to the MacLeod’s about staying on at the cottage. Without a job to go to, she could certainly spare the time, and she still had the money she’d inherited from her father. Though it wasn’t a fortune, it was more than enough to support her until she decided what to do next. Assuming Peter didn’t blackball her like he’d done to others who’d quit the company under a cloud.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Corey looked up at the barren face of the cliff towering over her. The cold wind howled around her, giving her goosebumps and making her shiver. Turning around, she checked the clean-up operation for MacInnes and Trowbridge. Seeing neither, she slipped through the curtain of vines concealing the cave opening.

  “I’m back with more food. Are you hungry?”

  Kew-in didn’t answer, nor did she see him. Only the discarded casing of his tail remained. Shit. He’d left the cave. Had he also left the island? The possibility struck her like a bucket of cold water. Then, she laughed at her reaction. He was a merman, for Christ’s sake. A half-human creature that had very likely caused an oil spill and killed her father. She should not regret being free of him. If anything, she should be turning cartwheels. More trouble on her plate was the last thing she needed right now.

  Besides, even if she had developed feelings for him—like the biggest fool ever born—he would eventually leave her to return to the sea anyway, so, better now than later, right? Though her rationale saw the logic, another part of her—the softer, more sentimental part she’d locked up years ago—screamed in protest. She hated that needy part of herself. When it took her over, she felt lost at sea.

  * * * *

  Cuan had taken a walk to stretch his new legs while scouting for an uncontaminated place to hold Cordelia’s head underwater. Unfortunately, the shifting tide and lapping surf had spread the oil everywhere within view, so it looked as though he’d either have to wait until the harbor cleared or take her elsewhere to perform the test.

  The latter would require a boat and a destination, neither of which he had at the moment. Eriskay might do, assuming the oil hadn’t drifted that far south…or maybe Skye, if he could get his hands on a motorboat. />
  He would take her to the Shiants, but doing so increased the risk of being found out, depriving him of the decision to trust her with his secret. He was inclined to do so, whether or not she was human. Murtagh and the others would feel differently, of course, regardless of her bloodlines.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye snapped Cuan back to the present. It was Shan, riding over the surf in a skiff. Clearly, he, too, had sprouted his breeding legs.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Shan called out as he drew nearer the shore.

  “I came back to check on the tanker and got stranded,” Cuan explained.

  Shan eyed the blanket wrapped round Cuan’s hips with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “Where’d you come by that? Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a Nic in the midst of all this chaos.”

  “Not a Nic, exactly.”

  “What then?”

  “A half-blood who came to my aid.” Guilt tightened Cuan’s chest as he spoke the words. He did not like lying to his friend, even when the lie was dressed in white.

  Shan’s eyebrow shot up. “A half-blood? Have you spawned with her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did she see your tail?”

  Cuan pulled on his chin as he considered how to answer. While Shan was his best friend, he was also Murtagh’s son. Deciding to play it safe, he said, “No. She believes I am here to help clean up the oil.”

  “Good, because I do not enjoy killing females, inferior though they be.”

  Cuan held his tongue. Arguing her merits would only arouse suspicion. Shan would be en route to one of the breeding islands at present, and it would be best for all concerned to hasten him along.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Eige.”

  Though the mention of Meredith’s native island provoked a painful pang, Cuan let it pass. “Don’t let me delay your journey.” He forced a friendly smile through his apprehension. “I am being well looked after for now and, once my strength returns, I will be off to Eriskay to do my duty.”