Siren's Treasure. Debbie Herbert

the bubbling circles, as eager as Dolly for companionship. She had precious little of it, since her family lived in near isolation. Oil spills had run off the few full-blooded mermaids who had lingered in the gulf. Lily had been at sea for months and Shelly was preoccupied with Tillman and their upcoming wedding later this summer.

      Jet stifled a familiar pang of loneliness. She was happy for Shelly. It wasn’t her cousin’s fault that her relationship with Tillman was a constant reminder of what Jet lacked in her own life.

      Yet again, Dolly tired quickly and floated, nuzzling her beak in Jet’s palm with a slight clacking sound that could have been a sigh or a whimper. Despite the dolphin’s appearance of a perpetually smiling mouth, something was definitely amiss.

      Jet sang a lullaby, wishing Lily was here to soothe Dolly with her magical siren’s voice. Dolly floated as Jet stroked the rubbery-smooth flanks, careful not to touch any old injuries.

      A tiny wave of motion rippled the underside of Dolly’s lower flank, so subtle Jet almost missed it. Her hand stilled on Dolly’s thick skin, and there it was again. Something inside Dolly was alive and flipping. Awe and understanding dawned.

      Dolly was with calf.

      “No wonder you’re so tired and hungry,” Jet cooed, doing some quick calculations. Dolly had been here six months, so she was at least halfway through a dolphin’s twelve-month gestation period. She laid a cheek against Dolly’s warm-blooded body. Dolly should be with other females in her pod, who would aid her during labor and later share mothering duties.

      “I’ll get you out of here somehow,” Jet whispered.

      Dolly faced her sideways; one small black eye gazed into Jet’s. Comprehension emanated like a wave of intelligent words. Dolly understood her heart’s intent.

      “I promise,” Jet vowed.

       Chapter 3

      The crunch of gravel lifted Landry out of his musings on Jet Bosarge. He didn’t know many people in Bayou La Siryna, preferring to keep to himself. Life was simpler that way, more predictable. Only a couple of old ladies at the humane shelter even gave him a casual nod of recognition. Landry went to the window and drew back the curtain.

      Damn. He frowned at the battered Plymouth Duster. Only one person in the world owned that classic piece of shit. He rubbed his jaw, then stilled when two people got out of the car instead of one. And—oh, hell—they were unloading dozens of bags from the trunk.

      He slipped a pair of sneakers on and walked outside. In the deepening twilight, Landry focused on the tall, lanky teenager. Which of his many half siblings was this one?

      “Seth, say hello to your brother.” His mother banged down the trunk, the sound echoing in the lonely gloom.

      The kid regarded him sullenly.

      This was the youngest of his mother’s brood and the one he knew the least. She’d asked him if he could stay a few days this summer. Give Mom the tiniest opening and she’d bulldoze through it.

      He eyed their cargo with mounting unease. “What’s with all these bags?”

      “Seth’s here for a visit.” She stuffed some into his arms. “Help us get this stuff inside.”

      “A little visit?” Between the three of them, there were over a dozen such crammed bags.

      His mother stalked toward the porch before Seth found his voice. “You can’t make me stay here,” he complained. “This place looks like a shit hole and it stinks like one, too.”

      His mother whirled around as if the words were a knife launched into her spine. “You’re staying. I’ve had all I can take of your stealing. And your mouth.”

      “Stealing?” Landry asked, looking back and forth between them.

      Seth kicked at the gravel with a pair of frayed sneakers. “It’s no big deal.”

      Landry suppressed a sigh. “What do you expect me to do?”

      She crossed her arms. “You work for the FBI, don’t you? Be a positive role model. He’s got no father to speak of.”

      A flush of anger darkened the kid’s neck. “I’ve got a dad,” he said hotly.

      His mother raised her hands and spun in a half circle, looking around the deserted stretch of bayou. “Really? Where is he?”

      “He’s oil rigging. Making money.”

      “Which we see precious little of,” she snapped.

      Sounded like old times. Five minutes with his family and his stomach was knotted. He’d been on his own for so many years he’d lost tolerance for the past drama of Life With Mom.

      Landry gave a time-out signal. “Truce. Let’s go inside and discuss this over dinner.”

      His mother stalked off again. “I’m not hungry,” she called over her shoulder. “I need to get home real quick-like.”

      “Well, I’m hungry.” Laundry motioned for Seth to follow them. At first it appeared the kid wasn’t going to budge from his slouch against the old Plymouth, but with a sigh worthy of a Shakespearian actor, he dragged his feet forward, shoulders slumped and head down.

      Inside, his mother threw her load of bags onto the couch. “Nice setup. This place used to be a real dump when your grandmother was alive.”

      Landry faced Seth and got his first good look at the kid. His chin-length brown hair hung in oily locks that partially shielded heavy-lidded dark eyes. He wore an olive camouflage jacket two sizes too large and a pair of faded jeans. “I’m grilling steaks. You hungry?”

      “I’d rather have a hamburger. Can’t we just go to McDonald’s?”

      Landry suspected the fast-food preference was a ploy for Seth to get rid of their mother faster. That had to be one tense ride from Mobile to the bayou. Landry grabbed his car keys and tossed them to Seth. In two seconds, the kid was out the door.

      “You’re taking a mighty big risk with your expensive car,” his mother chastised.

      Landry rounded on her. “I can’t believe you showed up like this.”

      She had the grace to appear somewhat sheepish. “You agreed to a visit this summer.”

      “It’s early April, not summer. And I’m in the middle of an investigation,” Landry growled. “For Christ’s sake, isn’t the kid still in school?”

      Her hard eyes clouded with tears. “He was suspended for cutting classes. In fact, he missed so many he might as well stay out of school the rest of the year and make it all up in summer school. Please let him stay. You’re my only hope,” she sobbed.

      The great big ole fake. He knew it, she knew he knew it, and yet it worked every time. Landry tried to remember her the way she was before their lives were destroyed. He’d lost more than a sibling that dark day; he’d lost his mother and father, too.

      Landry groaned and threw up his hands. “Okay. Okay. He can stay a few days. I’ll try to talk to him but there’s no guarantee it’ll do one bit of good.”

      Mom hugged him tight with a smug smile she couldn’t entirely hide. “You’re my anchor.”

      “Just this week,” he reiterated.

      * * *

      Jet riffled through the stack of invoices and moaned. Paperwork sucked. Tomorrow would be much more fun when the delivery from Mobile came in.

      A sharp rap at the front door startled her. The shop wouldn’t open for a couple more weeks. The front windows were taped over, so she couldn’t see who’d knocked. She stuffed her feet into a pair of flip-flops, went to the door and unlocked it.