Siren's Treasure. Debbie Herbert

thing—some mixture of rat, possum and hellhound—scrabbled his way over, barking and snarling.

      “What is that?” he asked.

      “Our dog, Rebel.” Shelly commanded him to sit and the thing complied.

      Landry looked at him closer. “What’s wrong with him—besides the mange? He’s covered in cuts and scars.”

      Shelly scratched his hairless ears. “He doesn’t have the mange. He’s a Chinese Crested Hairless. Jet and I rescued him. We found him tied to a tree where a group of kids were stoning him to death.”

      “Glad you found him in time.” No creature, no matter how hideous, deserved that fate. He followed her into the den. “Nice place,” he commented. Now, this was more like Jet, especially the collection of swords over the fireplace. “I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.”

      “Not at all. I’ll get Jet.” She smiled warmly at Seth, who still looked a bit dazed. “Have a seat. Can I get you a Coke or something?”

      “No, ma’am.” His voice squeaked and he sat down quickly.

      Landry shook his head and sat, as well. What had he been thinking yesterday about wanting to be younger? Seth made him remember that adolescence sucked sometimes.

      “This place is cool,” Seth said, eyeing the swords.

      “Then you ought to like working for Jet.” Landry ran a finger over a brass antique compass lying on a coffee table. The magnetic needle jerked and spun frenetically in circles and he hastily stuffed his hands into his pockets.

      Seth’s gaze turned from the Confederate sword he’d been studying. “This is the kinda stuff she sells? I thought it would be clothing or makeup crap.”

      “I promise no makeup crap,” Jet’s voice rang out.

      The air in the room crackled as if a high voltage of positive ions had been released, like a smell after a heavy rain at the beach, bracing and refreshing. She wore a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a gray T-shirt with Alabama Crimson Tide stamped across the front.

      Landry stood and pulled Seth to his feet. “Hello again, Jet. This is my brother Seth.”

      “Half brother,” he mumbled.

      Jet shrugged. “Whatever. I could use some help tomorrow with a big shipment of furniture from Mobile. I’d only need you a day or two. You up for it?”

      “Guess so,” he muttered.

      “Tell me what time you need him at your shop,” Landry said.

      “About ten o’clock.”

      Seth’s mouth dropped open slightly. “That early?”

      Landry elbowed him. “He’ll be there.”

      Shelly walked up beside Jet. “What about school, Seth?”

      Seth straightened and a dull red flush crept up his neck. “I’m done for the year.”

      Shelly absently swirled a lock of honeyed curls. “I see. Since you’re at loose ends for a bit, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Do you swim?”

      Landry shifted uncomfortably, hoping Shelly wouldn’t ask him the same question because he hated lying. What thirty-five-year-old man couldn’t swim? It was ridiculous. Yet he sank like a stone every time he tried to learn.

      “Of course I can swim,” Seth answered.

      “Then I want you to meet Jimmy Elmore at the YMCA pool. His grandmother Lurlene is one of my senior clients.”

      Shelly turned questioning eyes to Landry. “Mind if I introduce them? Jimmy’s a good kid. You’ll see.”

      “Sure. Seth could use some company his own age.”

      “I’ll set it up now while you two talk business.” Shelly steered Seth out of the room. “Let’s call Jimmy now and work out a time.” Her voice became fainter, from the kitchen. “Then I want to show you our knife collection. Some of them are over one hundred years old—”

      “My cousin loves kids,” Jet said. “Looks like she’s taking Seth under her wing.”

      Landry couldn’t tear his eyes from Jet. For the first time, he noticed her dark eyes were rimmed with flecks of gold and green, like chips of orange citrine and emeralds. He stepped closer, watched them widen with a sudden wariness.

      Jet fingered a red scarf draped on the sides of her slender throat as she inched backward. “Why are you staring at me?”