Page 21 of Ensnaring the Siren

“No.” The answer whooshed out so fast it surprised him. She was scary as fuck, yes, and had him completely outmatched, but she’d never tried to kill him. And she’d been vulnerable, too, in her own way. Misunderstood, afraid, taking huge risks for the greater good. Trying to save…trying to save her own people. “She’s just like…”

Just like me.

“You’ve had a lightbulb moment—I can hear it in your voice. What’ve you realized?”

“Our responsibilities, our goals, they’re the same.”

Fresh off the case, he’d been wary of giving Nireed his sympathy, but all that was different were their methods, and even those weren’t completely unfamiliar when he thought about the other military branches. Nireed was one of the ocean’s denizens, forced to play the part of a soldier, and the fishermen hunting her people were the invaders. No wonder Perez seemed pissed when he couldn’t put that together. When he was so stuck on seeing Nireed as the monster.

It had been shocking, traumatizing even, witnessing that annihilation, but of course it was. He didn’t see that kind of action. He didn’t take lives, he saved them, and he’d effectively dropped into a war zone that night. And that, he could wrap his head around.

“We’re more similar than I realized.”

He could hear the smile in his therapist’s voice when he said, “You came to that conclusion sooner than I thought you would. Good work.”

Reid let out a shaky laugh, feeling fizzy and punch-drunk. “Damn. Well, I’m glad I’m not delusional for thinking that.”

“Not at all.”

When the call ended, hiking felt like a better escape than a swim, so he marched off into the trees, allowing the wilderness to swallow him whole for a day. Steady ground beneath his feet and a quiet path, broken only by birdsong and the scuff of his boots against rock and root, had a way of absorbing his cares.

That evening, Reid went home feeling lighter, better. Maybe not one hundred percent, but well enough he’d probably get some sleep tonight.

He stared out at the orange-cast horizon from the stern of his houseboat, legs dangling over the diving platform. He pulled a long swig from the neck of his beer bottle, some local brew he picked up at the grocery store on the way home.

He was anchored with several others in a quiet inlet, but between his odd schedule and theirs, he rarely saw his neighbors. One was a charge nurse who often picked up overtime shifts, and the other was a retired fisherman who spent more time at the bars than was strictly healthy.

“Is this your boat?”

Nireed popped from the water, a disturbingly beautiful jack-in-the-box. He nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling back from the ledge, and spilling his beer in the process. Not so much as a stray ripple or subtle flash of silver scales. The effortless stealth was as impressive as it was terrifying, but damn, why’d she always have to scare him shitless? Some warning would be nice.

She stared at him unblinkingly, her eerie, lambent eyes made liquid amber in the light of the setting sun. Such dangerous promise in those eyes. But of what, he didn’t know anymore, not when she’d no intention of killing him.

If not his life, then what?

He growled, probably a little more harshly than was necessary, but his fear was talking. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

She arched a brow, gesturing to the wide expanse of the ocean.

He huffed, wiping a beer-drenched hand dry on his shorts. Smartass. “How’d you find me?”

“I was around.” She shrugged. “Picked up your scent. Is this your boat? It’s very small.”

It was small—smaller than he would’ve liked long-term—but he suddenly felt rather defensive of it. “I don’t need a lot of space.”

She eyed the narrow doorway warily, like it might bite her. “You don’t?” The crease along her brow deepened, and if Reid wasn’t mistaken, it looked a lot like concern. “Sky boat’s small too.” Glancing between him in his home, she began to wring her hands.

And that was when it hit him. She wasn’t criticizing his home. Tight spaces freaked her out, and compared to a wide, open ocean, he could see how a compact space might feel claustrophobic.

His reply was gentle. “We call that a helicopter.”

The mermaid repeated the word flawlessly.

“That’s where I work. This”—he patted the deck fondly— “is my home.”

“Does it have a name?”

The question took him off guard. It was tradition to name boats, but he hadn’t named this one. Couldn’t come up with something that fit.

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