Page 7 of The Scent of Salt & Sand

“Drowning? You thought I was drowning?” Her emerald eyes sparkled with humor.

“Yes, ma’am. You were floating facedown, and then you were choking. I ascertained that you needed help.” Dean reverted to cop speak as he struggled to tread the freezing water and have a conversation with a decidedly not drowning woman who looked like a sea goddess.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry for the confusion.” She paused and glanced down at his clothes. “I’m also sorry you got all wet. It’s sweet that you thought to save me, though. From drowning!” As she repeated the word, her voice broke into musical laughter lovelier than anything Dean had ever heard.

He couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare at her and let her laughter play around and over him. The sound of it seemed to wrap him in warmth and light, making his blood pound hot through his body, chasing away the cold of the water—the scent of salt and sand—the sounds of seabirds and sea lions—everything, everything except her, the sea goddess. That smile! It blazed with happiness and life and sex—definitely sex.

Dean still had hold of her wrist. Almost without willing it, he began to pull, guiding her toward him as her laughter shimmered around them.

“MELODY, COME!”

The shout was a clarion call that shattered the spell between them. She jerked her wrist from Dean’s grip and began to swim past him.

“Hang on!” he called, and somehow managed to keep up with her. “Don’t go,” Dean shouted. “Not yet! Is that you? Is Melody your name?”

With a litheness that made the bay’s graceful sea lions seem old and tired, she spun in the water to face him, somehow lifting herself up so that her hair spread around her like an erotic veil, just diaphanous enough to reveal the skin-hugging, jade-green wetsuit covering her body, displaying curves that had Dean’s blood pounding so hard that he was starting to feel dizzy.

“Wh—what are you?” he stuttered.

“There’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.” She spoke slowly, rhythmically, almost as if she were singing. “There’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

Dean spit out a mouthful of saltwater before responding. “Yeah, I don’t want to be out here, in this freezing water, fully dressed. So, uh, how about getting a cup of nice, hot coffee?”

She frowned. Her body sank down into the waves, so that she, once again, gracefully treaded water. “I said, there’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

“I heard you. So let’s get out of here and get a cup of coffee.”

Her frown deepened so that her smooth brow furrowed. “It isn’t working.”

Dean tried to shrug, and another wave smacked him in the face, making him sputter and sound like he was the one who needed saving. “Sorry, ma’am. I—I’m not trying to be inappropriate. Damn, this is awkward. I’m Dean Kent, and I’m a police officer—part of the San Francisco Police Department, the SFPD. How about I help you back to shore—no strings attached.”

She looked around as if checking for strings before saying, “That is kind of you, but as I said, I can’t drown, so I don’t need any help. And my, um, friends are missing me. Thank you for wanting to save me.” She started to swim away again, and Dean stroked forward, grabbing her ankle.

This time when she spun around, her hair flew about her, making her look like an avenging mermaid. “Let me go!”

Dean dropped her ankle. “Sorry—sorry. You didn’t tell me your name.”

She met his gaze. Rising up out of the water, she said in the same, singsong voice as before, “You don’t want to know my name; there’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

It was Dean’s turn to frown. “Hey, I get it. I’m sure I’m coming off as a real perv. I’m not, though. I’m really a cop. Uh, and not a pervy one.”

In the distance sirens began to echo off the water. From the pier, the fisherman cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hang on, officer! EMTs are coming!”

Dean pointed toward the shore. “Told you I’m a cop!”

“Police? The authorities?”

He nodded, still smiling. “Yep, totally aboveboard. One of the good guys. Promise. Now, will you tell me your name and let me help you out of this freezing mess?”

“You can call me Mel.” Her smile flashed for an instant, and then she disappeared under the water, only to reappear a few heartbeats later, already yards from him, swimming with such strength and speed that she left him behind easily—making it completely clear that she had never, not for an instant, needed saving.

Chapter Four

Tourists traipsed down Beach Street, taking in the expanse of posters and pamphlets advertising “Award-Winning Siren Boat Tours to Alcatraz!” Melody huffed, and busied herself with tidying up the nearest display whenever eyes settled on her. She knew from the orientation she’d suffered through the night before that she was supposed to be perky and helpful when the hordes passed by, but she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

Pebbles of anxiety collected within her chest, expanding into suffocating boulders when she thought about her swim to the Mortal Realm—that strange, dark creature and that frightened voice.

“No, you’re not going to think about that.” She shook her head, driving away the memory. “And you definitely can’t say anything to anyone. The other girls already think you’re weird enough. Sharing this wouldn’t help.” She sighed. “You were just scared and seeing things, but you made it here. Everything is fine.”