Page 70 of Sucker For You

A kilogram of tension lifted from her shoulders while she acknowledged the other woman’s complaints.

This was good.

Despite her failure to identify the source of their octopus’s injuries within her first four hours at MORI, she could be satisfied with what she’d learned today. Murmuring a goodbye to Brianne, she pushed through the institute’s exterior doors and walked down to the parking lot.

Wes was there.

With the sleeves of his dripping rash guard pushed up over his elbows, he was bent over and toweling off his calves. Ink and jellyfish striations gleamed on his water-slick skin. The dueling black and red-flushed lines were stark beneath the sunlight beating across his neck and forearms. His hair had slipped loose from its elastic, and it tumbled into his eyes like bronze-burnished seaweed. When he glanced up through that golden straggle and grinned, waving at her, she missed a step.

But he was busy chucking his towel through the Jeep’s rear window and didn’t see. “Ready for lunch? I think I smelled fajitas earlier today, when we drove through Moss Landing.”

Her mouth watered.

Breathless, she just nodded.

He navigated them back along Sandholdt Road to the Haute Tamale, a bright and tiny restaurant overlooking theOld Salinas River. They washed their hands, then pulled out chairs under an awning of wind-rumpled but defiant paper flags that fluttered near a speaker playing cheerful Mariachi tunes. Isabel ordered a plate of beans and rice with a tortilla on the side. Wes pointed to an item on the menu marked by a chili pepper. He chatted to their waiter about it in casual Spanish, and bobbed his head emphatically at the man’s hesitation.

“He said he’s going to bring me anhorchataon the house.”

“What did you order?”

“No idea. But it’s Mexican and spicy, so it’ll be good.”

He’d picked a Guadalajaran sandwich drowned in achile de árbolsauce. It arrived steaming and on a ceramic plate bluer than an octopus’s eyespots. When Isabel inhaled too deeply through the straw in her water glass, its vibrant, sizzling smell sparked tears in her eyes. Wes pushed hishorchataacross the table. Then he sawed off a bite of his sandwich. He chewed. She watched. He smirked.

“Delicious.” His breath was a flame. “Want to try it?”

She drew a long pull from thehorchata.

“Smart. I should warn you, though: you’ll need to keep an eye on whatever deep-fried monstrosities we eat when we meet up with Erin and Adrian. He wants to see the Santa Cruz boardwalk. That means funnel cakes and corn dogs and churros. Plus, secret dipping sauces.”

“Why?”

Wes rolled his eyes and took another bite. “Adrian and I gave Ethan a trial by fire—or Scoville scale?—over the holidays. We had a hot-sauce competition. He held his own. But it got heated, and Erin’s always given as good as she gets. Once we spill the beans on. . . us, she might try something similar withyou. Not because she doesn’t like you, but because she’s getting back at me.”

Maybe Isabel should have asked for a nibble of his spicy lunch then, to prove herself.

She didn’t.

(It doesn’t matter. This isn’t real.)

“Anyhow, that’s for us to worry about next week. Tell me about MORI.”

Over another sip ofhorchataand a few spoonfuls of rice, she toured him through her observations in the wet lab, from mackerel chopping with Mehar and the other volunteers, to bat-ray enrichment, to spotting orcas in the bay—and the staff exodus that had given her an opportunity to assess the octopus tank. “Dr. Solomon was in the bathroom for a few minutes, so I could study the condition of the paralarvae. They were healthy and growing, with no signs of physical deformity or experimentation. But I didn’t have much time, and she saw me. She told me to stop interfering with the octopuses. She warned me to keep out of her business.”

“She yelled at you?” Wes put down his fork.

“No,” she assured him, and he relaxed. “She didn’t want me there, though. Or anyone else. Brianne seems to be monitoring her, too.” Considering the implications of the data she’d collected on Dr. Solomon, as well as Brianne’s irritated comments, Isabel pushed thehorchataglass back toward Wes. She’d finished the drink, however. She winced. “Sorry.”

“Criminal behavior, Isabel.” Laughter twinkled under his sun-bleached eyelashes. “Speaking of criminals, I surfaced in a raft of otters today. The bay’s lousy with them. That’s good for the kelp forest, obviously. But once you learn what they do to seal pups? Still, MORI’s going to be happy with my shots.There were plenty of coralline algae on the rocks, so the abalone population should boom soon. And the visibility was pea soup. Shit for photos, but that means there’s lots of plankton in the water. I also spotted two other octopuses.”

“Were they—”

“—the weird thing I mentioned? No. Jetting and inking like normal. But I saw what could’ve been the detritus left over from a bait ball close to the beach.”

Thatwasunusual.

“Fish schooling near the shore don’t usually form bait balls. Not when they can hide in the kelp forests from predators.” Bait balling was a last-ditch maneuver in open water, where fish had no place to conceal themselves and their sole defense against attack was a confusion in numbers. Frowning, she spooned more rice and a dollop of beans into her tortilla. “But you saw one by the shore?”