Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

them off.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “I was . . . swimming.”
     
    “You took your clothes off to go swimming,” Caleb repeated without expression.
     
    She raised her head. “Yes.”
     
    “Did you plan on swimming?”
     
    She looked at him blankly.
     
    “Is that why you went to the beach that night?” He rephrased the question. “You wanted to go swimming?”
     
    “No, I told you. I wanted to see you.”
     
    “After three weeks, you suddenly decided—what? You had to see me?”
     
    She felt the dangerous shift, like the warning tug of the tide, and reacted instinctively to protect herself. “Poor Caleb. Did you wait for me?
    Were your feelings hurt?”
     
    “Maggie—”
     
    153
    “I was there. What more do you want me to say?”
     
    His mouth set in a firm, flat line. “So, you arrived at the beach. What time?”
     
    “The sun had just set,” she offered. “The tide was almost at the full.”
     
    “I’ll check the tide tables. You didn’t happen to look at your watch?”
     
    “I was not wearing a watch,” she said with perfect truth.
     
    “What time did you leave your house?”
     
    She was silent.
     
    “Maggie?”
     
    She did not, could not, answer him.
     
    Caleb sighed. “Okay, we’ll let that go for now. How did you get there?”
     
    “I don’t understand.”
     
    “We didn’t find a car. Did you walk?”
     
    “I . . . may have.”
     
    “So, you came through the trees . . .” He paused expectantly.
     
    “From around the rocks,” she said. “Where we—where you climbed down the other day.”
     
    “Good. You came down the path?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “How did you get to the beach, Maggie?”
     
    You can trust me , he’d said.
     
    He wanted the truth , he’d said.
     
    154
    So she gave it to him.
     
    “I swam.”
     
    His palms slapped the table. “Damn it, Maggie, we have a deal. No games, no lies. Remember?”
     
    Margred’s indignation mingled with regret. So much for telling the truth. If he could not handle “ I swam ,” he was not likely to deal well with “ I am an immortal selkie trapped in mortal form—oh, and your mother was, too .”
     
    She settled back in her chair, arching her eyebrows. “The deal I remember is, no games, no lies . . . and no badgering. Or have you forgotten that part?”
     
    “I’m trying to help you,” Caleb grated.
     
    “Then respect that I might have reasons—good reasons—for what I say or do not say.”
     
    “I can’t protect you if you won’t talk to me.”
     
    He could not protect her in any case, Margred thought with a tear at her heart. But she knew him well enough now to realize he would never accept that answer.
     
    155
     

Twelve
     
    "THIS ISN’T CSI: AUGUSTA,” SAM REYNOLDS told Caleb three days later. “These things take time. You know that. If you’re looking for the presence of an accelerant—”
     
    “I’m not.” Caleb sat at his desk, Maggie’s file open on the desk before him and the receiver tucked under his jaw. He needed the state’s resources. He respected Reynolds’s expertise. But this was still his case.
    His woman. “The evidence was recovered from a bonfire. The debris could be soaked in lighter fluid and it wouldn’t tell me a thing about the assailant except he sucked at starting fires. I need a biochemical analysis of anything he could have used as a weapon.”
     
    “Basically, all your fire debris. Which, like I said, is going to take time.”
     
    Donna Tomah had said the same thing when Caleb saw her yesterday. “ Recovering memories takes time .”
     
    Caleb stared down at Maggie’s photo: the ugly gash on her forehead; the wide, exotic mouth; the dark, unfathomable eyes. How could he protect her when he didn’t know who she was? Or what she was running from?
     
    “What about the rape kit?” he asked Reynolds.
     
    “Results won’t do you any good without something to compare them to.”
     
    “You can run them through the criminal databases.”
     
    “Assuming her assailant has priors,” Reynolds said.
     
    “That’s why I want results on the debris. If we can identify a weapon—”
     
    “Or a suspect.”
     
    156
    Frustration jabbed Caleb. “I don’t have a suspect. I have jack shit.”
     
    “Sucks for you,” Reynolds said. “Look, this case may be big news where you are, but it’s not a priority here unless—”
     
    “It’s a homicide,” Caleb finished grimly. “Got it. Thanks.”
     
    “At least your victim