Of Poseidon

cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you. More than you know. No matter what happens.”
    She turns to kiss his palm. “Uh-oh. No matter what happens? That’s kind of morbid, don’t you think?” she whispers. “But no matter how morbid, I love you, too. God, I missed you so much. And it’s only been twenty-four hours!”
    He leans down, sweeps his lips across hers, cherishing the softness. Normally, he wouldn’t kiss her in front of her mother out of respect, but he considers this a special circumstance.
    He’ll always remember this moment. The moment before everything changed. He gives her one last kiss, then turns toward the kitchen.
    “Let me help you with that, Mrs. McIntosh.”
    She smiles and shakes her head. “Oh, that’s okay, Galen. I’m almost done. Besides, you’re still dripping wet.”
    Still, Galen approaches the sink. The fragmented clues line up with each step he takes, forming the complete picture.
    He’s wasted all this time suspecting Emma’s dad. How could I be so stupid?
    Her Syrena coloring, only with blue eyes. Blue eyes without contacts, blue eyes that faded from violet from her years on land. It’s not a legend. The painting in Tartessos was right. And those same years on land are responsible for her gray streaks of hair—a sign of aging faster.
    The way she had an eerie habit of calling every time the stalker showed up. She probably sensed them all in the water and wanted to make sure Emma was safe. If Dr. Milligan was right, if Emma didn’t mature until recently, she may not have ever sensed her before. She may not even realize Emma’s gift.
    Sensed. Grom swears he’d been sensing her again. Could he really sense her from that far away after all this time? Maybe all the myths are true. Maybe there is such a thing as the pull.
    Still, pull or none, she’s been breaking the law—and his brother’s heart—by staying on land all this time. Not to mention the widening chasm she gouged between the two kingdoms when she left. As much as he loves Emma, Galen can’t ignore her mother’s actions.
    And he can’t let Grom mate with the wrong person.
    Mrs. McIntosh gives him a quizzical look but doesn’t say anything when he reaches her side. He plunges his hands into the dishwater. And senses her immediately. The stalker. The look in her eyes, the way her mouth hangs open, the way she glances down at the trident on his stomach, is all the confirmation he needs. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Nalia.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    In case you were wondering, yes, the acknowledgments are the hardest part of a book to write. So many people contributed an ingredient to the recipe that turned into Of Poseidon , that I just know I’m going to forget someone, and when that happens, please, pretty please, forgive me! That said, I’ve decided that the fair (obsessive-compulsive) way to thank everyone is to start in chronological order, as they appeared in my writing life:
    Thanks to my sister-in-law, Amanda, who gave me tinder for the fire that got this whole thing started. Thanks to my friend, Elayne, who was always my guinea but never my pig. Thanks to my friend and cheerleader, Cathy B., and she knows exactly why!
    Thanks to the ECW critique group, but most especially to Sheryl and Vance, who gently ripped apart my manuscript and forced me to put it back together the RIGHT way. And did you know Of Poseidon has an Auntie Heather? Well, it does, and like any good aunt, she loved it and fed it and spanked it when necessary. Thanks, Auntie Heather!
    Thanks to my sisters, Beatrice Thomas, Beatrice Garrett, and Beatrice Lyons, who did not laugh in my face when I finally admitted I was writing a book, and who kept a close watch on my daughter as I floated around the cruise ship after receiving “the call.” And very, very special thanks to Maia, who listened as I read aloud and laughed when I meant to be funny and gasped when I meant to shock and grimaced when a character upchucked.
    Honestly, I can’t even describe how grateful I am to my fantabulous agent, Lucy Carson, whose many talents include selling the snot out of manuscripts, talking insane writers away from ledges, and turning hermits into social butterflies.
    Ginormous thanks to my editors, Jean and Liz, whose experience and guidance made this project the very best it could be. Also, thanks to The Other Anna, for not telling anyone about my copyediting scandal. And thanks to Holly, who did so much behind the scenes