Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,37
Marvel movie audition gone horribly awry?”
Mister Evens smiled back at her, more gently. “Or a particularly large but wistful off-worlder seeking a loving Earthling bride?”
Wistful? Loving? Even more conscious of Sting’s silent bulk at her back, she shook her head hard. “No,” she said firmly. “None of that, for sure.” She gave her head an even harder shake. Because Evens was definitely wrong—she wasn’t an Earther, not anymore, not entirely, and Sting wasn’t interested in her that way when he was just trying to save his world, and she wasn’t going to let any thoughts like that rattle around in her head. “Listen, I appreciate that you’re letting us use the shop as a relay for information on Wavercrest syndrome. But we really don’t want you to get into any trouble—”
He laughed aloud, and there was an odd note to the guffaw, even stranger than some of objects she’d found while perusing his shop. “No trouble at all, trust me.” His amusement faded as he peered at her. “Although why do I get the feeling that you can’t say the same?”
Before she could come up with a not-incriminating answer, Sting blocked her. He didn’t even step in front of her, he just angled his shoulder and suddenly he was eclipsing her entirely. “The IDA is no more, but you said you would help people seeking Wavercrest answers. Are you still willing?”
Evens inclined his head. “Aligning people with what they need has always been a hobby of mine. No reason to change that now.” He held out a scrap of paper. Though Sting intercepted it, Evens’ gaze remained on Lana. “That’s the information the woman left with me. She seemed as if…as if she’d come a long way. Whether she’s your mother or not, I hope she finds what she’s looking for. I hope you do too.”
Her hands curled into fists, and after a moment’s pause, Sting tucked the paper into one of the many compartments on his battle skin. He squared off to Evens. “Would any of these opportunities you mention include passive scanning for incoming vessels?”
“I assume you mean spaceships.” Evens’ smile flashed again. “I, ah, salvaged some items from the IDA center when it was clear no one was coming back.” When Sting made another warning noise, the shopkeeper shrugged. “I’m sure they didn’t leave the most exciting opportunities for just anyone—like me—to stumble over. But you’re welcome to take a look at whatever I have in the back.”
Although she didn’t move or say anything, Sting stepped back, nudging her behind him. “We will return at a later time. After we see to this newcomer.”
She hesitated, resisting the prodding of his nearness. “We need to find out what other ships are lurking.” If she’d caused more trouble with the Cretarni by sneaking away from Tritona…
But Sting gave her a more deliberate bump. “Your maybe mother is more important.”
Her eyes burned. He was going to delay dealing with a possible threat to his world while she fretted about visiting this…person? She stopped herself from spiraling. Of course he’d be interested in a possible new recruit for Tritonan relocation. His world needed immigrants to reinforce their standing as a sustainable world within the intergalactic community. And it wasn’t like she herself would be welcomed anymore.
Holding back her tears, she forced herself to nod at Evens. “Thank you for letting me know. We’ll be in touch about the rest of it soon.” Though he murmured something in reply, the hollow hum in her ears made it impossible to pay attention as she walked back to the car on shaky legs.
“I told you to stay,” she said when Sting got into the driver’s seat beside her.
“I didn’t.”
She grimaced. In all the ways that the universe was vague, confusing, unclear, and contradictory, Sting was none of those things. He just…was. How simplifying that must be.
Except she was being totally unfair, because he was what the war had made him.
And in one of the rooms in Sunset Falls’ only roadside motel, a woman—maybe her mother—had come all this way, presumably seeking an explanation for her own existence. And yet if the woman was her mother, she’d never sought out Lana.
Sting glanced at her. “I do not know the way to the location we’ve been given.”
“Even with all your alien tech? And your hunter tracking skills?” She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “I’ll have Thomas call her and set up the blood test for Tritonan genetic matching.”