so confused by its confinement that it had huddled near the tank bottom, futilely grasping the small rock it had been clinging to when the men had prodded it into their net. The little octopod had refused to swim around; it had refused to eat. And before Beth could convince her father to release it, the baby octopus had died.
Pushing aside the memory, she slowly kept going, wrinkling her nose as the pungent odors of machine oil and brine rose up to greet her. She hoped this new creature didn’t die. Especially since she’d been the one to cause its capture.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d been standing on the bow of the ship the previous evening, fighting the urge to vomit, when her father’s assistant had joined her.
She hadn’t wanted company, and certainly not Ralph Lesborn’s. Not that Ralph was unattractive. Tall and in his early thirties, Ralph’s thick, reddish-blond hair was always neatly combed, and beneath his classically straight nose, a stylishly thin mustache outlined his full mouth.
Beth had been pleased for her dad when Ralph had agreed to come work aboard The Searcher a couple of months ago, but lately Ralph had developed the tendency to stand too close; it made her uneasy. And uneasiness was the last thing she wanted to feel when her stomach was already doing somersaults.
Sure enough, Ralph had crowded next to her by the rail. The sickly sweet smell of the cologne he favored caught in her throat, and the flattery he murmured in her ear made her feel sicker than the biggest heaving wave. Perhaps because he considered himself a gourmet, Ralph’s compliments always seemed to involve food. She managed not to gag at the one about her eyes being as green as spinach—they were blue, for heaven’s sake—but when he’d cooed something about her long hair being the same color as the bran muffins he ate each morning, she’d been sure she’d lose it all over his hand-made leather shoes.
She was rolling her eyes in revulsion when she’d glimpsed a golden tail fin flip up out in the water. Hoping to distract Ralph from her bran muffin hair, she’d pointed to the strange fish in the distance.
The ploy had worked. Ralph had stiffened—red mustache quivering, long eyes narrowing—looking remarkably like a cat who’d spotted a fish in a bowl. “No…I don’t believe it. My God, it is!” he’d muttered almost beneath his breath. Then he’d hurried away to gather two of the crew, who’d quickly lowered the speedboat into the water and taken off.
Beth hadn’t stayed to watch as they’d chased the poor thing down. Sending up a silent prayer for its escape, she’d slipped away to the stuffy sanctuary of her room.
But unfortunately, they had caught the creature. Her father had refused to tell her what it was when they’d dined together earlier, but his excitement had been almost palpable. Only by promising to go see it herself and report right back to him, had she managed to dissuade him from trying to leave his bed.
Yep, the hold gave her the creeps, but there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for her father these days, Beth reflected, grimacing as her foot slipped again. Precarious was the word the doctors had used six months ago when discussing Carl’s health after his latest heart attack. He seemed to fall victim to every virus going around, and just this week, had been laid up with the flu.
Not only was his physical health failing, but his mental health seemed to be deteriorating as well. Her heart ached as his once agile mind struggled to separate reality from illusion. She fought despair as he insisted on relentlessly searching the seas for the mythical beings that only existed in his confused brain.
She had long given up trying to make him abandon his hunt. All she wanted anymore was for him to be happy. So she wore evening gowns during their early dinners every day just to see a faint look of pleasure on his gaunt face. She tried to appreciate Ralph and his ridiculous, food-related compliments. And if her father wanted her to look at his mysterious fish and report back to him, then that’s what she would do.
Finally reaching the last step, she paused to glance over at the tank and the massive filter pump humming beside it. She’d hoped to check the fish out from the staircase. Since the tank was constructed of the same clear, indestructible acrylic as those used at public aquariums, she could usually see through it quite easily. But not this time.
The lighting wasn’t the problem. The electric lamps scattered along the walls couldn’t erase the shadows in the cavernous room, but a porthole cut high near the ceiling provided more than enough light to see. Even this late in the afternoon, the sunlight shone down through the thick, round window just like a spotlight, sparkling on the water below.
No, the real problem had been caused by the sea animal. It had churned the water—already disturbed by the pitching of the ship—into such a foaming whirlpool that only brief glimpses of its golden tail could be seen as it glided past.
“Darn it,” she muttered, making a face. “I’ll have to get closer.”
Lifting her skirt higher, she made her way across the slimy floor, carefully stepping around the biggest wet patches. “What on earth is in there?” she wondered aloud as she neared the tank. She paused a couple yards away, trying to peer through the frothing water. Not a dolphin, she decided. Nor a seal, either.
It had to be some kind of shark.
She wasn’t quite sure why she thought so. She’d certainly never heard of a golden shark. Yet, there was something about the way the creature moved, a lethal menace in its sensuous glide through the water, that reminded her irresistibly of those deadly sea predators.
A sudden thought made her pulse leap. Could it be a mutant shark, maybe? Now that would be a discovery—maybe a big enough discovery to restore her father’s reputation.
Budding hope replaced her reluctance. Moving right up to the side of the tank, she strained to see through the thick acrylic. A low, wooden platform hovered only a few feet over the surface of the water, but no way was she climbing up on that. With her luck, she’d fall in and the big fish would chomp her to bits.
The creature whipped by again. Her skin prickled, but she ignored her body’s instinctive reaction to the danger the shark represented, refusing to back away. It couldn’t get her here, after all—it was trapped in the tank. Besides, maybe it wasn’t a shark but just a large tuna or an oversize sea bass. Anxious to find out, she wiped off the condensation that had built on the walls with her palm, creating a small clear circle. Again the creature swept past. Again, all she caught was a blur of movement. “Darn! What is it?”
Determined not to miss it again, she flattened her nose against the tank—and froze.
“Good heavens!” A man was in there with the creature! Floating right before her eyes, less than two feet away!
His dark hair billowed out gently in the water creating an incongruously soft frame for a profile that wasn’t soft at all. High cheekbones, a bony jaw, an imperious high-bridged nose—the dominant cast of his features gave him the look of a Roman warrior. But his golden, suntanned skin, his broad, muscular shoulders—those were pure California surfer.
She gestured frantically to get his attention. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” she demanded, her throat tight with alarm. “There’s a giant, scary—something—in there! You have to get out!”
She knocked on the tank and he turned his head. Beth sucked in a breath as his gaze locked with hers. His eyes… Never before had she seen such mesmerizing eyes. They were blue. Not an indeterminate blue like her own, but rather a true midnight. So dark as to appear almost black. So fathomless, she could feel the fine hairs prickle on the back of her neck as he looked deep into her
