A - Immortal Sea

pale face and fierce voice.

I know you, he thought.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said.

4

MORGAN SLIPPED FROM THE SUN-DAPPLED ROAD into the parking lot, avoiding the clinic‟s front entrance. The

morning mist had burned away, leaving the air as bright and cool as crystal. Here he could not rely on vibrations in the water

or the plumes of scent that trailed his prey. But his hunting instincts were the same on land or in the sea.

Find a base of operations.

Focus on a single target.

Observe from a distance.

And when the victim was vulnerable, strike.

The dark blue vehicle sat in the shade behind the building. Locked. Morgan considered the sealed windows, the crumpled

yellow box with its protruding plastic straw on the floor of the back seat. He glanced toward the quiet street.

He might have enlisted Dylan in his search. But he disdained to ask the younger warden‟s help, especially for what might

be a fool‟s errand.

Besides, he hunted alone.

He had located her vehicle. Now he must find her.

He selected a heavy rock from the line edging the parking lot and smashed it into the left rear window. Glass cracked and

gave, a white spiderweb fracture spreading from the point of impact. A horn blared. Blared. Again.

Carefully, Morgan replaced the rock in the stone border. Dusting his hands, he walked around the building and through the

steel and glass doors.

A human stench compounded of age and disease, blood and antiseptic, rose from the carpet and slapped him like a rogue

wave. He froze. He had not considered his quarry could be sick. The thought caused an unexpected quiver in his belly.

His gaze passed over the rows of chairs, an old man with wrinkled hands and thick spectacles, a young woman with a child

on the floor and another in her lap.

His mouth compressed. He did not see her . The woman in the car. The one he was searching for.

He approached the counter, where a female in soft, pink, shapeless clothes with a soft, pink, shapeless face peered at a

screen. “Pardon me.”

She glanced up, her eyes widening. Her color deepened. He stood patiently, well aware of his effect on her sex and willing

to let it work for him.

“I, um. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I am looking for the owner of a dark blue vehicle parked behind this building.”

Her face creased. “A dark blue . . . The Honda? Why?”

“The window is broken,” he explained smoothly. “I noticed it as I walked by.”

“Oh, dear.” The faint suspicion vanished. Her frown cleared. “I‟ll let Liz know.”

“Liz,” he repeated, not quite making it a question.

“Dr. Rodriguez.”

Not sick, Morgan thought. Muscles he was not aware of tensing suddenly relaxed. She was a doctor.

“ I start med school in the fall, ” he thought he heard or remembered. “ Part of the plan. ”

“I would like to tell her myself,” he said.

“We-ll, I don‟t know . . .”

He held her gaze, granted her a smile. “Please.”

She looked away, flustered. “I‟ll, um, see if she has a minute.”

Picking up a folder marked with brightly colored stickers—HOP, he read—she bustled past a bank of metal cabinets into

the building‟s bowels.

Silently, Morgan opened the door that led from the waiting room and followed her down the hall.

“Liz?” The woman in pink stood in a doorway at the end of the hall, her back blocking his view. “There‟s a man here to see

you.”

“He‟ll have to make an appointment.” He recognized her voice. Strong and smooth, without a trace of the local accent. “Is

that the Hopkins file?”

The woman in the doorway shifted to hand off the folder, and Morgan got a look past her into the room. Big desk, small

chair, stacks and stacks of paper.

And her. Liz. Dr. Rodriguez.

She was sitting in a small, armless chair, her legs crossed, her hair caught up in a clip, her hands busy with the file. He

thought her body deserved better than those straight, dull trousers, that loose white coat.

He knew her, though. His pulse quickened. He remembered.

Elizabeth.

No longer young, despite the slim shape of her and that shiny hair. Her eyes were still deep brown and intelligent, her face

a smooth oval, her jaw slightly squared. But the creases in her neck and the lines at the corners of her eyes were a subtle

reminder of time passed and years lived. Beneath a swipe of color, her lips were pale and firm.

He moved so she could see him, so she would be forced to acknowledge him. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

His sudden reappearance had an effect on her, too, if not the one he hoped for.

Her chin rose as she looked him over. She set the file on her knee, her movements sharp and compact. “What are you doing

here?”

“There‟s been an accident,” the woman in pink answered for him.

Elizabeth‟s face drained of color. “Oh, God. Zack?”

Seeing the genuine fear in her eyes, Morgan felt an unexpected pang of remorse. But his ruse had gotten him past her first

line of defense. Any means was acceptable to the appropriate end.

“Zack is fine,” he said. He assumed. “It‟s your car.”

Her white-knuckled grip on the folder eased. “My car.”

“In the parking lot.” He strolled forward, taking possession of her space, subtly crowding the other woman from the room.

“The window is broken. I noticed it as I was walking by.”

Brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you thought you would force your way back here and tell me.”

He flashed his teeth. “I have never found it necessary to use force.”

The female behind him gasped in excitement. The one before him was made of sterner stuff.

“All right, you‟ve told me. Thank you. Nancy, can you get Chief Hunter on the phone? I need to file an accident report.”

He admired her self-possession. But he would not be deterred. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don‟t.” She stood, reclaiming her space. The movement brought her closer to him. He could smell hints of lemon

in her hair and on her skin. Fresh. Astringent. It suited her. “Chief Hunter can get in touch with you if he wants your

statement.”

“About Zachary,” he said.

She froze for a small, betraying instant. He watched as her pulse throbbed in her throat.

Her gaze flicked behind him. “Nancy? Chief Hunter, please.”

Her assistant retreated down the hall.

Elizabeth‟s jaw set, strong and square in her otherwise delicate face. “I can‟t talk to you now. I‟m working.”

“This is more important.”

“Not to my patients.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, blocking her in. “I will wait.”

“No.”

“Or I could come by your house,” he suggested.

“No . ”

Their gazes locked. Fear and frustration warred in her eyes. But he had left her no choice. He did not think she would risk

having this first confrontation within earshot of her family.

“All right.” She conceded with surprising dignity. “I get off at four. I‟ll meet you someplace.”

“I am staying at the inn. You could join me for dinner.”

“I can‟t. I have to get home.”

He wondered suddenly if she had a man at home, expecting her.

“You are married.”

Her firm lips pressed together. Parted reluctantly. “Widowed.”