Sheriff Grigsby stiffens in my arms. I’m beginning to think I have that effect on all males. “Did you say … You’re saying Mr. Kennedy … What are you saying, Emma? Take a second to breathe. That’s right. Calm down. In … Out … Good.”

The mini Lamaze session does help. My heart beat slows to just outside the range of palpitations. “I was in the woods with Reed, and Mr. Kennedy found us. He grabbed Reed, held a gun to him. I ran and he started shooting at me.”

Grigsby nods vigorously. “We heard gunfire. Tell me where you were. Where you saw Kennedy.”

“I don’t know if Reed … Reed might be…”

And if he is, it’s all my fault. I’m the one who insisted on coming out here, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Mr. Kennedy was right: I played right into his hands. But what hands? How was I supposed to know that there were even hands to be played into?

Grigsby grabs my wrist and starts hauling me away from the river. He stops briefly to put on his shoes, then there I am again, trampling through the woods. At least, this time I’m with someone who’s armed.

“We saw Galen,” he says abruptly. “He ran from us. Jumped in the river.”

I dig my heels into the dirt. “You saw Galen? Was he okay? Where is he now?” What? Just when I think I’m catching my breath …

The sheriff shakes his head and pulls me forward with a jerk. “I told you, he jumped in the river. We can’t sense him anymore. He … He’s a very fast swimmer, isn’t he?”

I nod. “Very.”

“As soon as we get back to town, I’ll send some Trackers to the river. If we can spare any.”

I close my eyes against the frustration. Spare any. Of course. Now that Reed has been taken, all of Neptune’s resources will be allocated toward finding him instead of Galen, who, from the looks of it, obviously doesn’t want to be bothered. I know that’s as it should be. Reed is in danger and Galen—well, Galen is obviously healthy enough to run and hide.

The thought of us being so close to each other in the woods has me reeling. Did he see me? Is he running from me? I practically bulldoze that thought out of my head. Still, why would he run from the search party?

What am I missing here?

30

JUST PERFECT.

It’s been a long time since Galen has found himself caught in a net. But caught he is. Which is not a little embarrassing.

At least, he reasons, it’s probably not a Neptune net. For starters, it’s human made, probably by a machine. There are tiny flaws in the knots and weaves, flaws that were made because of industrial-grade bends and tangles in the line, not because of someone’s handiwork gone awry. He’s seen this kind of net before, and Galen can’t imagine that any citizen of Neptune would choose a factory substitute over the fine art of weaving quality nets they’ve no doubt passed down from generation to generation.

Plus, the good people of Neptune do not need fishing nets. Not when the Gift of Poseidon swims so rampantly through their veins.

No, it’s a human fisherman’s net that caught Galen fairly and squarely. He was paying attention to all that happened behind him—and to the way he moves his tender fin so as not to hurt it more—instead of all that lay ahead of him. He’s not sure what triggered the trap to spring, or really, what the fishermen intended to entangle. He hasn’t seen anything in these waters that would warrant such a large net. But now he must wait for the fisherman to come back and retrieve his prize.

And Galen intends for that prize to look a whole lot like a dead body when the unsuspecting fisherman finally gets around to reeling him in from the north riverbank. That’s the direction the line is coming from anyway. But how long he’ll have to wait to shock the poor guy is the true question. If Galen is right, and he didn’t spend too much time at Tyrden’s mercy, then it should be close to the weekend, though he’s not sure exactly which day it is. Any good fisherman checks his net on the weekend, right?

In the meantime, he should at least pass the time by trying to tear through the netting—with what, he’s not sure. His teeth already proved no match for the commercial-grade rope and he’s still berating himself for dropping Tyrden’s knife in the woods. Stretching each square only makes the net tighter—as it should. The idea is to make the space tinier and tinier—and clearly, it does its job where that’s concerned.

The good news is that he’s well out of range of any of Tyrden’s search parties. Even now, he senses no one. Of course, he’d made sure of that as soon as he hit the water. Though possibly injured and sore, his fin is still faster than that of most other Syrena.

From this spot in the river he tastes more salt in the water than he did upstream, which hopefully means he’s getting that much closer to the ocean. Getting caught in a net is a setback—and humiliating—but it’s exponentially better than getting caught by Tyrden or his men again.

Galen settles in for the wait, willing his body to let go of some of the tension of the past few hours. He has to concentrate on getting back to Neptune. There’s a good chance that the Royals are already on their way. An ominous directive like, “Don’t come to Neptune,” is the perfect way to get Grom to do just that. He should have known better than to leave clipped phone messages like that without further explanation.

They must be so confused now. As is Galen.

Clearly Tyrden wants an attack on Neptune, but why? And if Tyrden wants an attack, what does Reder want? Galen doubts that Reder had anything to do with his abduction.