Hydromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 4)

“I’ll find out who Fardel works for or with. Don’t worry.”

“Be a good girl now and enjoy the surf.”

“Thanks, old man.”

“Hey, I’m young enough to be your brother.”

She blew a kiss into the line and cut the connection.

After stripping off her clothes, she walked out onto the dark, hot, and humid balcony in her underwear. She tipped the bottle down her front, letting rivulets of water run between her breasts, over her stomach, and down her legs. The cold water was refreshing. A deep sense of pleasure engulfed her as the water—her element—caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and commanded her gift. The liquid molecules reversed their flow to run back up her chest and down both shoulders. Her skin contracted in the breeze. Lovely. She leaned on the rail and stared at the lit pool below. Together with their commander, Josselin or Joss as they called him, and the team’s aeromancist, Lann, she was one of the first members of Cain Jones’s paranormal crime task force. Her training in weapons and communication systems, courtesy of Cain, came in handy, but she was recruited for her hydromancy ability. She could manipulate water, as Lann could control the air. In their world, crime beyond the borders of reality required different skills. Godfrey was slowly gaining power by collecting his own team of special, gifted agents, and somehow, the Australian ambassador was connected to Godfrey. It was a pity Tim was fencing for the bad guys. She had a feeling they would’ve gotten on just fine.

What a dump. With her hands on her hips, Maya turned in a circle inside the shack that served as the Puerto Viejo dive center. She sighed. Turning this baby into something workable was going to take some elbow grease. She’d have to start with cleaning and then repairs. The roof needed thatching, and the wooden walls and floor could do with sanding and a coat of varnish. No wonder the hotel leased it at such a bargain price. It was located on the Tree House Lodge private beach. A long stretch of white sand with a fringe of palm trees separated the hut from an inland tropical forest. The turquoise water was like a siren’s call. Maybe a dip before getting down and dirty wasn’t a bad idea.

As she exited onto the sand, she spotted a man approaching on the footpath—blond curls, lean torso. The way his white linen shirt fit hinted at hard-cut abs. He wore white slacks, rolled up to his ankles, and he was barefoot. Even from this distance, she knew his eyes looked like melted chocolate with a twirl of hazelnut.

Timothy Fardel made his way to her with an unhurried pace. A paper bag he carried in one hand swayed to the rhythm of his step. She regarded him until he stopped in front of her.

“Miss Martin,” he said with his Australian accent. “I told you I’d like an introduction.” He held the bag to her. “This is for you.”

She crossed her arms. “Mr. Ambassador. Did you get what you wanted?”

“The money? Yeah, Bill paid up.”

“I was referring to the wife.”

“That’s not what I wanted.”

“No?” She arched a brow.

He took the business card she’d left at the bar from his pocket and held it up to her. “This is.” He rattled the bag under her nose and pulled it open. “Aren’t you curious?”

She peered inside. “Strawberries and cream?”

“For the dinner you owe me. It’s more practical than flowers, don’t you think?”

“The dinner I owe you?” she asked with a mocking smile.

“To apologize for eavesdropping on my business meeting and then insulting me.”

She chuckled. “You take a lot for granted, Mr. Ambassador.”

“I think so do you, Maya, but I’ll set you straight over the dinner you’re going to cook for me, and call me Tim.”

“All right, Tim, but you should know I don’t cook.”

“Then it’s lucky for us that I do.”

She yanked her T-shirt and shorts from the rail and pulled them on over her bikini. To his credit, he didn’t watch her while she dressed. He waited until she was done before he took her hand in a gesture that seemed so natural it didn’t startle her.

“Where are you staying, Maya?”

“In one of the tree houses.”

He pulled her onto the path that led to the lodge. “Where are you from?”

“South Africa.”

“Your accent doesn’t sound South African. It’s hard to place.”

“I lived in New York for a long time.”

He tightened his fingers marginally around hers. “What brought you here?”

“The beach.”

“Why Costa Rica?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“How long are you staying?”

“Until I get bored.”

He stopped and faced her. “Do you get bored quickly?”

“If you’re asking if I move around, then yes, I’ve been places.”

He studied her for a moment. “That wasn’t what I was asking.” When she didn’t reply, he gave her an indulgent smile and tugged on her hand. “Come. I’m hungry.”