Diary of a Radical Mermaid Read Online Free

to the exact degree of our committed romance. I was. He wasn’t. Committed, that is.
    “Cannes?” Jordan said now, reading my thoughts. He loved to pretend he was a careless man, but underneath those still waters he was a boiling volcano-Mer. Which is why I couldn’t forget him, but also why I kept trying. “Cannes,” he repeated darkly, with just the right touch of evil humor. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. When you left me because you were afraid you weren’t good enough for me.”
    I formed a large and exhausted expression, sighing out a tidal wave of boredom. “What a pathetic joke. I gave up more for you than any sane woman would. Cannes. Ah, yes. I remember. Cannes. When you turned two skanky Lander actresses into your personal bedroom pets.”
    “Cannes,” Jordan repeated. “When you assumed the worst and wouldn’t listen to reason. When I realized you were looking for excuses to desert me.”
    “When I found thong underwear on the private sun deck of your suite. And it wasn’t mine.”
    “Considering the parties you and I threw, a person could find almost anything on my sun deck. With none of the evidence remotely incriminating me.”
    “Oh? You wanted that underwear there. I sensed it.”
    Jordan began to grow taller, thicker, and madder, at least in personality. A remarkable illusion, really. He towered over me like a Tolkien orc. (Tolkien, by the way? A Mer, on his father’s side.)
    “Cannes,” Jordan said. “When you were terrified I’d want other women enough to be unfaithful to you, and so you used that as an excuse to—“
    “Stop. Can the Cannes debate. We’re over. Done with. Whether you’ll ever admit it or not, you were unfaithful to me, at least in spirit.”
    He groaned. “You make me wish I could order a lobotomy.”
    “Mine or yours?”
    “Juna Lee—”
    “Stop this conversation. I’ll put my psychic fingers in my ears at this point and sing la la la la la, if you bother to continue.”
    “If you don’t want to talk to me, why did you come here?”
    “I came to interview you for my blog. Because you’re a perfect example of an arrogant, clueless merman. The pride of faithless dogfish everywhere.”
    Jordan’s expression turned black. I watched in awe as he mutated into the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Psychically speaking, I shrank down to the size of Minnie Mouse but trembled with excitement. A woman craves domination. Oh, not the true kind. Just the take-me-you-beast-but-then-do-what-I-tell-you kind.
    Just as I thought he was about to chase me around the pool, a cell phone rang. He snatched it from a pool bench. I sighed with relief and disappointment. Saved by one his business calls. “Yes? Make it quick. All right. The plane’s been chartered? Good.” He snapped the phone shut and dropped it back on the bench, then stood for a moment, frowning and gazing into thin air.
    Jordan was ignoring me. Impossible. Nothing except the most worrisome trouble could distract him from moi. I froze. “Wait a . . . you’re hiding something. What? Hmmm. Ah hah. I sense it. You’re leaving for Scotland tonight.” A black tide hit me. “Oh, my God. You’re involved in something dangerous in Scotland.”
    Jordan groaned at my intuitions. “Juna Lee—”
    “Don’t ‘Juna Lee’ me. What kind of trouble are you in?”
    “I’m not in any trouble.”
    “I didn’t fall off the tuna boat yesterday. I sense something about Scotland and McEvers kin and desperation. Something very peculiar and extraordinary. Murder. Jordan! Have you killed someone?”
    “For godsake. Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Murder. I feel death and violence and misery and your McEvers cousins and . . . murder. Jordan!”
    He headed for me with both hands out, a ferocious frown on his face and his dark eyes hard as jewels. He would grab me and distract me, and if I let him do it I’d never get answers.
    I spun around and made a perfect arc into his pool. He followed. We engaged in a feverish