"Aphrodite's_Secret_008" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)Chapter FourMordi sailed through the sky, a squirming bundle of boy in his arms. “Let go of me!” Davy hollered, his little legs kicking. “Come on, kid,” Mordi said, continuing to keep his face and voice disguised. “Don’t you know me? Didn’t your mom show you pictures? I’m your daddy.” Davy shifted, his eyes going wide then narrowing with suspicion. “You’re not my daddy!” he howled. He gave a few more kicks, one right in Mordi’s gut. Mordi coughed, the wind knocked out of him, and lost control of his Propulsion Cloak; he and Davy tumbled through the sky. The boy screamed, clutching Mordi’s waist as if his little life depended on it. “Don’t drop me!” he wailed. Mordi sighed and righted them in the air. “Even if I dropped you, I’d catch you. Okay? It’ll be fine. Now, can we just have a little peace and quiet?” The boy twisted, looking at him with terrified but determined eyes. “You’re not my daddy. You’re a stupid-head.” Mordi sighed. “Sometimes I think you’re right, kid.” “Stupid-head, stupid-head, stupid stupid stupid-head.” The boy’s singsong insults surrounded them. Static blasted in Mordi’s ear. “Would you shut that child up?” Hieronymous asked. “He’s giving me a headache.” “You’re getting a headache?” Mordi snapped. “How in Hades do you think I feel?” Okay, so maybe snapping at his father wasn’t the most brilliant move, but Mordi was at the end of his rope. He was supposed to be the good guy—the good guy—but was he getting a pat on the head? A “Thanks, kid, we appreciate the sacrifices you’re making for the cause”? Nope. Heck, he hadn’t even gotten a gift certificate to a nice restaurant. Instead, he was getting yelled at by his father and kicked in the gut by a small child. He needed a vacation. Hell, he needed two vacations. The kid in his arms squirmed some more, pushing Mordi off course. Mordi counted to ten and then glanced down at Davy, hoping he looked stern and paternal and not just frazzled. “Calm down, would you? We’re almost there.” Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Where?” Mordi pointed toward the yacht anchored in the marina just south of La Jolla. “There. That looks fun, right? Lots of boats. Kids love boats. So just be quiet and be still, okay? We’re almost there.” “My real daddy’s an astronaut,” Davy said. Mordi squinted at the line of boats, trying to remember at which slip Hieronymous had said the yacht would be docked. “That’s nice.” “He’s on a mission, but he got stuck on a space station. That’s why he’s been gone for so long. But I know how to get him back. I’m going to talk to the people at NASA, and then my daddy will come home.” Mordi stared at the kid. “And you know this how?” “My mommy says so. I heard her talking to Aunt Zoë, and she said she needed to find a guy who wouldn’t disappear into the heavens like my daddy did.” “Oh.” Mordi frowned feeling sorry for the boy. “What if he’s not an astronaut?” Davy shook his head. “He is. And it’s the trajectory.” He tripped over the word but kept right on going. “I know all about the atmosphere and reentry, and they’ve got to fix his ship so he can get back. And when he does,” Davy added, “he’ll come straight to me and we’ll go buy a puppy.” Mordi sighed. “Sometimes daddies disappoint us, kid.” He found the right yacht and started to descend. “There isn’t a darn thing we can do about it.” He gave Davy a squeeze, then just as quickly pushed the boy away. “Remember that, okay? It’ll save you a lot of heartache in the future.” But Davy wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was staring down at the deck of the boat. Hieronymous appeared, his black cloak whipping behind him in the brisk ocean breeze. Davy turned to look at Mordi, his eyes huge. “Is that where we’re going?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. “ ‘Fraid so, kid.” “Uh-oh,” the boy said. Mordi silently seconded the sentiment. There was no point in giving chase—of that, Jason was sure. By the time he got his Propulsion Cloak, the shifter would be long gone; and without any idea of his destination, Jason could only fly around in circles. Of course, that was a moot point since he still needed a few minutes to gather his strength to transform. He circled the pool slowly, considering where Hieronymous would take Davy. He was certain of only one thing: Hieronymous wouldn’t have the boy brought to his residence in Manhattan. No, Hieronymous would use a different base, and Jason had to find it. To do that, he would need help. After a few dozen laps that seemed to take just as many years, he was strong enough to transform and ascended in a rush to the pool’s surface. He swarm with swift, sure strokes to the edge of the pool. Glancing quickly around for Zoë, he didn’t see her. He could use her help, but at the moment he didn’t have time to search for her. Frustrated, he climbed out, then raced toward the staff stairs. Along the way, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. His own clothes had sunk to the bottom of the pool, and there wasn’t time to retrieve them. He might be half-naked, but he needed to get this mission underway. He needed to find his son. Directive 827B prohibited him from being part of the formal Council mission that would surely come of this kidnapping, but he’d argue about that later. All that mattered now was getting Davy back, and if he had to tattoo an SOS on his butt to get the Council’s attention, to let them know what had transpired, then that’s what he intended to do. First, though, he’d try the more direct approach of contacting Dispatch on his holo-pager. He needed satellite surveillance. He needed intelligence. He needed whatever the heck anybody at headquarters could think of to ascertain where Hieronymous had taken his son. Once they figured that out, then Jason would figure out a way to worm himself into the mission. When he reached the top of the platform, Jason slowed down long enough to look for his Propulsion Cloak and the holo-pager tucked into its pocket. It wasn’t anywhere to be found. He remembered then that it was on the other side of the barrier, on the ground near the holding pool. Well, hell. He backtracked, heading toward the stairs, when Zoë stepped out in front of him. “Thank Zeus,” he said, his arm outstretched. “Pass me your holo-pager.” In one swift motion, the other Protector snapped a pair of golden binder cuffs on his wrist, twisted him around, and hooked his other wrist behind his back. “Zoë, no. I—” “You lousy, stinking traitor,” she said, her voice low and ominous. She glared at him as Deena ran up behind her. “I don’t know why you came back, but I’m glad you did.” She sucked in a breath, anger burning in her eyes. “Where’s Davy?” Jason shook his head, his annoyance building. Yes, the shifter looked like him, but dammit, he hadn’t taken his own son! “He can’t be too far,” Deena said. “This one wasn’t gone long before you caught him.” “Is Davy in the park?” Zoë asked. “Where?” Jason blinked, struggling to push words out from behind his red-hot anger. “You don’t understa—” “Aw, we don’t understand,” she mocked. “Davy’s my so—” “I said don’t move!” Jason took five deep breaths, trying to calm down. He couldn’t blame Zoë for being angry and confused, but he also didn’t have time to argue. He needed to convince her, and he opened his mouth, not sure what magic words would bring her over to his side but willing to jump right in and start pleading. He didn’t get a word out, though, because the backup he’d requested arrived in the form of a lone Protector who swooped from the sky, his emerald-green Propulsion Cloak marking his status as newly trained and assigned to the field. “Officer Boreas reporting as requested.” The young protector turned awe-filled eyes upon Zoë— apparently, Jason saw, her bit of celebrity had some cachet among the younger Protectors on beat duty. Jason grimaced. Officer Boring here didn’t seem the type inclined to think for himself. Great. The last thing Jason needed was an overeager Protector fresh from the Olympus training facility looking to score points with the Council. Zoë ran her fingers through her hair, the only crack in her cool facade. “Take charge of the suspect,” she directed, nodding to the officer. Boring did, first slapping binder cuffs on Jason so that his hands were captured in front of him, then tossing the lariat looped at his hip over him. The golden rope draped from Jason’s shoulder on one side to his hip on the other. For good measure, Jason jerked against the binding, testing the power of the restraint. Despite the physical looseness, the immobility rope did its job. The lariat temporarily drained the power of any Protector wearing binder cuffs. A handy tool to prevent an arrested Protector from hightailing it away from the scene, bound wrists and all. “Tell me what you did with the boy,” Zoë demanded again. “Dammit,” Jason said. “I didn’t do it! Detain me all you want, but start looking for Davy!” “Where?” Zoë yelled back, her composure gone. Her eyes narrowed, and she got right in his face. Jason saw her fear, and that eased his anger. She wanted Davy back, too, and she was only doing his job. He reminded himself of that. “You took Davy,” she continued. “You’re here, and that means that Davy is, too. We’ll find him eventually, so just tell us. Where ... is ... he?” Jason took a deep breath and silently prayed Zoë would believe him. “That wasn’t me. That was a shape shifter.” He gestured with his chin toward her Council-issued glasses, knowing she had X-ray vision. “You can see past a shifter’s disguise, right? Didn’t you see who it really was?” For the briefest instant, hesitation flashed in her eyes. “Zoë?” Deena asked. “I saw you,” Zoë whispered. “That’s all I saw.” But doubt laced her voice, and she turned to Boreas. “Call Olympus. I want every intelligence officer we’ve got analyzing possible locations for Hieronymous, and I want every possible theory about who might have taken the boy or why.” Jason exhaled in relief and held up his wrists. “Tell Officer Boreas to unlock me. We can search while the Council checks up on Hieronymous.” Zoë looked back at him, and her eyes flashed again. Yet she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move to loosen the cuffs or remove the rope. Jason’s hope that she believed him disintegrated. “Ma’am?” Officer Boreas prompted. Zoë ignored his implied question, instead glancing at his pager. “Don’t you have some calls to make?” she asked. He nodded, then scurried to the far side of the pool to do so, apparently afraid Jason might overhear some top-secret information or something. At the moment, Jason didn’t care where Boreas made his calls, just so long as they got made. He wanted every active-duty Protector on this case. If anything happened to Davy, he’d never forgive himself. And Lane sure as Hades wouldn’t either. Lane. He squinted, an idea forming. After a second, he realized Zoë and Deena were both staring at him, suspicion in their eyes. He kept his mouth shut. They thought he was the bad guy, so maybe playing up that role would prove useful. “What?” Zoë asked. He shrugged, spreading his hands as much as his binder cuffs would allow. “Not a thing. I’m just sitting here watching you and Officer Boring there chase your tails.” He leaned back against the railing, hoping he looked smug. Zoë and Deena exchanged looks. “He’s bluffing,” Deena guessed. “Maybe,” Zoë said. She cast Jason another quick glance, then focused on her friend and changed the subject. “I don’t want to worry Lane, but we’ve got to tell her.” Deena nodded, her lips pressed tight together. “She’ll want to know. And she won’t want to just sit and wait to hear from the Council about finding Davy. That’s not her style.” “I know,” Zoë agreed. Annoyed, Jason conjured a fake snort, then concentrated on twitching the corner of his mouth. Zoë squinted at him. “You have something you want to share with the class?” He shrugged. “I just hope you can get in touch with her. She might have things to do today. People to see.” He gave a thin smile, knowing he was digging himself in deeper and deeper. But he didn’t care. If this plan worked, it would be worth it. “Or maybe there are other people who want to see her.” Zoë‘s eyes went wide with fear, and Jason felt a twinge of guilt for playing on her concern for the well-being of a friend. But he quashed the emotion. They had him in chains, and if this one little lie could help buy his freedom, he was more than happy to utter it. It worked: Zoë turned and called for Boreas. The neophyte Protector trotted back, as anxious and eager to please as a puppy. “Go with Deena and bring back Davy’s mom,” Zoë ordered. “And if you get even the slightest whiff of an Outcast hanging around her, beat him to a bloody pulp.” Boreas nodded, looking much too pleased with himself. Then he looped his arm around Deena’s waist and took off, the rich green of his Propulsion Cloak in stark contrast to the vivid blue of the sky. Jason watched, trying to maintain a bland expression, even though he wanted to laugh with relief. They were bringing Lane—the one person in all the world who would never, ever believe that Jason would hurt his own son. Even if she were mad at him for disappearing, she wouldn’t think him a monster. She’d convince Zoë, Zoë would release him, and Jason would go kick some paternal Outcast butt. That was the plan, anyway. He hoped to Hades it would all fall into place. * * * He thrust out a hand toward Davy and held it there. Davy wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he glanced back over his shoulder at the pretend daddy. But the pretend daddy just stood there, his gaze shifting back and forth between Davy and Hieronymous. Davy did the only thing he could think of: he opened his mouth and yelled. The little brat’s high-pitched squeal drilled straight into Hieronymous’s brain like a stainless-steel bit. He cringed, his smile twisting on his face so tight he thought his skin would crack. Hard to believe the boy was his flesh and blood, his grandson. Bile rose in his throat and Hieronymous swallowed, the foul taste lingering. He already had one halfling descendant; the existence of another made him sick. Of course, without the lad, his newest plan for world domination would fail. So in that regard, Hieronymous supposed the tiny halfling was worth something. It was Jason, really, who fueled his ire—his other son, a full Protector, in whose hands Hieronymous could have placed his fortune. Jason could have been his true heir—and yet the boy’s very existence had been kept a secret from him. He’d only discovered the truth after Jason had infiltrated his secret lair in a brash attempt to capture him and destroy the empire he sought to build. He’d captured the upstart, of course. That was seven years ago. And during the boy’s internment, when he’d sought to learn more about Jason by combing the Council’s records, using both spies and his own technological skills to delve deep into files to which he had no official access, expecting to discover that the boy was an agent, sent by the Council to destroy him, he’d discovered he had a son. Damn Ariel for keeping the boy’s existence a secret! His anger at that had soon faded, though, replaced by the realization that he had a true heir, a son more worthy than Mordichai, with his compromised bloodline. But when he’d approached Jason— when he’d suggested they join forces—Jason had flatly refused. Bastard. No one crossed Hieronymous and lived to tell. No one. And that included his son. Jason had escaped the very night of his refusal, the unfortunate result of an off-shore earthquake that shook the island and cracked his tank—all in all, a rather fortuitous event from Jason’s perspective because, considering Hieronymous’s frame of mind, he would have gladly lit a fire under that tank and boiled the brat alive. But it turned out even more fortunately for Hieronymous. Now he had no qualms about using his grandson for his own purposes. Had Jason joined him, Hieronymous might have been inclined to ignore the boy’s existence, to find another path to his goal. Now, though, Hieronymous would use Davy— and take great pleasure in doing so. In front of him, the boy still stared, his eyes wide. “Come, come, young man,” Hieronymous said, forcing a cheery note into his voice. “I’m not so very scary, am I?” The boy nodded, then turned and pressed his face against Mordichai’s leg. Hieronymous made a fist, his fingernails cutting into his palm. Clearly, this was going to be more trying than he had anticipated. At least he had been correct that Mordichai should be involved. Apparently the brat had taken to him. He caught Mordichai’s eye, hoping to convey his displeasure. Just to be sure his son understood, he mouthed the words, slowly, clearly: silence the brat, or pay the consequences. Mordi placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a kind gesture designed to reassure. Hieronymous almost snorted in disgust. “Two halflings, sire,” Clyde said, appearing on deck behind him. His voice was meant only for Hieronymous’s ears. “Of course they’re going to get along.” “Come on, kid,” Mordi said. “Let’s go down into the boat. You can get to know Mr. H. later.” As he guided the child to the stairs, he looked at Hieronymous, their eyes meeting for only an instant. Hieronymous blinked, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d seen contempt. But when he looked again, Mordi’s green eyes were cold and emotionless, as always. Good, Hieronymous thought. Yet for the first time he felt a hint of unease. And, quite frankly, he didn’t like the feeling at all. The paper filter practically overflowed with coffee before Lane realized she’d lost count of scoops. She nibbled on her lower lip, took one good look at the mound of dry grounds, then fished out two tablespoons full and tossed them down the sink as if speedy recovery were a substitute for having her head on straight. “Need a hand?” Aaron called from the living room. “No, no,” she said as she reached for a box of cookies from the La Brea Bakery. “Everything’s under control.” Everything, that was, except her nerves. A clatter of toenails sounded against the battered wooden floor, and Elmer skidded around the corner. The ferret backpedaled, trying futilely to put on the brakes before crashing against Lane’s leg. He picked himself up, took a step back, then raised himself on his hind legs and waved his forepaws. After doing his little ferret dance, he raced to the doorway and paused to look back over his shoulder. Lane ignored him. She’d learned long ago that the theatrically inclined ferret was a tad over-dramatic. Not that his bombastic behavior lessened her regard for him. As opinionated ferrets went, Elmer was right up there on her list. And there was no doubt that the little guy adored her son. Aaron, however, he did not adore. And Lane was certain that Elmer’s current antics were nothing more than a not-so-subtle attempt to distract her from him. She wasn’t having any of it. “Stop it,” she whispered. “He’s perfectly nice.” Elmer didn’t appear convinced. Instead, he hopped back and forth on his little ferret feet, then scurried into the hall and back again, all the while keeping an eye on Lane as if he expected her to follow. “No,” she whispered, more firmly this time. “I’m on a date. Deal with it.” Elmer’s usual companion, Zoë‘s half-brother Hale, was a Protector whom until recently had exhibited a healthy disdain for all things mortal. Lane knew well enough that Elmer had picked up on Hale’s prejudices, and although she might be ferret-sitting she didn’t intend to coddle the creature. “Go play in Davy’s room,” she ordered. “He and Zoë will be back in a few hours, and you two can go as nutso as you want.” At that, the ferret hopped and bounced even more, so Lane could only assume the idea of going nutso with her kid appealed to him. “Did you say something?” Aaron asked. He stepped around the corner, his former-football-player frame filling the doorway. “No, no,” Lane explained. “Just talking to the ferret.” “Oh. Right.” Aaron glanced down, saw Elmer, and took a step back. “Let’s go in the other room,” Lane said, picking up the platter of cookies she’d been arranging and heading into the living room. They didn’t have far to go. Her tiny apartment consisted of a so-called living room that had enough space for a foldout sofa, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. The kitchen connected through a little swinging door—though Lane was pretty sure it used to be a closet and not a kitchen at all. Next was the bedroom where Davy slept, which despite being about the size of a large walk-in closet, seemed to work well enough for the kid. Elmer raced ahead, climbing up onto the coffee table. He stood on Davy’s United States jigsaw puzzle, chittering his little head off, before accidentally knocking the entire Pacific Coast onto the floor. Lane sighed. She liked Elmer, really she did. But why couldn’t he have stayed in the bedroom, occupied with climbing up and down Davy’s stash of toys? With some hesitation, Aaron parked himself on the couch. He eyed Elmer suspiciously. “Why is he here?” “I thought I told you,” Lane said. She settled next to him on the couch, ignoring Elmer’s hyperactive chattering. If the overgrown rat wanted to foil her love life, he was going to have to do a better job than that. “All you said was that he belonged to your brother-in-law.” At that, Elmer stopped, his beady little eyes going blacker. Lane stifled a laugh. The truth was, Elmer didn’t belong to anyone. He was his own ferret, autonomous to the max, and woe to the mortal—or the Protector, for that matter—who suggested otherwise. “Elmer’s staying with me while Hale is out of town,” she said, carefully avoiding any hint that she was acknowledging Aaron’s proprietary verb. “Wouldn’t Zoë make more sense? Isn’t Hale her brother?” Lane nodded. “Right. He’s a romance cover model, only this time he’s doing a commercial.” He was also a superhero, but she didn’t mention that part. “He’s on a shoot in Greece with his wife Tracy and their other—uh, the other ferret that lives with them.” Elmer’s significant other, Penelope, was a seasoned animal actress, and she’d accompanied Hale and Tracy to Greece as part of the production team. Elmer had wanted to go, but as the lead ferret on the increasingly popular television show “Mrs. Dolittle,” he hadn’t been able to get the time off work. “I’m still not clear on why he’s here,” Aaron said. “He and Davy are buds,” she explained. “Sometimes I think they speak the same language.” That much was true; Davy and the ferret got along like gangbusters. If Lane didn’t know better, she’d think they were communicating. But only Protectors could talk with animals, and only a few Protectors at that. Lane had become acquainted with several members of the Protector Council in the short time since she’d met Zoë. At first it had made her head spin, learning of a race that descended from the mythological gods and goddesses of Greece. Of course, those gods weren’t really deities at all; that had just been their cover story, designed to give a more or less reasonable explanation for all their wacky powers. Zoë and Hale were both descended from Aphrodite—which made sense when you looked at them, considering that both were drop-dead gorgeous. And all Protectors had different powers, like super-senses, invisibility, or the ability to conjure fire. So far, Hale was the only animalinguist in her Rolodex. She glanced from Elmer to Aaron, wondering how much the little beast would protest if she grabbed him up and tossed him into Davy’s room. Quite a bit, probably—but the furry chaperon was cramping her style. She nibbled on her lower lip. “Uh, should I take him to Davy’s room?” Aaron shook his head and with visible effort turned his attention from the ferret to her. “Nope,” he said, holding her hand firmly in his. “I don’t want you going anywhere.” Elmer leaped about some more, and she could imagine well enough what he was saying. She tuned him out, not really wanting to hear his off-color comments. Aaron leaned in, and Lane’s heart picked up tempo. He really liked her. Heck, he liked her enough to brave an attack ferret, and that was more flattering than the usual compliments she received. When his mouth closed over hers, she made her body go limp and tried to lose herself in the kiss. She tuned out Elmer’s persistent squeaks, as well as the hum of traffic outside. She focused, her entire body concentrating on the moment, and tried to conjure the sparks that surely were hiding just below the surface. Maybe this wasn’t the man of her dreams, but he was definitely the man she was now looking for: a good father, a good provider, a man with a wonderful sense of humor who didn’t kiss like a vacuum cleaner. Oh, yeah. This guy was pretty near perfect, even if he didn’t make her body tingle and thrum the way Jason had. Determined to feel a connection, she moved her lips, welcoming his kiss, her hand snaking around the back of his head to pull him closer. Aaron was the guy who could make her family whole. She was certain of— The door burst open with a bang, and before Lane even had time to breathe Aaron had been ripped away from her. He made a whoosh as the wind was knocked out of him. Lane jumped to her feet, and Aaron lifted his arms to shield his face from the young, lanky guy crouched over him. Behind them, Deena jumped up and down, yelling encouragement, even as Lane’s head spun from the sheer bizarreness of the situation. The intruder thrust his fist toward Aaron’s face, shifting the scenario from bizarre to dangerous, and Lane reacted immediately. Without thinking, she dove into the fray, sliding neatly between Aaron’s face and the intruder’s fist. She closed her eyes, waiting for a blow that didn’t come, all the while hearing the high-pitched wails of someone yelling, “Stop! Stop! Stop! What on earth are you doing?” It was only after she opened her eyes that she realized the yells were coming from her own mouth. She clamped it shut as the intruder hovered over her. And that’s when she noticed his skin-tight black shirt and the gold monogram of sha—the familiar Protector logo of Superhero Central. The Council, it seemed, thought her date was a bad guy. The question, of course, was why. Elmer leaped and cheered, thrilled that the neophyte Protector had flattened the mortal. He scurried forward, then whipped out his little foot, managing to land a kick on Aaron’s perfectly Stair-mastered thigh. He reared back, ready to kick again, but Lane caught him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. “Stop it!” she shouted. “What are you doing?” She twisted around to look at the Protector. “And who the devil are you?” “Uh,” said the Protector, glancing back toward Deena, “we’re here because, well, he ... uh ...” He climbed off Aaron, clearly confused. I’ve been trying to tell you! Elmer chittered, even though he knew no one could understand him. Hopping Hera, won’t anyone listen to me? Davy’s been kidnapped—I saw it on the map in his room! On the tracking device the kid invented. “Calm down, Elmer,” Lane said, shifting him. “Jeez, you’re spastic.” I’m spastic? I’m the only reasonable one here. I saw it! The green light was over San Diego, and then—poof!—the light was out over the ocean. Either Zoë decided to play cruise director or the kid was kidnapped! And you‘re working on your social calendar and calling me spastic. Harrumph! He kicked and spat and squirmed until Lane finally dropped him. Then he ran to the piece of California that had fallen onto the floor. Right here, he said, bouncing up and down on the jigsaw puzzle. He’s right here. But no one was paying attention to him. As usual, he was underappreciated and ignored. “Where’s Davy?” Lane asked. Elmer jumped up and down. Here! Here! “When I, uh, last saw him, he was at Sea World watching Shamu,” Deena said. She licked her lips and cast a quick glance toward Aaron. “The thing is, I kind of need to talk to you about that.” Once again, the blonde’s lips thinned. She gestured to the Protector. “I thought maybe we could take a little trip with Boreas, here, and I’ll explain on the way.” The blood drained from Lane’s face and she dropped to the couch, using one hand to steady herself. Elmer crawled off California and settled down next to her, one paw resting on her leg. Her fingers twined in his fur, and he could feel her tension. “Right,” she whispered. She glanced at Aaron. “You’ve got a lot of work to do. You should probably head on back to the office.” “I can stay,” he said. “It’s no problem...” He trailed off as Lane got up and silently moved to the kitchen, ignoring him and everyone else. Aaron turned to Deena. “What’s going on?” “PMS?” Deena suggested, her smile weak. Aaron’s head tilted just slightly. “Huh? I don’t think so.” Deena’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. Then she swung an arm around Aaron’s shoulder and aimed him toward the door. Elmer silently cheered her on. “Whatever the reason, Lane asked you to go.” “Yes, but—” “You don’t want to be one of those clingy men who don’t give women space, do you?” “No, but—” “I didn’t think so.” The door was open, and Deena shoved him through. “She really likes you,” she added, then closed the door on Aaron’s confused face. Elmer had to applaud her performance. He couldn’t have done it better himself. “Come on, sweetie,” Deena called to Lane as she headed into the kitchen. “I’ll explain on the way.” Boreas followed. It was a full minute before Elmer realized they weren’t coming back. Apparently they’d decided to take the less conventional fly-out-the-bedroom-window route, perhaps in case Aaron was still hanging around the front yard. Elmer raced toward Davy’s room, slipping and sliding along the way, but by the time he got there the trio was just a speck in the distance. Gone. He knew right where Hieronymous had taken Davy, but he was stuck in an apartment with no one to tell. No dinner, no remote control, and no way to save the day. This was definitely not one of his better moments. Chapter FourMordi sailed through the sky, a squirming bundle of boy in his arms. “Let go of me!” Davy hollered, his little legs kicking. “Come on, kid,” Mordi said, continuing to keep his face and voice disguised. “Don’t you know me? Didn’t your mom show you pictures? I’m your daddy.” Davy shifted, his eyes going wide then narrowing with suspicion. “You’re not my daddy!” he howled. He gave a few more kicks, one right in Mordi’s gut. Mordi coughed, the wind knocked out of him, and lost control of his Propulsion Cloak; he and Davy tumbled through the sky. The boy screamed, clutching Mordi’s waist as if his little life depended on it. “Don’t drop me!” he wailed. Mordi sighed and righted them in the air. “Even if I dropped you, I’d catch you. Okay? It’ll be fine. Now, can we just have a little peace and quiet?” The boy twisted, looking at him with terrified but determined eyes. “You’re not my daddy. You’re a stupid-head.” Mordi sighed. “Sometimes I think you’re right, kid.” “Stupid-head, stupid-head, stupid stupid stupid-head.” The boy’s singsong insults surrounded them. Static blasted in Mordi’s ear. “Would you shut that child up?” Hieronymous asked. “He’s giving me a headache.” “You’re getting a headache?” Mordi snapped. “How in Hades do you think I feel?” Okay, so maybe snapping at his father wasn’t the most brilliant move, but Mordi was at the end of his rope. He was supposed to be the good guy—the good guy—but was he getting a pat on the head? A “Thanks, kid, we appreciate the sacrifices you’re making for the cause”? Nope. Heck, he hadn’t even gotten a gift certificate to a nice restaurant. Instead, he was getting yelled at by his father and kicked in the gut by a small child. He needed a vacation. Hell, he needed two vacations. The kid in his arms squirmed some more, pushing Mordi off course. Mordi counted to ten and then glanced down at Davy, hoping he looked stern and paternal and not just frazzled. “Calm down, would you? We’re almost there.” Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Where?” Mordi pointed toward the yacht anchored in the marina just south of La Jolla. “There. That looks fun, right? Lots of boats. Kids love boats. So just be quiet and be still, okay? We’re almost there.” “My real daddy’s an astronaut,” Davy said. Mordi squinted at the line of boats, trying to remember at which slip Hieronymous had said the yacht would be docked. “That’s nice.” “He’s on a mission, but he got stuck on a space station. That’s why he’s been gone for so long. But I know how to get him back. I’m going to talk to the people at NASA, and then my daddy will come home.” Mordi stared at the kid. “And you know this how?” “My mommy says so. I heard her talking to Aunt Zoë, and she said she needed to find a guy who wouldn’t disappear into the heavens like my daddy did.” “Oh.” Mordi frowned feeling sorry for the boy. “What if he’s not an astronaut?” Davy shook his head. “He is. And it’s the trajectory.” He tripped over the word but kept right on going. “I know all about the atmosphere and reentry, and they’ve got to fix his ship so he can get back. And when he does,” Davy added, “he’ll come straight to me and we’ll go buy a puppy.” Mordi sighed. “Sometimes daddies disappoint us, kid.” He found the right yacht and started to descend. “There isn’t a darn thing we can do about it.” He gave Davy a squeeze, then just as quickly pushed the boy away. “Remember that, okay? It’ll save you a lot of heartache in the future.” But Davy wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was staring down at the deck of the boat. Hieronymous appeared, his black cloak whipping behind him in the brisk ocean breeze. Davy turned to look at Mordi, his eyes huge. “Is that where we’re going?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. “ ‘Fraid so, kid.” “Uh-oh,” the boy said. Mordi silently seconded the sentiment. There was no point in giving chase—of that, Jason was sure. By the time he got his Propulsion Cloak, the shifter would be long gone; and without any idea of his destination, Jason could only fly around in circles. Of course, that was a moot point since he still needed a few minutes to gather his strength to transform. He circled the pool slowly, considering where Hieronymous would take Davy. He was certain of only one thing: Hieronymous wouldn’t have the boy brought to his residence in Manhattan. No, Hieronymous would use a different base, and Jason had to find it. To do that, he would need help. After a few dozen laps that seemed to take just as many years, he was strong enough to transform and ascended in a rush to the pool’s surface. He swarm with swift, sure strokes to the edge of the pool. Glancing quickly around for Zoë, he didn’t see her. He could use her help, but at the moment he didn’t have time to search for her. Frustrated, he climbed out, then raced toward the staff stairs. Along the way, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. His own clothes had sunk to the bottom of the pool, and there wasn’t time to retrieve them. He might be half-naked, but he needed to get this mission underway. He needed to find his son. Directive 827B prohibited him from being part of the formal Council mission that would surely come of this kidnapping, but he’d argue about that later. All that mattered now was getting Davy back, and if he had to tattoo an SOS on his butt to get the Council’s attention, to let them know what had transpired, then that’s what he intended to do. First, though, he’d try the more direct approach of contacting Dispatch on his holo-pager. He needed satellite surveillance. He needed intelligence. He needed whatever the heck anybody at headquarters could think of to ascertain where Hieronymous had taken his son. Once they figured that out, then Jason would figure out a way to worm himself into the mission. When he reached the top of the platform, Jason slowed down long enough to look for his Propulsion Cloak and the holo-pager tucked into its pocket. It wasn’t anywhere to be found. He remembered then that it was on the other side of the barrier, on the ground near the holding pool. Well, hell. He backtracked, heading toward the stairs, when Zoë stepped out in front of him. “Thank Zeus,” he said, his arm outstretched. “Pass me your holo-pager.” In one swift motion, the other Protector snapped a pair of golden binder cuffs on his wrist, twisted him around, and hooked his other wrist behind his back. “Zoë, no. I—” “You lousy, stinking traitor,” she said, her voice low and ominous. She glared at him as Deena ran up behind her. “I don’t know why you came back, but I’m glad you did.” She sucked in a breath, anger burning in her eyes. “Where’s Davy?” Jason shook his head, his annoyance building. Yes, the shifter looked like him, but dammit, he hadn’t taken his own son! “He can’t be too far,” Deena said. “This one wasn’t gone long before you caught him.” “Is Davy in the park?” Zoë asked. “Where?” Jason blinked, struggling to push words out from behind his red-hot anger. “You don’t understa—” “Aw, we don’t understand,” she mocked. “Davy’s my so—” “I said don’t move!” Jason took five deep breaths, trying to calm down. He couldn’t blame Zoë for being angry and confused, but he also didn’t have time to argue. He needed to convince her, and he opened his mouth, not sure what magic words would bring her over to his side but willing to jump right in and start pleading. He didn’t get a word out, though, because the backup he’d requested arrived in the form of a lone Protector who swooped from the sky, his emerald-green Propulsion Cloak marking his status as newly trained and assigned to the field. “Officer Boreas reporting as requested.” The young protector turned awe-filled eyes upon Zoë— apparently, Jason saw, her bit of celebrity had some cachet among the younger Protectors on beat duty. Jason grimaced. Officer Boring here didn’t seem the type inclined to think for himself. Great. The last thing Jason needed was an overeager Protector fresh from the Olympus training facility looking to score points with the Council. Zoë ran her fingers through her hair, the only crack in her cool facade. “Take charge of the suspect,” she directed, nodding to the officer. Boring did, first slapping binder cuffs on Jason so that his hands were captured in front of him, then tossing the lariat looped at his hip over him. The golden rope draped from Jason’s shoulder on one side to his hip on the other. For good measure, Jason jerked against the binding, testing the power of the restraint. Despite the physical looseness, the immobility rope did its job. The lariat temporarily drained the power of any Protector wearing binder cuffs. A handy tool to prevent an arrested Protector from hightailing it away from the scene, bound wrists and all. “Tell me what you did with the boy,” Zoë demanded again. “Dammit,” Jason said. “I didn’t do it! Detain me all you want, but start looking for Davy!” “Where?” Zoë yelled back, her composure gone. Her eyes narrowed, and she got right in his face. Jason saw her fear, and that eased his anger. She wanted Davy back, too, and she was only doing his job. He reminded himself of that. “You took Davy,” she continued. “You’re here, and that means that Davy is, too. We’ll find him eventually, so just tell us. Where ... is ... he?” Jason took a deep breath and silently prayed Zoë would believe him. “That wasn’t me. That was a shape shifter.” He gestured with his chin toward her Council-issued glasses, knowing she had X-ray vision. “You can see past a shifter’s disguise, right? Didn’t you see who it really was?” For the briefest instant, hesitation flashed in her eyes. “Zoë?” Deena asked. “I saw you,” Zoë whispered. “That’s all I saw.” But doubt laced her voice, and she turned to Boreas. “Call Olympus. I want every intelligence officer we’ve got analyzing possible locations for Hieronymous, and I want every possible theory about who might have taken the boy or why.” Jason exhaled in relief and held up his wrists. “Tell Officer Boreas to unlock me. We can search while the Council checks up on Hieronymous.” Zoë looked back at him, and her eyes flashed again. Yet she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move to loosen the cuffs or remove the rope. Jason’s hope that she believed him disintegrated. “Ma’am?” Officer Boreas prompted. Zoë ignored his implied question, instead glancing at his pager. “Don’t you have some calls to make?” she asked. He nodded, then scurried to the far side of the pool to do so, apparently afraid Jason might overhear some top-secret information or something. At the moment, Jason didn’t care where Boreas made his calls, just so long as they got made. He wanted every active-duty Protector on this case. If anything happened to Davy, he’d never forgive himself. And Lane sure as Hades wouldn’t either. Lane. He squinted, an idea forming. After a second, he realized Zoë and Deena were both staring at him, suspicion in their eyes. He kept his mouth shut. They thought he was the bad guy, so maybe playing up that role would prove useful. “What?” Zoë asked. He shrugged, spreading his hands as much as his binder cuffs would allow. “Not a thing. I’m just sitting here watching you and Officer Boring there chase your tails.” He leaned back against the railing, hoping he looked smug. Zoë and Deena exchanged looks. “He’s bluffing,” Deena guessed. “Maybe,” Zoë said. She cast Jason another quick glance, then focused on her friend and changed the subject. “I don’t want to worry Lane, but we’ve got to tell her.” Deena nodded, her lips pressed tight together. “She’ll want to know. And she won’t want to just sit and wait to hear from the Council about finding Davy. That’s not her style.” “I know,” Zoë agreed. Annoyed, Jason conjured a fake snort, then concentrated on twitching the corner of his mouth. Zoë squinted at him. “You have something you want to share with the class?” He shrugged. “I just hope you can get in touch with her. She might have things to do today. People to see.” He gave a thin smile, knowing he was digging himself in deeper and deeper. But he didn’t care. If this plan worked, it would be worth it. “Or maybe there are other people who want to see her.” Zoë‘s eyes went wide with fear, and Jason felt a twinge of guilt for playing on her concern for the well-being of a friend. But he quashed the emotion. They had him in chains, and if this one little lie could help buy his freedom, he was more than happy to utter it. It worked: Zoë turned and called for Boreas. The neophyte Protector trotted back, as anxious and eager to please as a puppy. “Go with Deena and bring back Davy’s mom,” Zoë ordered. “And if you get even the slightest whiff of an Outcast hanging around her, beat him to a bloody pulp.” Boreas nodded, looking much too pleased with himself. Then he looped his arm around Deena’s waist and took off, the rich green of his Propulsion Cloak in stark contrast to the vivid blue of the sky. Jason watched, trying to maintain a bland expression, even though he wanted to laugh with relief. They were bringing Lane—the one person in all the world who would never, ever believe that Jason would hurt his own son. Even if she were mad at him for disappearing, she wouldn’t think him a monster. She’d convince Zoë, Zoë would release him, and Jason would go kick some paternal Outcast butt. That was the plan, anyway. He hoped to Hades it would all fall into place. * * * |
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