"Aphrodite's_Secret_009" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

Chapter Five

Kidnapped!
Lane’s chest tightened, the thought of Davy alone and helpless with someone as vile as Hieronymous bringing fresh tears to her eyes. Her body seemed to cave in on itself, and she struggled, needing air, needing to get down, needing to find her son.
“Calm down, ma’am,” Boreas whispered in her ear, even as his arm tightened around her waist. “We’re almost there.”
Lane nodded, trying to blink back the tears. She was Davy’s only parent, and damned if she was going to fall apart now. Deena reached over and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. Lane gratefully returned the gesture. She wanted to be strong and composed and in control but, considering the way her insides were quaking with fear, she wasn’t doing a very good job.
She looked down, then drew in a startled breath as she realized how fast Sea World was rising up to greet them. Only moments before, Boreas had linked his arm around her waist and taken off from Davy’s bedroom window. Now they and Deena were almost a hundred miles away in San Diego. And while that reality might be a tad weird, it was also encouraging. The simple fact was that her friends were superheroes—if anyone would be able to rescue her son it was Zoë and the Protectors of the Council.
Unfortunately, though, that didn’t calm her nerves. Her son was missing, and even if every single superhero, FBI agent, and police officer on the planet was looking for him, she wouldn’t feel better until Davy was back in her arms.
Damn Hieronymous! Deena seemed certain the Outcast leader was the kidnapper, though she hadn’t yet explained why. What on earth did that big bully want with her son?
She didn’t know and, at the moment, she didn’t care. She just wanted Davy back. That, and the opportunity to give Hieronymous a swift kick in the nuts.
But until she met Zoë‘s Uncle H face to face, she intended to dole out that particular punishment to the creep Deena said they’d caught. The one who’d taken Davy. The one who, hopefully, had hidden the boy somewhere nearby.
Officer Boreas twisted in the air, the motion jarring Lane from her thoughts. Her fingers were numb, and she realized it was a good thing Boreas was a Protector; otherwise his arm would be in pain from how tightly she’d been clinging to it.
Suddenly the ground was beneath Lane’s feet and she was standing. She gasped, her balance unsteady. They were in Shamu’s theater, and Deena’s arm was around her, steadying, as Boreas ran off to talk with a group of similarly dressed people.
“Zoë must have called in more backup,” Deena said.
“Where is Zoë?” Lane asked. “And where’s the bastard who took my son?”
“I don’t know,” Deena said. “She was right there.” Deena pointed to the far corner near a little building. Several Protectors were fluttering around there, looking busy, but no Zoë.
Then one of the Protectors moved aside, and there he was: the man who’d taken her son. His head was down, so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew he had to be the culprit. For one thing, he was flanked on either side by burly Protectors in bone-white, official-looking cloaks embroidered with gold. In addition, his wrists were bound by golden cuffs. All very prisoner cliché.
The rest of him, however, wasn’t from central casting. Not at all. Shirtless, the man’s broad chest glistened, beads of sweat reflecting the sunlight. A simple white towel was knotted at his waist, and his feet were bare. She couldn’t see his thighs, but his calves were well-formed, with long, lean muscles. His hair was dark, almost black, but other than that, she could see nothing of him from the neck up.
She’d seen enough. From an empirical standpoint, she could tell the man was magnificent. Lane felt a sudden surge of anger that someone so physically perfect could be so morally vile.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she approached, her blood practically boiling. The Protectors might not have been able to wrest from this creep the location of her son, but Lane was quite sure he wasn’t going to be able to withstand the interrogation of an irate mother.
“Where is my son?” she called out as she stomped forward. “What did you do with Da—”
She snapped her mouth shut, her voice suddenly blocked by her heart, which had leapt up into her throat the second the man lifted his head.
Jason.
The one man she’d ever truly loved, the only man she’d ever truly hated, was standing right in front of her, accused of stealing her child.



Hieronymous stepped from his private yacht onto the dock of his secret island in the South Pacific. Unlike some of his property, he’d managed to keep this island unregistered. And, despite his son Jason’s escape from this very island, Hieronymous believed the Council remained unaware of its existence.
He allowed himself a small, self-congratulatory smile. Thanks to yet another of his brilliant inventions, he’d hidden this place from prying eyes. It was unknown and uncharted, and he intended to keep it that way.
In fact, he usually arrived by Propulsion Cloak— the Council’s ridiculous rule prohibiting Outcasts from using any powers or equipment be damned— but on this trip his boat served the necessary purpose of transporting both his equipment and the irritating little Davy. He only hoped his device jamming the Council’s satellite had functioned properly. Now was certainly not the time to have his little secret discovered.
He’d been surprised but pleased that Mordichai had actually managed to pull off the stunt without any setbacks. He’d been leery of sending the boy on so important an assignment, but Mordi’s shape shifting abilities had proven beneficial.
The clatter of little feet sounded on wooden steps, then Davy emerged from the yacht and stopped short, his eyes once again widening with fear as he saw Hieronymous. Automatically, Hieronymous plastered on a smile, despite the hypocrisy of it. Why in Hades should he care if the child was afraid? Certainly the boy had much to fear—as much as Hieronymous had to gain.
Mordi stepped out from the cabin behind the kid, then guided Davy toward the ramp. The boy’s face relaxed, and Hieronymous marveled at his son’s ability to calm the tyke. It was not a skill he’d expected, and was certainly an added benefit. If the lad trusted Mordi, it would be that much easier to get Davy in place and prepped for Operation IQ.
As he watched Mordi and Davy move down the dock toward the entrance to the island complex, Hieronymous stifled the urge to rub his hands together. Operation IQ—which he fondly referred to as Project Dumb and Dumber—had been stuck in the planning stages for years. Despite his keen intellect and superior technological skills, Hieronymous had never been able to make the last piece fit. Not, that is, until he came at the problem from a different angle. He didn’t need to think harder. He needed to be smarter.
Which was where the halfling child fit in. Hieronymous had methodically scoured all halfling performance records. Young Davy, unregistered as he was, had been a challenge, but Hieronymous had spent hours in the last year watching and reviewing past reports from the boy’s mortal elementary school, even stooping to interview the boy’s mortal teachers. It had been an unseemly task, but one that had paid off. The boy was positively brilliant.
Of course, the boy’s genius was to be expected. After all, blood would tell.
As it turned out, the little prodigy’s brain power was the perfect complement to Hieronymous’s already existing intelligence. Now all he had to do was steal it. Just a few more days and he’d be in a position to do just that.
No wonder he was in such a good mood.



Lane couldn’t move. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t. And so she just stood there like an idiot, staring at Jason, unable to do anything but blink.
He looked much like she remembered: dark and tan and masculine, his silvery eyes burning just the way they had so many years before.
Back then, she’d thought that look was seductive. Now she knew better. Now she knew it was dangerous.
For years she’d imagined their reunion—as if that would be a good thing. She’d fantasized about how she’d be asleep, how he’d slide naked between her satin sheets. In her fantasies, she could always afford satin sheets.
He’d press close against her, peeling off her clothes and leaving a trail of kisses on her newly bared skin. He’d silence her questions with a finger over her lips and then, after they’d made love until dawn, he’d tell her the previous years had all been a bad dream. He’d been there all along, and they were already living happily ever after.
Never in her wildest fit of imagination had she imagined Jason in cuffs, restrained because he’d kidnapped her son. Their son.
Why?
She blinked, forcing herself to glance from Jason to Deena. “What’s going on? Tell me what’s going on or I swear I’ll scream.”
Jason took a step forward, but one of the burly Protectors surrounding him held him back. A flash of anger crossed his face, quickly replaced by pity. Pity? How dare he? Her anger erupted, and she rushed forward to pummel him with her fists.
“Lane!” Deena cried out, pulling her away. “Lane, stop it!”
She struggled against Deena’s arms, wrapped tight around her chest.
“You have to believe me,” Jason was saying, his voice low and earnest. He shook his arm free of the nearby Protector’s grip. “They’re wrong. I tried to save him. And now he’s gone, and we need to find him.”
The intensity of his voice cut to Lane’s core, and she relaxed despite herself. An invisible band tightened around her chest, one that had nothing to do with the vise grip in which Deena held her, and she struggled to breathe. Once upon a time, she and Jason had known each other so well she could practically read his thoughts. Now, she didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that her instinct was to believe him. And that instinct terrified her.
He couldn’t be trusted. She should know that better than anyone. And she hated herself for thinking, even for an instant, that she could trust him now, when Davy’s safety was at issue.
“I—”
“Don’t believe him,” Zoë interrupted as she rushed over from the far side of the enclosure. Lane closed her mouth, grateful not to have to finish voicing her thought. She wasn’t sure what she’d intended to say, and at the moment she didn’t trust herself. With relief, she stepped back, happy to let Zoë handle the situation.
“I saw him,” Zoë continued, taking a step toward Jason. Her hands clenched into fists. “He took Davy somewhere, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to find out where.”
One of the white-cloaked Protectors sidled up to Zoë and whipped off a neat little salute. She turned to face him. “Well?”
“The rest of the park is closed and the few patrons who remained after the storm have been evacuated,” he reported.
“How—” Deena began.
“The MLO handled it,” Zoë answered, then turned her attention back to the Protector.
“Our search is continuing,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “But there’s no sign yet of the boy. The Council is exploring every possible location where the boy could have been taken off-site, and everyone who might have reason to take him.”
Zoë nodded, then motioned for the Protectors flanking Jason to leave. The one in white left as well, and Zoë‘s expression hardened as she faced Jason once more.
“Dammit,” Jason said, speaking before she could open her mouth. “You’re not listening to me. That wasn’t me. I would never harm Davy,” he added, his face turning a deep shade of red under its tan. “Never.”
Lane rubbed her temples, completely confused and more than a little scared. With her free hand she grasped a handrail, grateful for the solid metal under her fingers. At the moment she needed everything solid she could get. Her world was tilting out of control. Her son was missing, her ex-boyfriend was being held by Protectors, and the stench of Hieronymous overlaid the whole scenario.
She squinted at Jason, not sure why he wasn’t more weirded out about being detained by superheroes. She’d deal with that later, though. Right now, she needed two things: her son and some answers.
As far as she could tell, everything possible was being done to locate Davy. She intended to do more; she intended to get the truth out of Jason.
She pulled herself up straight, and he turned to face her, his eyes unreadable. Yet even so, she couldn’t escape the impression that, despite so many years, those deep, unfathomable eyes still could see straight into her soul.
That feeling used to make her feel loved and special. Now it just unsettled her, and she grappled for a firmer grip on her handhold.
“Lane?” Zoë asked, concern evident in her voice.
Lane mopped her forehead with the back of her hand, realizing she’d broken out in a cold sweat. Despite starting out well, today had descended into a total nightmare. Her first instinct might be to believe Jason, but she’d trusted him once before and been burned. Now Zoë was here, saying he’d tried to take her son away.
Lane clutched the rail, a terrifying possibility hitting her. What if Zoë was wrong and Hieronymous wasn’t involved at all? What if Zoë had only assumed that? What if Jason was here because he wanted complete custody of his son?
Never.
She’d fight him to the ends of the earth. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he think he could hide the boy somewhere and she’d ultimately give up? Fat chance. He’d blown his opportunity to be a daddy, and if he didn’t like it, that was just too damn bad.
Spurred on by a renewed burst of adrenaline, she marched forward and poked Jason’s bare chest. “You aren’t taking my son,” she said. “Not in a million years.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m trying to protect him.”
Zoë got right in his face. “Then why did you grab Davy and get the hell out of Dodge?”
Jason tried to throw up his hands, and twisted around to face Zoë. “Dammit, we’re talking in circles, and we’re wasting time. We need—”
“You cowardly son of a bitch,” Lane said, her patience snapping.
“Cowardly?” Deena said.
“Heck, yeah,” Lane said. Jason turned back toward her, and she poked him again. “After almost seven years, a judge would never award him custody of Davy if he went about it the legal way. But if he kidnapped Davy...” She trailed off, tears streaming down her face, too angry to voice the full thought. She poked him again for good measure.
His hand closed over her finger, and she tilted her head back to look at him, surprised by the fury she saw burning in his eyes. He said, “I’ll say it just one more time, and then I’m not saying it again. I didn’t take Davy. Hieronymous or one of his agents took him. I was trying to save him.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Deena said, holding up a hand. Everyone turned to her, but she looked only at Lane, her expression serious. “What do you mean, a judge?”
“A custody suit.” Lane aimed her glare back at Jason. “And believe me, after disappearing for so long, no judge would ever give you custody.”
Deena and Zoë exchanged glances.
“This is Davy’s father?” Zoë finally asked.
Lane nodded, then squinted at the pair’s odd expressions. “What?”
“It’s just that—” Deena began.
“We didn’t know that—” Zoë started.
“What?” Lane asked. Her nerves were frayed enough; she didn’t need her friends going loony on her.
“We’re just surprised that you never told us,” Zoë finally said. “That’s all.”
“He skipped out, remember? Kind of hard to introduce you if he’s not around. And you’ve known forever that Davy’s father”—she paused to shoot a scathing look Jason’s way—“left about three seconds after he learned I was pregnant.”
“Well, yeah,” Zoë acknowledged. “That we knew.” She looked at Deena again, and Lane twirled her hand, silently urging her to get on with it. “It’s just...” Zoë twisted her hands together, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s just that after everything we’ve been through together, I’m surprised you didn’t tell me the truth.”
Lane opened her mouth, poised to ask Zoë exactly what truth she was talking about. But her friend continued, her words making Lane close her mouth tight. “I’m just surprised you never told us that Davy’s dad was a Protector.”



All things considered, Lane thought she was taking the news pretty well. True, she’d collapsed to her knees, but it was a controlled collapse, which, hopefully, gave the illusion that she hadn’t been blown completely away by the realization that the father of her child was a Protector.
Under the circumstances, of course, she probably should have figured it out on her own. After all, Hieronymous was hardly the type to be in cahoots with a mortal. But Lane wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, so she forgave herself for not being at the top of her game.
A Protector. She shivered, remembering an event from long ago, the old man’s words when she’d purchased the stone from Aphrodite’s girdle. The man had said it was tied into her destiny. She’d assumed he was a nut case. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Had she somehow been destined to have her life filled with superheroes? Certainly she’d lived the last few years on the fringes of Council activity. Heck, watching her friends fight the bad guys was what had prompted her to go to law school: she’d wanted to do her part in putting away the bad guys, too, even if her part was tiny and the bad guys were mortal.
Now, to find out about Jason, which meant that Davy—
She blinked, her thoughts finally gelling. “Davy’s a halfling?” she asked.
Jason nodded, taking a step forward. His gaze locked on hers. “I need to talk to you about that. You see—”
“You son of a bitch.”
He took a step back.
“We dated for over a year. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
“It’s a secret identity, Lane. The whole point of a secret is that it’s ... well, a secret.”
“That’s a lousy excuse and you know it.”
“Would it help if I told you that I’d planned to tell you? In fact, I wanted to tell you the day you found out you were pregnant.”
She raised an eyebrow, not the least bit willing to concede any ground. “Oh, there’s a convenient story.”
“He probably didn’t tell you because he’s working with Hieronymous,” Deena said, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jason rounded on her with such vehemence that Lane held her breath, her hand pressed over her mouth. “I am not, and never have been, in alliance with that bastard. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never, ever say that again.”
Deena stepped back, her eyes wide, and Zoë took a protective stance in front of her. Lane moved forward and clutched Jason’s arm, her fingers tightening against his muscles, as if he still belonged to her. As if she still had some influence on what he said or did.
“Calm down,” she said, her body reacting in warm, familiar ways to his touch. She swallowed, knowing she should back away. She needed to get some space between her and this man—even when she was royally pissed off, she was still drawn to him. And his power over her, especially after so much time, terrified her. “Deena didn’t mean anything by it,” she added.
“The hell I didn’t,” Deena said, her hands on Zoë‘s shoulders. She peered at Jason from around the other woman’s head. “I know what I saw.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reiterate his innocence.
Lane backed off, held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, time out. We need to find Davy. Everything else we can sort out later.” Even as she spoke, she felt removed from herself; detached from the part that wanted to curl up in a ball and just whimper until her son returned.
Zoë swung an arm around her shoulder. “Do you want to go sit down? We’re doing everything we can, and—”
“No.” Lane shrugged out of her friend’s embrace. “I can’t hang out on the sidelines. I need to know what’s going on. I need to help look for Davy. I need answers, and you guys are going to give them to me.”
“But—”
Lane held up a hand. “No buts. My kid. My rules.” She pointed to Zoë. “Tell me what happened here today.”
And Zoë did. Told all about how Jason or some Henchman—she wasn’t positive, since she hadn’t seen him—got her and Deena from behind and locked them up. And then how, when they escaped, they found that Jason had trapped Davy. They’d tried to get the child free, and almost had with the help of Shamu and some heroic dolphin, but in the end Hieronymous had won and Jason and Davy had soared off into the sky. Since she’d found Jason only moments later, Zoë had assumed the cyclone had been a diversion, and he’d stashed the boy close by.
“But I may be wrong about that,” she admitted.
Jason snorted. “About that and everything else.”
Zoë ignored him. “I have the Council searching for every possible location for Hieronymous.” She took Lane’s hand and squeezed it. Lane squeezed back, grateful for the support. “We’ll find him. No matter what, I promise you that.”
Lane nodded, then sucked in a breath for courage, turning to face Jason. “That’s Zoë‘s side. What’s yours?”
“A shape shifter,” he said simply. “A shape shifter who took my form and took our son.” His mouth twisted into something resembling a grin. “And as for the heroic dolphin, I appreciate the praise.”
“You?” Zoë said. “Puh-lease.”
Lane frowned. Davy’s father was a dolphin?
He nodded. “My powers are piscatorial and cetacean related.”
“Huh?” Deena said, voicing Lane’s question.
“I can talk to fish. I can live underwater. And, as I already said, I can take a dolphin’s form.”
Deena crossed her arms. “Prove it.”
He nudged with his chin the rope draped over his shoulder. “Happy to. Untie me.”
Lane and Deena both turned to Zoë, who gnawed on her lower lip. After a second, she looked up. “The lariat dulls his power. If he’s going to prove it, I have to release him. But I can’t do that.”
“Why on earth not?” Lane asked.
“He might escape, and then we’d never find Davy,” Zoë explained. She gnawed on her lip again, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, but I have to follow protocol on this one. Don’t ask me why; I just do. I’ve got to do this by the book, and Protector protocol mandates that the cuffs stay on.”
“Hopping Hades,” Jason snapped. “Can you drop the bureaucratic bullshit? Following the Council’s rules isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Zoë licked her lips. “Yes, I remember the profile they did on you after you escaped from Hieronymous.” Lane noticed the way she stressed the word escaped, as if she were being sarcastic. “You’ve never been big on following the rules or sticking with procedure, have you?”
“Not when the rules are wasting valuable time.”
Zoë just stared at him, holding Jason’s eyes until he finally spoke again, his eyes as cold as ice. “Dammit, what do I have to do to convince you? Hieronymous has my son. He has your nephew. Set me free so I can help find him. The Council’s Keystone Kops aren’t making any progress.”
He gestured across the enclosure, and Lane glanced that way, immediately noticing Boreas talking with another Protector. Neither looked particularly encouraging. Lane swallowed, a tear escaping as she thought of her baby with that monster and no one able to find him.
Hieronymous. She’d first learned of Protectors and the Council when the big-shot Outcast lord had sent one of his flunkies to steal a stone she’d bought— that turned out to be an heirloom of Aphrodite. Not that Lane had known it was special; she just thought it was cool. In retrospect, the event hadn’t turned out so bad; she’d survived the encounter relatively unscathed, and she’d met Zoë. But it had also been a little like losing her virginity—after that, she was one of the few mortals who knew.
Which meant she knew just how bad Hieronymous really was. Pretty damn bad. If Hieronymous had Davy—
“Why?” she asked, interrupting her own thoughts. “Why would Hieronymous want my kid?” She turned to Jason, her hands on her hips. “Well?”
He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
Zoë shifted on her feet, the looks she and Deena were trading making it absolutely clear that neither woman believed him. Lane wanted to; it had been hard enough believing that he’d left. Finding out now that not only had Jason ditched her and Davy but that he was a Protector and working for Hieronymous ... She shivered. Definitely not something she wanted to hear.
Yet she trusted Zoë and Deena. They’d all been through a lot together and, even more, Zoë was pretty clued in to the whole evil-Hieronymous thing. If she said that Jason had joined ranks with the H-man, Lane should probably listen.
She licked her lips, unsure. “I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze darting between Jason and Zoë. “I just don’t know who to bel—”
Jason reached out, silencing her with his touch. And then, with his eyes never leaving hers, he cupped her chin between his hands. The gesture was demanding yet gentle. “Lane, this is me. Me. Yes, I left. But I swear to you I didn’t mean to stay away.”
She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, continuing.
“Even if you don’t believe that,” he said. “Even if you think I stayed away on purpose for all this time ... Even if you believe all of that, do you honestly believe I could ever—ever—hurt my own child?”
“I...” Tears pooled in her eyes as Lane closed her mouth, unable to form words. She wanted to hurt him. To punish him for leaving her. To torment him for making her little boy grow up without his father. But she couldn’t lie. No matter what, she couldn’t do that.
“No,” she finally said, her voice strong. She twisted to face Zoë and Deena. “Jason may be a lot of things, but he could never hurt his own son. I’m certain.”
They weren’t that much was evident in their expressions. But to Zoë‘s credit, she put one hand on Deena’s shoulder and then moved back two steps, taking Deena with her, to give Jason and Lane the illusion of a private conversation.
Lane tilted her head so she could look Jason dead-on, knowing her eyes were filled with fear. “I still don’t know why. Why does Hieronymous want my little boy?”
He shook his head, then reached out for her.
Without thinking, she curled up against him. His skin burned against her, but she sought comfort in his familiar scent, that enveloping warmth. With one smooth motion, he lifted his arms over her head, then caught her in the circle, the binder cuff firm against her back.
“I don’t know exactly, Lane,” he whispered. “But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay. That much, I promise.”
She nodded, her face still pressed against his chest. It had been a confusing afternoon, and she still hadn’t gotten anything straight in her mind. But she knew one thing for certain: Jason had promised to find her son. Their son. And she believed him. So help her, she believed him.



After seven years, Jason was unprepared for the ache in his heart and the burning of his blood when he held Lane again. Hell, he’d been watching her and Davy from a distance for a year, utilizing the Council monitors while he’d been stuck in the Olympus debriefing facility. But video surveillance was nothing compared to holding this woman in his arms, feeling the soft press of her breasts against his chest, feeling the rhythm of her beating heart.
From a camera, he couldn’t detect the hint of vanilla she’d dabbed on herself. Couldn’t see the way the sunlight caught her plain brown hair, turning it into a fabulous crown. And he certainly couldn’t see her eyes, at first cold, slate-gray, and angry, but now warm and wounded—though those two emotions he’d put there, and neither one was good.
After a moment she pushed away, leaning against his chest, then looked up at him with raw, red eyes.
“You left,” she said simply, her pain evident. His gut twisted, and he realized he wanted her angry again. Anger, he could fight. But the hurt... Well, he’d caused that. And seeing it in her eyes only reminded him of his guilt.
“You left me,” she repeated “You left Davy.”
He shook his head. “I was trapped, imprisoned. By him. I didn’t mean to stay away.”
A flash of shock crossed her face. “By Hieronymous? All that time? Jason, that’s horrible.”
Hope built in his chest. “I went after him. I thought I could defeat him. I needed to do that.” He exhaled, his body sagging with the memory. “But I failed, and he trapped me. He kept me away from you.”
Jason closed his eyes, fighting the fury that inevitably came with the memory. “Around and around,” he said. “In a glass bowl. Nothing to see, nothing to do. And so very far away from you. From Davy.”
A hint of pain appeared in Lane’s eyes. “Oh, God, Jason. That must have been horrible.”
He flashed a wry smile. “Believe me,” he said. “Captivity’s bad reputation is well-deserved. I would have given anything to get out of there and back to you.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He wouldn’t give himself to Hieronymous’s evil.
Lane’s eyes were warm, but she shook her head. His stomach twisted as hope evaporated. “I’m sorry, Jason. Truly, I am. But the truth is, Hieronymous kept you away, but he didn’t make you leave. You did that.”
He could only nod. What she said was true.
She looked him in the eye, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “I needed you, but you left. You walked away when I needed you more than anything. You didn’t even wait until morning. You didn’t hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. You just went away, and you didn’t even tell me why!”
“I know.” He inhaled, trying to draw in courage. “But I want to make it up to you.”
She flinched, recoiling from his words. Her brow furrowed, and she stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “How?”
A simple question, but it hung heavy in the air between them.
He wanted to shout the answer—by rescuing Davy— but he knew that wasn’t enough. He’d rescue the boy; of that much, he was certain. But he wasn’t naive enough to think that returning their son to Lane would mend what he’d broken so many years ago.
“I don’t know exactly,” he finally said. It was an honest answer, and the only one he could come up with. Before, he’d entertained the fantasy of seamlessly stepping back into her life. Now, he was living the harsh reality.
She licked her lips, her face contorting as if she’d just tasted his words and found them bitter. “You can’t,” she said. “It’s done. Over. I’ve moved on with my life, and we can’t go back. Not unless you can turn back time.” For a brief moment, hope entered her eyes, and he saw just how much weight she gave Protector powers.
“Er, I don’t think anyone can. Well, Zephron, maybe, but—”
“Not you.”
“Not me.”
“Oh.” She nibbled on her thumb, then lifted her head to look him straight in the eye. “So you can’t make it up to me, and we can’t go back. But you are going to rescue my son.”
“Our son,” he corrected.
“He’s all I have,” Lane said, tears spilling out of her eyes. “You can’t let anything happen to him.”
Despite the cuffs binding his wrists, he twisted and managed to grasp her hands, squeezing until she squeezed back. “I know,” he said. And he did. Once upon a time, she’d had him, too. But no more. Now it was just Lane and Davy. And if Jason wanted back into their family, he was going to have to work his tail off. He was going to have to rescue Davy—and he was going to have to do a whole hell of a lot more, too.



The cold steel elevator descended. And descended. And then descended some more.
Mordi’s head began to pound from breathing the car’s stale air. And from guilt. He closed his eyes, remembering the look of betrayal on Davy’s face when he’d been forced onto the elevator with Clyde. Those two had descended first, and by now Davy was surely tucked tight into one of his father’s notorious “guest rooms.”
Mordi himself had shifted back into his own self, happy to shed Jason’s image. Now he was following Clyde and Davy down, right into the belly of the beast. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other, and tried not to think about the danger he was again in. One little accident of birth and he was stuck with an Outcast for a father who wouldn’t know affection if it walked up and punched him in the mouth.
The elevator slid smoothly to a stop, its doors opening to reveal a cavernous, steel-reinforced room. “Wow,” Mordi said, stepping out. His voice echoed through the near-empty chamber: WOW. . . Wow . . . wow . . . wo ... w . . .
“I’m glad you approve,” Hieronymous said. The man brushed past, his cloak managing to flutter despite the still air. Or was it still?
Mordi sniffed, for the first time noticing his surrounding no longer smelled stale. He glanced around, his curiosity increasing as his headache faded.
The room was the size of a large warehouse, essentially empty except for a large table, a metal grid hanging from the ceiling, a clear pool of water in the floor with three arteries snaking off beneath the stone walls, and a large blob covered with a piece of black silk. Mordi stifled the urge to peek under the material. “So, where exactly are we?” he asked instead.
“Under the volcano,” Hieronymous said. “Don’t worry; it’s dormant, I assure you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “At least, it is now.”
Mordi frowned, not sure what his father meant. “Now?”
“Now that your father’s stolen its oomph,” Clyde said, stepping into the cavern from one of the many adjoining hallways. Mordi made a mental note of which one. Presumably, Davy was down it somewhere.
Clyde shoved past, heading for the steel table that stood in the center of the room. Mordi ignored him. Clyde didn’t like Mordi, and the feeling was quite mutual.
At the moment, Clyde was a fugitive, wanted by the Council for questioning in connection with a charge of Power Exploitation. Under other circumstances, Mordi would happily have turned him in. For this assignment, however, he would be forced to put up with the buffoon’s presence. He was on probation with the Council, jumping through all the necessary hoops to prove he was a good guy, loyal to the tenets of the Venerate Council, eager to protect mortals from all forms of evil, including his father.
He knew that he was paying the price for his past foolish decisions, but it still irritated him that the Council didn’t trust him. And so he was being forced to prove his loyalty. Hieronymous had managed to avoid capture in the past by delegating his dirty-work. The Outcast was at the center of so many nefarious plots, and yet he often walked away without a blemish. The Council knew what he was up to; proving it was a different matter.
Mordi was supposed to find the proof. Find it and—if necessary—step in and thwart his father’s schemes.
A daunting task. And one that, by necessity, put him in close proximity to Outcasts like Clyde who were not, in Mordi’s opinion, at the top of the food chain. He didn’t enjoy the duty.
He turned, trying to discern more about his father’s scheme. “You harnessed the volcano’s energy? How? Why?”
Hieronymous seated himself at the table, pushed an inset button, and a bank of monitors slid gracefully from the ceiling, already tuned in to world financial programs. “ ‘How’ requires far too technical an answer for you to understand,” he said.
Mordi scowled but didn’t argue. He’d just been insulted, yes; but he could hardly get bent out of shape about the truth.
“As for why,” Hieronymous continued, “my latest invention requires more power than simply plugging in to ConEd. This volcano suffices. Also, so long as I am siphoning off its energy, the risk of an eruption is significantly reduced.”
“An eruption?” Mordi gulped, then glanced around for a neon sign designating an emergency exit. Of course there wasn’t one.
“A minimal risk,” his father assured with a quick wave of his hand. “And well worth it for the outcome.”
“Which is ... ?” Mordi prompted.
His father’s eyes burned with black fire. “Why— me, of course,” he said. “Becoming even more brilliant than I am now.”
Mordi blinked, unsettled by the implications. “Uh, I don’t suppose you’d care to elucidate?”
Hieronymous’s laugh echoed through the chamber. “Difficult to comprehend, I know. How could I possibly be more intelligent than I already am? But it’s possible. Astounding, but true.” The animation in his face made him look almost gleeful. The expression didn’t quite suit.
“I’ll try to explain,” Hieronymous continued. “Hopefully you can follow, and visual aides won’t be necessary.”
Mordi bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself to keep his mouth shut.
“As you of all people know, halflings present certain unique traits,” the Outcast leader said. “Most are disagreeable, but some are potentially useful—as in the case of our young friend.”
Mordi shifted, stifling the urge to tell his father to quit blowing smoke and get on with the story.
“As a halfling, Davy’s brain waves will alter at midnight on his seventh birthday, just a few short days away. I intend to tap into the boy’s conscious at precisely that moment, allowing me to drain his Protector-enhanced intellect right from his head.”
His father must have seen the grimace that crossed Mordi’s face, because he nodded. “Yes, it is a rather nasty business when one thinks about it closely.” A thin smile graced his lips. “I, of course, never do.”
Hieronymous stood up and strode across the room, his gait full of purpose, as always. “Instead, I focus on my goal. With this plan, I shall become the most brilliant person—Protector or mortal—on the planet. And with my enhanced intellectual ability, I will finally be able to invent a method of, once and for all, reducing all mortals to slaves and disbanding that silly Council.” He turned. “At the moment, I’m partial to a particle beam, but once my already superior intellect joins forces with Davy’s untapped potential, I will undoubtedly come up with an even more clever approach.”
Mordi swallowed. Whatever method Hieronymous devised, the end result would be the same: The mortals would be enslaved, the Outcasts would rise up against the Council, and Hieronymous would proclaim himself the leader of all—and who would dare challenge him?
“All it took was finding the right child,” Hieronymous admitted. “A halfling with an intellect right to complement mine.”
Mordi took a deep breath and counted to ten before answering. “And Davy is that child?”
“He is. The boy’s a regular little Einstein, and his family doesn’t even realize it yet. His particular Protector skill is tied to his intellect, much like mine. As his skills develop, so will his inventiveness. Or, rather, those skills would develop were I not about to usurp them. Once I have tapped the boy’s potential, he will be merely average. His mother needn’t worry, though. I’m sure he’ll still do okay on his SATs—though I certainly can’t guarantee a Harvard education.”
“If the Council catches you ...” Mordi trailed off, his voice little more than a whisper, his stomach in knots. As much as he wanted to prove himself, there was still a tug, drawing him close to his father even when he wanted to run far, far away.
No matter how many times he told himself that Hieronymous deserved it, the thought of his father suffering the Council’s direst punishments sent a shiver down his spine. Permanent interment in the catacombs. An eternity of darkness and solitude. And there were other unspoken punishments rumored to be ... well, unspeakable.
How could he wish that on his father? And yet, considering who his father was and what he’d done, how could he not?
If Hieronymous succeeded, Mordi would have to betray him. To do otherwise would be a betrayal of the Council.
“Don’t you love the serendipity of it?” his father asked, fingers twitching. “How appropriate that it should be his son who will bring me my ultimate glory.”
The man paused, turning to glance at the monitors, his mouth drooping into a frown as he read the stock ticker running along the bottom of the center screen. After a moment, he spoke again, his words surprising Mordi. “I was pleased with your efforts today. My son.”
“I... Thank you.”
Hieronymous nodded. “I trust you will continue?”
“Sir?”
“You will not disappoint me as we conclude this venture—will you, Mordichai?”
Mordi shook his head, his chin lifted ever so slightly. “No, sir,” he said, pleased that his voice didn’t quaver with the lie. The truth was that he would disappoint Hieronymous. If he did his job right, that outcome was inevitable.
Closing his eyes, Mordi stifled a sigh. He shouldn’t care anymore. He knew that. But he did. Damn it all to Hades. Even after everything he’d been through, after all the lip he took from his father, he still didn’t want to disappoint the man.
Pathetic.
And dangerous. In Mordi’s line of work, a single moment of indecision could get a Protector in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Chapter Five

Kidnapped!
Lane’s chest tightened, the thought of Davy alone and helpless with someone as vile as Hieronymous bringing fresh tears to her eyes. Her body seemed to cave in on itself, and she struggled, needing air, needing to get down, needing to find her son.
“Calm down, ma’am,” Boreas whispered in her ear, even as his arm tightened around her waist. “We’re almost there.”
Lane nodded, trying to blink back the tears. She was Davy’s only parent, and damned if she was going to fall apart now. Deena reached over and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. Lane gratefully returned the gesture. She wanted to be strong and composed and in control but, considering the way her insides were quaking with fear, she wasn’t doing a very good job.
She looked down, then drew in a startled breath as she realized how fast Sea World was rising up to greet them. Only moments before, Boreas had linked his arm around her waist and taken off from Davy’s bedroom window. Now they and Deena were almost a hundred miles away in San Diego. And while that reality might be a tad weird, it was also encouraging. The simple fact was that her friends were superheroes—if anyone would be able to rescue her son it was Zoë and the Protectors of the Council.
Unfortunately, though, that didn’t calm her nerves. Her son was missing, and even if every single superhero, FBI agent, and police officer on the planet was looking for him, she wouldn’t feel better until Davy was back in her arms.
Damn Hieronymous! Deena seemed certain the Outcast leader was the kidnapper, though she hadn’t yet explained why. What on earth did that big bully want with her son?
She didn’t know and, at the moment, she didn’t care. She just wanted Davy back. That, and the opportunity to give Hieronymous a swift kick in the nuts.
But until she met Zoë‘s Uncle H face to face, she intended to dole out that particular punishment to the creep Deena said they’d caught. The one who’d taken Davy. The one who, hopefully, had hidden the boy somewhere nearby.
Officer Boreas twisted in the air, the motion jarring Lane from her thoughts. Her fingers were numb, and she realized it was a good thing Boreas was a Protector; otherwise his arm would be in pain from how tightly she’d been clinging to it.
Suddenly the ground was beneath Lane’s feet and she was standing. She gasped, her balance unsteady. They were in Shamu’s theater, and Deena’s arm was around her, steadying, as Boreas ran off to talk with a group of similarly dressed people.
“Zoë must have called in more backup,” Deena said.
“Where is Zoë?” Lane asked. “And where’s the bastard who took my son?”
“I don’t know,” Deena said. “She was right there.” Deena pointed to the far corner near a little building. Several Protectors were fluttering around there, looking busy, but no Zoë.
Then one of the Protectors moved aside, and there he was: the man who’d taken her son. His head was down, so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew he had to be the culprit. For one thing, he was flanked on either side by burly Protectors in bone-white, official-looking cloaks embroidered with gold. In addition, his wrists were bound by golden cuffs. All very prisoner cliché.
The rest of him, however, wasn’t from central casting. Not at all. Shirtless, the man’s broad chest glistened, beads of sweat reflecting the sunlight. A simple white towel was knotted at his waist, and his feet were bare. She couldn’t see his thighs, but his calves were well-formed, with long, lean muscles. His hair was dark, almost black, but other than that, she could see nothing of him from the neck up.
She’d seen enough. From an empirical standpoint, she could tell the man was magnificent. Lane felt a sudden surge of anger that someone so physically perfect could be so morally vile.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she approached, her blood practically boiling. The Protectors might not have been able to wrest from this creep the location of her son, but Lane was quite sure he wasn’t going to be able to withstand the interrogation of an irate mother.
“Where is my son?” she called out as she stomped forward. “What did you do with Da—”
She snapped her mouth shut, her voice suddenly blocked by her heart, which had leapt up into her throat the second the man lifted his head.
Jason.
The one man she’d ever truly loved, the only man she’d ever truly hated, was standing right in front of her, accused of stealing her child.



Hieronymous stepped from his private yacht onto the dock of his secret island in the South Pacific. Unlike some of his property, he’d managed to keep this island unregistered. And, despite his son Jason’s escape from this very island, Hieronymous believed the Council remained unaware of its existence.
He allowed himself a small, self-congratulatory smile. Thanks to yet another of his brilliant inventions, he’d hidden this place from prying eyes. It was unknown and uncharted, and he intended to keep it that way.
In fact, he usually arrived by Propulsion Cloak— the Council’s ridiculous rule prohibiting Outcasts from using any powers or equipment be damned— but on this trip his boat served the necessary purpose of transporting both his equipment and the irritating little Davy. He only hoped his device jamming the Council’s satellite had functioned properly. Now was certainly not the time to have his little secret discovered.
He’d been surprised but pleased that Mordichai had actually managed to pull off the stunt without any setbacks. He’d been leery of sending the boy on so important an assignment, but Mordi’s shape shifting abilities had proven beneficial.
The clatter of little feet sounded on wooden steps, then Davy emerged from the yacht and stopped short, his eyes once again widening with fear as he saw Hieronymous. Automatically, Hieronymous plastered on a smile, despite the hypocrisy of it. Why in Hades should he care if the child was afraid? Certainly the boy had much to fear—as much as Hieronymous had to gain.
Mordi stepped out from the cabin behind the kid, then guided Davy toward the ramp. The boy’s face relaxed, and Hieronymous marveled at his son’s ability to calm the tyke. It was not a skill he’d expected, and was certainly an added benefit. If the lad trusted Mordi, it would be that much easier to get Davy in place and prepped for Operation IQ.
As he watched Mordi and Davy move down the dock toward the entrance to the island complex, Hieronymous stifled the urge to rub his hands together. Operation IQ—which he fondly referred to as Project Dumb and Dumber—had been stuck in the planning stages for years. Despite his keen intellect and superior technological skills, Hieronymous had never been able to make the last piece fit. Not, that is, until he came at the problem from a different angle. He didn’t need to think harder. He needed to be smarter.
Which was where the halfling child fit in. Hieronymous had methodically scoured all halfling performance records. Young Davy, unregistered as he was, had been a challenge, but Hieronymous had spent hours in the last year watching and reviewing past reports from the boy’s mortal elementary school, even stooping to interview the boy’s mortal teachers. It had been an unseemly task, but one that had paid off. The boy was positively brilliant.
Of course, the boy’s genius was to be expected. After all, blood would tell.
As it turned out, the little prodigy’s brain power was the perfect complement to Hieronymous’s already existing intelligence. Now all he had to do was steal it. Just a few more days and he’d be in a position to do just that.
No wonder he was in such a good mood.



Lane couldn’t move. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t. And so she just stood there like an idiot, staring at Jason, unable to do anything but blink.
He looked much like she remembered: dark and tan and masculine, his silvery eyes burning just the way they had so many years before.
Back then, she’d thought that look was seductive. Now she knew better. Now she knew it was dangerous.
For years she’d imagined their reunion—as if that would be a good thing. She’d fantasized about how she’d be asleep, how he’d slide naked between her satin sheets. In her fantasies, she could always afford satin sheets.
He’d press close against her, peeling off her clothes and leaving a trail of kisses on her newly bared skin. He’d silence her questions with a finger over her lips and then, after they’d made love until dawn, he’d tell her the previous years had all been a bad dream. He’d been there all along, and they were already living happily ever after.
Never in her wildest fit of imagination had she imagined Jason in cuffs, restrained because he’d kidnapped her son. Their son.
Why?
She blinked, forcing herself to glance from Jason to Deena. “What’s going on? Tell me what’s going on or I swear I’ll scream.”
Jason took a step forward, but one of the burly Protectors surrounding him held him back. A flash of anger crossed his face, quickly replaced by pity. Pity? How dare he? Her anger erupted, and she rushed forward to pummel him with her fists.
“Lane!” Deena cried out, pulling her away. “Lane, stop it!”
She struggled against Deena’s arms, wrapped tight around her chest.
“You have to believe me,” Jason was saying, his voice low and earnest. He shook his arm free of the nearby Protector’s grip. “They’re wrong. I tried to save him. And now he’s gone, and we need to find him.”
The intensity of his voice cut to Lane’s core, and she relaxed despite herself. An invisible band tightened around her chest, one that had nothing to do with the vise grip in which Deena held her, and she struggled to breathe. Once upon a time, she and Jason had known each other so well she could practically read his thoughts. Now, she didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that her instinct was to believe him. And that instinct terrified her.
He couldn’t be trusted. She should know that better than anyone. And she hated herself for thinking, even for an instant, that she could trust him now, when Davy’s safety was at issue.
“I—”
“Don’t believe him,” Zoë interrupted as she rushed over from the far side of the enclosure. Lane closed her mouth, grateful not to have to finish voicing her thought. She wasn’t sure what she’d intended to say, and at the moment she didn’t trust herself. With relief, she stepped back, happy to let Zoë handle the situation.
“I saw him,” Zoë continued, taking a step toward Jason. Her hands clenched into fists. “He took Davy somewhere, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to find out where.”
One of the white-cloaked Protectors sidled up to Zoë and whipped off a neat little salute. She turned to face him. “Well?”
“The rest of the park is closed and the few patrons who remained after the storm have been evacuated,” he reported.
“How—” Deena began.
“The MLO handled it,” Zoë answered, then turned her attention back to the Protector.
“Our search is continuing,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “But there’s no sign yet of the boy. The Council is exploring every possible location where the boy could have been taken off-site, and everyone who might have reason to take him.”
Zoë nodded, then motioned for the Protectors flanking Jason to leave. The one in white left as well, and Zoë‘s expression hardened as she faced Jason once more.
“Dammit,” Jason said, speaking before she could open her mouth. “You’re not listening to me. That wasn’t me. I would never harm Davy,” he added, his face turning a deep shade of red under its tan. “Never.”
Lane rubbed her temples, completely confused and more than a little scared. With her free hand she grasped a handrail, grateful for the solid metal under her fingers. At the moment she needed everything solid she could get. Her world was tilting out of control. Her son was missing, her ex-boyfriend was being held by Protectors, and the stench of Hieronymous overlaid the whole scenario.
She squinted at Jason, not sure why he wasn’t more weirded out about being detained by superheroes. She’d deal with that later, though. Right now, she needed two things: her son and some answers.
As far as she could tell, everything possible was being done to locate Davy. She intended to do more; she intended to get the truth out of Jason.
She pulled herself up straight, and he turned to face her, his eyes unreadable. Yet even so, she couldn’t escape the impression that, despite so many years, those deep, unfathomable eyes still could see straight into her soul.
That feeling used to make her feel loved and special. Now it just unsettled her, and she grappled for a firmer grip on her handhold.
“Lane?” Zoë asked, concern evident in her voice.
Lane mopped her forehead with the back of her hand, realizing she’d broken out in a cold sweat. Despite starting out well, today had descended into a total nightmare. Her first instinct might be to believe Jason, but she’d trusted him once before and been burned. Now Zoë was here, saying he’d tried to take her son away.
Lane clutched the rail, a terrifying possibility hitting her. What if Zoë was wrong and Hieronymous wasn’t involved at all? What if Zoë had only assumed that? What if Jason was here because he wanted complete custody of his son?
Never.
She’d fight him to the ends of the earth. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he think he could hide the boy somewhere and she’d ultimately give up? Fat chance. He’d blown his opportunity to be a daddy, and if he didn’t like it, that was just too damn bad.
Spurred on by a renewed burst of adrenaline, she marched forward and poked Jason’s bare chest. “You aren’t taking my son,” she said. “Not in a million years.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m trying to protect him.”
Zoë got right in his face. “Then why did you grab Davy and get the hell out of Dodge?”
Jason tried to throw up his hands, and twisted around to face Zoë. “Dammit, we’re talking in circles, and we’re wasting time. We need—”
“You cowardly son of a bitch,” Lane said, her patience snapping.
“Cowardly?” Deena said.
“Heck, yeah,” Lane said. Jason turned back toward her, and she poked him again. “After almost seven years, a judge would never award him custody of Davy if he went about it the legal way. But if he kidnapped Davy...” She trailed off, tears streaming down her face, too angry to voice the full thought. She poked him again for good measure.
His hand closed over her finger, and she tilted her head back to look at him, surprised by the fury she saw burning in his eyes. He said, “I’ll say it just one more time, and then I’m not saying it again. I didn’t take Davy. Hieronymous or one of his agents took him. I was trying to save him.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Deena said, holding up a hand. Everyone turned to her, but she looked only at Lane, her expression serious. “What do you mean, a judge?”
“A custody suit.” Lane aimed her glare back at Jason. “And believe me, after disappearing for so long, no judge would ever give you custody.”
Deena and Zoë exchanged glances.
“This is Davy’s father?” Zoë finally asked.
Lane nodded, then squinted at the pair’s odd expressions. “What?”
“It’s just that—” Deena began.
“We didn’t know that—” Zoë started.
“What?” Lane asked. Her nerves were frayed enough; she didn’t need her friends going loony on her.
“We’re just surprised that you never told us,” Zoë finally said. “That’s all.”
“He skipped out, remember? Kind of hard to introduce you if he’s not around. And you’ve known forever that Davy’s father”—she paused to shoot a scathing look Jason’s way—“left about three seconds after he learned I was pregnant.”
“Well, yeah,” Zoë acknowledged. “That we knew.” She looked at Deena again, and Lane twirled her hand, silently urging her to get on with it. “It’s just...” Zoë twisted her hands together, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s just that after everything we’ve been through together, I’m surprised you didn’t tell me the truth.”
Lane opened her mouth, poised to ask Zoë exactly what truth she was talking about. But her friend continued, her words making Lane close her mouth tight. “I’m just surprised you never told us that Davy’s dad was a Protector.”



All things considered, Lane thought she was taking the news pretty well. True, she’d collapsed to her knees, but it was a controlled collapse, which, hopefully, gave the illusion that she hadn’t been blown completely away by the realization that the father of her child was a Protector.
Under the circumstances, of course, she probably should have figured it out on her own. After all, Hieronymous was hardly the type to be in cahoots with a mortal. But Lane wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, so she forgave herself for not being at the top of her game.
A Protector. She shivered, remembering an event from long ago, the old man’s words when she’d purchased the stone from Aphrodite’s girdle. The man had said it was tied into her destiny. She’d assumed he was a nut case. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Had she somehow been destined to have her life filled with superheroes? Certainly she’d lived the last few years on the fringes of Council activity. Heck, watching her friends fight the bad guys was what had prompted her to go to law school: she’d wanted to do her part in putting away the bad guys, too, even if her part was tiny and the bad guys were mortal.
Now, to find out about Jason, which meant that Davy—
She blinked, her thoughts finally gelling. “Davy’s a halfling?” she asked.
Jason nodded, taking a step forward. His gaze locked on hers. “I need to talk to you about that. You see—”
“You son of a bitch.”
He took a step back.
“We dated for over a year. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
“It’s a secret identity, Lane. The whole point of a secret is that it’s ... well, a secret.”
“That’s a lousy excuse and you know it.”
“Would it help if I told you that I’d planned to tell you? In fact, I wanted to tell you the day you found out you were pregnant.”
She raised an eyebrow, not the least bit willing to concede any ground. “Oh, there’s a convenient story.”
“He probably didn’t tell you because he’s working with Hieronymous,” Deena said, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jason rounded on her with such vehemence that Lane held her breath, her hand pressed over her mouth. “I am not, and never have been, in alliance with that bastard. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never, ever say that again.”
Deena stepped back, her eyes wide, and Zoë took a protective stance in front of her. Lane moved forward and clutched Jason’s arm, her fingers tightening against his muscles, as if he still belonged to her. As if she still had some influence on what he said or did.
“Calm down,” she said, her body reacting in warm, familiar ways to his touch. She swallowed, knowing she should back away. She needed to get some space between her and this man—even when she was royally pissed off, she was still drawn to him. And his power over her, especially after so much time, terrified her. “Deena didn’t mean anything by it,” she added.
“The hell I didn’t,” Deena said, her hands on Zoë‘s shoulders. She peered at Jason from around the other woman’s head. “I know what I saw.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reiterate his innocence.
Lane backed off, held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, time out. We need to find Davy. Everything else we can sort out later.” Even as she spoke, she felt removed from herself; detached from the part that wanted to curl up in a ball and just whimper until her son returned.
Zoë swung an arm around her shoulder. “Do you want to go sit down? We’re doing everything we can, and—”
“No.” Lane shrugged out of her friend’s embrace. “I can’t hang out on the sidelines. I need to know what’s going on. I need to help look for Davy. I need answers, and you guys are going to give them to me.”
“But—”
Lane held up a hand. “No buts. My kid. My rules.” She pointed to Zoë. “Tell me what happened here today.”
And Zoë did. Told all about how Jason or some Henchman—she wasn’t positive, since she hadn’t seen him—got her and Deena from behind and locked them up. And then how, when they escaped, they found that Jason had trapped Davy. They’d tried to get the child free, and almost had with the help of Shamu and some heroic dolphin, but in the end Hieronymous had won and Jason and Davy had soared off into the sky. Since she’d found Jason only moments later, Zoë had assumed the cyclone had been a diversion, and he’d stashed the boy close by.
“But I may be wrong about that,” she admitted.
Jason snorted. “About that and everything else.”
Zoë ignored him. “I have the Council searching for every possible location for Hieronymous.” She took Lane’s hand and squeezed it. Lane squeezed back, grateful for the support. “We’ll find him. No matter what, I promise you that.”
Lane nodded, then sucked in a breath for courage, turning to face Jason. “That’s Zoë‘s side. What’s yours?”
“A shape shifter,” he said simply. “A shape shifter who took my form and took our son.” His mouth twisted into something resembling a grin. “And as for the heroic dolphin, I appreciate the praise.”
“You?” Zoë said. “Puh-lease.”
Lane frowned. Davy’s father was a dolphin?
He nodded. “My powers are piscatorial and cetacean related.”
“Huh?” Deena said, voicing Lane’s question.
“I can talk to fish. I can live underwater. And, as I already said, I can take a dolphin’s form.”
Deena crossed her arms. “Prove it.”
He nudged with his chin the rope draped over his shoulder. “Happy to. Untie me.”
Lane and Deena both turned to Zoë, who gnawed on her lower lip. After a second, she looked up. “The lariat dulls his power. If he’s going to prove it, I have to release him. But I can’t do that.”
“Why on earth not?” Lane asked.
“He might escape, and then we’d never find Davy,” Zoë explained. She gnawed on her lip again, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, but I have to follow protocol on this one. Don’t ask me why; I just do. I’ve got to do this by the book, and Protector protocol mandates that the cuffs stay on.”
“Hopping Hades,” Jason snapped. “Can you drop the bureaucratic bullshit? Following the Council’s rules isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Zoë licked her lips. “Yes, I remember the profile they did on you after you escaped from Hieronymous.” Lane noticed the way she stressed the word escaped, as if she were being sarcastic. “You’ve never been big on following the rules or sticking with procedure, have you?”
“Not when the rules are wasting valuable time.”
Zoë just stared at him, holding Jason’s eyes until he finally spoke again, his eyes as cold as ice. “Dammit, what do I have to do to convince you? Hieronymous has my son. He has your nephew. Set me free so I can help find him. The Council’s Keystone Kops aren’t making any progress.”
He gestured across the enclosure, and Lane glanced that way, immediately noticing Boreas talking with another Protector. Neither looked particularly encouraging. Lane swallowed, a tear escaping as she thought of her baby with that monster and no one able to find him.
Hieronymous. She’d first learned of Protectors and the Council when the big-shot Outcast lord had sent one of his flunkies to steal a stone she’d bought— that turned out to be an heirloom of Aphrodite. Not that Lane had known it was special; she just thought it was cool. In retrospect, the event hadn’t turned out so bad; she’d survived the encounter relatively unscathed, and she’d met Zoë. But it had also been a little like losing her virginity—after that, she was one of the few mortals who knew.
Which meant she knew just how bad Hieronymous really was. Pretty damn bad. If Hieronymous had Davy—
“Why?” she asked, interrupting her own thoughts. “Why would Hieronymous want my kid?” She turned to Jason, her hands on her hips. “Well?”
He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
Zoë shifted on her feet, the looks she and Deena were trading making it absolutely clear that neither woman believed him. Lane wanted to; it had been hard enough believing that he’d left. Finding out now that not only had Jason ditched her and Davy but that he was a Protector and working for Hieronymous ... She shivered. Definitely not something she wanted to hear.
Yet she trusted Zoë and Deena. They’d all been through a lot together and, even more, Zoë was pretty clued in to the whole evil-Hieronymous thing. If she said that Jason had joined ranks with the H-man, Lane should probably listen.
She licked her lips, unsure. “I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze darting between Jason and Zoë. “I just don’t know who to bel—”
Jason reached out, silencing her with his touch. And then, with his eyes never leaving hers, he cupped her chin between his hands. The gesture was demanding yet gentle. “Lane, this is me. Me. Yes, I left. But I swear to you I didn’t mean to stay away.”
She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, continuing.
“Even if you don’t believe that,” he said. “Even if you think I stayed away on purpose for all this time ... Even if you believe all of that, do you honestly believe I could ever—ever—hurt my own child?”
“I...” Tears pooled in her eyes as Lane closed her mouth, unable to form words. She wanted to hurt him. To punish him for leaving her. To torment him for making her little boy grow up without his father. But she couldn’t lie. No matter what, she couldn’t do that.
“No,” she finally said, her voice strong. She twisted to face Zoë and Deena. “Jason may be a lot of things, but he could never hurt his own son. I’m certain.”
They weren’t that much was evident in their expressions. But to Zoë‘s credit, she put one hand on Deena’s shoulder and then moved back two steps, taking Deena with her, to give Jason and Lane the illusion of a private conversation.
Lane tilted her head so she could look Jason dead-on, knowing her eyes were filled with fear. “I still don’t know why. Why does Hieronymous want my little boy?”
He shook his head, then reached out for her.
Without thinking, she curled up against him. His skin burned against her, but she sought comfort in his familiar scent, that enveloping warmth. With one smooth motion, he lifted his arms over her head, then caught her in the circle, the binder cuff firm against her back.
“I don’t know exactly, Lane,” he whispered. “But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay. That much, I promise.”
She nodded, her face still pressed against his chest. It had been a confusing afternoon, and she still hadn’t gotten anything straight in her mind. But she knew one thing for certain: Jason had promised to find her son. Their son. And she believed him. So help her, she believed him.



After seven years, Jason was unprepared for the ache in his heart and the burning of his blood when he held Lane again. Hell, he’d been watching her and Davy from a distance for a year, utilizing the Council monitors while he’d been stuck in the Olympus debriefing facility. But video surveillance was nothing compared to holding this woman in his arms, feeling the soft press of her breasts against his chest, feeling the rhythm of her beating heart.
From a camera, he couldn’t detect the hint of vanilla she’d dabbed on herself. Couldn’t see the way the sunlight caught her plain brown hair, turning it into a fabulous crown. And he certainly couldn’t see her eyes, at first cold, slate-gray, and angry, but now warm and wounded—though those two emotions he’d put there, and neither one was good.
After a moment she pushed away, leaning against his chest, then looked up at him with raw, red eyes.
“You left,” she said simply, her pain evident. His gut twisted, and he realized he wanted her angry again. Anger, he could fight. But the hurt... Well, he’d caused that. And seeing it in her eyes only reminded him of his guilt.
“You left me,” she repeated “You left Davy.”
He shook his head. “I was trapped, imprisoned. By him. I didn’t mean to stay away.”
A flash of shock crossed her face. “By Hieronymous? All that time? Jason, that’s horrible.”
Hope built in his chest. “I went after him. I thought I could defeat him. I needed to do that.” He exhaled, his body sagging with the memory. “But I failed, and he trapped me. He kept me away from you.”
Jason closed his eyes, fighting the fury that inevitably came with the memory. “Around and around,” he said. “In a glass bowl. Nothing to see, nothing to do. And so very far away from you. From Davy.”
A hint of pain appeared in Lane’s eyes. “Oh, God, Jason. That must have been horrible.”
He flashed a wry smile. “Believe me,” he said. “Captivity’s bad reputation is well-deserved. I would have given anything to get out of there and back to you.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He wouldn’t give himself to Hieronymous’s evil.
Lane’s eyes were warm, but she shook her head. His stomach twisted as hope evaporated. “I’m sorry, Jason. Truly, I am. But the truth is, Hieronymous kept you away, but he didn’t make you leave. You did that.”
He could only nod. What she said was true.
She looked him in the eye, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “I needed you, but you left. You walked away when I needed you more than anything. You didn’t even wait until morning. You didn’t hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. You just went away, and you didn’t even tell me why!”
“I know.” He inhaled, trying to draw in courage. “But I want to make it up to you.”
She flinched, recoiling from his words. Her brow furrowed, and she stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “How?”
A simple question, but it hung heavy in the air between them.
He wanted to shout the answer—by rescuing Davy— but he knew that wasn’t enough. He’d rescue the boy; of that much, he was certain. But he wasn’t naive enough to think that returning their son to Lane would mend what he’d broken so many years ago.
“I don’t know exactly,” he finally said. It was an honest answer, and the only one he could come up with. Before, he’d entertained the fantasy of seamlessly stepping back into her life. Now, he was living the harsh reality.
She licked her lips, her face contorting as if she’d just tasted his words and found them bitter. “You can’t,” she said. “It’s done. Over. I’ve moved on with my life, and we can’t go back. Not unless you can turn back time.” For a brief moment, hope entered her eyes, and he saw just how much weight she gave Protector powers.
“Er, I don’t think anyone can. Well, Zephron, maybe, but—”
“Not you.”
“Not me.”
“Oh.” She nibbled on her thumb, then lifted her head to look him straight in the eye. “So you can’t make it up to me, and we can’t go back. But you are going to rescue my son.”
“Our son,” he corrected.
“He’s all I have,” Lane said, tears spilling out of her eyes. “You can’t let anything happen to him.”
Despite the cuffs binding his wrists, he twisted and managed to grasp her hands, squeezing until she squeezed back. “I know,” he said. And he did. Once upon a time, she’d had him, too. But no more. Now it was just Lane and Davy. And if Jason wanted back into their family, he was going to have to work his tail off. He was going to have to rescue Davy—and he was going to have to do a whole hell of a lot more, too.



The cold steel elevator descended. And descended. And then descended some more.
Mordi’s head began to pound from breathing the car’s stale air. And from guilt. He closed his eyes, remembering the look of betrayal on Davy’s face when he’d been forced onto the elevator with Clyde. Those two had descended first, and by now Davy was surely tucked tight into one of his father’s notorious “guest rooms.”
Mordi himself had shifted back into his own self, happy to shed Jason’s image. Now he was following Clyde and Davy down, right into the belly of the beast. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other, and tried not to think about the danger he was again in. One little accident of birth and he was stuck with an Outcast for a father who wouldn’t know affection if it walked up and punched him in the mouth.
The elevator slid smoothly to a stop, its doors opening to reveal a cavernous, steel-reinforced room. “Wow,” Mordi said, stepping out. His voice echoed through the near-empty chamber: WOW. . . Wow . . . wow . . . wo ... w . . .
“I’m glad you approve,” Hieronymous said. The man brushed past, his cloak managing to flutter despite the still air. Or was it still?
Mordi sniffed, for the first time noticing his surrounding no longer smelled stale. He glanced around, his curiosity increasing as his headache faded.
The room was the size of a large warehouse, essentially empty except for a large table, a metal grid hanging from the ceiling, a clear pool of water in the floor with three arteries snaking off beneath the stone walls, and a large blob covered with a piece of black silk. Mordi stifled the urge to peek under the material. “So, where exactly are we?” he asked instead.
“Under the volcano,” Hieronymous said. “Don’t worry; it’s dormant, I assure you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “At least, it is now.”
Mordi frowned, not sure what his father meant. “Now?”
“Now that your father’s stolen its oomph,” Clyde said, stepping into the cavern from one of the many adjoining hallways. Mordi made a mental note of which one. Presumably, Davy was down it somewhere.
Clyde shoved past, heading for the steel table that stood in the center of the room. Mordi ignored him. Clyde didn’t like Mordi, and the feeling was quite mutual.
At the moment, Clyde was a fugitive, wanted by the Council for questioning in connection with a charge of Power Exploitation. Under other circumstances, Mordi would happily have turned him in. For this assignment, however, he would be forced to put up with the buffoon’s presence. He was on probation with the Council, jumping through all the necessary hoops to prove he was a good guy, loyal to the tenets of the Venerate Council, eager to protect mortals from all forms of evil, including his father.
He knew that he was paying the price for his past foolish decisions, but it still irritated him that the Council didn’t trust him. And so he was being forced to prove his loyalty. Hieronymous had managed to avoid capture in the past by delegating his dirty-work. The Outcast was at the center of so many nefarious plots, and yet he often walked away without a blemish. The Council knew what he was up to; proving it was a different matter.
Mordi was supposed to find the proof. Find it and—if necessary—step in and thwart his father’s schemes.
A daunting task. And one that, by necessity, put him in close proximity to Outcasts like Clyde who were not, in Mordi’s opinion, at the top of the food chain. He didn’t enjoy the duty.
He turned, trying to discern more about his father’s scheme. “You harnessed the volcano’s energy? How? Why?”
Hieronymous seated himself at the table, pushed an inset button, and a bank of monitors slid gracefully from the ceiling, already tuned in to world financial programs. “ ‘How’ requires far too technical an answer for you to understand,” he said.
Mordi scowled but didn’t argue. He’d just been insulted, yes; but he could hardly get bent out of shape about the truth.
“As for why,” Hieronymous continued, “my latest invention requires more power than simply plugging in to ConEd. This volcano suffices. Also, so long as I am siphoning off its energy, the risk of an eruption is significantly reduced.”
“An eruption?” Mordi gulped, then glanced around for a neon sign designating an emergency exit. Of course there wasn’t one.
“A minimal risk,” his father assured with a quick wave of his hand. “And well worth it for the outcome.”
“Which is ... ?” Mordi prompted.
His father’s eyes burned with black fire. “Why— me, of course,” he said. “Becoming even more brilliant than I am now.”
Mordi blinked, unsettled by the implications. “Uh, I don’t suppose you’d care to elucidate?”
Hieronymous’s laugh echoed through the chamber. “Difficult to comprehend, I know. How could I possibly be more intelligent than I already am? But it’s possible. Astounding, but true.” The animation in his face made him look almost gleeful. The expression didn’t quite suit.
“I’ll try to explain,” Hieronymous continued. “Hopefully you can follow, and visual aides won’t be necessary.”
Mordi bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself to keep his mouth shut.
“As you of all people know, halflings present certain unique traits,” the Outcast leader said. “Most are disagreeable, but some are potentially useful—as in the case of our young friend.”
Mordi shifted, stifling the urge to tell his father to quit blowing smoke and get on with the story.
“As a halfling, Davy’s brain waves will alter at midnight on his seventh birthday, just a few short days away. I intend to tap into the boy’s conscious at precisely that moment, allowing me to drain his Protector-enhanced intellect right from his head.”
His father must have seen the grimace that crossed Mordi’s face, because he nodded. “Yes, it is a rather nasty business when one thinks about it closely.” A thin smile graced his lips. “I, of course, never do.”
Hieronymous stood up and strode across the room, his gait full of purpose, as always. “Instead, I focus on my goal. With this plan, I shall become the most brilliant person—Protector or mortal—on the planet. And with my enhanced intellectual ability, I will finally be able to invent a method of, once and for all, reducing all mortals to slaves and disbanding that silly Council.” He turned. “At the moment, I’m partial to a particle beam, but once my already superior intellect joins forces with Davy’s untapped potential, I will undoubtedly come up with an even more clever approach.”
Mordi swallowed. Whatever method Hieronymous devised, the end result would be the same: The mortals would be enslaved, the Outcasts would rise up against the Council, and Hieronymous would proclaim himself the leader of all—and who would dare challenge him?
“All it took was finding the right child,” Hieronymous admitted. “A halfling with an intellect right to complement mine.”
Mordi took a deep breath and counted to ten before answering. “And Davy is that child?”
“He is. The boy’s a regular little Einstein, and his family doesn’t even realize it yet. His particular Protector skill is tied to his intellect, much like mine. As his skills develop, so will his inventiveness. Or, rather, those skills would develop were I not about to usurp them. Once I have tapped the boy’s potential, he will be merely average. His mother needn’t worry, though. I’m sure he’ll still do okay on his SATs—though I certainly can’t guarantee a Harvard education.”
“If the Council catches you ...” Mordi trailed off, his voice little more than a whisper, his stomach in knots. As much as he wanted to prove himself, there was still a tug, drawing him close to his father even when he wanted to run far, far away.
No matter how many times he told himself that Hieronymous deserved it, the thought of his father suffering the Council’s direst punishments sent a shiver down his spine. Permanent interment in the catacombs. An eternity of darkness and solitude. And there were other unspoken punishments rumored to be ... well, unspeakable.
How could he wish that on his father? And yet, considering who his father was and what he’d done, how could he not?
If Hieronymous succeeded, Mordi would have to betray him. To do otherwise would be a betrayal of the Council.
“Don’t you love the serendipity of it?” his father asked, fingers twitching. “How appropriate that it should be his son who will bring me my ultimate glory.”
The man paused, turning to glance at the monitors, his mouth drooping into a frown as he read the stock ticker running along the bottom of the center screen. After a moment, he spoke again, his words surprising Mordi. “I was pleased with your efforts today. My son.”
“I... Thank you.”
Hieronymous nodded. “I trust you will continue?”
“Sir?”
“You will not disappoint me as we conclude this venture—will you, Mordichai?”
Mordi shook his head, his chin lifted ever so slightly. “No, sir,” he said, pleased that his voice didn’t quaver with the lie. The truth was that he would disappoint Hieronymous. If he did his job right, that outcome was inevitable.
Closing his eyes, Mordi stifled a sigh. He shouldn’t care anymore. He knew that. But he did. Damn it all to Hades. Even after everything he’d been through, after all the lip he took from his father, he still didn’t want to disappoint the man.
Pathetic.
And dangerous. In Mordi’s line of work, a single moment of indecision could get a Protector in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.