"Aphrodite's_Secret_011" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

Chapter Seven

Jason stalked in front of his large Council-issued speedboat, which was docked near his houseboat. He was trying his damnedest to hold his tongue, and so far he’d managed for one entire length of the pier. Apparently, though, that was his limit. “I don’t care about any damn directives,” he said, stomping back in the opposite direction. “I’m going after my son.”
Zoë ran a hand through her hair—or tried to, anyway. She wore it pulled back from her face in a tight braid. The hairdo had started out neatly that morning, but it was now a frazzled mess. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” she began.
“Then don’t,” Jason snarled.
“... but there’s a reason for the rule,” she continued, not missing a beat.
Lane stopped her own pacing, halting in front of Zoë. “I don’t understand why we’re waiting. Jason’s right,” she said.
Jason nodded, appreciating the way she had parked herself solidly in his corner.
“Or even if he’s not right,” Lane continued, apparently pulling out of that parking space. “His lead is the best we’ve got. We should be headed to the South Pacific right now, not arguing about directives.”
Jason couldn’t agree more. On the way back to his houseboat he’d radioed ahead, instructing Boreas to use the Council database to locate any islands owned by Hieronymous, Mordichai, or Hieronymous’s flunky Clyde. The search came back negative, just as he’d suspected. Yet he knew such an island was out there somewhere. He’d escaped from it. He’d even given the coordinates to the Council during his debriefing; but when they’d sent a Protector to check it out, the agent had returned with bad news: no island, just miles and miles of ocean.
At the time, Jason had assumed he’d been mistaken on the coordinates. After all, his years of imprisonment there had been a pretty traumatic time. The High Elders had agreed he’d gotten the coordinates wrong. Now, though they hadn’t said it out loud, Jason even wondered if they thought his mistake was on purpose, a way to protect his father’s secret hideaway. After a few more attempts to locate the island failed, the Council had given up.
Well, even if the Council believed he’d been mistaken about his location, Jason was willing to take up the search again. Elmer seemed to think there was an island out there, and at the moment the word of a spastic ferret was better than nothing. He’d find the island. And he’d bet good money that Hieronymous had the boy stashed there.
To hell with them. He stepped onto his speedboat, jerking away when Zoë placed a warning hand on his arm.
“Dammit, Jason,” she said. “I’ll send Protectors. I’ll send an entire team. Even if we consider you free and clear of any suspicion, you’re too involved, too emotional—”
“Damn right I’m emotional,” he snapped.
“That’s the whole point of Directive eight-two-seven-b. You’re going to react instead of think, and you’re going to put Davy in more danger than he’s in already. Don’t you see? You’re doing that right now.”
“I will never endanger Davy,” he said. “I want to make Hieronymous pay—I promise you that—but not at the risk of hurting my son.”
He rubbed his temples, tired of having to jump through the Council’s hoops: first proving himself to the High Elders, now proving himself to Zoë. “Look,” he continued, “The only safe way in is under the island. And it’s not exactly marked on a map. All we’ve got to work on is my memory and a ferret pointing to a light on a map. So I have to go, because I have the best chance. Another team will fumble around and Hieronymous will detect them. He’s got sensors everywhere, and each is sensitive to Protector biorhythms. If a Protector enters from the surface, or spends too long stumbling around in one of those tunnels, the gig is up.”
“Call the Z-man,” Hoop suggested, appearing and ambling down the pier. “He’s cool, right? I bet he’d let Jason go. What Jason says is reasonable.”
“Good idea,” Jason agreed. “Call Zephron.” It was a gamble, but he was almost positive the High Elder would allow him to proceed.
“I tried,” Zoë admitted. “But I haven’t had any luck contacting him.”
“Oh, just let the man go then,” Hoop said. “That Council of yours is too bureaucratic by half.”
Zoë licked her lips, and Jason could tell she was bending. He stepped all the way into his speedboat.
“Plus,” Deena added from where she’d appeared, “if Jason fails—not that he will,” she added quickly. “But if he does, he can always call in the cavalry. Right?”
Hoop pointed to Zoë. “Why don’t you go along, too? You two can do a dynamic duo thing.”
“No!” Jason said, remembering how erratic Zoë had been at Sea World. He didn’t know the reason, but he wasn’t about to partner up with a Protector whose powers were on the fritz. He looked her in the eye. “She can’t come with me.”
Zoë swallowed, her cheeks turning slightly red. “He’s right. I shouldn’t go.”
“But—” Hoop began.
“No,” Deena cut him off. “Jason’s right. Zoë should stay here.”
“Her cold?” Lane asked.
Jason frowned. He’d never once heard of a cold mucking up a Protector’s powers like had happened at Sea World, but whatever the cause, he didn’t need to be worrying about his partner’s abilities.
“Exactly,” Zoë agreed. “And in case Zephron calls.”
“That’s fine,” Jason said. He moved across the boat and was seated behind its wheel. “I work better alone.”
“A pity,” Zoë said. “Because the only way I’m letting you go is if Boreas goes with you.”



As soon as the neophyte Protector was settled on the boat, Lane breathed a sigh of relief. She’d expected Jason to protest, but he’d surprised her by holding his tongue. Good. Time to get underway. In reality, of course, only a few minutes had passed since Jason’s revelation. In her mind, though, it seemed like an eternity.
She grabbed her purse from where she’d dropped it on the pier, then carefully stepped from the wooden planks onto the boat’s fiberglass hull. Her heart picked up tempo, her pulse echoing her anticipation.
Lane still wasn’t entirely certain how Jason knew where Davy was. He’d told her that Dorothy had told him about the Lite-Brite map, and that Elmer had confirmed on a tracking device that Davy was somewhere in the South Pacific. Since that’s where Jason had been held hostage, he was certain Davy must be on Hieronymous’s island. Lane had no idea how Elmer knew that, or, for that matter how Elmer had gotten his hands on a tracking device. But things had been moving so fast, she hadn’t had time to ask. For that matter, she didn’t care about the how of it. The point was, they had a solid lead and they were finally doing something. They were going to get her son.
She took another step onto the boat, then looked around for a place to sit down.
From the cockpit, Jason frowned. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She blinked, surprised at his tone, then reached for one of the life vests sitting in a pile on the floor. “Um, getting ready?” She slipped it over her head and started securing its Velcro straps across her chest. Despite growing up in Los Angeles near the ocean, she was a lousy swimmer—an unfortunate byproduct of having spent her childhood bouncing among foster homes. Swimming lessons required some modicum of stability.
As soon as she could afford it, Davy was taking swimming lessons. Guppy, goldfish, whale, and beyond. No doubt about it, her child was taking lessons.
The boat shimmied, its engine coming to a stop. Lane looked up to see Jason stalking toward her. Boreas, apparently sensing trouble, slipped down the stairs and into the small cabin belowdeck.
“Getting ready for what, exactly?” Jason asked. His voice held a no-nonsense tone she remembered well.
Oh, no. She knew what he was thinking, and there was no way in Hell—or in Hades, as he would say— that she was getting off this boat. She tilted her chin up, drawing courage from the defiant gesture. “Getting ready to go look for my son.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can only look out for one amateur today, and your friend already elected Officer Boring.”
“No problem,” she answered.
He nodded, looking smug, then stepped aside, presumably clearing her exit path off the boat.
“I can take care of myself,” she said instead. She leaned back, trying to look collected.
“Lane ...” Exasperation laced his voice.
“Don’t even,” she said. She almost stood straight, wanting to get in his face, but decided against it. For one, being in close proximity to Jason messed profoundly with her ability to think coherently. Mostly, though, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to push her overboard and then speed away.
Not that he’d do such a thing, but... she wasn’t certain. And that tiny bit of uncertainty kept her butt firmly planted on the rail.
“We’re wasting time,” she said. “Which do you want to do? Argue with me, or go rescue Davy?”
The muscle in his cheek twitched, and Jason aimed a finger at her. “You do what I say, or I swear I’ll tie you to the hull just to keep you out of trouble.”
She nodded, not actually willing to make an out-loud promise, but willing to seem to agree if it would get him to start the boat up again. She couldn’t hear what he muttered under his breath as he walked away, but she could tell it wasn’t nice.
He cranked the engine and started to maneuver them out of the slip. From the dock, Hoop untied the rope, then tossed it onto the deck. “Be safe,” he called. “All of you.”
Lane nodded, and her eyes met Zoë‘s. She saw the fear reflected there, and a quick stab of guilt cut through her heart. By going, she was giving her friend one more person to worry about.
About that, though, there was nothing Lane could do. She had to go with Jason; she had to go to Davy. He was all alone, and he was surely scared. For years they’d only had each other; she’d be damned if she was going to fail him now.
Soon they were out of the marina and zipping across the wide-open ocean. Lane stood up and unsteadily made her way from her perch to Jason’s captain’s chair. He was focused on the controls, just as he had been for the last ten minutes. Not once had he turned to look at her, and he didn’t now.
Her temper flared. “Dammit, Jason. He’s my son. I’m sorry if you think it’s inconvenient to have me along, or if you want to play the hero all by yourself or something, but I’m here. Deal with it. You just can’t run off on your own again.”
Mentally, she patted herself on the back for standing up to him. But when he turned and she saw his face, all of her self-congratulations faded. “Jason?”
As quickly as it had appeared, the pain in his eyes vanished, replaced by a stoicism she found unnerving. “I’m fine,” he said.
“I don’t think so.” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
At first she thought he was going to refuse, but then he swiveled in his vinyl seat to face her while keeping one hand on the boat’s controls.
“I lost Davy,” he said. “And I don’t mean this morning, but years ago. Now I have the chance to get him back.” He reached for her hand, squeezed it so hard she grimaced. “I will get him back.”
Her brow furrowed. They’d been over this ground before. “I told you, I believe you.”
He released a tortured sigh. “But there’s more. I can get him back from Hieronymous—I know I can. I’ll fight the man to the death if that’s what it takes. But who do I fight for the rest?”
She licked her lips, not sure she was ready to hear what he meant. “The rest?”
“I want my family back, Lane.”
She grasped the edge of the control panel, its sun-baked chrome hot against her palm. Her knees weren’t quite up to the task of keeping her vertical, but she didn’t want Jason to know that. No matter how many bells and whistles he set off in her insides, she wasn’t going down that road again. Best to nip this little fantasy in the bud.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, but nothing came out.
Now, she urged herself.
This time when she tried, words actually emerged. Good. Always nice to have control over one’s mouth. “Listen, Jason,” she began, then cleared her throat She sucked in a deep breath, hating to hurt him but needing the record to be clear. “The thing is, you never had a family. There’s nothing to get back.”
“I know,” he said simply.
Lane blinked. That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “Oh.” She licked her lips, trying to decide where to go next. In her trial seminar, the professor had said to never let the jury know when a witness’s answer ruffled you.
But Lane had a feeling Jason already knew she was ruffled. So much for a verdict being returned in her favor.
“I didn’t mean to be blasé,” Jason explained. He took her hand, his fingers sliding between hers. “It’s just that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the situation. A lot more time than you, I mean. As much as I wish it weren’t true, it would be both arrogant and stupid of me to think I could just pop back into your life and pick up where we left off” He shrugged. “I mean, you’re a beautiful, bright woman. Hell, I’m surprised you aren’t already married.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that.
“We used to be wonderful friends,” he went on. “I hope we still can be.” He bit his lip, then reached out to take both her hands. “And I meant what I said. You need to do what I say. I want you safe, and losing you to Hieronymous—whether you’re my friend or lover—would kill me. You’re my son’s mother. No matter what else is between us, that’s forever.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. She told herself they were tears of relief. “Really?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
He was saying all the right things, and still she frowned. “I do have a boyfriend.” The words just popped out, and she cringed at the non sequitur. But Jason needed to know, needed to understand that she had another life now, that she’d found a man who fit that life—a man who wouldn’t leave her or her son to run off and battle boogeymen. “He’s fabulous with Davy.”
“That’s great,” Jason said. But Lane noticed the hint of a shadow cross his face.
She cleared her throat. “So, uh ... we’re on the same wavelength, then? I mean, I just want to be clear.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and she frowned.
“What?” she asked.
“Just that you already sound like a lawyer, and you’ve been in law school less than a year.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a quick study,” she said. She was so happy to share a light moment with him that she didn’t pause to wonder how he knew she was in law school. “But are we ... ?”
He nodded, then took her hand, his skin rough against her palm. “Absolutely,” he said. “Friends. Good, old friends. I want in Davy’s life, but I won’t push. We’ll figure something out.”
“Okay, then. Great.” She took a deep breath and stood up. Certainly, she couldn’t argue with that. And everything he was saying was what she wanted to hear. “Well. Right. Okay.” She headed for the stairs leading belowdeck. “I’m glad we got that straightened out,” she said.
But in truth, she wasn’t glad. As much as she wished she were, she wasn’t glad at all. And that, frankly, had her more than a little worried.



Jason vowed to take up playing poker. If he could convince Lane he didn’t want her anymore—that he hadn’t spent years yearning for her, fantasizing about her, remembering the feel of her flesh under his fingers—then he could sure as Cerberus make five or six guys think he had a royal flush when all he really held was a pair of threes.
So Lane just wanted to be friends—no rekindling of their romance, no going back to where they’d left off. Well, if that’s what the lady wanted, that’s what he’d give her. He had made a career of starting over. And if her wishes meant starting over as friends— and working his way up the ladder from there—then that’s what he was going to do. Lane might have another man in her life, but Jason had the advantage of being Davy’s father. No matter what, that kept him in the game.
He did one more quick check of the control panel to confirm they were still on course, then set the boat to autopilot. He would have preferred to simply take a couple of propulsion cloaks and head to the island that way. But Hieronymous’s island was well guarded against Protectors and, as he’d told Zoë, any approach from the air would surely be detected. A sea approach was still risky, but Jason intended to come from under the water, not on it, and he hoped that they could find a chink in Hieronymous’s armor.
He’d already plugged the latitude and longitude from Davy’s map into the boat’s computer—it was very similar to what he’d suggested upon his escape from Hieronymous’s imprisonment—but he wanted to do some double-checking as only he could. After all, the Council had already looked and found nothing.
He killed the engine and let the boat float on the ocean’s gentle waves. Pulling off all his clothes, he tossed them on the deck and slipped into the water. Under its surface he looked around, trying to find a sea creature who not only looked adventurous but had an impeccable sense of direction.
A flounder appeared and flashed him a quizzical look, but Jason let it swim on by. Flounder had a reputation for being patently unreliable. About twenty feet below, he caught sight of a great white shark. Jason almost called out, then decided to let it pass. For the most part the beasts were reliable, but lately they’d developed a grudge against mortals. Jason would hate to hang his hopes on a pissed-off psycho shark deciding to send him on a wild-goose chase.
Finally, a Girabaldi appeared, swimming slowly, talking to itself about its plans for the day. Jason caught the fish’s attention, and it floated over. After more time than he intended—as a general rule, Girabaldi tended to be very chatty and needed a firm conversational hand—Jason got down to the nitty-gritty. Yes, there was an island where Jason suggested: the Girabaldi had swum past it the other week. It was just past the kelp bed and then there was a right turn at the sunken pirate ship—exactly as Jason remembered.
Apparently, the Council had sent an incompetent to check out his story.
Jason offered the fish a hearty thank-you and then propelled himself back to the surface. He hoisted himself out of the ocean and gave his head a good shake. Straightening, he turned around—and found himself staring right into Lane’s intent gaze.
“Forgot my sweatshirt,” she said, clutching the dark green garment she’d laid over the back of his captain’s chair. She swallowed, her gaze darting up and down his naked body. When her cheeks flushed red, he did his best not to smile.
“I was just asking directions,” he explained.
A pile of towels rested nearby. He made a point not to take one.
“Right,” she said. She stood up straighter and kept her eyes on his face. “I always knew you were different.”
He sucked in air, feeling a wash of shame. “I already apologized for not telling you I was a Protector.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s old news,” she said. Flipping her sweatshirt over her shoulder, she headed back to the stairs. “I just meant that most men won’t ask for directions.” She flashed him an innocent little smile, then disappeared, returning to the galley below.
He grinned, more amused than he cared to admit. Damn, but he adored that woman.
He wanted to follow, but he supposed that he should wear clothes. Boring was down there. And there were adjustments to the boat’s controls to be made, too. Once he was back in his shorts and the dials and knobs of the autopilot were set, Jason left the boat to its own devices and headed belowdeck. Officer Boring was asleep on one of the small bunks, apparently storing up energy for the adventure ahead.
Jason frowned, realizing he still didn’t know what special Protector skills Boring held. To the best of Jason’s knowledge, being a super sycophant wasn’t a recognized Protector trait.
Lane looked over from where she was standing, and her smile whisked from Jason’s head all thoughts except of her.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. For a small boat with an owner who couldn’t cook, the Whirling Dervish had a surprisingly well-equipped galley. Lane was hovering behind its counter, the heat turned up under a saucepan.
Something smelled better than ambrosia, and Jason pointed in the general direction of the stove. “Whatever you’re making would be great.”
Color immediately rushed to her cheeks. Jason had no idea what he’d said to induce such a reaction but, considering she looked positively adorable, he didn’t regret saying it.
“I’m, uh, making omelets,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
Understanding dawned as a memory returned, and a low chuckle rose in his throat. “One of your omelets sounds wonderful,” he said, careful to keep his voice level. “Especially if it’s mushroom and cheese.”
She shot him a suspicious glance, but he kept his face blank.
“And a little burnt around the edges,” he added.
Her suspicion changed to a glare, but there was a hint of amusement underneath. “I can cook,” she said. “You just weren’t helping.”
“There was no incentive.” He slipped onto one of the stools in front of the counter. “It was more fun distracting you.”
“Distracting,” she said. “Is that what you were doing? And all this time I thought you were just being a pain in the butt.”
“Is that what you thought?” He slipped off the stool, then circled the counter to stand behind her. He leaned in close to peer over her shoulder. Sure enough, she’d added mushrooms and cheese.
The curve of her rear brushed him, firing his senses. The last time she’d cooked for him they’d started out pretty much this same way, but...
“Jason,” she said, her voice low and breathy. Her tone held both unasked questions and untapped possibility. He wanted to answer each, slowly, methodically, until she didn’t have to ask any more because her every desire had been fulfilled.
“What?” he whispered.
He saw the faint movement of her throat as she swallowed, then felt more than heard her answer— “Don’t.”
The word had no meaning to him. “Don’t what?” He leaned in closer, breathing her scent: vanilla, mixed with the subtle smell of the sea. It was intoxicating. Hera help him, his body was reacting like this from nothing but the scent of her?
She twisted, wriggling away from him. “Don’t that,” she said.
He blinked, getting his mind around the situation. Not only had his body been pressed against hers; he’d curled one arm around her waist.
He took a step back. “Sorry,” he said, even though the only thing he was sorry for was stopping. “These little trips down memory lane aren’t exactly conducive to remaining platonic.”
She licked her lips. “I can’t censor everything I say or cook,” she said. “We were together for a long time. Just about anything either of us does will strike some memory, and I can’t have you—”
“I said I was sorry.” The words came out colder than he intended.
Lane’s face lost some of its intensity as she exhaled. “It’s just that I thought we were on the same wavelength. We can be friends—I want to be friends, especially if you want to be in Davy’s life. But I can’t...” She trailed off, her eyes wide and unblinking. “There can’t be anything more than that.”
Then she blinked and, before she turned her head, Jason thought he saw the glint of a tear. That tear kept him from saying the words that begged to be released—What about me? Imprisoned for years with nothing but the memory of the woman I loved? The child I didn’t know? He couldn’t get the words out. Why? Because he knew the answer; hell, that single tear practically screamed it. He’d gone off to fight his own battles, and she was terrified he’d do it again. She was sure he would leave at the drop of a hat, go off to fight the bad guys—to battle Hieronymous. And the truth was, he probably would.
She slid the omelet onto a plate and put it between them. He looked, a little disappointed to see the egg not even slightly burnt. Not only had she grown up in the last seven years, she’d also learned how to cook.
Who the hell was he kidding? Of course she’d changed. She’d been out living her life; raising a son, trying to make a better way for herself.
He took a bite, thinking about the life he knew she now lived. “Why law school?” he asked.
A genuine smile lit her face as she took some toast out of a toaster. “Your sort,” she said. She cut a piece of the omelet with her fork and popped it into her mouth, her eyes dancing with mystery.
“My sort?” he echoed, smiling back.
“Protectors. Superheroes.” She shrugged. “The good guys.”
“I see you’re a fan,” he said, “but I’m still not sure how law school fits in.”
“Zoë‘s become one of my closest friends. So has her brother Hale, for that matter.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. Hale’s reputation for being less than friendly toward mortals was widespread.
“Oh, he’s not going to start manufacturing I-Love-Mortal buttons or anything,” Lane explained. “But there’s a few of us he genuinely cares about. Some he even loves.”
Jason hadn’t ever met Hale, so he didn’t argue. “But I still don’t see the connection.”
“Those two are always fighting bad guys,” she said, stabbing the omelet aggressively with her fork. “I started to feel extraneous. My friends were doing all this amazing stuff, but if I tried to flip a mugger over my shoulder, I’d end up in traction. The mugger would be proud owner of all my belongings.” She shrugged. “I took a kickboxing course. I lost three pounds, but I’m still a klutz.”
“A cute klutz,” he proposed.
When she frowned, he held up his hands in self-defense. “It’s an empirical fact. You’re cute. Can’t a guy tell his friend she’s cute?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. We’ll say that one was on the line.”
“And on the line counts in tennis. Fifteen-love.”
She tried to glare but didn’t much succeed. “Just watch it, okay?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Happy to.”
She didn’t scold him again, just cleared her throat. Her cheeks turned pink. “At any rate,” she continued, her tone no-nonsense, “I wanted to do something useful. Something that would make an impact. I guess I wanted to be a good guy, too.”
“So, I’m betting you don’t plan on representing the accounting departments of major corporations?” One of the benefits of being stuck on Olympus for almost a year—he’d had plenty of time to watch the news.
She shot him a wry glance. “A district attorney. You guys catch them, and I’ll prosecute them. Just like Batman and the police commissioner.”
“Yeah. Except the commissioner never knew who Batman was. You know all our secrets.”
Instead of answering, she carefully placed a bite-sized hunk of omelet on the corner of a piece of toast, then bit down, chewing thoughtfully. Jason frowned, wondering what she was thinking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she finally asked.
So much for that mystery. Despite what she’d said on deck, the fact that he hadn’t disclosed his secrets so many years ago was going to be a point of contention. He cleared his throat. “If I’d known you were going to become a prosecutor,” he said, “I would have told you the day we met.”
Her raised eyebrow suggested that she wasn’t amused by his response, so he tried to change the subject.
“How did you get hooked up with Zoë and Hale, anyway?”
This time her eyebrow rose in surprise, not annoyance. “I assumed you knew,” Lane said. “The story was all over the Protector newspaper and website at the time.”
He shook his head. “It’s amazing what news you miss living your life in a fishbowl.” He immediately regretted the words. He didn’t want to talk about that now; the topic was too dark, and it rekindled his anger. All he wanted at the moment was to share a few nice moments with Lane—sweet moments, before they reached the island and the hellish reality of their situation crashed down around them again.
For a second he thought she was going to ask what he meant, but then she simply answered his question, describing how she’d purchased the stone from Aphrodite’s Girdle, and how Zoë had rescued her from Mordichai, who’d been out to retrieve it for his father. “Zoë saved Davy that day, too,” Lane added, and Jason’s heart twisted with her utterance of the boy’s name.
Her head cocked to one side. “Wait a second,” she said. “You’re Davy’s father ...” She trailed off.
He frowned, not understanding where her thoughts were headed. “What?”
“I just don’t get it. I mean, Davy was all over the Council’s news—we both were. But no one bothered to tell me he was a halfling.”
“Ah,” Jason said, knowing that he was included in the no one. “That would be my fault.”
A wry smile touched her lips. “Why am I not surprised?”
“A halfling has to be registered. Since I wasn’t available—”
“You never filed the paperwork.”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head. “I swear, the Council has more paperwork than the I.R.S.”
“Eventually they do get around to discovering all the halflings—and quarterlings and whatnot—out there. Apparently at the time Zoë was being tested, they hadn’t found Davy yet.”
“So you probably still have to file that paperwork, huh?”
He swallowed. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to raise the Council’s edict about boarding school. “Yeah. Something like that.”
She squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Right before we, uh, met again, I got a letter from Olympus. From the Council.”
She crossed her arms. “A letter?”
He nodded. “Notifying me that I hadn’t filed the proper papers when Davy was born, and also, uh, putting me on notice about Davy’s schooling.”
Lane’s arms stayed crossed and her eyebrow went up. “His schooling?”
“Yeah.” Jason got up, taking the dishes to the sink. “The Council wants Davy to attend boarding school.” He spoke quickly and kept his back to her.
“What?” she shrieked.
He whirled to face her. “Careful,” he whispered, his finger to his lips. He gestured to Boreas, still asleep on the bunk.
“I don’t care who I wake up,” she snapped, but this time she was quieter. “My son is not going away to boarding school.”
“Actually, I have an idea about—”
“Who the hell do they think they are?” Lane got up and started pacing the small area. “He’s my son.”
“They just want to be sure he’s properly trained. His skills honed. That kind of thing.” Jason had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the best time to mention who Davy’s grandfather was—or that Davy was starting with a black mark against him in the High Elder’s minds, one that would require more of him than other halflings.
“Zoë didn’t have to go to boarding school,” she protested. “She told me her mom raised her. Tessa didn’t have any idea Zoë was a halfling.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “That’s kind of my idea. You see, if—”
“I mean, how dare they.” Lane paced past him one more time, and he caught her arm on the return journey, tugging her close. She tilted her head back, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Would you just listen to me?” he asked. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. I think I’ve come up with a solution.”
From the look on her face, she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. And though her son might be a Protector, Lane wasn’t. He didn’t expect she could throw him very far.
Even so, she nodded, silently inviting him to continue.
“Me,” he said.
She made a whooshing motion over her head.
He tugged her toward the stools and urged her to sit. She hesitated but complied.
“The Council’s concerned that Davy’s skills won’t develop right,” Jason began. “That he’ll be ... uh, vulnerable to nefarious influences if someone from the Council isn’t around to watch over him.”
“But Zoë—”
“—had her father and Hale when she was growing up. From the Council’s perspective, Davy doesn’t have anybody.”
“Glad to know my contribution counts for so much,” Lane muttered.
“You know what I mean,” Jason said. “And your contribution does count. I know it, and you know it.” He sucked in a breath for courage. “And my contribution can count, too. I think it can count a lot, actually.”
Her head tilted to one side. “Your contribution?”
“If I worked with Davy every day, helped him to hone his skills. Basically I’d give him the kind of Protector guidance he’d get in boarding school.”
He’d been constructing the plan ever since he’d received Prigg’s letter. Considering his own iffy status with the Council, it wasn’t definite. But by proving his loyalty wasn’t with Hieronymous, surely he’d also prove he was competent to educate his son. Which was one more reason to see his father destroyed.
Lane still hadn’t answered; instead, she was perched on her stool, leaning forward, her elbows on the counter. Jason moved to the far side so that he could see her face, and when he did so she looked up, a question in her eyes. “Have you been sending Davy gifts?”
He blinked. This wasn’t the question he’d expected. But he nodded.
“Why?”
“After I escaped, I spent months in debriefing under surveillance.” He shrugged. “I guess I just wanted Davy to know I was out there.” He shoved a hand into his pocket. “Did he, uh, like them?”
Lane’s quick smile lifted his heart. “Oh, yeah. All of them were a big hit.” Her head cocked slightly, and he saw different questions behind her eyes.
“How did you know?” she asked. “About law school. And where we lived. About everything?”
He swallowed. He’d been wondering when they’d get to that. “The Council monitors,” he admitted. “I used to watch you while I was on Olympus. It gave me . . . something to hope for.”
She licked her lips, her eyes narrowing. “You said the letter was from Olympus,” she said. “About Davy’s boarding school.”
“Yeah,” he answered, with some hesitation. “That’s right.”
“But if you just left Olympus, why’d they have to send you a letter?”
Busted.
“Jason?” she prompted.
He took a deep breath. “I’ve been finished with debriefing for about a month. I moved into the houseboat, brought this boat back from Greece. I also took care of some other stuff.”
“And didn’t come to see us.” Her chin lifted along with her eyebrow.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Why not?” The words weren’t harsh. Instead they were genuinely curious—and a little bit hurt. “You say you wanted us back. And yet...”
“I know,” he agreed. He closed his eyes, searching for the right words. “I wanted to figure out what I was doing first.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m not following.”
“I’ve never had a kid.” He paused, grimacing. “I mean, of course I have a kid, but—”
“I know what you mean.”
“I didn’t know what to do with him. I didn’t know how to be a daddy.” He sighed. “Hell, I still don’t. But I know every Bob the Builder cartoon backward and forward, and, if you want, I can sing the entire Lion King soundtrack.”
Her mouth twitched and Lane’s eyes softened. She reached for his hands. When she gave his fingers a quick tug, he resisted the urge to hold tight and pull her close.
“You’ll do fine,” she said. “Trust me.”
His heart twisted, her vote of confidence meaning more to him than he could ever have imagined. “And the training?” he asked.
Slowly, she nodded. “That’s fine, too. It’s a good plan, if they allow it.” She breathed in, and he heard the hitch in her throat. A teardrop appeared in her eye and clung to her lower lashes. “But—”
“Don’t even think that,” he interrupted, realizing the direction her thoughts had taken. “He’s fine. He’s fine,” he repeated, to convince himself as much as her. “And you’ll be hugging him and embarrassing him with kisses very soon.”
She gnawed on her lower lip, and when she looked up at him, the fat tear in Lane’s eye plopped to the counter. “How do you know?”
“I just do,” he said. And her rules be damned; he moved back around the counter and urged her from the stool and into his arms. For just a moment he held her like that, sharing his strength and drawing courage from her warmth. He was scared, too. But for Lane—and for Davy—he had to be strong. “You said you trusted me about this,” he whispered. “Did you stop?”
She shook her head, pressed her face into his chest. “I do trust you,” she said, her voice muffled. “I’m just anxious. And worried. And—”
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
They held each other for a while, the boat’s engine surging beneath them, moving them closer and closer to their son and to danger.
“How much longer?” Lane asked after a moment.
“Soon,” he said. “This boat is faster than mortal craft, and I’ve programmed it to take us right to the vicinity. The console will signal when we’re—”
A chime rang, and he nodded. “That’s it. We’re here.” He checked a display on the wall, confirming they’d in fact reached the programmed latitude and longitude.
“Do you really think he’ll be here?”
He shrugged as they walked toward the stairwell. “Yes. I’ve ... been here before. When I escaped, I paid attention. And, uh, just to make sure, I asked a fish.”
“To think,” she muttered, “I almost married a dolphin. Well, I’m probably the only woman in my trial advocacy class who can say that.”
He shot her a grin and climbed the stairs. He knew she was still afraid, but if she was cracking jokes, at least she was coping. “The island should be coming up on the port side,” he said as he reached the deck. He leaned down, giving her a hand up the narrow stairs.
As they both stood up, a slight shiver wracked his body. He turned to see his former prison.
Except it wasn’t there.
Here they were at the coordinates Davy’s map had given and Jason remembered, yet just like the Council had reported, there was no island.

Chapter Seven

Jason stalked in front of his large Council-issued speedboat, which was docked near his houseboat. He was trying his damnedest to hold his tongue, and so far he’d managed for one entire length of the pier. Apparently, though, that was his limit. “I don’t care about any damn directives,” he said, stomping back in the opposite direction. “I’m going after my son.”
Zoë ran a hand through her hair—or tried to, anyway. She wore it pulled back from her face in a tight braid. The hairdo had started out neatly that morning, but it was now a frazzled mess. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” she began.
“Then don’t,” Jason snarled.
“... but there’s a reason for the rule,” she continued, not missing a beat.
Lane stopped her own pacing, halting in front of Zoë. “I don’t understand why we’re waiting. Jason’s right,” she said.
Jason nodded, appreciating the way she had parked herself solidly in his corner.
“Or even if he’s not right,” Lane continued, apparently pulling out of that parking space. “His lead is the best we’ve got. We should be headed to the South Pacific right now, not arguing about directives.”
Jason couldn’t agree more. On the way back to his houseboat he’d radioed ahead, instructing Boreas to use the Council database to locate any islands owned by Hieronymous, Mordichai, or Hieronymous’s flunky Clyde. The search came back negative, just as he’d suspected. Yet he knew such an island was out there somewhere. He’d escaped from it. He’d even given the coordinates to the Council during his debriefing; but when they’d sent a Protector to check it out, the agent had returned with bad news: no island, just miles and miles of ocean.
At the time, Jason had assumed he’d been mistaken on the coordinates. After all, his years of imprisonment there had been a pretty traumatic time. The High Elders had agreed he’d gotten the coordinates wrong. Now, though they hadn’t said it out loud, Jason even wondered if they thought his mistake was on purpose, a way to protect his father’s secret hideaway. After a few more attempts to locate the island failed, the Council had given up.
Well, even if the Council believed he’d been mistaken about his location, Jason was willing to take up the search again. Elmer seemed to think there was an island out there, and at the moment the word of a spastic ferret was better than nothing. He’d find the island. And he’d bet good money that Hieronymous had the boy stashed there.
To hell with them. He stepped onto his speedboat, jerking away when Zoë placed a warning hand on his arm.
“Dammit, Jason,” she said. “I’ll send Protectors. I’ll send an entire team. Even if we consider you free and clear of any suspicion, you’re too involved, too emotional—”
“Damn right I’m emotional,” he snapped.
“That’s the whole point of Directive eight-two-seven-b. You’re going to react instead of think, and you’re going to put Davy in more danger than he’s in already. Don’t you see? You’re doing that right now.”
“I will never endanger Davy,” he said. “I want to make Hieronymous pay—I promise you that—but not at the risk of hurting my son.”
He rubbed his temples, tired of having to jump through the Council’s hoops: first proving himself to the High Elders, now proving himself to Zoë. “Look,” he continued, “The only safe way in is under the island. And it’s not exactly marked on a map. All we’ve got to work on is my memory and a ferret pointing to a light on a map. So I have to go, because I have the best chance. Another team will fumble around and Hieronymous will detect them. He’s got sensors everywhere, and each is sensitive to Protector biorhythms. If a Protector enters from the surface, or spends too long stumbling around in one of those tunnels, the gig is up.”
“Call the Z-man,” Hoop suggested, appearing and ambling down the pier. “He’s cool, right? I bet he’d let Jason go. What Jason says is reasonable.”
“Good idea,” Jason agreed. “Call Zephron.” It was a gamble, but he was almost positive the High Elder would allow him to proceed.
“I tried,” Zoë admitted. “But I haven’t had any luck contacting him.”
“Oh, just let the man go then,” Hoop said. “That Council of yours is too bureaucratic by half.”
Zoë licked her lips, and Jason could tell she was bending. He stepped all the way into his speedboat.
“Plus,” Deena added from where she’d appeared, “if Jason fails—not that he will,” she added quickly. “But if he does, he can always call in the cavalry. Right?”
Hoop pointed to Zoë. “Why don’t you go along, too? You two can do a dynamic duo thing.”
“No!” Jason said, remembering how erratic Zoë had been at Sea World. He didn’t know the reason, but he wasn’t about to partner up with a Protector whose powers were on the fritz. He looked her in the eye. “She can’t come with me.”
Zoë swallowed, her cheeks turning slightly red. “He’s right. I shouldn’t go.”
“But—” Hoop began.
“No,” Deena cut him off. “Jason’s right. Zoë should stay here.”
“Her cold?” Lane asked.
Jason frowned. He’d never once heard of a cold mucking up a Protector’s powers like had happened at Sea World, but whatever the cause, he didn’t need to be worrying about his partner’s abilities.
“Exactly,” Zoë agreed. “And in case Zephron calls.”
“That’s fine,” Jason said. He moved across the boat and was seated behind its wheel. “I work better alone.”
“A pity,” Zoë said. “Because the only way I’m letting you go is if Boreas goes with you.”



As soon as the neophyte Protector was settled on the boat, Lane breathed a sigh of relief. She’d expected Jason to protest, but he’d surprised her by holding his tongue. Good. Time to get underway. In reality, of course, only a few minutes had passed since Jason’s revelation. In her mind, though, it seemed like an eternity.
She grabbed her purse from where she’d dropped it on the pier, then carefully stepped from the wooden planks onto the boat’s fiberglass hull. Her heart picked up tempo, her pulse echoing her anticipation.
Lane still wasn’t entirely certain how Jason knew where Davy was. He’d told her that Dorothy had told him about the Lite-Brite map, and that Elmer had confirmed on a tracking device that Davy was somewhere in the South Pacific. Since that’s where Jason had been held hostage, he was certain Davy must be on Hieronymous’s island. Lane had no idea how Elmer knew that, or, for that matter how Elmer had gotten his hands on a tracking device. But things had been moving so fast, she hadn’t had time to ask. For that matter, she didn’t care about the how of it. The point was, they had a solid lead and they were finally doing something. They were going to get her son.
She took another step onto the boat, then looked around for a place to sit down.
From the cockpit, Jason frowned. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She blinked, surprised at his tone, then reached for one of the life vests sitting in a pile on the floor. “Um, getting ready?” She slipped it over her head and started securing its Velcro straps across her chest. Despite growing up in Los Angeles near the ocean, she was a lousy swimmer—an unfortunate byproduct of having spent her childhood bouncing among foster homes. Swimming lessons required some modicum of stability.
As soon as she could afford it, Davy was taking swimming lessons. Guppy, goldfish, whale, and beyond. No doubt about it, her child was taking lessons.
The boat shimmied, its engine coming to a stop. Lane looked up to see Jason stalking toward her. Boreas, apparently sensing trouble, slipped down the stairs and into the small cabin belowdeck.
“Getting ready for what, exactly?” Jason asked. His voice held a no-nonsense tone she remembered well.
Oh, no. She knew what he was thinking, and there was no way in Hell—or in Hades, as he would say— that she was getting off this boat. She tilted her chin up, drawing courage from the defiant gesture. “Getting ready to go look for my son.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can only look out for one amateur today, and your friend already elected Officer Boring.”
“No problem,” she answered.
He nodded, looking smug, then stepped aside, presumably clearing her exit path off the boat.
“I can take care of myself,” she said instead. She leaned back, trying to look collected.
“Lane ...” Exasperation laced his voice.
“Don’t even,” she said. She almost stood straight, wanting to get in his face, but decided against it. For one, being in close proximity to Jason messed profoundly with her ability to think coherently. Mostly, though, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to push her overboard and then speed away.
Not that he’d do such a thing, but... she wasn’t certain. And that tiny bit of uncertainty kept her butt firmly planted on the rail.
“We’re wasting time,” she said. “Which do you want to do? Argue with me, or go rescue Davy?”
The muscle in his cheek twitched, and Jason aimed a finger at her. “You do what I say, or I swear I’ll tie you to the hull just to keep you out of trouble.”
She nodded, not actually willing to make an out-loud promise, but willing to seem to agree if it would get him to start the boat up again. She couldn’t hear what he muttered under his breath as he walked away, but she could tell it wasn’t nice.
He cranked the engine and started to maneuver them out of the slip. From the dock, Hoop untied the rope, then tossed it onto the deck. “Be safe,” he called. “All of you.”
Lane nodded, and her eyes met Zoë‘s. She saw the fear reflected there, and a quick stab of guilt cut through her heart. By going, she was giving her friend one more person to worry about.
About that, though, there was nothing Lane could do. She had to go with Jason; she had to go to Davy. He was all alone, and he was surely scared. For years they’d only had each other; she’d be damned if she was going to fail him now.
Soon they were out of the marina and zipping across the wide-open ocean. Lane stood up and unsteadily made her way from her perch to Jason’s captain’s chair. He was focused on the controls, just as he had been for the last ten minutes. Not once had he turned to look at her, and he didn’t now.
Her temper flared. “Dammit, Jason. He’s my son. I’m sorry if you think it’s inconvenient to have me along, or if you want to play the hero all by yourself or something, but I’m here. Deal with it. You just can’t run off on your own again.”
Mentally, she patted herself on the back for standing up to him. But when he turned and she saw his face, all of her self-congratulations faded. “Jason?”
As quickly as it had appeared, the pain in his eyes vanished, replaced by a stoicism she found unnerving. “I’m fine,” he said.
“I don’t think so.” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
At first she thought he was going to refuse, but then he swiveled in his vinyl seat to face her while keeping one hand on the boat’s controls.
“I lost Davy,” he said. “And I don’t mean this morning, but years ago. Now I have the chance to get him back.” He reached for her hand, squeezed it so hard she grimaced. “I will get him back.”
Her brow furrowed. They’d been over this ground before. “I told you, I believe you.”
He released a tortured sigh. “But there’s more. I can get him back from Hieronymous—I know I can. I’ll fight the man to the death if that’s what it takes. But who do I fight for the rest?”
She licked her lips, not sure she was ready to hear what he meant. “The rest?”
“I want my family back, Lane.”
She grasped the edge of the control panel, its sun-baked chrome hot against her palm. Her knees weren’t quite up to the task of keeping her vertical, but she didn’t want Jason to know that. No matter how many bells and whistles he set off in her insides, she wasn’t going down that road again. Best to nip this little fantasy in the bud.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, but nothing came out.
Now, she urged herself.
This time when she tried, words actually emerged. Good. Always nice to have control over one’s mouth. “Listen, Jason,” she began, then cleared her throat She sucked in a deep breath, hating to hurt him but needing the record to be clear. “The thing is, you never had a family. There’s nothing to get back.”
“I know,” he said simply.
Lane blinked. That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “Oh.” She licked her lips, trying to decide where to go next. In her trial seminar, the professor had said to never let the jury know when a witness’s answer ruffled you.
But Lane had a feeling Jason already knew she was ruffled. So much for a verdict being returned in her favor.
“I didn’t mean to be blasé,” Jason explained. He took her hand, his fingers sliding between hers. “It’s just that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the situation. A lot more time than you, I mean. As much as I wish it weren’t true, it would be both arrogant and stupid of me to think I could just pop back into your life and pick up where we left off” He shrugged. “I mean, you’re a beautiful, bright woman. Hell, I’m surprised you aren’t already married.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that.
“We used to be wonderful friends,” he went on. “I hope we still can be.” He bit his lip, then reached out to take both her hands. “And I meant what I said. You need to do what I say. I want you safe, and losing you to Hieronymous—whether you’re my friend or lover—would kill me. You’re my son’s mother. No matter what else is between us, that’s forever.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. She told herself they were tears of relief. “Really?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
He was saying all the right things, and still she frowned. “I do have a boyfriend.” The words just popped out, and she cringed at the non sequitur. But Jason needed to know, needed to understand that she had another life now, that she’d found a man who fit that life—a man who wouldn’t leave her or her son to run off and battle boogeymen. “He’s fabulous with Davy.”
“That’s great,” Jason said. But Lane noticed the hint of a shadow cross his face.
She cleared her throat. “So, uh ... we’re on the same wavelength, then? I mean, I just want to be clear.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and she frowned.
“What?” she asked.
“Just that you already sound like a lawyer, and you’ve been in law school less than a year.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a quick study,” she said. She was so happy to share a light moment with him that she didn’t pause to wonder how he knew she was in law school. “But are we ... ?”
He nodded, then took her hand, his skin rough against her palm. “Absolutely,” he said. “Friends. Good, old friends. I want in Davy’s life, but I won’t push. We’ll figure something out.”
“Okay, then. Great.” She took a deep breath and stood up. Certainly, she couldn’t argue with that. And everything he was saying was what she wanted to hear. “Well. Right. Okay.” She headed for the stairs leading belowdeck. “I’m glad we got that straightened out,” she said.
But in truth, she wasn’t glad. As much as she wished she were, she wasn’t glad at all. And that, frankly, had her more than a little worried.



Jason vowed to take up playing poker. If he could convince Lane he didn’t want her anymore—that he hadn’t spent years yearning for her, fantasizing about her, remembering the feel of her flesh under his fingers—then he could sure as Cerberus make five or six guys think he had a royal flush when all he really held was a pair of threes.
So Lane just wanted to be friends—no rekindling of their romance, no going back to where they’d left off. Well, if that’s what the lady wanted, that’s what he’d give her. He had made a career of starting over. And if her wishes meant starting over as friends— and working his way up the ladder from there—then that’s what he was going to do. Lane might have another man in her life, but Jason had the advantage of being Davy’s father. No matter what, that kept him in the game.
He did one more quick check of the control panel to confirm they were still on course, then set the boat to autopilot. He would have preferred to simply take a couple of propulsion cloaks and head to the island that way. But Hieronymous’s island was well guarded against Protectors and, as he’d told Zoë, any approach from the air would surely be detected. A sea approach was still risky, but Jason intended to come from under the water, not on it, and he hoped that they could find a chink in Hieronymous’s armor.
He’d already plugged the latitude and longitude from Davy’s map into the boat’s computer—it was very similar to what he’d suggested upon his escape from Hieronymous’s imprisonment—but he wanted to do some double-checking as only he could. After all, the Council had already looked and found nothing.
He killed the engine and let the boat float on the ocean’s gentle waves. Pulling off all his clothes, he tossed them on the deck and slipped into the water. Under its surface he looked around, trying to find a sea creature who not only looked adventurous but had an impeccable sense of direction.
A flounder appeared and flashed him a quizzical look, but Jason let it swim on by. Flounder had a reputation for being patently unreliable. About twenty feet below, he caught sight of a great white shark. Jason almost called out, then decided to let it pass. For the most part the beasts were reliable, but lately they’d developed a grudge against mortals. Jason would hate to hang his hopes on a pissed-off psycho shark deciding to send him on a wild-goose chase.
Finally, a Girabaldi appeared, swimming slowly, talking to itself about its plans for the day. Jason caught the fish’s attention, and it floated over. After more time than he intended—as a general rule, Girabaldi tended to be very chatty and needed a firm conversational hand—Jason got down to the nitty-gritty. Yes, there was an island where Jason suggested: the Girabaldi had swum past it the other week. It was just past the kelp bed and then there was a right turn at the sunken pirate ship—exactly as Jason remembered.
Apparently, the Council had sent an incompetent to check out his story.
Jason offered the fish a hearty thank-you and then propelled himself back to the surface. He hoisted himself out of the ocean and gave his head a good shake. Straightening, he turned around—and found himself staring right into Lane’s intent gaze.
“Forgot my sweatshirt,” she said, clutching the dark green garment she’d laid over the back of his captain’s chair. She swallowed, her gaze darting up and down his naked body. When her cheeks flushed red, he did his best not to smile.
“I was just asking directions,” he explained.
A pile of towels rested nearby. He made a point not to take one.
“Right,” she said. She stood up straighter and kept her eyes on his face. “I always knew you were different.”
He sucked in air, feeling a wash of shame. “I already apologized for not telling you I was a Protector.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s old news,” she said. Flipping her sweatshirt over her shoulder, she headed back to the stairs. “I just meant that most men won’t ask for directions.” She flashed him an innocent little smile, then disappeared, returning to the galley below.
He grinned, more amused than he cared to admit. Damn, but he adored that woman.
He wanted to follow, but he supposed that he should wear clothes. Boring was down there. And there were adjustments to the boat’s controls to be made, too. Once he was back in his shorts and the dials and knobs of the autopilot were set, Jason left the boat to its own devices and headed belowdeck. Officer Boring was asleep on one of the small bunks, apparently storing up energy for the adventure ahead.
Jason frowned, realizing he still didn’t know what special Protector skills Boring held. To the best of Jason’s knowledge, being a super sycophant wasn’t a recognized Protector trait.
Lane looked over from where she was standing, and her smile whisked from Jason’s head all thoughts except of her.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. For a small boat with an owner who couldn’t cook, the Whirling Dervish had a surprisingly well-equipped galley. Lane was hovering behind its counter, the heat turned up under a saucepan.
Something smelled better than ambrosia, and Jason pointed in the general direction of the stove. “Whatever you’re making would be great.”
Color immediately rushed to her cheeks. Jason had no idea what he’d said to induce such a reaction but, considering she looked positively adorable, he didn’t regret saying it.
“I’m, uh, making omelets,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
Understanding dawned as a memory returned, and a low chuckle rose in his throat. “One of your omelets sounds wonderful,” he said, careful to keep his voice level. “Especially if it’s mushroom and cheese.”
She shot him a suspicious glance, but he kept his face blank.
“And a little burnt around the edges,” he added.
Her suspicion changed to a glare, but there was a hint of amusement underneath. “I can cook,” she said. “You just weren’t helping.”
“There was no incentive.” He slipped onto one of the stools in front of the counter. “It was more fun distracting you.”
“Distracting,” she said. “Is that what you were doing? And all this time I thought you were just being a pain in the butt.”
“Is that what you thought?” He slipped off the stool, then circled the counter to stand behind her. He leaned in close to peer over her shoulder. Sure enough, she’d added mushrooms and cheese.
The curve of her rear brushed him, firing his senses. The last time she’d cooked for him they’d started out pretty much this same way, but...
“Jason,” she said, her voice low and breathy. Her tone held both unasked questions and untapped possibility. He wanted to answer each, slowly, methodically, until she didn’t have to ask any more because her every desire had been fulfilled.
“What?” he whispered.
He saw the faint movement of her throat as she swallowed, then felt more than heard her answer— “Don’t.”
The word had no meaning to him. “Don’t what?” He leaned in closer, breathing her scent: vanilla, mixed with the subtle smell of the sea. It was intoxicating. Hera help him, his body was reacting like this from nothing but the scent of her?
She twisted, wriggling away from him. “Don’t that,” she said.
He blinked, getting his mind around the situation. Not only had his body been pressed against hers; he’d curled one arm around her waist.
He took a step back. “Sorry,” he said, even though the only thing he was sorry for was stopping. “These little trips down memory lane aren’t exactly conducive to remaining platonic.”
She licked her lips. “I can’t censor everything I say or cook,” she said. “We were together for a long time. Just about anything either of us does will strike some memory, and I can’t have you—”
“I said I was sorry.” The words came out colder than he intended.
Lane’s face lost some of its intensity as she exhaled. “It’s just that I thought we were on the same wavelength. We can be friends—I want to be friends, especially if you want to be in Davy’s life. But I can’t...” She trailed off, her eyes wide and unblinking. “There can’t be anything more than that.”
Then she blinked and, before she turned her head, Jason thought he saw the glint of a tear. That tear kept him from saying the words that begged to be released—What about me? Imprisoned for years with nothing but the memory of the woman I loved? The child I didn’t know? He couldn’t get the words out. Why? Because he knew the answer; hell, that single tear practically screamed it. He’d gone off to fight his own battles, and she was terrified he’d do it again. She was sure he would leave at the drop of a hat, go off to fight the bad guys—to battle Hieronymous. And the truth was, he probably would.
She slid the omelet onto a plate and put it between them. He looked, a little disappointed to see the egg not even slightly burnt. Not only had she grown up in the last seven years, she’d also learned how to cook.
Who the hell was he kidding? Of course she’d changed. She’d been out living her life; raising a son, trying to make a better way for herself.
He took a bite, thinking about the life he knew she now lived. “Why law school?” he asked.
A genuine smile lit her face as she took some toast out of a toaster. “Your sort,” she said. She cut a piece of the omelet with her fork and popped it into her mouth, her eyes dancing with mystery.
“My sort?” he echoed, smiling back.
“Protectors. Superheroes.” She shrugged. “The good guys.”
“I see you’re a fan,” he said, “but I’m still not sure how law school fits in.”
“Zoë‘s become one of my closest friends. So has her brother Hale, for that matter.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. Hale’s reputation for being less than friendly toward mortals was widespread.
“Oh, he’s not going to start manufacturing I-Love-Mortal buttons or anything,” Lane explained. “But there’s a few of us he genuinely cares about. Some he even loves.”
Jason hadn’t ever met Hale, so he didn’t argue. “But I still don’t see the connection.”
“Those two are always fighting bad guys,” she said, stabbing the omelet aggressively with her fork. “I started to feel extraneous. My friends were doing all this amazing stuff, but if I tried to flip a mugger over my shoulder, I’d end up in traction. The mugger would be proud owner of all my belongings.” She shrugged. “I took a kickboxing course. I lost three pounds, but I’m still a klutz.”
“A cute klutz,” he proposed.
When she frowned, he held up his hands in self-defense. “It’s an empirical fact. You’re cute. Can’t a guy tell his friend she’s cute?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. We’ll say that one was on the line.”
“And on the line counts in tennis. Fifteen-love.”
She tried to glare but didn’t much succeed. “Just watch it, okay?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Happy to.”
She didn’t scold him again, just cleared her throat. Her cheeks turned pink. “At any rate,” she continued, her tone no-nonsense, “I wanted to do something useful. Something that would make an impact. I guess I wanted to be a good guy, too.”
“So, I’m betting you don’t plan on representing the accounting departments of major corporations?” One of the benefits of being stuck on Olympus for almost a year—he’d had plenty of time to watch the news.
She shot him a wry glance. “A district attorney. You guys catch them, and I’ll prosecute them. Just like Batman and the police commissioner.”
“Yeah. Except the commissioner never knew who Batman was. You know all our secrets.”
Instead of answering, she carefully placed a bite-sized hunk of omelet on the corner of a piece of toast, then bit down, chewing thoughtfully. Jason frowned, wondering what she was thinking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she finally asked.
So much for that mystery. Despite what she’d said on deck, the fact that he hadn’t disclosed his secrets so many years ago was going to be a point of contention. He cleared his throat. “If I’d known you were going to become a prosecutor,” he said, “I would have told you the day we met.”
Her raised eyebrow suggested that she wasn’t amused by his response, so he tried to change the subject.
“How did you get hooked up with Zoë and Hale, anyway?”
This time her eyebrow rose in surprise, not annoyance. “I assumed you knew,” Lane said. “The story was all over the Protector newspaper and website at the time.”
He shook his head. “It’s amazing what news you miss living your life in a fishbowl.” He immediately regretted the words. He didn’t want to talk about that now; the topic was too dark, and it rekindled his anger. All he wanted at the moment was to share a few nice moments with Lane—sweet moments, before they reached the island and the hellish reality of their situation crashed down around them again.
For a second he thought she was going to ask what he meant, but then she simply answered his question, describing how she’d purchased the stone from Aphrodite’s Girdle, and how Zoë had rescued her from Mordichai, who’d been out to retrieve it for his father. “Zoë saved Davy that day, too,” Lane added, and Jason’s heart twisted with her utterance of the boy’s name.
Her head cocked to one side. “Wait a second,” she said. “You’re Davy’s father ...” She trailed off.
He frowned, not understanding where her thoughts were headed. “What?”
“I just don’t get it. I mean, Davy was all over the Council’s news—we both were. But no one bothered to tell me he was a halfling.”
“Ah,” Jason said, knowing that he was included in the no one. “That would be my fault.”
A wry smile touched her lips. “Why am I not surprised?”
“A halfling has to be registered. Since I wasn’t available—”
“You never filed the paperwork.”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head. “I swear, the Council has more paperwork than the I.R.S.”
“Eventually they do get around to discovering all the halflings—and quarterlings and whatnot—out there. Apparently at the time Zoë was being tested, they hadn’t found Davy yet.”
“So you probably still have to file that paperwork, huh?”
He swallowed. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to raise the Council’s edict about boarding school. “Yeah. Something like that.”
She squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Right before we, uh, met again, I got a letter from Olympus. From the Council.”
She crossed her arms. “A letter?”
He nodded. “Notifying me that I hadn’t filed the proper papers when Davy was born, and also, uh, putting me on notice about Davy’s schooling.”
Lane’s arms stayed crossed and her eyebrow went up. “His schooling?”
“Yeah.” Jason got up, taking the dishes to the sink. “The Council wants Davy to attend boarding school.” He spoke quickly and kept his back to her.
“What?” she shrieked.
He whirled to face her. “Careful,” he whispered, his finger to his lips. He gestured to Boreas, still asleep on the bunk.
“I don’t care who I wake up,” she snapped, but this time she was quieter. “My son is not going away to boarding school.”
“Actually, I have an idea about—”
“Who the hell do they think they are?” Lane got up and started pacing the small area. “He’s my son.”
“They just want to be sure he’s properly trained. His skills honed. That kind of thing.” Jason had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the best time to mention who Davy’s grandfather was—or that Davy was starting with a black mark against him in the High Elder’s minds, one that would require more of him than other halflings.
“Zoë didn’t have to go to boarding school,” she protested. “She told me her mom raised her. Tessa didn’t have any idea Zoë was a halfling.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “That’s kind of my idea. You see, if—”
“I mean, how dare they.” Lane paced past him one more time, and he caught her arm on the return journey, tugging her close. She tilted her head back, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Would you just listen to me?” he asked. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. I think I’ve come up with a solution.”
From the look on her face, she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. And though her son might be a Protector, Lane wasn’t. He didn’t expect she could throw him very far.
Even so, she nodded, silently inviting him to continue.
“Me,” he said.
She made a whooshing motion over her head.
He tugged her toward the stools and urged her to sit. She hesitated but complied.
“The Council’s concerned that Davy’s skills won’t develop right,” Jason began. “That he’ll be ... uh, vulnerable to nefarious influences if someone from the Council isn’t around to watch over him.”
“But Zoë—”
“—had her father and Hale when she was growing up. From the Council’s perspective, Davy doesn’t have anybody.”
“Glad to know my contribution counts for so much,” Lane muttered.
“You know what I mean,” Jason said. “And your contribution does count. I know it, and you know it.” He sucked in a breath for courage. “And my contribution can count, too. I think it can count a lot, actually.”
Her head tilted to one side. “Your contribution?”
“If I worked with Davy every day, helped him to hone his skills. Basically I’d give him the kind of Protector guidance he’d get in boarding school.”
He’d been constructing the plan ever since he’d received Prigg’s letter. Considering his own iffy status with the Council, it wasn’t definite. But by proving his loyalty wasn’t with Hieronymous, surely he’d also prove he was competent to educate his son. Which was one more reason to see his father destroyed.
Lane still hadn’t answered; instead, she was perched on her stool, leaning forward, her elbows on the counter. Jason moved to the far side so that he could see her face, and when he did so she looked up, a question in her eyes. “Have you been sending Davy gifts?”
He blinked. This wasn’t the question he’d expected. But he nodded.
“Why?”
“After I escaped, I spent months in debriefing under surveillance.” He shrugged. “I guess I just wanted Davy to know I was out there.” He shoved a hand into his pocket. “Did he, uh, like them?”
Lane’s quick smile lifted his heart. “Oh, yeah. All of them were a big hit.” Her head cocked slightly, and he saw different questions behind her eyes.
“How did you know?” she asked. “About law school. And where we lived. About everything?”
He swallowed. He’d been wondering when they’d get to that. “The Council monitors,” he admitted. “I used to watch you while I was on Olympus. It gave me . . . something to hope for.”
She licked her lips, her eyes narrowing. “You said the letter was from Olympus,” she said. “About Davy’s boarding school.”
“Yeah,” he answered, with some hesitation. “That’s right.”
“But if you just left Olympus, why’d they have to send you a letter?”
Busted.
“Jason?” she prompted.
He took a deep breath. “I’ve been finished with debriefing for about a month. I moved into the houseboat, brought this boat back from Greece. I also took care of some other stuff.”
“And didn’t come to see us.” Her chin lifted along with her eyebrow.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Why not?” The words weren’t harsh. Instead they were genuinely curious—and a little bit hurt. “You say you wanted us back. And yet...”
“I know,” he agreed. He closed his eyes, searching for the right words. “I wanted to figure out what I was doing first.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m not following.”
“I’ve never had a kid.” He paused, grimacing. “I mean, of course I have a kid, but—”
“I know what you mean.”
“I didn’t know what to do with him. I didn’t know how to be a daddy.” He sighed. “Hell, I still don’t. But I know every Bob the Builder cartoon backward and forward, and, if you want, I can sing the entire Lion King soundtrack.”
Her mouth twitched and Lane’s eyes softened. She reached for his hands. When she gave his fingers a quick tug, he resisted the urge to hold tight and pull her close.
“You’ll do fine,” she said. “Trust me.”
His heart twisted, her vote of confidence meaning more to him than he could ever have imagined. “And the training?” he asked.
Slowly, she nodded. “That’s fine, too. It’s a good plan, if they allow it.” She breathed in, and he heard the hitch in her throat. A teardrop appeared in her eye and clung to her lower lashes. “But—”
“Don’t even think that,” he interrupted, realizing the direction her thoughts had taken. “He’s fine. He’s fine,” he repeated, to convince himself as much as her. “And you’ll be hugging him and embarrassing him with kisses very soon.”
She gnawed on her lower lip, and when she looked up at him, the fat tear in Lane’s eye plopped to the counter. “How do you know?”
“I just do,” he said. And her rules be damned; he moved back around the counter and urged her from the stool and into his arms. For just a moment he held her like that, sharing his strength and drawing courage from her warmth. He was scared, too. But for Lane—and for Davy—he had to be strong. “You said you trusted me about this,” he whispered. “Did you stop?”
She shook her head, pressed her face into his chest. “I do trust you,” she said, her voice muffled. “I’m just anxious. And worried. And—”
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
They held each other for a while, the boat’s engine surging beneath them, moving them closer and closer to their son and to danger.
“How much longer?” Lane asked after a moment.
“Soon,” he said. “This boat is faster than mortal craft, and I’ve programmed it to take us right to the vicinity. The console will signal when we’re—”
A chime rang, and he nodded. “That’s it. We’re here.” He checked a display on the wall, confirming they’d in fact reached the programmed latitude and longitude.
“Do you really think he’ll be here?”
He shrugged as they walked toward the stairwell. “Yes. I’ve ... been here before. When I escaped, I paid attention. And, uh, just to make sure, I asked a fish.”
“To think,” she muttered, “I almost married a dolphin. Well, I’m probably the only woman in my trial advocacy class who can say that.”
He shot her a grin and climbed the stairs. He knew she was still afraid, but if she was cracking jokes, at least she was coping. “The island should be coming up on the port side,” he said as he reached the deck. He leaned down, giving her a hand up the narrow stairs.
As they both stood up, a slight shiver wracked his body. He turned to see his former prison.
Except it wasn’t there.
Here they were at the coordinates Davy’s map had given and Jason remembered, yet just like the Council had reported, there was no island.