Aphrodite's Secret (15 page)

“Make yourself at home,” Jason said.

“Thanks.” Boring reached onto the desk and grabbed a pencil and a pad of paper, then gave Jason a smile.

Apparently, the young officer had trouble grasping sarcasm. Jason sighed. But, unlike Zoë, at least Boring seemed willing to believe he was really looking for Davy. Jason knew he should probably cut the guy a break, but it irritated him that Zoë had assigned him this shadow. He was taking it out on Boring, and if that was unfair it was too damn bad. Jason wasn’t exactly having the best of days himself.

Twisting around, he turned his attention back to the computer. He’d already entered his password at
www.superherocentral.com
and had navigated to the database containing all registered Outcast information. Protector law required Outcasts to file quarterly reports identifying all property held in their name, or by a corporate entity in which the Outcast held a substantial ownership. Jason didn’t necessarily expect Hieronymous had followed the rules, but considering how stiff the penalty was for noncompliance, he was willing to give this a shot. Who knew? Maybe the Outcast played by
some
of the rules.

It turned out Hieronymous had registered 427 properties around the globe, the most promising of which included a hunting cabin in the Arctic, a mud hut in Borneo, an abandoned winery in the South of France, and a ghost town in Arizona.

Boring leaned forward, his eraser tapping the screen. “Arizona’s close. Maybe he just whipped over a couple of states.”

“Arizona?” Lane’s voice filtered in from behind them and Jason turned, the very sound of her voice warming him more than the T-shirt and sweats he’d thrown on to replace the towel from Sea World. “You think Davy’s in Arizona?”

Jason shook his head, hating to kill the hope he saw in her bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry, Lane. We still don’t know where he is.”

Her lip trembled, steadying slightly when Zoë put a hand on her shoulder. Lane’s already pale skin seemed translucent, and shadows lined her eyes. Since he’d last seen her she’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and now only loose tendrils framed her face. Despite the strength he knew was at her core, Lane looked small and wan, and he immediately got up and took her elbow.

He led her to the small sofa by the window, but there, instead of lying down like he wanted, she sat up, her legs together, her hands folded above her knees, as if keeping herself together was as much a physical act as a mental one.

“I’ve got a team of fifty Protectors checking out each of Hieronymous’s official addresses,” Zoë informed no one in particular. She nodded toward the computer screen where Jason had just been pulling up that information. “In a few hours, we should know something.”

Jason nodded, glad this route had been handled. Then he headed back to the machine and clicked the mouse on the toolbar, pulling up the Council-devised search engine he’d had running in the background. The software filtered through the property records of every city in every state in every country. Considering the massive amount of information to be processed, the program was surprisingly fast.

“Bori—
Boreas
is probably right. I doubt the kidnapper took Davy to a registered location. I’ve had the computer searching property records. I’m hoping we can locate some likely unregistered properties.”

“That’ll take forever.” This was a new, male voice, and Jason swiveled in his chair to face the door. A somewhat rumpled man appeared whom he recognized from his past months observing Lane.

“Hoop!” Deena squealed, and then ran to embrace her fiancé. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He kissed her head, then immediately moved to the sofa and put his free arm around Lane. Holding her close, he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. Jason liked him instantly. “You doing okay, kid?”

She nodded, then immediately shook her head. “No.”

“We’ll find him,” Hoop said. He turned toward Jason. “You’re the dad?”

Jason nodded, grateful the man hadn’t repeated Zoë‘s accusations. “That’s me.”

“So let’s see what you’ve got so far.” Hoop squeezed in between Jason and Boreas, managing to block Boreas’s view in the process. Jason’s affection for the P.I. rose another notch.

He shifted to the left, giving Hoop a better view. “I think you got the gist of it as you came in. I’m letting the computer do its thing to see if any matches come up.” He pointed to a box in the corner of the screen. “So far it’s found ninety-seven properties potentially owned by Hieronymous.”

“That many?” Lane asked from across the room.

“Afraid so,” he admitted. “And it’s only completed fifteen percent of the search.”

She got up and moved toward the computer, and Jason automatically scooted over, making room for her on his chair. She hesitated, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He patted the cushion, then stood up, letting her have the chair to herself.

“No. You’re working,” she said.

“And you want to watch. You don’t need to be standing.” He squinted at her. “Have you eaten anything?” His gaze shifted to Deena. “She should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lane argued, but she sat on the edge of his chair. “We can share,” she amended.

Jason nodded, pleased she wanted him close. Before he sat back down, he shot another look in Deena’s direction. She headed off to the kitchen— technically a galley, but the houseboat was so like a fancy apartment that nothing about it really felt nautical.

“Can you see the results so far?” Lane asked, her breath tickling his neck.

“Sure.” Jason clicked his mouse, pulling up each specific file. Behind him, he could hear Boreas squirming, maneuvering for a better view. He scrolled through each entry, but nothing screamed evil Outcast abode.

“Nothing,” Lane said. She closed her eyes, her hands clutching the side of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white. “This is hopeless.”

“Mordichai,” Zoë reminded, her voice little more than a whisper.

Lane’s eyes opened, and she turned to Jason. “Of course,” she cried. “Maybe the property belongs to Mordi!”

“I’m already on it,” he said. And he was. “The computer’s looking for any property that belongs to any derivation of Hieronymous’s name, Mordichai’s, or that Clyde guy who does Hieronymous’s dirty work.” He shrugged. “Of course, it’s probably a waste of resources to plug Mordi’s name in,” he said. “After all, he’s already on probation with the Council, and I can’t imagine he’d risk that by letting his father—”

“Mordi’s a shape shifter,” Zoë said, interrupting. Her voice was flat, but the message wasn’t. Surprised, Jason turned to face her, and she nodded. “Sorry I misjudged you,” she added.

Her expression wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but an apology was an apology, and Jason didn’t intend to look a gift Protector in the mouth. “Under the circumstances, it was a natural mistake,” he said. If he’d expected her expression to soften once she realized he wasn’t holding a grudge, he’d been wrong.

Her lips stayed in a thin line, her posture overly straight and her eyes fixed on the back of Lane’s head.

Ah
. Well, he couldn’t fault her for worrying about her friend, either.

“So it wasn’t this guy?” Boreas asked, indicating Jason. “I don’t need to keep an eye on him anymore?”

A shadow crossed Zoë‘s face, and she started to speak, looking none too happy about it. Jason knew what she was going to say and got there first. “You’re stuck with me, kid.” He met Zoë’s surprised gaze. “Council rules.”

“Right,” Boreas said. “Of course. Regulation nine-seven-four, subpart d.” He thwapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

Jason rolled his eyes at the neophyte’s enthusiasm for the rulebook, then looked at Lane. “Until another Protector is conclusively involved, I’m still a suspect,” he said, answering the question in her eyes.

Well, for Jason, that was more or less the status quo—at least until he proved himself to the High Elders. A protector like him with Hieronymous for a father would always be a little bit suspect. In that, he supposed, he had a hell of a lot in common with his brother Mordi. Someday, maybe he’d even meet the man.

Lane poked at her plate of scrambled eggs. She’d been doing so for about an hour, ever since Deena had put it in front of her. So far, she hadn’t taken a bite.

At first, Deena had shot her optimistic glances, but she’d finally given up and now dozed in one of Jason’s leather chairs. Jason and Boreas were still hovering in front of the computer, its monitor casting an eerie glow on their faces. Zoë was on the patio, talking on her cell phone to some council big shot, and Hoop was in Jason’s bedroom, calling to see if any of his mortal law-enforcement connections had turned up any information.

Only Lane was useless. Sucking in air, she willed herself to eat. What Deena had said earlier was right: If she wanted to help, she needed to keep up her strength. With a grand effort, she stabbed a tiny clump of egg with her fork and lifted it to her mouth.

Her taste buds had ceased to function, so the bite seemed bland and rubbery. She added a bit of toast, but her mouth was too dry, and she just kept chewing and chewing, unable to swallow. After a moment she gave up and spit the whole mess into a napkin. “I’m sorry,” she said, to no one in particular.

Jason looked up. “How about a milkshake?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. When was the last time you ate?”

She blinked, trying to grasp the concept of time. Years seemed to have passed since she’d had anything but water, and she frowned with concentration. “Lunch. Today. I mean yesterday. I mean—”

“You mean it’s been a long time,” Jason interrupted. “It’s almost four in the morning.” He stood up and headed into the kitchen. “Something cold and liquid. Strength, energy, and ice cream.” His smile was sympathetic. “Just the ticket for a weary woman.”

She nodded, having to admit it did sound good. But when Jason came back around the corner, his smile had faded. “I’m out of ice cream.” He glanced toward the computer and the Protector sitting there. Boreas had fallen asleep. “We’ll send
him
.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine.” Her stomach rumbled, apparently having come awake at the thought of ice cream. Her hunger triggered a memory, that of a likely hungry ferret trapped in her living room. She stood up, glancing around for her purse. “I, uh, need to go home anyway.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

She crossed her arms on her chest. She’d come close to falling apart today, but she’d managed to hold herself together. The last thing she needed was to be told what to do. She stood up, marched to the table near the front door, and swung her purse over her shoulder. “Yeah,
I do. I
need to go feed Elmer and I want... I want...” She trailed off, blinking back tears. What she wanted was just to see Davy’s room again, but she felt like an idiot saying that out loud.

Jason moved toward her, his bare feet silent on the polished wood floor. He slipped an arm around her, and Lane leaned against him, wishing she didn’t need his comfort but not about to turn it down from some false pride. Especially since being in his arms felt so very right.

“I only meant that you don’t have a car. You came here under Protector power, remember?” He paused, then added, “If you need to feed Elmer, I’ll take you. And as long as we’re using my place for command central, you should probably pick up a few things.”

She sighed. He was right. Getting Zoë to agree took a bit more effort, but Lane’s sister-in-law finally gave in, even going so far as to not wake Boreas to go with them. Ignoring Regulation 974, subpart d was a big deal; Lane wasn’t certain if Zoë now fully trusted Jason, if she was simply being accommodating, or if she was just too tired to fight. Whatever the reason, Lane didn’t care. She just wanted to go home.

She soon found herself above Santa Monica, with nothing surrounding her but air and Jason’s arm. Below, stop lights blinked red and yellow as traffic moved in a city that thrummed with activity even in the middle of the night. The night air chilled her, and she shivered.

“Scared?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve done this before,” she explained with false bravado. In truth, this particular Protector trick got her every time. Usually, she could focus on something else and keep the fear at bay. This time, though, the
something else
was even more terrifying. “Maybe a little scared,” she admitted.

His arm tightened around her waist and he shifted her, pulling her below him so that he was essentially lying on her. Her back was pressed against his chest, her rear nestled against his crotch. Their ankles intertwined, keeping their legs together.

The heat from his body poured through her, staving off her chill. But his heat was so much more than just 98.6. No, the friction between their bodies was making things much hotter. It was doing things to her it shouldn’t, making her body remember things it shouldn’t. Making her want things she shouldn’t.

She shifted, twisting against his arm, trying to struggle free. But he held fast. “No,” she whispered. “Put me back the way I was before.”

“Shhh.” His mouth brushed the back of her ear. “We’re almost there. And this is the safest way to fly. I’m tired, too. I don’t want to accidentally drop you.”

She doubted he would, but she appreciated his excuse. She didn’t have the energy to argue. And, truthfully, she craved his touch—wanted it even as she wanted to be free of him.

The journey ended all too soon, and Jason put them down on the lawn in front of her apartment. Lane frowned, wondering how he knew her address, but she didn’t ask. Under the circumstances, it was probably best not to know.

She slid her key into the lock and pushed open her front door. Immediately, Elmer scampered forward and started chittering.

“Hale’s ferret?” Jason asked.

Lane nodded.

“Any idea what he’s saying?”

“Not a clue,” she said. “I’m guessing he’s starving to death. He’s used to hotels with room service. Staying up with me is really lowering his standards.”

Reaching down, she rubbed his little head, thinking that would calm him down. Instead, it only seemed to excite him more. “I guess I better make with the food.” She headed toward the kitchen, gesturing to the interior of the room. “It’s not much, but it’s home. Sit anywhere,” she offered, clicking a button on the remote to turn on the television. “I’ll only be a second.”