Aphrodite's Secret (17 page)

He stood and turned in a circle, his eyes scanning the room. Nothing.

Hello
? he called.

Lane stared at him. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her, addressing the voice.
Is anyone here
?

You can
hear
me? Oh, that’s wonderful! I had no idea. Ask the ferret! You need to ask the ferret where Davy is
!

Jason turned to Lane. “Does Davy have a fish?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh. I completely forgot to feed Dorothy.” She reached to the headboard and pushed Davy’s pillow aside. There, on the built-in bookshelf, was a simple goldfish bowl housing a tiny plastic castle and one small fish.

Thank Hera he wasn’t losing his mind.

Immediately, Jason climbed back onto the bed and crawled to the headboard, coming nose to bowl with the fish.

“Uh, Jason?”

He ignored Lane, focusing on Dorothy.
What do you mean, talk to the ferret
?

The goldfish swam back and forth, building up speed with each turn.
The ferret’s been rambling like mad. And the boy used to talk to him about a tracking device
.

You can understand the boy?

I understand him, but he doesn’t understand me. He can talk to the ferret, though
—
he invented a translator
.

His brilliant son ...

Jason shook his head. Time for that later.
Can you ask the ferret
?

I don’t speak ferret. Do you?

No, Jason certainly didn’t. Which had never bothered him before, but now it caused him no end of grief. Yet there were other ways to communicate besides words, and he intended to get answers.

With a quick thank-you to Dorothy, Jason dove for Elmer, plucking him off the map and the brightly lit bulb plugged into the South Pacific. He wracked his brain for a way to interact with the beast.

“Jason?” Lane asked, her voice switching from slightly amused to slightly concerned. “What’s going on?”

As Jason opened his mouth to answer, realization struck. He stared at the ferret now dangling from his hands, tiny ferret feet kicking in the air.

Jason swallowed as he glanced from the bulb to the ferret and back.

Surely it wasn’t so simple ...

The ferret twisted to follow Jason’s gaze and then started to spaz out again, his little head bobbing up and down affirmatively.

“Dammit, Jason, tell me what’s going on.” Lane clutched his wrist so tightly he opened his hand, dropping Elmer.

“I know where he is,” he answered, meeting her widening eyes. “I know where Hieronymous took Davy.”

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.”