Aphrodite's Secret (23 page)

Automatically, Jason smoothed out his shorts, then peeled off his sunglasses and wiped their lenses on his T-shirt. Footsteps sounded on the steps, and Jason’s mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn’t manage.

Lane appeared first, and then Davy trudged up the stairs, his eyes still sleepy behind his glasses and his hair going every which direction. He gave his glasses a shove at their bridge, and Jason noticed that one earpiece had been meticulously reattached with tape.

His son glanced around the deck, eyes settling on the only other person up there—Jason.

“But I’ve already met him, Mommy,” Davy said. “He’s Jason, and he didn’t kidnap me.”

“Right,” Lane agreed. She took the boy’s hand and tugged him over. Then she met Jason’s eyes and jerked her head, silently urging him to meet them halfway. She settled Davy at the deck’s one little table.

Jason meandered over, in no particular hurry. True, he wanted Davy to know who he was. He wanted his family. He just didn’t want this awkward, Humpty-Dumpty moment: putting the pieces back together, hoping like heck the king’s men would finally get the job done right.

His son turned to him. “It’s very nice to meet you again,” he said. The boy shifted slightly, his gaze falling on his mother. “Can I go now? I want to watch the ocean as it gets dark.”

The sun was fast setting in the sky. Jason had set the autopilot’s speed so the boat would return to California early in the morning. At the very least, he’d figured Davy could use a good night’s sleep under the protection of his father.

“Not quite yet, sweetie,” Lane said. “I, uh ...” She trailed off, looking at Jason for help.

He shrugged. None of the books he’d bought covered this particular scenario.

“Right,” Lane said. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”

Davy’s forehead crinkled, his face a mass of confusion. “Is something wrong, Mommy?”

“No, sweetie. Just the opposite. You see, Jason’s your daddy.”

Jason exhaled. The whole afternoon creeping around his evil father’s island hadn’t tired him out, but this one conversational exchange with his son would exhaust him.

“No, he’s not,” Davy said simply. “Can I go play
now
?”

Lane and Jason exchanged glances. From her expression, Jason could tell this wasn’t the response she’d expected. Good. He didn’t want to be the only one knocked on his fanny by an almost-seven-year-old’s denial.

“Um, yes he is,” Lane argued. “Trust me. Moms know these things.”

Davy shook his head,
then
looked down, concentrating intently on the toes of his shoes. “He’s not,” he said. “I know he’s not.” He looked up, staring right at Jason, his eyes clear and intent. “What space station were you on?”

Jason wondered what the Brazelton book would say about that, because he sure as heck didn’t have a good answer. “The
Poseidon
,” he finally said. It was either that or tell the truth. And, at the moment, a lie seemed much more comfortable.

Lane crossed her arms over her chest, a bemused expression on her face. Jason shrugged—the tiniest of motions meant only for her.

Davy squinted up at him. “Really? How’d you get back down? You were stuck.”

“A good question,” Jason agreed. He got up and crossed to the cooler, partly because he needed something to soothe his parched throat, partly because he needed to buy some time to think of an answer. “Do you know why I was stuck?”

Davy nodded. “The heat shields,” he said. He climbed up onto the table and sat cross-legged, his chin propped on his clasped hands. “They were bad.”

Jason nodded. That sounded reasonable. It was a story he could work with. “They
were
bad,” he agreed. “But I fixed them.”

Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Reaching onto the table, he grabbed one of several Orange Crushes he’d stocked on the boat. Popping its top, he took a long gulp, confident he’d passed the test.

“How?”

Jason coughed, trying not to spit out the soda. So much for his moment of triumph.

Beside Davy, Lane laughed. “Yes, Jason. How? I was wondering that very thing.”

He flashed her an overly sweet smile. “Apparently not with
your
help,” he said.

She laughed again, then mumbled something about being sorry. “I’ll just sit here quietly,” she added, a grin tugging at her mouth.

He rolled his eyes. “You do that.”

“Mr. Jason,” Davy prompted, “
how
?”

“Right. Yes. Well, you see, it turns out it was pretty simple.”

Davy cocked his head but didn’t speak. Which was too bad, because Jason was hoping for a little prompting. Apparently, though, he was on his own.

“You see, most of the tiles were good—heat shields are made out of tiles, you know.” Jason gave himself a mental pat on the back, happy he’d remembered that little tidbit from repeated viewings of
Apollo 13
.

“I know,” his son said, but still didn’t help out.

“Yeah, well, the problem was that the bad tiles were on the front. So I put on my space suit and went outside and removed those front tiles and replaced them with some good ones from the back.” He glanced down at Davy, who seemed to be buying into the whole thing.
So far, so good
.

“And, uh, then I had to make sure that the brunt of the reentry heat hit the front.” Unfortunately, Jason’s knowledge of physics was pretty much exhausted, so he was just making everything up as he went along. “It’s all about angles,” he added. Hadn’t someone in mission control said that? “And, uh, trajectories.”

“Right,” Lane said. “Trajectories are very important.”

Davy nodded, his little face quite serious.

“So, uh, then I just aimed the space ship and took my best shot—and it worked.”

“Wow,” Davy said. “That’s really cool.”

“So . .. you believe me?” Jason asked. “That I’m your daddy, I mean.” Mentally he rolled his eyes, knowing he sounded absolutely pathetic.

Davy twisted to look at his mother.

“It’s true, honey,” Lane assured the child.

“Okay,” Davy said. He shrugged and picked at a scab on his knee. “Do I have to
call
you daddy?”

Jason felt his heart break just a little. “No.” He shook his head and tried to manufacture a smile. “You can call me Jason.”

Davy nodded, as if that settled everything. Then he slid off the table and brushed his hands on the back of his pants. For a second he looked up at Jason as if he wanted to say something else, but then he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Lane. “Can I have a candy bar?”

She met Jason’s eyes, and he saw the apology in them before she smiled at her son. “Sure thing. I saw some in the little refrigerator downstairs. But only one.”

“Okay,” the boy said with a nod, then headed toward the steps. He stopped on the first, turning full-circle to face Jason. “If you’re really my daddy,” he asked, “can you get me a puppy?”

Jason looked to Lane, who looked about ready to choke on her laughter. Apparently, this fatherhood gig was going to be harder than he thought.

“
Empty
? What do you mean the cell is empty?” Hieronymous stalked around the chamber, his glare fixed on his chief of guards. Mordi sank back into the corner, happy for the moment to be out of the line of fire.

“Just what I said, sire.” Clyde ran a thin, lizard like tongue over his lips. “I went to deliver his meal, and no boy.”

Hieronymous slammed his hand down on his desk, his palm open. The resulting noise echoed through the room, and Mordi cringed.

“Fools!” Hieronymous hissed. “Can this day get any worse?” He glared venomously at Clyde. “Heads will roll over this. I am not feeling particularly forgiving today.”

Clyde stood straighter, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Mordi. “My sentries made their rounds, sire. They alerted us to the intruders. It was my understanding that these monitors were the security for the boy’s cell.”

There was a beat, then Hieronymous and Clyde
both
turned to stare at Mordichai. Mordi licked his lips, wondering if he should run, wondering if he’d make it.

Clyde marched forward to the console, his long, powerful strides bringing him quickly across the room. He pointed at the monitors, still tuned to alternate channels. “As I suspected,” he crowed. “He wasn’t even monitoring the boy’s cell.”

Mordi swallowed, trying not to let his eyes show fear. “I... I don’t know what happened. I was adjusting the controls, practicing. I didn’t mean to—”

“Did you observe our confrontation with the intruders?” Hieronymous asked, his eyes narrowing.

Mordi shook his head, the lie coming easily. “No, sir. I...” He swallowed, the gesture buying him precious seconds. “I wanted to. I wanted to see you overpower whoever it was. But the controls ...” He trailed off, shooting an irritated glance at the console. “I couldn’t get the east corridor to display on the screen.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Father. I know I said I was competent at operating these controls.”

“We should have left him in Manhattan,” Clyde snapped, casting a derisive glance at him. “Useless half-breed.”

Hieronymous towered over Clyde. “I would encourage you to watch your tongue. Whatever else he may be, Mordichai is still my son.”

“Yes, sir,” Clyde said, looking as shocked as Mordi felt. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “Of course, sir.”

Mordi kept his feet firmly in one place, determined not to back away as Hieronymous approached.

“Did you reset the monitor on the boy’s chamber?”

“Not on purpose, sir,” Mordi lied. “But when I was trying to adjust the controls, I might have accidentally switched channels.”

“I see.” Hieronymous stared at him for a long moment, during which Mordi’s entire life flashed before his eyes. But then his father finally said, “Very well,” and walked away to settle himself behind his desk. The Outcast’s fingers immediately began their
tap-tapping,
but except for the irritating noise of his pensiveness, Mordi’s father seemed quite unfazed.

Clyde’s brow furrowed. Clearly, the guard captain was as confused as Mordichai. “Uh, sir? What should we do?”

“Do?” Hieronymous shot a narrow glance Clyde’s way, and Mordi felt a surge of relief that the father he knew had returned. “Why, reacquire the boy, of course. We are fortunate that there is still time. The moment of his hormonal shift will not occur until midnight on Thursday.”

“Reacquire him? How, sir?”

Hieronymous’s chest rose as he drew in a deep breath. “I find it irritating that I have to hold your hand through these matters. I would think the answer to this question is clear.” He turned to Mordi. “Answer Clyde’s question, son. How do you intend to reacquire the boy?”

Mordi’s chest tightened. Despite his hope, his “miserable failure” with the monitors hadn’t earned him a pass on this new assignment. “Uh, when the boy goes to school...”

“Excellent,” Hieronymous agreed. He looked at Clyde again. “You will assist my son in this endeavor. The boy goes to and from school. He plays in his yard. He does those things mortal boys do. It should not be too difficult to secure him once again.”

“No, sir,” Clyde said. “I mean—yes, sir. I mean, I will do what it takes to bring the child back here.”

Hieronymous shook his head. “You will do nothing but assist my son as he requires.” His eyes turned to Mordi, deep and unfathomable.

Mordi swallowed, wondering if his father knew the truth.

“My son will return the boy to me,” the man said. He faced Mordichai and raised his hands. “You
are
with me on this, are you not?”

“Of course, sir,” Mordi answered.

A smile touched Hieronymous’s lips—a rare gesture meant for Mordichai, his new favored son?

Mordi’s heart twisted just a little, and he wondered if Jason’s betrayal hadn’t just sealed his doom.

“Davy!” Zoë jumped up and down on the dock, both she and Deena screaming at the top of their lungs even as they laughed and cried.

It was quite a sight, and Lane’s own tears joined her friends‘. There was just something about a homecoming. Even Boreas seemed moved.

Davy, bless his heart, launched himself right at his Aunt Zoë. “I was really brave,” he bragged.

She kissed his forehead. “You sure were. The bravest.” She smiled at Lane, the simple gesture speaking volumes: congratulations, fear, hope, relief. Every emotion Lane had experienced over the last twenty-four hours was reflected right back at her.

“Hey,” Deena said, moving in to get a hug from the boy. “Who’s ready for breakfast? I bet we could do pancakes.”

“Oh, cool. Can we, Mom?”

Lane gnawed on her lower lip. “In a little bit, sweetie. We need to go home and get Dorothy and Elmer.” She and Jason had already decided they’d stay together at Jason’s houseboat—at least until they figured out why Hieronymous wanted their boy.

Her son yawned, clearly still zonked. “But, Mommy...”

“No buts,” she said. “You don’t want Elmer to starve, do you? And you can have your pancakes when we get back.”

Davy didn’t answer, but he didn’t look happy either. Jason stepped from the boat and put a hand on Lane’s arm. “Let him stay and eat. I’ll take you home to get the ferret and the fish. We’ll come straight back.”

“No. I’m the mommy,” Lane answered, not sure she liked the idea of leaving Davy’s side, even for only a little bit. “And the mommy says he’s coming with us.”

“Okay,” Davy said in a bit of a whine. “But I can bring back my Game Boy, right? And my other toys, too?”

“Of course,” Lane said. “You can bring back whatever you want.”

She glanced at Jason then, for the first time realizing he might not want a billion toys scattered all over his house. “Can’t he?”

Jason smiled. “Of course.”

“Okay, then. It’s settled.” She licked her lips. “But we’re taking a car,” she added.

Jason raised an eyebrow, and Lane shrugged. “It’s not that far,” she explained. “And, believe me, you don’t want to lug back all the toys he’s going to want.” She sighed. “Besides, I’ve had it. By air, by sea—all under Protector-power. Right now, I want the ground under my feet and no possibility of spilling poor Dorothy into the middle of Wilshire Boulevard.” She exhaled slowly. “I just want to get from point A to point B the old-fashioned way.”