Aphrodite's Secret (26 page)

At the moment, Lane was his. Of that, he was certain. It was the future he feared.

Phelonium Prigg’s image sputtered and shifted, so Zoë gave her holo-pager one solid whack. A bit more static appeared, and then the Council bureaucrat came into sharp focus. He pulled himself up to his full height, all five feet four inches. Under the circumstances—as a projection on top of Jason’s desk calendar—the Protector seemed even tinier.

Zoë exhaled, then propped her hands on her hips. “I was trying to reach Zephron,” she said.

Prigg sniffed in that insufferable way he had. “Zephron is indisposed,” he said. He held up his hand when Zoë tried to interrupt. “Certain matters have come to my attention, however, and I would be remiss not to raise them promptly with you.”

Zoë drummed her fingers on her thigh. She’d never been terribly fond of Prigg. When she’d joined the Council, she’d spent almost a solid week filling out all the required forms and documents. Prigg had been no help whatsoever. Each time she asked a question, he managed to answer only by requiring her to fill out another form. She was absolutely certain that he had ink in his veins instead of blood, and that his epitaph would read:
Phelonium Prigg.
FILED IN TRIPLICATE.
 

On the desktop, Prigg’s hologram turned in a complete circle, clearly trying to see beyond the hazy image Zoë‘s pager projected back to him. From his frustrated expression, Zoë gathered he didn’t see whatever he was looking for.

“What is it?” she asked, a bit too sharply.

Another sniff. “Where is
he
?”

Zoë scowled, turning to Deena and then to Boreas. “If you’re referring to Jason,
he
and Lane went back to her apartment to get some things. They’ll be back soon.”

With the tip of his finger, Prigg slid his reading glasses down his nose and peered at Zoë. “You permitted him to leave? To accompany the boy and his mother without an escort?”

Zoë stifled a sigh. It had been a hell of a day already, and she really didn’t feel like dealing with this twit. Thank goodness Hoop had gone to her apartment to fetch Taylor. Rather than give her husband directions to this out-of-the-way and difficult-to-find houseboat, sending Deena’s fiancé had seemed the easiest plan. Taylor had just got back in the country, and Zoë expected him at the houseboat any minute. The sooner the better. If she had to deal with Prigg, she wanted her husband’s arms tight around her.

On his dais, Prigg muttered something unintelligible. With her super hearing on the fritz, Zoë couldn’t make out all his words, though
irresponsible
and
utterly improper
were discernible.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I give up. What’s the big deal?”

“The man is a suspected traitor, Ms. Taylor.” He tapped his foot, his arms crossed over his chest. “You yourself reported him to the council. And now you simply let him loose with his son’s mother? What in Hera’s name were you thinking?”

Zoë bristled. “I guess I was thinking that he’d just rescued his son from Hieronymous’s island. Call me crazy, but in my mind that takes him off our most-wanted list.” She planted a hand on her hip, daring him to argue with her reasoning.

He took the dare. “Normally, I would agree with you.”

“Normally?” she repeated. “What? Are there
normal
circumstances where halfling children are kidnapped from Sea World by an Outcast arch-villain?”

Prigg paused. “Perhaps if those were the only facts, we could treat this case”—he cleared his throat— “
normally
. But the extenuating circumstances involved in this matter—”

“What extenuating circumstances?” Zoë snapped.

“Look,” Boreas spoke up from behind her. “I think I should probably say I think that guy’s great. Jason, I mean. He’s a little—”

“His parentage, of course,” Prigg said, ignoring the young Protector’s speech.

Boreas clamped his mouth shut, his brow knitting in confusion even as Zoë gave a blank look. “What about his parentage?” she asked.

“His father is Hieronymous.”

“
What
?” The word came out a screech, and Zoë almost didn’t recognize her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Prigg asked, but his voice was a little too innocent. Zoë narrowed her eyes as he continued. “The Inner Circle has always known. I am the Recording Secretary for the Inner Circle. So I am privy to these matters.” He paused, buffing his fingernails against his chest.

“So?” Zoë prompted, trying not to let the fact that she liked Jason and disliked Prigg color her judgment. She needed to be objective, because at the moment all she really wanted to do was flip the holo-pager off.

“He has, of course, been monitored over the years. For six years, however .. .”

Zoë rolled her eyes, then twirled her hand, once again urging the old bureaucrat to continue.

“We don’t know what happened during the six years Jason was imprisoned by Hieronymous. But we do know that Hieronymous is—shall we say—persuasive. You’ve seen as much illustrated by your cousin Mordichai.”

Zoë pressed her lips together. That much was true enough. It seemed that every time she thought Mordi had turned his back on Hieronymous for good, he did something that put him back in his father’s good graces. A pity, actually, because she genuinely liked her cousin, despite all the grief he’d caused over the years.

She sifted through what Prigg had just told her. “Basically, you’re saying that you don’t believe Jason is strong enough to have stuck to his guns while he was imprisoned. That he must now be working for Hieronymous.”

Prigg inclined his head, a hint of a nod.

“But you don’t have proof.”

“Proof is not always necessary where instinct is involved.”

“Uh-huh,” Zoë snapped. “Like I said, you don’t have proof.”

Prigg sniffed, a noise of righteous indignation. “Perhaps not. Unless you consider the fact that he confronted Hieronymous, had the opportunity to rid us of the Outcast leader once and for all, with evidence of wrongdoing aplenty . .. and yet Hieronymous still lives.”

A chill settled over Zoë.

“Ah, yes,” Prigg said. “Now you’re understanding. A ruse. A ploy. Your new friend must have joined forces with Hieronymous.”

“No,” Zoë said, not willing to believe. “If that’s true, why would Hieronymous let Davy go?”

“To gain our trust perhaps?” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. The situation is what it is. Jason Murphy is not yet trustworthy.”

Zoë swallowed, a sick feeling settling in her gut. She didn’t believe this. She trusted Jason.

And yet...

Could it be true? Had she been duped? Had her raging hormones allowed a traitor to pull one over on her? Had he only saved his son as a ploy? Was Jason planning to do something even more despicable?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “What do you know?” she asked, forcing the words out.

Prigg looked surprised. “Why, ask Officer Boreas, of course. His report was quite—”

“
What
?” She spun on her heel, her anger building. “His
report
?”

“Certainly,” Prigg said, even as Boreas took a step backward, his eyes wide with fear. “As a cadet, Boreas must submit regularly sched—”

“Wait,” Zoë said, and to her surprise Prigg actually shut up. The blood in her veins was ice cold, a result of both her fear and her anger.

“Is this true?” she asked Boreas, barely able to force the words past clenched teeth.

The young Protector took another step back and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He licked his lips and tried again. “Well. . . sort of, yes.”

Then he backpedaled. “No! I mean, I did submit a report, but I told exactly what happened. Jason went after Hieronymous, but he got hurt—it all happened so fast—and I got him out of there by—”

“Foolish boy,” Prigg said. “
Jason
was hurt, and you, a neophyte, remained unscathed? You gullible, gullible child.”

Boreas scowled, but didn’t say anything.

Zoë licked her lips, wishing her superpowers included lie detection. Something was going on. Prigg thought Jason had gone bad and the administrator had access to Jason’s entire file. Boreas disagreed and had seen Jason in action.

“It wasn’t like that,” Boreas protested.

“However ‘it was like,’ ” Prigg said with a little sniff, “you should not have permitted him to leave. The man’s activities are suspicious. This will go on your permanent record, Officer Boreas. See that you don’t make such foolish decisions again.”

Boreas’s jaw clenched. “Yes sir,” he said.

“Very well.” Prigg nodded curtly and signed off.

Boreas turned to Zoë, his arms tight over his chest. “He’s not a traitor. I don’t care who his father is.”

Zoë tended to agree with Boreas, but she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Which meant that, when she boiled it all down, she still didn’t know what side Jason was on. Her gut believed him in his innocence—but she couldn’t afford to be wrong.

Reaching a decision, she pointed at Deena. “Leave a message for Hoop,” she said, shifting her gaze to Boreas. “We’re going to go find Jason.”

Rubbing her belly, Zoë thought about her husband, in transit, and the news she had for him. But that news was going to have to wait. Right now, she had to go interrogate her nephew’s father. A man who she hoped was a friend ... but who might just be a traitor.

Lane shivered, a chill settling over her body. She groaned in protest and groped for the sheet, wanting just a few more minutes of sleep before she had to get up, get Davy dressed, and head to school. But her fingers closed around nothing but air.

No sheet.

She groped some more, her hand patting the bed, her mind trying to focus despite its haze of sleep. She was so tired, her body so stiff and sore. It was like she’d run a marathon or something, except she didn’t run. Heck, she barely exercised at all.

Rolling over, she pressed her face into her pillow, the vague scent of coffee enticing her. Thank goodness she’d remembered to set the coffeemaker....

She sat up, reality thwapping her on the head. It wasn’t morning; it was late afternoon. And she
hadn’t
set the coffeemaker any more than she’d run a marathon. Instead, she’d—

Oh, my.

She twisted in bed, searching for Jason. But he wasn’t there, just a slight indentation and a pile of covers on his side of the flimsy, sofa-bed mattress.

She bit back a smile. He always had hogged the covers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Jason, following his voice, slid around the corner with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. “Or should I say good evening?”

Lane grabbed her shirt off the floor, then sat up and shrugged into it, a goofy smile on her face. This wasn’t exactly breakfast in bed, but it was close. And she hadn’t had breakfast in bed since she’d been sick in fourth grade and stuck under the covers for three solid days.

She accepted the mug from him and took a careful sip, its elixir working magic on her mind. “I’m so confused right now, I don’t even know what day it is,” she admitted.

“Still Tuesday,” he informed her. “Only now it’s nightfall.”

“Davy,” Lane said, sitting up straighten.

“He’s playing in his room. I let him put in a video—
Spy Kids
. He looked pretty happy.”

Considering Lane never let him watch videos during the week, she was sure Davy was probably thrilled. “And Zoë. They’ll be worried.”

“I sent a text message to Zoë‘s pager. I told her we were talking and to give us a call if she needed anything.” He nodded toward the phone. “But, as you know, that contraption’s been completely silent.”

He moved to sit next to her on the bed, his arm propped behind her so that she could lean against him. With his other hand, he stroked her face, his finger tracing the line of her lips. She gasped, the power of his touch unsettling her.

That feeling of unease settled in, and she scooted backward, away from his touch. So it wouldn’t seem too obvious, she got off the bed entirely and pulled on her shorts, feeling a little silly in so doing.

She’d wanted him in her bed; she could admit that. She was a big girl, and she’d wanted sex. Wanted sex with
him.
Wanted to be held and loved and taken care of after the most horrible day of her entire life.

But now ...

Now she was in her living room with a man who’d walked away from her. One who hadn’t explained why. And her heart really didn’t know what to make of that.

As if reading her thoughts, Jason took her hand and tugged her back to the sofa bed. The warmth of his touch seemed to steady and ground her. Clenching her fists, Lane shook her head:
No.
She had to be smart. Jason wasn’t grounding her—far from it. If anything, he sent her off into the clouds. On a wonderful, sensual adventure, yes, but she wasn’t looking for adventure. She was looking for steadiness. Security. She wanted Davy to have the life she’d never had: steadfast devotion with a permanent home and a permanent family.

And no matter how good the sex might be, permanence wasn’t something she could expect from Jason. She ran her teeth over her lower lip. At least, she hadn’t been able to expect it from the Jason of the past. This Jason ...

Well, she really didn’t know this Jason. Except to know that he was a superhero. Which brought up the question: Could she and Davy ever really be his priority?

She nibbled on her lower lip, wondering. Taylor and Zoë were getting along just fine. And so were Hale and Tracy. So maybe ...

No
. She was scared, so very scared of getting hurt again. She’d survived his leaving once. She didn’t think she could survive it again.

With a gentle touch, Jason brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye. “I know that look,” he whispered.

She felt her cheeks warm, and she shook her head, ever so slightly. “I don’t have a look,” she said. “No looks here.”

“Regret.” He punctuated the word with a smile, but she could see the sadness in it. A twinge of guilt settled in her stomach—guilt that she’d succumbed to desire but now, inevitably she was going to hurt this man. She didn’t want to hurt him, but even more she didn’t want to hurt Davy. And she certainly didn’t want to be hurt herself.