Aphrodite's Secret (9 page)

That was the plan, anyway.

He hoped to Hades it would all fall into place.

* * *

Davy didn’t want to be scared, but he couldn’t help it. The man on the boat didn’t look nice at all, and Davy didn’t want to go there. But they were going down anyway, and the boat was getting closer and closer, and the scary man was getting bigger and bigger.

Davy closed his eyes. If he wished really, really hard, maybe his mommy would be there when he looked again. But when he took a peek, he was still in the air and the scary man was still staring up at him. Only this time he was smiling.

It didn’t look like a nice smile.

Davy pressed his lips together and made a
bbbb-bbbb-bbbb
sound, thinking about the way his lips were tingling instead of about the pretend daddy or how high up he was in the sky. The big man might be
a
daddy, but Davy was pretty sure he wasn’t
his
daddy—
his
daddy wouldn’t be taking him to the scary man.

“Let’s cease and desist with the weird noises, okay? I can’t hear myself think.”

Davy clamped his mouth shut and breathed noisily through his nose. After a second, the pretend daddy looked at him, his mouth set in a stern line like his mom’s whenever Davy shoved all his toys under the bed instead of cleaning his room. Davy just stared back, the same way he did with his mom. After a moment, the serious mouth disappeared and the pretend daddy sighed. Davy almost smiled. That
never
worked at home.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Davy gave another glance toward the scary man on the boat. “Really?”

“Cross my heart.”

As they neared, the scary man smiled wide. Davy had a feeling that he was trying to look friendly, but all Davy wanted was to crawl into his mom’s bed.

Davy looked back to the pretend daddy. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that.” The man took his hand and squeezed, and this time Davy thought he heard something familiar in the man’s voice. “But you’re going to have to trust me. Okay?”

Davy looked from the boat to his captor and then back to the boat. His mommy and his Aunt Zoë would find him. He knew for sure they would. But until they showed up, he was alone. And he didn’t like that at all. He nodded—just one quick jerk of his head. “Okay,” he said. “But I know you’re not really my daddy.”

The man shook his head. “Smart kid. But for now, let’s pretend you think I am.”

Davy looked down at the scary man on the boat and didn’t ask why; he just nodded. “Who is
he
?”

The pretend daddy’s jaw twitched. “That’s Hieronymous.”

Davy shivered. He’d heard that name before, and he’d never liked the way the grown-ups’ voices sounded when they said it.

“He’s
my
daddy,” the man added.

Davy’s eyes widened as they descended to the deck of the yacht, making a perfectly soft landing on the shiny wood. He wanted to ask the pretend daddy if he was teasing, because Davy couldn’t believe that the scary man was anybody’s father. But now they were there, and Hieronymous was walking right toward them, his teeth so white they sparkled.

As he got closer, the man’s smile grew even broader. “Well, well, well,” he said. “At last you’ve arrived at my little party. So very good to see you, young man.”

He thrust out a hand toward Davy and held it there. Davy wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he glanced back over his shoulder at the pretend daddy. But the pretend daddy just stood there, his gaze shifting back and forth between Davy and Hieronymous.

Davy did the only thing he could think of: he opened his mouth and yelled.

The little brat’s high-pitched squeal drilled straight into Hieronymous’s brain like a stainless-steel bit. He cringed, his smile twisting on his face so tight he thought his skin would crack. Hard to believe the boy was his flesh and blood, his
grandson.

Bile rose in his throat and Hieronymous swallowed, the foul taste lingering. He already had one halfling descendant; the existence of another made him sick. Of course, without the lad, his newest plan for world domination would fail. So in that regard, Hieronymous supposed
the
tiny halfling was worth something.

It was Jason, really, who fueled his ire—his other son, a full Protector, in whose hands Hieronymous could have placed his fortune. Jason could have been his true heir—and yet the boy’s very existence had been kept a secret from him. He’d only discovered the truth after Jason had infiltrated his secret lair in a brash attempt to capture him and destroy the empire he sought to build.

He’d captured the upstart, of course. That was seven years ago. And during the boy’s internment, when he’d sought to learn more about Jason by combing the Council’s records, using both spies and his own technological skills to delve deep into files to which he had no official access, expecting to discover that the boy was an agent, sent by the Council to destroy him, he’d discovered he had a son.

Damn Ariel for keeping the boy’s existence a secret!

His anger at that had soon faded, though, replaced by the realization that he had a true heir, a son more worthy than Mordichai, with his compromised bloodline. But when he’d approached Jason— when he’d suggested they join forces—Jason had flatly refused.

Bastard. No one crossed Hieronymous and lived to tell.
No one
. And that included his son.

Jason had escaped the very night of his refusal, the unfortunate result of an off-shore earthquake that shook the island and cracked his tank—all in all, a rather fortuitous event from Jason’s perspective because, considering Hieronymous’s frame of mind, he would have gladly lit a fire under that tank and boiled the brat alive.

But it turned out even more fortunately for Hieronymous. Now he had no qualms about using his grandson for his own purposes. Had Jason joined him, Hieronymous might have been inclined to ignore the boy’s existence, to find another path to his goal. Now, though, Hieronymous would use Davy— and take great pleasure in doing so.

In front of him, the boy still stared, his eyes wide. “Come, come, young man,” Hieronymous said, forcing a cheery note into his voice. “I’m not so very scary, am I?”

The boy nodded, then turned and pressed his face against Mordichai’s leg.

Hieronymous made a fist, his fingernails cutting into his palm. Clearly, this was going to be more trying than he had anticipated. At least he had been correct that Mordichai should be involved. Apparently the brat had taken to him.

He caught Mordichai’s eye, hoping to convey his displeasure. Just to be sure his son understood, he mouthed the words, slowly, clearly:
silence the brat, or pay the consequences
.

Mordi placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a kind gesture designed to reassure. Hieronymous almost snorted in disgust.

“Two halflings, sire,” Clyde said, appearing on deck behind him. His voice was meant only for Hieronymous’s ears. “Of course they’re going to get along.”

“Come on, kid,” Mordi said. “Let’s go down into the boat. You can get to know Mr. H. later.” As he guided the child to the stairs, he looked at Hieronymous, their eyes meeting for only an instant. Hieronymous blinked, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d seen contempt. But when he looked again, Mordi’s green eyes were cold and emotionless, as always.

Good
, Hieronymous thought. Yet for the first time he felt a hint of unease. And, quite frankly, he didn’t like the feeling at all.

The paper filter practically overflowed with coffee before Lane realized she’d lost count of scoops. She nibbled on her lower lip, took one good look at the mound of dry grounds, then fished out two tablespoons full and tossed them down the sink as if speedy recovery were a substitute for having her head on straight.

“Need a hand?” Aaron called from the living room.

“No, no,” she said as she reached for a box of cookies from the La Brea Bakery. “Everything’s under control.” Everything, that was, except her nerves.

A clatter of toenails sounded against the battered wooden floor, and Elmer skidded around the corner. The ferret backpedaled, trying futilely to put on the brakes before crashing against Lane’s leg. He picked himself up, took a step back, then raised himself on his hind legs and waved his forepaws. After doing his little ferret dance, he raced to the doorway and paused to look back over his shoulder.

Lane ignored him. She’d learned long ago that the theatrically inclined ferret was a tad over-dramatic. Not that his bombastic behavior lessened her regard for him. As opinionated ferrets went, Elmer was right up there on her list. And there was no doubt that the little guy adored her son.

Aaron, however, he did not adore. And Lane was certain that Elmer’s current antics were nothing more than a not-so-subtle attempt to distract her from him. She wasn’t having any of it.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “He’s perfectly nice.”

Elmer didn’t appear convinced. Instead, he hopped back and forth on his little ferret feet, then scurried into the hall and back again, all the while keeping an eye on Lane as if he expected her to follow.

“No,” she whispered, more firmly this time. “I’m on a date. Deal with it.”

Elmer’s usual companion, Zoë‘s half-brother Hale, was a Protector whom until recently had exhibited a healthy disdain for all things mortal. Lane knew well enough that Elmer had picked up on Hale’s prejudices, and although she might be ferret-sitting she didn’t intend to coddle the creature.

“Go play in Davy’s room,” she ordered. “He and Zoë will be back in a few hours, and you two can go as nutso as you want.”

At that, the ferret hopped and bounced even more, so Lane could only assume the idea of going nutso with her kid appealed to him.

“Did you say something?” Aaron asked. He stepped around the corner, his former-football-player frame filling the doorway.

“No, no,” Lane explained. “Just talking to the ferret.”

“Oh. Right.” Aaron glanced down, saw Elmer, and took a step back.

“Let’s go in the other room,” Lane said, picking up the platter of cookies she’d been arranging and heading into the living room.

They didn’t have far to go. Her tiny apartment consisted of a so-called living room that had enough space for a foldout sofa, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. The kitchen connected through a little swinging door—though Lane was pretty sure it used to be a closet and not a kitchen at all. Next was the bedroom where Davy slept, which despite being about the size of a large walk-in closet, seemed to work well enough for the kid.

Elmer raced ahead, climbing up onto the coffee table. He stood on Davy’s United States jigsaw puzzle, chittering his little head off, before accidentally knocking the entire Pacific Coast onto the floor. Lane sighed. She liked Elmer, really she did. But why couldn’t he have stayed in the bedroom, occupied with climbing up and down Davy’s stash of toys?

With some hesitation, Aaron parked himself on the couch. He eyed Elmer suspiciously. “Why is
he
here?”

“I thought I told you,” Lane said. She settled next to him on the couch, ignoring Elmer’s hyperactive chattering. If the overgrown rat wanted to foil her love life, he was going to have to do a better job than that.

“All you said was that he belonged to your brother-in-law.”

At that, Elmer stopped, his beady little eyes going blacker. Lane stifled a laugh. The truth was, Elmer didn’t
belong
to anyone. He was his own ferret, autonomous to the max, and woe to the mortal—or the Protector, for that matter—who suggested otherwise. “Elmer’s staying with me while Hale is out of town,” she said, carefully avoiding any hint that she was acknowledging Aaron’s proprietary verb.

“Wouldn’t Zoë make more sense? Isn’t Hale
her
brother?”

Lane nodded. “Right. He’s a romance cover model, only this time he’s doing a commercial.” He was also a superhero, but she didn’t mention that part. “He’s on a shoot in Greece with his wife Tracy and their other—uh, the other ferret that lives with them.” Elmer’s significant other, Penelope, was a seasoned animal actress, and she’d accompanied Hale and Tracy to Greece as part of the production team. Elmer had wanted to go, but as the lead ferret on the increasingly popular television show “Mrs. Dolittle,” he hadn’t been able to get the time off work.

“I’m still not clear on why he’s here,” Aaron said.

“He and Davy are buds,” she explained. “Sometimes I think they speak the same language.” That much was true; Davy and the ferret got along like gangbusters. If Lane didn’t know better, she’d think they
were
communicating. But only Protectors could talk with animals, and only a few Protectors at
that
.

Lane had become acquainted with several members of the Protector Council in the short time since she’d met Zoë. At first it had made her head spin, learning of a race that descended from the mythological gods and goddesses of Greece. Of course, those gods weren’t really deities at all; that had just been their cover story, designed to give a more or less reasonable explanation for all their wacky powers.

Zoë and Hale were both descended from Aphrodite—which made sense when you looked at them, considering that both were drop-dead gorgeous. And all Protectors had different powers, like super-senses, invisibility, or the ability to conjure fire. So far, Hale was the only animalinguist in her Rolodex.

She glanced from Elmer to Aaron, wondering how much the little beast would protest if she grabbed him up and tossed him into Davy’s room. Quite a bit, probably—but the furry chaperon was cramping her style. She nibbled on her lower lip. “Uh, should I take him to Davy’s room?”

Aaron shook his head and with visible effort turned his attention from the ferret to her. “Nope,” he said, holding her hand firmly in his. “I don’t want you going anywhere.”

Elmer leaped about some more, and she could imagine well enough what he was saying. She tuned him out, not really wanting to hear his off-color comments.

Aaron leaned in, and Lane’s heart picked up tempo. He really liked her. Heck, he liked her enough to brave an attack ferret, and that was more flattering than the usual compliments she received.