by J. Kenner
“ ’Fraid so, kid.”
“Uh-oh,” the boy said. Mordi silently seconded the sentiment.
There was no point in giving chase—of that, Jason was sure. By the time he got his Propulsion Cloak, the shifter would be long gone; and without any idea of his destination, Jason could only fly around in circles. Of course, that was a moot point since he still needed a few minutes to gather his strength to transform. He circled the pool slowly, considering where Hieronymous would take Davy. He was certain of only one thing: Hieronymous wouldn’t have the boy brought to his residence in Manhattan. No, Hieronymous would use a different base, and Jason had to find it. To do that, he would need help.
After a few dozen laps that seemed to take just as many years, he was strong enough to transform and ascended in a rush to the pool’s surface. He swarm with swift, sure strokes to the edge of the pool. He glanced quickly around for Zoe, but he didn’t see her. He could use her help, but at the moment he didn’t have time to search for her.
Frustrated, he climbed out, then raced toward the staff stairs. Along the way, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. His own clothes had sunk to the bottom of the pool, and there wasn’t time to retrieve them. He might be half-naked, but he needed to get this mission underway. He needed to find his son.
Directive 827B prohibited him from being part of the formal Council mission that would surely come of this kidnapping, but he’d argue about that later. All that mattered now was getting Davy back, and if he had to tattoo an SOS on his butt to get the Council’s attention, to let them know what had transpired, then that’s what he intended to do. First, though, he’d try the more direct approach of contacting Dispatch on his holo-pager.
He needed satellite surveillance. He needed intelligence. He needed whatever the heck anybody at headquarters could think of to ascertain where Hieronymous had taken his son. Once they figured that out, then Jason would figure out a way to worm himself into the mission.
When he reached the top of the platform, Jason slowed down long enough to look for his Propulsion Cloak and the holo-pager tucked into its pocket. It wasn’t anywhere to be found. He remembered then that it was on the other side of the barrier, on the ground near the holding pool. Well, hell.
He backtracked, heading toward the stairs, when Zoe stepped out in front of him.
“Thank Zeus,” he said, his arm outstretched. “Pass me your holo-pager.”
In one swift motion, the other Protector snapped a pair of golden binder cuffs on his wrist, twisted him around, and hooked his other wrist behind his back. “Zoe, no. I—”
“You lousy, stinking traitor,” she said, her voice low and ominous. She glared at him as Deena ran up behind her. “I don’t know why you came back, but I’m glad you did.” She sucked in a breath, anger burning in her eyes. “Where’s Davy?”
Jason shook his head, his annoyance building. Yes, the shifter looked like him, but dammit, he hadn’t taken his own son!
“He can’t be too far,” Deena said. “This one wasn’t gone long before you caught him.”
“Is Davy in the park?” Zoe asked. “Where?”
Jason blinked, struggling to push words out from behind his red-hot anger. “You don’t understa—”
“Aw, we don’t understand,” she mocked.
“Davy’s my so—”
“I said don’t move!”
Jason took five deep breaths, trying to calm down. He couldn’t blame Zoe for being angry and confused, but he also didn’t have time to argue. He needed to convince her, and he opened his mouth, not sure what magic words would bring her over to his side but willing to jump right in and start pleading. He didn’t get a word out, though, because the backup he’d requested arrived in the form of a lone Protector who swooped from the sky, his emerald-green Propulsion Cloak marking his status as newly trained and assigned to the field.
“Officer Boreas reporting as requested.” The young Protector turned awe-filled eyes upon Zoe—apparently, Jason saw, her bit of celebrity had some cachet among the younger Protectors on beat duty.
Jason grimaced. Officer Boring here didn’t seem the type inclined to think for himself. Great. The last thing Jason needed was an overeager Protector fresh from the Olympus training facility looking to score points with the Council.
Zoe ran her fingers through her hair, the only crack in her cool facade. “Take charge of the suspect,” she directed, nodding to the officer.
Boring did, first redoing the binder cuffs on Jason so that his hands were captured in front of him, then tossing the lariat looped at his hip over him. The golden rope draped from Jason’s shoulder on one side to his hip on the other.
For good measure, Jason jerked against the binding, testing the power of the restraint. Despite the physical looseness, the immobility rope did its job. The lariat temporarily drained the power of any Protector wearing binder cuffs. A handy tool to prevent an arrested Protector from hightailing it away from the scene, bound wrists and all.
“Tell me what you did with the boy,” Zoe demanded again. “Dammit,” Jason said. “I didn’t do it! Detain me all you want, but start looking for Davy!”
“Where?” Zoe yelled back, her composure gone. Her eyes narrowed, and she got right in his face. Jason saw her fear, and that eased his anger. She wanted Davy back, too, and she was only doing her job. He reminded himself of that.
“You took Davy,” she continued. “You’re here, and that means that Davy is, too. We’ll find him eventually, so just tell us. Where . . . is . . . he?”
Jason took a deep breath and silently prayed Zoe would believe him. “That wasn’t me. That was a shapeshifter.” He gestured with his chin toward her Council-issued glasses, knowing she had X-ray vision. “You can see past a shifter’s disguise, right? Didn’t you see who it really was?”
For the briefest instant, hesitation flashed in her eyes. “Zoe?” Deena asked.
“I saw you,” Zoe whispered. “That’s all I saw.” But doubt laced her voice, and she turned to Boreas. “Call Olympus. I want every intelligence officer we’ve got analyzing possible locations for Hieronymous, and I want every possible theory about who might have taken the boy or why.”
Jason exhaled in relief and held up his wrists. “Tell Officer Boreas to unlock me. We can search while the Council checks up on Hieronymous.”
Zoe looked back at him, and her eyes flashed again. Yet she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move to loosen the cuffs or remove the rope. Jason’s hope that she believed him disintegrated.
“Ma’am?” Officer Boreas prompted.
Zoe ignored his implied question, instead glancing at his pager. “Don’t you have some calls to make?” she asked. He nodded, then scurried to the far side of the pool to do so, apparently afraid Jason might overhear some top-secret information or something.
At the moment, Jason didn’t care where Boreas made his calls, just so long as they got made. He wanted every active-duty Protector on this case. If anything happened to Davy, he’d never forgive himself. And Lane sure as Hades wouldn’t either.
Lane.
He squinted, an idea forming. After a second, he realized Zoe and Deena were both staring at him, suspicion in their eyes. He kept his mouth shut. They thought he was the bad guy, so maybe playing up that role would prove useful.
“What?” Zoe asked.
He shrugged, spreading his hands as much as his binder cuffs would allow. “Not a thing. I’m just sitting here watching you and Officer Boring there chase your tails.” He leaned back against the railing, hoping he looked smug.
Zoe and Deena exchanged looks.
“He’s bluffing,” Deena guessed.
“Maybe,” Zoe said. She cast Jason another quick glance, then focused on her friend and changed the subject. “I don’t want to worry Lane, but we’ve got to tell her.”
Deena nodded, her lips pressed tight together. “She’ll want to know. And she won’t want to just sit and wait to hear from the Council about finding Davy. That’s
not her style.”
“I know,” Zoe agreed.
Annoyed, Jason conjured a fake snort, then concentrated on twitching the corner of his mouth.
Zoe squinted at him. “You have something you want to share with the class?”
He shrugged. “I just hope you can get in touch with her. She might have things to do today. People to see.” He gave a thin smile, knowing he was digging himself in deeper and deeper. But he didn’t care. If this plan worked, it would be worth it. “Or maybe there are other people who want to see her.”
Zoe’s eyes went wide with fear, and Jason felt a twinge of guilt for playing on her concern for the well-being of a friend. But he quashed the emotion. They had him in chains, and if this one little lie could help buy his freedom, he was more than happy to utter it.
It worked: Zoe turned and called for Boreas. The neophyte Protector trotted back, as anxious and eager to please as a puppy.
“Go with Deena and bring back Davy’s mom,” Zoe ordered. “And if you get even the slightest whiff of an Outcast hanging around her, beat him to a bloody pulp.”
Boreas nodded, looking much too pleased with himself. Then he looped his arm around Deena’s waist and took off, the rich green of his Propulsion Cloak in stark contrast to the vivid blue of the sky. Jason watched, trying to maintain a bland expression, even though he wanted to laugh with relief. They were bringing Lane—the one person in all the world who would never, ever believe that Jason would hurt his own son. Even if she were mad at him for disappearing, she wouldn’t think him a monster. She’d convince Zoe, Zoe would release him, and Jason would go kick some paternal Outcast butt.
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 Zoe 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 shou
ld 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 back-pedaled, 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.