by J. Kenner
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 venemously 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!” Zoe 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 Zoe. “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.”
Jason laughed. “That I can handle.”
As it turned out, he certainly could. Less than five minutes later, they were in Jason’s marina’s parking structure, and Lane was staring at his car, her mouth slightly open. “This is great,” she said. “It’s yours? You turned down the Ferrari?” Jason nodded. “I turned down a Porsche, actually. Second-class Protectors are assigned a Porsche. First-class Protectors get the Ferrari.” He shrugged. “But I like older cars. I rebuilt it while I was on Olympus. I had my buddies bring me the parts. You like?” It was a 1950-something Bentley.
“Are you kidding?” Lane ran her hand over the hood. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s totally cool,” Davy agreed. “Can I drive it?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re smart, kid, but I think you’re a little young.”
Lane laughed. “I let him sit in my car and pretend to drive. So far we’ve been to New York, Chicago, and Boise.”
“Boise?”
She shrug
ged. “Ask your son. I don’t pick the destinations.”
Davy blinked. “I liked the name,” he said simply. “We’re gonna go to Paris one day, but I gotta figure a way to turn a car into a boat first.”
“Right,” said Jason. He opened the passenger doors. “Everybody in.”
Davy scrambled into the roomy backseat, and Lane settled in the front, the car’s leather seats warm and inviting. When Jason slid behind the wheel, Lane couldn’t quite meet his eye, so she ran her hand over the dashboard, enjoying the way her fingers slid along the fine leather.
Her emotions were all in a muddle; she knew that. She’d been broadsided by emotion. Pent-up and bubbling, she’d been on the verge of boiling over when Davy had suddenly appeared. But the fire under her hadn’t been completely extinguished. Instead, her emotional state was on simmer, and heat continued to come from the man sitting next to her.
She licked her lips, willing herself to get her thoughts back on track. She, Davy, and Jason were just going to pick up a ferret, for crying out loud. Her six-year-old son was in the backseat. This wasn’t a date. And she didn’t want it to be.
Jason pulled out the throttle, cranked the engine, and soon Lane was surrounded by a subtle thrum of power. She licked her lips, her thoughts drifting once again from his car to the man beside her.
“Ready?” he asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she shook her head, realizing what he meant. “Oh. Yes. Let’s get going.” And fast. She wanted to get home, gather up the pets and the toys, and come right back to Jason’s houseboat. Then she wanted to make certain that Zoe and Taylor and Boreas planned to stay for the night. Or several nights. Because considering the way her thoughts kept going, the more distractions she had—the less time she had to think about Jason—the better.
He almost laughed out loud when he saw the expression on the ferret’s face. And then, when he saw Lane’s expression, Jason did laugh out loud.
“Oh, great. Thank you,” she said. “You’re a big help.” She tapped the plate with her toe. “Now he’s never going to eat.”
“I don’t know why not,” Jason said, barely able to keep a straight face. “It looks so yummy.”
The look she shot him was scathing on the surface, but he could see amusement underneath. “Can I help it if I’m not as culinarily inclined as his caterer? What’s a ferret need with special-delivery food anyway?” She bent down and plucked the ferret up, then plonked him back down in front of his plate. “It’s perfectly good lasagna,” she said.
“From a box,” Jason added.
“If it’s good enough for me and Davy, it’s good enough for Elmer.”
The ferret, apparently, didn’t agree. He took one last sniff, turned on his paw, and headed back to Davy’s room.
“Great,” Lane said.
“Want me to go retrieve him?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll just wake Davy.” The boy had fallen asleep in the car about the time they hit the highway. Lane hadn’t acted too surprised. Davy’d had a rather stressful couple of days, and she’d suggested they let him nap for a bit before they returned to Jason’s boat.
“Let the ferret fret,” she said now. “I’ve had a hell of a night, and he’s being a grump about frozen lasagna.”
“Well, you know the ferret has specific tastes.”
With a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, Lane twisted her hair around her finger, then fastened the pile in place with a chopstick that was lying on the kitchen counter. “Well, we have to hang out here while Davy sleeps, and we can let Dorothy enjoy the food I sprinkled in her water. As soon as Davy wakes up, we’ll pack up both the pets and head back. Maybe if Elmer’s really lucky we’ll pick him up some to-go from Spago’s.”
“Haute ferret cuisine,” Jason joked.
“Something like that.” Lane picked up a towel and started wiping down the countertop.
“What about our cuisine?” Jason asked, moving closer, his voice low. With his finger, he brushed a loose strand of hair that hadn’t been captured in Lane’s makeshift ’do. “Shall we have lunch at Spago as well?”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “On my budget? I don’t think so.”
He caressed her cheek, his heart picking up tempo when he realized she hadn’t turned away. “I wasn’t suggesting we go dutch,” he said. “My treat. A celebration’s in order, don’t you think?”
“I . . .” Then she turned, and Jason silently mourned his defeat. “Definitely a celebration,” she said, from her new vantage point farther down the counter. “But I don’t want to stay out with Davy very long.”
“Or with me,” he added.
“No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s—”
“What?”
She sighed. “Okay, it is that.”
He took her admission as an invitation and moved closer. “We were good together, Lane. We could be good together again. I—”
She shook her head, and he could see the battle raging in her mind. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t think.”
“Then don’t think.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead, gratified by the little sigh that elicited. “Just trust your instincts.”
She pushed away from him, and he kicked himself for saying the wrong thing. “I trusted my instincts before and got burned. By you.” She licked her lips. “I don’t suppose you want to explain further why you left that day, what was so important that you couldn’t stay with the woman you supposedly loved the night she told you you were going to be a daddy.”
It was his turn to move away, and he clutched the edge of the counter as he gathered his thoughts. He wanted to tell her. But her trust was so fragile now, and even though she was backing away from his caresses, her eyes held desire. If she knew who he was, would that light dim?
He had to tell her, he knew that. She had a right to know who her child’s grandfather was. But for just a little bit longer he wanted Lane to see only him. Wanted her to want him. And she did right now; he knew she did. Even if she refused to say so out loud.
He faced her, sure she could see the desire burning in his eyes. “Don’t turn me away, Lane. Not now. Not after what we’ve just been through.”
In one long step he was at her side, could smell the salt that lingered on her skin from the sea. “For seven years I’ve been yearning.” He reached out, removing the chopstick and letting her hair fall, caressing his hand.
She drew a ragged breath, her eyes reflecting his passion.
“Please,” he whispered.
For one wonderful moment she moved toward him. But then a shadow touched her eyes, and she fisted her hands at her sides as she froze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips together, disappointment settling on his shoulders like a yoke. “So, too bad for me, right?”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I told you. I just—”
“Want to be friends. I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’m going to keep trying to convince you otherwise.”
She laughed, the sound delightful. “I’m flattered. And I do want you in our lives. You’re Davy’s father. You have a right to know him, and he needs to get to know you.” She licked her lips and added, “Neither one of us really knows you. Not anymore.”
Jason’s heart twisted with the truth of her words, as well as from what she didn’t say: She’d moved on. She had another man now. Jason wasn’t part of her big picture anymore. While his life had been on hold because of his bastard father, she’d moved forward.
“You know me,” he argued, wishing he could make the words true just by speaking them.
The corner of her mouth curved up. “Part of you, yes,” she agreed. “And I know I need to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For getting Davy back.”
He almost laughed. “Me? What the hell did I do? Davy rescued himself, remember?” He’d been totally extraneous. Just like it seemed
he’d been his whole life. Just like he was now. Lane didn’t need him, and Davy didn’t need a father. The boy already had a family—Lane, Zoe, Taylor . . . His life was full. Certainly the kid hadn’t been sitting around bemoaning Jason’s absence. Instead he’d just plunked him on a space station and that was that.
Lane shook her head, almost as if she could see the pity party Jason had going on in his mind. “He doesn’t need grand gestures,” she said. “He just needs a dad who’s there for him.”
“Oh—well, that’s me, then.” He couldn’t help the self-derision in his voice.
She moved closer. “I don’t know why you went away, but I do know that you didn’t stay away on purpose.” She took his hand and squeezed. “And without you, I wouldn’t have gotten Davy back. You found him.” She pulled herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
Her nearness intoxicated him. Hell, he’d never thought clearly where Lane was concerned, and that hadn’t changed. He knew he shouldn’t—knew he was crossing a boundary that he shouldn’t breach—but he couldn’t help himself. Instinct and desire and pure, primal lust took over: He held Lane’s face gently in his palms, then closed his mouth over hers.
She made a little moan of surprise, then settled against him, her mouth seeking his, her hunger as potent as his own. She wanted him. Of that much he was certain. But she didn’t want to want him.
He had to change her mind.
Pulling her closer, Jason moved his hands to stroke Lane’s back. Her arm slipped around his neck, and she deepened their kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting and teasing.
She tasted like chocolate and honey—rich and exotic, delicious and addictive. He craved her, couldn’t get enough. His body hardened, wanting more. Wanting all of her, body and soul.
With a low groan, Jason pulled her shirt free of her shorts, his hand slipping under it to caress her bare skin. With his other he cupped her rear, urging her nearer until her hips were pressed against his, her soft thigh rubbing his erection. Then—