by J. Kenner
From his peculiar angle he could see Davy, strapped into an ominous machine and looking terrified. Clyde wasn’t in his field of vision, but Jason assumed he was up there.
Hieronymous stood at the machine’s controls, Jason’s lapdog of a half brother right beside him. Damn Mordichai. From what Jason had picked up, the guy had been on the verge of going straight. So, what the hell had happened?
Hieronymous strode forward, his arms out, his cloak fluttering. He tilted his head back and laughed, a joyous sound that made Jason ill. But at the same time understanding dawned. Looking at his father, Jason sensed the man’s power, the personal presence that only a rare few possessed. Mordi had gotten sucked in by it.
Not that his father’s charisma mattered, of course. All that mattered was freeing Davy.
A digital clock hung from the ceiling, counting down the time. Thirty minutes and forty-eight seconds. He had just half an hour to rescue his son.
Careful not to make a sound, Jason emerged from the water only far enough to peer around. He needed to locate Clyde, get the lay of the room, and plan his attack.
He’d rushed after Mordi the second he’d seen the creep take off with Davy. Without a Propulsion Cloak, he hadn’t been able to catch his brother, but he’d kept up with the pair from below the water—at least until they’d arrived at Hieronymous’s island. Mordi and Davy had entered from the air, going through the appropriate entrance. Jason had had to fight his way in from the sea.
Which all meant he was sadly lacking in tools. When Mordi had absconded with Davy, Jason had been reading the paper on the upstairs deck, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Fortunately, he’d seen a lost diver’s knife on the ocean floor, otherwise he’d be entirely without weapons. As it was, he didn’t have much of an arsenal. Soggy clothes, a rusty knife, and Davy’s ballpoint pen.
Oh yeah. The odds definitely favored the house.
An ear-piercing electronic wail filled the room, like 10,000 car alarms on steroids. Jason’s heart picked up its tempo, and he slipped back under the water, afraid Hieronymous’s surveillance technology had somehow detected him.
Clyde stepped forward into Jason’s line of sight. “An intruder, sir.”
“Thank you, Clyde. I believe I discerned that on my own,” Hieronymous hissed. “What I have not yet figured out is how an intruder has penetrated the complex again. Are your sentries not in place? Did you not increase our defenses? Did I not make myself clear that anything less than perfection tonight would be severely punished?”
Clyde nodded, backing away. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’m sure the intruder has been captured already, sir. I’ll just go—”
“Do that,” Hieronymous said.
As Clyde backed away, a scuffle erupted in the corridor: a flurry of activity, followed by five guards with angry faces. The guards parted, pushing someone forward. Lane! And following right behind, Boreas was bound with his own cuffs and lariat.
“Ms. Kent,” Hieronymous said, walking over to stand in front of her. “How good of you to join us. It was remiss of me not to send an invitation. Foolishly, perhaps, I didn’t think you would accept.”
“Please,” she said, “let me have my son.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she looked the Outcast straight in the eye without flinching. Jason silently gave her points for that, even as his mind sorted through what the heck to do now.
Part of him was furious that she and Boreas had come, but it was a weak anger. Of course she’d come. Hell, if she’d had to, she would have swum to the island alone. The bigger part of him was terrified. He’d only just gotten her back, she and his son. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—lose them.
Hieronymous cocked his head, as if considering her question. “Ah, my dear, I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny your request for the moment. Though I do commend you for having the courage to ask.” He made a shooing motion, and the guards pulled her roughly back. They threw her in a limp heap at Boreas’s feet. He immediately knelt down beside her.
The guards surrounded them, but they didn’t interfere. With the lariat around him, Boreas was no threat.
For that matter, Jason himself was no help.
The clock was ticking, and Hieronymous was looking more and more eager. Jason didn’t have a choice; he had to make a move. Once again his gaze skimmed the room, and that was when he saw it—his chance. His clever Lane was slowly inching the lariat up Boreas’s body. When she finally got the rope over his head, the Protector’s powers would return—his rubbery hands could squeeze through the cuffs, and the guards would be more than occupied.
Perfect.
“Well, well. Look what I found.” A smug voice sounded behind Jason even as the water around him trembled. All of a sudden he was rising up, trapped in a net that must have been hidden on the bottom of the stream.
Damn!
“Another intruder,” Clyde crowed. “A little fish in a big net.” He gave the net a shove, sending Jason swinging. “Shall we fry him?”
“This is turning into quite the family affair,” Hieronymous said. “Had I known, I would have had it catered.” He waved a hand. “No matter. There’s plenty of fun to be had without food.”
“Let my son go,” Jason snarled, “or I swear, I’ll kill you.”
The slow grind of a crankshaft echoed through the chamber, and the net closed tighter about Jason as he was drawn farther up.
Hieronymous tapped his chin. “Let Davy go? Hmmm. Is that what I’m going to do? No, I’m afraid not. But thank you for playing. And if any other answers pop to mind, feel free to give a shout. Who knows? Maybe you’ll win a prize.”
Time was ticking away, and there wasn’t a damn thing Jason could do. He struggled against the ropes, but uselessly. Below him, Lane’s eyes met his, dark and determined. She was still inching the lariat up, but there was no guarantee she’d get Boreas released in time—or that the neophyte would be able to save Davy once he was free.
Reaching back, Jason found the knife he’d tucked into the waistband of his shorts. Dull and rusty, the thing barely even qualified as a weapon. But it was all he had. It was Jason and a rusty bit of metal against Hieronymous, Mordichai, Clyde, and a whole battalion of Outcast minions. Plus, he was trapped in a net.
Not ideal circumstances.
Trying to move surreptitiously but with speed, he sawed at the ropes binding him. In front of his machine, Hieronymous had already forgotten he existed, apparently assuming that his dangling son was no threat at all.
Jason intended to teach his father never to assume anything.
Hieronymous loomed in front of Davy, the expression on his face almost gleeful. “Do you see that clock?” he asked, pointing to the numbers tick-tocking their way to midnight. “When it gets to twelve, it will be your birthday.” His smile was full of menace. “First, a present for me—then perhaps some cake for you.”
“You bastard,” Lane screamed. “He’s your grandson. He’s just a little boy. How can you do this?”
Hieronymous turned slowly to face her. “Why, my dear, I think you overreact. The boy won’t be harmed. Not physically, anyway. And he will be making a donation to history. What mother wouldn’t want that for her son?”
“This mother,” Lane snarled. She lunged forward, but two guards restrained her.
Jason held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t attack again.
She was certainly no match for Hieronymous. But if she would go back to loosening Boreas’s lariat, the pair might be a match for those guards.
It didn’t matter what she did. The clock was ticking, and as soon as Jason sawed through the ropes, he was going for broke—with or without anyone’s help.
His eyes met Davy’s, and he saw the hopes reflected there. His chest tightened, and he prayed he didn’t disappoint his son.
He wouldn’t disappoint his son.
Faster and faster, the ragged teeth of his knife clawed at the ropes. The netting creaked, its fraying rope unable to support his weight.
Jason
sawed faster, his gaze glued on Hieronymous. The Outcast looked positively giddy. Beside him, Mordi didn’t seem to share their father’s enthusiasm. The guy picked up the silver orb—Jason recognized it as the type that had knocked him out of commission earlier—and started rolling it between his flattened palms. At first, Jason thought Mordi intended to fire the energy beam. But then he realized his half brother was simply toying with the device—a nervous habit of some sort. Not that Mordi had anything to be nervous about. It was the top of the ninth and his team was winning.
Not for long, though. Jason intended to hit a homer. One final thrust of the knife and the net frayed completely, sending him tumbling to the ground. In that same moment, Lane—bless her—yanked the lariat over Boreas’s head.
In a split second, Jason threw his knife, aiming it at Hieronymous’s chest. At the same time, Boreas’s arm shot across the room, landing with a sproing against Clyde. The guard captain, who’d been rushing Jason, tumbled backward, landing next to the stream even as Hieronymous tried to evade Jason’s throw. The blade sank into his flesh, though, and Hieronymous collapsed to the ground.
Lane and Boreas raced for Davy, and Jason rushed toward Hieronymous, needing to be certain his knife had done its job.
It hadn’t.
He was barely two steps away when his Outcast father rolled to his side, a low groan escaping his throat. The knife protruded from his upper arm; blood oozed from the wound.
Near the machine, one of the guards had caught Lane. A burly one had her by the elbows, and Boreas was battling several others, letting them spring and bounce off him as he tried to fight his way to Davy.
Mordi ran forward, his expression unreadable, the silver orb still in his hand.
“Throw it,” Hieronymous called, his voice thin but loud. “Don’t let them get to the boy.”
And before Jason could react, Mordi threw. But instead of smashing into the ground, the orb seemed to arc up, right in front of Jason.
Startled, Jason grabbed it, clutched it tight to his chest.
“You fool!” Hieronymous snarled. “You bloody, incompetent fool!”
“I’m sorry,” Mordi said. “My aim . . . it went wild.” But the apology was hollow, and triumph, not fear, shone in the man’s eyes.
Hell, if Jason didn’t know better, he’d say that Mordi had intended for Jason to catch it. And his half brother didn’t seem to have armed the thing. It didn’t make any sense . . .
Well, whatever the reason, he had the orb now. In one fluid motion, he smashed it into the ground, then popped Davy’s breathing pen into his mouth. The chamber filled with gas, and everyone was breathing it. Everyone.
Except Hieronymous remained unaffected, just like he had been the first time.
“Fool,” the Outcast hissed. “You can’t defeat me. Not if you want to save your son.”
Instinctively, Jason took a step toward his father, then paused, the import of what he was doing hitting him. It was 11:58. If Davy was still in that machine when the clock struck midnight . . .
Ignoring Hieronymous, he rushed toward Davy, his fingers clawing at the straps and buckles and locks. Behind him, he heard Hieronymous scuffle away. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Davy.
11:59.
Behind him, Lane lay motionless on the floor. Davy was their son and, dammit, he was not going to fail.
Just one more buckle.
The damn thing stuck. Until it was loose, the helmet was still on Davy’s head. With every ounce of strength in his body, Jason tugged. Thank Hera! The buckle finally snapped.
Davy slid down, out of the chair and—more importantly—out of the helmet. “Daddy,” the boy whispered, the word barely audible over the slur of his drug-induced stupor. But it was enough; Jason’s heart soared.
Midnight.
The machine buzzed and sputtered, but Davy was safe. Jason had rescued his son.
A motion on the far side of the room caught Jason’s eye: Clyde slithering into one of the three streams that exited the island. And Hieronymous was already gone.
“Jason,” Lane called. “Go. You can still catch him!”
Jason swallowed. This was his chance, what he’d been waiting for. And Lane was urging him on. Yet Jason stayed put, his arms tight around his frightened son as Lane crawled over.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know now it doesn’t mean you love us less. Sometimes you just have to fight the bad guys.” She took his hand and squeezed. “Really. Go.”
But Jason didn’t. Instead, he just swung an arm around Lane and held both her and Davy close. Backup would arrive soon, and they could go after the Outcast boss. Not Jason. Not now.
He pulled Lane tighter into his embrace and kissed Davy’s hair. After seven long years, he was out of the revenge business.
With a sigh, he looked at the two people in his arms—his family.
Oh, yeah. Life was good.
Backup burst into the room through each of the corridors, not exactly in the nick of time, but at least arriving. Behind the force of cloaked Protectors strode Zephron, a golden walking stick clasped in his hand.
Lane barely even blinked at all the activity. She simply sat on the floor with Davy wrapped in her arms, and Jason’s arms tight around her.
My guys. With a satisfied sigh, Lane snuggled into them.
“Mommy, you’re squishing me.”
Jason chuckled, and Lane released her hold. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re safe, sweetie.”
Davy wriggled free. “Can I go check on Mr. Boreas? I want to see his arm do that rubbery thing again.”
Lane licked her lips, not really wanting the boy out of her sight. Apparently, Davy had recovered much faster than she.
A hand closed over her shoulder. “Let the child go to his friend,” Zephron said. “There’s nothing here to hurt him. Not anymore.”
After a second’s hesitation, Lane gave Davy a quick nod, and he rushed off. She climbed to her feet, Jason’s hand tight in hers. She’d never met this High Elder in person and, frankly, she was a little awed.
“So Davy’s safe now?” she asked. “It’s really okay?”
Zephron inclined his head, just slightly. “I don’t know if anyone is truly safe from Hieronymous forever,” the High Elder said. “But this complex has been secured by Council forces. The boy is safe in this room.”
Lane licked her lips. “And once we leave here?”
“He’ll be safe in the world, as well. At least as much as anyone is. Davy’s powers are locked in now. Hieronymous is no longer a threat to his intellect.”
Lane’s entire body relaxed, as if the High Elder had just removed two tons of bricks from her shoulders. “Will you catch him?” she asked.
“Eventually,” Zephron answered. “He is cunning, but I like to think we are more so.” He smiled at Jason, a warm, grandfatherly expression. “But you, young man, will not be on the team assigned to locate and retrieve him.”
“I know,” Jason said. He gave Lane’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t want to be.”
“Will Boreas?” Lane asked. She’d grown fond of the cadet, and wanted to see him do well.
A pleased look swept the High Elder’s face. “I think Boreas will be happy with his new assignment, as well as with his performance review.” He met Lane’s eyes. “Even though he did bring a mortal into peril.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I kind of made him.”
“Of that, my dear, I have no doubt.”
“What about Mordichai?” Jason asked.
“Ah, yes. Your half brother.” Zephron turned from side to side, his gaze taking in most of the chamber. “It appears that he has managed to escape.”
Lane cocked her head, surprised that Zephron didn’t seem more upset. “He was on probation, wasn’t he? What’s going to happen?”
“Don’t worry,” Zephron said. “I assure you that Mordichai will get what’s coming to him.”
Lane frowned again, wondering at the non
answer. She was about to ask Zephron to explain when Davy trotted back up and tugged at the High Elder’s robes.
Mortified, Lane pulled him back.
Zephron merely smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, young man?” he prompted.
“I want to go home,” Davy said. He slipped his hand into Jason’s. “Daddy? Can you and Mommy take me home now, please?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jason said.
Lane agreed. And as the High Elder left them alone, she hooked her arms around Jason’s waist and tilted her head up to look into his eyes. “Before we go,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “No. But I’m going to remedy that right now.” Lifting up on tiptoe, she closed her mouth over his, trying to convey a world of emotion in a single kiss: hope and love and a thank-you. And, most of all, she wanted him to sense the promise of a future.
He broke away, pulling back to look deep into her eyes. Her love shone there, she knew. Deep and crystal clear. She sighed and snuggled close. Davy clung to her legs.
After a few minutes Jason shook his head and laughed happily. Taking her hand in one of his, and Davy’s in the other, he said, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go home.”
She swallowed. “Our home?”
“Absolutely,” he said, and Lane’s pulse sped up.
“Are we going to live on Jason’s boat, Mommy?” Davy asked.
Lane cocked her head. “I think maybe we are.”
Jason knelt in front of his son. “Would you like that, sport? Living on a houseboat?”
Davy nodded. “Can Dorothy have a bigger bowl?”
“Absolutely,” Jason said.
“And can I have a puppy?”
Lane stifled a giggle, and Jason shot her a frown. “We’ll see,” he said. “After all, there’s no yard.”
“Oh.” Davy considered for a while. “Well, then, how about a baby brother?”
At that, Jason tugged Lane close. He kissed her gently on the lips. “Now that,” he said, “is something I’ll be happy to discuss with your mother.”
Davy seemed excited. “Can I, Mommy? Can I have one?”