"Aphrodite's_Secret_007" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

Chapter

Lane’s friends who’d moved to Los Angeles to attend UCLA Law School always expressed surprise at how green the city was. It had gotten a bum rap, and out-of-towners expected nothing but a beach, concrete, and a few palm trees. Except for Beverly Hills. Apparently, everyone expected lush greenery in Beverly Hills, as if the tinge of money alone could somehow foliate that suburb.
Lane had always loved Westwood’s vibrant flora— just as much as she loved the pulse of the freeways and the glitter of neon that completed Hollywood’s mystique. And now, walking hand in hand with Aaron beneath the intertwining branches of the magnificent trees that lined the UCLA campus, she knew with absolute certainty that there was no place else in the world she ever wanted to live.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Aaron said, squeezing her hand.
She turned to him and smiled, happy with how comfortable she felt. There had been a brief awkwardness when he’d kissed her at the restaurant, but that had faded. Surely it had just been nerves. “The trees,” she said, lifting their intertwined hands to point at the canopy of leaves shading them from the afternoon sun. “And the flowers.” With her free hand, she swept a circle in the air, a gesture encompassing the Birds of Paradise, bougainvillea and succulents that lined the cozy path that snaked through the campus.
“Oh.”
“And Davy,” she added, automatically glancing at her purse where her cell phone nestled. “I hope he’s having fun.”
“I’m sure he’s having a blast,” Aaron said. “I only met Zoë once, but she seemed totally responsible. And it’s clear Davy adores her.”
“Oh, he does,” Lane agreed. An image of Davy’s smiling face flashed through her mind.
“They’re having a ball. I mean, come on—what’s not to like about Sea World?”
Lane nodded. “He was pretty psyched about going,” she admitted. “Of course, the alternative was to stay home with me while I studied.” She glanced at her watch. “I really do need to get back. This was supposed to just be a lunch date. I’ve got over a hundred pages to read before tomorrow.”
Aaron nodded, pointing down a side path. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I’ve been aiming us toward my car.”
“Really?” She couldn’t help but grin. Not many men would keep track of the fact that she needed to be studying.
“So, is that it?”
She frowned, not understanding his question. “It?”
“All that you were thinking about,” he explained.
“Oh. Well... yeah.” Her forehead creased. “Am I forgetting something?”
“No, of course not,” he answered. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
She glanced up, surprised. And then she realized: he’d expected her to be thinking about him. And why not? They’d had a lovely afternoon; they were walking hand-in-hand down a charming path. The man scored a perfect ten on the boyfriend scale. Heck, she should have been thinking about him. Instead, she’d been thinking about plants. What the heck was wrong with her?
“Sorry. I’ve been so distracted about Davy,” she said. It wasn’t as good as saying she’d been thinking about him, but maybe it would take a bit of the sting off his ego.
“Well, it makes sense.” His smile reached his eyes. “Go on. Give her a call. What’s the point in torturing yourself?”
“Really?” she asked. “You don’t think Zoë will think I’m an obsessive mom who can’t leave her sister-in-law alone with her kid for a trip without having a total meltdown?”
“Probably. But I wouldn’t let that stop you.”
They paused in front of his Lexus, and Lane started to rummage in her purse. Really, the man was perfect: great-looking, a wonderful job, a fabulous car—and he knew how to handle a neurotic mother. If she were smart, she’d drop right down on one knee and propose to him.
Since that seemed a little extreme this early in their relationship, she just rummaged for her cell phone. It must have fallen to the bottom of her purse, and in a fit of frustration, she squatted down and dumped everything out. Her keys, the latest Nora Roberts book, Davy’s monthly mystery package, last month’s electric bill, an empty powder compact, a single piece of Dentyne and—finally—a cell phone: it all crashed onto the pavement.
She picked up her phone and hit the speed dial; then she listened, tapping her foot impatiently, while it rang and rang until the voice mail picked up: “Hi, this is Zoë. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message.”
She hung up and licked her lips, looking at Aaron over the hood of his car. “She didn’t answer.”
Aaron was at her side immediately, his fingers intertwined with hers. “They’re probably on a ride or in a show.” He squeezed her hand. “They’re fine.”
Lane blinked, edgy and unsure. “I know,” she lied.
Aaron flashed an understanding smile, then knelt down to pick up her possessions. “Let’s get you put back together.” One by one, he tossed her things back into her purse, pausing at the brown-paper-wrapped present labeled DAVY. “Did I miss his birthday? I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “You’ve still got five more days until the big number seven. This is just his monthly present.”
“Monthly?”
She nodded. “He’s been getting anonymous toy deliveries once a month for about the last year.” She took the package from his hand. “He got this one yesterday, and I forgot to give it to him.”
“Who are they from?”
She shrugged and grinned. “Don’t know. That’s what makes them anonymous.”
“Smart aleck,” Aaron retorted, but he didn’t seem offended. “Seriously, what’s the deal?”
“I’m really not sure. I think one of my friends must have decided that Davy needed something fun and decided to send him surprise presents on a regular basis.” She shrugged. “It’s sweet, but it’s a mystery.”
Not that she didn’t have a theory—she did.
At first, she had been certain that Zoë had been sending the gifts, perhaps a sweet gesture from a relatively new aunt. But a few of the packages had a “guy” feel, and so Lane, revised her theory, deciding her brother Taylor was sending the gifts. But he openly showered Davy with presents, so secret gifts didn’t seem to make sense. At last she’d determined Davy’s mysterious benefactor had to be Zoë‘s brother, Hale. It had taken forever—not to mention the right woman!—for the Protector to warm up to mortals, but he’d always seemed to have a soft spot for Davy. So it only made sense that he was the one, keeping his gift-giving secret.
Not that she could explain all of this to Aaron. Instead, she just said, “There are a few candidates, but no one has ever ‘fessed up.” She gave him an end-of-story smile, then rummaged once again through her purse, double-checking to make sure all her belongings had found their way back to its depths.
“Maybe it’s Davy’s father,” he said.
Lane balked, fumbling and almost dropping her purse.
Aaron reached out to steady her, the pressure of his touch warm and insistent. “I’m guessing you don’t think that’s a likely possibility.”
“Maybe in some parallel dimension,” she snapped, more derision lining her voice than she’d intended. “But not in this world.”
“I see,” Aaron said. His fingers stroked hers, tracing in and out between them. “We’ve never really talked about him. I take it he’s out of the picture?”
“He was never in the picture,” she answered. “I thought he was, but apparently he had other plans. Good-bye and good riddance.” She said it lightly, and she meant it. Of course, it had taken her years of practice to get to that point. And even now she had fantasies—when Davy was asleep and all the lights were off and she had only her thoughts to account to—that Jason would return and make up for all the lost years....
How, though, she couldn’t imagine; so the fantasy usually failed. Because unless he’d been kidnapped by aliens and spent the last seven years on their mother ship, she really couldn’t forgive his absence.
With his free hand, Aaron stroked her cheek. “Well, I am sorry for what he put you through, but I’m not sorry he’s gone.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m not,” he echoed. He moved closer, until he loomed above her and she was leaning back, her hand still entwined with his and her back pressed against the passenger door of his Lexus. “Because if he weren’t gone, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
He leaned closer, and she wanted to meet him halfway—really, she did—but somehow her brain sent the wrong message to her feet and head. She ducked, and his lips brushed gently over her ear.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not you. I’m distracted. It’s just. . .” She trailed off with a shrug, knowing she was being stupid.
He hooked a finger under her chin and twisted her face up. The smile on his lips warmed her heart. “Let’s go to Sea World.”
“What?” She blinked, surprised both that he’d tolerated her rejection and that he’d suggest such a thing. “Drive down to San Diego?”
“Sure. We’ll be there in plenty of time to catch your sister-in-law before she calls it a day.”
“But you’ve got a brief due next week. I thought you had hours of research ahead of you.”
His shoulder lifted. “True. But I’ll make time for you.”
Oh, man. Her heart was going to melt. “That’s so sweet.”
“So, let’s get going.”
She took a deep breath, then shook her head.
“No, that’s okay. I’m just overreacting. I’m sure you’re right—he’s just watching a show or something.”
“You’re sure?”
She drew another deep breath to strengthen her resolve. “I’m sure.” She licked her lips, then squeezed his hand. This was a truly sweet man. Maybe there weren’t sparks, but would sparks offer to drive her to San Diego? Hell, sparks hadn’t even hung around to meet his own child. She’d be a fool to let Aaron get away.
“Lane?”
She smiled, then lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Really,” she said. “Just take me home. And if you can spare a few minutes, why don’t you come in for coffee ... or something?”



Zoë paced back and forth, desperate to figure out an escape from the small room. “Maybe we can pick the lock,” she offered. “Like MacGyver would.”
“Sure,” Deena said, nodding. “Yeah. We can do that.” She cocked her head. “With what?”
Zoë sighed. “I haven’t got a clue. I don’t suppose you’re wearing a barrette?”
Deena shook her head, blond curls flying. “Nope. You?”
“No.” As usual Zoë wore one long braid down her back, and it was fastened with a rubber band. And the band wasn’t even big enough to make a good slingshot.
“You picked a really lousy time to get sick,” Deena complained.
Zoë grimaced, feeling sheepish. Who knew that raging hormones would whack out her powers, making them come and go? Unfortunately, go was much more often than come. “Sorry,” she said, shoving uselessly on the wall’s metal door. “Apollo’s apples! This is making me nuts!”
“Maybe if we both shove,” Deena suggested. She pressed her hands against the door and pushed, the muscles in her arms tightening visibly with the effort.
“Hold on,” Zoë said. “If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.” She steadied herself against the door. “On three. One . . . two . . . three.” They both pushed with all their might. The wall didn’t budge.
“Well, damn,” said Deena.
Zoë silently seconded the comment, but she didn’t say a word, too distracted by the craving washing over her. “Pickles,” she said. “In chocolate sauce.” She twisted around to look at Deena, who looked ready to gag. “Doesn’t that sound fabulous?”
“That is just disgusting,” Deena replied, her nose wrinkling.
“True. But it may be good news.” She rushed back to the door, needing to tackle it before the craving faded. She kicked, and this time when her foot contacted the solid metal, the door slammed outward, its hinges breaking free just as the craving—and her powers—faded once more.
Deena let out a victory whoop, slapping her hand over her own mouth to muffle the sound, then followed Zoë out of the room. Outside, they both dropped to the ground and looked around. Zoë tried to get her bearings.
“Oh ... my . .. God,” Deena said in a dramatic stage whisper behind her. Zoë‘s previous comment had clicked. “You’re pregnant!”
“Shhh,” Zoë whispered, a finger over her lips. They were in some sort of service tunnel. A patch of light shone in from one end, while cracks in the surrounding structure let in slivers of daylight all around. Even better than being free was the fact that she could now hear what was going on. That was the good news. The bad news was that what she was hearing didn’t sound good at all.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Deena asked, following at Zoë‘s heels.
“Will you be quiet?” Zoë hissed. She stopped to peer through a crack. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Right. Sure.” Deena nodded, then leaned in close to Zoë‘s ear. “So, your powers are back?”
Zoë shook her head. “They’re gone again. The craving’s gone, and so are my powers.”
Deena raised an eyebrow. “Well, that sucks.”
So it did. But Zoë had to admit that she now understood why the High Elder had told her to take a full year off from her Council duties under the Halfling Maternity Leave policy. She still had to fill out all the paperwork, but basically she was off active duty until the baby was six months old.
She felt a little guilty about telling Zephron even before she’d told Taylor—but he’d gone to Geneva for a conference sponsored by the Mortal Counterparts to Protectors Coalition, and she’d only told Zephron because the disappearance of her powers had scared her.
Of course, now Deena knew, too. Hopefully, no one else would figure it out. Zoë didn’t want Taylor to be the absolute last person to find out he was going to be a daddy.
“So where are we?” Deena asked in a whisper.
Zoë had stood up and pressed an eye to a small crack in the low ceiling. She saw nothing more than a view of the bright blue sky. “Under the stands, I think.” She got down on her hands and knees. “Come on.” She started to crawl forward, toward a patch of light several yards away.
Someone was speaking, and the voice echoed beneath the stands. “Anonymity is so cowardly,” the man was saying. “Don’t you agree?”
Deena and Zoë exchanged glances, then rushed forward to peer through the tiny cracks in the wood, eager to see the enemy reveal himself. “I don’t think that’s Hieronymous’s voice,” Zoë whispered. “I’m guessing he got one of his underlings to pull off this little prank.”
Deena shook her head.
“I’m still hoping for regular, old-fashioned muggers. I kind of had my heart set on a quiet, laid-back summer.”
Zoë nodded toward the stage, where the man was tugging at his mask. “We’ll know soon enough.”
Up the man’s mask went, and he casually tossed it aside. Zoë gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “That’s not an Outcast,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “He’s a Protector.”
Deena twisted around, her forehead creased with concern. “You know him?”
“Not personally. Jake or Jason or something. I saw him interviewed on Protectors Tonight after he escaped from Hieronymous about a year ago.”
“A shark in sheep’s clothing,” Deena said. Zoë raised an eyebrow, and Deena shrugged. “Well, we are at Sea World,” she added.
Zoë rolled her eyes.
“Stockholm syndrome, I bet,” Deena said. “He rejoined the Council, but he was really working all along for Hieronymous.”
Zoë licked her lips. “You must be right.”
“So what do we do?”
Zoë didn’t answer. Instead, her attention was focused on the dolphin swimming in circles in the pool. Faster and faster it went, building up momentum and tracing the water’s perimeter. One last pass, and the heroic dolphin leapt from the water, soaring through the air to smash right into Jake-or-Jason’s gut. The bad guy fell backward, knocked on his tush.
“Yes!” Zoë yelled, not caring if the kidnapper heard her. “Come on!” She started running.
Deena grabbed her wrist. “What is it? Do you have a plan?”
“Yup,” Zoë said. She nodded across the pool. “I may not have my powers, but if a big fish can take out that Protector, I think you and I should be able to hold our own.”
Deena just blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open.
“Come on,” Zoë said, bursting from their hiding spot. “We’re going to go help that dolphin.”

* * *
If there was one thing every Protector learned during his rigorous training sessions, it was never to do anything without a plan. Jason had already ignored, mangled, and tossed aside that rule. Yet even without a plan he’d managed to knock down the shape shifter.
He knew, of course, that the maniac calling the shots on stage had to be a shape shifter. The man looked like him, but Jason had not gone mad and was not holding his son hostage at the moment. Ergo, the bad guy had the ability to assume his form. Of course, no one except Jason and Shamu knew that. Worse, Davy’s introduction to the likeness of his father was as a first-class creep. That wasn’t going to help in forging a father-son bond.
He’d deal with that little problem later, though. Right now, Jason needed to rescue his son. He focused on the water, shaping the molecules with his will. A column rose from the pool, up and up toward the boy, faster and faster as it got closer, building up speed so it could carry him to freedom....
Except it didn’t work. The water didn’t touch Davy. Instead, it slapped against an invisible wall and then splattered down like raindrops in a summer storm. A force field. Sweet Hera, Hieronymous’s minion had surrounded Davy with a protective force field.
On the concrete, the shape shifter climbed to his feet, brushing off his pants as he glared at Jason. Then he held up his hands, as if imploring the sky.
“Now would be good,” he shouted, his voice much less confident than it had been earlier, almost as if he’d run out of script and had moved to improvisation.
Even before the shifter’s voice faded on the breeze, clouds formed in the sky, darkening so quickly that Jason had the illusion he was watching time-lapse photography. The wind kicked up again, violent and demanding, turning the pool into a whirl that tossed Jason about on its waves. Jason fought to stay at its surface, his eyes on Davy, as he looked for a solution: a break in the force field, a mistake, anything.
Jason? Shamu called. What’s going on? The whale surfaced, breaking the water in a leap, then splashing down to shower the Outcast. The Outcast didn’t even notice; he just stood, his arms raised as if he were conducting a symphony. The wind swirled around him.
Davy bounced and swung in the wind, fear reflected on his little face despite an obvious effort to remain stoic.
What’s the plan? Shamu called.
Jason wished he knew. I’m working on it. He took a breath. I won’t let anything happen to Davy.
Shamu moved his head, a slight nod, then looked at Jason. I know, so what do we do?
“Aunt Zoë!” Davy’s scream pierced the air, and Jason looked up to find the boy caught in the wind. The ropes binding him had been ripped away, and the boy flailed, trying futilely to get some purchase on the air swirling around him. The cyclone lifted him higher and higher above the whale’s pool—as if he was Dorothy and the wind was taking him straight to Oz.
Which was good and bad. Bad in that Hieronymous was trying to steal Jason’s little boy. Good in that Hieronymous couldn’t move the child while his force field was in place. Which meant he must have dropped it.
Immediately Jason concentrated on conjuring another column of water, but it was no use; the water bubbled and sputtered but wouldn’t congeal. His powers were tapped out; he couldn’t even return to human form. The massive effort to save the Sky Tower and then become a dolphin had exhausted his energy, and it would take time to recharge.
Time Davy didn’t have.
“Aunt Zoë!” the boy shouted again. The fear on his small face shot straight to Jason’s stomach. But what really wrenched Jason’s insides was that he was calling for Zoë.
“Davy!” Zoë screamed.
Jason held his breath, waiting for her to use her telekinesis to grab hold of the boy. But she didn’t do a damn thing except run toward the ladder leading up to the platform.
The wind picked up, twisting Jason’s son in a cyclone. Soon, Jason knew, the storm would hurl his boy out of this stadium into the waiting arms of Hieronymous. He had to act now. Maybe he couldn’t control the water, but he had to do something.
And he had to do it fast.

* * *
Zoë tilted her head back, the muscles straining in her arms as she balanced on top of the platform and threw a coil of rope into the air. She maintained the futile hope that—for just one throw—her powers would return and the line would reach Davy.
No luck.
“Zoë! Look!” Deena shouted.
Zoë shifted her gaze down and watched, wide-eyed, as Shamu rose to the surface of his pool, a dolphin straddling his tail. The orca thrashed out, sending the dolphin hurtling through the sky, straight toward Davy. The two collided, dolphin and boy, then tumbled together through the air as Davy clung to the dolphin’s slick skin for dear life.
Zoë held her breath. They pair had pulled free from the cyclone, but for how long? Would the wind try again?
The storm swirled back, dark clouds above reaching down like fingers to grasp their prey. The dolphin twisted, evading capture, even as it and the boy plummeted toward the water. Then ...
They’d made it! They two had escaped from Hieronymous! Deena let out a cheer, and Zoë breathed a sigh of relief. When this was over, she was buying that dolphin a truckload of raw fish.
Except it wasn’t over.
The Protector who’d turned traitor materialized over the water, hovering there, his Propulsion and Invisibility Cloak snapping in the wind. The dolphin squeaked and barked, the anger in its voice clear. Angry or not, though, it was no match for the Protector, who grabbed Davy by the shoulders even as the dolphin bit down on the boy’s shorts. The water made a schlooping sound as the Protector pulled them both out. Up they went: the boy stoically silent and the dolphin locked onto the back of his pants.
Up, up, up they went as Zoë concentrated, willing her damned hormones to calm down.
“Zoë ...”
She ignored Deena.
“Zoë!”
Still concentrating.
“Aunt Zoë!” Davy called.
Now!
She lashed out with all her concentration, managing to levitate a nearby bucket of fish—presumably Shamu’s dinner. Her aim was unsteady, but she heaved with all her might and it headed straight for the turncoat Protector’s head.
Whap! Dead-on perfect.
Zoë cheered while Deena let out a little whoop. Their celebration was premature, however, because the Protector didn’t let go of his quarry. Apollo’s Apples! What could Zoë do now? She didn’t know, and so she did the one thing left to do—upended the bucket on the Protector’s head, sending a flood of dead fish raining down on him.
The man howled in protest, fire shooting from his fingertips in anger. The fish bath had startled him too, though, because he dropped Davy, and both the boy and the dolphin fell from the sky and landed with a splash in the holding pool.

* * *
Jason burst from the water, exuberant, his boy clinging to his back. Davy was safe. Thank Hera, his son was safe!
But even in his jubilation, a nasty little finger of jealousy poked him. It was foolish and egotistical maybe, but he’d wanted to be the one to save his son. Hell, he’d even thought he had. But his effort hadn’t been good enough—Zoë‘d had to come to the rescue.
Some superhero he was. How helpful was transforming into a fish when there was serious super-heroing needed?
“Davy! Mr. Dolphin! Look out!”
Jason dove back down, Davy clinging tight to his back, but it was too late. The shape shifter Outcast hadn’t been thwarted. He was an expert with his Propulsion Cloak, and now he swooped down for the kill.
“Davy!” Jason heard Zoë yell, but she didn’t do anything except bounce up and down in frustration. Why wasn’t she helping him?
He swam as fast as he could. Where, where, where was his backup?
The shape shifter caught up, grabbing on to Jason’s tail and spinning him over. Davy broke free and started paddling, his little cheeks puffed out, as he headed for the pool’s edge.
Jason heaved his bulk back toward the shape shifter, who held his tail. Dolphins might be cute and friendly, but they weighed a lot and packed a punch. The shifter was knocked backwards into the water, his motions becoming clumsy as he was submerged.
The Outcast couldn’t stay underwater long, but Jason could. If he could just get on top of his enemy. If he could just block his path . . .
Each time the shifter headed for the surface, Jason cut him off, a living barrier to keep the Outcast from air. And it was working, too. The Outcast was slowing down, losing steam—the lack of oxygen was taking its toll.
A flurry of movement at the surface caught Jason’s attention, and he took his eyes off his opponent long enough to look. His son flailed about, clearly fighting exhaustion and trying to stay afloat. Jason shifted, ready to lunge for the boy and push him out of the water, but Zoë dove in, wrapping her arm around Davy and carrying him to the side of the pool. Jason’s body sagged with relief. Thank Zeus!
But his thanks died on his lips. He’d only been distracted for a split second, yet that was enough. As he focused his full attention back to the shifter, Jason was engulfed in a ball of living, breathing flame.
He writhed, the flames licking at him as the shifter propelled himself toward the water’s surface. And it was only when the shifter wrestled the boy from Zoë‘s arms and soared into the sky that Jason realized the fire surrounding him was an illusion. Underwater, of course, it had to be. But his brief hesitation had cost him everything.
It was over.
There was nothing he could do—nothing, except watch as his enemy lifted his son into the wild winds above and shot off across the sky, finally fading into nothing more than a distant black dot. And as the Outcast disappeared from sight, Jason thought he heard the deep, low tones of a maniacal laugh.
A scream of protest died in Jason’s throat, and he sank, defeated, to the bottom of the pool.
Once again, he’d failed. He’d failed in his mission, and he’d failed his son.
Hieronymous had won.
Well, Jason didn’t care if he had to sidestep every rule the Council had ever issued. He was going after Davy. And he was going to make his father pay.
All those lost years when he should have been with his son, with Lane ... He could have been playing on the beach with Davy, teaching his son to ride a bike, to read, to swim. Instead, he’d been stuck swimming in an endless loop, with no laughter, no chubby arms around his neck, no diapers, no sloppy kisses—just the water of his prison and his own dark thoughts.
He clenched his fists against the memories. Hieronymous had thought his punishment so clever, but the man had no imagination at all. Jason did. He’d retrieve his son. He’d defeat Hieronymous. And, in the end, he’d feast on a revenge sweeter than anything the Outcast leader had ever dreamed.

Chapter

Lane’s friends who’d moved to Los Angeles to attend UCLA Law School always expressed surprise at how green the city was. It had gotten a bum rap, and out-of-towners expected nothing but a beach, concrete, and a few palm trees. Except for Beverly Hills. Apparently, everyone expected lush greenery in Beverly Hills, as if the tinge of money alone could somehow foliate that suburb.
Lane had always loved Westwood’s vibrant flora— just as much as she loved the pulse of the freeways and the glitter of neon that completed Hollywood’s mystique. And now, walking hand in hand with Aaron beneath the intertwining branches of the magnificent trees that lined the UCLA campus, she knew with absolute certainty that there was no place else in the world she ever wanted to live.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Aaron said, squeezing her hand.
She turned to him and smiled, happy with how comfortable she felt. There had been a brief awkwardness when he’d kissed her at the restaurant, but that had faded. Surely it had just been nerves. “The trees,” she said, lifting their intertwined hands to point at the canopy of leaves shading them from the afternoon sun. “And the flowers.” With her free hand, she swept a circle in the air, a gesture encompassing the Birds of Paradise, bougainvillea and succulents that lined the cozy path that snaked through the campus.
“Oh.”
“And Davy,” she added, automatically glancing at her purse where her cell phone nestled. “I hope he’s having fun.”
“I’m sure he’s having a blast,” Aaron said. “I only met Zoë once, but she seemed totally responsible. And it’s clear Davy adores her.”
“Oh, he does,” Lane agreed. An image of Davy’s smiling face flashed through her mind.
“They’re having a ball. I mean, come on—what’s not to like about Sea World?”
Lane nodded. “He was pretty psyched about going,” she admitted. “Of course, the alternative was to stay home with me while I studied.” She glanced at her watch. “I really do need to get back. This was supposed to just be a lunch date. I’ve got over a hundred pages to read before tomorrow.”
Aaron nodded, pointing down a side path. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I’ve been aiming us toward my car.”
“Really?” She couldn’t help but grin. Not many men would keep track of the fact that she needed to be studying.
“So, is that it?”
She frowned, not understanding his question. “It?”
“All that you were thinking about,” he explained.
“Oh. Well... yeah.” Her forehead creased. “Am I forgetting something?”
“No, of course not,” he answered. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
She glanced up, surprised. And then she realized: he’d expected her to be thinking about him. And why not? They’d had a lovely afternoon; they were walking hand-in-hand down a charming path. The man scored a perfect ten on the boyfriend scale. Heck, she should have been thinking about him. Instead, she’d been thinking about plants. What the heck was wrong with her?
“Sorry. I’ve been so distracted about Davy,” she said. It wasn’t as good as saying she’d been thinking about him, but maybe it would take a bit of the sting off his ego.
“Well, it makes sense.” His smile reached his eyes. “Go on. Give her a call. What’s the point in torturing yourself?”
“Really?” she asked. “You don’t think Zoë will think I’m an obsessive mom who can’t leave her sister-in-law alone with her kid for a trip without having a total meltdown?”
“Probably. But I wouldn’t let that stop you.”
They paused in front of his Lexus, and Lane started to rummage in her purse. Really, the man was perfect: great-looking, a wonderful job, a fabulous car—and he knew how to handle a neurotic mother. If she were smart, she’d drop right down on one knee and propose to him.
Since that seemed a little extreme this early in their relationship, she just rummaged for her cell phone. It must have fallen to the bottom of her purse, and in a fit of frustration, she squatted down and dumped everything out. Her keys, the latest Nora Roberts book, Davy’s monthly mystery package, last month’s electric bill, an empty powder compact, a single piece of Dentyne and—finally—a cell phone: it all crashed onto the pavement.
She picked up her phone and hit the speed dial; then she listened, tapping her foot impatiently, while it rang and rang until the voice mail picked up: “Hi, this is Zoë. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message.”
She hung up and licked her lips, looking at Aaron over the hood of his car. “She didn’t answer.”
Aaron was at her side immediately, his fingers intertwined with hers. “They’re probably on a ride or in a show.” He squeezed her hand. “They’re fine.”
Lane blinked, edgy and unsure. “I know,” she lied.
Aaron flashed an understanding smile, then knelt down to pick up her possessions. “Let’s get you put back together.” One by one, he tossed her things back into her purse, pausing at the brown-paper-wrapped present labeled DAVY. “Did I miss his birthday? I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “You’ve still got five more days until the big number seven. This is just his monthly present.”
“Monthly?”
She nodded. “He’s been getting anonymous toy deliveries once a month for about the last year.” She took the package from his hand. “He got this one yesterday, and I forgot to give it to him.”
“Who are they from?”
She shrugged and grinned. “Don’t know. That’s what makes them anonymous.”
“Smart aleck,” Aaron retorted, but he didn’t seem offended. “Seriously, what’s the deal?”
“I’m really not sure. I think one of my friends must have decided that Davy needed something fun and decided to send him surprise presents on a regular basis.” She shrugged. “It’s sweet, but it’s a mystery.”
Not that she didn’t have a theory—she did.
At first, she had been certain that Zoë had been sending the gifts, perhaps a sweet gesture from a relatively new aunt. But a few of the packages had a “guy” feel, and so Lane, revised her theory, deciding her brother Taylor was sending the gifts. But he openly showered Davy with presents, so secret gifts didn’t seem to make sense. At last she’d determined Davy’s mysterious benefactor had to be Zoë‘s brother, Hale. It had taken forever—not to mention the right woman!—for the Protector to warm up to mortals, but he’d always seemed to have a soft spot for Davy. So it only made sense that he was the one, keeping his gift-giving secret.
Not that she could explain all of this to Aaron. Instead, she just said, “There are a few candidates, but no one has ever ‘fessed up.” She gave him an end-of-story smile, then rummaged once again through her purse, double-checking to make sure all her belongings had found their way back to its depths.
“Maybe it’s Davy’s father,” he said.
Lane balked, fumbling and almost dropping her purse.
Aaron reached out to steady her, the pressure of his touch warm and insistent. “I’m guessing you don’t think that’s a likely possibility.”
“Maybe in some parallel dimension,” she snapped, more derision lining her voice than she’d intended. “But not in this world.”
“I see,” Aaron said. His fingers stroked hers, tracing in and out between them. “We’ve never really talked about him. I take it he’s out of the picture?”
“He was never in the picture,” she answered. “I thought he was, but apparently he had other plans. Good-bye and good riddance.” She said it lightly, and she meant it. Of course, it had taken her years of practice to get to that point. And even now she had fantasies—when Davy was asleep and all the lights were off and she had only her thoughts to account to—that Jason would return and make up for all the lost years....
How, though, she couldn’t imagine; so the fantasy usually failed. Because unless he’d been kidnapped by aliens and spent the last seven years on their mother ship, she really couldn’t forgive his absence.
With his free hand, Aaron stroked her cheek. “Well, I am sorry for what he put you through, but I’m not sorry he’s gone.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m not,” he echoed. He moved closer, until he loomed above her and she was leaning back, her hand still entwined with his and her back pressed against the passenger door of his Lexus. “Because if he weren’t gone, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
He leaned closer, and she wanted to meet him halfway—really, she did—but somehow her brain sent the wrong message to her feet and head. She ducked, and his lips brushed gently over her ear.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not you. I’m distracted. It’s just. . .” She trailed off with a shrug, knowing she was being stupid.
He hooked a finger under her chin and twisted her face up. The smile on his lips warmed her heart. “Let’s go to Sea World.”
“What?” She blinked, surprised both that he’d tolerated her rejection and that he’d suggest such a thing. “Drive down to San Diego?”
“Sure. We’ll be there in plenty of time to catch your sister-in-law before she calls it a day.”
“But you’ve got a brief due next week. I thought you had hours of research ahead of you.”
His shoulder lifted. “True. But I’ll make time for you.”
Oh, man. Her heart was going to melt. “That’s so sweet.”
“So, let’s get going.”
She took a deep breath, then shook her head.
“No, that’s okay. I’m just overreacting. I’m sure you’re right—he’s just watching a show or something.”
“You’re sure?”
She drew another deep breath to strengthen her resolve. “I’m sure.” She licked her lips, then squeezed his hand. This was a truly sweet man. Maybe there weren’t sparks, but would sparks offer to drive her to San Diego? Hell, sparks hadn’t even hung around to meet his own child. She’d be a fool to let Aaron get away.
“Lane?”
She smiled, then lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Really,” she said. “Just take me home. And if you can spare a few minutes, why don’t you come in for coffee ... or something?”



Zoë paced back and forth, desperate to figure out an escape from the small room. “Maybe we can pick the lock,” she offered. “Like MacGyver would.”
“Sure,” Deena said, nodding. “Yeah. We can do that.” She cocked her head. “With what?”
Zoë sighed. “I haven’t got a clue. I don’t suppose you’re wearing a barrette?”
Deena shook her head, blond curls flying. “Nope. You?”
“No.” As usual Zoë wore one long braid down her back, and it was fastened with a rubber band. And the band wasn’t even big enough to make a good slingshot.
“You picked a really lousy time to get sick,” Deena complained.
Zoë grimaced, feeling sheepish. Who knew that raging hormones would whack out her powers, making them come and go? Unfortunately, go was much more often than come. “Sorry,” she said, shoving uselessly on the wall’s metal door. “Apollo’s apples! This is making me nuts!”
“Maybe if we both shove,” Deena suggested. She pressed her hands against the door and pushed, the muscles in her arms tightening visibly with the effort.
“Hold on,” Zoë said. “If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.” She steadied herself against the door. “On three. One . . . two . . . three.” They both pushed with all their might. The wall didn’t budge.
“Well, damn,” said Deena.
Zoë silently seconded the comment, but she didn’t say a word, too distracted by the craving washing over her. “Pickles,” she said. “In chocolate sauce.” She twisted around to look at Deena, who looked ready to gag. “Doesn’t that sound fabulous?”
“That is just disgusting,” Deena replied, her nose wrinkling.
“True. But it may be good news.” She rushed back to the door, needing to tackle it before the craving faded. She kicked, and this time when her foot contacted the solid metal, the door slammed outward, its hinges breaking free just as the craving—and her powers—faded once more.
Deena let out a victory whoop, slapping her hand over her own mouth to muffle the sound, then followed Zoë out of the room. Outside, they both dropped to the ground and looked around. Zoë tried to get her bearings.
“Oh ... my . .. God,” Deena said in a dramatic stage whisper behind her. Zoë‘s previous comment had clicked. “You’re pregnant!”
“Shhh,” Zoë whispered, a finger over her lips. They were in some sort of service tunnel. A patch of light shone in from one end, while cracks in the surrounding structure let in slivers of daylight all around. Even better than being free was the fact that she could now hear what was going on. That was the good news. The bad news was that what she was hearing didn’t sound good at all.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Deena asked, following at Zoë‘s heels.
“Will you be quiet?” Zoë hissed. She stopped to peer through a crack. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Right. Sure.” Deena nodded, then leaned in close to Zoë‘s ear. “So, your powers are back?”
Zoë shook her head. “They’re gone again. The craving’s gone, and so are my powers.”
Deena raised an eyebrow. “Well, that sucks.”
So it did. But Zoë had to admit that she now understood why the High Elder had told her to take a full year off from her Council duties under the Halfling Maternity Leave policy. She still had to fill out all the paperwork, but basically she was off active duty until the baby was six months old.
She felt a little guilty about telling Zephron even before she’d told Taylor—but he’d gone to Geneva for a conference sponsored by the Mortal Counterparts to Protectors Coalition, and she’d only told Zephron because the disappearance of her powers had scared her.
Of course, now Deena knew, too. Hopefully, no one else would figure it out. Zoë didn’t want Taylor to be the absolute last person to find out he was going to be a daddy.
“So where are we?” Deena asked in a whisper.
Zoë had stood up and pressed an eye to a small crack in the low ceiling. She saw nothing more than a view of the bright blue sky. “Under the stands, I think.” She got down on her hands and knees. “Come on.” She started to crawl forward, toward a patch of light several yards away.
Someone was speaking, and the voice echoed beneath the stands. “Anonymity is so cowardly,” the man was saying. “Don’t you agree?”
Deena and Zoë exchanged glances, then rushed forward to peer through the tiny cracks in the wood, eager to see the enemy reveal himself. “I don’t think that’s Hieronymous’s voice,” Zoë whispered. “I’m guessing he got one of his underlings to pull off this little prank.”
Deena shook her head.
“I’m still hoping for regular, old-fashioned muggers. I kind of had my heart set on a quiet, laid-back summer.”
Zoë nodded toward the stage, where the man was tugging at his mask. “We’ll know soon enough.”
Up the man’s mask went, and he casually tossed it aside. Zoë gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “That’s not an Outcast,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “He’s a Protector.”
Deena twisted around, her forehead creased with concern. “You know him?”
“Not personally. Jake or Jason or something. I saw him interviewed on Protectors Tonight after he escaped from Hieronymous about a year ago.”
“A shark in sheep’s clothing,” Deena said. Zoë raised an eyebrow, and Deena shrugged. “Well, we are at Sea World,” she added.
Zoë rolled her eyes.
“Stockholm syndrome, I bet,” Deena said. “He rejoined the Council, but he was really working all along for Hieronymous.”
Zoë licked her lips. “You must be right.”
“So what do we do?”
Zoë didn’t answer. Instead, her attention was focused on the dolphin swimming in circles in the pool. Faster and faster it went, building up momentum and tracing the water’s perimeter. One last pass, and the heroic dolphin leapt from the water, soaring through the air to smash right into Jake-or-Jason’s gut. The bad guy fell backward, knocked on his tush.
“Yes!” Zoë yelled, not caring if the kidnapper heard her. “Come on!” She started running.
Deena grabbed her wrist. “What is it? Do you have a plan?”
“Yup,” Zoë said. She nodded across the pool. “I may not have my powers, but if a big fish can take out that Protector, I think you and I should be able to hold our own.”
Deena just blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open.
“Come on,” Zoë said, bursting from their hiding spot. “We’re going to go help that dolphin.”

* * *
If there was one thing every Protector learned during his rigorous training sessions, it was never to do anything without a plan. Jason had already ignored, mangled, and tossed aside that rule. Yet even without a plan he’d managed to knock down the shape shifter.
He knew, of course, that the maniac calling the shots on stage had to be a shape shifter. The man looked like him, but Jason had not gone mad and was not holding his son hostage at the moment. Ergo, the bad guy had the ability to assume his form. Of course, no one except Jason and Shamu knew that. Worse, Davy’s introduction to the likeness of his father was as a first-class creep. That wasn’t going to help in forging a father-son bond.
He’d deal with that little problem later, though. Right now, Jason needed to rescue his son. He focused on the water, shaping the molecules with his will. A column rose from the pool, up and up toward the boy, faster and faster as it got closer, building up speed so it could carry him to freedom....
Except it didn’t work. The water didn’t touch Davy. Instead, it slapped against an invisible wall and then splattered down like raindrops in a summer storm. A force field. Sweet Hera, Hieronymous’s minion had surrounded Davy with a protective force field.
On the concrete, the shape shifter climbed to his feet, brushing off his pants as he glared at Jason. Then he held up his hands, as if imploring the sky.
“Now would be good,” he shouted, his voice much less confident than it had been earlier, almost as if he’d run out of script and had moved to improvisation.
Even before the shifter’s voice faded on the breeze, clouds formed in the sky, darkening so quickly that Jason had the illusion he was watching time-lapse photography. The wind kicked up again, violent and demanding, turning the pool into a whirl that tossed Jason about on its waves. Jason fought to stay at its surface, his eyes on Davy, as he looked for a solution: a break in the force field, a mistake, anything.
Jason? Shamu called. What’s going on? The whale surfaced, breaking the water in a leap, then splashing down to shower the Outcast. The Outcast didn’t even notice; he just stood, his arms raised as if he were conducting a symphony. The wind swirled around him.
Davy bounced and swung in the wind, fear reflected on his little face despite an obvious effort to remain stoic.
What’s the plan? Shamu called.
Jason wished he knew. I’m working on it. He took a breath. I won’t let anything happen to Davy.
Shamu moved his head, a slight nod, then looked at Jason. I know, so what do we do?
“Aunt Zoë!” Davy’s scream pierced the air, and Jason looked up to find the boy caught in the wind. The ropes binding him had been ripped away, and the boy flailed, trying futilely to get some purchase on the air swirling around him. The cyclone lifted him higher and higher above the whale’s pool—as if he was Dorothy and the wind was taking him straight to Oz.
Which was good and bad. Bad in that Hieronymous was trying to steal Jason’s little boy. Good in that Hieronymous couldn’t move the child while his force field was in place. Which meant he must have dropped it.
Immediately Jason concentrated on conjuring another column of water, but it was no use; the water bubbled and sputtered but wouldn’t congeal. His powers were tapped out; he couldn’t even return to human form. The massive effort to save the Sky Tower and then become a dolphin had exhausted his energy, and it would take time to recharge.
Time Davy didn’t have.
“Aunt Zoë!” the boy shouted again. The fear on his small face shot straight to Jason’s stomach. But what really wrenched Jason’s insides was that he was calling for Zoë.
“Davy!” Zoë screamed.
Jason held his breath, waiting for her to use her telekinesis to grab hold of the boy. But she didn’t do a damn thing except run toward the ladder leading up to the platform.
The wind picked up, twisting Jason’s son in a cyclone. Soon, Jason knew, the storm would hurl his boy out of this stadium into the waiting arms of Hieronymous. He had to act now. Maybe he couldn’t control the water, but he had to do something.
And he had to do it fast.

* * *
Zoë tilted her head back, the muscles straining in her arms as she balanced on top of the platform and threw a coil of rope into the air. She maintained the futile hope that—for just one throw—her powers would return and the line would reach Davy.
No luck.
“Zoë! Look!” Deena shouted.
Zoë shifted her gaze down and watched, wide-eyed, as Shamu rose to the surface of his pool, a dolphin straddling his tail. The orca thrashed out, sending the dolphin hurtling through the sky, straight toward Davy. The two collided, dolphin and boy, then tumbled together through the air as Davy clung to the dolphin’s slick skin for dear life.
Zoë held her breath. They pair had pulled free from the cyclone, but for how long? Would the wind try again?
The storm swirled back, dark clouds above reaching down like fingers to grasp their prey. The dolphin twisted, evading capture, even as it and the boy plummeted toward the water. Then ...
They’d made it! They two had escaped from Hieronymous! Deena let out a cheer, and Zoë breathed a sigh of relief. When this was over, she was buying that dolphin a truckload of raw fish.
Except it wasn’t over.
The Protector who’d turned traitor materialized over the water, hovering there, his Propulsion and Invisibility Cloak snapping in the wind. The dolphin squeaked and barked, the anger in its voice clear. Angry or not, though, it was no match for the Protector, who grabbed Davy by the shoulders even as the dolphin bit down on the boy’s shorts. The water made a schlooping sound as the Protector pulled them both out. Up they went: the boy stoically silent and the dolphin locked onto the back of his pants.
Up, up, up they went as Zoë concentrated, willing her damned hormones to calm down.
“Zoë ...”
She ignored Deena.
“Zoë!”
Still concentrating.
“Aunt Zoë!” Davy called.
Now!
She lashed out with all her concentration, managing to levitate a nearby bucket of fish—presumably Shamu’s dinner. Her aim was unsteady, but she heaved with all her might and it headed straight for the turncoat Protector’s head.
Whap! Dead-on perfect.
Zoë cheered while Deena let out a little whoop. Their celebration was premature, however, because the Protector didn’t let go of his quarry. Apollo’s Apples! What could Zoë do now? She didn’t know, and so she did the one thing left to do—upended the bucket on the Protector’s head, sending a flood of dead fish raining down on him.
The man howled in protest, fire shooting from his fingertips in anger. The fish bath had startled him too, though, because he dropped Davy, and both the boy and the dolphin fell from the sky and landed with a splash in the holding pool.

* * *
Jason burst from the water, exuberant, his boy clinging to his back. Davy was safe. Thank Hera, his son was safe!
But even in his jubilation, a nasty little finger of jealousy poked him. It was foolish and egotistical maybe, but he’d wanted to be the one to save his son. Hell, he’d even thought he had. But his effort hadn’t been good enough—Zoë‘d had to come to the rescue.
Some superhero he was. How helpful was transforming into a fish when there was serious super-heroing needed?
“Davy! Mr. Dolphin! Look out!”
Jason dove back down, Davy clinging tight to his back, but it was too late. The shape shifter Outcast hadn’t been thwarted. He was an expert with his Propulsion Cloak, and now he swooped down for the kill.
“Davy!” Jason heard Zoë yell, but she didn’t do anything except bounce up and down in frustration. Why wasn’t she helping him?
He swam as fast as he could. Where, where, where was his backup?
The shape shifter caught up, grabbing on to Jason’s tail and spinning him over. Davy broke free and started paddling, his little cheeks puffed out, as he headed for the pool’s edge.
Jason heaved his bulk back toward the shape shifter, who held his tail. Dolphins might be cute and friendly, but they weighed a lot and packed a punch. The shifter was knocked backwards into the water, his motions becoming clumsy as he was submerged.
The Outcast couldn’t stay underwater long, but Jason could. If he could just get on top of his enemy. If he could just block his path . . .
Each time the shifter headed for the surface, Jason cut him off, a living barrier to keep the Outcast from air. And it was working, too. The Outcast was slowing down, losing steam—the lack of oxygen was taking its toll.
A flurry of movement at the surface caught Jason’s attention, and he took his eyes off his opponent long enough to look. His son flailed about, clearly fighting exhaustion and trying to stay afloat. Jason shifted, ready to lunge for the boy and push him out of the water, but Zoë dove in, wrapping her arm around Davy and carrying him to the side of the pool. Jason’s body sagged with relief. Thank Zeus!
But his thanks died on his lips. He’d only been distracted for a split second, yet that was enough. As he focused his full attention back to the shifter, Jason was engulfed in a ball of living, breathing flame.
He writhed, the flames licking at him as the shifter propelled himself toward the water’s surface. And it was only when the shifter wrestled the boy from Zoë‘s arms and soared into the sky that Jason realized the fire surrounding him was an illusion. Underwater, of course, it had to be. But his brief hesitation had cost him everything.
It was over.
There was nothing he could do—nothing, except watch as his enemy lifted his son into the wild winds above and shot off across the sky, finally fading into nothing more than a distant black dot. And as the Outcast disappeared from sight, Jason thought he heard the deep, low tones of a maniacal laugh.
A scream of protest died in Jason’s throat, and he sank, defeated, to the bottom of the pool.
Once again, he’d failed. He’d failed in his mission, and he’d failed his son.
Hieronymous had won.
Well, Jason didn’t care if he had to sidestep every rule the Council had ever issued. He was going after Davy. And he was going to make his father pay.
All those lost years when he should have been with his son, with Lane ... He could have been playing on the beach with Davy, teaching his son to ride a bike, to read, to swim. Instead, he’d been stuck swimming in an endless loop, with no laughter, no chubby arms around his neck, no diapers, no sloppy kisses—just the water of his prison and his own dark thoughts.
He clenched his fists against the memories. Hieronymous had thought his punishment so clever, but the man had no imagination at all. Jason did. He’d retrieve his son. He’d defeat Hieronymous. And, in the end, he’d feast on a revenge sweeter than anything the Outcast leader had ever dreamed.