Aphrodite's Secret (3 page)

The evening had disintegrated from there. And when she’d tried to smooth out the weird vibes by telling him how lucky she felt to have fallen in love with a man as good as him and what a wonderful father he’d make, he’d said a hasty good-bye, flat-out lying to her and telling her he had to go take care of something, but he’d be back in the morning.

Yeah, right.

They’d parted ways that night, and he hadn’t come back. And when she went to the marina to confront him on his houseboat two days later, the slip was empty and the office said he’d left no forwarding address.

Bastard.

She’d smartened up. Now, seven years later, instead of a good romance she just wanted a good man. She didn’t have to be madly in love with him; but he had to be madly in love with her son. Most important, he had to be a man she was certain would never,
ever,
leave.

Lane’s own childhood had been fraught with upheaval. She’d been bounced from foster home to foster home, never staying in one place long enough to put down roots, never really forming a bond with any of the foster families she stayed with. She didn’t want that for Davy. No, she wanted him to have everything, the whole Norman Rockwell package. And that meant Lane needed a man who’d put Davy first, her second, and everything else third. A stable man. One who’d always be there. Davy’d been without a daddy long enough. And when she found the right candidate for the job, Lane intended to recruit him heavily, sign him up, then have the guy start making up for lost time.

Automatically, her eyes drifted across the restaurant to where Aaron stood chatting with the owner. His constant schmoozing was one of the downsides of dating an attorney who was working his way up the ladder. But if Aaron was a shark, Lane had to admit that he was a nice one. In the short time they’d been dating, they’d gone out alone only a few times. On most outings, Aaron had insisted Lane bring Davy along—an insistence she appreciated, since her recent return to school left her with precious little time to spend with her son.

And Aaron was great with the boy. They’d done the Disney thing, of course, watching all the movies ad nauseum and making the trek to Disneyland twice, but Aaron didn’t have to rely on cartoon characters to entertain the almost seven-year-old. No, he was more than happy to get down on the floor and play with Davy’s trucks. Plus, he naturally
oohed
and
ahhed
over all of Davy’s “inventions.” Lane couldn’t help but approve. The man had definite daddy potential.

She was pretty sure he had other potential as well—which, while not a requirement in her new set of priorities, was definitely a plus. So far, he hadn’t done more than plant a sweet good-night kiss on her cheek, but she could sense interest on his part, and from what she could tell, all systems were go. They might not have started the countdown, but they were definitely inching toward the launch pad. So maybe—just maybe—Aaron would end up in the coveted #1 slot of her cell phone.

Inside her purse, her fingers slid over the phone’s plastic casing, her finger itching to push its buttons.

Restraint battled with maternal concern. It would be so easy. Just one tap of her finger and she could check up on her sister-in-law and on her son.

Of course, if she called, Zoë would think Lane didn’t trust her to keep watch over Davy. Which wasn’t true. Not at all.

Really.

“Something on your mind?” Aaron slid into the chair next to her, a knowing grin on his face. “Or someone?”

She stifled a grimace. Already, the man knew her too well. “I’m not overprotective. I’m just... curious.” She nodded, emphasizing the point. “I’m an involved mother. I like to know what my kid is up to all the time.”

“Uh-huh.” The side of his mouth twitched.

“Okay.
Fine
. Maybe I’m a little overprotective, but that just comes with the territory. I mean, I’ve been solely responsible for Davy since the day he was born.” Heck, even before, considering that Jason had left at the negative seven-and-a-half month mark. “Davy means everything to me. If something happened to him, I’d—”

Aaron’s mouth closed over hers, effectively shutting her up. His tongue, warm and possessive, sought entrance, and she relaxed, giving in to the pleasure of being held by a man. She closed her eyes, her body limp and ready for the sweet tingling sensation.

Nothing
. Just a warm, gentle touch. Demanding, yes. Sensual, absolutely. But stirring? Sadly, no.

Well, damn.

With each kiss, she’d hoped ... and with each kiss, she’d been sorely disappointed. Stifling a sigh, she opened her eyes, peering at Aaron from under her lashes as she gently broke away. His eyes opened, soft and dreamy, and he smiled. She smiled back, flattered and sad at the same time. But still hopeful. She was distracted, that was all. He’d surprised her. And didn’t the experts say that stuff about rockets and bells was just a fairy tale anyway?

Except she knew better. She’d had fireworks. Wonderful, explosive fireworks. Amazing pyrotechnics that had sizzled all the way down to her toes.

But the man who’d set off those rockets had left. Not exactly a testimonial for the lasting power of passion.

Aaron stroked her cheek, his smile full of promise, as the waiter delivered their drinks. “Davy’s fine,” he assured her. “You said yourself that Zoë would never let anything happen to him.”

Lane nodded. True enough. That was one of the benefits of having a superhero for a sister-in-law: ultra responsible child-care.

Of course
Davy was fine. She was just being silly. With Zoë, there was no doubt. After all, her kid was with a superhero. Really, you couldn’t get much safer than that.

The storm whipped into a frenzy. Lightning crackled across the sky, thunder shook the buildings, and the wind blew cups, napkins, and plastic shopping bags around like so many leaves on an autumn afternoon.

Automatically, Jason’s gaze went to Davy. Zoë was right beside him, talking to a blond mortal while she pulled a child-sized Windbreaker out of her backpack and urged Davy into it. Jason had seen the blonde before with Lane, and now he searched both women’s faces. Neither looked concerned. Or, rather, they didn’t look concerned about anything other than keeping dry. All of which confirmed Jason’s assumption that Zoë wasn’t on duty. She was simply here with his son.

Zephron must not have realized that the boy was going to be around. If he’d known, he would have sent a Protector other than Jason here. Council Directive 827B made perfectly clear that Protectors were not to be assigned to any mission in which their offspring or mate were in danger. Which made sense, Jason supposed. A distracted Protector could end up botching his mission. Or worse.

His jaw tightened. He’d screwed up once before; he didn’t intend to do so again.

His cloak flapped around him, catching on the wild wind as he twisted, his eyes scouring the park for Hieronymous.

Nothing.
No sign of the big, bad wolf anywhere. Yet he knew his father was involved in the storm.

A bolt of lightning cut the sky only inches from him, reaching down to split a tree with its finger of fire. The air hummed in its wake, Jason’s skin tingling and his hair standing on end. Around him, his cloak seemed to sag and fizzle. Looking down, Jason realized its invisibility shield was short-circuiting, leaving him visible to anyone who might glance up to the top of this building. He banged the heel of his hand against his forehead in frustration: he should have known better than to take a cloak that was still in beta-testing.

At the moment, though, that was a small worry. He had more important things to be concerned about. He reached for his holo-pager, this time actually turning it on. He set the dial for Council Dispatch, and almost immediately the operator appeared.

“Go ahead.”

“Jason, Protector Second Class. I have a level-two incident brewing. Backup requested.”

“Backup informed and en route. Over,” the dispatcher responded.

Jason clicked off, clinging tight to his perch with one hand as he used his binocs to search for any signs of Hieronymous, his band of Outcasts, or even the monstrous Henchmen that Hieronymous was prone to send out to do his mischief. Again, nothing. Just a freak storm that—according to Jason’s gut, at least—wasn’t freak at all. Surely he wasn’t wrong?

You better get over here
, Shamu called. Despite the urgency in the whale’s voice, Jason smiled, happy to know his instincts weren’t failing him.
Now
, the whale added.

Roger
. He wrapped his cloak tight around himself, preparing to jump down. Beneath him, the Sky Tower shifted, and he heard a child cry out. The tower tilted precariously and a cacophony of screams filled the air. The tower was also a ride, and it was now swaying back and forth—the terrified cries of the people inside growing as the tower looked ready to crash into the ground.

Jason glanced around, his mind sorting through possible ways to steady the pitching tower even as he searched the skies for his backup.
No one.
He glanced down, prepared to recruit Zoë‘s aid. But what he saw made his heart almost stop beating. Or, rather, what he
didn’t
see.

No Zoë.

No Davy.

Even the blonde was gone.

All that remained in the small enclosure was a child-sized yellow Windbreaker—torn, forlorn, and dejected on the park’s wet pavement.

“Zoë! Zoë, wake up!”

Deena’s voice, high-pitched and bordering on hysterical, filtered through the haze in Zoë‘s brain. She groaned, the only sound she could manage.

“Zoë?” Deena peered into her face, forehead creased with concern.

Her muscles screamed in protest, but Zoë tried to push herself up to a sitting position—only to realize that her wrists were behind her back, rather inconveniently tied to her ankles. She blinked, then blinked again, willing the world to come back into focus. “Davy,” she mumbled, her eyes opening wide as the import of her words struck her. “
Where’s Davy
?”

Deena shook her head, her eyes reflecting the fear that was fast consuming Zoë. “I don’t know. I came to just before you did.”

“Davy!” Zoë shouted. “Davy! Are you out there? Davy!”

No answer. Zoë took deep, even breaths, trying to stay calm and rational, to let her training kick in, even though all she wanted to do was scream hysterically.

She took another five deep breaths. “What in Hades happened?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

“Thomone thnuck up on uth, I gueth,” Deena said. The woman wasn’t quite as trussed up as Zoë, and at the moment she was gnawing away at the ropes binding her wrists.

“Hieronymous,” Zoë whispered, tugging at her own restraints. Every time Zoë blinked, Uncle H seemed to be doing something evil.

“We don’t know that,” Deena said, lifting her head. “Maybe we were just plain, old-fashioned mugged.”

“And tied up like this?” Zoë asked, using all her strength to urge her hands and ankles apart, willing the rope to fray. No luck. She exhaled, exhausted from the effort. “I don’t believe it. Too many coincidences. Davy missing. Us knocked out—”

“And some sort of magic rope, I guess,” Deena said, nodding toward her. “I mean, if you can’t get free ...”

Zoë just nodded. Now probably wasn’t the time to tell Deena that her powers had gone utterly wonky. “The storm, too,” she said instead. “I don’t think it’s really a storm.”

A burst of lightning illuminated their tiny prison, the glow seeping in through tiny cracks in the metal walls around them. A clap of thunder soon followed, and those walls shook angrily. Zoë cringed, hoping Davy had run inside somewhere, safe from the inclement weather.

“
This
isn’t a storm?” Deena said. “Trust me, Zo. It is.”

“I mean it’s not a
natural
storm,” she clarified.

“Hieronymous can control the weather?”

Zoë shook her head. “I didn’t think so. That’s what makes it all the more scary. Weather control’s a pretty rare talent. And unless he hid it from the Council for years, it’s not in Hieronymous’s skill set.”

Because of their past run-ins, Zoë considered herself well briefed on what Hieronymous could and couldn’t do. He had an amazing power of invention and a natural affinity for all things technical. He also had the Midas touch in investments, and he’d amassed a substantial fortune by trading in companies run by the mortals he so despised. But his superpowers weren’t up to this. Which meant...

“He made a weather machine,” Zoë said, voicing her guess. “Either that or he’s recruited a new Protector to do his dirty work. A powerful one.”

“Either way,” Deena said, “it sounds like he’s back to being a bad guy.”

Zoë nodded. Not that Hieronymous had ever stopped. Yet months had passed without a peep from the notorious Outcast leader.

It had been an interesting few months, with the Council focusing on other troublesome Outcasts. Hieronymous, it seemed, wasn’t the only one with delusions of grandeur. He was, however, the most notorious—so Zoë had been surprised when Zephron told her that her uncle was vacationing on an island somewhere. Apparently, he’d done enough work on his tan; now he’d returned to wreak havoc once more on the world of mortals.

“But why?” she asked. “Every time he’s popped up in the past, he’s wanted something particular. What does he want now?”

“Davy?” Deena guessed.

Zoë shot her friend a nasty look. “That’s not even funny.” There was no reason on earth why the Outcast boss would want a mortal six-year-old. “Davy’s probably right where we left him, wondering where the heck we went off to.”

“Duh!” Deena said. “We are so stupid! I forgot about your X-ray vision. I’ll just pull your glasses off and you can look outside. Maybe he’s sitting right there.”

Zoë swallowed. “Right,” she said. “No problem.” She held her breath, hoping it
wouldn’t be
a problem but knowing it probably would.

Deena scooted toward Zoë on her rear end, digging in with her heels as she inched forward. When she reached Zoë, she lashed out with her still-bound hands, managing to knock Zoë‘s tortoiseshell glasses to the ground.