Heart of the Dragon (19 page)

Patrick nodded reluctantly.

“Where?” The word lashed from her. “Here in the States? Brazil?”

“Different places. Never the same place for long.”

“Was he in Brazil while I was there? Is that why you guys were so eager to send me home?” Why hadn’t they hurt her? Why hadn’t they threatened Alex with her life? There had to be a reason.

“We didn’t want you involved or stumbling on company business. You were to go home and sing our praises for doing all we could to find your brother. Other than that, I’m as clueless as you as to where he is,” he added. “I’m told on a need to know basis, and I don’t need to know that.”

“How long has he been a prisoner?”

“A few weeks.” Patrick wheezed, then coughed.
“You were supposed to find the e-mail we sent you and stop searching. Why the hell didn’t you stop searching?”

His question was rhetorical, so she didn’t bother with a response. The postcard she’d gotten from Alex had been sent a week ago. He must have escaped, sent it, then was recaptured. Her poor brother! “What does Jason plan to do with him? Kill him? Release him later?”

“Who knows?” he said, but the truth was there in his eyes. Alex would never be released. Not alive. “Last I heard, he was fine.”

Shoving to her feet, Grace looked up at Darius. “We have to go to the police,” she said. “We have to tell them what’s going on.”

“What are police?”

When she explained, he said sharply, “No.” He shook his head, causing black locks of hair to brush his temples. “We will involve no one else.”

“They’ll help us. They’ll—”

“They will only hinder our search. I would be unable to use my…special skills. I will find your brother on my own.”

He was asking her to trust him absolutely, to place her brother’s life in his hands. Could she? Dare she? Her gaze fell to the ground.

“What will you do with these police of yours?” Darius demanded. “Will you tell them the myth of Atlantis is true and your brother hoped to prove it? Will you tell them you have traveled there? Will you bring more of your people and heartache to my land?”

Her eyes closed for a brief moment. She mentally sighed. Did she dare trust him? she asked herself again. Yes. She dared. No man was more competent. And no other man possessed the magical gifts that Darius did. He could do things the law couldn’t; he could take her places the law couldn’t. “I trust you,” she said. “I won’t go to them.”

He nodded as if her answer had meant little to him, but she saw the flood of relief in his eyes. He whipped his attention to Patrick, but said to Grace, “Step beyond the building. Don’t ask why, don’t hesitate, just do it, please.”

Shaking, Grace did as he’d commanded. When she turned the corner, she heard a whoosh, a grunt, a thud. She gasped, but didn’t look. Necessary, she told herself. Darius’s actions were necessary.

Eyes glowing ice-blue, Darius joined her. He wavered suddenly, but righted himself. Grace gripped his arm to help steady him. His skin was pale again as he secured his weapons inside his pockets. He wound his arm around her waist and curled his fingers possessively on her rib cage.

“I kept my word to you,” was his only explanation. “Let us pay this Jason Graves a visit.”

A
RGONAUTS WAS HOUSED
in a towering building of glass and chrome, and as Grace rode the elevator up to the forty-third floor, she brooded, thinking the company should have been housed in a hut of shame and greed.

Did Jason Graves actually think he could lock her brother away and go unpunished? Her hands fisted at her sides. Underneath her anger, however, were tendrils of fear that refused to leave. She remembered how cold and sick Alex had looked.

“I’m scared, Darius,” she whispered.

He remained curiously silent. Solemn, actually.

Grace turned toward him and blinked. Though some color had returned to his cheeks, the lines around his lips were taut, and there was a new hollowness to his cheeks. She didn’t like to see this hard, strong, extraordinarily capable man weakened in any way. Not because it made him less able to help her, but because she cared about him. Darius. About all the things that made up who he was. Seeing him distressed was worse than experiencing it herself.

The realization rocked her because it meant…
Oh, God. She didn’t just care about him. She loved him. Grace groaned, and Darius cast her a sharp glance. She offered him a forced half smile. Of all the silly things to do. To fall in love with this mighty warrior like a jumper from a plane. No parachute. No landing mat. Just…splat.

When she’d told Darius she wasn’t ready for him, she’d meant it. He was too intense. Too stubborn. Too much everything. So how could this have happened?

Don’t worry about that right now. Just feed him. Get his strength up.
Her hands shook as she dug in her purse and pulled out a tin of mints. Keeping her focus away from his face—she did
not
want him to know what she was thinking—she reached down and grasped his hand. His palm was warm and dry, thick and rough.

He jerked away from her touch.

Before she had time to react, he was reaching out and stiffly relinking their fingers. “Don’t do me any favors,” she snapped and tried to tug her hand away. She’d just realized she loved him, and he didn’t want her to touch him. “Just so you know, I didn’t want to hold your hand. I wanted to give you a mint.”

“Be still,” he said, at last deigning to speak with her.

“Let go of—”

“Close your mouth, or I will close it for you. With my own.”

Eyes narrowed, she lifted her free hand and stuffed several mints in his mouth, effectively shutting him up. Close her mouth, would he? His
nose wrinkled as he chewed, but his grip on her hand strengthened.

Someone behind them chuckled, reminding her that two men carting briefcases and files were in the elevator, as well. She darted a gaze to them and gave each one a quick, forced smile.

Not about to heed Darius’s warning, she whispered to him, “When we get there, let me do the talking. I don’t want anyone to know that we know what’s going on.”

He frowned. “I will allow you to do the talking, since these are your people,” he said loudly, uncaring about their audience. “If they do not answer to my satisfaction, however, I will be forced to act.”

“You can’t threaten everyone who refuses to answer your questions,” she told him, still maintaining her sense of quiet. “Or you’ll end up in jail—or a dungeon—or whatever you call it.”

“Sometimes, sweet Grace, your innocence amuses me. As if
I
could be held in a prison.” His frown deepened. “Will this contraption go no faster? We have wasted enough time already.” With his free hand, he jabbed his finger into the wall of buttons.

The elevator stopped on the next floor. As well as the next…and the next.

“The stairs would have been faster,” one of the businessmen muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

Grace flashed him another smile, this one apologetic.

The man glared at her, as if it were all her fault.
As if she could control a six foot five hulk of a warrior who—Oh, my God! Darius was displaying his fangs again, this time at the poor, innocent businessmen. When the elevator stopped yet again, the two scurried out with fearful gasps—but at least they were alive.

“Did you see that?” one of them said. “He had saber-teeth.”

When the doors closed, leaving her and Darius alone, silence gripped them in a tight fist. Over and over the elevator halted. When someone tried to enter, Darius gave them the same scowl he’d given the businessmen and every one of them retreated and waved them on before the doors closed.

After the eighth jostling stop, Grace’s stomach threatened to rebel, and she tugged Darius from the elevator and onto the floor. Twenty-nine, she realized with dread.

“Excuse me,” she said to the first person she saw, an older woman who carried a tray of vanilla scented cappuccinos. “Where are the stairs?”

“Down the hall. Last door on your right.”

“Thank you.” Only when they were inside the empty stairwell did Grace speak again. “Perhaps now is a good time to tell me about your dragon peculiarities,” she said, chewing her lip nervously. Her voice echoed from the drab walls. “I need to be prepared…just in case.”

As they climbed, she retained a firm hold on his hand. He didn’t ask her to release him, and she
allowed herself to think it was because he needed the contact as much as she did, that they were connected in some intangible way and the physical contact strengthened that bond.

“Dragons can fly,” he said on a sigh.

“With wings?”

“Is there any other way?”

“There’s no reason to be snide. There’s no bulge in the back of your shirt to indicate the presence of wings or any other type of…” She searched her mind for the right words, ending with, “Flying apparatus.”

“They are hidden in long slits of skin. When the wings emerge, the skin is retracted. Perhaps I will show you. Later. When we are alone.”

There was a promise of something in his voice, something hot and wild and erotically wicked, and she pictured him without his shirt, pictured her fingertips tracing down the muscles and ridges of his back. She shivered. His scent chose that moment to surround, envelop, and submerge her, awakening her to a deeper level of need.

She had to change the subject before she did something foolish, like ignore the outside world and her responsibilities and drag him home. “Are there humans in Atlantis?” she asked.

“Some. The gods used to punish humans by sending them to our land. Not long after their appearance, the vampires ate most of them.”

“Gross.” She spied a peek at him through the shield of her lashes, then quickly refocused on the stairs before she tripped. “Have you, well, have you
ever dated a human woman before? Not that you’re dating one now,” she rushed on. “I just meant—” She compressed her lips together.

He jumped right to the heart of the matter. “By dated do you mean bedded?”

“If the question doesn’t offend you, then yes.”

“Are you sure you wish to hear the answer?”

Yes. No. She sighed. She
really
wanted to know. “Yes.”

“There’s only one human I would willingly bed, Grace, and I have plans to do so.” One of his fingers heatedly caressed her palm.

Oh. Ribbons of pleasure wound around her, and her lips lifted in a soft smile she couldn’t stop.

By the time they topped the forty-third floor, Grace’s thigh muscles burned with fatigue. She’d always dreamt of being a perfect size six, but the torture required for such a task was getting to be too much. Exercise…how she was coming to loathe the word. It was a thing more foul than low-fat ranch dressing.

Darius held open the door, and she swept past him, finally releasing his hand. She stepped inside Argonauts, the carpet beneath her feet a plush burgundy wool. Her gaze scanned the offices. On the wall hung Picasso, Monet and Renoir. Guards manned several corners, and security cameras roamed in every direction. A small rocky waterfall filled the center of the waiting area, and an expensive, exotic perfume floated on the air, drifting like clouds over the sun on a perfect spring day. Both were peaceful, and both mocked her.

That bastard! There was no doubt in her mind how Jason Graves afforded these things. A surge of rage boiled deep inside her. When Alex had first begun working for Argonauts, he’d barely made enough money to pay the rent on a little efficiency in Brooklyn. The past few months he’d brought home substantially more and had moved to his decadent new apartment in the Upper East Side.

Argonauts, too, had moved from their small offices in Brooklyn to here.

Yesterday, or even an hour ago, she had thought this success was because of recent mythological discoveries. Now she knew the truth. Jason Graves afforded these luxuries through the rape of Atlantis.

She stalked to the reception desk. Three women manned phones and computers. The first, the one Grace approached, had short black hair and heavily but perfectly made up features. She wasn’t pretty in the traditional sense, but attractive all the same. She frowned with impatience at Grace, then dropped her jaw in awe when she saw Darius. That damn sex appeal of his!

“One moment please,” the woman said into her mouthpiece, speaking to a caller. To Darius, she said, “May I help you?” Her voice was cultured, ritzy.

Grace fisted her hands to keep from unleashing her claws.

“We will see Jason Graves now,” he said.

So much for doing all the talking, she thought with a mental sigh.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Darius en Kragin.”

The woman’s fingers flew over her keyboard, her long, oval nails tapping away. Without glancing up, she asked, “Which company are you with?”

“I come on my own behalf.”

She finished her typing, read over the computer screen, then leveled him with a stare. “Mr. Graves isn’t in today. He’s out on business.”

Grace rubbed a hand down her face. She was tired of delays and was completely out of patience. “When do you expect him back?” she asked more sharply than she’d intended.

“End of the week. Possibly beginning of next. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll make sure he receives the information when he returns.”

Unwilling to wait that long, Grace said, “What about his assistant? Is he in?”

“That would be Mitch Pierce,” the woman said. She propped her elbows on the desk, linked her delicate, tapered fingers, and perched her chin in the cradle her hands provided. “And yes, he is.”

Mitch…another Argonaut who had
helped
her in the jungle. She contained a scowl. “We’d like to see him. Today.”

Arched brows and a superior smile met her words. “Do you have an appointment?”

Grace opened her mouth to say no, but stopped herself. Admitting she didn’t have an appointment was the fastest way to get shown to the door. However, she’d be caught in a lie if she said yes. “I’m
Grace Carlyle and if he discovers you let me walk out of here, you’ll be looking for a new job.”

The receptionist ran her tongue over her teeth. “I’ll see if he can fit you in.”

One hand rapped at her computer while the other punched a series of numbers in the telephone pad. After requesting Mr. Pierce’s schedule, she hung up and glanced at Grace. “He’ll see you within the hour. You may wait through the double doors on your left.”

“Thank you,” Grace said. Trying unsuccessfully to suppress her triumph, she ushered Darius into the waiting room. They were alone in the room. A round, glass table occupied the center and was piled high with books and magazines; along the farthest wall sat a couch and several chairs. All elegant, and all expensive.

During their wait they endured several peek-in visits from security guards. She flipped through a few magazines. (According to the current
Cosmo
love quiz, she and Darius were
not
compatible.) In one of the magazines, there was a feature article about Jason Graves, his recent discoveries, and his recent accumulation of wealth. The article told how he had purchased an apartment building on the Upper East Side and allowed all of his employees to stay there—which was where Alex lived. That she’d known. Jason himself stayed in the penthouse. That she hadn’t.

Darius spent the short time splayed out in his seat, his hands locked behind his neck. He kept his eyes
closed. She suspected he was gathering his strength and mentally preparing himself for the coming confrontation, which had to be the reason he didn’t barge through the offices, demanding to be seen
now.
Or maybe his spirit was ghosting through the building, watching, listening, ensuring their safety.

Finally a woman, slightly older and less hostile than the receptionist, entered and said, “Mr. Pierce will see you now. If you’ll follow me…”

Grace jumped to her feet, Darius right beside her. They shared a glance before exiting. Side by side, they strode down a hall and around a corner. The woman stopped and swept her hand out in front of her. “Last door on the right,” she said.

Gliding past her, Grace eyed every door she encountered. She didn’t see Alex’s name. Where was his office? “I’m so ready to nail the Argonauts to the wall,” she muttered to Darius.

A genuine smile played at the corner of his lips. “I had not realized before what a bloodthirsty wench you are. Try to contain your bloodlust long enough that we might question this Mitch.”

“Bloodlust?” she gasped, then realized he thought she literally meant to nail Mitch to the wall. “I meant—oh, never mind.” Whether she meant it or not, the idea had merit. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

At the end of the hallway loomed a single door. The nameplate in the center announced Mitch’s name in bold, black letters. “That’s the one,” Grace said, smoothing her shirt and jeans. She didn’t know what she’d say or do when she saw him.

Darius didn’t bother knocking. He simply shoved open the door and strolled inside.

She followed right on his heels. Mitch sat at a large mahogany desk. There was no clutter, no papers scattered around him. He was as average looking as Grace recalled, with broad shoulders and lean limbs, pleasantly attractive with slightly gray hair that gave him a distinguished air. Only one thing about his appearance captured her interest. Sweat beaded atop his brow.