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.
He was nervous.
Very interesting. Her gaze cataloged the office, taking in the sea of wealth and indulgence. Art, vases, glass and wood figurines. Carpet so light her feet felt as if they were traipsing on clouds.
With a visibly forced air of nonchalance, Mitch folded his hands together--hands that were shaking slightly--and propped his elbows on the desk surface. There was something about his eyes, something she hadn't noticed before...they were beady and shallow. Greedy. He offered them a pleasant, if false, smile. "It's nice to see you again, Grace," he said. "You look well after your trials in the rain forest."
"Thank you." Bastard. She didn't offer him the same compliment.
"Please, have a seat." He coughed and flicked a nervous glance to Darius. "Did you really feel it was necessary to bring a bodyguard?"
"He's a friend," she said. "He's staying with me for a while."
"I see. Well, again, please have a seat."
Darius crossed his arms over his massive chest, stretching the material of his black shirt taut over his muscles, silently communicating his refusal. Only a fool would underestimate his capabilities.
Mitch used a plain white handkerchief to wipe at his brow. Obviously he was no fool.
Grace remained beside Darius. She only prayed his dragon fangs were retracted. Watching Mitch pee his pants was not how she wanted to begin this meeting. The only time she might, might, be glad to see those fangs was in bed. While he was naked. Looking down at her. Moving into her.
For God's sake, concentrate.
"Very well, then," Mitch said. "How may I help you?"
"Darius," she said, knowing the big guy intimidated him, "feel free to begin."
"Where is your leader, Jason Graves?" Darius demanded.
"Out of town. Still in Brazil, I'm afraid. I'm more than willing to help you with anything you might need." Mitch laughed nervously.
"I want to know why you had a man following Grace." He stressed the word had, making it clear Patrick would be following them no more.
With an audible gulp, Mitch leaned back in his seat. Too lost in his apprehension, he didn't try to deny it. "I suppose you cornered the man. May I ask what he told you?"
"He would tell us nothing," Darius lied. "Only that you had sent him."
Mitch's shoulders relaxed. "We did send someone to follow Grace, but we did that for her own protection. We feared something had happened to Alex, and we didn't want the same fate to befall Grace."
"You say 'feared,' as in past tense," Grace pointed out. "Do you now know that nothing has happened to him, then?"
"No, no. That's not what I meant." The smile he gave her was weak. "As I told you, we've still got men looking for him, both in Brazil and here. I came back because someone has to oversee the company. Don't you worry, though. We'll find him and bring him home safely."
"I'm sure you will." She gripped the edge of her jeans tightly and twisted, wishing it was Mitch's neck instead.
"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "To inquire about our progress with Alex? You should have called me. I could have saved you a trip."
"I'm here because I'd like to search his office, if I may."
"Oh, uh, I'm afraid that's impossible," he said, his smile slipping. "Only Argonauts' employees are allowed in the offices. Client confidentiality, and all that." He laughed shakily. "Are you looking for employment, Grace?"
Her brows raised. "Are you offering me a job, Mitch?"
He paused. "We're always in need of good employees."
Probably because you kill them all, she thought snidely. She heard Darius suck in a breath and wondered belatedly if she'd actually said the words aloud.
"On your way out," Mitch added, his demeanor unchanging, which meant he hadn't heard her comment, "ask the receptionist for an application. If you're anything like Alex, you'll make a fine addition to our staff."
"I'll be sure to do that." Regarding him sharply, she tilted her chin to the side. "I'm curious. If you suspect
something bad has happened to Alex, why haven't you called the police?"
"We don't want to involve the U.S. authorities until we have more concrete information."
Like a body? she mused. "What have you done to locate him?"
"Jason can give you more details about this when he returns. Perhaps you should contact the police on your own."
Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. Mitch wanted her to go to the authorities. Why? What possible good could that do him? Unless...could they be planning to make her look like a fool, an overly concerned sister? Or worse, guilty of a crime? Blame the sister. Of course. That would be the reason they'd let her leave Brazil, the reason they kept her alive and didn't wave her in front of Alex as an incentive to talk.
The realization rocked her. She owed Darius. Big-time. He'd saved her from making a huge mistake, from playing right into Jason's hands.
"I haven't yet, no," she told Mitch. "Perhaps I will."
"That might be wise," he said, for the first time offering her a genuine smile. "There's only so much we can do." He paused for a breath. "Would either of you care for a drink?"
How casually he reverted to pleasantries. Suddenly Grace wanted to stomp her foot, to shriek and rail that she knew they had her brother hidden and locked away. She wanted to leap across the desk, magically will on a pair of brass knuckles, and smack Mitch right in his beady eyes. Too, she wanted to find the medallion and offer it on a silver platter. Just return my brother, she inwardly screamed.
It depressed her that she could do none of those things. If they suspected that she knew the truth, they might kill Alex. If she found and gave them the medallion, they might kill Alex. Destroy the evidence of their misdeeds, so to speak. Either way, he could die.
Never in her life had she felt more helpless.
"No drink," she said, surprised at her calm tone. "I do have some questions for you, though. When was the last time you heard from Alex?" If she kept him talking long enough, perhaps he'd slip and inadvertently disclose crucial information.
"I believe I've already answered this question. A few weeks ago," Mitch said. "He called to let us know he was entering the jungle."