Heart of the Dragon a-1

by Gena Showalter

  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. Not knowing what else to do, she traced her bottom lip with her fingertip and pretended to mull the question in her mind. I probably look like an idiot .

  Thankfully the receptionist grew tired of waiting and said, exasperated, "I'll see if he can fit you in. What's your name?"

  "Grace Carlyle."

  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.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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?"

  "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. How may I help you? Would you like a drink ? 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 would kill Alex. If she found and gave them the medallion, they would kill Alex. Destroy the evidence of their misdeeds, so to speak. Either way, he died.

  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."

  "What is the name of the man your search team found? The one who had last seen Alex? He was gone when I woke up on the boat, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him." And now she knew why.

  Mitch gulped. "I, uh, can't recall."

  She gave her jeans another hard twist. "Didn't Argonauts fund Alex's trip? Shouldn't you have records with the names of the men you hire?"

  "We didn't fund the trip," he offered quickly. Too quickly. "Perhaps Jason can tell you the man's name when he returns."

  "In the jungle, I wanted to stay and look for Alex, but you said he'd already purchased a ticket back to New York. Do you know which airline?"

  "I can't recall." He chuckled, the sound strained. "I'll be honest with you, Grace. I'm not sure where he is, and I'm no longer sure he took the flight. I wish I could help you, but… " He shrugged. "He could be anywhere."

  "Do you now suspect foul play?"

  "We certainly hope not. We don't even want to consider that possibility until we absolutely must."

  Grace racked her brain for another question, another comment, but came up blank. She glanced at Darius. His expression was blanketed, stoic, yet she had the distinct feeling he yearned to stalk across the room and beat Mitch into the carpet. Obviously Mitch received the same impression; he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  With Mitch's complete attention centered on him, Darius strode casually about the office, lifting vases and figurines as if they were no more important than dust mites. His fingers pinched at them, dismissed them, then replaced them on their perches with complete disregard. Mitch tensed, gulped. However, not a single protest oozed from his mouth.

  "I do not like you," Darius told him, weighing a jewel-studded goblet in his palms. He offered the words with a kind of still repose, a natural assurance only the most confident of people possessed. "You remind me of a blood-sucking vampire."

  Mitch pulled at his plain blue tie. "There, uh, are no such thing as vampires."

  "Nor dragons, I'm sure," Darius answered.

  All color drained from the man's face, showcasing the thin hollows of his cheeks. His gaze widened, and he transferred his attention between Darius and the goblet. "That's right," he said brokenly, reaching out instinctively for the artifact.

  Darius tsked under his tongue. He tossed the cup in the air, caught it, then tossed it again. When he caught it for a second time, he said casually, "Since you are an unbeliever, you'll never have to worry about being eaten alive by a dragon." He arched a brow. "Will you?"

  On a strangled gasp, Mitch shoved to his feet, his chair rolling behind him as he anchored his palms on his desk surface. "Set that down before I call security. All I've done is try to help, and this is how you treat me. You may show yourselves out."

  "I have seen these objects before," Darius remarked, staying right where he was and giving the goblet a few more tosses.

  "In Archeologist Digest , I'm sure." Mitch cast a desperate, fleeting glance to Grace.

  She struggled not to glare at him.

  "Now, please," he added. "I have work to do, and I'm sure you don't want to take up any more of m
y time."

  After replacing the goblet, Darius palmed a vase boasting a colorful array of dragons etched around the edges. "Where did you find this?"

  A pause. A cough. "Madrid. I really need to get back to work."

  "I would swear on my life it belonged to a friend of mine. Perhaps you have heard of him. His name is-or was-Javar ta 'Arda. He gifted his wife, Teira, with a vase identical to this one on the eve of their mating."

  "Perhaps you should put that down." Mitch nervously licked his lips. "I meant it when I said I'd call security. I don't want to, but I will."

  Darius returned the vase to its perch, letting it wobble ominously at the edge. "As I was saying a moment ago, I do not like you. But Grace has asked me not to kill anyone today. Still," he added after a loaded pause, "there is always tomorrow."

  With that, he strode from the office. That's my man , Grace thought proudly.

  "Have a nice day, Mitch," she said, flicking him one last glance. His features were so pallid he resembled a ghost-or vampire. He was reaching out, racing around his desk in his haste to save the vase from annihilation.

  As she chased after Darius, she heard the shatter of porcelain, the howl of a man. Both buoyed her spirits, and she bit back a smile.

  Lost in the intensity of his thunderous emotions, Darius stared straight ahead as he and Grace strode toward her home. "Do you think Alex is okay?" she asked, her voice so low he had to strain to hear.

  "For now. He has something they want. Otherwise, they would have killed him long ago."

  That kept her quiet for a long while. "Where do you think he's being kept?"

  "Atlantis."

  She paused midstep, before jumping back into stride. "But you checked. You said he wasn't there."

  "He wasn't. Then. The vision of Alex confirmed that, for he was here on the surface. However, after meeting the cowardly Mitch I suspect he has already been moved."

  "How do we find out where he's being kept in Atlantis? Interrogate Mitch? Break into Argonauts?"

  "No," he answered. "We are more likely to find what we need in Jason Graves's place of residence." But more than that, breaking into Jason's home would supply him with a better understanding of the man he would soon fight.