Part 11 (1/2)
Grace's image formed in the center.
In that instant, his senses came to life. He didn't understand how a simple glance at her could undo centuries of safeguards. She lay in a small bed, and he studied her. Her eyes were closed; her cheeks were pale, making the freckles scattered across her dirt-smudged nose and forehead appear darker. Her carmine curls were wound atop her head, all but a few loose tendrils framing her temples.
She wore the same dirty s.h.i.+rt, and some sort of small, clear tube protruded from her arm, partially covered by the thin white sheet draping her from the chest down. Two male humans approached her bed.
Darius scowled as his possessiveness resurfaced.
”Looks like the morphine is working,” the man with dark hair said, his voice a smooth baritone.
”Not just morphine. I gave her three different sedatives. She'll be out for hours.”
”What are we going to do with her?””Whatever she wants us to do.” He chuckled. ”We're to play the gracious host.”
”We should just kill her and be done with it.”
”We don't need the attention her disappearance would bring-not when her brother is already missing.”
”She won't stop searching for Alex. That much is obvious.”
”She can search all she wants. She'll never find him.”
The dark-headed one reached out and trailed his fingers over Grace's cheek. She didn't awaken, but mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. ”She's pretty,” he said.
A low, menacing snarl rose in Darius's throat.
”She's too fat,” the other said.
”Not fat, just not anorexic. She's soft in all the right places.”
”Well, keep your hands to yourself. Women know when their bodies have been used, and we don't need her b.i.t.c.hing about it.
The boss wouldn't like it.” With a disgusted shake of his head, he added, ”Come on. We've got work to do.”
The two humans walked away-which saved their lives. Grace's image began to fade. With much regret Darius hung the chain back around his neck.
Soon. Soon he would be with her again.
CHAPTER NINE.
”Home,” Grace sighed as she tossed her keys and purse on the small table beside her front door. She padded to her bedroom, the sound of honking cars filling her ears. Sunlight burst directly into her line of vision from the open blinds, too bright, too cheery.
She was not in a good mood.
She'd spent the past week with the Argonauts. While they had been perfectly solicitous of her, they had failed to find any clue as to her brother's whereabouts. Neither had she. Every day she'd called his cell phone. Every day she'd called his apartment. He never answered. She'd had no luck tracking down what flight he'd taken out of Brazil.
She finally caught the red-eye and here she was, though she didn't know what she was going to do. File a missing person's report? Hire a P.I.? Uttering another sigh, she picked up the cordless phone perched on the edge of her desk. Three new voice mails, all of them from her mom. Grace dialed her brother's number. One ring, two. Three, four, five. No answer.
She called his cell. No answer there, either.
She hung up and punched in her mother's number.
”h.e.l.lo,” her mom answered.
”Hey, Mom.”
”Grace Elizabeth Carlyle. My caller ID says you're calling from home.” Accusation layered her voice.
Grace pictured her sitting at the kitchen counter, one hand on her hip while she glared at the red checkered curtains hanging over the window.
”I flew home last night.”
”I didn't realize Brazil had yet to embrace modern technology.”
”What are you talking about?”
”Phones, Grace. I didn't realize there were no phones in Brazil.”
She rolled her eyes. ”The rumor that you heard, the one that says there are pay phones on every tree in the jungle. Well, it's false.”
Ignoring her, her mom said, ”Not one call did I receive from my only daughter. Not one. You know how your aunt worries.”
”Is that Gracie?” a second female said in the background. Her ”worried” aunt Sophie was probably standing over her mom's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
The two sisters had lived together for the last five years. They were polar opposites, but managed to complement each other in a strange sort of way. Her mom was schedule-oriented and thrived on fixing other people's problems. Sophie was a free spirit who caused problems.
”Yes, it's Grace,” her mom said. ”She's calling to tell us she's alive and well and not dead in the jungle like you feared.”
”Like I feared?” Sophie laughed. ”Ha!”
”How are you feeling, Mom?” Her mom's health had been dismal lately. Weight loss. Fatigue. They didn't know exactly what the cause was.
”Fine. Just fine.”
”Let me talk to her,” Sophie said. Slight pause, crackling static, then, ”Did you get lucky?”
”I don't want to hear this,” her mom groaned in the background.
Automatically Grace opened her mouth to say yes, she'd made out with a s.e.xy, tattooed warrior and had nearly given him everything a woman could possibly give a man. Then she clamped her mouth closed. Dreams, or mirages, or whatever Darius had been, did not count in Sophie's estimation.
Over the past week, she'd mulled over her experience in Atlantis. She always came back to the same conclusion. None of it had been real. Couldn't possibly have been real.
”No,” she said, careful to keep the disappointment from her voice. ”I didn't.”
”Did you wear the outfit I bought for you?”
The leopard-print spandex skirt with matching low-cut, too tight s.h.i.+rt? ”I didn't have a chance.” ”Men go crazy for that sort of thing, Gracie honey. They're like fish. You have to hook them with the proper bait, then reel them in.”