Forgotten Sea

“Who’s he?” His speech slurred like a drunk’s. “Your father?”

Lara sucked in her breath.

“Simon Axton.” The tal blond man introduced himself, offering a lean, wel -manicured hand.

Or two. Justin’s vision wavered. He was afraid if he let go of Lara, he’d fal .

He shifted his weight, stuck out his hand, gave them the name on his passport. “Justin Mil er.”

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Axton’s hand was cool like his eyes, his grip firm. Nothing to prove, Justin thought.

Until the man’s grip inexplicably tightened. His dark blond eyebrows rose. “What is this?” he asked Lara.

Justin’s head buzzed. As if his skul had been invaded by a rush of wind, a swarm of bees.

Lara cleared her throat. “He . . . I . . . This is the one I was sent to seek.”

Sent?

Justin pul ed his hand free. He needed to sit down.

Axton glanced at the woman standing under the light of the chandelier. “Miriam?”

The handsome black woman came forward and took Justin’s arm. The Boyfriend had already moved away toward the long curving staircase.

Distancing himself, Justin thought. Smart move. The ritzy entrance hal had al the tension of a bar before a fight broke out.

“Let me help you to a chair,” the woman said.

He leaned on her, grateful for the support. But he wasn’t about to leave Lara’s side. Not until he’d figured out what the hel was going on.

“What is he?” Axton asked.

Justin frowned in concentration. Or maybe he’d asked,

“How is he?” The buzzing in his skul drowned out everything else.

The woman—Miriam—continued to hold his arm, like a doctor taking his pulse.

Like a guard with a recalcitrant prisoner.

The pounding in his head intensified. His wound throbbed in time with his heart. He focused on Lara, warm and solid and real beside him, on her pink polished toes, on the clean, sweet scent of her hair. He breathed in, out, 3 6

V i r g i n i a K a n t r a

the rhythm of his breath like the sigh of the surf or the beat of the tide. In, fil ing his lungs, swirling in his head. Out.

The room stopped reeling.

A crease appeared between Miriam’s brows. “He is not of air.”

Heir of what? he thought, confused.

“He needs our help,” Lara said.

Axton’s cool blue gaze rested on her without expression.

“His needs are not our concern.”

“I should examine him,” Miriam said. What was she, a doctor? “He has something. An energy. I felt it.”

Amusement bubbled inside him. Some energy. He could barely stand.

Axton said something that sounded like “she,” and Miriam shrugged. “Perhaps,” she said.

“He’s a threat,” a different voice announced. “Let me get rid of him.”

Lara’s slim body tensed. Trouble. Justin raised his head, squinting into the shadows.

The speaker prowled from the foot of the stairs, wearing black and a sneer. Big hard dude, like those stone gods on Easter Island, large nose, strong chin, maybe six four, two hundred forty pounds, easy. Which meant he could kick Justin’s ass even before the bump on his head.

“Some welcoming committee you got here, honey,” he muttered.

Lara squeezed his hand. Reassurance? Or warning?

“Justin was hurt protecting me,” she said.

“A ruse,” Stone Face said. “To get you to trust him.”

Justin had heard enough. “Okay, I’m out of here.”

As soon as he found his balance. His strength. A cab.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lara said. “We’re hours from Norfolk.”

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