Forgotten Sea

Twelve minutes. Not enough to abandon her mission, but Twelve minutes. Not enough to abandon her mission, but enough to pinch her ego.

“Come on, baby, don’t be mad. You know I had to work.”

The newcomer’s eyes danced, and she realized abruptly he was acting, playing a part for the sailors who stil hemmed her into the booth. He lowered his voice confidingly.

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“Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She gets . . . restless if I leave her alone too long. If you know what I mean.”

Lara kept her mouth shut with an effort. The shorter sailor guffawed. His companion shifted his weight like a bul , hunching his shoulders.

“I should pay you back,” the newcomer continued easily.

Man-to-man, she thought, making them like him, make them side with him, diffusing the tension. He moved again, angling his body so smoothly she almost didn’t see him slide his wal et from his front pocket.

Feet shuffled. Something passed hands. The sailors nodded to her and then ambled back to the bar.

Lara narrowed her eyes. “Did you just give them money?”

“I bought them a round.” His grin flashed. “Why not?”

“You paid them to go away,” she said, torn between outrage and admiration. She couldn’t imagine Gideon—or Zayin or any of the Guardians—dispatching an opponent by buying him a drink.

“Think of it as supporting our troops.” He met her gaze, his own wickedly amused. “Unless you’d rather we pound each other for the privilege of plying you with alcohol.”

“Of course not. Anyway, I already have a drink, thank you.”

He eyed her glass and shook his head. “Place like this, you order beer. In a bottle. Unless you want to wake up with something a hel of a lot worse than a headache.”

He turned to signal the waitress.

Lara appreciated his concern. But his caution would make her task more difficult. Her fingers curled around the handle of her bag on the seat beside her. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to drug his drink, she thought. Explanations were out of the question. He wouldn’t believe her, and they might be overheard. But surely she could rouse something in him, a response, a spark, a memory.

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Assuming he was one of them.

Perhaps she should offer to feel his muscles after al .

The thought made her flush. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Justin.” No last name.

“Lara. Lara Rho.”

She started to extend her hand, but at that moment he caught the waitress’s eye and the opportunity to touch him was lost.

Lara swal owed her disappointment.

The waitress, a hard-edged, hard-eyed blonde who looked like she’d rather be somewhere else, left the knot of locals absorbed by the game on TV. “What can I get you?”

“Two Buds,” Justin said.

The waitress looked at Lara. “ID?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching for her purse.

Axton insisted they do their best to abide by human laws, to blend in with their human neighbors. She pul ed out her perfectly valid Pennsylvania driver’s license, hoping Justin would do the same, eager for any hint to his identity, any clue why he hadn’t been found before now.

He smiled at the waitress. “Thanks.”

The blonde cocked her hip, pul ed a pen from her stack of hair. “Anything else?”

His grin was quick and charming. “I’l let you know.”

Oh, he was smooth, Lara thought as the waitress sashayed away.

“So, Lara Rho.” He stretched his arms along the back of the booth, his knees almost-not-quite brushing Lara’s under the table. “What brings you to Norfolk?”

You.

Bad answer.

“Um.” She inched her foot closer to his across the sticky 14

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floor, hoping that smal , surreptitious contact would give her the answers she needed. “Just visiting.”

“For work? Or pleasure?”

Her toe nudged his. A buzz radiated up her leg, as if her foot had fal en asleep.