They maneuvered through a doorway with stained glass insets. He kept his head down, taking stock of his surroundings from beneath his lashes. Carved wood panel wal s, old, dark, muted paintings, a curving staircase fit for a hotel. A chandelier, an explosion of light and color sparkling with crystals and candles, threw patterns on the hardwood floor.
The place didn’t look like a hospital, he noted with relief.
But there was a vaguely institutional smel in the air, a patina of many bodies over time, a whiff of dust and floor polish.
“Where. are we?” he croaked.
“Home,” Lara said.
Justin tried to get his mush-for-brains to work. He had no home. “The place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in, ” Rick liked to say.
So, okay, this was Lara’s home. Would they take him in because she brought him here? Did he want them to?
He looked at the two people waiting under the light, a man and a woman, both tal and arrestingly beautiful, not old, not young. The woman’s skin was the color of coffee, the man’s face austere and pale. Something about the guy, his cool blue eyes or his chiseled profile or his stick-up-the-butt attitude, reminded Justin of. somebody.
“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.”
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, 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.”
“You should have left him there,” Stone Face said.
“He needed a doctor.”
Axton arched dark blond eyebrows. “There are no emergency rooms in Virginia?”
“He didn’t want. ” Lara’s voice shook slightly. “He was my responsibility. I had to make a decision—”
“When you go into the field, I expect you to be guided by your training and your partner. Not indulge in misplaced compassion.”
She winced.
Pain hammered Justin’s skul. “So dump me back where she found me, asshole, and we’l cal it even.”
“Please,” Lara said. To which one of them? “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. We were attacked.”
“You are trained in self-defense. Was it your preparation that was lacking? Or your skil?”
“There’s nothing wrong with their training,” Stone Face said.
“Gideon?” Axton’s gaze pinned the Boyfriend like a bug.
“You were Guardian on this mission.”
The younger man flushed to the roots of his blond hair.
“We were outnumbered. There were four of them. Five.”
“Which?” asked Stone Face.
“So many?” Miriam said at the same time.
“Four and a lookout,” Lara said.
“Which compels me to inquire what you did to attract their attention,” Axton said.
The quick exchange made Justin dizzy. They’d been jumped in an al ey. Had they been set up? Had he?
He was in over his head, the undercurrents in the room sucking his strength. He felt the wal s closing in, the room whirling around him.
“Justin?” Lara’s voice, sharp and worried. “Justin.”
I’m okay, he wanted to tel her.
Except his brain was on fire and his mouth wouldn’t form the words.
His eyes rol ed back in his head, and the floor tilted up to receive him.
Miriam Kioni stripped off her latex gloves and dropped them on the procedure tray. “He’l have a scar, of course,” she said to Simon, standing with Lara at the side of Justin’s bed. Jude Zayin, the dark-browed master of the Guardians, watched silently from his post at the infirmary room door.
“But the edges of the wound aligned nicely.”
The hot, bright medical lamp switched off.
In the sudden dimness, Lara blinked down at the shaved patch above Justin’s ear. Twenty-two stitches marched antlike across his scalp, disappearing into the gold stubble of his hair.
Something fluttered in her chest like wings. One of his eyes had swol en shut. His tanned skin had the waxy sheen of a melted candle.
She curled her nails into her palms. “Should he stil be unconscious?”