Her words relaxed him, and he gave her a half smile. He even held out his hand to shake. "You're Grace," he said. "The picture Alex has of you in his office is of a little girl. I thought you were younger."
"At the office?" Grace asked. "You work for Argonauts?"
"Nearly everyone here does. They own the building." He paused, his smile fading to a frown. "Unfortunately I haven't seen your brother in weeks. He hasn't been home, or even to work."
"Do you know anyone he might have contacted?"
"Well, Melva in 402 has been picking up his mail… I saw her this morning. She's rent controlled," he whispered, as if it were a shameful secret. "Argonauts can't get rid of her. Not legally at least."
Grace gave him her biggest, brightest smile. "Thank you," she said, taking off. Her first break. Another elevator ride and she was hammering on Melva's door.
"Coming. I'm coming," a craggy voice called. Moments later, the door swung open. Melva was thin, wrinkled and wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe. She held herself up with a walker. The only difference between her and every other great-grandma across the country was that she wore a diamond choker and sapphire earrings.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her rough voice testament to years of smoking.
"I'm Grace Carlyle. I'm looking for my brother and wondered if he'd contacted you recently."
Melva's wrinkled gaze studied her. "Sister, eh? That sly boots never mentioned a sister. I'll have to see some ID."
Grace slid a photo ID from her wallet and allowed Melva to glance at the picture. The old woman nodded in satisfaction. "I haven't seen Alex for a while now. I have his mail, though. It's been piling up in his box. He asked me to collect it for him, but I was under the impression he would return last week."
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to take his mail with me."
"Give me a second. I'm still recovering from hip surgery and it takes me a bit longer to get around." She slowly turned, her diamonds twinkling in the light, and disappeared beyond the foyer. When she returned, she wore a fanny pack stuffed with different sized and colored envelopes. "Here you go." She braced one hand on the walker and handed Grace the letters with the other.
"Thank you so much." Grace quickly riffled through the contents. When nothing jumped out at her, she crammed them in her backpack. She'd go through them more thoroughly when she returned home. "Do you need help getting back inside?"
"Oh, no." Melva waved her off. "I'll be fine."
Spirits buoyed, Grace bounded outside. Within seconds she felt an ominous gaze slicing into her back, observant, penetrating. The sensation unnerved her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. After everything that had happened with Alex, however, she didn't try to convince herself that her imagination was playing games. She increased her pace and slipped one hand inside her backpack, wrapping her fingers around her Mace.
Instead of going straight home, she stopped in a coffee shop, a souvenir shop and a bakery, trying to lose herself in the crowds. By the time she felt safe, the sun was beginning its descent. She reached her apartment building as darkness fell completely. She gathered her own mail, then bolted herself inside her little efficiency. What have I gotten myself into ? she wondered, securing all of the window locks. A thirst for danger seemed so silly now.
Exhausted both mentally and physically, she tossed her backpack onto her nightstand and sank into the chair at her desk. She booted up her computer and checked her e-mail. When she saw one was from Alex's return address, dated yesterday morning, she broke into a huge smile and eagerly pressed Open.
Hey Grace,
I'm fine. I've got a lead elsewhere and had to follow it. Sorry for the note, but there wasn't time to call.
Love,
Alex
As she read, her smile faded. She should have been relieved by the note. This was, after all, what she'd wanted. Contact with Alex. But if there'd been no time to call, how had there been time to type a note?
With that question floating in her mind, she stripped to her tank and panties, poured herself a glass of wine and sprawled across her bed. She meticulously sorted through Alex's mail. Junk mostly, with a few cards and bills thrown into the mix. She checked her own. Her eyes widened then subsequently narrowed when she came to a postcard from her dad. Her dad ! A man who had died five years ago after a long battle with lymphoma. Confused, she shook her head and read it again.
Gracie Lacie,
Can't come to see you as planned. I've been detained. I'll contact you. Don't worry. I'll be fine. Yours,
Dad
This was Alex's handwriting and had to be some sort of code. But what did it mean, other than someone had sent her a false e-mail? Perhaps the same person who had "detained" Alex. Why had he been detained? And for how long?
Where was he now?
She studied the postmark. Sent from Brazil, three weeks ago. A lot could have happened in three weeks. Alex said not to worry about him, but she couldn't help herself. She was worried. None of this made sense.
A wave of fatigue overtook her. Moonlight had settled comfortably inside her bedroom, and the scent of unlit apple cinnamon candles filled the air. Grace drew in a shaky breath and set the mail aside. She closed her eyes and leaned against the mountain of pillows behind her, wondering what to do next If only Darius were here…
He's not real , she reminded herself. Unbidden, his image floated to the forefront of her mind. With his harshly angled face, he radiated rawness and sheer male virility.
She should have known the moment she first saw him that he was a figment of her deepest fantasies. Real men were nothing like him. Real men lacked the savageness, the fierceness and didn't taste like fire, passion and excitement when they kissed her.
Real men didn't chase her down and threaten to hurt her, then tenderly caress her in the next heartbeat of time.
A shiver of remembrance swept through her, until she recalled one last fact about him. Real men didn't blithely admit to being an assassin.
His confession had startled her, made her feel unexpected sorrow for him because even though he'd claimed he made his own choices, that he was never forced to kill, she'd glimpsed flickers of agonizing despair in his eyes. She'd glimpsed endless torment. And at that moment, his eyes had been without any shred of hope.
No man should be without hope.
Grace rolled to her side, taking a pillow with her. Forget about Darius and get some rest . Nothing mattered but Alex. Perhaps the key to finding him would come to her after a good night's sleep.
But how could she have known that key would come in a six foot five, two hundred pound package?
CHAPTER 10
Darius stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at Grace.
She was surrounded by a multitude of colors. A pink satin sheet beneath her, a waterfall of red curls around her shoulders and an emerald blanket draped over her. The sight was intoxicating. She looked more relaxed than she had in his vision. Sleeping peacefully, languidly, her expression was soft and innocent. The moment he'd first seen her, his only thoughts had been of joining her. How he longed to reach out and stroke the pale delicacy of her skin. How he longed to comb his fingers into the silky cloud of her hair.
Perhaps he should fulfill his oath here and now, he mused, simply to end this strange fascination he had with her. But he knew he wouldn't. He was too much a man of strategy. He liked all facts before him, and much still remained a mystery. He needed to know more about these surface dwellers and their weapons. Only then would his army storm Javar's palace and conquer everyone inside.
Darius had spent several hours searching for Grace, following magical wafts from the spell of understanding. Since no Atlantean could survive outside of Atlantis for long, he should have been filled with a sense of urgency now that he'd found her.