"I'm sure you will." She gripped the edge of her jeans tightly and twisted, wishing it was Mitch's neck instead.
"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "To inquire about our progress with Alex? You should have called me. I could have saved you a trip."
"I'm here because I'd like to search his office, if I may."
"Oh, uh, I'm afraid that's impossible," he said, his smile slipping. "Only Argonauts' employees are allowed in the offices. Client confidentiality, and all that." He laughed shakily. "Are you looking for employment, Grace?"
Her brows raised. "Are you offering me a job, Mitch?"
He paused. "We're always in need of good employees."
Probably because you kill them all , she thought snidely. She heard Darius suck in a breath and wondered belatedly if she'd actually said the words aloud.
"On your way out," Mitch added, his demeanor unchanging, which meant he hadn't heard her comment, "ask the receptionist for an application. If you're anything like Alex you'll make a fine addition to our staff."
"I'll be sure to do that." Regarding him sharply, she tilted her chin to the side. "I'm curious. If you suspect something bad has happened to Alex, why haven't you called the police?"
"We don't want to involve the U.S. authorities until we have more concrete information."
Like a body ? she mused. "What have you done to locate him?"
"Jason can give you more details about this when he returns. Perhaps you should contact the police on your own."
Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. Mitch wanted her to go to the authorities. Why? What possible good could that do him? Unless… could they be planning to make her look like a fool, an overly concerned sister? Or worse, guilty of a crime? Blame the sister. Of course. That would be the reason they'd let her leave Brazil, the reason they kept her alive and didn't wave her in front of Alex as an incentive to talk.
The realization rocked her. She owed Darius. Big-time. He'd saved her from making a huge mistake, from playing right into Jason's hands.
"I haven't yet, no," she told Mitch. "Perhaps I will."
"That might be wise," he said, for the first time offering her a genuine smile. "There's only so much we can do." He paused for a breath. "Would either of you care for a drink?"
How casually he reverted to pleasantries. How may I help you? Would you like a drink ? Suddenly Grace wanted to stomp her foot, to shriek and rail that she knew they had her brother hidden and locked away. She wanted to leap across the desk, magically will on a pair of brass knuckles, and smack Mitch right in his beady eyes. Too, she wanted to find the medallion and offer it on a silver platter. Just return my brother, she inwardly screamed.
It depressed her that she could do none of those things. If they suspected that she knew the truth, they would kill Alex. If she found and gave them the medallion, they would kill Alex. Destroy the evidence of their misdeeds, so to speak. Either way, he died.
Never in her life had she felt more helpless.
"No drink," she said, surprised at her calm tone. "I do have some questions for you, though. When was the last time you heard from Alex?" If she kept him talking long enough, perhaps he'd slip and inadvertently disclose crucial information.
"I believe I've already answered this question. A few weeks ago," Mitch said. "He called to let us know he was entering the jungle."
"What is the name of the man your search team found? The one who had last seen Alex? He was gone when I woke up on the boat, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him." And now she knew why.
Mitch gulped. "I, uh, can't recall."
She gave her jeans another hard twist. "Didn't Argonauts fund Alex's trip? Shouldn't you have records with the names of the men you hire?"
"We didn't fund the trip," he offered quickly. Too quickly. "Perhaps Jason can tell you the man's name when he returns."
"In the jungle, I wanted to stay and look for Alex, but you said he'd already purchased a ticket back to New York. Do you know which airline?"
"I can't recall." He chuckled, the sound strained. "I'll be honest with you, Grace. I'm not sure where he is, and I'm no longer sure he took the flight. I wish I could help you, but… " He shrugged. "He could be anywhere."
"Do you now suspect foul play?"
"We certainly hope not. We don't even want to consider that possibility until we absolutely must."
Grace racked her brain for another question, another comment, but came up blank. She glanced at Darius. His expression was blanketed, stoic, yet she had the distinct feeling he yearned to stalk across the room and beat Mitch into the carpet. Obviously Mitch received the same impression; he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
With Mitch's complete attention centered on him, Darius strode casually about the office, lifting vases and figurines as if they were no more important than dust mites. His fingers pinched at them, dismissed them, then replaced them on their perches with complete disregard. Mitch tensed, gulped. However, not a single protest oozed from his mouth.
"I do not like you," Darius told him, weighing a jewel-studded goblet in his palms. He offered the words with a kind of still repose, a natural assurance only the most confident of people possessed. "You remind me of a blood-sucking vampire."
Mitch pulled at his plain blue tie. "There, uh, are no such thing as vampires."
"Nor dragons, I'm sure," Darius answered.
All color drained from the man's face, showcasing the thin hollows of his cheeks. His gaze widened, and he transferred his attention between Darius and the goblet. "That's right," he said brokenly, reaching out instinctively for the artifact.
Darius tsked under his tongue. He tossed the cup in the air, caught it, then tossed it again. When he caught it for a second time, he said casually, "Since you are an unbeliever, you'll never have to worry about being eaten alive by a dragon." He arched a brow. "Will you?"
On a strangled gasp, Mitch shoved to his feet, his chair rolling behind him as he anchored his palms on his desk surface. "Set that down before I call security. All I've done is try to help, and this is how you treat me. You may show yourselves out."
"I have seen these objects before," Darius remarked, staying right where he was and giving the goblet a few more tosses.
"In Archeologist Digest , I'm sure." Mitch cast a desperate, fleeting glance to Grace.
She struggled not to glare at him.
"Now, please," he added. "I have work to do, and I'm sure you don't want to take up any more of my time."
After replacing the goblet, Darius palmed a vase boasting a colorful array of dragons etched around the edges. "Where did you find this?"
A pause. A cough. "Madrid. I really need to get back to work."
"I would swear on my life it belonged to a friend of mine. Perhaps you have heard of him. His name is-or was-Javar ta 'Arda. He gifted his wife, Teira, with a vase identical to this one on the eve of their mating."
"Perhaps you should put that down." Mitch nervously licked his lips. "I meant it when I said I'd call security. I don't want to, but I will."
Darius returned the vase to its perch, letting it wobble ominously at the edge. "As I was saying a moment ago, I do not like you. But Grace has asked me not to kill anyone today. Still," he added after a loaded pause, "there is always tomorrow."
With that, he strode from the office. That's my man , Grace thought proudly.
"Have a nice day, Mitch," she said, flicking him one last glance. His features were so pallid he resembled a ghost-or vampire. He was reaching out, racing around his desk in his haste to save the vase from annihilation.
As she chased after Darius, she heard the shatter of porcelain, the howl of a man. Both buoyed her spirits, and she bit back a smile.
Lost in the intensity of his thunderous emotions, Darius stared straight ahead as he and Grace strode toward her home. "Do you think Alex is okay?" she asked, her voice so low he had to strain to hear.