Mentally she grinned. The word was a little corny, but it described her situation completely.
Smitten
. Not that she’d had far to fall. She’d already been entranced by the fantasy Hale she’d made up to go along with his cover persona. Now she only hoped he’d live up to her imagination.
Of course, at the moment he still hadn’t answered her question. He was just looking at her with a curious expression. Perhaps he didn’t think his fame and eccentricities meshed all that well with her normal, boring little life. Maybe he’d rethought his offer.
A thoroughly depressing thought. Best to just take the plunge and find out. “Um? Hale? Tomorrow? Are we still on?” So much for being articulate. They’d just spent two hours in close quarters, laughing and being perfectly comfortable, but with the return of her insecurity, so came the return of mush-brain.
But Hale’s eyes brightened, as if he’d been far, far away and she’d only just pulled him back. Then a lazy grin spread across his face. “You can count on it.”
She almost exhaled in relief, but managed to catch herself. Instead, she just said, “Good.”
One simple word, but it conveyed so much. At least she hoped it did. Her first reaction to having Hale move in might have been nerves, but that had soon been replaced by an all-over tingling. Excitement. Anticipation. It was so much more than she felt for her date with Leon. She almost wished she could cancel tonight, but she’d never had quite so much attention from the male of the species, and she didn’t intend to count her eggs before her chickens hatched. Or something like that.
Still, she shivered, thinking about tomorrow with Hale rather than tonight with Leon. Instead of just dropping her off after their date, he’d be coming in, too. In such close quarters together, who knows what might happen?
Something interesting, she hoped.
Hale’s masculine scent teased her as he leaned past, reaching for the door handle, and she just about melted on the spot. Instinctively, she stepped closer, wanting more of him, then realized what she was doing. She pressed back against the hot metal of her car—it might have been baking in the sun all day, but the heat it generated wasn’t any match for the temperature of her blood right now.
The dimple in Hale’s cheek appeared, as if he knew the effect he was having on her. But he didn’t say a word, just pulled the car door open for her. Feeling slightly foolish, she slid inside. He closed the door after her, then stepped back from the car.
In an instant, she had the window rolled down, not wanting to let him get away quite so quickly. Then she just stared at him, realizing she didn’t know what to say, and hoping she didn’t look like a total idiot.
Fat chance.
“So,” she finally managed. “I guess I’m out of here.”
He didn’t answer right away, and she wished she could slink down into the driver’s seat and disappear. Then she took another look at him, and realized his nose was twitching as he fought a sneeze.
“Hale?”
Sniff, sniff, twitch, twitch. He waved his hand in some vague gesture. “Right. Great. Drive safe,” he managed. His voice was nasal and his nose was still twitching.
He looked so darn uncomfortable, she fought a chuckle. “Well,” she said. “Tomorrow, then.”
He nodded, then half-waved, his face contorted with the effort.
Amused, she pulled away, figuring if he was going to so much trouble not to let loose with a rip-roaring sneeze in front of her, she might as well be accommodating. She’d barely traveled any distance at all when she heard the loud
A-achoo
! She hit the brake, then leaned out the window and glanced back, expecting to see Hale standing there looking pleased with himself for holding it until she’d left.
He wasn’t there. Odd. He had to be there. She’d just heard him. She remembered the way he’d dropped out of sight in the trailer. The man certainly had a knack for disappearing.
Frowning, she ducked back in the car, her eyes automatically going to the rearview mirror.
There he was
.
Okay, now that was weird. She glanced at the mirror again, only to see Hale darting toward the trailer. She popped her head out the window to call to him, but he was gone. The man certainly could move fast.
She tapped the accelerator, and almost sideswiped Leon. The actor was standing in the road, a lovesick-puppy look on his face. Still bewildered about Hale, Tracy waved, swerved around him, then pulled out the studio gate. He hollered after her, “See you tonight!”
Just yesterday, she’d been manless. Today, America’s latest heartthrob had the hots for her, and a disappearing cover model had not only asked her out, but asked to move in. Not bad for one day.
The morning might have started out weird, but it was wrapping up nicely. Thoroughly satisfied with herself, she turned onto Ventura Boulevard, wondering what the next twenty-four hours would bring.
Two Henchmen crouched behind a dumpster just outside the studio gate, the fat one scratching under where his arms would be if he’d been remotely human.
“Tha’s her. Tha’s the girl. Weesa supposed to get the girl.”
The skinny one turned and bopped him alongside the head. Or, the head-type part. “Not the girl. Master says we gotsa get the belt.”
“The belt. Righta.” He turned, his huge folds of slimy flesh jiggling as he looked toward Tracy’s car. It turned onto Ventura Boulevard, brakelights flashing briefly as she careened around the corner. “She’sa going-gone. We go now?”
He started to run after the car, but the skinny one caught his tail and pulled him back. He settled with a wet
ker-plap
on the concrete.
Another bop on his face. “Not go now.
Change
now.”
“Righto.” The fat one’s facial features squinched up with concentration, and then he started to shimmer and shake, the folds of his flesh and slime dissolving and changing until he was no longer a fat creature but a plump man, decked out in denim bib overalls.
The skinny one followed suit, transforming into a tall, skinny man with a shock of red hair. His wore faded green fatigues that appeared two sizes too big.
The transformation complete, they faced each other. “We go,” said the skinny one.
“Weesa go now,” concurred the fat one. And with that, they took off down the road in the direction where Tracy’s taillights had disappeared.
Hale slipped behind a building before rematerializing, two things at the forefront of his mind. One, Tracy Tannin had managed to get under his skin in the most deliciously distracting of ways. Two, he really needed to find some allergy medicine.
But as pressing as that second need was, Zeus help him, he had to see Tracy again. They’d pored over that sitcom script for hours, sitting side by side as they discussed the various tricks Elmer would be expected to perform.
Through it all, Hale had to fight to concentrate on the work rather than on the minty scent of her shampoo. By the time they’d finished the first read-through, he’d been desperate to leave, desperate to get outside and clear his head.
But time pressure wouldn’t allow him time to clear his head. If he was going to get close to Tracy and get the belt away from her, then Tracy needed to fall for him—and fall hard. And fast. With her wearing the belt now, it was only a matter of time before Hieronymous tracked her down. After she’d agreed to let him move in, he’d thought he was in the clear. Then Tracy had reminded him about her plans tonight—her plans with Leon.
The fact that she was going out with Leon mucked everything up. If Tracy was also dating Leon, Hale’s talents in the bedroom might not be enough to persuade her to part with the belt. Hale couldn’t imagine the risk was high, but what if she actually fell for this guy?
Not that he actually would admit the possibility that Leon could rank over him in any woman’s mind, but why take the chance? He needed to make damn certain that he spent time with Tracy
before
she went out with Leon, and that their time together beat the pants off any piddly little date activities Leon might dream up.
Of course, there was always Plan B. He could follow Tracy and Leon on their date, stay invisible, and secretly intercede if any sort of warm fuzzy moments seemed to be lurking on the horizon. Screw chivalry. As far as Hale knew, chivalry didn’t count when another man had his sights set on your girl.
Blinking, he squeezed his hands into fists. What was he thinking? She wasn’t his “girl.” At most, she was his temporary fling. Or
his mission
. His “girl” implied a level of commitment and permanency, and Hale had no intention of falling into that trap. No intention whatsoever.
His resolve renewed, he dematerialized again and took off running at top speed toward the studio gate.
Mordi smiled, not believing his luck. Hale and Tracy had parted ways, and now Mordi had the entire evening to ingratiate himself to her. How perfectly thoughtful of Hale to leave his cousin such a wonderful opening.
He considered shifting into a dog or a bird and following her by foot or by air, then decided that the old-fashioned approach would work best. Hopping down from the trailer roof, he headed to the Porshe he’d rented that morning. It had cost a fortune to wrangle the thing for the weekend; he might as well use it.
The sleek machine took curves like a dream, and in no time at all he saw Tracy two blocks ahead, zipping down the street in her ancient Chevy. She turned off of Ventura onto Laurel Canyon, heading into the valley, and that’s when he saw them. The two men running after her car. Only they weren’t men. Nope. Not by a long shot.
On the surface they might look human. And certainly no passing mortal would give them a second glance—except for the fact that they were racing down the street after a car, a nail gun aimed at its back tires. But simply on the sake of appearance, these guys could fit in among any mortals quite nicely.
But like any of Protector blood, Mordi saw past the surface. Henchmen had to work hard to maintain the illusion of humanity. Mortals couldn’t see the effort; Protectors could. And right at the moment he saw a beanpole of a Henchman and his huffing, puffing, rotund slimeball buddy closing in on Tracy.
Closing in on the belt.
Damn his father!
Not that Mordi should have been surprised, but just once why couldn’t Hieronymous believe in him? Was it really necessary to send Henchmen to do the very thing he was assigned to do?
He scowled, pondering the possibilities.
What if Hieronymous had decided he couldn’t trust his son to acquire the belt and turn it over to Daddy Dearest? Wouldn’t that be a pickle?
It raised an interesting conundrum. Did Mordi let the Henchmen get the belt, and ruin his chance to obtain the prize himself, or did he swoop down and protect Tracy from his father’s stinky little beasts? He’d preferred the latter, but then word would get back to Hieronymous and Mordi would be in the doghouse. Again.
He was still pondering the dilemma when the solution materialized about three blocks behind the Henchmen. Mordi half-snorted. Leave it to Hale to rush to a woman’s rescue. With his chiseled looks and buff body, all he needed was a white stallion.
Show-off.
Not that Mordi begrudged Hale his looks—hell, Mordi wasn’t any slouch in the appearance department—but somehow Hale was just, well,
Hale
. Probably a product of all that cover modeling. Surely eight hours under a photographer’s lights with a half-naked woman in your arms did wonders for a guy’s ego.
Mordi liked his cousin well enough, but the guy definitely believed his own press. And right now, he was racing to play the hero to Tracy. Damn.
Mordi considered showing himself and running to her rescue first—then he’d be the hero instead of Hale. But since Hale had clearly seen the Henchmen, that would never do. Already, because of his father, his cousin would suspect him of duplicity. Even though Mordi had nothing to do with the Henchmen, best not to foster any suspicions in Hale’s mind.
No, he’d just kick back and wait.
After more than twenty-five years of living in his father’s shadow, if there was one thing Mordi was good at, it was waiting.
Ker-thwonk! Thud, thud, thud.
Tracy groaned, trying to keep her car under control even as she tried to figure out what had suddenly gone so wrong. Then it hit her. A flat tire.
Damn! Well, what did she expect? She was driving a thirteen-year-old Chevy Nova. Not exactly the car folks in Beverly Hills expected to see, but at least it was paid for. And, except for the occasional dead battery, it usually ran just fine.
Right now, though, she was cursing it. Already she barely had time to run to the mall and interrogate the cosmetic-counter ladies for tips on how she could look presentable. How the heck was she supposed to change a tire
and
do her shopping
and
still manage to get changed in time for a date?
Not that she was in
that
much of a hurry. After all, since Burke had shut production down early, she had a few hours to play with. And even though she would have preferred to spend more time with Hale and Elmer, she figured she’d need as much time as she could get to look beautiful.
As close to beautiful as she could manage, that is. Which probably wouldn’t be very close, but maybe she could land in the general vicinity of passable.
The car pulled to the right, and Tracy fought to keep it on a straight path until she could pull off the street into a parking lot. Dragging the wheel to the left with a string of colorful curses, she finally managed to squeeze over a lane and pull into the lot of a greasy spoon that advertised chicken and waffles.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t be overcome with hunger until
after
she’d managed to change the tire.
With a groan, she slipped out of her car and popped the trunk, then proceeded to dig through the bags of pet food and animal toys looking for her jack. No luck.
Well, fine. If she had to empty her trunk in the middle of a parking lot and do this methodically, then that’s exactly what she’d do. Right away, she started hauling out bags—puppy chow, dog chow, ferret chow. If she looked long enough she’d probably find a bag of tiger chow, too.