“You said we needed to debrief,” Hale reminded her.
“Right.” His sister sucked in a breath. “Well, she likes you, Hale.”
“Isn’t that the idea?”
“No. I mean, yes.” She ran her hands through her hair, then sighed. “I mean, she
really
likes you.”
Zoë’s assessment pleased him more than it probably should, and he had no clue why it should bother her. “So?”
“So ... I like Tracy.”
There were times when his sister drove him nuts. “Just spit it out, kid. What are you trying to say?”
“She’s nice. I like her. And I know we have to get the belt from her, and I know that we have to do whatever it takes....”
“But?”
“But now you’re planning this big seduction scene and, well, I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She won’t get hurt.”
“But—”
Hale hardened himself to his protective feelings and said, “Trust me, Zo. This girl only wants a fling. I heard her say so.”
At that, his sister looked him straight in the eye. Her dual-colored irises somehow made her pensive stare even more intense. “Just like
you
only want a fling.”
“Exactly,” he said. And he meant it. But even so, he felt the corners of his mouth turn down into a frown. Of course he only wanted a fling. A quick seduction. Just like he’d been saying all along.
And Tracy didn’t want any more than that. Which made the plan perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Except, somehow he couldn’t stop frowning.
Zoë was still staring at him, that curious expression on her face. He waved a hand. “Tell me about Mordi.”
For a second, he thought she was going to argue, but then her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “Not a whole lot more to tell. I was surprised he was at the mall. I bet he’s been following—”
“He has.” An image of his cousin’s vivid green eyes in the coffee shop popped into Hale’s head. “I saw him. I just didn’t realize it was him.”
“Shapeshifting,” Zoë said, half under her breath.
“Yup. Pesky power when you’re trying to keep track of a guy.” Protectors could often recognize their own in shifted form, but unless they had Zoë’s super senses, they had to be paying close attention. Otherwise, a shapeshifter could easily escape notice.
“Should we report him to the Council? He might be violating probation.”
For a second, Hale considered it, then shook his head slowly. “No. So far he hasn’t done anything wrong.” He looked at Zoë. “Has he?”
“Not in front of me. I mean, he clearly wants to get close to Tracy—I think he may be planning his own seduction— and he was making me awfully nervous.”
The thought of Mordi getting close to Tracy pissed Hale off more than it should. He told himself it was because Mordi could compromise the mission. In truth, though, his annoyance stemmed from something else. Something he didn’t want to examine too closely. He aimed a frown in Zoë’s direction. “Send an e-mail to Zephron and let him know what’s going on. We have to be careful. If Mordi’s working for his dad ...”
Zoë sighed. “I’d really hoped he’d gotten his act together.”
“So had I. But Uncle H is his father. You’d have to be pretty strong to break free of a parent’s influence—even if he is an Outcast.”
“Yeah. Well, I hope he does.”
They sat in silence for a while, and Hale had a feeling he knew what was coming next. He was wrong.
“You should do something nice for her,” his sister finally said.
“I should what?”
“Do something nice for Tracy. Women like that. And you’re supposed to get her to like you, right?”
She had him there. “So you think I should ... do what exactly?”
“I don’t know. You said the grounds at the house are a wreck. Maybe you could fix them up for her. Shouldn’t take you too long.”
“You didn’t see them.”
Zoë shot him a look, clearly not appreciating his attempt at levity. “Well, it would be a nice thing to do.”
“So, between protecting her, seducing her, and trying to sweet-talk her out of the belt, I’m also supposed to be her groundskeeper?” It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. He’d like to do something nice for Tracy. In fact, Hale was somewhat irritated he hadn’t thought of this idea himself.
A devious smile touched his sister’s lips. “Yeah, well, you know what women think of sexy gardeners. I mean, there’s that whole Lady Chatterley thing.”
At the thought of a D. H. Lawrence moment happening between him and Tracy, every ounce of blood in Hale’s body rushed to his groin. He bit the inside of his cheek to bring himself back to earth.
“Trust me,” he said, as soon as he could talk normally. “I’ll get the belt, no matter what tricks I have to use.”
“Yes, Hale. But I think you should do it just because it’s a nice thing. Not just to get the belt.”
“Zoë...”
“What?” Her eyes were wide, and innocent, then she smiled. “I like her. I like you. What’s wrong with a little matchmaking?”
“She’s mortal, Zo. She’s mortal, and neither one of us is interested in more than a fling.”
Zoë smiled. “We’ll see.”
Hale just shook his head, determined not to encourage her. There was no reasoning with Zoë when she got something stuck in her mind. In the meantime, he intended to stick with the program. Which meant not falling for Tracy Tannin.
Zoë sighed. “Fine, you’re on your own.” She got up and headed for the kitchen. When she came back, she tossed him a crumpled-up paper sack. “What’s a stakeout without a few snacks?”
Hale peered inside. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two Snickers bars, an apple, and a cardboard box filled with grape juice. Hale wasn’t certain if he was on a stakeout or heading off to school. He had to smile; sometimes Zoë’s previous job as an elementary school librarian seemed perfect for her personality.
“Thanks, kid.”
She grinned. “You better get going. Time for you to relieve Hoop and Taylor.”
Lane joined them from the back rooms. “Oh, sure. Leave when the mortal walks into the room.”
Zoë laughed, but Hale thought it sounded like a pretty reasonable plan.
“Is Davy asleep?” Zoë asked.
“Yup. We just finished another Harry Potter chapter. I don’t have any idea if he’s really following the story, but I’m having a great time.” She walked over to the hall table and picked up Zoë’s key ring. “Can I borrow your car? I need to grab a few things at the grocery store.”
“Sure,” Zoë agreed.
“What’s wrong with your... that thing you call a car?” Hale asked.
“Hey. Don’t dis the Gremlin. Usually she runs great, but Taylor’s fiddling with something, and he pulled off some belts.”
Hale shrugged. “I could put it back together for you.”
The look Lane flashed him was one of pure disdain. “You’d fix my car? For me? A mere mortal?” She fluttered her hand over her heart. “I’m in awe. That’s something a
friend
would do.”
Hale stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m here to help. That’s my job, after all.”
“Helping us poor defenseless little mortals?”
Annoyed that his uncharacteristic generosity was being thrown back in his face, Hale snapped, “Pretty much. Yeah.”
Lane crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, it’s not such a big deal to befriend a mortal. A lot of us are capable of watching out for ourselves.”
Hale thought of Tracy and the way she’d swung that tire iron. “I know,” he said.
Lane’s eyes widened as she turned to look at Zoë, whose eyes were equally wide. Clearly, neither woman had been expecting that response. “Oh,” Lane said.
In truth, he wasn’t ready to believe it. Not completely. The thought of a mortal—especially Tracy—having to defend herself against Hieronymous, for example. Hale shivered, not liking the image at all, and especially not liking the way his priorities had changed. His first instinct now was to rescue the girl—no matter the cost to whatever mission he was on. What was happening to him?
Vulnerable. Just like Taylor said. Mortals made a Protector weak. Emotionally, professionally. All around.
Not a good thing.
Yet Lane wasn’t talking about befriending mortals like Tracy. She was just talking about appreciating your average mortal on your average day. And under those circumstances, Hale had no problems keeping a focus on his professional career.
“Maybe it’s like helping a lady across the street,” he said. He wanted to explain the reason he liked to help mortals, but also felt more comfortable keeping them at a distance. “She could do just fine on her own, but it feels nice to be useful.”
“Useful? Not superior?”
“That, too.” Hell, that was the truth. He smiled to take the edge off his words, though.
Lane shook her head, a small grin dancing on her lips. “You should just admit it, you know,” she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Admit what?”
“You like us. Mortals. Me. Deena and Hoop. Taylor. We’re not so bad.”
He grunted, not willing to articulate more of a response.
Lane shook her head. “If you ever find a woman out there who understands you, you better grab her up. Because there can’t be very many of them.”
“Hear, hear,” Zoë piped up. She gave Hale a meaningful look.
“I’m leaving,” he said, pointedly avoiding their last comments. “Taylor and Hoop are expecting me.”
“You gonna be okay hanging outside all night?” Lane asked.
He held up his backpack complete with his Mission Essential Kit, Propulsion Cloak, and the lunch Zoë had packed him. “And I can run really fast, too. I’ll be fine.”
“Sorry. Sometimes when I’m around you, I tend to forget that you’re supposedly a superhero.”
She bounced out of the way just in time to miss the pillow he threw at her.
“So you’re really just going to lurk around outside this girl’s house all night?”
“That’s my plan.”
“Isn’t that going to get really boring?”
“Just like a cop on a stakeout. It comes with the job, I’m afraid.” Of course, with his allergies, he was going to keep disappearing and reappearing like some schizophrenic ghost.
“Is Elmer going?” Zoë asked.
Elmer’s happy where he is
. The ferret’s bored, sleepy voice drifted to Hale from the other side of the room, where he was curled up in a beanbag chair watching
Kindergarten Cop
.
Hale laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s got videos, the remote control, and a plate of treats. The guy’s not going anywhere. Heck, you guys are better to him than room service.”
Lane laughed. “I guess.” She looked at Zoë. “I suppose it’s better that your brother will be out there watching over Tracy, but it still seems weird to me.
Staking out the good guys
.”
It didn’t seem weird to Hale at all. He needed to protect Tracy, and he intended to go to whatever lengths were needed. The odds were slim Hieronymous would try anything in Tracy’s own house—what with the eminent traceability of such an action back to him if he failed—but Hale didn’t intend to take any chances. And there was always Leon to protect her from.
Truth be told, he was looking forward to this part of the assignment. Maybe he couldn’t talk to her. Maybe she wouldn’t even know that he was there. But the simple fact remained that, more than anything, he was thrilled that his job called for him to drive to Beverly Hills and satisfy his urge for one more glimpse of Tracy Tannin.
After dismissing Taylor and Hoop, Hale had circled the house, giving it a thorough once-over. Now he levitated under Tracy’s bedroom window, invisible and feeling rather guilty for peeping—but not guilty enough to leave. The mission required that he protect the girl; it was simply his good luck that this particular aspect of his task overlapped with his desire to see her again.
And he did
need
to see her. He needed to confirm she was still all right, and he was more than willing to sacrifice good manners to satisfy that hunger.
At first he thought her bedroom was empty. He was about to let loose with a particularly vivid stream of curses when the door to the adjoining bathroom opened and Tracy stepped out. She was holding a glass of white wine and wearing an open terry-cloth robe over bikini panties and a plain white bra. Nothing remotely Frederick’s of Hollywood about this girl’s underwear, that was for sure. No lace. No satin. Cotton all the way.
And yet it didn’t matter. Sears or Victoria’s Secret, Hale’s reaction would have been the same: an exquisite tightening in his groin, a dry mouth, a strong desire to throw himself through the window and beg her to make love with him.
Drawing on every ounce of strength he had, he resisted the urge. The only upside of such a foolhardy plan would be touching her. The downside would be the sting of her palm against his cheek. And her telling him to get lost. Or worse, her having him arrested. The Mortal-Protector Liaison Office would just love getting him out of that kind of bind.
He knew he should quit watching, knew he’d crossed some line of decency, but somehow he couldn’t convince his feet to get him away from there. She’d mesmerized him, and he concentrated on watching her, on memorizing the way she moved.
Lean and lithe, Tracy Tannin had the grace of a cat, but she didn’t seem to realize it. Somehow she seemed uncomfortable in her own skin, and Hale longed to demonstrate to her—inch by delightful inch—just how spectacular her body was.
He was daydreaming about that very thing when she passed in front of the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the paperback tucked under her arm.
He squinted. Was that... ?
Levitating closer, he tried for a better look, then sneezed and ended up crashing into the window, totally materialized, with his palms flat against the pane. Immediately he threw himself back and dematerialized again—but not before Tracy heard the thud and whipped around to face where he’d been. She rushed over to the window, probably fearing burglars, and pressed her face to the glass.
Only the thin pane separated them. Hale held his breath, fearing that even though he was invisible, somehow she’d see him.
Foolish, he knew. What he should be worried about was that she’d notice the fading handprint on her window, just a few inches below her nose.