“Good thing this place already needs some repairs,” Hoop said in a deadpan.
“Sorry,” Hale said, to no one in particular.
“You destroying the place?” Zoë, Deena, and Lane traipsed in, all three of them covered in dust and a fine layer of sweat. “Lot of thanks that is for us putting your girlfriend’s place back together.”
Hale scowled at his sister.
“Henchmen,” Zoë said, her voice derisive. “They’ll destroy anything, even when it’s not necessary. At least they only locked Tracy’s dog in the closet.” Hale noticed that Mistress Betina had scampered in, looking distrustful.
“This wasn’t Mordi?” Taylor asked.
“No. For one, he was probably watching Tracy all night. For another, I may have a bad thing to say about Mordi every once in a while, but he’s not this stupid—and he doesn’t
stink
.”
Hale sniffed the air, noticing as he did so that Taylor, Hoop, Deena, and Lane were all doing it, too. “Stink?”
“Trust me,” Zoë said, tapping her super-sensitive nose. “There were Henchmen in this house.” Her nose wrinkled. “It positively reeks in here.”
Hale resumed his pacing—at least he was
moving
—before finally stopping in front of the door. Henchmen. More of them. Destroying Tracy’s house. Tracy with Mordi. “Forget it. I’ve had enough. I’m going to find her.”
“Hale ...” Lane stepped up and closed her hand over his.
“No, I’m going.” He couldn’t stand the sympathy in her eyes. He had to do something. If Tracy wasn’t with Hieronymous, Hale could be back in L.A. within the hour. But sitting around here, waiting for other Protectors to find Tracy... He couldn’t do it anymore.
“You may not have to,” Zoë cried. She’d rushed to the window, and they all turned to look at her. She spun back, her face triumphant, but a little confused. “She’s here.”
His sister’s words cut straight to Hale’s heart. “
Here
?”
“Yup. Coming up the drive now.”
Hale peered out the window and, sure enough, he saw a Porsche cruising up toward the house. “And Tracy’s in there?”
“With Mordi,” she agreed. “Yup.”
Bless his sister and her eyesight.
And damn Mordi for taking Tracy in the first place.
He went to the door, his hand poised over the doorknob as he waited for just the right moment.
Footsteps.
Closer, then closer.
When he could tell they were right outside the door, he yanked it open, ignoring Tracy’s startled expression as he launched himself at Mordichai. He crashed into his cousin and over and over they rolled, until Mordi finally managed to slip out of Hale’s grasp and back away. Mordi gasped as he tried to catch his breath.
“What in Hades are you doing?” Mordi yelled, standing up to brush the leaves and twigs from his linen suit.
“What am
I
doing?” Hale spat. “What are you doing with Tracy?”
“Bringing her back to you. What does it look like I’m doing?”
It was a perfectly reasonable response, but Hale wasn’t having any of it. His fist was still itching to make contact with Mordi’s face, and he lunged forward, intent on that goal.
“Hale, no! Mordi was just driving me home!”
Too late, Tracy’s words penetrated his mind. Two other things stopped him from rushing Mordi, though—Zoë‘s grasp on the back of his jeans, and the fireball Mordi conjured in self-defense.
“Hale!” Tracy’s scream broke though the maelstrom in his head, not to mention the flame that engulfed him. Thankfully, Mordi’d had the presence of mind to make it a warning. The flame had been illusory: hot, but harmless.
“I’m okay,” he grunted, not thinking. “It’s not real fire.”
The second the words were out of his mouth, he twisted around, turning to look into Tracy’s eyes. They were confused. And no wonder; conjured illusory fireballs weren’t exactly normal occurrences in the mortal world. And certainly not in Beverly Hills.
Tracy’s hands went to her hips, and one eyebrow raised. “Okay,” she finally said. “I give up. What in the name of Heaven is going on?”
“Something really weird,” Tracy continued, glaring at the seven people, one ferret, and a dog camped out in her entrance hall, “is going on. And I want to know what.”
“Sweetheart,” Hale said. “Nothing’s going on. I think you should just—”
“Don’t you sweetheart me!” She turned to face him head on, digging deep for the courage she’d never found with Walter. But Hale meant something to her, and if she had any shot at all in repairing this relationship, she couldn’t be a doormat. “Right now, what you think doesn’t matter. You gave up that right when you turned cold on me this morning, then sealed your fate when you exchanged kissy-faces with Miss Supermodel.”
Zoë aimed a raised eyebrow in her brother’s direction. Hale just shrugged and, Tracy was happy to see, looked utterly miserable.
She took a deep breath, pleased with herself for sounding calm, and tried not to look around for support. “Now, I want to know what’s going on. What’s
really
going on.”
Zoë and Hale looked at each other, while Deena and another man Tracy presumed to be the blonde’s guy, Hoop, did the same. Lane stared at Davy, sleeping in her arms, and Mordi glared at Hale’s ferret. Missy just snored on the floor.
“Somebody?” She tapped her foot on the marble flooring. “Hale?”
He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “There’s nothing going on, sweetheart.”
Elmer perked up, chattering away from his perch on the armrest.
“Will you knock it off?” Hale said, turning to the ferret.
“Nothing, huh?” She glanced from him to Elmer.
Hale shrugged, but glared at the ferret.
“You’re all in my house, know each other, someone tried to mug me”—she held up two fingers—“twice. And men have started paying attention to me.” She pointed at Hale. “And you talk to ferrets. And this one,” she added turning to glare at Mordi, “throws fire. Fire! So
what
is going on? Are you all circus performers?”
Again, Zoë and Hale just shrugged. The rest of the crowd remained stone-faced.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll guess.” It wasn’t so difficult to figure out, she supposed. Weird stuff had started happening to her since she’d found her grandmother’s belt. She aimed a glance at each of her guests in turn. “This has something to do with Tahlula’s belt, doesn’t it?”
She had no idea how it possibly could, but that seemed the only reasonable explanation. No. Strike that. There was no
reasonable
explanation. But the belt had to be the link between all this weirdness. Either that, or she was losing it.
“How on earth could your a belt have anything to do with men paying attention to you?” Lane asked.
“Or you getting mugged, for that matter,” Deena added. “I mean, it’s a truly funky-looking belt. You think muggers would want it?”
“Both times they grabbed for it.” Tracy responded. “Not my purse. Not me. My waist. For the belt. Somebody wants this thing, and I think I know why.”
Neither Hale nor Zoë looked at each other, and Tracy knew she had to be on the right track. She started pacing the room, feeling a bit like Perry Mason at the end of a case. “So, will one of you tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“I vote for guessing,” Hale said.
“Me, too,” Zoë added, holding hands with a man Tracy presumed was her husband, Taylor.
“Works for me,” Deena’s man added.
Taylor and Lane both nodded. Mordi just rolled his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and sank further into the sofa cushions. Davy twisted in his mother’s arms. Elmer rolled over, and Missy didn’t wake up.
Tracy closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Fine. I’ll guess.” All she knew about the belt was that it boosted her confidence, it had a mysterious message from her grandmother ... and about the time her grandmother had started wearing the belt in publicity photos her popularity had increased exponentially.
Her train of thought was interrupted when she saw the belt in question draped over the sofa. She should have been surprised to see it there—she’d forgotten she’d left it in the hotel room, she’d been so mad—but she wasn’t.
Ignoring the seven alert pairs of eyes that followed her as she moved around the room, Tracy headed for the sofa, then twisted the belt between her fingers. She’d thought her confidence when she wore the thing had been a placebo effect. The belt was a crutch that pushed her into her own little confidence zone. That’s why everybody she ran into seemed to stumble all over themselves to make her happy.
But that was some pretty darned potent self-confidence she’d had. So potent that now she had to wonder if there wasn’t more to it.
Like maybe magic?
Mentally, she rolled her eyes. She felt silly for thinking it, and even sillier saying it out loud, but she really didn’t have any other explanation. “Magic,” she explained, trying to keep her voice firm and confident, even though she knew these people would brush off her silly comment. After all, a belt couldn’t be magic. Could it?
The reactions from her guests weren’t exactly as she’d expected. Well, except for Missy and Davy, who slept through the entire thing. Everyone else acted agitated. Elmer ran up the back of the sofa to perch above Hale. Taylor closed his hand over Zoë‘s, while she and Hale shared another one of their surreptitious glances. Deena grabbed Hoop’s knee, Lane let her head flop back against the sofa, and Mordi massaged the bridge of his nose.
“No way,” Tracy said. These people were acting like she’d just got it
right
. But she couldn’t be right.
Could she?
“Tell her,” Zoë said.
“Zo ...” Hale didn’t look too keen about the “tell her” plan.
“Zoë‘s right,” Taylor said. “At this point, you might as well tell her everything.”
“Everything?” Tracy asked. She frowned. “Do I need to sit down?”
Lane nodded. “I would if I were you.”
“For crying out loud, Hale,” Deena yelped. “Do you think you could be a little less abrupt?”
“What?” Tracy squinted at Deena, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then it occurred to her to turn and follow the line of the blond woman’s sight.
Oh, my
. All of a sudden her knees went weak. So it was probably fortunate that a chair was floating through the air, making its way toward her. The second it settled behind her, she collapsed onto it, the sound of Missy’s frantic barking ringing in her ears.
“Magic,” she whispered. “I was right.”
“Telekinesis, actually,” Hale said. “You know, the ability to move stuff with your mind. Or with my mind, actually.” He flashed her that cocky grin she so adored. “You can do a lot of things, but I’m pretty sure you can’t do that.”
“Yeah,” she said, gripping the bottom of her chair so she didn’t topple over. “I’m pretty sure, too.”
“Don’t worry,” Taylor said. “You’ll get used to it after a while.”
“Used to what? And what does this have to do with my belt?”
“Your belt’s an artifact,” Hale said. He got up and moved to stand behind her. “And there’s some rather bad guys who want to get a hold of it.” He squeezed her shoulders. “And you.”
“And that’s why you jumped Mordi?” she asked, turning to squint at Hale’s cousin. “Because you think he’s one of the bad guys?” He’d been nice to her. But then so had they all. And they were all evidently in this together. Whatever
this
was.
She tilted her head back, staring at Hale’s face while she waited for his answer, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was looking at Mordi, the crease in his forehead suggesting he was thinking very hard.
“The jury’s still out on that,” Hale said at last.
“Hmmm.” Tracy wasn’t so sure. In her mind, anyone who could and would provide astute advice about her love life was firmly entrenched on the good side. But that wasn’t a topic she intended to raise. Not now, anyway.
She turned back to Hale. “So what kind of artifact?”
“Extremely old,” he answered. “Thousands of years. And it’s been lost. Somehow your grandmother got a hold of it.”
“Okaaaay.” It wasn’t really, but she was willing to go with the flow for now. “And what do
you
have to do with the thing? Are you part of some magical, mystical police unit that retrieves artifacts?” She tilted her head back again to await his response.
Another one of those looks passed between Hale and Zoë.
“Um, guys?” Tracy lifted her hand, waving a bit to get their attention. “I was kidding.”
“Maybe you were and maybe you weren’t,” Deena said.
“You might as well start at the beginning,” Zoë said to her brother. “It’ll make more sense that way.”
Hale gave Tracy’s shoulders one last squeeze, then moved in front of her. His touch left an echo on her skin, and she longed to reach up and stroke that part of her shoulder he’d touched, but she managed to stifle the urge. Now wasn’t the time for lust. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was the time for, but lust was clearly out.
He stood in front of her. Tall, proud. And his face was deadly serious. Whatever the truth was, she was about to hear it.
“I’m a Protector. I guess you’d call me a superhero.”
“Oh, come on, guys. You said you were going to tell me the truth.” They were going to drag this on all night.
“He’s serious, Tracy,” Lane said. She nodded toward the chair. “Remember?”
The chair had floated through the air, but one floating chair did not a superhero make.
“Tracy,” Hale said. “I’m serious.” He looked her deep in the eyes. And then he was gone.
Poof
. Just like that.
Jumping up out of her chair, she gaped, then just stood there shaking her head, feeling a bit like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
—complaining about the way people came and went so quickly.
Pop
! He was back. Standing right in front of her, as solid as a rock.
“I really am a superhero.” He grinned. “I’ve been telling you that for days.”
“You have,” she admitted. And, suddenly, as weird as it seemed, it all fit.
She sank back into her chair. Figures. If she’d thought he was inaccessible as a cover model, now his no-chance-in-hell-of-a-long-term-commitment factor had just increased exponentially. The man was a superhero. A living, breathing superhero. Way, way, way out of her league.