by J. Kenner
“She’s been doing a damn good job of it, too. For us and for the council.”
“I like this undercover assignment,” she said honestly. “Being a librarian was fine, but being a private investigator’s much better.” She smiled up at Taylor. “And being your partner’s the best of all.”
“Hey!” said Hoop.
Zoe smiled. “Your partner, too.” The three of them had joined forces, and Hooper, Taylor, & Smith, Investigators, had been doing reasonably well. Certainly Taylor wasn’t surviving on peanut butter, any more than Zoe was living on rice cakes.
“That’s better,” Hoop said. His stomach growled.
Deena rolled her eyes. “He must have run out of Twinkies. Got any of those PTA candy bars left?”
Zoe shook her head. “I finished the last one off last week during a stakeout.”
“I’m impressed how well you’re handling chocolate,” Taylor said. He flashed a smile that warmed her straight to her toes. “Then again, I’m impressed how well you’re handling a lot of things.”
Long nights—and some equally long days—snuggled up with Taylor drifted through her memory. “Yeah, well, practice makes perfect.” Not that she was completely used to her senses yet, but she was getting closer. She frowned, thinking back to her birthday. “I’m still amazed the council admitted me.”
“Why?” Deena asked. “You kicked butt. You pretty much saved the world, right?”
“Well, yeah. But I had help,” she said, smiling at Taylor.
“Maybe that was the point,” he said. “Sometimes you have to ask for help.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he said firmly. “That’s right.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But it doesn’t have anything to do with our immediate problem,” he said, nodding meaningfully at the door.
“Right,” Zoe said.
“Right,” Hoop echoed.
Deena tapped her foot. “Well, what do you want me to paint on this door?”
Taylor tapped his index finger against his chin. “I think it’s too long.”
“I know it is,” Deena said. “That’s why I need to use smaller letters.”
“I don’t like the smaller letters,” Taylor said, casting a look Hoop’s way.
“Me, either,” Hoop said.
Zoe caught Deena’s eye. “Men.”
“I do have one suggestion,” Taylor said.
Deena sighed, clearly exasperated. “Well spit it out.”
“Hooper and Taylor Investigators, fits just fine.”
“Absolutely,” Hoop said. “Nice and classy-looking.”
“But—” Zoe protested.
“What about her?” Deena finished. “She’s a partner, too. You can’t just—”
“I thought maybe you’d be interested in expanding our partnership,” Taylor said, his eyes locked on Zoe’s.
“Our partnership?” Zoe repeated stupidly. Her pulse picked up tempo. She tried to calm herself, afraid she was hearing something he wasn’t saying. “I’m not. . . I don’t know. . . .”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Deena asked, one hand resting on her hip.
“I’m trying to propose here.”
“Oh,” said Deena. “Well, then. Get on with it.”
“Maybe a little privacy?” he asked, looking meaningfully toward the far end of the hall.
Deena looked at Hoop as Zoe tried to keep from floating off the polished wood floor.
“No problem,” Hoop said, dragging Deena away.
“Thank you,” Taylor said, then turned to face her better. As he took her hands in his, every cell in her body started doing a happy dance. “How about it, sweetheart? We’re already partners at the office. How about being partners in life, too?”
She nodded, mute, then threw herself into his waiting arms, planting kisses all over his face.
He laughed. “Can I assume that’s a yes?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “That’s very much a yes.”
Keep reading for The Charmed Affair of an Invisible Bodyguard.
The Charmed Affair of an Invisible Bodyguard
1
Urgent Communiqué
For Council Use Only
Eyes Only
Hale
Protector First Class
California
Acknowledgment requested
Hale:
Council intelligence has detected an increase in Outcast activity, suggesting imminent adverse action by Hieronymous. In light thereof, Zephron, High Elder of the Venerate Council, requests your presence within the next twenty-four hours at the American Operations Center, Washington, D.C. , for immediate briefing and assignment.
Form 89-C(2)(a), on file with the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office (MLO), indicates that you have already been issued the following council-controlled items (to the extent such list is incorrect, please immediately submit Form 29-B(2)(a) in triplicate with all necessary corrections):
propulsion cloak, model E-10 (expert model); and
standard issue cellular phone (speed dial included) with full web access, direct communication to Council headquarters, and projectile launch capability.
Upon your arrival at the Operations Center, you will be issued a Mission Essentials Kit, including all standard mission equipment. To the extent such equipment is utilized during the course of your mission, please file in triplicate (by no later than the fifteenth day of the first month after completion of your mission) Form 827A(4)(b) with the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office. Return all unused equipment to council headquarters.
We look forward to your prompt arrival at the Operations Center. Excuses for late arrivals will not be tolerated.
Enjoy the rest of your vacation!
Sincerely,
Phelonium Prigg
Assistant to Zephron, High Elder
Hale propped himself up in the hotel bed and grimaced as the note from Prigg dissolved in a flurry of sparks and sputters.
Really.
Prigg’s overdeveloped sense of drama could be so tiresome. A simple phone call would have worked just as well. Either way, though, the result was the same: Hale’s long-awaited vacation was history. Which was especially frustrating as he had hotel reservations for two full weeks.
On the far side of the room, Elmer uncurled himself and stretched on the sofa cushion, his spiky fur standing on end as he yawned. What’s with the fireworks? he chittered. We got a new assignment?
Hale shot a scowl in the ferret’s direction. “We don’t have an assignment. I have an assignment. Which means I have to go to work while you lounge about at home watching daytime television.”
Elmer’s fur puffed out even more and he emitted a high-pitched squeak, which for a ferret could be either a laugh or an indignant groan. Hale assumed that he was going for indignant.
I do not “lounge about,” thank you very much. Elmer raised his furry little chin. I study the market.
Hale stifled a chortle. Ever since they’d arrived at the Los Angeles Airport, Elmer had been chattering on about becoming the funny but lovable family pet in some Hollywood sitcom. “If you say so.” Hale turned away, ostensibly to check the clock, but mostly to hide his grin.
You just have no appreciation of artistic genius. All you appreciate are female br—
“Ah-ah-ah.” Hale rolled over and held up a finger to silence his friend, who managed a tiny ferret shrug before snuggling back down to finish his nap. He and Elmer had been together for years, and he loved the mouthy little guy, but there were some things that just didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
Not that Elmer was actually speaking. If the maid walked in, she would hear only Elmer’s distinctive ferret squeak. But Hale was an animalinguist, which meant he could understand animal-speak—everything from the vague desires of most animals, to the more articulate thoughts of the more developed of their species. And, of course, he could understand with perfect clarity those animals, like Elmer, whose bloodline had been bred for genera
tions to serve as companions to Protectors.
Some days he really regretted that particular talent.
With a groan, he slid out of bed then headed to the balcony that overlooked the secluded Southern California beach. He’d hoped to make it to Greece for some R & R. No such luck. Instead, he was stuck in a four-star hotel just north of Malibu. Not the vacation he’d dreamed of, but it did have a few advantages over his Manhattan apartment. Like the dozen or so mortal women who frolicked and bounced on the sand below. Exactly the kind of amenities he looked for in a vacation location—plenty of extracurricular activities and a room with a view.
For more than a year, he’d been trying to get away from the daily grind. Being a superhero—especially a superhero with an undercover assignment as a romance cover model—took a lot out of a guy. He needed some serious down time, and now that he’d finally gotten some, Prigg was calling him back.
Life just wasn’t fair. Especially considering he was staring out from a hotel balcony at a smorgasbord of delicious women he’d come to sample. Nothing long-term, mind you. He was a Protector, after all. He’d never get permanently involved with a mortal.
Then again, he didn’t intend to get permanently involved with another Protector, either. Why would he? He was young, he was virile, and—if he believed his own press releases—he was one hot property. Why tie himself down? Why indeed? Especially when he could so easily find such delightful, fleeting diversions as the ones on the beach below.
He’d come on vacation with the hope of being well and truly diverted. Unfortunately, he’d been here for forty-eight hours already, and not one single blond, brunette, or redheaded diversion had graced his bed.
Pathetic.
Not that they’d turned him down, of course. That was one of the nice things about being him—women just didn’t say no. Actually, the problem was much more basic. He simply hadn’t yet gone outside and tried to lure any of the luscious ladies to his room.
Sighing, he drummed his fingers on the windowsill. Instead of playing beach volleyball with bronzed co-eds on Spring Break, he’d elected to stay in his hotel room for the last two days. Frowning, he felt his forehead with the back of his hand. No fever. Damn.
You’re losing your touch, Elmer said.
Great. The ferret was awake again. “Not hardly. Just pacing myself.”
Elmer didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t need a woman on my arm every minute. If I’d rather stay in the room and read”—he broke off, looking around the room to find the tattered paperback he’d found in the chest of drawers—“Valley of the Dolls, then that’s my prerogative.”
Not his usual reading fare, that’s for sure. But it didn’t much matter since he hadn’t actually read a word. He’d been too frustrated to concentrate.
Uh-huh. Elmer shot him a look, then proceeded to scratch behind his ears.
“Just drop it,” Hale commanded.
Drop it? Drop what? I’m not saying anything. Not one word. No, sirree.
“Elmer . . .”
What? I mean, I’m sure as Cerberus not mentioning the fact that you haven’t done the wild thing with a single female since Zoe and Taylor got hooked up. Nope. I’m not saying that at all.
“For someone who’s not talking, your mouth is sure moving a lot.”
Harrumph! Elmer turned three circles on the cushion, then tucked his head under his paws to sulk. Subtle, he wasn’t.
Hale scowled in the ferret’s direction, then turned and scowled out the window. All in all, he was in a scowling kind of mood. Not that Elmer was right. He wasn’t avoiding anything. Not women, and certainly not sex. The thought was preposterous. Ridiculous. Absolutely not true.
So what if he’d been a little off-kilter since his half sister Zoe had tied the knot with that mortal guy? It wasn’t as if Hale wanted the same thing. He shuddered. Certainly not.
More likely he was just distracted, that’s all. Worried. About Zoe. Right. That had to be it. He was worried about his baby sister marrying a mortal.
Of course, Hale had to admit that Taylor was an all-right guy—for a non-Protector, anyway. And he loved Zoe, so Hale figured they’d probably be okay. After all, Zoe was a halfling. Maybe being part mortal made it easier to be in a mixed marriage.
But Hale was full-blooded, and he knew better than most that mortal-Protector relationships almost never lasted. Mortals couldn’t handle the stress, and of the few Protectors who did get into such affairs, most went soft and abandoned their duties.
That wasn’t for him. No, sir.
Fleeting entanglements, however, were a whole different story. That was the beauty of mortals, after all. Get in, get out, have a good time, then be on your way. No strings. No commitments. No guilt.
Not at all like with Protectors, who knew where to find you. There was no chance for truly casual sex there—not with the likelihood that last Friday’s date might call up on your Council-sponsored cell phone at any time. No, Hale had learned the hard way that dating a Protector left open the possibility of a commitment, and that wasn’t a possibility Hale wanted on the table.
He peered down toward the beach again and spotted a particularly lovely blond mortal sunbathing on a dark green towel. Her. That was the one. He’d just march down there, turn on the charm, and escort her right back up here. Then he’d lock Elmer in the bathroom and have a torrid afternoon with a very hot woman. He’d shake off this funk and be his old self again before he had to rush back to D.C. and do the superhero gig.
Yes, indeed, that’s exactly what he’d do.
Flushed with purpose, he threw on some swimming trunks and headed out. In the breezy lobby, the cool tiles felt nice against his bare feet, and for a second he considered stopping in the bar, having an icy drink, and chatting with the owner about nothing in particular.
No. No stalling. Plan. Girl. Go.
His resolve restored, he marched out of the hotel and across the warm sand toward the blond beauty. She looked up when he approached. A beautiful face highlighted by vivid green eyes. Long, sleek legs. Breasts that begged to be touched. In other words, exactly the type of woman he was used to sharing a few sensual hours with. She was perfect, and her coy glance suggested she was more than willing.
So why did he suddenly have an urge to rush back to his hotel room and spend time with Jacqueline Susann instead of with this bikinied babe?
“Hi there.” He pitched his voice low, using the tone that had never failed him.
The woman rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow. Her smile revealed flashing white teeth and infinite possibilities of the most decadent sort. “Well, hi yourself. I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Maybe you haven’t been looking.”
“I guess not. Because believe me, I would have noticed you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I noticed you.” Mentally, Hale patted himself on the back. Smooth. He hadn’t lost his touch. No worries. No worries at all.
“Lucky me.” She sat up, curling her legs under her, her posture designed for maximum male-appeal. Clearly, the girl was no stranger to flirtation. “Are you here for business . . . or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” Hale said. “Pure pleasure.”
“How nice. I’m Bitsy, by the way.”
“Hale.”
Above her sunglasses, her brow furrowed as her lips pursed. “Hale?” The smile was back, this time accompanied by wide, interested eyes. She pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him. “I know you, right? You’re on the cover of all those romance novels.”
“Guilty.” He tested his grin on her, pleased to see it seemed in working order.
“Are you here on a shoot?” She craned her neck looking around, probably for a camera crew. Considering how many celebrities frequented the hotel, Hale was surprised there wasn’t one set up nearby.
“I’m on vacation. Relaxing. Meeting new people.” Trying to get myself out of a funk.
“Well, the pleasure really is all mine, Hale
.” The woman tossed her hair back, then peeked under the strap of her bikini top—presumably checking her tan, but also revealing the enticing curve of a breast.
Hale swallowed, not nearly as enticed by the view as he would have expected. In fact, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to go back to his room and watch a little Nick-at-Nite. For some inconceivable reason, this perfect specimen of a mortal woman just wasn’t pushing his buttons.
Frustrating. Damned frustrating, and he didn’t intend to tolerate it much longer.
“Come on,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
If she thought his invitation was abrupt, she didn’t say anything. Instead she gathered up her towel, wrapped a tiny sarong around her hips, then passed him her tote bag. “Carry for me?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Twenty yards back to the hotel lobby. Twenty long, frustrating yards listening to the bikini babe ask him if he had a limo parked nearby and just how large was his expense account anyway? By the time they reached the lobby bar, the sad, inconceivable, inescapable truth had caught up with Hale and tackled him: There was no way on earth he was taking this woman up to his room.
Maybe Elmer was right. Maybe he was losing his touch. But it wasn’t that he couldn’t succeed with the ladies; it was that he didn’t want to. Why? At the moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to get out of there. But Bitsy’s hand seemed glued to his forearm, and shaking her was going to prove difficult. Damn.
“Drink?” He steered her toward the bar.
“Sure.” Bitsy was all smiles as she let go of his arm and perched on a stool.
He signaled to the owner, intending to order two of the bartender’s special concoctions.
“Why don’t you order us a bottle of Dom?” The blonde leaned close, her shoulder brushing against his forearm. “We can start our little celebration here, then move it to your room.”