Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  Aaron, however, he did not adore. And Lane was certain that Elmer’s current antics were nothing more than a not-so-subtle attempt to distract her from him. She wasn’t having any of it.

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “He’s perfectly nice.”

  Elmer didn’t appear convinced. Instead, he hopped back and forth on his little ferret feet, then scurried into the hall and back again, all the while keeping an eye on Lane as if he expected her to follow.

  “No,” she whispered, more firmly this time. “I’m on a date. Deal with it.”

  Elmer’s usual companion, Zoe’s half brother Hale, was a Protector whom until recently had exhibited a healthy disdain for all things mortal. Lane knew well enough that Elmer had picked up on Hale’s prejudices, and although she might be ferret-sitting she didn’t intend to coddle the creature.

  “Go play in Davy’s room,” she ordered. “He and Zoe will be back in a few hours, and you two can go as nutso as you want.”

  At that, the ferret hopped and bounced even more, so Lane could only assume the idea of going nutso with her kid appealed to him.

  “Did you say something?” Aaron asked. He stepped around the corner, his former-football-player frame filling the doorway.

  “No, no,” Lane explained. “Just talking to the ferret.”

  “Oh. Right.” Aaron glanced down, saw Elmer, and took a step back.

  “Let’s go in the other room,” Lane said, then picked up the platter of cookies she’d been arranging and headed into the living room.

  They didn’t have far to go. Her tiny apartment consisted of a so-called living room that had enough space for a fold-out sofa, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. The kitchen connected through a little swinging door—though Lane was pretty sure it used to be a closet and not a kitchen at all. Next was the bedroom where Davy slept, which despite being about the size of a large walk-in closet, seemed to work well enough for the kid.

  Elmer raced ahead, climbing up onto the coffee table. He stood on Davy’s United States jigsaw puzzle, chittering his little head off, before accidentally knocking the entire Pacific Coast onto the floor. Lane sighed. She liked Elmer, really she did. But why couldn’t he have stayed in the bedroom, occupied with climbing up and down Davy’s stash of toys?

  With some hesitation, Aaron parked himself on the couch. He eyed Elmer suspiciously. “Why is he here?”

  “I thought I told you,” Lane said. She settled next to him on the couch, ignoring Elmer’s hyperactive chattering. If the overgrown rat wanted to foil her love life, he was going to have to do a better job than that.

  “All you said was that he belonged to your brother-in-law.”

  At that, Elmer stopped, his beady little eyes going blacker. Lane stifled a laugh. The truth was, Elmer didn’t belong to anyone. He was his own ferret, autonomous to the max, and woe to the mortal—or the Protector, for that matter—who suggested otherwise. “Elmer’s staying with me while Hale is out of town,” she said, carefully avoiding any hint that she was acknowledging Aaron’s proprietary verb.

  “Wouldn’t Zoe make more sense? Isn’t Hale her brother?”

  Lane nodded. “Right. He’s a romance cover model, only this time he’s doing a commercial.” He was also a superhero, but she didn’t mention that part. “He’s on a shoot in Greece with his wife Tracy and their other—uh, the other ferret that lives with them.” Elmer’s significant other, Penelope, was a seasoned animal actress, and she’d accompanied Hale and Tracy to Greece as part of the production team. Elmer had wanted to go, but as the lead ferret on the increasingly popular television show “Mrs. Dolittle,” he hadn’t been able to get the time off work.

  “I’m still not clear on why he’s here,” Aaron said.

  “He and Davy are buds,” she explained. “Sometimes I think they speak the same language.” That much was true; Davy and the ferret got along like gangbusters. If Lane didn’t know better, she’d think they were communicating. But only Protectors could talk with animals, and only a few Protectors at that.

  Lane had become acquainted with several members of the Protector Council in the short time since she’d met Zoe. At first it had made her head spin, learning of a race that descended from the mythological gods and goddesses of Greece. Of course, those gods weren’t really deities at all; that had just been their cover story, designed to give a more or less reasonable explanation for all their wacky powers.

  Zoe and Hale were both descended from Aphrodite—which made sense when you looked at them, considering that both were drop-dead gorgeous. And all Protectors had different powers, like super-senses, invisibility, or the ability to conjure fire. So far, Hale was the only animalinguist in her Rolodex.

  She glanced from Elmer to Aaron, wondering how much the little beast would protest if she grabbed him up and tossed him into Davy’s room. Quite a bit, probably—but the furry chaperon was cramping her style. She nibbled on her lower lip. “Uh, should I take him to Davy’s room?”

  Aaron shook his head and with visible effort turned his attention from the ferret to her. “Nope,” he said, holding her hand firmly in his. “I don’t want you going anywhere.”

  Elmer leaped about some more, and she could imagine well enough what he was saying. She tuned him out, not really wanting to hear his off-color comments.

  Aaron leaned in, and Lane’s heart picked up tempo. He really liked her. Heck, he liked her enough to brave an attack ferret, and that was more flattering than the usual compliments she received.

  When his mouth closed over hers, she made her body go limp and tried to lose herself in the kiss. She tuned out Elmer’s persistent squeaks, as well as the hum of traffic outside. She focused, her entire body concentrating on the moment, and tried to conjure the sparks that surely were hiding just below the surface.

  Maybe this wasn’t the man of her dreams, but he was definitely the man she was now looking for: a good father, a good provider, a man with a wonderful sense of humor who didn’t kiss like a vacuum cleaner.

  Oh, yeah. This guy was pretty near perfect, even if he didn’t make her body tingle and thrum the way Jason had. Determined to feel a connection, she moved her lips, welcoming his kiss, her hand snaking around the back of his head to pull him closer. Aaron was the guy who could make her family whole. She was certain of—

  The door burst open with a bang, and before Lane even had time to breathe Aaron had been ripped away from her. He made a whoosh as the wind was knocked out of him. Lane jumped to her feet, and Aaron lifted his arms to shield his face from the young, lanky guy crouched over him. Behind them, Deena jumped up and down, yelling encouragement, even as Lane’s head spun from the sheer bizarreness of the situation.

  The intruder thrust his fist toward Aaron’s face, shifting the scenario from bizarre to dangerous, and Lane reacted immediately. Without thinking, she dove into the fray, sliding neatly between Aaron’s face and the intruder’s fist. She closed her eyes, waiting for a blow that didn’t come, all the while hearing the high-pitched wails of someone yelling, “Stop! Stop! Stop! What on earth are you doing?”

  It was only after she opened her eyes that she realized the yells were coming from her own mouth. She clamped it shut as the intruder hovered over her.

  And that’s when she noticed his skin-tight black shirt and the gold monogram of WPC—the familiar Protector logo of We Protect Mortals.

  The Council, it seemed, thought her date was a bad guy. The question, of course, was why.

  Elmer leaped and cheered, thrilled that the neophyte Protector had flattened the mortal. He scurried forward, then whipped out his little foot, managing to land a kick on Aaron’s perfectly Stair-mastered thigh. He reared back, ready to kick again, but Lane caught him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back.

  “Stop it!” she shouted. “What are you doing?” She twisted around to look at the Protector. “And who the devil are you?”

  “Uh,” said the Protector, glancing back toward Deena, “we’re here because, well, he . . . u
h . . .” He climbed off Aaron, clearly confused.

  I’ve been trying to tell you! Elmer chittered, even though he knew no one could understand him. Hopping Hera, won’t anyone listen to me? Davy’s been kidnapped—I saw it on the map in his room! On the tracking device the kid invented.

  “Calm down, Elmer,” Lane said, shifting him. “Jeez, you’re spastic.”

  I’m spastic? I’m the only reasonable one here. I saw it! The green light was over San Diego, and then—poof!—the light was out over the ocean. Either Zoe decided to play cruise director or the kid was kidnapped! And you’re working on your social calendar and calling me spastic. Harumph!

  He kicked and spat and squirmed until Lane finally dropped him. Then he ran to the piece of California that had fallen onto the floor. Right here, he said, bouncing up and down on the jigsaw puzzle. He’s right here.

  But no one was paying attention to him. As usual, he was underappreciated and ignored.

  “Where’s Davy?” Lane asked.

  Elmer jumped up and down. Here! Here!

  “When I, uh, last saw him, he was at Sea World watching Shamu,” Deena said. She licked her lips and cast a quick glance toward Aaron. “The thing is, I kind of need to talk to you about that.” Once again, the blonde’s lips thinned. She gestured to the Protector. “I thought maybe we could take a little trip with Boreas, here, and I’ll explain on the way.”

  The blood drained from Lane’s face and she dropped to the couch, using one hand to steady herself. Elmer crawled off California and settled down next to her, one paw resting on her leg. Her fingers twined in his fur, and he could feel her tension.

  “Right,” she whispered. She glanced at Aaron. “You’ve got a lot of work to do. You should probably head on back to the office.”

  “I can stay,” he said. “It’s no problem . . .” He trailed off as Lane got up and silently moved to the kitchen, ignoring him and everyone else.

  Aaron turned to Deena. “What’s going on?”

  “PMS?” Deena suggested, her smile weak.

  Aaron’s head tilted just slightly. “Huh? I don’t think so.”

  Deena’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. Then she swung an arm around Aaron’s shoulder and aimed him toward the door. Elmer silently cheered her on. “Whatever the reason, Lane asked you to go.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You don’t want to be one of those clingy men who don’t give women space, do you?”

  “No, but—”

  “I didn’t think so.” The door was open, and Deena shoved him through. “She really likes you,” she added, then closed the door on Aaron’s confused face.

  Elmer had to applaud her performance. He couldn’t have done it better himself.

  “Come on, sweetie,” Deena called to Lane as she headed into the kitchen. “I’ll explain on the way.” Boreas followed.

  It was a full minute before Elmer realized they weren’t coming back. Apparently they’d decided to take the less conventional fly-out-the-bedroom-window route, perhaps in case Aaron was still hanging around the front yard. Elmer raced toward Davy’s room, slipping and sliding along the way, but by the time he got there the trio was just a speck in the distance.

  Gone.

  He knew right where Hieronymous had taken Davy, but he was stuck in an apartment with no one to tell.

  No dinner, no remote control, and no way to save the day. This was definitely not one of his better moments.

  5

  Kidnapped!

  Lane’s chest tightened, the thought of Davy alone and helpless with someone as vile as Hieronymous bringing fresh tears to her eyes. Her body seemed to cave in on itself, and she struggled, needing air, needing to get down, needing to find her son.

  “Calm down, ma’am,” Boreas whispered in her ear, even as his arm tightened around her waist. “We’re almost there.”

  Lane nodded, trying to blink back the tears. She was Davy’s only parent, and damned if she was going to fall apart now. Deena reached over and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. Lane gratefully returned the gesture. She wanted to be strong and composed and in control but, considering the way her insides were quaking with fear, she wasn’t doing a very good job.

  She looked down, then drew in a startled breath as she realized how fast Sea World was rising up to greet them. Only moments before, Boreas had linked his arm around her waist and taken off from Davy’s bedroom window. Now they and Deena were almost a hundred miles away in San Diego. And while that reality might be a tad weird, it was also encouraging. The simple fact was that her friends were superheroes—if anyone would be able to rescue her son it was Zoe and the Protectors of the Council.

  Unfortunately, though, that didn’t calm her nerves. Her son was missing, and even if every single superhero, FBI agent, and police officer on the planet was looking for him, she wouldn’t feel better until Davy was back in her arms.

  Damn Hieronymous! Deena seemed certain the Outcast leader was the kidnapper, though she hadn’t yet explained why. What on earth did that big bully want with her son?

  She didn’t know and, at the moment, she didn’t care. She just wanted Davy back. That, and the opportunity to give Hieronymous a swift kick in the nuts.

  But until she met Zoe’s Uncle H face to face, she intended to dole out that particular punishment to the creep Deena said they’d caught. The one who’d taken Davy. The one who, hopefully, had hidden the boy somewhere nearby.

  Officer Boreas twisted in the air, the motion jarring Lane from her thoughts. Her fingers were numb, and she realized it was a good thing Boreas was a Protector; otherwise his arm would be in pain from how tightly she’d been clinging to it.

  Suddenly the ground was beneath Lane’s feet and she was standing. She gasped, her balance unsteady. They were in Shamu’s theater, and Deena’s arm was around her, steadying, as Boreas ran off to talk with a group of similarly dressed people.

  “Zoe must have called in more backup,” Deena said.

  “Where is Zoe?” Lane asked. “And where’s the bastard who took my son?”

  “I don’t know,” Deena said. “She was right there.” Deena pointed to the far corner near a little building. Several Protectors were fluttering around there, looking busy, but no Zoe.

  Then one of the Protectors moved aside, and there he was: the man who’d taken her son. His head was down, so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew he had to be the culprit. For one thing, he was flanked on either side by burly Protectors in bone-white, official-looking cloaks embroidered with gold. In addition, his wrists were bound by golden cuffs. All very prisoner cliche.

  The rest of him, however, wasn’t from central casting. Not at all. Shirtless, the man’s broad chest glistened, beads of sweat reflecting the sunlight. A simple white towel was knotted at his waist, and his feet were bare. She couldn’t see his thighs, but his calves were well-formed, with long, lean muscles. His hair was dark, almost black, but other than that, she could see nothing of him from the neck up.

  She’d seen enough. From an empirical standpoint, she could tell the man was magnificent. Lane felt a sudden surge of anger that someone so physically perfect could be so morally vile.

  With her heart pounding in her chest, she approached, her blood practically boiling. The Protectors might not have been able to wrest from this creep the location of her son, but Lane was quite sure he wasn’t going to be able to withstand the interrogation of an irate mother.

  “Where is my son?” she called out as she stomped forward. “What did you do with Da—”

  She snapped her mouth shut, her voice suddenly blocked by her heart, which had leapt up into her throat the second the man lifted his head.

  Jason.

  The one man she’d ever truly loved, the only man she’d ever truly hated, was standing right in front of her, accused of stealing her child.

  Hieronymous stepped from his private yacht onto the dock of his secret island in the South Pacific. Unlike some of his property, he’d manage
d to keep this island unregistered. And, despite his son Jason’s escape from this very island, Hieronymous believed the Council remained unaware of its existence.

  He allowed himself a small, self-congratulatory smile. Thanks to yet another of his brilliant inventions, he’d hidden this place from prying eyes. It was unknown and uncharted, and he intended to keep it that way.

  In fact, he usually arrived by Propulsion Cloak—the Council’s ridiculous rule prohibiting Outcasts from using any powers or equipment be damned—but on this trip his boat served the necessary purpose of transporting both his equipment and the irritating little Davy. He only hoped his device jamming the Council’s satellite had functioned properly. Now was certainly not the time to have his little secret discovered.

  He’d been surprised but pleased that Mordichai had actually managed to pull off the stunt without any setbacks. He’d been leery of sending the boy on so important an assignment, but Mordi’s shapeshifting abilities had proven beneficial.

  The clatter of little feet sounded on wooden steps, then Davy emerged from the yacht and stopped short, his eyes once again widening with fear as he saw Hieronymous. Automatically, Hieronymous plastered on a smile, despite the hypocrisy of it. Why in Hades should he care if the child was afraid? Certainly the boy had much to fear—as much as Hieronymous had to gain.

  Mordi stepped out from the cabin behind the kid, then guided Davy toward the ramp. The boy’s face relaxed, and Hieronymous marveled at his son’s ability to calm the tyke. It was not a skill he’d expected, and was certainly an added benefit. If the lad trusted Mordi, it would be that much easier to get Davy in place and prepped for Operation IQ.

  As he watched Mordi and Davy move down the dock toward the entrance to the island complex, Hieronymous stifled the urge to rub his hands together. Operation IQ—which he fondly referred to as Project Dumb and Dumber—had been stuck in the planning stages for years. Despite his keen intellect and superior technological skills, Hieronymous had never been able to make the last piece fit. Not, that is, until he came at the problem from a different angle. He didn’t need to think harder. He needed to be smarter.