by Julie Kenner
They stayed like that, in companionable silence, until Taylor slipped his hand into hers. Suddenly the silence filled with the gentle tingle of bells and fairy songs, and Zoë realized she felt perfectly and completely at home. The feeling had nothing to do with her senses—it was in her heart, in her head. And it terrified her as much as it enticed.
She blinked and tugged her hand away, frowning. She wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Not about a mortal, not when all she wanted was a fling. Not when the only thing she’d been planning was to take Zoë Smith and her supersenses for a test drive.
“Are you okay?”
When she looked up, she saw that Taylor was watching her, concern in his eyes. She tried out a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, and it was the truth. She’d never been better, and the realization terrified her.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Emily,” she said, only then realizing that the teacher had been on her mind. “My friend. The one you were trying to dig up dirt on. Why did you stop looking for her?”
“You.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“You,” he repeated. “You were right. I didn’t enjoy it. And I realized the only reason I was working was to pay the bills.”
“That’s a pretty good reason to work,” Zoë admitted.
“I can’t knock eating, but if that’s all I wanted, I could have stayed with the police department.”
“I don’t understand.”
He nodded but remained silent. Then he said sharply, “Why are you here? Why this big production for your mother, I mean?”
She frowned, not understanding where he was going. “Well, she worries about me. Dating. Alone in the big city.” She shrugged. “You know.”
“No, I really don’t. I wish I did, actually.”
She started to ask what he meant, but stayed quiet, somehow realizing that he was collecting his thoughts.
After a moment, he shifted, facing her more directly. “I never knew my mother. I grew up in foster homes, shuttled from house to house.”
He picked up a stone and tossed it absently over the cliff. After a few seconds, Zoë heard it splash lightly into the water below.
“I didn’t mind the moving,” he said. “I minded not having a home, always tiptoeing about. Never feeling a part of anything that happened. I just had walls. But what’s so special about walls?”
Without moving his head, he glanced at her. “I’d never even met my real parents, and yet I hated them. Ripping my life apart like that. Dumping me in the middle of a Wal-Mart like a toaster they wanted to return.” He blew out a loud breath. “In my mind, they made a mess of my life before it even started.”
Zoë nodded, silent. She couldn’t imagine hating Donis or Tessa, but she understood what it was like to be ripped down the middle by events over which she had no control. And, Zeus knew, she knew what it felt like to not belong, to feel like a guest in one’s own world.
Gently she took his hands in hers. For a moment they just stood there; then he flashed her a devilish grin, turning the moment lighter. “Of course, I wasn’t the easiest kid in the world to deal with, either. According to my social worker, finding me a permanent home was harder than finding a hot-dog stand on the moon.”
Zoë cringed, wishing she could give that social worker a nice, hard kick in the—
“Hell, he was probably right. But I ended up in a lot of not-so-great houses. Saw a lot of not-so-great things.” He caught her eye. “Terrible things, actually. Terrible people doing terrible things, and I was just a kid. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
He shrugged, shaking a bit, as if trying to shed the memories. “By the time I got out of school, I knew two things for certain: I wanted a real home, a real life. And I wanted to do everything in my power to stop people like the ones I’d grown up around.” He shrugged. “Spying on folks like Emily Parker didn’t exactly fit that bill.”
For a moment he turned away, looking out toward the ocean, his eyes wistful. Then he blinked and his face hardened, but Zoë could still see the vulnerable boy beneath, and her heart wrenched.
“Well,” he said, turning to her. “There’s my life on the line. What about you, Zoë Smith? What is it you want?”
A good question. She nibbled on her lower lip as she thought about everything he’d said—everything he wanted, and everything he’d been denied. They were such simple goals, really: stopping the bad people, living the life his parents had denied him.
“I want pretty much the same thing,” she said, realizing as she spoke that the words were completely true. She wanted exactly the same thing as a mortal. So maybe they weren’t really that different after all.
“Just a normal life,” she added. But the question still remained—what was normal for her?
“I thought so,” he said with a smile. He stroked her cheek, and she shivered. “I hope you get it, Zoë Smith. I hope we both do.”
As he turned slightly, his eyes widened, and then he leaned in toward the yard, squinting at something off in the distance. “Is that Hoop?”
Zoë glanced across the lawn. “That’s him all right.” She raised a hand to wave.
Taylor squinted some more. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He nodded, but didn’t look convinced until Hoop came a few yards closer. “So it is, and he’s coming over here. Damn. Company.”
She laughed. “It is a party. I think we’re supposed to mingle.” Not that she would have raised serious objections to spending the entire night alone with Taylor. “Besides, we still have to deal with my—”
“Mother. I know. Not that I’m eager to share your company, but we are supposed to be playing the perfect couple for your mother.” He squeezed her hand. “And I’m a natural for the role, if I do say so myself.”
Hoop crested the small hill and joined them.
“What are you doing here?” Taylor asked. “Schmoozing?”
“I don’t schmooze,” said Hoop. “But I do accept invitations for parties where alcohol and tiny little sausages on toothpicks are being served.” He offered Zoë a plate piled high with appetizers. “Munchie?”
“No thanks.”
Hoop squinted at her. “Deenie did your makeup, right?”
“Yup. She pretty much insisted I wear some.” She tilted her head back and smiled at Taylor. “You’re the occasion, actually. Usually I go with more of an au naturel style.”
“I think you’d look fabulous au naturel.” Taylor winked. “Completely natural, actually.”
Her cheeks warmed as Hoop laughed.
“My buddy Taylor’s not one for subtlety,” Hoop said.
Taylor shrugged. “Just telling it like it is.”
Hoop nodded toward Zoë. “Well, if Deena was hoping to make you Cosmo’s new cover girl with that makeup job, I think she needs to put in a little more practice.”
“What do you mean?”
Hoop tapped his forehead. Experimentally, she wiped her finger above her brow, then looked at her hand—black grease. She sighed and almost ran her hands through her hair before remembering that would only make things worse.
“A little bit of grease doesn’t bother me,” Taylor said with a laugh. “Still, it doesn’t seem to be keeping in line with the other guests.” He dipped the corner of a handkerchief in his champagne and moved closer, dabbing at her forehead.
She held her breath, forcing her body not to rip into a million pieces just because of his touch. So far, so good. Maybe concentration really was the key, because it seemed to be working. Instead of being on fire, she felt warm and safe. Instead of feeling like she needed to run, to burn off kilowatts of unspent energy, she felt secure and taken care of.
What a wonderfully nice feeling . . .
“Where is Deena anyway?”
Hoop ripped a little sausage off a toothpick with his teeth. “With yer muffer,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He gesture
d over his shoulder with his thumb, then swallowed. “She’s with your mother. By the fountain.”
“Deena?” Zoë said, sure her voice was squeaking. “With my mother? As in talking? Together? By themselves?” Oh, Hera’s handbag. Why couldn’t they have reached the party sooner? This had disaster written all over it.
Taylor looked at her. “What’s the matter? Afraid she’s going to reveal all your deep, dark secrets?”
“Actually, I just thought she’d tell my mom about our little arrangement.” She bit her lower lip. “But now that you mention it . . .” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on.”
“Hell of a grip you’ve got there, lady,” he said, limping a bit as he jogged alongside her.
She glanced at him, noting the way he favored one leg. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s sore, but fine.”
“What happened?” she asked, then regretted the question as she saw his pained expression. It lasted only a second, but long enough for her to know she’d touched a nerve. “Sorry.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you.” He drew in a breath. “I screwed up.”
“How?”
“I was trying to protect a witness. I shouldn’t have moved her out of the safehouse, but I thought it had been marked. Her former boss managed to tail us, and I caught a bullet.”
Zoë swallowed. “Was she killed?”
He shook his head, pointing to his thigh. “This was meant for her.”
“Then you saved her.” Her heart swelled as she imagined him risking his life for an innocent woman.
A flash of anger played across his face. “I shouldn’t have endangered her in the first place. I was arrogant and stupid.”
“It sounds to me like you were trying to keep her safe. You couldn’t have known you were being followed.”
He snorted.
“So you quit because of that?”
“Sort of.” He glanced at her, as if considering saying more, then shrugged. “It’s like I said earlier. They were going to put me into some administrative job. Research or some such nonsense. Have me work a desk until some other desk jockey gave me an okay to return to the field. Me. The guy who’d earned more commendations than anyone in the department. I told them to go screw themselves.” He rolled his eyes. “Actually, I was a little more polite than that, but I left all the same.”
“Is it that important to be in the field? I mean, most of being a detective is using your head, right?”
He gave her a wry grin. “It was that important to me.”
“I’ll buy that,” she said. “But you only answered half my question.”
He jammed a hand into his pocket. “You sound like Captain Dodsen.” He scowled, his forehead furrowing. “ ‘Taylor, being a detective’s about brains, not brawn. Come back and do some good.’ ” He shrugged. “The thing is, I know I can still do the job.”
“You can’t do it from a desk?”
“I shouldn’t have to,” he said. “And anyway, now I’m doing it on my own.” He shrugged. “So you wanna tell me why we were rushing?”
“Nope,” she said, picking up her pace again. “A girl’s entitled to a few secrets, right? Mind if we hurry back up?”
“Not at all,” he said, huffing a little as he matched her stride for stride. “I take it your friend has a few secrets you’d rather not share with your mom?”
“Right you are.”
“Or with me.”
“Right again.”
“But what if I’m curious about those secrets?”
She stopped, and he stumbled to a halt next to her. “Are you?” she asked, knowing the answer. The real question was how he’d react to the answers—answers she never intended to give. Not after knowing how her mom had reacted to Daddy’s little revelation.
“Hey, I’m an investigator, remember? It’s what I do. Figure stuff out.”
“Are you going to try to figure me out?” she asked, the possibility both alluring and terrifying.
He framed her face with his hands, and she shivered—not from the contact of his skin against hers, but from what she saw in his eyes. Something wild. Something fiery.
And, Lord help her, it was a look she wanted to see again. Despite her fears, despite the danger, she wanted to see it again, needed to see it again.
“Sweetheart,” he said, brushing the pad of his thumb over her lip. “I don’t try. I do.”
Fourteen
“It’s past six,” Tessa said, glancing at her watch. She took a long sip of champagne, then looked up at Deena. “Was she running late?”
“Nope. Early.” Actually, Taylor had arrived early, but that didn’t mean they’d left Zoë’s apartment early—or even on time. She’d known Zoë for a while now, and never once had Deena seen her so worked up about a member of the opposite sex. And Taylor certainly hadn’t been lacking desire, either.
In fact, considering the electricity zinging between the two of them—and considering everything she’d learned about Zoë recently—Deena was amazed she herself had managed to get out of the apartment without being hit by some fireball of passion. She wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the lovebirds had lingered.
Damn, but she wished she were an animathingamajig. Then maybe she could talk to ferret-face and get the scoop.
Tessa took another peek at her watch.
“Don’t worry,” Deena said. “They’ll be here.” She craned her neck, trying to spot Zoë in the crowd. Nothing. Damn.
“Maybe they decided to go off on their own,” Tessa said. “Young lovers, distracted, desperate to be alone?” She swung an arm wide, apparently trying to illustrate the joys of youth, and almost fell off the bench.
Deena caught Tessa’s arm. “I’m sure they’re on the way.” After all the trouble they’d had finding Zoë a date for this specific party—to appease this specific mother—there was no way Zoë would have skipped out.
“Maybe they stopped for a bite,” Tessa suggested, downing the last of her bubbly.
“I hope not. There’s plenty to go around here.” Deena’s gaze swept the lawn, taking in all the little tables set up with food and drink. Her mouth watered, and she sighed, fantasizing about dainty cream puffs with gooey fillings. Before she and Hoop headed for the Bowl, she intended to do some serious appetizer sampling.
Tessa turned back to Deena, her face set. “You still haven’t told me about Zoë’s affair.”
“Of course I have,” Deena hedged.
Tessa released an exaggerated sigh. “Details, sweetie.” She took Deena’s hand. “We need to get down to the details.”
“The details,” Deena repeated dumbly. Oh, God.
“For example,” Tessa said, cupping her hand behind her ear. “Do I hear wedding bells?”
Deena squinted, fighting the effects of the champagne she’d drank. Just answer her questions. Answer the questions and don’t volunteer information. If you keep your mouth mostly shut, you’ll get through this just fine.
She took a deep breath, trying to answer without telling a bold-faced lie. Instead, she’d just stretch the truth beyond recognition—like a comic strip on Silly Putty. “I doubt they’ve talked about marriage yet.” That, at least, was 100 percent true.
“Is he successful? What kind of husband would he make? Does he have a retirement plan?” Tessa turned, shifting on the bench until she was facing Deena head-on. “Most important, does he love my daughter? And does she love him?”
“You’re putting me in a heck of a spot here, Tessa. I mean, Zoë’s one of my best friends.” And although Deena hadn’t checked the manual recently, she was pretty sure that revealing a friend’s secret lusts to her mother was a definite no-no.
“I just worry about her.” Zoë’s mom tilted her champagne glass back, then scowled when she realized it was empty. She set it aside, then leaned closer to Deena, as if to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets. “I worry about her and . . . it.”
Deena frowned, clueless. “It? What it
?”
“You know. S . . . E . . . X.”
“Oh! It.” Well, this was new. Deena’d done a lot of things in her life, but she’d never, ever discussed a friend’s sex life with that friend’s mother. She prided herself on being pretty open-minded, but this pushed even her envelope. New millennium or not, if these were the new rules, she’d like to go back a few centuries, thank you very much. This was embarrassing.
“I hope Taylor’s patient,” Tessa continued, apparently unperturbed. “Is he?”
Oh, dear. She downed the last of her champagne in one gulp. Despite the coolness of the liquid, her cheeks warmed, a rather disconcerting experience considering she rarely blushed. “Um . . . I guess so.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“I told you, honey. Sex.”
Hopefully Tessa wasn’t praising the virtues of a lover with a slow hand. Deena wasn’t sure she could handle having that particular discussion with the woman. “I’m still not following you.”
Tessa’s brow furrowed, as if she were searching for words. “Zoë’s never been big on physical inflection,” Tessa finally said, and Deena wondered how many glasses of champagne she’d polished off.
“What?”
Tessa rolled her eyes, then looped an arm around Deena’s shoulder to pull her close; they came nose-to-nose. “You know. Psychical affection.”
This was going to be a longer party than she’d expected. “Still lost,” she said.
Tessa sighed as only a long-suffering mother could, then poked Deena in the arm. “Touching. She doesn’t even like to be hugged.”
Finally! Something that made sense. “Physical affection! Well, I’m not surprised,” Deena mumbled, her mouth shoved up against Tessa’s shoulder. “What with her sense of to—”
Uh-oh. She clamped her mouth shut, then pulled back out of Tessa’s grasp.
Tessa leaned back, peering at Deena with determined eyes. “What?”
“What?” Deena repeated, stalling.
“You said something . . .” Tessa trailed off, scowling, her hand twirling. “About her sense of . . .” She shrugged. “Something.”
“Oh!” said Deena. “I said she’s sensitive. She’s a very sensitive girl, your Zoë. That’s why she’s so great with kids.”