by Julie Kenner
“You’ve been on my mind all week. Constantly. Pervasively. Hell, I can’t do anything without thinking about you.” He smiled, his eyes dark, dangerous. Dangerous to her heart, to her head. “You’ve become my obsession.”
She smiled, unreasonably delighted at the thought of being someone’s obsession. That wasn’t exactly status quo for her.
But he’s a mortal, Zoë. Dangerous territory, very dangerous.
She took a deep breath. Righto. That it is. She shouldn’t get involved, couldn’t get involved. No matter how tempting he might be . . .
“I should go.”
“So you hate me, right?”
“What? No.” Hate him? Her feelings were a heck of a long way from hate. “Why on earth would I hate you?”
He shrugged, looking sheepish and adorable. “That stuff about Emily. All of this.” He spread his arms, indicating the car, the street. “I mean, most men use the telephone.”
“I have a feeling you’re not most men.”
The smile that touched his lips just about brought her to tears. “No,” he said, reaching for her. “I’m not.”
She gasped as he took her hand, the pad of his thumb caressing her palm. Like a phoenix, she burst into flames, only to be reborn over and over and over from his touch. She squirmed, trying to settle her insides, trying to block the wonderful sensations shooting down the tips of her fingers all the way to the ends of her hair.
She was on fire. She was alive.
She was anxious and fascinated and oddly at peace, all at the same time.
Oh, mother of Zeus. How she wanted his touch, wanted his hands on every part of her body. Wanted more than that, so much more.
But she couldn’t handle it, shouldn’t even try.
Every cell was singing, every atom in her body spinning out of control. She’d left his car and was floating on a rainbow of colors, electricity zipping through her, leaving her gasping for breath. Leaving her wanting, needing.
Terrified.
She summoned her strength and pulled her hand away, the loss of contact leaving her hollow, a shell of herself. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t get involved.
She clasped her hands in her lap and tried not to cry.
“Are you okay?” Real concern shown in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry. But I’m . . . I’m . . .” She took a deep breath, grappling for an excuse. “I want to, so help me, I do. But I can’t. I’m not . . . There’s some—”
“I know.” His jaw tightened.
“Know?”
“You’re already seeing someone.” He said the words like a curse. “Right?”
In a way, he’d pegged the situation just right. She was taken. Not by a man, but what did it matter? The bottom line was still the same.
“Yes,” she said, the words costing her everything. “I’m not available.”
From the far end of the street, Mordi watched Zoë talking with the investigator. That made twice he’d seen her with the man—first at the library and now here. And from the look in her eye, Mordi doubted this would be the last time they would be together.
Interesting.
And potentially useful.
His mind turned over the possibilities. The stone was lost in the mortal world. True, he had use of Hieronymous’s tracking device, but it was proving sadly unreliable. All it seemed to be able to determine was that the stone was in Los Angeles. But L.A. was a rather large haystack.
Good old-fashioned legwork had led him to the thrift store where the stone had turned up. And through good, old-fashioned luck, he’d seen the woman who bought the gem. But when he’d tried to snag it, Zoë had interfered. His target had retrieved her purse, and Mordi had lost track of the gem. It could be with the first woman, it could be with Zoë, or it could be lost somewhere on the streets of L.A.
If he had to go poking around in the mortal world, what better way than to enlist the aid of a mortal? Especially a mortal who would, quite likely, be in a position to know if the stone reached Zoë.
Mordi smiled. Tomorrow he would engage the services of Mr. George Bailey Taylor, private investigator.
Six
The ringing phone woke Taylor from a particularly pleasant dream. He groped for the handset, finally grabbing it and pulling it to his ear. “What?”
“Pardon me, Mr. Taylor.” The cultured voice was smarmy and definitely not that of the librarian of whom he’d been dreaming. “Did I wake you?”
Taylor glanced at the clock. Almost noon. “No. Up for hours.”
“I have a job for you, if you have the time to take it on.”
Taylor sat up and swung his feet to the floor, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head. “Um, yeah, sure. What kind of case?”
“A stolen gemstone. A family heirloom. I’d like it located and returned. To me.” The polished voice paused. “I’m prepared to pay your hourly rate, plus ten thousand dollars for finding the item.”
Whoa! Fully awake, Taylor shot to his feet, then winced as his leg throbbed.
“Mr. Taylor? Is that acceptable?”
He looked around his apartment, noting the empty Chinese food take-out containers and the empty cans of beer. Since ditching Parker’s case, he’d been living on leftovers and avoiding his landlord. Except for a few skip traces—checking up on people who’d skipped out on bills—work had pretty much dried up. A neat little infusion of cash was exactly what he needed. “Uh, yeah. I think I can work you in.”
Ice-cold milk, Oreos, her quilt, and the remote control—pretty much all Zoë needed for a perfect Saturday at home.
Too bad this wasn’t a perfect Saturday. It was pretty dismal, actually.
Scowling, she eyed the phone she’d dragged to the coffee table—the same phone that had refused to ring all morning. No calls at all, and definitely no calls from Buster. Of course, he had no reason to call. Not anymore. Not since he thought she was involved with someone else. But even though she’d lied, even though she’d pushed him away, even though getting involved with a mortal was bad news—oh, sweet Hera—how she’d hoped he’d ignore her rejection.
She shifted on the couch and focused again on the phone, willing it to ring, but the darn thing remained stubbornly silent.
Well, heck.
And she still didn’t know Buster’s phone number, so she couldn’t even recant her lie.
But that was for the best. She needed to keep telling herself that. Getting involved with Buster Taylor would be a mistake. A big, huge, hairy mistake.
She clicked on the television, turned the volume way down, and started surfing, determined not to think about Buster Taylor.
She’d done the right thing. No question about it.
It just happened to suck that the right thing left her so darn miserable.
Absently, she picked up the odd green necklace the woman she’d saved had given her, twining the chain through her fingers as she tried to collect her thoughts. On top of her serious lack of phone calls, in just a few hours Deena was going to be rapping on her door. And since Zoë had made a promise, she couldn’t go back on her word. She’d tell Deena everything, even though by telling she’d be breaking yet another set of rules.
The doorbell rang, and Zoë jumped. She turned around, dropping the necklace as she knelt on the couch cushions, then shoved her glasses down her nose to look through the door.
“Zoë? Are you home? It’s your mother.”
So it was. Standing right outside Zoë’s door holding a shopping bag. Odd. Zoë shoved her glasses back into place. “Just a sec, Mom.”
She opened the door and Tessa brushed in, pushing the bag into Zoë’s arms. “I thought we were going shopping today. Did you forget about the Andersons’ party tomorrow?”
Yup. She’d completely forgotten. “No, of course not.”
“Zoë . . .”
“Maybe I sort of forgot.”
Tessa sighed, long and drawn out. “Sweetheart, you need to get out. Go on dates. Have fun.”
&nb
sp; She moved to put her arm around Zoë’s shoulder, but Zoë eased sideways, not looking her mother in the eye.
“Yes. Well.” Tessa cleared her throat. “I just worry about you. Sometimes you remind me so much of . . .”
“Who, Mom?”
Tessa lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug, then moved the rest of the way into the apartment. She dropped onto the couch and nodded at Zoë, still standing in the hallway clutching the bag. “I hit the sales racks. I thought you might like these.”
“Mom. Who?” She took a step into the living room, wondering if now was the time to take care of that Affidavit of Mortal Disclosure requirement. She took a deep breath. “Do I remind you of Daddy?”
Tessa flashed a weak smile. “Yes.”
Zoë released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I’m sorry you never knew him,” Tessa began, then stopped.
Now. She should tell her mother now that Donis had introduced himself when Zoë was only three. That he’d been a secret part of Zoë’s life for as long as she remembered, and that she loved him as much as she loved Tessa.
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. “Why didn’t I ever meet him?” she asked instead.
Tessa nibbled on her lower lip, and her gaze didn’t quite meet her daughter’s. “I . . . I sent him away. I made him promise he would honor my wish—that he’d stay far away from me.” Her eyes met Zoë’s. “I didn’t understand . . . I didn’t realize.”
She shook her head as if shaking off a mood. “Your father always took his promises very, very seriously.” She smiled, but the sadness never left her eyes. “It was for the best, though.”
“Why?”
“He was . . . different.”
“How?” Zoë pressed, hoping her mother would reveal the truth and open the door for Zoë’s own confession.
“He . . .” She trailed off, her eyes moist. “No, it doesn’t matter.” She lifted her hand to brush Zoë’s cheek, but Zoë moved backward, pressing herself against the soft cushions. It wouldn’t do for her senses to go haywire in front of her mother. How on earth would she explain that?
“He would have adored you,” Tessa added, pulling her hand back and holding it primly in her lap. “But I couldn’t live with his . . . with him.”
Which meant Tessa could hardly live with Zoë any more easily. She’d loved Donis—her father had always been sure of it—and yet she’d pushed him away. Tessa would push Zoë away, too, if she found out her daughter could see through walls, hear a whisper a mile away, put a karate black belt to shame, and do all the other odd little tricks her father and Hale had secretly taught her.
“At any rate,” Tessa said brightly, “why don’t I fix you up with a date for the party?”
Zoë rolled her eyes. “No, Mom,” she said, wishing she had the nerve to explain why dating was out of the question. “Between you and Deena, it’s a wonder I’m not engaged five times over. But I’m really, really, really not looking to date anyone right now.”
She picked up the remote control and started idly flipping channels, waiting for the “you need to get out and find a husband” speech to start.
“You need to at least get your feet wet.”
“Bad analogy, Mom. You make dating sound like drowning.”
“I just don’t understand why a pretty, bright woman doesn’t get out more.”
“Maybe I’m shy.”
Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re not telling me something?”
That was an understatement. Not to mention an opening. But Zoë just couldn’t make the words come. This was a nightmare. Her own personal nightmare.
Sometimes she wished Donis had just bitten the bullet and told Tessa the truth himself. But all along, he’d said it was Zoë’s decision to make—join the council and tell her mother, or choose mortalization and Tessa would never need to know. Darn her father for being so righteous when he could have made everything so much easier for her. At least then she wouldn’t have to make her own decision.
Tessa leaned closer, her face intense. “Sweetheart, you used to tell me everything. Is something the matter?”
Zoë shrugged, feeling guilty. Never had she told Tessa everything. But lately she’d been sharing less and less. “I just don’t see what’s the big deal. I mean, you never dated after Daddy—I mean, my father—left.”
For just an instant, a cloud crossed Tessa’s face. Then it cleared, and she sighed. “True. But I retired from the game. That’s different from never playing.”
“So maybe I’m not into sports,” Zoë said, cringing at how glib she sounded when her mother only wanted to help.
Why did this have to be so hard? She wanted to tell her mother everything—about Buster, and how he made her tingle all over even without her wacky senses. But how could she explain why she was terrified of dating without telling her mother the whole story?
When she’d been a little kid, she’d kept a few secrets from her, but mostly her mom had been her best friend. The other children had picked up that she was different—it was hard to fool kids—and had cut a wide berth. Even Donis and Hale would disappear for weeks at a time. But Tessa had always been there.
Zoë couldn’t bear to lose her now. Even if she couldn’t share the details, she could still draw strength from knowing her mom cared.
But once she told her . . . then Tessa would be gone. And nothing in the world would be able to bring her back.
“Zoë, sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything.” Tessa scooted closer on the couch. This time, when she took Zoë’s hand, Zoë didn’t jerk away. Instead she mustered all her concentration to keep her sense of touch from going nuts.
“I do read Cosmo, you know,” Tessa said. “And . . . well . . . I watch Maury Povich all the time. So if there’s anything you want to discuss . . .”
Zoë squinted, clueless. “I’m not following you, Mom.”
Tessa’s forehead crinkled. “It’s just that I want you to know that it’s okay if . . . well . . . I’ll understand perfectly if . . .” She took a deep breath while Zoë watched, her mouth hanging open and absolutely no idea where the conversation was going. “Sweetheart, you do like men, right?”
“Mother!” Zoë leaped to her feet. “Of course I do!” This keeping secrets thing was getting way out of control. “Men are great. Men are way up there on my top-ten list.” Especially certain adorable dark-haired men. “In fact, I even have a date for tomorrow.”
Tessa blinked. “A real date?”
Zoë frowned. In Mom-speak, there was a big difference between platonic buddy for her possibly lesbian daughter and potential son-in-law material.
“Of course.” She mentally crossed her fingers. “Definitely real.”
“Have I met him? What does he do? How long have you been seeing him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” Zoë swept her hand, indicating the room now filled with her mother’s excitement. “You’re gonna terrify the poor guy. Not to mention making me incredibly nervous.”
“Sorry,” Tessa said, but she didn’t look it. Instead she looked like the cat who’d just swallowed the canary. “You just date so rarely.” She grinned. “Are you nervous?”
Zoë pictured Buster. “A little.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Yes. “No. Thanks, Mom, but I’m fine. And Deena’s on her way over, so I should—”
“I get the message.” Tessa stood up, tucking her purse under her arm. “I’ll meet him tomorrow, then. Six sharp. Don’t forget.”
“We won’t,” Zoë said, then coughed. “He’s looking forward to it.”
Hoo-boy. She followed her mother to the door, then held her breath through a quick peck on the cheek. She shut the door, flipped the lock, then sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She hated lying to Tessa, but lately it was getting harder and harder not to. The council, boyfriends, the whole shebang.
&nb
sp; The affidavit might be major problem number one, but she didn’t have to turn it in until Tuesday night. Compared to the few hours she now had to find a date for tomorrow, that was an eternity. Which meant that—at least for the evening—her serious lack of male companionship had been bumped to the number one trouble slot.
Sighing, she rested her chin on her knees and eyed the phone again, hoping Buster Taylor was the telepathic sort. She’d been an idiot last night for not getting his number. Now she knew better. When confronted with the object of your lust, forget the cool and distant approach. Always take down the vital stats.
Now, unless Buster picked up the phone and dialed, he wasn’t in the running for potential date material. Which raised a whole new problem. Where on earth was she going to find a date in time for the Andersons’ party?
“Come on. Give.” Deena slammed through the door, then slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw that Zoë was on the phone. “Sorry.”
Zoë held up a finger, silently promising she’d be off in a minute, and listened as vice principal Tandon explained, in excruciating detail, why he couldn’t take her to the Andersons’ party. “It’s okay, Billy. Thanks anyway.” Finally she hung up and leaned back against the wall, shaking her head. “Billy Tandon talks more than anyone I know.”
“Is he helping with the library?”
“No. I need a date.”
“I knew that. We had this conversation yesterday.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Yesterday. Remember? Explanation? Full disclosure? I want to know everything. Can you fly without that?” She nodded toward the cloak on Zoë’s kitchen table. “Can you fly with me? Do you have laser vision? Superhearing? Can you leap tall buildings? Are you from another planet?”
Zoë laughed. “You’ve been watching too much television.”
“Well? Are you?”
“No.”
“What about the laser vision?”
“Not that I know of.” Her mouth twitched.
“What?” Deena asked, but Zoë just shook her head.
“X-ray vision, then?”
Zoë smiled. “Only if I don’t wear the glasses.”
A wide grin spread across Deena’s face. “Oh, wow. That is unbelievable. Superhearing?”
