Aphrodite's Kiss (13 page)

“Don’t remind me. But as long as I’m here, why don’t we do dinner? I can have Wolfgang Puck’s latest culinary masterpiece while you eat white rice.”

“Um,” she said, then pressed her lips together.

“Um?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” she began, drawing out the sound and reminding him of Samantha on
Bewitched
.

“What?”

“I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” he repeated, aghast. “For the love of Zeus, Zoë. A date? With a mortal? What in Hades are you thinking?”

“I was thinking I needed to find a date or else I’d end up spending the day with some dweeb my mother picked out.”

“Dweebs are good. Dweebs don’t ask questions.”
And you‘re not likely to
fall
for one
.

“For crying out loud, Hale, it’s just one party.”

“But a mortal—”

Let the girl have a little fun.

Zoë squinted toward the couch, from under which Elmer’s disembodied voice chittered. “What did he say?” she asked.

“Nothing. He’s on my side.”

No, I’m not. I’m
—

“You don’t need to be dating mortals,” he said firmly.

Domineering jerk.

“I don’t even know the guy,” Zoë said, looking suspiciously at the space beneath the sofa. “I’m even hiring him, okay? Besides, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”

“Let
me
fix you up with someone,” he suggested, almost begging.

She scowled at him. “Like who? Like Snydley, the man who can turn his body into rubber? Do you have any idea how hard a guy like that is to fend off when he decides to get frisky?”

Hale held up his hands. “At least he liked you.”

“No, he didn’t. Not really. And that’s the problem. Even if I wanted to go out with a Protector, they don’t want to have anything to do with a halfling.”

“Sure they do. They just—”

But he couldn’t finish. She was right. Only a handful of Protectors would go out with a halfling.

“There’s nothing wrong with mortals,” Zoë protested. “I’m half-mortal, remember?”

“You’re different,” he said, knowing it was a cop-out answer, but unable to put into words just how much ... well...
better
Protectors were than mortals. And, full-blooded or not, his sister was a Protector. Or would be soon.

Hale might indulge in occasional flings with mortal females, but that was completely different. They were good for his psyche. They kept him on his toes, kept his juices flowing. And there was no way that Hale was ever going to get suckered into thinking that the mundane, humdrum mortal existence was even remotely appealing.

But Zoë.

Well, as ... she herself had admitted, she was half-mortal, and a fling was just plain dangerous. What if she decided she
liked
being with a mortal? What if she wanted more than a fling? With a Protector, sure. He could get behind that. He’d even set her up with a buddy.

But a
mortal
? He stifled a shiver. Zoë could do so much better.

Saving mortals was one thing. Getting into relationships with them was something entirely different. For one thing, mortal-Protector relationships just didn’t work. Take his father and Zoë’s mother for example. Hale had been five years old when Tessa had sent Donis packing, making him promise to leave her alone forever. And a Protector’s promise to a mortal was a sacred thing. So Donis had walked away, even though the entire year before, he had told Hale over and over that the woman would adore him the moment she met him. That Hale would have a mother again, after his had been killed in a secret Protector mission when he was just a baby.

But at the end of the day, there hadn’t been any new mother. Tessa had shut Donis out of her life and never looked back.

Work with a mortal, yes. Bed them, sure. Protect them, always.

Trust them with your heart? Never.

And Zoë needed to learn the hard truth. He spoke in a no-nonsense tone: “Go easy on the mortals, okay? You need to concentrate on your application. On your tests. Now’s not the time to suddenly get distracted by all your wacky senses. Or some good-looking mortal.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’m fine. You don’t have to get all protective and weird on me every time I mention the word
date
. I know everything you think would happen, and I’m not going to do anything.”

Hale nodded slowly, wishing he could believe her, but it was hard, and the fact was, he was afraid of losing his little sister. If she got involved with a mortal, she just might decide to give up her heritage—to forget about turning in the affidavit—and submit to mortalization.

The possibility was more than a little disturbing. She’d lose her memory, and Hale would lose her. Not only that; there was that whole fate-of-the-world thing to worry about, too.

A mortal Zoë wouldn’t have any chance at all at keeping the stone from Mordi.

No, he’d have to keep a close watch on her. After all, he wanted the best for his little sister.

And the best was definitely
not
a mortal.

The problem was, if Hale was out looking for the stupid stone, he couldn’t run interference between Zoë and this mortal. He needed an early-warning device. Some way to know if she was falling too hard, too fast.

Some way to get good information on the state of his sister’s love life.

He thought of Elmer, curled up under the sofa.

Looks like his sister was in the pet-sitting business.

And Elmer was back in the sister-watching biz.

Saturday started out rainy, which matched Taylor’s mood. Ever since Zoë had said she was taken, he’d been under a cloud. Now, after almost twenty hours, all he wanted was to chow down on some really unhealthy food and try to forget about her.

Unfortunately, he’d emptied his checking account to pay Lane’s rent. And his credit card wasn’t any help.
Declined
seemed to be the word of the day. He finally scrounged up a dollar and eighty-five cents in Francis Capra’s glove compartment. Not enough for lobster, but it would get lunch.

He bought a hot dog from a convenience store and topped it with a cheese-food product, all for the bargain-basement price of a buck. Which left him with just enough for a soda to wash the stuff down.

It was just as well Zoë
’
d turned him down for a date.

It wasn’t as if he could afford to take her out, and tap water and crackers didn’t exactly make a stellar impression.

Still, he would have liked to just spend time with her. Maybe drive around the mountains. Take in the view. Ride bikes along the beach.

Taken.
He should have known, should’ve guessed. But the thought hadn’t even entered his mind until he’d watched Zoë laughing with
Baywatch
boy in the Ferrari. He’d seen her, and his testosterone level had skyrocketed.
Woman-mine
had pretty much been his Neanderthal way of thinking. And it depressed the hell out of him to know that some other caveman had already claimed his female.

Now, with Zoë on the brain, he headed for the Beverly Hills Hotel to keep his meeting with his new mystery client. He parked out front, and was just finishing his not-so-gourmet lunch when someone rapped on the window. Taylor rolled it down, ignoring the light rain that blew in. It was probably someone wanting him to move his car. “I’m not blocking traffic. I’ll be out of here in less than five minutes.”

“Mr. Taylor? I’m your appointment.”

The cultured voice was familiar, and Taylor groaned. “Sorry. Hop on in.”

The man circled around to the passenger side. The door opened and a slightly damp man with a hangdog expression slid into the car.

“I thought we were meeting in the hotel.”

“I saw you and decided to grasp the opportunity.”

Taylor grimaced, not sure he liked this guy’s style. Still, if the guy really had a job for him ...

He sighed, giving in to curiosity. “So tell me about this jewel, Mr.... ?”

“Mord—Mordon.” He held out his hand. “Mr. Mordon.”

Taylor shoved the last bite of hot dog into his mouth and took Mordon’s hand. It was cold and clammy. On top of that, he almost felt certain he’d seen this guy’s green eyes watching him before. They were creepy eyes, the kind that seemed to look straight through him. But that was crazy.

And yet Taylor didn’t trust the fellow. He was just about to open his mouth to say “Thanks, but no, thanks,” when the guy pulled out a wallet and withdrew five hundred-dollar bills, laying them on the dashboard.

“An advance on your fee.”

Taylor looked from the money to the guy, then back. He shrugged. Trust was highly overrated in the investigator-client relationship. So what if the guy was a little smarmy? He could live with smarmy so long as the bills got paid. And this guy was only looking for a jewel, not dirt on a perfectly nice woman.

“Okay. I’m in. You got a picture or something?”

“I tracked it to a thrift store,” the man said, “but was ... unable to catch up with the woman who purchased it.” He pulled a Polaroid out of his jacket and passed it to Taylor.

“
This
is the stone?”
Lane’s ugly pendant? Oh, man
. This was just priceless. Lane would freak when she found out her necklace was going to pull down ten grand.

“That’s right. As I said, a young woman bought it from a thrift store, but I was unable to obtain the necklace from her.”

Taylor tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

“You’re really planning on paying me ten grand to find this?”

“I certainly am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I told you. It’s an heirloom.” He smiled. “I assure you there is nothing nefarious. The stone has been in my family for... well, let’s just say even a museum would be interested in a piece like this.”

“And the ten grand is for locating it?”

“Correct.”

“
Just
locating it.” Maybe this client—for a change— did come from a family that could trace its roots back to Cro-Magnon man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to pull one over on Taylor.

“As I said, correct.”

“So how are you going to get it after that?”

“Why, my dear Mr. Taylor. I will purchase it, of course.”

Bingo
. If Mordon here was willing to pay ten Gs just to find the thing, he’d surely pay even more to Lane to get it back. This was a man with some serious cash. And he wasn’t proposing anything too shady....

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yup. I think we do.”

“Fine.” Mordon turned in his seat to face Taylor more directly. “I might suggest you begin with the shopkeeper and try to track down the woman who bought it.”

“You might,” Taylor snapped, then waved away the smart-ass comment. “Sorry.” The guy might be pushy, but he was paying the bills. “I mean, it’s a good idea, but I have a feeling I’ll have your necklace back to you sooner than you imagine.”

Mordon inclined his head, and Taylor had the uncomfortable sensation that he was being sized up. “I see.” The man opened the passenger door. “Then I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Taylor.”

“You got a card or something? A phone number?”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Taylor shrugged. The guy already gave him the creeps. If he wanted to play the dark and mysterious client, Taylor wasn’t going to argue. “Whatever.”

“Excellent.” Mordon stepped out into the drizzle and shut the door behind him.

Taylor exhaled and watched him go. In just a few days, he’d have ten grand in his bank account. He should be ecstatic. He should be on the phone to Lane, or at least on his way to her apartment.

Instead he had the overwhelming urge to scrub down the passenger side of his car.

Baubles & Beads was Deena’s favorite thrift store, and it just happened to be conveniently located in Hollywood, right across the street from Hoop’s office. Over the past year she’d wasted a lot of time there, blown through several paychecks, and found some pretty keen bargains. Where else could she find semitacky costume jewelry, vintage dresses, and pink umbrellas with purple fringe? Not that she’d actually used the parasol yet, but one never knew when one could come in handy.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Zoë looked at her over a round rack displaying a variety of leather outfits.

“It’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” Deena said as she plowed through a box of belts and scarves.

“Hiring this George guy, I mean. Not our spur-of-the-moment shopping spree.”

Deena looked up. “It’s a great idea. You hire a date, your mom thinks you’ve got a guy, everyone’s happy.”

“I suppose.” Zoë ran her finger down a leather bustier. “It just seems like cheating.”

“Well... it is. But it’s either that or find a real date— or go out with some dweeb your mom sets you up with.”

Zoë’s nose wrinkled. “Will you come with me to ask him?”

Deena sighed, then held up a black scarf with gold sequins. “What do you think of this?”

“Deena . . .”

“Look, sweetie, it’s just a business deal. All you have to do is go across the street, take the elevator to the seventh floor, walk in the door, and ask George to be your escort for one night. Simple.”

“So you’re not coming.”

“Can’t. I have to teach a class in Santa Monica. I’m going to be late as it is.” That was a teensy lie. She did have a class, true. And she was going to be late. But mostly she didn’t want to catch hell when Zoë realized that George Bailey was none other than Buster “the object of lust” Taylor.

She held up the scarf and raised her eyebrows.

Zoë shook her head. “Too flashy.”

“Probably right.” She tossed the scarf back in the box and pulled out a gold mesh belt. Tacky, but fun in a retro-sixties kind of way. “You’ll do fine. It’s not like you’re interviewing for a job. You’re just hiring an escort.”

“I suppose.”

“Or you could tell your mom the truth.”

Zoë took a deep, loud breath. “I’m just stalling.”

“I know you are, sweetie.”

“I’ve never hired a man before.”

Deena grinned. “With your looks, you shouldn’t have to.”