Holidays are Hell

"Nothing stands out," Dennis finally admitted, running his hands over his chin. He looked more composed now Zoe thought. He'd recovered fast and concern had replaced his grief, anger superseding his worry. "We wouldn't have noticed another couple, and the birth mother didn't want to meet us, so we never met any of her nurses before either."

Gregor glanced up from where he was pretending to take notes. "Did she try to convince you to have the child moved to another facility? A clinic… a private practice?"

Dennis shook his head, glancing at his wife again. She did the same. "Nobody expected the baby to be born so early, though there was clearly a chance of that. Because of the birth mother's… trauma."

"Poor thing," Andie murmured, pouring more coffee all around. Zoe lifted her cup to hide her expression, knowing Phaedre and Gregor would've scented the bump in her nerves. This woman's life had just been ripped at the seams and she still had sympathy to spare for her Jo-baby. Sometimes, she thought sighing, she really wondered who was superhuman.

Dennis ignored his coffee, rising instead to pace. "We got the call around eleven last night telling us the baby was coming. We rushed right down, but by the time we arrived it was… she said it was too late. I–I don't remember anything after that."

Zoe nearly wept.

"I do."

Four pair of eyes fastened firmly on Andie's pretty, determined face, and she rewarded them with a tight smile, "The nurse, Nancy, gave me a card. Said I could call her next week to find out the exact cause of death… or if I just needed to talk." The smile turned bitter. "I hugged her and thanked her for her kindness."

"Mrs. McCormick," Gregor said, while everyone else held their breath. "Do you still have that card?"

She pushed her chair back and stood with a small, victorious toss of her head. "You bet I do."

The address matched one of those Micah had given them. Phaedre and Gregor disappeared with a hasty goodbye to the McCormicks, leaving Zoe to wind things up… and leaving her alone with Warren afterwards. He was waiting at the corner—the others had taken the car—and they fell in stride without speaking, she walking normally, he with the limp from a blow that'd almost killed him years before. As if knowing her thoughts, Warren accelerated his pace. He'd hardly feel it, but knowing she was mortal, he'd also know she would. She gritted her teeth and bore it. The next persona she donned would just have to be extremely fit.

"So what happened to your car salesman identity?" Zoe finally asked, when she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"What always happens," he answered shortly.

The Shadows had discovered it. "Which one?"

"Taurus."

It figured. That was Warren's sign, too, and if an agent's identity was going to be found out it was usually their opposing zodiac sign who did it. Just like the old saying, opposites attract. "Breca?"

He nodded, before a clearly satisfied smile overtook his face. "The new one is named Graham."

But when Zoe smiled back, Warren caught himself and turned away. She bit her lip and increased her pace.

"It's your birthday," he said, staring back at a man in a pickup who'd slowed to stare at him. He grinned grimly when the pickup sped away. Both the look and the statement were typical Warren—no preamble or apology or emotion—and it was totally different than wishing her a happy birthday. Zoe was surprised he'd acknowledged it at all.

She shrugged, not wanted him to know the day was any more significant for her than any other mortal. Most didn't share the day with their firstborn daughter and granddaughter. Besides, she knew he was just warming up, and if she waited he'd finally come around to the heart of the matter.

"Why would you give up your chi, Zoe?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

Because I love my daughter even more than I loved being a heroine. She turned to face him and leaned against a streetlamp. "For the troop, Warren," she answered truthfully. "And its future."

"Bullshit. You've never done anything unless there was something personal at stake as well." He pressed when he saw Zoe's jaw tighten. "Then again, getting out from under my command would qualify, wouldn't it?"

"It's not always about you, Warren," she said, and let the fatigue she felt bloom around her. She knew what it would smell like to him; apples just past their ripeness, and a soft-petaled flower wilting in the sun.

As expected, he pounced. "What happened? Get tired of bouncing from bed to bed?"

She blanched even in the harsh morning light. "You're lucky I'm mortal," she whispered.

"Don't hide behind that."

And don't let him bait you, she told herself as he limped past her so that she, again, had to follow. Because as long as she was doing the right thing, it didn't matter what he thought. He'd know the truth in time. She just wished she could see his face when he discovered how wrong he'd been.