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Chapter Thirteen

“So what are you saying?” Zoë asked. “That she’s working for Hieronymous?”
Jason shook his head. They were on the houseboat patio, Lane next to him on the settee, the others in scattered chairs on the deck. The morning sun streaked the boat with white gold, and the steady lapping of water against the hull acted as a counterpoint to their conversation. “I’m not saying that. I’m simply saying that we don’t know. Mordi’s going to try to find out, but he may need our help. And in the meantime, our focus is on this Romulus guy.”
“ ‘Holmes says,’ ” Zoë quoted. “Weird.”
“And ironic,” Taylor added, squeezing his wife’s hand. “After all, Sherlock Holmes was one of the good guys.”
“Hieronymous thinks he’s doing good,” Hale said.
Jason raised an eyebrow, even as the rest of them turned to look at Hale. Their expressions were incredulous. It was Lane who spoke up. “You’re not serious?”
“Well, I don’t think he’s doing good,” Hale explained. “I’m just saying that I doubt the H-man is going around thinking. ‘Hey, gonna do a little evil today.’ I mean, he honestly thinks he’s doing some great favor for Protectors everywhere. He thinks mortals are scum.”
“So did you once,” Tracy said, leaning back and looking smug.
“No, I never—”
“Okay, okay.” Jason held up a hand. “We’re getting a little sidetracked here. Whatever Hieronymous’s motives, the bottom line is—”
“He’s one bad dude.” That came from Elmer, Hale’s ferret. Not exactly a pet. More like a constant—and constantly chattering—companion.
“Exactly,” Jason agreed, nodding toward the little rat.
“Bad. Evil. Vile. Major pain in the Protector patootie.”
“Okay, okay,” Jason said. “We get the drift.” To Hale, he rolled his eyes. Ever since Davy had invented the simulated-speech collar for the little guy, Elmer had been talking nonstop. His latest fascination was telling really bad jokes.
Elmer’s nonstop talk had given Jason a new respect for Hale. For years, Hale had been the only one who could understand Elmer’s incessant chattering. Jason’s son had put an end to all that, and although Jason loved the little tyke, there were times when he really wanted to take his boy’s invention and drop it into some deep-sea abyss. Oops ... how on earth did that happen?
“So where do we start?” Zoë said.
“Well, wait a minute.” Tracy, Hale’s wife, spoke up. “Zephron doesn’t know that you guys are going to be playing detective? Isn’t that against the rules?” Her forehead was creased with worry. Not surprising. She and Hale were supposed to be packing for a vacation in Greece. The idea of her husband getting dragged into an unauthorized mission couldn’t be very appealing.
“I didn’t say he doesn’t know per se. Just that we’re working under the table.”
Tracy frowned, but it was Lane who spoke up. “In other words, you’re assuming that—as usual— Zephron knows exactly what’s going on.”
Jason shrugged. “He seems to have that knack.”
“It’s the Mord-man you ought to be watching,” Elmer said in his computer-generated voice. “He’s the one who’s always working for the Big Dog. Every time you think he’s gone straight, he’s back on board with his daddy.”
“He was working as a mole, Elmer,” Jason said. “You know that as well as we do.”
“Oh, sure. That’s what he says...”
“Elmer.” Hale’s tone was harsh, no-nonsense.
“Harrumph.”
“Look,” Jason said. “You guys might have issues with Mordi. But he is my brother, and Zephron does trust him. And that means that until I see something to make me think otherwise, I trust him, too.”
“I trust him,” Zoë said. She half-shrugged, then added, “Well, now I do.”
“Me, too,” Tracy said.
Hale shrugged. “Like you said, we’ve all had our issues, but he is family. If he’s getting scammed by this broad, I want to help him.”
“Suckers,” Elmer said, then turned in a circle three times and buried his head under his haunches, effectively dismissing them all.
“It’s not just about helping him,” Jason said. “If Hieronymous is getting to a re-assimilation counselor, then who knows how many other Protectors he has in his pocket. Like Romulus, for example. We need to know what’s going on—not to protect Mordi, but to protect the Council. Hell, maybe even to protect the world. Think of Romulus. That—”
“What can he do from a holding cell, though?” Taylor asked.
“Who knows?” Zoë answered. “But he’s popular and well connected. He may not stay in that holding cell for long.”
Hale nodded. “She’s right. Things are happening.” He drew in a breath and turned to Tracy. “Well? It’s up to you.”
She grimaced. “Let me think. Lounge on a foreign beach with a paperback and a tall drink, or stay in Los Angeles while my husband goes out and helps possibly to save the world.” She pressed a finger to her mouth. “Gee, tough decision.”
“Okay. So we investigate.” He ignored his wife’s amused head-shake.
“And if you do find out that Hieronymous and Romulus have some huge plan brewing?” Taylor asked. “Then what are we going to do?”
“Tell Mordi,” Jason said. “Get a group together and then foil whatever plot they’re cooking.” He tried out a smile. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he added, trying to intone the words with an air of confidence. “We’ve all foiled Daddy Dearest before.”
“True,” Zoë said. “Let’s hope it was skill and not luck.”
“Or if it was luck,” Taylor added, “let’s hope it hasn’t run out.”

Chapter Thirteen

“So what are you saying?” Zoë asked. “That she’s working for Hieronymous?”
Jason shook his head. They were on the houseboat patio, Lane next to him on the settee, the others in scattered chairs on the deck. The morning sun streaked the boat with white gold, and the steady lapping of water against the hull acted as a counterpoint to their conversation. “I’m not saying that. I’m simply saying that we don’t know. Mordi’s going to try to find out, but he may need our help. And in the meantime, our focus is on this Romulus guy.”
“ ‘Holmes says,’ ” Zoë quoted. “Weird.”
“And ironic,” Taylor added, squeezing his wife’s hand. “After all, Sherlock Holmes was one of the good guys.”
“Hieronymous thinks he’s doing good,” Hale said.
Jason raised an eyebrow, even as the rest of them turned to look at Hale. Their expressions were incredulous. It was Lane who spoke up. “You’re not serious?”
“Well, I don’t think he’s doing good,” Hale explained. “I’m just saying that I doubt the H-man is going around thinking. ‘Hey, gonna do a little evil today.’ I mean, he honestly thinks he’s doing some great favor for Protectors everywhere. He thinks mortals are scum.”
“So did you once,” Tracy said, leaning back and looking smug.
“No, I never—”
“Okay, okay.” Jason held up a hand. “We’re getting a little sidetracked here. Whatever Hieronymous’s motives, the bottom line is—”
“He’s one bad dude.” That came from Elmer, Hale’s ferret. Not exactly a pet. More like a constant—and constantly chattering—companion.
“Exactly,” Jason agreed, nodding toward the little rat.
“Bad. Evil. Vile. Major pain in the Protector patootie.”
“Okay, okay,” Jason said. “We get the drift.” To Hale, he rolled his eyes. Ever since Davy had invented the simulated-speech collar for the little guy, Elmer had been talking nonstop. His latest fascination was telling really bad jokes.
Elmer’s nonstop talk had given Jason a new respect for Hale. For years, Hale had been the only one who could understand Elmer’s incessant chattering. Jason’s son had put an end to all that, and although Jason loved the little tyke, there were times when he really wanted to take his boy’s invention and drop it into some deep-sea abyss. Oops ... how on earth did that happen?
“So where do we start?” Zoë said.
“Well, wait a minute.” Tracy, Hale’s wife, spoke up. “Zephron doesn’t know that you guys are going to be playing detective? Isn’t that against the rules?” Her forehead was creased with worry. Not surprising. She and Hale were supposed to be packing for a vacation in Greece. The idea of her husband getting dragged into an unauthorized mission couldn’t be very appealing.
“I didn’t say he doesn’t know per se. Just that we’re working under the table.”
Tracy frowned, but it was Lane who spoke up. “In other words, you’re assuming that—as usual— Zephron knows exactly what’s going on.”
Jason shrugged. “He seems to have that knack.”
“It’s the Mord-man you ought to be watching,” Elmer said in his computer-generated voice. “He’s the one who’s always working for the Big Dog. Every time you think he’s gone straight, he’s back on board with his daddy.”
“He was working as a mole, Elmer,” Jason said. “You know that as well as we do.”
“Oh, sure. That’s what he says...”
“Elmer.” Hale’s tone was harsh, no-nonsense.
“Harrumph.”
“Look,” Jason said. “You guys might have issues with Mordi. But he is my brother, and Zephron does trust him. And that means that until I see something to make me think otherwise, I trust him, too.”
“I trust him,” Zoë said. She half-shrugged, then added, “Well, now I do.”
“Me, too,” Tracy said.
Hale shrugged. “Like you said, we’ve all had our issues, but he is family. If he’s getting scammed by this broad, I want to help him.”
“Suckers,” Elmer said, then turned in a circle three times and buried his head under his haunches, effectively dismissing them all.
“It’s not just about helping him,” Jason said. “If Hieronymous is getting to a re-assimilation counselor, then who knows how many other Protectors he has in his pocket. Like Romulus, for example. We need to know what’s going on—not to protect Mordi, but to protect the Council. Hell, maybe even to protect the world. Think of Romulus. That—”
“What can he do from a holding cell, though?” Taylor asked.
“Who knows?” Zoë answered. “But he’s popular and well connected. He may not stay in that holding cell for long.”
Hale nodded. “She’s right. Things are happening.” He drew in a breath and turned to Tracy. “Well? It’s up to you.”
She grimaced. “Let me think. Lounge on a foreign beach with a paperback and a tall drink, or stay in Los Angeles while my husband goes out and helps possibly to save the world.” She pressed a finger to her mouth. “Gee, tough decision.”
“Okay. So we investigate.” He ignored his wife’s amused head-shake.
“And if you do find out that Hieronymous and Romulus have some huge plan brewing?” Taylor asked. “Then what are we going to do?”
“Tell Mordi,” Jason said. “Get a group together and then foil whatever plot they’re cooking.” He tried out a smile. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he added, trying to intone the words with an air of confidence. “We’ve all foiled Daddy Dearest before.”
“True,” Zoë said. “Let’s hope it was skill and not luck.”
“Or if it was luck,” Taylor added, “let’s hope it hasn’t run out.”