Seeking Single Superhero Excerpt Mortal female seeking single superhero for love, laughter, and then some. Must be charming, witty, sexy, and willing to commit. Specific superpowers negotiable, but strength and endurance a must! Interested Protectors, please contact Jennifer Martin at employee-box number 657, Mortal-Protector-Liaison Office. Jennifer tapped her pencil faster and faster against her desktop as she read, re-read, and then re-re-read the personal ad in the back of the current issue of The Mortal-Protector Liaison Weekly Bulletin. It couldn't be. Could it? Someone ... anyone ... please tell her it wasn't so. Tell her there wasn't a personal ad in the newletter suggesting that she would be interested in dating a superhero. Correction—not suggesting. Flat out stating that she wanted to make whoopie with one of those arrogant, self-absorbed Protector-types. Saving the world gave a guy one hell of an ego, and so far Jennifer hadn't met one she'd even want to have coffee with ... much less go all the way with. Really! A boyfriend, sure. A Protector? No way. She had standards, after all! She exhaled with a whoosh, then looked around at the nearby cubicles, wondering if anyone else was reading the newsletter. So far, no one was pointing at her and laughing. At least not yet, anyway. But tomorrow it would be plastered all over the Venerate Council of Protectors' website ... and every Protector in the world would see the ad—and think that she was hunting for a superhero husband. Absurd. Unthinkable. And even more ridiculous since her mother was so gung-ho about her hooking up with one. If Daphne Martin wanted Jenny to end up with a Protector, that was as good a reason as any for Jenny to stay far, far away. Slinking further down in her chair, she tried to get out of her colleagues' line of sight. This was a nightmare. Her own personal nightmare. And a particularly nasty one at that. At that thought, she brightened. Maybe it really was just a dream. Any minute now, her alarm clock would buzz, she'd wake up, and she'd laugh about the silly games her subconscious was playing. After all, since she hadn't placed an ad, there couldn't really be one. Could there? Better take another look. With her fingers crossed so tight she cut off circulation, she closed her eyes, counted to ten, then peeked out from under her eyelashes. Well, darn. There it was. Plain as day, and larger than life. And that meant there was only one explanation—her mother was at it again. The metal legs of her chair scraped against the concrete floor as she shoved it backwards and stood up. Daphne Martin might have brought Jenny into the world ... she might have helped Jenny find her funky rent-controlled apartment ... she might even have been the main reason why Jenny'd landed her great job as a press liaison at the MLO. But this time Jenny's matchmaking mother had simply gone too far. Tucking the newsletter snugly under her arm, she marched out of her cubicle toward the elevator. She needed to set the record straight with her mother, and she needed to do it now. Taking a deep breath, she jabbed at the 'down' button, all the while hoping like heck that the courage she felt now wouldn't abandon her during the five story descent to her mother's lair in the computer lab. *** Starbuck propped one leg on Daphne Martin's desk, and watched, amused, as the older woman crawled around on the floor. "See, the problem is the polarity," she said over the low-pitched hum of whirring tape drives and other computer paraphernalia. She followed a bright blue cable to a particularly ominous-looking computer, then slipped behind the behemoth and disappeared from Starbuck's view. "We're getting some sort of electrical interference," she said, her voice muffled. "That's what's slowing our system down." A few loud grunts, followed by a metallic clanking noise, and then Daphne's head popped out from around the side of the machine, followed in short order by the entire woman. She rocked back on her heels, pushed a lock of curly gray hair out of her face, and flashed Starbuck a winning smile. "But you probably didn't come here to listen to my problems with the computer system." He shrugged, hoping he looked like nothing more than the befuddled mortal employee he was pretending to be. "I'm on break. I just came down to shoot the breeze. If you want to talk shop, go for it." In fact, he hoped she would. Daphne was a piece of work, and Starbuck genuinely liked her. For that matter, he had something of a crush on Daphne's daughter, Jenny. Unfortunately, Jenny didn't know he existed and, since she made no secret of her disdain for Protectors, wouldn't care anyway. But neither liking Daphne nor lusting after Jenny changed the basic fact that Daphne was his number one suspect. There was a mole working in the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office—a mole who had already dribbled pieces of Council information to Hieronymous and his band of Outcasts. And the rumor was that Hieronymous was expecting more information any day now. Serious information that could only come from someone with high-level access. It was Starbuck's job to find and bring down the spy. Just recently, one of Hieronymous's schemes to enslave the mortals and take over the world had been foiled by Zoë Smith, a halfling who'd just joined the Council. Since Zoë's half-brother, Hale, had been Starbuck's buddy for years, Starbuck had met Zoë a couple of times. The entire Protector community was darned proud of the girl, but no Protector thought that Hieronymous would stop with only one try. Hieronymous wanted his power back. He wanted to crush the Venerate Council of Protectors, enslave the mortals, and seat himself on some golden, godlike throne. And Hieronymous was nothing if not persistent. Unfortunately, he was more than just an egocentric nuisance. Hieronymous was a very real threat. He'd already turned some weaker Protectors, and he wasn't above releasing Henchmen to do his bidding. To mortals, Henchmen looked perfectly human—usually lawyers or used-car salesmen or telemarketers. But Protectors could see through the disguise, and it was part of a Protector's mission to fight Henchmen and prevent them from doing the bidding of whoever set them free. Lately, Hieronymous had been releasing a lot of Henchmen. Hell, lately Hieronymous had been causing a whole lot of problems. So when the Venerate Council of Protectors learned that the MLO had been infiltrated by a spy for the Outcasts, they'd immediately called in Starbuck. Lucky him. Unlike most Protectors, Starbuck looked ... well ... normal. Like a regular guy. Hale might resemble a Greek God, but not Starbuck. Not at all. And he took no end of ribbing, that was for sure. But his looks did give him one advantage—he was perfect for infiltrating mortal environments. Since most mortals didn't even know Protectors existed, they didn't have a clue that there was a spy among them. For that matter, because he so often worked in deep cover, most Protectors didn't even know he was one of them. Still hunkered over the cables, Daphne muttered something under her breath, then held up a screwdriver. "This isn't working. Maybe it's in the code." She scrambled toward the monitor and keyboard set up on a make-shift desk on the far-side of the windowless room. "Can you wait just a sec?" "No problem." For good measure, he tried probing her mind, but she was still closed to him, just as she'd been for the week he'd been working at the MLO. His looks may have contributed to his vocation as a spy, but his particular superpowers—reading minds and manipulating time—had sealed the deal. Unfortunately, Daphne was one of those rare mortals whose mind naturally blocked him. And considering she was his prime suspect, that little fact was damned frustrating. Leaning back, Starbuck crossed his arms over his chest, and examined Daphne the old fashioned way. A true flower child, she'd been in her element back during the sixties heydey ... and she still dressed like she was going to hang out in Haight-Ashbury. But she was about the smartest mortal Starbuck had ever met. According to the dossier he'd memorized, she'd been recruited by the Venerate Council back in the Seventies after the Mortal-Protector Treaty was signed, and Daphne had single-handedly developed the entire computer system for the MLO. Not a small feat, considering everything had to be done in secret. That meant she'd had to do all that work without consulting with any other mortals on any aspect of the project that might even hint at the existence of Protectors, the MLO, or the super-secret location in a sub-sub-sub basement of the United Nations building in New York City. In other words, the woman was smart—and she had access to a wealth of Council information. And that access made her the Council's—and Starbuck's—most likely suspect. The information that was supposed to be heading Hieronymous' way was top, top, top secret. The kind of stuff kept deep within the computer files. Files that only Daphne and a select few trusted members of the Council had access to. The only question was, had she turned? Was she selling secrets to Hieronymous? He just didn't know, and the fact that he couldn't probe her mind only made him more suspicious. A shame, really, since he liked the woman, and surely arresting her for violations of the Mortal-Protector Treaty would put a damper on any shot he might have at catching Jenny's eye. She was still typing away, a pencil tucked behind her ear as she chewed on the end of another one. "Hey, Daphne." No reaction. "Daphne." Still nothing. He opened his mouth to try an all-out yell. "Da—" "Mother!" Starbuck's breath caught as he whipped around to face the doorway and Jennifer Martin—looking very angry, and very, very adorable. Daphne's tap-tapping at the keyboard stopped, too, and she twisted around in her swivel chair until she was also facing Jenny. "Hello, sweetie. What on earth are you doing down here in the computer room?" "What am I doing here?" Her cheeks flushed, the color rising with her voice. "What do you think I'm doing here?" Without even a second glance in his direction, she marched across the room, her short dark curls bobbing with every purposeful stride, and slapped the current issue of the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office newsletter down on Daphne's desk. "That is what I'm doing here!" "This week's issue?" Daphne asked, a little too innocently, Starbuck thought. "I hear it's a good one." Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and started tapping her foot. "Mother! What on earth were you thinking? I'm not interested in dating one of those ... those ... Protectors!" Starbuck fought a cringe. Not that she was saying anything he hadn't already figured out in his week of undercover work at the MLO. But hearing it from her own lips ... well, so much for any chance he might have with the one woman he'd been attracted to in a long, long time. A wide smile passed over Daphne's face. "Now, sweetie, don't get all upset. It's high time you settled down with a good man —" "Mother!" "—and who could possibly be a better man than a Protector?" Jenny ran her fingers through her hair, then shot him a look of exasperation. "You see what I have to put up with?" Starbuck smiled, knowing that the fact that she was sharing her frustration with him thrilled him more than it should have. Their eyes caught and held for one magnificent moment before she turned back to her mother. "I'm not interested in dating a Protector, Mom. We've been over this a dozen times. I want you to stop this matchmaking. You're driving me insane." "Nonsense. You need a husband. A strong husband. Someone who can open tight pickle jars and understands loyalty and responsibility." She crossed her arms over her chest, a faraway, wistful look in her eye. "Someone not like your father." "Mother! Aargh!" She threw her hands up and faced the heavens—well, the sub-basement ceiling—as Starbuck fought an amused grin. He couldn't help but sympathize with Jenny. He'd spent plenty of time with Daphne over the past few days, and was well aware of how persistent the woman could be. Daphne's expression was non-plussed. "Mother knows best, dear." She turned to him. "Don't you agree?" "I —" Jenny shot him a warning look, and he snapped his mouth shut. "Mother does not know best," Jenny said. "Not about this. Right, Starbuck?" This time, he had the good sense to keep his mouth closed even before Daphne's pointed glance. Even without his superpowers, he knew enough not to get involved in a fight between a mother and her daughter. Daphne pushed back from the keyboard, her rolling chair gliding across the floor toward Jenny. "Sweetie, what's the harm? Maybe you'll like whoever answers the ad." "I won't." She crossed her arms over her chest, and Starbuck cringed from the note of sureness in her voice. No matter how much he might hope for a chance with Jenny, it just wasn't going to happen. Of course, what he should be doing was trying to get close to Jenny not to date her, but to sneak a few glances into her mind. Surely Daphne had said something to her—even something seemingly innocuous—that proved Daphne's guilt. And if Starbuck spent enough time with Jenny—probing here and there—maybe he'd eventually find the clue he needed. He'd avoided probing her mind before—mind-probes were highly regulated by the Treaty of 1970—but just yesterday he'd applied to the Council for a mind warrant on Jenny, and this morning they'd given him the go-ahead. Still, though, he hesitated. Somehow a probe seemed a bit unchivalrous considering the crush he had on her. But a week had passed without a solid clue, and he needed to make some progress on this case. Even more, he needed to face up to the fact that a relationship was out of the question. She didn't want a Protector. He was a Protector. End of discussion. Daphne put her hands on either of Jenny's shoulders. "At the very least, you need a date for the MLO's annual party. So you'll go with whoever answers your ad, and that will be the end of it. That's reasonable, isn't it?" "No..." Jenny frowned, and Starbuck could tell she was being worn down by Daphne's persistence. "I mean, maybe. I suppose. But that's not the point. The point is I've—" "Already got a date." The words were out of his mouth before Starbuck even had time to think about what he was saying. Both women turned to stare at him, Jenny's ocean-blue eyes even wider than her mother's. "I mean ..." His eyes caught Jenny's and he took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to get shot down in a huge way. If she said yes, not only would he have a date with a woman he adored, but he'd also have access to the one person closest in the world to his prime suspect. Mentally crossing his fingers, he took the plunge. "The thing is, Jenny can't go with a Protector. She's already promised to go with me." . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Buy the Book Amazon Barnes & Noble Booksense