Damn, but Zoe wanted this woman as Ashlyn's mother.
"What we need from you," she said, ten minutes later after telling them all she could about the previous night's events, "is to tell us everything you remember about the nurse who called you last night. Even the smallest detail might help us find her."
The McCormicks looked at one another desperately.
"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.
So she swallowed her retort and tried again. "Speaking of hiding, how'd you go from being a salesman to a vagrant? Was becoming a walking cesspool your only choice?"
Stubbornly, he kept limping along. "I chose it because it's the exact opposite of everything you'd want me to be."
"Warren, please," She stopped walking and sighed. "You don't mean that."
He whirled so fast all she saw was the blurred hem of his trench coat. "I do," he said, almost violently. His face was contorted, all the pain he'd been hiding and the anger he'd stored twisting it into a jumble of emotion. His brown eyes were murky and cold. "You're toxic, Zoe. You even believe your own lies. You say 'love' and you mean 'hate'. You don't even know what it means to work as a team or troop. All you know is deceit."
She wouldn't let him get to her or bait her, she swore. And she wasn't going to fucking apologize. Warren had known what he was getting into the first time he'd climbed into her bed. She'd kicked his ass in enough training sessions for him to have no illusions about that. And after? They spoken clearly of what they'd give and how far they'd go to conquer the Shadows. They'd give it all. It wasn't her fault he'd changed his mind about her, or the men she'd already targeted.
Because there had been other men. Two, to be exact. She'd stayed with the last, Xavier Archer, for sixteen years, a mortal who was the human lackey to the Shadows' leader, a man who traded information—and lives—for power and money. That was Olivia's father.
But the first man—if you could call him that—had been the Shadow leader himself. And Zoe knew it was this relationship that bothered Warren the most. Fooling a mortal was one thing—even humans could lie adeptly to one another—but deceiving the Shadow leader took uncommon nerve. Someone with Zoe's particular skills.
She never had found out what Warren found most irritating: that she'd faithfully return to his bed after months of lying in another man's embrace, or that he, just as faithfully, would let her.
All she knew was that every time she returned to the sanctuary they'd end up yelling at one another until their throats were raw. So she never told him when the Tulpa got her pregnant. Or, after she'd changed her identity to go back undercover, when Xavier did the same two years later Her daughters were hers alone. Not pawns to be bargained with, manipulated, or—God forbid—destroyed because of Warren's jealousy, spite, or sense of duty.
But all of that was in the past, back when she still thought she could make a difference. When she thought she was invincible. Back, she thought as Warren stalked on ahead of her, when she believed she and this smelly, stubborn, and impossibly good man still had a future together.