How Beauty Met the Beast (10 page)

Travis snorted. “You also have his feet. I have his shoulders.”

The smiled dropped. “Yeah, I have his
fake foot
. Did you see that he’s
missing a leg?
Every time my hand slips, I bruise myself on the weird metal thing he has
instead of a leg
.” She used her elbow to poke Jolie. “And Aunt Jolie’s got his butt. I’m gonna tell him you grabbed his butt. No, I’m gonna tell him you
volunteered
to grab his butt. I bet he’ll like that.”

Her smile was back. It was good to see Whitney taking the day so well. As the half-hour car ride had progressed, she’d gone from overwhelmed to proud of herself, a sentiment Jolie had encouraged. It had taken Jolie years after her own kidnapping to release all the feelings of helplessness, and she couldn’t stand the thought of Whitney going through the same thing.

Although Catrina hadn’t been wrong; Whitney had been picked up by someone she knew and kept in a room with food and a stack of DVDs. Jolie hadn’t had quite the same experience.

Whitney prattled on. “All the guys think Aunt Jolie is super-hot. It runs in the family. I already have a boyfriend. Sort of. And when I make varsity they’ll be fighting for me. Aunt J was on the dance team, and they’re almost as cool.”

Some statements even not-so-frightened kidnapping victims didn’t get away with. “You did not just say that, girl. Dance team is way cooler than cheerleading.”

“Pshaw. I’m gonna be at the top of the pyramid. That makes me way
way
cooler than anyone on the ground.” Her eyes widened. “Ooh! Speaking of. You should teach me how to use that hoop thing! Travis, have you seen cave anyoneher dance on it? I’m not supposed to know this, but she’s a burlesque dancer. I had to look that up. It means she’s a stripper but, like, classy. I bet she’s really good. You should go to her show. I’d like to see her, but there’s no way I’m getting in until I’m older. But by then she may be too old to do it anymore.”

“How old do you think I am? When you turn eighteen I’ll have just turned thirty. I’m going to dance until I’m a hell of a lot older than that.”

“Okay, just don’t be a stripper when you’re old and have a plastic face because that would be gross and you’d be my embarrassing aunt instead of my cool one.”

“I’m not a stripper
now
. And I’m not getting plastic surgery. I plan on aging.”

“What? Who does that? Even Mom gets Botox, and she’s your sister. I mean, I know she’s a bunch of years older because you were an accident and everything—the best mistake ever made, don’t get me wrong—but you should probably start getting that soon, too.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and the three of them moved in concert into her home, lugging Hauk. Jolie grunted, partially from the load but mostly from that piece of unsettling intel about her sister.

“Angela gets Botoxed?” That didn’t sound like Angie. They’d made fun of their mom, behind her back of course, for every nip and tuck. Then again, Angie hadn’t been the same since she’d gotten married and had Whitney, in not quite that order. Now the former wild daughter and Jolie’s childhood idol was hosting cocktail parties wearing Grandmama’s pearls, while Jolie, the good daughter who’d given up her dreams of dancing to please the family, was in Austin “embarrassing” everyone. She barely talked to her sister anymore, and it made Jolie sad.

“She didn’t tell me about that. She’s too young. That’s injecting poison into your skin—you do realize that, right?”

“It can’t be that bad. Everybody does it. Oh! And Dad’s giving her a boob job for her birthday. She’s so pumped, no pun intended. Mom blames me. She says she should’ve taken Grandma’s advice and formula-fed, but I think she just wants big boobs like yours. I hope I got the big boobs genes like you did, not the little ones like Mom did. Inserting sacks of whatever into your chest kinda squigs me out.” As if embarrassed by that, she added quickly, “I mean, but I will if I need to. I’m not like afraid or anything. It’d just be easier if I didn’t need to.”

“Jesus Christ, my family is nuts. Whitney! Nobody needs a boob job. No matter what genes you get.”

Whitney looked her up and down, one eyebrow arched. “Easy for you to say.”

Travis cleared his throat. “Do you really dance burlesque?” He made an effort to keep his face pleasantly blank but couldn’t keep all the censure from his eyes as he watched Whitney, or interest from his voice when he mentioned burlesque.

Jolie smiled grimly, glad to change the subject. “Yup. With Pussy Will-Oh!. We advertise in the Chronicle if you ever want to come see a show.”

“He’ll be there,” Whitney said.

“Bedroom?” Travis asked. A blush hit his cheeks. “For him, I mean. Hauk.”

Jolie looked down at Hauk’s barn-door-broad shoulders and six and a half foot height. “We’ll put him in mine. I don’t think he’d fit on the guest bed.”

“Is Travis blushing? Oooh. Y chinly, glad ou like Aunt Jolie, too. Better watch out though. She’s got a boyfriend who’s a rock star. And despite the hot rock star, she kissed this guy. Even though we were in the middle of a fight and he has a seriously gross face.”

“I thought we talked about keeping what happened to ourselves.”

Whitney shook her head as they maneuvered Hauk’s bulk into a hallway. “Hauk isn’t in the story we’re telling people. The valet’s already in on the lie.”

“The lie?” Travis raised an eyebrow. “Where were you three?”

“Oh, shit,” Jolie murmured.

Whitney snorted.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I was kidnapped. All this weird
shit
happened. They saved me, her and Hauk. And Hauk got shot, but we’re not allowed to call a doctor.”

“He got
shot?
”

Jolie used her hip to open her bedroom, and Travis and Whitney both headed for the door, nearly folding Hauk in half with her in the middle. Hauk grumbled the first sound he’d made since he passed out, and his hand slipped around her hip.

“Wait!” she said.

They paused.

“Travis first.”

“Hey, look! He’s grabbing Aunt Jolie’s butt!”

“Whitney...”

“You know, I bet he’s cute under all those scars. And he did get them fighting for America and all. And he
did
help rescue me. Paul’s cuter, but he didn’t do any of that. I mean, I don’t think
I
could kiss Hauk or do anything else with him, ’cause ew, but
you
already did, so...”

Jolie glowered at her niece. “Can we just get him on the bed?”

With the alacrity and grace of a drunken three-toed sloth, they made progress. Whitney continued her monologue as Travis watched with increasing fascination, as if observing a disaster in slow motion. Jolie couldn’t blame him.

On the other hand, she couldn’t blame Whitney. Jolie doubted she’d sounded any different at that age.

But then Whitney said, “Think Mom’s plastic surgeon could fix it? Well, I mean, his face. The leg is
gone
.”

They spread Hauk on the bed. Whitney carefully arranged his feet as Jolie helped Travis remove his jacket and blood-spattered hoodie.

“You could take him out in public if his face was fixed,” she continued. “I had no idea he was missing a leg until I had to carry it.”

“He should be able to go out in public no matter what he looks like,” Jolie snapped. But even as she said the words, she knew how idealistic they were.

And Whitney, young as she was, looked her in the eye and called her bluff. “He
could
. But he probably doesn’t
want
to. I wouldn’t. People would really stare. I could pay for the surgery, I think. From my trust fund. Not that I can get to that yet. But in a few years. Like, as a reward for rescuing me. Think he can wait a few years? I could try to get the money as a Christmas present, but that could be tricky to hide what I’m doing with it from my parents.”

Jolie laid Hauk back down and couldn’t help taking another close l cothh it from ook at his face. It didn’t scare her anymore. He was a really nice guy. A good man. Once again her fingers hovered over his skin, nearly touching, and once again she pulled them back. “I don’t think this can be fixed. Some scars are too deep. But it’s nice of you to offer.”

“This doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” Travis said as his fingers gently lifted the torn fabric of Hauk’s sleeve. “I’m no expert or anything, but I did see more than a few in Mosul and this doesn’t look near bad enough.”

Jolie leaned over to look at the bullet wound. Not that she’d have anything even vaguely intelligent to say about it, but she still wanted to see. Travis was right; the wound didn’t look that bad. Certainly not like the bloody explosion that had knocked him off the wall. Maybe in the heat of their escape her mind had played tricks on her? But as Travis leaned him forward, sure enough, there was a matching exit wound where the bullet had pushed clean through.

Whitney tried to shove between them. “Lemme see! I told you it quit bleeding awfully fast. Think he heals quickly?” Her eyes glittered. “He could be some sort of superhero. I mean, magic was real in the cave. Why not superheroes?”

Jolie blocked her path to the bloody shoulder and tried a distraction technique. “Like Thor?” With his collection of Viking weapons, she thought Hauk would like that comparison.

“Um, no. Thor’s cute. More like the Hulk.”

Jolie frowned. Hauk wouldn’t like that comparison. Even if it had merit. She put her hands on her hips. “Hauk isn’t green.”

Travis straightened up and stepped away from the bed. “I hate to interrupt pop culture warfare, but I should get back to work. Will you two be okay? Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thank you again, Travis. And if you could— Whitney!”

Her niece had taken his place by the bed and prodded at the skin around the gunshot wound. “I told you it wasn’t so bad. I could cover that with my thumb.” She demonstrated.

So much for shielding her niece’s not-so-delicate eyes.

Travis snorted. “Not mention it? Yeah, sure. Don’t make me regret that, okay?”

“I’ve got people to call.”

Travis nodded sardonically. “I’m sure you do.” He cocked his head and studied her coolly. “You’re gonna tell me what really happened.”

Jolie hesitated.

“You asked an RTF major to carry an unconscious man who may have a bullet wound up to your room. Your niece claims she was kidnapped and you’re both going to lie about it. You didn’t think I’d want to know what happened? If I wasn’t on the clock, I’d stay here until you told me or got me physically ejected from the building.”

Jolie shook her head. “This story is not for public consumption. Even your crazy conspiracy theory website—”
that may not be that off-base
“—wouldn’t run this.”

“Even better.” His mouth curled into a smile that was a little too arrogant for Jolie’s comfort. “Thursday’s my day off. I can take you for coffee after we’re both done with classes and you can pay for my silence with a completely off-the-record story. You get out at two, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But you have somewhere else to be?”

e="-="-1">“No, but—”

“Then I’ll meet you in front of The Tower at two.” He turned to her niece. “Whitney, it’s been...interesting meeting you. Your aunt is even more of an anomaly than I realized.”

“Huh?” Whitney said.

Travis winked and took off.

“What did he mean by that? Did he insult me? What’s an anomaly?”

Had Travis asked her on a date? Hopefully not. Regardless she’d deal with it later. “An anomaly is an oddity, sweetie. He meant that I don’t live up to expectations.”

“What? How is that possible? You’re the coolest person in the entire family. Like, even including me, and that’s saying something.”

Whitney’s outrage on her behalf was sweet. Despite her bizarre ideas, Whitney pulled through when it mattered, and Jolie smiled at her. “He didn’t mean it as an insult. Some people think being different is good.”

“Oh. Weird. Well, I guess being a classy stripper is pretty different.” Whitney sat on the bed next to Jolie and grabbed her arm. “I want to be an anomaly, too. Maybe not a
stripper
, but something else cool that Mom will freak over. Maybe I’ll learn to do magic like that guy in the temple, but not actually, you know, join a cult. I have a friend who’s a Wiccan. She has a spell book and everything. You think Travis would call me an anomaly then? He was cute.”

“I have no idea what goes on in that boy’s brain.” She glanced back at Hauk, wishing she could get a better idea what went on in
his
head. From his frightening looks to his unpredictability to his unwavering loyalty, Wesley Haukon was unlike anyone she’d ever met.

Whitney tugged her sleeve. “Aunt J, you promised me ice cream and a manicure before my parents got here. We should get started.”

“Why don’t you call the concierge and tell him what you want. You go to the panel in the living room and—”