Broken (Otherworld 6)

THE PHONE RANG EARLY THE NEXT MORNING.

"I'll get it!" I said.

I rocketed from the table so fast that I temporarily forgot my new center of gravity and nearly landed face-first on the floor.

"You expecting someone?" Clay called after me, as I righted myself and hurried to the study.

"Work," I said. "A...job assignment."

Like I ever moved so fast to get work. The sad truth was that I wasn't expecting a call--I just wanted contact with the outside world. Any contact. At this point, a vacuum cleaner salesperson would do.

Just last week, when our tenacious local Avon lady had dropped a catalogue in our mailbox, as she'd done for the last four years without ever getting an order from me, there had been a moment when I'd thought, "Huh, maybe I should give her a call, get a makeup consultation." It didn't matter that I hadn't bought new makeup since the nineties. Even when I recalled Jeremy's story about the last Avon lady that showed up at Stonehaven, I wasn't deterred. After all, Clay had been only seven or eight years old, and even if he did terrorize the Avon lady again, as bad as I would feel about that, it certainly would liven up an afternoon.

The phone hit its fourth ring. I dove for the answering machine, and hit the off button, then glanced at the caller ID as I reached for the receiver. A pay phone tag flashed past. A pay phone? Maybe Jaime calling back or Paige checking in.

"Hello?"

"Elena!" a voice boomed.

"Xavier!"

Silence. A bit too enthusiastic on my part, I guess. He was probably trying to figure out whether that was a happy shout of greeting or a warning snarl.

"Good to hear from you," I added.

Silence. Then, "What'd I do?"

"Nothing. It's just...good to hear from you."

Clay appeared in the doorway. I mouthed "Xavier." He scowled. I turned to face the wall.

"So what's up?" I said. "Have you heard anything about that letter? Or do you have something else you need us to do? We still owe you for the Hargrave tip, don't forget."

He paused, certain a trap lurked behind my enthusiasm. "Uh, no, I haven't. It's the letter. Things have fallen back into place--"

"So we're on? Great! When do you want it?"

"The, uh, buyer would like it within the next couple of weeks, but if that's not enough notice, I can probably swing something--"

"A couple of weeks? Perfect. Just send us the updated plans and we'll be on it. Do you still have my fax number?"

He did. We discussed a few final details, then I hung up and turned, beaming, to Clay.

"Absolutely not," he said. "So don't even ask."

"Ask? Since when do I need your permission?"

I bounced past him out the door.

"He's going to say the same thing," Clay called.

We'd see about that.

Wrangling a day pass from Jeremy...take two.

Since I'd started showing, Jeremy and Clay hadn't wanted me leaving Pack territory or meeting with any supernatural who wasn't a good friend. As overprotective as that sou

nded, there was logic behind it. They wanted to keep my pregnancy a secret from the werewolf world for as long as possible.