Page 3 of Hercules

And at this point, likely never would.

Which was just fine by him.

CHAPTER 2

“Good morning.”

After a pause in which Lois Lance wondered if the guard inside the little shack was still sleeping behind his reflective sunglasses, she waved and smiled. “I’m here to see Natasha Korra. Okay? Yes?”

The guy finally rolled a couple of fingers like they were riding a mini pinwheel. “Sure. You know the way, honey?”

She hid her locked teeth behind a forced smirk. Because you haven’t seen me here at least four times a week for the last six months?

“Ah, yes,” she finally replied. “Pretty sure I can handle it.”

“Great. But remember not to block the housekeepers’ cars. And watch out for the chinchillas.”

“Of course.” She nodded but it was as taut as her smile. “I don’t ever block the cleaning team. And as for—” She cranked the volume of her movie instrumentals playlist down to zero with her right hand, while jerking her head all the way to the left. “Wait. The chinchill-whats?”

“And mind the speed limits in our peaceful community, please.”

Mirror Glasses completed a new sweep of his fingers before resuming his lunchtime nap. Or plans for world domination. Whatever. As she gunned her engine to ensure her compact hybrid made it up the steep hill to Natasha’s front gates—at least she was good on not shattering the speed limit—Lo mentally raced through her compendium of chinchilla trivia. Did she even know chinchilla trivia? What the hell did they look like? Sound like? Were they fluffy and cute or hairy and vile? Was she going to need a rabies shot? Or padded gloves?

By the time the rose-gold gates swung in and she drove through to park next to the cleaning crew’s van, she blew out a breath that was at least partly relieved. No known chinchilla guts on her bumpers, thank God. But would the front gate security guy be cautioning about them, if the warning was only a mild one? He’d never mentioned Natasha’s Miniature Schnauzers in the last six months.

Holy crap. Did this mean Miles and Gwen were gone? Her heart thudded harder. If Nat had gotten rid of them before Lois had the chance to say goodbye…

No.

She couldn’t even accept that.

She loved those feisty little poop butts.

Her clutching pulse had a fast friend in the middle of her throat. The lump was so painful she went on autopilot to grab her purse and laptop and then get out of the car. She hardly even noticed the significant something that skittered across her foot, followed by the soft floof of its fur.

Squark.

Until the damn thing squarked at her.

“Oh my God.”

Squark. Squaaark!

“Oh my God!”

“Oh my gawd!”

The copycat to her outcry, while easy to identify source-wise, had her calling back the tension along her jawline. Usually, smiling for Natasha was breezier than the act she put on for the security gate guy. Today, the scales were flipped.

“Uhhh…” she succeeded at mumbling. “Good…morning…”

“Biki,” came the quick reply from the strawberry redhead who bounded from the mansion’s open front door. The bubbly bombshell was dressed in baggy cargo pants and a large hoodie emblazoned with artistic graffiti—an irony not lost on Lois. Natasha, nicknamed Jump-Jump Toothpicky by her legions of “Jumpster” fans, was all but swallowed by the clothing. Her hood alone looked like it could double as her sleeping bag.

A comparison Lois desperately longed to take back—from the moment she glanced behind Nat, into the front foyer, to spot an upright suitcase along with its tinier twin. Both were zipped, locked, and obviously full.

Ensuring the glob in Lois’s throat was now double its original size.

Before she could force words past that stress stone, Natasha approached and scooped up a second ball of fur. It wasn’t Miles or Gwen. It looked too much like the bunny-on-steroids that still insisted on riding Lois’s left foot.