Invincible

by Diana Palmer

  She was too startled not to obey. She left the battleground and brought up the character screen.

  He shook his head. “Not bad. Why an NE?” he asked, the abbreviation for a night elf.

  “They’re beautiful,” she blurted out.

  He laughed deep in his throat. “So they are.”

  “How do you know about stats?”

  He pulled out his iPhone and went to the game’s remote app. He pulled up the Armory and showed her a character sheet.

  “Level 90 Horde Tauren druid,” she read, indicating that the player was from the Alliance’s deadly counter faction, the Horde. “Arbiter.” She frowned. “Arbiter?” She caught her breath. “He killed me five times in one battleground!” she exclaimed. “He stealthed up to me, hit me from behind, then he just...killed me. I couldn’t even fight back.”

  “Don’t you have a medallion that interrupts spells?”

  “Yes, but it was on cooldown,” she said, glowering. “And you know this guy?” she asked.

  He put up the iPhone. “I am this guy.”

  She was stunned.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” he asked, studying her face.

  Too small, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She just nodded.

  “Your father asked a couple of us to take turns doing a walk-around when he’s not here. He had to go out, so I’ve got first watch.”

  She frowned. “A what?”

  “We’re going to patrol around the house.”

  “Carrying a Horde flag?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek.

  He smiled with real amusement. “We’ll be concealed. You won’t even know we’re on the place.”

  She was disconcerted. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a tip we got,” he replied. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Her green eyes narrowed. “My father can pull that stunt. You can’t. Give it to me straight.”

  His eyebrows arched.

  “If it concerns me, I have the right to know. My father is overprotective. I love him, but it’s not fair that I have to be kept in the dark. I’m not a mushroom.”

  “No. You’re Alliance.” He seemed really amused.

  “Proudly Alliance,” she muttered. “Darn the Horde!”

  He smiled. “Better rune that two-hander before you fight me again,” he advised, referring to a special weapons buff used only by death knights.

  “It’s brand-new. I haven’t had time,” she said defensively. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “There may be an attempt. That’s all we could find out.”

  “Why? The guy I recognized is dead!”

  “We’re pretty sure that he paid the contract out before he died,” he replied. “And we don’t know who has it. We tried backtracking known associates of the man who made the first attempt, the one who was poisoned awaiting trial. No luck whatsoever. But an informant needed a favor, so he gave up some information. Not much. There’s more at stake than just your memory of a counterfeit DEA agent. Much more.”

  “And that’s all I’m getting, right?”

  He nodded.

  She glared.

  “So much frustration,” he mused, studying her. “Why don’t you go win a few battles for the Alliance? It might help.”

  “Not unless you’re in one of them.” Her eyes twinkled. “Better watch your back next time. I’m getting the hang of it.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want to live forever.” He glanced around the room. It was Spartan. No lace anywhere. He eyed the title of a book on the desk next to her computer and frowned. “Hannibal?”

  “Learn from the best, I always think.”

  He looked at her. He didn’t look away.

  Her eyes met his and she felt her body melting, tingling. There was a sudden ache in the middle of her body, a jolt of pure electricity. She couldn’t even manage to look away.

  “Wolves bite,” he said in a soft, gruff whisper.

  She flushed and dragged her eyes back to the computer. Somebody sold her out. She wondered if it was the chief. She’d only called Carson a wolf to two people and her father would never have betrayed her.

  He chuckled softly. “Be careful what you say when you think people aren’t listening,” he added. He turned and left her staring after him.

  * * *

  LATER, SHE ASKED her father if he’d ratted her out.

  He chuckled. “No. But the house is bugged like a messy kitchen,” he confessed. “Be careful what you say.”

  “Gee, thanks for telling me after I said all sorts of things about Carson,” she murmured.

  He laughed. “He’s got a thick skin. It won’t bother him.”

  She studied him quietly. “Why are they after me?”

  He drew in a long breath. “There are some political maneuvers going on. You have a photographic memory. Maybe you saw someone other than the murder victim, and the man behind the plot is afraid you’ll remember who it is.”

  “Shades of Dalton Kirk,” she said, recalling that the Wyoming rancher had been warned by the woman who became his wife about a vision of him being attacked for something he didn’t even remember he’d seen.

  “Exactly.”

  She poured them second cups of coffee. “So I guess it’s back to checking under the truck every time I drive it.”

  “Oh, that never stopped,” her father said with a chuckle. “I’ve just been doing it for you.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s my dad, looking out for me,” she said with real affection.

  His pale blue eyes were sad. “There was a long period of time when I didn’t look out for anybody except myself,” he said quietly. “Your mother wouldn’t even let anybody tell me how sick she was until it was too late.” He lowered his gaze to the coffee. “I made a lot of mistakes out of selfishness. I hope that someday I’ll be able to make up for a little of it.”

  She sipped coffee. “You never talk about your life before you went to the seminary,” she pointed out.

  He smiled sadly. “I’m ashamed to.”

  “You were overseas a lot.”

  He nodded. “In a number of dangerous foreign places, where life is dirt cheap.”

  She pursed her lips and stared at him. “You know, Michelle’s guardian, Gabriel Brandon, spent a lot of time overseas also.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and smiled placidly. “Are you fishing?”

  She shrugged. But she didn’t look away.

  He finished his coffee. “Let’s just say that I had connections that aren’t obvious ones, and I made my living in a shadow world.”

  She frowned. “You aren’t wanted in some country whose name I can’t pronounce?”

  He laughed. “Nothing like that.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood up. “But I do have enemies who know where I live. In a general sense. So it’s smart to take precautions.” He smiled gently. “I wasn’t always a minister, pumpkin.”

  She was remembering Carson’s sarcastic comment when she’d mentioned that her father was a minister. She hadn’t known that he was aware of things about her parent that she wasn’t.

  “I feel like a mushroom,” she muttered.

  He bent and kissed her hair. “Believe me, you’re better off being one. See you later. I have some phone calls to make.”

  * * *

  HE LOCKED HIMSELF in his study and she went to watch the news on television. It was mostly boring, the same rehashed subjects over and over again, interspersed with more commercials than she could stomach. She turned it off and went upstairs.

  “No wonder people stopped watching television,” she grumbled as she wandered back to her bedroom. “Why don’t you just stop showing any programs and show wall-to-wall commercials, for heaven’
s sake!”

  She pulled up her game and tried to load it when she noticed that the internet wasn’t working.

  Muttering, she went downstairs to reset the router, which usually solved the problem. Except the router was in the study, and her father was locked in there.

  She started to knock, just as she heard her father’s raised voice in a tone she’d rarely ever heard.

  “I told you,” he gritted, “I am not coming back! You can’t say anything, threaten anything, that will make me change my mind. And don’t you say one more word about my daughter’s safety, or I will report you to the obvious people. I understand that,” he continued, less belligerently. “Trust me when I say that nobody short of a ghost could get in here after dark. The line is secure and I’ve scrambled important conversations, like this one. I appreciate the tip, I really do. But I can handle this. I haven’t forgotten anything you taught me.” He laughed shortly. “Yes, I remember. They were good times.”

  There was another pause. “No. But we did find out who his enforcer is, and our local law enforcement people are keeping him under covert surveillance. That’s right. No, I didn’t realize there were two. When did he hire the other? Wait a minute—blond hair, one eye, South African accent?” He burst out laughing. “He hired Rourke as an enforcer?”

  There was another pause. “Yes, please, tell him to come see me. I’d enjoy that. Like old times, yes. Okay. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch.”

  Totally confused, Carlie softly retraced her steps, made a racket coming down the staircase and went directly to the study. She rapped on the door.

  “Dad? The internet’s out! Can you reset the router?”

  There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, but she never heard his footsteps. The door suddenly opened.

  He pursed his lips and studied her flushed face. “Okay. How much did you hear?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Gandalf, sir, I swear, except something about the end of the world,” she paraphrased Sam from Lord of the Rings.

  Her father laughed. “Well, it wasn’t really anything you didn’t already know.”

  “Who’s Rourke?” she wondered.

  “A man of many talents. You’ll like him.” He frowned. “Just don’t like him too much, okay? He has a way with women, and you’re a little lamb.”

  She gave him a blithe look. “If I could get around Barry Mathers, I can get around Rourke.”

  Her father understood the reference. Barry, a classmate, had caused one of Carlie’s friends a world of hurt by getting her into bed and bragging about it. The girl had been as innocent as Carlie. He wasn’t even punished.

  So then he’d bet his friends that he could get Carlie into bed. She heard about it from an acquaintance, led him around by the nose, and when he showed up at her house for the date, she had two girlfriends and their boyfriends all ready to go along. He was stunned. But he couldn’t call off the date, or he’d have to face the razzing of his clique.

  So he took all of them out to dinner and the movies, dutch treat, and delivered Carlie and the others back to her house where her friends’ cars were parked.

  She waited until the others left and she was certain that her father was in the living room before she spoke to Barry. She gave him such a tongue-lashing that he literally turned around and walked the other way every time he saw her after that. He never asked her out again. Of course, neither did anybody else, for the rest of her senior year.

  Barry, on the other hand, was censured so much that his wealthy parents sent him to a school out of state. He died there soon afterward in a skiing accident.

  “You had a hard time in school,” her father said gently.

  “No harder than most other people with principles do,” she replied. “There are more of us than you might think.”

  “I reset the router,” he added. “Go try your game.”

  “I promised to meet Robin for a quest,” she said. “I’d hate to let him down.”

  Her father just smiled. They knew about Robin’s situation. He was in love with a girl whose family hated his family. It was a feud that went back two generations, over a land deal. Even the principals didn’t really remember what started it. But when Robin expressed interest in Lucy and tried to date her, the hidden daggers came out.

  It was a tragic story in many ways. Two people in love who weren’t even allowed to see each other because of their parents. They were grown now, but Lucy still lived at home and was terrified of her father. So even if Robin insisted, Lucy wouldn’t go against her kin.

  Robin worked in his dad’s real estate office, where he wasn’t harassed, and he was a whiz with figures. He was going to night classes, studying real estate up in San Antonio, where he hoped to learn enough to eventually become a full-fledged real estate broker. Carlie liked him. So did her father, who respected a parent’s rights but also felt sympathy for young people denied the right to love whom they pleased.

  * * *

  CARLIE WENT ONLINE and loaded the game, then looked for Robin, who played a shaman in the virtual world. His was a healing spec, so it went well with Carlie’s DK, who couldn’t heal.

  I have a problem, he whispered to her, a form of typed private communication in-game.

  She typed, How can I help?

  He made a big smiley face. I need a date for the Valentine’s Day dance.

  Should I ask why? she typed.

  There was a smiley face. Lucy’s going to the dance with some rich rancher her father knows from out of town. If you’ll go with me, her dad won’t suspect anything and I can at least dance with her.

  She shook her head. One day the two of them were going to have to decide if the sneaking around was less traumatic than just getting together and daring their parents to say anything. But she just typed, I’ll buy a dress.

  There was a bigger smiley face. It’s so nice to have a friend like you, he replied.

  That works both ways.

  * * *

  LATER, SHE TOLD her father she had a date. He asked who, and she explained.

  “You’re both hiding, Carlie,” he said, surprising her. His eyes narrowed. “You need to think about finding someone you can have a good relationship with, someone to marry and have children with. And Robin and Lucy need to stand up and behave like adults.”

  She smiled sadly. “Chance would be a fine thing,” she replied. “You might not have noticed, but men aren’t exactly beating a path to my door. And you know why.”

  “Young men look at what’s outside,” he said wisely. “When they’re more mature, men look for what’s inside. You’re just at the wrong period of your life. That will change.”

  She drew in a long breath. “You know, not everybody marries...”

  He glared at her.

  She held up both hands. “I’m not talking about moving in with somebody,” she said hastily. “I mean, not everybody gets married. Look at Old Man Barlow, he never did.”

  “He never bathed,” he pointed out.

  She glowered at him. “Beside the point. How about the Miller brothers? They never married. Their sister was widowed and moved back in with them, and they’re all single now. They seem perfectly happy.”

  He looked down his nose at her. “Who spends half her time in department stores, ogling baby booties and little gowns?”

  She flushed and averted her eyes.

  “Just what I thought,” he added.

  “Listen, there really aren’t many communities in Texas smaller than Comanche Wells, or even Jacobsville. Most of the men my age are either married or living with somebody.”

  “I see your point.”

  “The others are having so much fun partying that they don’t want to do either,” she continued. “Come on, Dad, I like my life. I really do. I enjoy working for the chief and having lunch at Barb
ara’s Café and playing my game at night and taking care of you.” She gave him a close scrutiny. “You know, you might think about marrying somebody.”

  “Bite your tongue,” he said shortly. “There was your mother. I don’t want anybody else. Ever.”

  She stared at him with consternation. “She’d want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” he insisted. “I’m married to my church, pumpkin. I love what I do now.” He smiled. “You know, in the sixteenth century, all priests were expected to be single. It wasn’t until Henry VIII changed the laws that they could even marry, and when his daughter Mary came to the throne, she threw out all the married priests. Then when her half sister Elizabeth became Queen, she permitted them to marry, but she didn’t want married ministers preaching before her. She didn’t approve of it, either.”

  “This is the twenty-first century,” she pointed out. “And why are you hanging out with McKuen Kilraven?” she added, naming one of the federal agents who sometimes came to Jacobsville.

  He laughed. “Does it show?”

  “I don’t know of anybody else who can hold forth for an hour on sixteenth-century British politics and never tell the same story twice.”

  “Guilty,” he replied. “He was in your boss’s office the last time I was there.”

  “When was that? I didn’t see him.”

  “You were at lunch.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t volunteer any more information.

  “I need to go buy a new dress,” she said. “I think I’ll drive up to San Antonio after work, since it’s Saturday and I get off at 1 p.m.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you borrow the Cobra.” He laughed at her astonished look. “I’m not sure your truck would make it even halfway to the city, pumpkin.”

  She just shook her head.

  * * *

  IT WAS A CONCESSION of some magnitude. Her father loved that car. He washed and waxed it by hand, bought things for it. She was only allowed to drive it on very special occasions, and usually only when she went to the big city.

  San Antonio wasn’t a huge city, but there was a lot to see. Carlie liked to stop by the Alamo and look at it, but El Mercado was her port of call. It had everything, including unique shops and music and restaurants. She usually spent half a day just walking around it. But today she was in a hurry.