Wow...but...Reporters tended to pry at doors best left closed. Caro swallowed a sigh.
"I'm sorry, but I don't give interviews." With some regret, because she liked him and she did want her work to make a splash, she cooled her voice. "It's family policy."
"I see." Although Moore still sounded relaxed, his deep voice carried a tinge of disappointment. "If you change your mind, I'd be glad to send you the questions by email ahead of time."
Before she could refuse again, he added, "And now I'm sure there are others who'd like to talk to you. It was nice meeting you, Caro. Layton."
His shape and his footsteps receded into the swirl of life energy in the gallery. Too bad. He'd seemed like such a nice guy.
But she couldn't let down her guard, even for the sake of her career. Too many people wanted to write sordid stories about Griffin or his family. Because he was a painter, even Mundane publications like Peachtree Arts Bulletin had glommed onto her "missing" brother, supposedly homeless and mentally ill.
Caro swallowed a sigh. Best to guard her privacy and steer clear of any reporters. Even part-time ones. And especially charming ones. They always wanted something.
#
Rick had known getting Caroline Dare to talk to him wouldn't be easy. He'd even expected vigilant parents. After all, it was a big night for her, and this event would stir up talk about her brother's absence. But he hadn't figured on the hostile boyfriend.
He should have. After all, she was a lovely woman.
A lush fall of black hair framed her rose-and-cream complexion. Those classical, elegant features like her mom's, combined with her dad's gray eyes, presented a pleasant picture but an unremarkable one. The real appeal came from the sparkle, the life, in her face. He'd stupidly failed to realize a blind woman's face could be so animated.
His mistake.
So of course there was a boyfriend. The guy wouldn't be at her side forever, though.
Rick shrugged. He'd mentioned his article to show her he was harmless, possibly even helpful, but it hadn't worked. He'd just have to regroup and try again. Up his game.
By all accounts, Caroline had been close to her brother. She very well might know why he'd acted as he did and, with a little encouragement, even spring to his defense.
Unless he really was a traitor and she knew it. Getting her to talk then would be tougher. But Rick would persevere. Talent didn't entitle her to shelter a murderer.
Too bad his palm tingled faintly with the memory of her touch. Had he imagined that hint of color in her cheeks when she'd shaken hands with him?
He'd come to get a story, not lose his head over a beautiful woman. But if she was attracted to him, that improved his odds of finding a chink in her armor.
Wandering the gallery, he listened to the buzz of admiring voices under the music. But there was Burton McCree, the main critic for Macon Arts Weekly, and he was scowling. Not good. Really not good.
How could he not like images beautifully woven in silk and wool that gleamed with vibrant energy?
Rick paused by one called Firebird, based on the classical Stravinsky. But the dark landscape, the storm clouds, and the nimbus of light around a launching bird in scarlet, gold, and tiny hints of green–how did a blind woman, even a mageborn one, know you could sometimes see green in a fire?–those were all hers. And they took his breath away.
The bird had an exuberance, a joy, that even the dark background couldn't stifle. That same energy ran through all these hangings. The woman was brilliant.
She might've gotten this showing through connections, but the pieces on display deserved it. Stan had been far too dismissive. Fancy place mats, my ass.
Rick glanced at her again. Surely there was no harm in admiring the way that vivid blue dress clung to her slim body. Her tall, willowy form showed just the right curves, subtle and feminine but not overblown. No wonder his eyes kept straying in her direction.
A middle-aged couple stopped to speak to her. Layton leaned in, then bulled into the conversation. Rick frowned. What the hell was such a gifted woman doing with such a jackass?
More important, how could Rick peel her away from Layton and convince her to work with him?
Chapter Two
"Caro, darling," her mom said, the approaching sound of her voice warm, "guess who I found wandering the foyer!"
Familiar magic surrounded the newcomer. Caro's smile broadened, genuinely this time. She set her champagne on the table behind her, next to her eight-inch, tubular laser cane. "Will! I didn't think you could make it."
"Wouldn't have missed it."
Beard scruff brushed her cheek as her brother of the heart gave her a quick hug. Caro had known Will Davis all her life, so of course she'd touched his face. As a result, she could picture the boyish cast it assumed when he grinned and the streaky, blond-and-brown hair that perpetually hung just past his jaw.
But she knew his eyes were pale blue only because her mom had shown her the exact color with paint. Being able to sense color through touch gave her a clearer picture of the world than she would've had otherwise, but it had its limits.
Pitching his voice for her ears only, he said softly, "Hey there, Shrimp."
The quick embrace let her sense, as he must've intended, that the fine fabric under her hands was dark blue with lapels–a suit jacket–with a white shirt and a bright blue, paisley tie under it.
Caro grinned. "Nice suit. Too bad you accessorized with that feeble excuse for a beard." Will saw regular shaving as a waste of time that could be better spent on video games.
"Hey, you got me all dressed up. Don't complain."
"Good point." Geek. She added his boyhood nickname with affectionate warmth in her heart but kept it to herself.
Although Will took as much pride in his knowledge of obscure facts and his nerdy interests as he did in his two doctoral degrees and his black belt, Jerald and others in earshot might not understand if Caro teased him with that label.
"Will, this is Jerald Layton. Jerald, Will Davis."
"Good to meet you," Jerald said.
The faint swish of fabric and the soft pat of palms meeting told Caro the two men shook hands. Thank goodness Jerald knew Will was an old friend and didn't see him, too, as competition.
Stuart Dare asked, "Any news at work, Will?"
As the assistant loremaster at the southeastern Collegium, known to its Mundane neighbors as the Georgia Institute for Paranormal Research, Will would hear anything that mattered. Like, oh, any leads the mages might have for finding and arresting Griffin.
"That's man code for hot gossip." Caro's mom spoke cheerfully, but the same concern had to be in her mind, too.
"There's been some ghoul activity on the outskirts of Macon," Will replied softly, so his voice didn't carry beyond their little group. The Burning Times, the witch hunts that had swept Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, proved it was far better that Mundanes not know about the mageborn among them.
"Enough that Shire Reeve Banning is stationing a detachment here," he added. "If you're out at night, don't go alone, and be sure your doors are locked."
"Right," Caro's dad said.
Will's news sent a ripple of dismay through the group. Ghouls were dark magic users, the mages' deadly enemies. Their retractable talons could inject poisonous venom or siphon life energy or magic. Unable to eat anything but fresh kill or breed among themselves, they preyed on mages and Mundanes for breeding stock and sometimes for food.
"Nothing else is worth mentioning," Will replied in a light tone that had to be deliberate, probably to lift the pall his news had dropped over the group. "Except, y'know, I'm wearing this suit."
As her dad chuckled, Caro realized there was no feminine silhouette hovering at Will's side. She raised her eyebrows. "Will, you haven't introduced us to your date."
"I didn't bring one."
Jerald excused himself to speak to a client. Caro's magic didn't pick up a sense of anyone nearby, but she lowered her voic
e anyway. "What, no flavor of the week?"
"Last week's flavor is a tough act to follow. I'm resting my palate."
"Oh, Will." Fond exasperation rang in Lara Dare's voice. "Seriously. You're almost twenty-nine years old. Isn't it time you thought about settling on someone, at least for a while?"
"I have." Cheerfully, Will added, "I'm having tutti-frutti, a little of this, a little of that."
As everyone groaned, he gave Caro's shoulders a quick, affectionate squeeze. "Besides," he continued, "the best flavor is off limits. Around the time Caro turned thirteen, Griff assured me he'd break both my arms if he ever caught me looking her way."
Calling out the elephant in the room was so typically Will. "I wish he could be here," Caro murmured.
"Me, too, Shrimp. Me, too." His body tensed, and Caro caught an odd vibe, as though he might say something else. But he didn't. The silence turned awkward.
"Lara, darling, champagne?" her dad asked. "Will, Caro?"
"Yes, sir," Will replied, "thanks."
"I'm good," Caro told him.
Her mom said, "I'll come with you."
As their footsteps moved away, Will sighed. "Guess I'll need surgery now to remove my foot from my mouth."
"No." Caro shifted so their shoulders touched. "We're all thinking about him. It's best to admit it."
"Maybe." Will still seemed tense. "About this ghoul activity, Shrimp–I know you and Griff worked on your fighting skills, and I assume you've been keeping up. But if you need a refresher, I'd be happy to help."
Caro shook her head. "Thanks, but my friend Mindy and I work out every week." Most mages went through their entire lives without encountering a ghoul, but her family preferred being prepared for the worst. "My ability to sense silhouettes is even sharper when I spar, maybe from adrenaline."
"That's good," Will said. "Glad you're keeping up your skills."
He was one of the few people she could talk to about her brother, and she had him to herself. At least until someone else wanted to meet her.
Caro blew out a shaky breath. "Sometimes I'm afraid he's dead. It's been three years, and no word."
"He'd be a tough guy to kill."
"True." Yet he continued to give off that strange vibe. Why? "Is there something wrong, Will? Something you're afraid to say?"
"If the Collegium killed him, they'd trumpet the news," he reminded her, shifting slightly so they were no longer in direct contact. "Ditto for the ghouls."
"I'm sure they would." As shire reeve, Griffin had dedicated himself to eliminating ghouls and their nests.
"Ergo, he's safe," Will concluded. The brush of his sleeve against her arm signaled a shrug.
"That's a comforting thought." Caro took a moment to pray it was true.
#
Two hours later, the thinning crowd gave Caro a chance for a restroom break. She actually needed a few moments alone almost as much as she needed the facilities. Spending time in her dad's familiar office or with the small circle of friends she'd retained after the scandal about Griffin had left her unprepared for large-scale socializing.
At least she had the women's room to herself. That made it a brief oasis of quiet. Tucking her laser cane under one arm, she dampened a paper towel and patted it along her throat. The coolness helped revive her flagging energy.
She located the trash bin by sliding the towel over the counter until she found the opening. After dropping the towel in, she squared her shoulders.
Admitting she'd made a mistake with Jerald burned, but there was no avoiding that truth. His snobbishness, his sucking up to potential clients, and his possessiveness had been difficult enough to tolerate with a smile, but his patronizing attitude about her mobility was the last straw.
When she'd told him she was going to powder her nose, he'd insisted on coming with her, informing her she didn't need the virtual cane with him along. He'd even patted her hand and said, "We can't have you get lost on the night of your big show."
Because of the guests, she'd bitten back her hot retort, but she knew her way around the gallery better than he did. Her mom had held several shows here. As he well knew.
This was definitely their last date. She should've swallowed her pride and asked Will to hang with her tonight. Except that mageborn visitors who knew her family and his would get entirely the wrong impression.
When she emerged, Jerald drew her hand through his arm. "Listen, doll, some people from the office are meeting up at Zero G. There's a great new band playing. We could go celebrate your big opening."
A club meant crowds. Jostling. Disorientation. Caro swallowed against a wave of panic.
"I don't like clubs, Jerald. I told you that the first time you mentioned this." Not listening was so unfortunately typical of him.
"This isn't some cheap dive, Caroline. The cover charge is twenty-five a head." Irritation hardened his tone and grated on her senses through their physical contact. "I asked you to think about it. I've spent the evening doing what you wanted, after all."
Her fingers tightened on the laser's casing. "I hardly think my attending the first showing of my work is the equivalent of doing something on a whim. My presence here was necessary." You ass.
"Yeah, sure, but it's also necessary for me to keep tight with the people at my office. Especially the ones a little higher on the ladder."
Trying for pleasant and reasonable, Caro replied, "It's fine for you to go. I certainly don't want to spoil your fun. But that kind of evening isn't for me."
"I told everybody you were coming."
Now he sounded sulky. Great. Just great.
"And I told you I didn't want to go. If you chose to ignore that, it's not my fault."
"You said you would think about it," he snapped.
"No, you told me to think about it. I never said yes." Jerald, it seemed, heard only what he wanted to.
"It would be good for you," he sneered, "to broaden your horizons."
"That's not for you to say." Oh, yes, they were so over. "But you go ahead. In fact, go now."
"They're expecting us both." He grabbed her left arm. Fear tightened her throat as he added, "You're going with me."
"You had no right." Anger swamped fear. Caro tightened her grip on the laser.
Her extended senses gave her his outline and a good idea where his balls were. "You don't speak for me, Jerald. Now let go–"
"Who the hell do you think you are, to be so damn picky? You're lucky I went past the pity date stage, you–"
"Let. Go." She pushed the words out between clenched teeth. Couldn't let him know how much that last had hurt.
"Not until you see reason." The bastard actually tightened his grip.
Jerking back in his hold, Caro dropped her hand with the laser in it. Line up your shot, Griffin had always said. Get it right the first–
"Let her go," a man's hard voice ordered.
Not Will or Dad. Who?
Jerald snapped, "This is a private conversation," but his grip loosened. He caressed her arm.
Tasting bile, Caro stepped out of his reach as the newcomer said, "It stopped being private when Caro told you to let her go."
That aged whiskey voice, causing that little tingle in her magical senses, belonged to Rick Moore. How mortifying to have him overhear this.
Jerald stepped closer but had the sense not to touch her. "Tell him to butt out, baby, and we'll finish our discussion."
"We are finished," Caro informed him. Thank God, the tears that threatened to choke her didn't show in her voice. "In every way. Don't let me keep you from your friends."
"I'll call you tomorrow," Jerald said.
She kept her voice even. "Don't bother."
"Yeah." He snorted. "I don't know why I ever did."
She caught a blast of quick, hot anger in his emotions, but he stalked away, his footsteps loud on the gallery's wooden flooring.
"It's Rick Moore, Caro," her rescuer said. "Are you all right?"
Now that Jerald was gone,
the tears welled up. Caro closed her eyes and swallowed hard. One deep, slow breath steadied her enough to muster a smile. "I recognized you, Rick. Thank you."
"I can honestly say it was my pleasure. My knightly armor's getting a little tarnished from disuse." He paused. "You sure you're all right?" he asked softly.
"Fine." Caro steeled her spine. She could do nothing about the heat in her face, though. "This is just a little awkward, you know?"
"It doesn't have to be. We can pretend I was on my way to the men's room and you were heading back in."
"If you weren't actually headed to the restroom, why were you here?" Had he heard the entire quarrel? That would be so embarrassing.
"I was checking to see if you'd left. I was about to go but wanted to tell you again how much I like your work."
"That's very kind." Sincerity vibrated in his words, and the compliment warmed her. But was that all he'd wanted? Or had he intended to press her about the interview?
And now she owed him.
Damn, but she'd grown suspicious. That she'd had to become wary wasn't his fault.
Rick added, "I'd be glad to walk you back to the gallery or wherever you were headed. Can I offer you an arm or anything?"
With the laser cane, she could walk back by herself. Vibrations in the handle would alert her to objects ahead. Better to be alone than to be someone's pity date. And not for the first time. That crack had hurt.
But Moore's chivalry was enticing, a welcome antidote to Jerald's scorn.
"If I could hold your right elbow," she said, "and have you walk a little ahead, that's easiest. There shouldn't be any obstacles between here and the gallery, but you could warn me if there are. I'll use my laser, too."
"Whatever works for you. I'd never turn down the chance to have a beautiful woman on my arm."
Caro's cheeks heated. "You're sweet. Thank you."
"Only the truth." He let his arm brush hers, let her be the one to find her grip.
She activated the virtual cane. "Let's go."
His arm felt sturdy, and his aftershave had an intriguing citrus-and-spice scent. He seemed like a good guy. Like most polite people, he'd asked her what he should do, not told her what she should. She hadn't realized how irritating dealing with Jerald's arrogance had become.
Sentinel: A Light Mage Wars Novella (The Light Mage Wars) Page 2