Maybe it was time to put a stop to the wavering and just ask. Except she'd shut him down fast. Maybe walk. He wasn't ready for that to happen. He still had a week to file his story.
In the glow of the dash, she looked tired. Faint, almost buried hints of longing and grief tinted his sense of the magic around her.
He had no way to ease her worries, and his desire to do so signaled dangerous loss of objectivity.
These last few days, he'd come to see that even someone whose life looked pretty cushy could be put in a hard spot by someone else's choices. More and more, his gut said Caroline was too decent to shield a bastard, and her silence was obviously meant to shield her brother.
Or maybe just her parents' privacy.
Either way, if he let this go, his story was lost, and with it, his chance to clear his father's name.
Carefully, he said, "I don't mean to push here, Sunshine, but does it occur to you that your family might be able to help your brother if you showed the rest of our world how you see him?"
"It occurred," she said wearily. "But you know we'd have no control over any story that appeared. The slant would be out of our hands. We could end up doing more harm than good."
I could write it hovered on his lips, but he swallowed the words. He couldn't promise her a particular angle, either. And she didn't respond well to pushes.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to raise the subject. If she let him see her again. At this point, that was definitely in question. If he had one more day with her, he could plan his approach overnight, work out the wording.
After all, Griffin was under a death sentence. He'd evaded the reeves longer than anyone thought possible, but no one's luck lasted forever. When his ran out, his life would hang on the number of mageborn who still had open minds about him.
And when the hell had Rick started to care about that?
#
Caro bit her lip. The air in the car felt heavy with regret. With things unsaid. So what if she wanted to confide in Rick? She'd known him less than a week, and for all she knew, her longing to open up to him was more post-fight letdown. Just like the current of desire that still hummed through her despite the tension between them.
"We're here, but I don't see a space in front," Rick said. "There's one a little way down."
"I could just get out." Having him walk her to the door would only prolong the indecision and the temptation he presented.
"I'm walking you up," he informed her. "I need to see you go into your place so I know you're safe."
Around a silly rush of pleasure, Caro said, "Ghouls don't strike in cities."
"Usually. But there's always a first time, and the image of you facing off against that ghoul while I tried to reach you is still haunting me. Besides, there are other predators than ghouls in any city. I'm walking you up."
"Okay. Thanks." She might as well enjoy these last few minutes. By tomorrow, he might decide he was done with her. Not that she could blame him. If he was interested in her, as he implied, he would naturally want her to trust him.
But it was too soon for that.
Caro frowned. Too soon? As in, there would be more time to decide? When had she started thinking of this thing between her and Rick as something that might last?
Rick pulled into a spot, and she waited for him to open her door. As usual, he offered her his right hand, then waited for her to grasp his elbow and deploy her cane.
He was a nice guy. Considerate, even when he and she had static between them. Kind enough to coax her into learning to dance, to laugh with her, to help her prove her art was hers alone.
She didn't want to lose him.
They walked into her building and took the stairs up. At her door, she turned to him. "Thank you, Rick. I enjoyed the roadhouse a lot."
"So did I." He cupped her cheek with his warm, callused palm.
Her throat tightened with longing as he continued, "I'm sorry about what came after."
Gripping his hand, Caro turned her face into it. Would this be the last time they touched each other? He had his walls up. She couldn't read him.
"Not your fault," she reminded him. "Will Davis told my dad there was an uptick in ghoul activity near Macon. It could've happened to anyone. Better us than Mundanes."
"There is that." His voice grave, he added, "But I didn't mean only the ghouls."
The ache in her chest eased. "That wasn't all your fault, either. I know I'm not the easiest person–"
"Sshhh." Rick kissed her, the merest brush of his mouth over hers, and it washed warmth and desire through her.
"I've lived through a family scandal," he said. "I realize you have to cope as you think best. But give me leeway to make suggestions once in a while."
"Okay." She could do that. He was a smart man. He might have good ideas, but he had to learn when to back off. There were lines no outsider could cross.
He's only an outsider if you won't let him in.
The thought stopped her cold. Before she could consider it, he wrapped his arms around her and said, "We could have something good, Sunshine. I don't want to blow it before we see just how good."
"Neither do I."
"Great." He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "You should be proud of the way you kicked ass. I think your teacher would be."
"He would." Caro could grant Rick that much. But she didn't want to think about Griff or how much she missed him. Not now.
She raised her free hand to Rick's nape, sliding her fingers into his thick, soft hair, and tugged.
Rick groaned. His mouth caught hers, stealing her breath. When she opened for him, his tongue merely brushed hers, flirting, tantalizing. Hot and bothered and restless, she needed more. She flicked her tongue into his mouth.
He stroked it with his, and need speared through her.
With a moan, Caro encircled his waist, the cane in her hand suddenly feeling like a barrier. She dropped it, hardly noticing that it clattered to the floor. She stroked Rick's back, then let her hands roam the hard muscles of his ass. The man was seriously built, and she was dying to touch him.
He growled as his mouth left hers. He trailed hot, tongue-flicking kisses across her jaw, then down her neck, into the vee of her blouse. When he licked the top of her breast, her knees went weak.
Trembling, Caro kissed his ear, then nibbled her way down his neck.
Too fast, the voice of sanity said in the depths of her brain.
Not fast enough, the voice of craving insisted. But it was wrong. This was too fast. Too far.
Hating to stop, Caro managed, "Rick."
"Hmmm?" he breathed into her ear, then gently nipped it.
A shiver of pure pleasure blanked her brain. Struggling to surface, breathless, she pushed out, "Wait."
His body tensed. Breathing hard, he dropped his head to her shoulder. Shared frustration rippled between them.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I started it."
"Don't apologize." He raised his head. Framing her face in his hands, he said, "I like having you touch me. If you're not ready for more, you're not. It's that simple."
She missed the feel of his hands on her body. His mouth. Oh, God, she was in trouble.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, rubbing his chin against her hair. "I could sleep on your couch."
Caro managed a shaky laugh. "You're too tall. Besides, you might start out on the couch, but you wouldn't be there long."
His half-groan, half-chuckle eased her nerves. "That wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?" he asked lightly.
"Not in the moment, but after...It's too fast for me, Rick. I'm sor–"
He kissed her quickly. "Don't apologize. If we can't be honest with each other, we don't have much."
He tensed suddenly, as though his words had surprised him.
"Something wrong?" Caro asked. She'd touched his face enough to find his temple easily now, so she finger-combed his hair off his brow.
"No, it's good." But the undercurrent of doubt comi
ng from him persisted. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "I have a meeting in the morning, but let me take you to lunch."
That brief touch of his mouth stirred the hot yearning again. "How's eleven thirty?"
"I'll see you then." He kissed her again, then stepped back. She sensed him bending, and then he pressed her cane into her hand. "Don't forget this. Now let me see you go inside. I'll stay until I hear the bolt click."
"Thanks." There was that enticing concern again. Caro smiled. "Good night, Dudley."
"Sleep well, Sunshine."
Yeah. That was so not happening. Between frustrated desire and residual adrenaline, she had some unwinding to do before she could rest.
Caro opened her door, walked inside, then locked herself in. "Good night," she said through the door.
"See you tomorrow."
The fading of his energy signaled his departure. Caro slumped against the door and sighed.
If only she had someone to talk to about the fight. Mom and Dad wouldn't understand this mix of feelings. Nor would they focus on it. They'd be too struck by after-the-fact fear because she'd fought ghouls. They never had. Neither had Mindy. Or Will. He might have a couple of black belts, but he was a loremaster. A researcher.
Sparring on the mats wouldn't generate the same scary rush as doing it for real.
Caro sighed again. She would have to tell Mom and Dad, partly to reassure them that she could handle herself if she had to, but morning would be soon enough. Meanwhile, she might as well make some tea, maybe pop in an audiobook. Anything to stop thinking about how long it was from now until lunchtime.
Chapter Ten
Rick's comment to Caro about honesty haunted him through the night, harder to brush off than the ghoul encounter. When had he started to care what they might have between them?
Now he stood in Jim Todd's tiny, rustic kitchen while his balding, sixtyish host poured coffee. More than one person had told him Jim might look like a genial elf but he had the brain of a predator. Rick needed to focus.
"So." Jim handed Rick a cup of black coffee. At odds with his mild tone, his gray eyes were keen. "Why do you think I dropped the Dare story?"
"The pieces didn't fit." The question was clearly a test. Had Rick passed?
"Which pieces?" Jim asked.
Rick followed his host into the sunroom, where early morning light filtered through the trees onto the faded, upholstered chairs and sofa. A laptop lay on a rattan table by a corner hearth. Jim must've been working when Rick arrived.
"Any of them," he said as he and Jim settled into armchairs by the glass. "They're fine separately, but they don't form a cohesive pattern."
Jim raised his eyebrows, so Rick continued. "Nothing in Dare's background hints at any dishonorable tendencies. A guy who's greedy doesn't become a deputy reeve or the slightly-better-paid shire reeve. Not when his paintings go for five to ten thousand a pop. Dare didn't need to sell out his deputies to make a cartload of money."
"And yet," Jim said softly.
"Yeah." Rick took a sip of the strong, rich coffee and eyed his host. Everyone Rick had asked had described Jim as a man of his word. "Can I trust you with something?"
When Jim nodded, Rick told him about his conversation with the deputy reeve and shared Jason's info about the burned-out ghoul nests.
Jim rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Some would say Dare was just a good actor. That those nests, if they're Dare's work–and that's a damned big 'if'–show he and his ghoul allies had a falling out."
"That's not what you think," Rick said, picking up on the older man's choice of words.
Jim stared at him, his narrowed eyes appraising, for a long moment. "I'm going tell you something in return, but I need your word we're in a cone of silence."
"Cone of silence," Rick agreed. His heartbeat kicked up. Did Jim have info that could crack this story? If so, why hadn't he used it?
Jim grabbed the laptop. When he opened it, the machine whirred to life. The weary, pained face of a fifty-something woman filled the screen.
"I have this," Jim said, "for safekeeping. This is Muriel Jacobs, the wife of former shire reeve Dan Jacobs."
"Corin's mother," Rick noted softly. No wonder she looked so distressed. Her son was dead at the hands of a family friend.
With a nod, Jim handed the laptop to Rick. "She passed away last year. Click play."
Rick complied. Muriel Jacobs's image began to speak, her words heavy with the same grief that lined her face. "My name is Muriel Stanhope Jacobs. I am a licensed forensic psychologist. My husband was Southeast Shire Reeve for seven years. Two years later, he served for another year."
Jim put in, "Griffin Dare was the reeve in between those stints, then Dan's older son, Corin, until he died."
Rick nodded as Jacobs continued. "I knew Griffin Dare from boyhood, and I've never seen anybody more dedicated to protecting our kind and the Mundanes from ghouls, from dark magic, from anything vile and dangerous. He and my son Corin were friends. They shared not only a sense of purpose but a devotion to fairness. To honor."
Blinking rapidly, Jacobs looked away from the camera. Her throat moved in a hard swallow.
"Shit," Rick breathed. "Jim, why–?"
"Keep watching." Jim eyed Rick over his coffee mug. "She wrote this all out and read it over Skype so I could record it."
"Griff and Corin always had each other's backs," Corin's mother added. "Whether it was magical studies, girls, or just stupid teenage boy stuff, they watched out for each other."
Again, she swallowed hard. "So even though my son's murderer was magically screened and so can't be identified, I absolutely know Griff did not kill Corin. He would've died first."
Corin Jacobs had died from a blast of magic in the back that left a round–
"People say," Jacobs noted, scowling now, "the round burn from the fatal blast, the kind a staff weapon leaves, is proof of Griff's guilt. After all, he's the only mage in the southeast who fights with a staff. But every cadet trains with them, so the Collegium armory has a couple dozen that my husband says are easy to access. And these so-called experts rely on the burn evidence to convict him of Corin's death but ignore it in Allie Henderson's."
Dare's former lover, Rick remembered.
"That boy adored that girl, and she loved him just as much." Muriel Jacobs's voice shook. Again, she looked away and swallowed.
"There's no way he would've caused her to have so much as a hangnail, let alone taken her life. Nor was there any way she would've cheated on him with Sykes Mitchell, like the supposed experts claim. Her fatal burn was consistent with a sword like Sykes's, not a staff, yet everyone blames Griff for it. These supposed experts claim he found them together and killed them both in a jealous rage."
The woman's lip curled. "I can't be the only one who smells bullshit."
Wow. Rick's brain clicked back through the files he'd read. "Nothing about this is on record, Jim."
"Just wait."
"No one will listen to me. They claim I'm a deluded, grieving mother," Jacobs repeated, anger hardening her tone, "but I know sociopaths start early, and there was never any sign of that in Griff. People can brush aside what I have to say. Maybe they're scared. Maybe they're stupid. Or maybe they have an agenda. My husband is torn, doesn't know what to think, and I had to drop this because it was hurting our other son, Mitch, and his chances in the deputy reeves. But I'm making this recording so someone knows. In case it ever matters."
The screen returned to the beginning. Rick handed the laptop back to Jim. "Holy crap," he muttered.
"Yeah." Jim set the computer back on the table. "It doesn't meet the standard for evidence under the Caudex Magi, but she did the best she could."
"You think somebody leaned on her and her husband?"
"Subtly, but yeah. The MageWire official position is, and always has been, the same as the Collegium's, that Dare is guilty of all of it."
"But you had doubts."
Jim nodded. "How did Stan pull
you back into all this, anyway? I heard you'd scaled back, mostly doing novels and your column. No investigative work."
Rick hesitated. The family disaster wasn't something he liked to share. "It's a long story."
"Okay." After a moment, Jim said, "Look, Rick, you want to be careful how much you trust Stan."
What the hell? "He's always treated me well," Rick replied. "He trained me."
"Yeah, but that was when he was the Georgia desk chief. Since he moved up in management, about the time you pulled back, he's all about the big score."
Brain like a predator, Rick remembered. If Jim saw smoke, there might be flame, though Rick couldn't imagine what it would be. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."
Jim took another sip of coffee. "Anyway, after seeing that, hearing from everybody what a straight arrow Dare was, I couldn't write a story that followed the official line."
Neither could Rick. Damn it. What was he going to do now?
#
As Rick walked into Caro's building and up the stairs to her loft, the question gnawed at him. Everything he'd heard and seen placed a big, fat, gray zone around her brother's guilt.
There was no question he'd killed Althor or that four deputies had died in the ensuing firefight, but why hadn't the guy gone through the system? All this tragedy, these deaths, could've been avoided if he'd worked within the system he'd sworn to uphold.
And where the hell did that leave Rick? Could he write a feature based on what he'd learned about Caro, incorporate things he'd learned that made her brother look better? If he did, would Stan consider that good enough? Or would Rick shatter her tentative trust for nothing?
What was he going to do about her, anyway? He'd meant what he said to her about being honest last night, just as he'd meant his statement that he wanted to see what they could have together.
Yet he wasn't being honest with her. Somehow, he had to come clean about wanting to do a story on Griffin without making her run for the hills. Without hurting her.
She wasn't at all how Stan had depicted her. Rich and connected, sure, but she was aware that she'd started life with advantages. She was determined to stand on her own. To her credit, she'd understood his family's struggles, even admired what they'd done.
Sentinel: A Light Mage Wars Novella (The Light Mage Wars) Page 10