by Maggie Mundy
Table of Contents
UNKNOWN PROTECTOR
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
UNKNOWN PROTECTOR
Book One of the Midworlder Trilogy
MAGGIE MUNDY
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
UNKNOWN PROTECTOR
Copyright©2014
MAGGIE MUNDY
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-596-5
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For my husband, Alan,
and my daughters, Jenny and Rachel,
who are my greatest fans.
For my wonderful sister, Nora,
and my great friends, John and Jan Ashforth.
Acknowledgements
I would like to take this opportunity to say thanks to all the people who have made this book possible with their help, support, and encouragement. A few years ago the concept for Unknown Protector came to me and I knew I had to tell Nicole and Ridge’s story. With the help of the following I have been able to bring it to realization.
Extra thanks go to my husband, Alan, and daughters, Jenny and Rachel. They never doubted I could do this even when I did. To my critique partner, Delwyn Jenkins, who has been one of my greatest supporters, and has always been generous in sharing her time and knowledge. I would like to also thank my readers, Sophia Kimble and Jayne Elliott, for the time they gave so generously to read my manuscript.
I would like to thank all members of The South Australian Romance Authors and The Romance Writers of Australia for the support and encouragement. These groups make the dream of publication possible for so many.
I acknowledge the support from my fellow Soul Mate Publishing authors who continuously share their knowledge and expertise. They are truly a wonderful group that I am proud to be a part of.
Special thanks go to my editor, Stella Riley, whose patience and understanding during the editing process was outstanding. Thanks for believing in me and my story.
Last but not least I would like to thank to all the people at Soul Mate who bring their excellence and expertise in the area of publishing. Thanks also to illustrator Fiona Jayde, for her fantastic cover art. I would also like to say how grateful I am to Senior Editor Debby Gilbert who could see the worth in my story.
Chapter 1
Dealt a Rough Hand
Ridge hid his smile and studied his cards. Life was good, he loved playing poker, he loved winning, and with this hand, he couldn’t lose. The other players might see him as unshaven with long hair, and in jeans and a tee, but there was nothing laid back about his card playing. These guys weren’t fooled by his Southern accent either. They were here to win, just like him. Only difference, he owned the club they were sitting at the back of.
The stabbing pain in his head hit again and his vision blurred. He gritted his teeth and massaged his temple. It didn’t help. If someone was jabbing him with an invisible knitting needle they should stop before he got real pissed off.
With the pain came a voice in his head. What the hell? It was an Angelic trying to contact him.
My name’s Mira. Demonics are nearby. I need you to help my human. You alone, no other must save her.
Damn. He took a long drag on his cigar, gulped back his whiskey, and sighed. He was a good Midworlder; he fought the bad guys when he had to. So was it too much to ask to have a quiet night and game of cards. If possible followed by some fun with a beautiful lady if he could find one willing? That wasn’t usually a problem. The answer was obviously yes to this, Mira. He hated to do it, but put his cards down and folded.
He left the high rollers room and called to Carrick. As Midworlders went, Carrick didn’t need wings and super strength, being the size of a bear worked just fine to scare most people off.
“I thought you were in there for the night, Boss. What’s up?” Carrick asked.
“Some Angelics attractin’ more attention than they should.”
“Want some help?” Carrick smiled. He would be up for a fight if asked.
“No, I can handle this.”
This Angelic had one hell of an idea of timing and what was with the ‘You alone’ stuff? He set the details of the address into the Sat Nav and headed down the streets of San Francisco. It would’ve been good to fly, but it wasn’t dark enough yet. His back itched. It always did when he hadn’t been flying for a while, like his wings were struggling to get out.
The discomfort intensified in his temple. Everything became hazy. Ridge slammed on the brakes, barely missing the tailgate of the truck in front of him. Damn, the Angelic was gone. If he didn’t move fast her human would be on her way to having a Demonic attached.
Nicole. The name and an image came with the last thoughts on this world of the Angelic.
Nicole loved this apartment, the problem was the air conditioner never worked no matter how many times she whacked the damn thing. Maybe Mira could zap it? Otherwise what was the point of having a sparkly guardian angel? The idea she might be insane for seeing Mira still floated at the back of her brain, she would ignore it. It was her method of coping this past year. As an ex-cop and private investigator her mind hadn’t broken, not yet anyway, though her incessant craving for choc chip vanilla ice cream was a worry. Whatever.
She remembered Mira’s voice the first night her angel showed up. It sounded like Mira was wearing finger cymbals, which tinkled as she moved. Her words—“You must live. We need you.”—sounded ridiculous and melodramatic then. It still did.
She worked a
s a PI catching cheating husbands and missing teenagers. Neither would cause the end of the world. It wouldn’t get the FBI knocking on your door either, unless someone stole from the ice-cream warehouse and buried the body in raspberry ripple to hide the blood streaks. In which case she would admire the perpetrator for their ingenuity.
Nicole grabbed the tub of ice cream from the fridge, closed her eyes and let the flavour float over her tongue. Yum. A minute on the lips and an inch on the hips. She so didn’t care. Crunching the frozen choc chips was worth it, even if she paid later at the dentist. Her eyes strayed to the calendar on the wall. She held back the tears. It was a year since Ben’s murder. If Mira and ice cream kept her going, then so be it. At least she was eating and didn’t appear so scrawny anymore. Ben’s younger brother Peter was wasting away. If nothing else she needed to stay strong for him. Ben would have wanted that.
Mira glided across room and hugged her. The ache in Nicole’s chest lessened as her angel’s energy spread through her body bringing calm. Mira didn’t glow so brightly these days. Yet she still gave the impression of being a translucent pixie, with her white-feathered wings as she sat crossed legged on the counter. No one else could see her pixie. Nicole wondered if Mira had broken a golden rule by appearing.
“Thanks for the boost, don’t think I’m fooled. If I knew a way to make you eat ice cream, I would. Don’t suppose it will make any difference to tell you not to help me with the energy boost, will it?”
Mira shook her head and grinned.
What the heck do angels eat anyway? Nicole finished the ice cream and pushed open one of the old sash windows to let in the balmy air. From her second floor apartment in this quaint old building in the Mission District, she could watch the world go by from a distance at night. Distance was good. She saw enough of its rough side in the day. Was it really four years since she’d left Australia? So much had happened.
People strolled along the sidewalks, while others stopped to talk to friends who sat on their stoops. Mrs. Spencer from the apartment below put another wine bottle into her trash can. It clunked against the assortment of other bottles already there. The smell of freshly made coffee drifted from the café opposite where customers spent hours discussing the world’s problems. She loved the mural on the wall above the café. It depicted people of every race and age smiling and laughing.
Taking in a deep breath she exhaled slowly trying to keep the tears back as thoughts of Ben flooded in. Move on her head said, but her heart said, where?
The scant San Francisco Bay breeze cooled the sweat on her skin making life real. Police sirens in the distance mixed with laughter of two women on the sidewalk below. The women staggered along in high-heeled shoes. Nicole would have difficulty walking in heels like theirs sober, let alone tipsy. She envied the girls their height and long legs. Long legs drawing the eye of everyone around weren’t what she needed in her business. Clients didn’t appreciate being stared at when conversing with a PI in a café. At five foot four, her uniform of flat shoes, smart pants, and no-frills tops worked. With her brown hair drawn up she appeared presentable. She didn’t need glamorous; she needed to blend in with the crowd.
A black limo drew up on the other side of the street. The driver got out and strolled across to the ladies in heels. Nicole shook her head. Some guys still thought a flashy car could get them whatever they wanted. She’d seen it all before. He was dressed in a smart suit and strode with arrogance as he drew close to the women. Nicole sneezed. Damn the air conditioner throwing out its crap. The smart guy glanced up. The streetlights must be playing tricks on her, because for one second his eyes appeared to glow red. A shiver went up her back and the hair on her neck stood on end. You aren’t on duty; forget the creep and rest.
What she needed was sleep; only peaceful sleep never came. The mad man kept talking in her head, saying the same thing. He would find her and the world would know about Mira. When the mad man took a night off, he was replaced by a young woman who screamed for someone to come and save her. What with an angel in her apartment and voices in her head, she didn’t need some guy with red eyes freaking her out.
Walking to the kitchen she let the faucet run and splashed her face. Filling a glass, she sipped and turned around. Mira wasn’t sitting on the counter anymore.
Nicole’s glass rolled across the floor, even though she couldn’t remember dropping it. Like a kid told not to look, she couldn’t draw her gaze away from the sight above her. Her throat tightened, and her body chilled.
Mira was spread-eagled on the ceiling with her wings flattened. Her feathers were no longer ethereal but real, and dropping like snowflakes to the floor. Her angel’s delicate feet were turning black. An acrid stench like gangrene stuck in Nicole’s throat, making her gag as tears rolled down her cheeks. The black dead tissue made its way up Mira’s body, and yet her face still appeared serene and showed no sign of pain.
This had to be a nightmare and she would wake up soon. If that was true then she realised she wasn’t the only person in this dream. Someone behind her chuckled.
“I wondered when you would join us. I can hold her there indefinitely. It gets rather tedious though.”
The male voice sounded clipped with an English accent. It made her shiver. She didn’t shiver when people spoke. What the heck was going on? Someone grabbed her from behind before she could turn. Her attacker’s grip strengthened around her chest like an iron band. Nicole’s anger boiled like a furnace waiting to explode. She would get this bastard for this.
“She isn’t so quite appealing now, is she? To be honest she’s not my type. I’ve always thought the whole beautiful white angel, versus evil dark demons thing is a bit of a cliché.”
His voice though refined was deep, smooth, and hypnotic. For a split second Nicole wanted to rest her head against his shoulder. Biting down on her tongue, the throbbing brought her back to reality. Stuff him trying to kill Mira, or breaking into her home, or trying to get into her head. She twisted in his arms and stomped down on his foot. His grip weakened for a second. She reached back and grabbed the most sensitive parts of his anatomy, squeezing hard and digging her nails in.
“You stupid human,” he hissed, flinging her across the room like she was nothing more than a small cushion.
The back of her head connected with the wall. Intense pain shot through her body. She couldn’t afford to give into the agony and tried to stand. Her legs gave out as they turned to Jell-O. She touched her head. At least there was no blood. Catching her breath she got the first impression of her attacker. His perfect body and his equally perfect suit fitted his tall slim frame. His amazing good looks didn’t hide the cold emptiness lurking beneath the surface. His eyes still gleamed red, then the darkest brown, almost black. He smirked at her. Nicole planned to wipe the smug grin off his face but she needed to get a decent breath first.
Small flecks fell on Nicole’s face. She glanced up again. Mira no longer glowed with a radiance not of this world, but was withering like a decaying corpse. The darkness continued to spread up her angel’s body. Within seconds she became dust, dust falling down on them like embers from a bushfire. Watching Mira die brought back the anguish of losing Ben, the despair of how your heart feels when it is being torn in two. Mr. Designer Suit stood under the wreckage he’d caused and spun around laughing as if celebrating the first snows of winter. Each silver speck on his suit was a fragment of Mira, and he appeared to be relishing the destruction.
Mira’s voice echoed in Nicole’s mind. It was faint, but she could make out the words. “I was happy for this time with you, Nicole. I tried to shield you. Survive. Ridge. Is the answer.” The words faded until all that remained of her guardian angel was a shadowy stain on the ceiling.
“No.” The word came out in a wail from Nicole. This would not crush her. She would focus and kill this man, or die trying.
Nicole grabbed o
nto the window frame and heaved herself to her feet. She didn’t know what was going on here, or what kind of creature this guy was, but she would go down fighting. She trained women in self-defense and had been a policewoman back in Australia. That he had thrown her across the room with ease and destroyed Mira, were things she couldn’t afford to dwell on right now.
She seized a glass paperweight from the table next to her and charged Mr. Designer Suit. He turned to meet her and laughed. She slammed into his body of hard, unforgiving muscle. Her teeth clacked together, and her neck snapped with whiplash as her brain rattled about inside her skull. Hitting a brick wall couldn’t have hurt more, but at least he was pinned face down on the floor. She straddled his back ready to strike.
“If you think you can kill Mira. Or that no one will stop you then you’ve got another thing coming.” She aimed the paperweight at the back of his head. Before it could connect with his skull he flipped back and she fell sideways with a thud. Her shoulder connected with the floor, and a sensation like an electric shock speared down her arm bringing tears to her eyes. She needed to move but he stood above her before she could counterattack. How could anyone move so fast?