Guardian (The Protectors Series)

by Nancy Northcott

  She glanced at her watch. Six thirteen, past time to go home. Stefan’s meeting must’ve run longer than he expected.

  The second shift deputies were out on patrol. With just Larry, the dispatcher, at the counter, the big room felt even emptier than it looked.

  Mel rubbed her tired eyes. There was so much more to Stefan than she’d dreamed. Yet he seemed so normal. Thinking of his abilities reminded her of her mom’s ambitions and the names kids had called Mel, witch girl, freak, Crazy Cami.

  Even worse had been that day on the bus after her mom put the madame daisy, PALMIST AND ADVISER sign in the yard. The taunts escalated into shoves, the shoves into blows, then, when she’d fallen, into kicks. Remembering, she shuddered.

  “Hi, Larry,” Stefan said from the doorway. “How’s Jane?”

  Mel’s pulse jumped at the sound of his voice, and the smile he shot her way soothed the chill of her childhood memory. Unlike Mom, he wanted his abilities kept private. He would give his children a normal life.

  Whoa. Way too soon to go there.

  “Good,” Larry said. “How about you?”

  “Can’t complain.” Stefan strolled past the counter. “Sheriff Burton around, or has he gone home?”

  “In his office,” Larry said. “Monthly reports’re due.”

  “I feel for him.” Stefan walked directly to Mel. Cupping her nape, he kissed her quickly. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  His hand stayed on her shoulder, rubbing the tight place at the base of her neck. When she laid hers over it, the quick light in his eyes lifted some of the weight from her soul. He nodded at the stacks on her desk. “What’s all this?”

  Mel explained about the dockets for the past several years. “Too bad it didn’t get me anywhere.”

  “Still, it was a good idea. Everything you rule out is one less thing to worry that you missed.”

  “I guess. If you want to talk to the sheriff, does that mean you found something?” She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say.

  He looked directly at her, his hand light on her shoulder. “Yeah, I did. You want to sit in, or would you rather wait here?”

  Something in his tone, in the set of his face, warned her she would find his conversation with the sheriff awkward. But dealing with that was part of accepting him.

  “I’m in,” she told him despite the sudden clutch of nerves in her stomach.

  His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s go.”

  One of the things Mel liked about Burton was his habit of leaving his office door open. Any officer could step in, any time. Now it was closed. Faint muttering came from behind it, the sheriff’s frustration at the reports he’d been brooding about the last couple of days. Mel suddenly realized she’d grown fond of the man charged with keeping this county safe. She knocked on his door.

  “Come in. Jesus! Please come in.”

  When Stefan opened the door, the sheriff said, “Sit. I don’t care if you came to gossip or to work. This crap’s driving me crazy.” He looked from Stefan to Mel. “Work, then. What’ve you got?”

  “Not a lot,” Stefan said. “Maybe a way to narrow the list of potential targets. Wiley Boone and Lucinda Baldwin were both heavily into the arts.”

  Burton’s eyebrows rose. “I think art belongs on the wall, not in the yard, but folks pay good money for Wiley’s stuff.”

  “I’m with you there, but I think his success with it would put him on the list.” Stefan explained about the medieval theory of humors and concluded, “It isn’t much of a stretch to say creativity would flow from that, too, and it might explain why these guys may be going after livers.”

  Mel watched him from the corners of her eyes. The angle of his shoulders, with the right slightly forward, the tension of the hand on his thigh, out of the sheriff’s sight, meant there was more to this than he admitted. So did the way he’d looked when he’d asked her if she wanted to sit in.

  Burton frowned. “So, you’re saying, what? We only need to worry about people who’re good at arts and crafts? Hell, Stefan, that’d be about half the county, one way or another.”

  Mel leaned forward in her chair. “It’s a place to start, and only a few of those have been successful with their artwork.”

  The quick look of gratitude Stefan tossed her made her glad she’d spoken up.

  The sheriff shook his head. “You know we can’t concentrate our patrols based on something like that. People’d be up in arms, and I wouldn’t blame ’em. Besides, the ones who’re successful live all over. Can’t narrow the area much even if we did focus on them.”

  “That makes sense,” Stefan said, “but I wanted you to know what I was pursuing.”

  “Appreciate it.” Burton frowned at the papers on his desk. “I’ll tell you something. I don’t like that there’s been no sign of these weirdos since y’all met that guy in the road. First Miss Cinda, then, the very next night, Wiley, and then that guy you shot, Mel. Suddenly, the body disappears, and now it’s been two days with nothing. That could mean something worse is coming.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Mel said. “What could be worse?”

  “I don’t want to know,” the sheriff told them. “Really don’t. But I think about it a lot. I’m hoping the eyewitnesses were off and the missing body is our lone perp, though I remember you said he wasn’t the one you fought, Stefan.”

  He huffed out a heavy sigh. “Mel, any luck with those dockets?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Well, it was worth a try,” he told her. “Better to be doing something than stewing about doing nothing.”

  Stefan shifted forward in his chair. “If that’s all, Dan—”

  “Nope. I wish it was.” The sheriff’s jaw tightened momentarily. “Since y’all are here, we might as well have a word about another pain in my butt.” Scowling, he said, “I got a phone call, prim and proper as you please, from Ms. Jilly Porter of the National Investigator. She claims y’all had somethin’ goin’ a long time ago and do again. Says your car was out at Miss Cinda’s overnight, Stefan.”

  Mel’s stomach knotted. Crap and double crap. She and Stefan had enough pressure without that. And she purely hated being in the public eye. This was not going to help with that job application in Seattle.

  If she still wanted it. Did she?

  The sheriff continued, “The woman asked me if you two pairin’ off might ‘compromise the investigation.’” Making air quotes, Burton snorted. “Deputy Mitchell told me how she got in y’all’s faces. I can ‘compromise’ her, and I will if she makes a nuisance of herself. I’ve had some complaints from folks in town, enough that if she wasn’t some sorta press, I’d’ve moved her butt along already.”

  Stefan looked at Mel with Trust me? in his eyes. When he read her assent, he casually laid his hand over hers, silent confirmation that he and she were involved. Mel’s heart pounded, but she laced her fingers through his.

  “We’re on our game,” Stefan said. “You’ll have our best effort.”

  Burton grinned. “That’s the spirit, and I’m behind you. Y’all run on and have a nice dinner. Seein’ as I’m stuck here, somebody might as well have some fun.”

  Mel and Stefan wished the sheriff a good night and left him to his reports.

  In the parking lot, they stopped by her car.

  Stefan said, “I parked at the shelter to check on that sick boy. He’s doing better, so that’s one bright spot.”

  “Well, don’t delay. I put a pot roast in the slow cooker at lunchtime.”

  Stefan grinned. “I love pot roast.”

  “I know.” Mel kissed him quickly. “While we eat, you can tell me what you didn’t tell the sheriff.”

  Sobering, he slid an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks for backing me in there.”

  “I believe in you.” She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Something else,” she said. “I felt like we were a team in there. It felt good.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes
softened, and he brushed her mouth over hers, sending her heart into overdrive. “It did.”

  Leaning into him, tasting him, would be so easy, but deputies came and went via this parking lot. Mel swallowed hard and stepped back. “See you at the house.”

  “Sun’s going down,” he said. “It’ll be dark when you get there.”

  “Stefan—”

  “Badge, Glock, Quantico training. I know.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes grave. “Humor me. Swing by the shelter so I can follow you. Please. You rate high on the creativity scale, too, sweet.”

  A chill ran down Mel’s back. “Okay,” she said. He looked so serious. She couldn’t doubt he cared deeply for her. As she did for him. She had a second chance with the only man she’d ever loved, and by damn, she wasn’t going to blow it.

  * * *

  Watching Mel while they ate, Stefan wondered if she knew how beautiful she was with the candlelight reflecting in her eyes and casting a glow over her face. By tacit consent, they’d put the case aside and talked of books, movies, and vacations. The conversation and the simple, delicious food had eased the tension coiling inside him.

  She smiled at him across her wineglass. “Remember when pot roast was a splurge for us?”

  “Sure. Movies were, too. We’ve come up in the world.”

  “We worked hard to do that.” Mel reached for his hand, and he carried hers to his lips. “Tell me what you kept from Dan Burton.”

  “Let’s take our wine into the living room.”

  He grabbed the bottle while she brought their glasses. Together, they settled onto the sofa.

  “I ran those tests I told you about,” he said. “Cinda’s blood and Wiley’s are sensitive to energy manipulation, so I asked a few people I know for blood samples to compare.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Their blood shows only minimal response to magic. The sample groups are small, statistically insignificant, but they’re enough to make me think Griff was onto something.”

  “I don’t see why these people would care, why they would single out their victims based on creativity rather than age and isolation.”

  “Maybe they don’t. It’s a trail to follow, a possibility, but my gut says it’s a strong one.”

  “It’s more than what I have right now.” Mel sighed and pushed back her hair. “I made the funeral arrangements today. Cinda wanted me to play her favorite hymn, ‘For the Beauty of the Earth.’ I don’t think I can do it, Stefan. Not alone. Would you play the guitar with me?”

  “Of course, if that’s what you want.”

  Her lips curved in a weary smile. “Thanks.”

  “C’mon.” He tugged her to her feet. “You cooked, so I’ll clean up.”

  They walked into the kitchen together. Mel sat at the table, sipping her wine and looking distracted.

  Still, distracted beat fleeing in a panic any day. Damn, but he was proud of her. If she continued to handle things so well, he could take the next step up, show her some major feats like shielding, maybe scrying.

  He was starting the dishes when his phone buzzed. He unclipped it from his belt. Will. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I got an e-mail from my mom. I wanted to let you know I forwarded it to you.”

  “Did the lab find something in that sample?” Stefan couldn’t say venom with Mel sitting there. That came too close to mage secrecy concerns.

  “Yes and no. The purple comes from a metallic substance they can’t entirely identify. It seems to be a blend of silicon and something the spectrometer couldn’t label. Mom attached the archaeometallurgist’s report, but I figure that’ll make as much sense to you as medical journals make to me.”

  “Probably. Thanks, Will.”

  “I wish it was better news. Get some rest.”

  They disconnected. Stacking the dishwasher, Stefan focused on Will’s information. As with Mel’s reaction, Will’s partial progress, however small, offered some hope.

  Chapter 17

  The next evening, as Stefan parked at the side of Griff and Val’s driveway, Mel steeled herself to meet his friends. If this picnic was like every other one she’d attended, he would wander off with the men, and she’d be left to make social chitchat with the women. That was so not her strong suit.

  Fairy lights glimmered in the trees, and strings of bright paper lanterns hung between the branches. The place looked festive. She eyed the group on the stone patio as she climbed out of the car. The ones she’d met had been friendly, for Stefan’s sake. They were pleasant, smart people, but were they hiding secrets like his? Some of them, she would bet, were.

  He smiled and ran a hand lightly down her arm. “Let’s go.”

  “I still think we should’ve brought something,” Mel said, linking her fingers with his.

  “Griff and Val have it covered.”

  His hand on hers felt right. She leaned into him so their shoulders bumped.

  An African-American, teenage girl tossed a Frisbee behind the house with two Hispanic children, a girl and a boy who looked about kindergarten age. Magnus romped with the trio.

  “Hey, good to see you!” Smiling, Val hurried toward Stefan and Mel.

  The next few minutes passed in a flurry of greetings and introductions. Griff joined the group, and Hettie waved from the kitchen door. Val introduced petite, brown-haired Lorelei Martin and her companion, lanky, bespectacled Ken Patterson.

  “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Lorelei said.

  Marc Wagner brought tall, dark-skinned Chuck and Dora Porter to meet Mel. After them came Javy Ruiz and his pixieish, strawberry-blond wife, Karen.

  A childish shriek of joy split the air. “Stefan, Stefan! Horsy!”

  The small girl, maybe four years old, raced toward the adults, her black pigtails bobbing, and Karen Ruiz laughed. “That’d be our Sarah.”

  Stefan grinned and leaned over, arms extended. The moppet ran straight to him, and he swung her up in the air. “Horsy needs to be paid.” Solemnly, he held up one hand. The child high-fived it, giggling, and he shifted her onto his back.

  He planted a quick farewell kiss on the tip of Mel’s nose before trotting around the patio with Sarah. Stefan wore a wide grin, and Sarah giggled constantly. Mel’s throat tightened with longing. He looked so comfortable with a child on his back.

  Val said, “I’m grabbing a lemonade, but we also have iced tea, water, various sodas, and beer. And milk, because of the short people. Who else needs a drink? Mel, Stefan?

  “Lemonade’s great, thanks.” Mel smiled at her hostess.

  “For me, too,” Stefan called from the other side of the patio.

  Griff announced, “I’ll get the drinks, then I’m going to start grilling. Anybody wants in on that, it’s time.”

  The men drifted toward the stone grill in the patio’s corner. Stefan set his small passenger on her feet, flashed Mel a grin, and followed. She joined the circle of women in green Adirondack chairs. If she took her cue from them, maybe this wouldn’t turn awkward.

  Watching the men, Lorelei shook her head. “Funny how it divides this way, isn’t it?”

  “I’m used to it,” Dora said. “That’s the only cooking Chuck does unless I’m sick in bed. Then he can manage hamburgers and spaghetti.”

  “Keeps the kids fed.” Karen smiled. “Javy’s okay in the kitchen. He just doesn’t like it.”

  Griff reached over Mel’s shoulder to set down her lemonade. “Neither do I. That’s why I’m marrying a great cook.” On his way back to the grill, he kissed the top of Val’s head.

  A twinge of envy poked Mel’s heart. They were so not-self-conscious about their love for each other.

  Val smiled after him. “He’s a great cook too, but he pretends not to be.”

  Tasha Murdock spoke up from Dora’s other side. “I dream of having a personal chef. Preferably one who knows wine. Do you need the same, Mel, or do you cook?”

  “I cook when I have to. I know how to fix about eight things and fi
nd the nearest pizza joint.”

  “A kindred spirit.” Tasha toasted her with a Coke can.

  Mel hoped so. She wanted to fit in with these women, and not only because they were Stefan’s friends. She looked across the table at Lorelei. “What do you do? Stefan said you live in Savannah.”

  “I have a candle shop on River Street. I also carry sachets and herbal soaps, and I do flowers to order.”

  Val added, “She makes everything herself. Gorgeous stuff. Griffin and I are thrilled with the centerpieces she’s making for our reception, white roses and yellow chrysanthemums.”

  Lorelei snorted. “If Griff is thrilled, it’s only because you are. Artist or not, he’s a guy. He doesn’t care what’s in the middle of a table.”

  “He did pay more attention to the food and wine choices,” Val conceded.

  The two women’s faces were warm with trust and affection. Mel swallowed a bitter spoonful of envy. She’d never had a woman friend like that.

  “I’d love to see your shop sometime,” she told Lorelei.

  “We’re open ten to eight thirty Monday through Friday, ten to seven Saturday, one to five Sunday.”

  Tasha laughed. “You can just rattle that right off, can’t you? Don’t tell me you forgot your business cards. Or were you just a little distracted?”

  Lorelei blushed crimson, and Tasha hooted.

  “Never mind,” Tasha said. “Ken’s a cutie. Hey, is anybody going to the Columbus Day sale at the mall?”

  Mel would rather be shut in an interrogation room with a drug dealer who hadn’t bathed in a week. She looked over at Stefan and found him watching her. When she smiled, he grinned in return, the happy look in his eyes like a brush of warmth over her heart. He’d been checking on her, making sure she was having a good time.

  “Mel, what do you think?”

  She turned to answer Val. “About what?”

  “Which is sexier, jazz or a ballad?” Val asked.

  “Neither. Poetry, the old-fashioned kind with rhyme and meter.”

  “An original thinker.” Karen nodded at Mel over her iced tea. “I like it.”