by Lisa Kessler
“I’m glad to see you’re in good health.” She grinned.
When she met him at the table not long after, he collected on the kiss and took a few more on credit. Then she munched on some bacon while he explained the list he’d be scouring for partial plates of silver Honda Accords owned by Lewis Gold.
“Hopefully I’ll find something, but if I were paying off a dockworker to bring in explosives, I’d give him a fake name.”
“Did you check to see if Belkin Oil employs a Lewis Gold?”
“John’s handling that part.” He polished off his eggs and took the plates to the sink.
He rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher while Mel tried to figure out how to broach the subject of the scars. Would he be angry if she mentioned them? He had to know she saw them when he was getting dressed today. Maybe they were no big deal.
“You didn’t tell me you have so many scars in addition to the gunshot to your bicep.”
Oh very smooth. She refrained from smacking her own forehead.
He closed the dishwasher and stared into the sink. “No, I didn’t.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Nate sat down beside her. “I’m some Guardian, right?”
At least he was still talking and not rushing her out the door. “Maybe I should’ve told you why I find scars sexy.”
“Because most of them are the result of a tragedy?”
“Touché.” She chuckled. “But no.” She rolled up her sleeve, exposing a scar on her elbow. “I got this running to elementary school. I was going to be late and I freaked, and in my rush, I fell and skidded into school. After it healed and the scab came off, I had this scar and constantly whined to my dad that it was ugly.” She lowered her arm. “He told me that I should be proud because scars mean you took a risk and you survived. I think they’re sexy because they show you’re a survivor.”
He got up and crossed to the kitchen window, resting his forearm on the sill above his head. Her stomach twisted. She probably pushed too hard. He’d said he didn’t believe in relationships, and maybe this was part of it—real intimacy and vulnerability.
She was getting sick of maybes.
“My dad was an alcoholic.” His voice was quiet. “He and my mom fought all the time. I’d get in the middle to try to protect her and he’d beat me…or burn me. He said the burns would leave a mark to remind me that I was nothing.”
For a second, her heart clenched. Tears welled in her eyes. “Your dad was full of shit.”
He chuckled but didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”
She got up and stood behind him, sliding her arms around his waist. “I’m not sure what to say, so this is me trying to tell you I don’t care about those scars. They don’t mark you as anything but strong in my eyes.”
He slowly turned around and held her tight, leaning his cheek on top of her head. His voice was deep and rough. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She smiled against his chest. “You’re not the first to tell me that.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” He stepped back and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. “That wasn’t a glass-half-empty compliment.” He glanced out the window, swallowed, and pulled his gaze back to her face. “It’s seriously scaring me shitless how much I like spending time with you, even outside the bedroom.”
Her heart pounded, but the tenuous honesty, the fear in his voice, made it clear he was trying not to run. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be out the door.
She rose on her tiptoes and brushed a slow kiss to his lips. “This doesn’t have to be a relationship, okay? Just let me be your muse.”
He bent to taste her again and smiled. “And I’ll be your Guardian.”
And for now, that was enough.
CHAPTER 9
Ted Belkin stared out at the bay from his high-rise office window, seething.
Marion opened the door behind him. “Ben is here, Mr. Belkin.”
“Send him in.”
Footsteps and then the couch cushion sighed. Once the door closed, Ted spun around, his voice a viper’s whisper. “A police detective was here this morning. In my office. Because of your incompetence.”
Ben didn’t even have the decency to look guilty, the bastard.
“I gave the dockworker a false name. They won’t be able to connect me or the explosives to Belkin Oil directly.”
Ted smacked the engraved pen set on his desk, sending it careening across the room. It crashed into the wall, and Ben flinched. ’Bout damned time. Ted narrowed his eyes. “You think you have my father’s support, but I’m blood. Not you. It’ll take more than pushing a muse down a flight of stairs to get him to cover your ass with the police.”
Ben crossed his legs, his cool demeanor back in place. “Last time I checked, you brought me into the Order. If I go down and the Order is exposed, I think the responsibility falls to your shoulders, am I right?”
Ted clenched his fists. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“No.” Ben opened his hands. “Should I?”
Ted huffed out a breath and sat behind his desk. “You better hope the police don’t find out your real name.”
“If they do, you’ll need to call in some favors with your elected officials or get your own hands dirty to complete the mission yourself. That doesn’t really seem like your style, though, does it?” Ben stood. “Are we finished here?”
Ted glared up at him. “Treading on thin ice here, Ben. You’re not the only person who wants to bring back the Golden Age of Man.”
He stopped at the door and turned back. “No, but I am the one who can get it done.”
Mel waved good-bye as Nate drove down Callie’s street. She’d spent the morning helping him comb through the DMV records, but there was no sign of a Lewis Gold connected to a Honda Accord with the first three digits of the license plate he’d seen in the theater parking lot.
Another dead end.
She would’ve been fine spending the rest of the day with him, but he had a “thing” in the afternoon. Vague…
She knew one hot night together didn’t make them a couple, but that didn’t quiet the curiosity. He’d been pretty clear about his no-relationship boundary. There was no one to blame but herself if she let it bug her. The scars inflicted by his father obviously went much deeper than his skin.
“There you are!”
Mel turned, trying not to look guilty for missing curfew. Callie wasn’t her mother.
But still.
“Hey. Sorry I didn’t call, but…”
“So spill.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “How was sex with your Guardian?”
Mel raised a brow, biting back a smile. “Wow. You’ve had a sudden change of heart.”
“Not really.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m still honoring the pact, but you seem dead set on breaking it so the least you can do is let me live vicariously through you.”
Laughter bubbled up—she couldn’t help it. “Without giving you any graphic details, my Guardian rocks in the sack.” Mel nodded slowly, her mind replaying the way he put her legs over his shoulders and pulled her down the bed. She cleared her throat. “But there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“That’s all I get?”
Mel grinned. “Yep.”
“Thanks for nothing. Looks like I won’t be doing much living through you.” She tangled her fingers in the back of her short hair. “What did you need?”
Mel sobered. “Maybe we should go inside. Are the others around?”
“No. Did you want me to make some calls?”
Mel shook her head. “That’s good. I was hoping to keep this just between you and me.”
Callie dropped her hand to her side. “This isn’t about sex with your Guardian?”
Mel chuckled. “I already told you that part of the night was incredible. No need for counseling there. But I do need a little perspective on something else.”
�
��Tease,” she grumbled, going back inside the house.
Mel followed her into the den. Callie took a seat behind the desk, and Mel settled in the other chair. “Nate had an abusive, alcoholic father,” she told her friend.
“Wow.” Callie’s expression softened as she got up and came around the desk. “He shared that with you already?”
Mel laced her fingers together, staring at her hands. “He was careful not to let me turn on the light during sex.” She lifted her gaze. “I guess I should back up to the part where his partner, Detective Gilman, warned me that Nate isn’t a relationship guy.”
“That makes sense.” Callie nodded. “Physical abuse by a parent when you’re a child often makes it difficult for an adult to trust. If he’s never been to therapy, then he’s probably still keeping others at a distance, protecting himself on some level.”
“I gave him the option to take me home last night. You know, after. For a second, I thought he’d take it, but then he didn’t.”
Callie leaned against the edge of her desk. “And then he shared about his father?”
“No.” Mel glanced out the window, trying not to see the burns all over his chiseled torso in her head. “I saw all the scars when I woke up this morning, and I asked about them.”
“Oh.” Callie nearly winced.
“That doesn’t look like a good face.”
“Well, at least he told you and didn’t just pack you up in the car and drive you home.” She shook her head slowly. “But if he kept the light off and doesn’t usually let dates sleep over, you might be the first woman he’s had to confront the scars with.”
It wasn’t tough to connect the dots. “Shit. You’re trying to tell me I may not see him again, aren’t you?” Her heart twisted, and in a sick way, her inner muse drank in the pain.
“It’s always the worst-case scenario with you.” Callie swiped her hand in the air. “I’m not saying he’s running, but you might need to give him space. And time to come to you.” Her voice softened. “As a child, he had no control and no way to protect himself. Now he’s an adult who can be sure he never lets his guard down enough to be hurt again.”
“I’m not going to hurt him.”
Callie sighed, crossing her feet at the ankles. “Sadly, that has very little to do with it. After one night of sex, he slipped up. He let you stay over and you saw the scars. He opened up more than he intended, and now he’s vulnerable. If you push, he’ll cut you out of his life. Probably permanently.”
Mel huffed out a slow breath, staring at her hands in her lap.
Callie straightened up. “It’s the little boy in him making these emotional decisions. You’ll have to be patient for the man to come around and realize he’s safe with you.”
“So texting him to see if I can move in would be a bad idea?”
Callie chuckled. “If you’re ready to move in with him after one night, then that really was some incredible sex.”
The corner of Mel’s lips curved up. “The gods gave me a gift when they marked Nate for me.” The smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “But where were they when he needed them most?”
Nate’s hands were sweating by the time he dropped Mel off at Callie’s place, his gut tied in knots. She’d seen the goddamn scars. He shouldn’t give a shit. He’d lived. His dad hadn’t touched him in twenty years. It should all be behind him.
But somewhere in his sick head, whenever he looked at the damned things, he still heard his father’s sloppy voice. You’re nothing. Waste of skin. Nothing.
One look in the mirror and he was seven years old again.
When he had his shirt on, the little boy was gone. He was Detective Nate Malone and even badass criminals didn’t mess with him. So why was he so fucking shaken up about Melanie Jacoby?
Her pep talk about the scars making him a survivor was kind. He got it, but deep down, they were a physical reminder that he couldn’t protect himself. Hell, he’d failed Maggie and her mother, too. And now he was supposed to keep Mel safe?
He walked up the cracked cement walk to the yellow-stuccoed home and rapped his knuckles on the door. Mrs. Gaines answered. “Detective Malone! Great to see you.”
Her silver hair was pulled back into a clip as she opened the door wider. From the back of the modest tract home, Maggie squealed. Mrs. Gaines, her foster mother, smiled, years of warm laughter lining her eyes. He’d been so lucky to get Maggie placed with her. The first two homes were… Well, he didn’t want to think about it.
Nate stepped inside, mustering a smile. “Looking gorgeous today, Mrs. Gaines.”
She grinned, swatting his arm playfully. “You’re a fine liar.”
From his easy chair in front of the football game, Mr. Gaines chuckled. “Someday my bride has to learn to accept an honest compliment.”
Maggie raced toward Nate then, slamming against his legs and holding him tightly. He bent to scoop her up, drinking in her giggles. “Ready for mini golf?”
“Yes!” Her gap-toothed grin was a balm to his reopened old wounds. Freckles dusted her cheeks and nose, and her bright-green eyes made it impossible to resist smiling.
“Good.” He turned to Mrs. Gaines. “Is it all right if we grab burgers afterward?”
“Sure.”
“One less mouth to feed,” Mr. Gaines called.
His wife chuffed, swiping her hand in his direction. “Old coot.” She patted Maggie’s knee. “Have a wonderful time.”
Nate pulled into a parking spot at the Family Fun Center and glanced over at his tiny passenger. “I think you’re going to be a natural.”
Maggie nodded slowly, giving it plenty of thought. “I think I will, too, because Mrs. Bunny says I’m a graceful ballerina with cord-nation.”
He struggled to keep a straight face. “Mrs. Bunny is a smart lady.”
“Best ballet teacher ever.” Maggie unbuckled her seat belt and opened the booster seat. “Thanks for getting me in dance class, Uncle Nate.”
He blinked. He’d asked Mrs. Gaines not to mention that he’d paid for the classes. Over the past two years, he’d fallen for little Maggie, but she deserved a family with a mom and a loving dad this time. A single police detective wasn’t the stable family life a little girl needed.
He hoped she’d be adopted. But some parts of him, selfish parts, were glad he still got to be her “uncle.”
After carefully selecting their colored golf balls, they headed for the first hole. Nate gave Maggie a club and stood behind her, leaning over her tiny frame to show her how to hold the club and gently tap her golf ball. Her first shot bounced off the brick beside the ramp and came right back. She turned her face up to him. “Do I get another chance?”
“All the chances you need.”
If only life were like that…
By the third hole, Maggie was getting the hang of it. Mrs. Bunny had been right. The little girl was definitely coordinated. He was careful to miss some putts just to keep the game close, and when she beat him by two strokes, her joy made it all worthwhile.
Maggie bounced around, riding her golf club like a wooden pony. “I did it. I golfed!”
“Yes, you did.” He chuckled and collected the clubs.
“Can we go back to your house for dinner?”
He mussed her hair. “Sure thing, kid.”
They got drive-through burgers, and they carried their bounty to his condo. When he unlocked the door, Maggie rushed directly to his fridge and tugged the door open.
“My gummy worms!” She held up the bag, grinning.
He set the fast-food on the table, struggling to hold back a smile. “I told you I wouldn’t eat them.”
“Yeah, but sometimes adults get hungry.” She put her gummy worms beside her burger and sat at the little dining room table. She looked down at the papers spread across the tabletop. “Are you catching bad guys?”
“I’m trying.” He moved the DMV list off the table and pulled out a chair. “How’s school going?”
She chomped a heal
thy bite of burger, hummed with glee, and finally answered. “School is good. My teacher is nice.”
“You have lots of friends?”
Her cheery expression faltered, and his chest tightened up.
“Not yet,” she said softly.
This was her third new school since she lost her mom. He cleared his throat. “You will. Give it time.”
She nibbled on a French fry and stared directly into his soul. “Do you have lots of friends?”
Sometimes her simple questions were far from simple. “I have enough.”
“Do you take them to min-ature golf, too?”
The image of Mel putting a plastic ball into a dragon’s mouth popped in his head. He smirked. “Nope. Just you.”
She groaned. “Uncle Nate, you should take them to fun things. Then they’ll like you.”
He chuckled and tweaked her nose playfully. “Is that the secret?”
She grinned and shrugged. “I dunno.” She slurped on her straw and set the cup down. “Will you come to my class and talk about your work?”
Her rapid change in subject had him thinking about his muse again. “You’d probably have to ask the teacher.”
She sighed and lifted her green eyes up to meet his. “Everyone is bringing a mommy or daddy. My turn is next week.”
Oh Christ. “I’d be honored, Maggie,” he said before tears filled her eyes. “Just tell me when. I’ll be there.”
She ran around the table to hug him. He returned the embrace, wishing like hell he could give her more than an hour in front of her class.
If he could go back in time, he would. In a heartbeat.
CHAPTER 10
He watched her with binoculars from across the parking lot. Catching the Muse of Astronomy off guard had been simple. Pick a lock, wait for the right moment, and then help her down the stairs.
But now the muses were on alert. Security cameras were being installed around the dilapidated theater, and the Muse of Tragic Poetry had moved in with another partner in Muses Anonymous, Callie, who, judging by the way she seemed to take charge of the group, he was beginning to suspect was the Muse of Epic Poetry.
She’d also spent an evening with Detective Malone. Ben had taken pictures of them leaving the detective’s condo. The photos might come in handy later. He couldn’t rush his work. Rushing led to sloppiness, and sloppy wasn’t going to lead them into the Golden Age of Man.