by Jayne Castle
“Sure, but we’re not going to use it to go into that alley. I’ve had enough excitement for one night. Get in the car, Celinda.”
“But if Max and Araminta were badly frightened, they might not come out on their own.”
“Don’t know about Araminta, but I can tell you that Max wouldn’t have run away just because of a couple of ghosts. Not if he knew I was in the vicinity. My guess is they took off for reasons of their own while we were at dinner, long before cap guy showed up.”
He took her arm and gently but firmly stuffed her into the passenger seat. She slid reluctantly into the car. He got a fine, fleeting glimpse of a nicely rounded thigh. As an added bonus, the tear in the violet dress revealed a sliver of lacy black panties. Everything inside him tightened another notch. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already been thoroughly aroused before the confrontation in the lane. The burn was hitting him hard.
She looked up from the seat, brows scrunched together a little. “But why would they go off like that?” Alarm widened her eyes. “Good grief, do you think that Max lured Araminta away because he has designs on her? Maybe he’s out there somewhere right now seducing her.”
It dawned on him that from this vantage point he had an excellent view into the inviting shadows of the front of her dress. He sighed. Wrong time and definitely the wrong place. Just his luck.
“They’re dust bunnies, Celinda, not a pair of star-crossed lovers. They’ll come back when they’re ready.”
“If that bunny of yours takes advantage of Araminta, I am going to hold you personally responsible.”
He said nothing, just looked at her.
She winced. “Sorry. That does sound sort of dumb, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s not like either of us knows how dust bunnies think, let alone what their mating habits are like.”
“Can’t be much worse than mine,” Davis muttered.
“What did you say?”
He pretended he hadn’t heard the question and closed the door very deliberately.
When he got in beside her and rezzed the engine, she turned in the seat, studying him with a concerned expression.
“You look sort of strange,” she said.
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“Are you going to faint or something?”
“Or something,” he said deliberately. “But not for a while yet.”
“Maybe I should drive.”
He gripped the wheel very tightly and pulled away from the curb. “I’m still capable of driving.”
She did not appear entirely reassured, but she turned to look at the alley one more time.
“What about Max and Araminta?”
“They know their way home. The Quarter isn’t all that big. Your apartment is only about a half mile from here. My condo is just as close in the opposite direction.”
She did not respond to that, but she shifted back around in her seat and clipped her seat belt. He had the uneasy feeling that she was doing a lot of thinking. That probably meant trouble ahead.
He made himself concentrate on his driving, working his way back to Celinda’s neighborhood via the maze of narrow streets and lanes that laced the Quarter.
“About this business of you being a sort of hunter,” Celinda asked in a suspiciously unconcerned tone of voice.
It had been too much to hope that she would let his earlier explanation go, he thought.
“It’s not a business for me.” He stopped for a light. “Oakes Security is my business. I’m not a Guild man.”
“But you can de-rez ghosts.”
“Yes. But as I told you, the ability to work silver light isn’t the usual kind of talent. That’s one of the reasons I never joined the Guild.”
“But you are a type of dissonance-energy para-resonator,” she pressed, cautious but determined.
“Yes.”
She cleared her throat again. “Can I assume that you’re now in that phase they call afterburn?”
The conversation was deteriorating rapidly. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.
“That’s one term for it,” he said.
“It’s an adrenaline and testosterone thing, right?”
“I’m not a teenager, Celinda. I can handle my hormones.”
“I’ve heard about the postburn syndrome,” she continued in the same polite, too-neutral tone. “A big testosterone rush.”
“Seems like just about everybody has heard about the syndrome.”
“Yes, well, I hate to break this to you, but women talk.”
Right, and he could pretty much guess what women said about hunters who were in the grip of an afterburn. The rumors were true, and they contributed heavily to some of the long-standing negative social attitudes toward the Guild.
There was no getting around the fact that there was nothing like pulling a little ghost light to slam a man into a state of full-blown sexual arousal. The bigger the ghost, the stronger the physical response. Which explained why mothers warned their daughters to stay clear of hunters and why the bars and taverns in the Old Quarter that catered to Guild men were popular with adventurous women, coeds looking for excitement, and bachelorette parties.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump on top of you,” he said.
“You can’t blame a lady for wondering.”
Startled, he gave her a quick, searching look. In the amber glow of the dash lights he could see that the corner of her mouth was curved upward, maybe twitching just a bit.
“A word of advice.” The light changed. He snapped the sensitive twin mag shift into gear. “This is not a good time to tease me.”
“Got it.”
“You’re not scared?” he asked.
“Of you? No. You’re in full control.”
He contemplated that briefly. “How do you know I’m in control?”
She raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I just know it.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
He wanted to ask her what made her so damned certain that he wasn’t going to pounce, but he decided it would probably be a good idea to stop talking about anything even remotely related to sex.
“I melted amber dealing with that dopp,” he said quietly. “Do you know what that means?”
“That after the rush, you’re going to have to sleep for a few hours?”
“Right. I need to get you home and then get back to my place before I crash.”
“I understand.”
He turned a corner and drove along another cramped street. Only three more blocks. He could do this.
It seemed like an eternity before he eased the Phantom into an empty parking space at the curb in front of Celinda’s apartment. He de-rezzed the engine, unfastened the seat belt, and opened his door.
“Never mind,” Celinda said quickly. “You don’t have to walk me upstairs. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll see you to your door.”
“The clock is ticking on your afterburn. You’ll need the time to drive back to your place.”
He set his back teeth together. “I said I’ll see you to your door.”
She sighed. “Okay, be that way.”
“What way?”
“Stubborn, hardheaded, and difficult.”
“Hey, give me some credit. I’m good at all those things.”
“I guess it’s true what they say. Everyone has a talent.”
She was out of the car by the time he got around to her side of the vehicle. He took her arm.
He realized his mistake immediately. He never should have touched her. The physical contact had an effect similar to sending power through tuned amber, except in this instance it wasn’t just his psi energy alone that was suddenly very, very focused. It felt like every cell in his body was riveted by the woman beside him, clamoring to get closer, to get inside her.
He was drunk on her unique scent, a mix of herbal shampoo and the essence of pure Celinda. He didn’t want to merely touch her; he wanted to stroke ev
ery part of her from her toes to her ears. He wanted to drag her down onto the pavement and claim her in the most elemental way.
The force of his response caught him off guard. He was not in a standard postburn. He knew that condition, knew how to handle it. This was different. He didn’t just want to get laid; he wanted Celinda. No other woman would do tonight. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anyone else.
You’re in deep trouble. Just get her upstairs and get the hell out of here before you do something that will really screw things up.
Betty Furnell’s door popped open when they entered the downstairs hall. Betty looked out, beaming.
“Oh, hello there, you two,” she sang out cheerfully. “Did you have a nice evening?”
“Lovely,” Celinda said.
“Gracious, what happened to your dress, dear?”
“There was a slight accident,” Celinda said.
“It’s ruined.”
“Yes,” Celinda agreed, “I’m afraid it is. Good night, Mrs. Furnell.”
“Good night. Sleep tight.” Betty closed the door with obvious reluctance.
“Be prepared to be cornered again when you go back downstairs,” Celinda warned softly.
“I’ll be ready,” he promised.
He walked her upstairs to her apartment door and waited while she dug out her key.
“I hope Araminta is home,” she said.
“If not, I’m sure she’ll return by dawn. When Max takes off, he’s always back for breakfast.”
He took the key from her, rezzed the lock, and opened the door.
Celinda stepped into the hall. And stopped, stiffening.
“I’ve been burglarized.”
He looked past her into the small space. The two drawers in the hall table had been removed, the contents dumped on the floor. From where he was standing, he could see a portion of the living room. The sofa and chairs were overturned. Damp night air wafted in from the open balcony door. The point of entry for the intruders, Davis thought.
“My stuff,” Celinda wailed. She started to rush into the apartment.
Davis grabbed her arm. “Hold it. You’re not going in until I make certain there’s no one else inside.”
“But—”
“This is what I do, remember? I keep telling you, I’m in the security business.” He moved into the hall. “Wait here.”
“I hesitate to interfere with a professional doing his job, but what, exactly, are you going to do if the guy has a gun?”
“I’ll show him mine.” Davis leaned down and drew the small pistol out of his ankle holster.
Celinda looked at the weapon with an enigmatic expression. “That looks like a mini mag-rez.”
“It is. Latest and greatest technology.”
“It’s illegal for private citizens to own mag-rezes,” she said very primly.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
He moved into the apartment and made a quick, thorough survey and then went back to the front door.
“All clear,” he said. “Looks like they came and went through the balcony door.”
“Oh, dear, the dress.”
He went blank. “What dress?”
“My bridesmaid dress,” she said, slipping past him. “If the burglars stole it or destroyed it, I’m doomed. Rachel will never forgive me if I don’t show up with that dress.”
“Fancy pink thing covered in plastic? I saw it when I checked the closet. Looked fine to me.”
“I’ve got to be sure.”
She rushed down the hall to the bedroom.
Something didn’t add up, he decided. She didn’t even like the pink dress. Why all the fuss?
Intrigued, he watched the mirror above the hall table. From this angle he could see her hurrying into the bedroom. She didn’t go to the closet. Instead, she went down on her knees and peered under the bed.
Davis went on into the living room and started righting the furniture.
Celinda returned a short time later, noticeably calmer.
“Dress okay?” he asked politely.
“Yes, it’s fine,” she said. “I’ve got to call the police.” She picked up the phone.
“Forget it.”
“What do you mean?” She stopped, whipping around to face him. “I know the cops probably won’t be able to do much. I’ve heard that when it comes to home burglaries, there’s not a lot they can do. But I should at least file a report.”
“Celinda,” he said wearily, “the reason you’re not going to call the cops is because this is Guild business.”
Very slowly she replaced the receiver.
“Damn,” she whispered. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Chapter 9
“OKAY,” SHE SAID, SINKING DOWN ONTO ONE OF THE kitchen stools, “I agree, this break-in on top of that bizarre scene in the lane with that man in the cap is probably not a coincidence.”
Davis had removed his jacket and was methodically straightening the room.
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Someone is looking for the relic.”
Glumly she watched him right an armchair. “I still don’t understand why we can’t call the cops.”
“Because they aren’t very good at handling this kind of thing.” He picked up a small drawer and put it back into the end table beside the chair. “They’ll treat this as just another routine break-in, and that won’t get us anywhere. Also, they don’t have the manpower to provide you with twenty-four-hour security, which is what you’re going to need.”
Shock rolled through her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a bodyguard.”
She stared at him, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
Her new career was doomed. Mrs. Takahashi had been very understanding about the fiasco in Frequency City, but she would almost certainly draw the line at one of her marriage consultants showing up for work with a bodyguard. To say nothing of the wedding, she thought. Another wave of alarm hit her. Dear heaven, her family would be horrified if they found out that the Cadence Guild had thought it necessary to supply her with a bodyguard.
“That’s…that’s impossible,” she managed.
Davis swept out one hand to indicate the vandalized apartment. “Whoever did this obviously knows that you were the last person to have the relic in your possession. We have to assume that you are in some danger until we get the thing back.”
“But that might be never. There’s no telling what Araminta did with it.”
“I think we can count on Araminta showing up with that damn artifact sooner or later.”
She folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts, hugging herself. “Just long enough for me to lose my job.”
“The Guild will see to it that you aren’t fired.”
She shuddered. “Don’t even think about asking Mercer Wyatt to make a phone call to Mrs. Takahashi. The last thing I want is for her to keep me on the payroll because Wyatt threatened her. It would be utterly humiliating.”
“He’s not a mob boss, Celinda.”
“Okay, so maybe the Cadence Guild isn’t into the traditional gang businesses like drugs and prostitution. That doesn’t make it an upstanding, respectable business corporation.”
He was starting to get irritated. “You’ve really got a thing about the Guilds, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She unfolded her arms and gripped the edge of the stool seat on either side of her hips. “And there’s something else. I’m leaving town tomorrow for a couple of days. I told you, I have to be in my sister’s wedding. I’ll be taking Araminta with me, assuming she ever shows up again.”
“With any luck, she’ll bring that relic back by morning.”
“But what if she doesn’t? I can’t go to my sister’s wedding with a bodyguard. How will I explain that to my family? They’ll panic if they think my life is in danger.”
“Your bodyguard will be male.” Davis took out his personal phone. “You can tell everyone
he’s your date for the wedding.”
“My date. Are you crazy?”
“If your family is anything like mine, they’ll be thrilled that you’re not alone.”
“You don’t understand.” She was getting desperate now. “My life back in Frequency got a little complicated before I left town. I can’t just arrive with a strange man in tow. There will be questions. Lots of them. Everyone will wonder why I haven’t mentioned him during the past four months.”
“New job here in Cadence. New boyfriend. No big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she shot back. “At least it is for me.”
“There’s a good chance that you’re in real danger here, Celinda,” he said quietly. “Are you willing to risk your neck just to avoid a little social awkwardness at the wedding?”
She caught her lip between her teeth and then sighed. “Well, when you put it like that—”
“That’s exactly how I’m putting it. I’m also betting you’re too smart to argue about this any more tonight.”
She frowned. “Where does one get a bodyguard, anyway?”
“From a topflight investigative agency like Oakes Security.”
“Oh.” She thought about that. “Bodyguards are probably expensive.”
“They are if they come from Oakes. But don’t worry about the cost. The Guild will pick up the tab.”
“Damn. Just what I need, another Guild connection.”
He punched out a number on the phone. “You know, it’s a good thing I’m such an easygoing, open-minded kind of guy. Otherwise I might start to take offense at all these swipes at the Guild.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a Guild man?”
“I’m not. But I come from a fourth-generation Guild family. I’ve got my loyalties.” He broke off to speak into the phone. “Trig. Wake up. I need a babysitter to look after a friend tonight while I crash.”
There was a short pause.
“No.” He turned away to speak into the phone. “I didn’t burn a lot of silver, but it was a dopp ghost. I ended up melting a little amber. It’s just the usual postburn thing. I’ll tell you the whole story when you get here, assuming I can stay awake. If I’m out, the client will explain.”