The Shadow Guard

by Diane Whiteside

  “But I don’t know if my hair is long enough to hide it.” He shook his head to emphasize its length. “I have to get it cut frequently. If not, I look like a shaggy dog.”

  “How very important the cuff must be.” Laughter danced in her eyes. She drifted her fingers up his chest, then held out her hand. “Let me hold it against your ear and see if it disappears.”

  Jake obediently handed her the cuff. With luck, this would lead to a good-bye kiss that was both sweet and intimate.

  Astrid stared down at the delicate gold jewelry. It curved across her hand like a vine, its stems and leaves seeming to catch the light like a living thing. Astonishment mingled with awe, then rippled through her expression and melted into hunger.

  Her tongue darted out, swept over her lips, and disappeared like a crimson enticement to lust. The air suddenly turned thick and scented with rare spices.

  He fought to drag in another breath.

  “Oh, I believe you’ll be very, very successful with this ear cuff,” she whispered, her voice a throaty invitation to sin. She laid her palm against his thigh, up high, just below his cock. It promptly surged even harder against his so-called indestructible trousers. “Would you like to know how much?”

  He managed to nod.

  “Put it on and let me show you.”

  He slipped it onto his left ear, closest to his heart. For the first time since he’d been given it eighteen years ago, it locked neatly into place just under his ear’s upper curve. The stems disappeared behind his ear, leaving only the delicate leaves as evidence he wore jewelry. Their long, sloping lines pointed upward until it almost appeared he had an elf’s pointed ears—except for his shaggy black hair, which would be better suited to a barbarian.

  His pulse settled and hummed. It was always happier when there was pressure on this ear. But, hell, an acupuncturist could probably make it do that.

  Jake frowned at himself in the mirror. He’d be joining men from the FBI, his own department, and the home county today at the nudist colony. He couldn’t afford to wear funky jewelry, even if doing so barely skated under department guidelines.

  He took a step forward to yank it off and dump it back into his drawer.

  But a pair of female hands on his hips stopped him in his tracks.

  He staggered, caught totally off guard.

  “Sexy,” purred Astrid. “Very, very sexy, Sergeant.” Her voice could have persuaded a sitting judge to close shop and join her in an orgy.

  Jake’s breath caught in his throat. Heat and strength blurred together somewhere below his knees like hot springs gathering for an eruption.

  “Do you mind if I pay you some attention, Sergeant?” She gently fanned her fingers across his fly.

  He shook his head rapidly, his chest tighter than the cloth stretched across his hips. He didn’t trust himself to speak, lest he squeak like a schoolgirl or grab like a boor.

  “Thank you; you’re very kind,” she murmured.

  He was kind? No, he was greedy.

  She murmured something under her breath, then carefully unbuckled his belt. It came undone far more quietly than he’d fastened it a moment earlier. Astrid sank to her knees in front of him.

  Jake threw back his head. He should tell her to stand up. He should order her not to do anything. He should remind her— and himself!—of everything he needed to do that morning and the strict schedule he had to adhere to.

  She gently tugged the zipper past the crest of his aching cock.

  He hissed in pain or anticipation. He didn’t know which; he didn’t much care.

  “For the love of God, Astrid.” His fingers cupped her head. He glanced at the nightstand and winced. Don’t think about when the team will arrive; just look at Astrid.

  Surely he could make up the time, if he did the driving and took his favorite shortcuts.

  She lightly kissed the heel of his hand, sweet as the brush of an angel’s wings. She slowly peeled the zipper down the length of his cock until it bobbed free, dark crimson and more swollen than he could recall.

  Astrid hummed approvingly and heat roared into his groin to sustain his erection, down his spine and into his cock, vibrant and all-consuming.

  “Irresistible,” she whispered. Her slender fingers delved into his trousers and cupped his balls, playing with them like greater toys than found on any pool table.

  He moaned, thrown far beyond words, and widened his stance to give his lover anything she wanted.

  She stroked his cock and swirled her tongue over the tip. Precum dripped wildly, chasing her blandishments. She cooed against him and sucked him, blatantly enjoying every inch, every drop.

  He panted and fought to stand erect when every cell, every iota, begged to explode inside her mouth and dive down her throat.

  She pumped him, swirling her hand over and around his shaft in a spiraling, twisting motion that savored every inch. His hips surged toward her, his seed gathering stronger and stronger in his balls. Only Astrid and the magic she evoked mattered in this instant.

  “That’s it, Jake, honey,” she murmured. Her heavy eyelids barely cloaked her lambent green gaze. “Give it to me now, honey, just let it rip.”

  Her tongue swept over her swollen red lips, as if anticipating a rare treat. Then she lunged forward and took his cock all the way in, all the way down her throat.

  He howled, immediately blinded by lust. He thrust once into her hot, velvet cavern.

  She moaned around him, palpating his shaft where sight didn’t matter, only intimacy and passion.

  He thrust again and she bucked against him, the desperate cue of a woman hunting her own fulfillment. His orgasm surged out of his spine and into his balls, more powerful than a SWAT battering ram.

  Her fingertip pressed into his asshole and released every inhibition.

  He thrust once more down her throat, deeper than he’d ever thought possible. She caught him to her and he spilled himself down her throat, over and over again, in a series of cascades, mindlessly ecstatic. She shuddered around him and her hands bit into his hips, the pain spurring him higher still.

  Waves of fiery hot orgasm washed through his bones and muscles, turning him inside out, like a starfish pummeled against a beach.

  It seemed a long time before he heard a victorious marathon runner gasping for air. His brains needed a few moments more before he realized he was the athlete being held upright by the lady—and the bedroom clock hadn’t changed its opinion of the time.

  The doorbell rang downstairs on a long, sharp note. The CSI van, his ride to the crime scene search, had arrived.

  “Listen up, guys.” Jake could have grinned at the fine crew surrounding him but he needed to keep things serious.

  Some were from Belhaven and the FBI, plus the well-funded suburban counties who hated any mention of knife killers. The local sheriff’s office had done its best to make a good showing, even though they were probably still recovering from the snowstorm. Big snow, then a fast melt, meant lots of accidents from snow, ice, and floods to keep a department hopping.

  “We’ve got two sites to concentrate on. First, we have to check out the hiking drop-off, where the only physical evidence has been found so far.”

  Nobody looked bored, even at this very obvious opening statement. Given the gorge’s steepness, there were only two places to put a car—the hiking drop-off or the nudist colony, which required an electronic card key for admittance. Any and every search would include the public access.

  “Next, we’ll check out that granite ledge in the river, plus the path leading down to it.”

  Heads swiveled to look where he pointed.

  “The witness?” squeaked a young man. “You mean she was telling the truth?”

  Jake spun on the sheriff’s deputy. He deliberately had not mentioned the source of his information.

  Well, that ruined any chance of keeping his material witness a secret from the whole damn world. Or at least the cops in it.

  “How the hell
did you know, Schachter?” asked the local sheriff in a voice which would have made even a sleeping bloodhound spring to attention.

  “I came out here with her and wrote down her report, sir.” The kid glanced around for sympathy but found only hard, expressionless faces.

  “I didn’t see that in any of my summaries,” his boss remarked.

  “It sounded crazy when you look at the place. I mean, who’d wade out into a river to kill somebody when you can do it in comfort on the shore?”

  “What happened to the report, Schachter?” the sheriff asked, still in that deadly cold voice.

  Jake was glad he had only met the sheriff in a helpful mood.

  “It’s in my desk, sir. I haven’t entered it into the computer yet because of the backlog and all.” Schachter looked at his boss’s face and went even paler. “Sir.”

  “Since you were here immediately after the attack, why don’t you show us where you looked?” suggested the sheriff. “After that, we can talk about your next fitness report.”

  The kid blanched. To give him credit, he moved out into the front and started working.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Astrid placed both hands on her condo’s glass wall and wished she could ask for an overseas post. Somewhere she wouldn’t worry about Jake Hammond and his doings while she performed her duty.

  This aerie, like all modern dormitories for Shadow Guard members, was a glass skyscraper. It curved into its waterfront location like a towering wave, set on one edge. Thanks to the magick embedded in it, any inhabitant could open a gate to anywhere in the world from here.

  But a transfer was impossible, since she was on mandatory home rotation. Call it R&R, or recharging—or even letting the Council make sure she was still steady enough to stay in the Shadow Guard—nobody would let her fly out of here.

  No, she had to stay and pay the piper.

  “What did you tell the Council?” Elswyth asked. Her normally rich drawl had almost vanished, testimony to unusual agitation.

  Astrid swung away from the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and offered a smile to her friend. It didn’t soothe the older sahir, judging by the sharper frown lines between her brows.

  “The truth, of course,” Astrid said.

  “But not all of it,” Nathan cut in, his Boston Brahmin accent a harsh contrast to the women’s voices. He was leaning on the sofa in a studied attempt at casualness, probably to remind himself how junior he was in this gathering. His Armani suit perfectly matched the room’s sleekly modern perfection; a fool would have taken him for nothing more than a gigolo.

  Six years ago, Astrid had taken some of her profits from his stock market advice and spent almost half a million dollars to decorate this condo in highly polished wood and marble. She probably needed to redecorate, just to give herself something new to do in the evenings.

  “No, not everything. But you can never lie to the Council.” Astrid sighed and gave up looking for an escape. She headed for the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and damned modern architects for creating open floor plans that didn’t let hostesses hide.

  “You admitted to farasha police that you’d seen a murder? And then told the Council what you’d done?” Elswyth spun her chair to stare at Astrid across the breakfast bar. The vivid afternoon sunlight turned her complexion sallow, rather than pure cream, below her raven black hair.

  “We all know it’s okay for sahirs to help farashas when there’s been a crime,” Astrid put on her most reasonable tone.

  “Minor problems like pickpocketing, or perhaps attempted rape.” Nathan snorted harshly. “Certainly not anything involving magick.”

  “Well, of course I didn’t mention the scrying spell!” Astrid slapped the brewer’s faceplate. It immediately began to grind and brew her beloved, very strong, organic Sumatran coffee beans.

  “But you did go to farasha police, even though Shadow Guard agents are supposed to keep a low profile.” Nathan crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, effectively boxing her in. “What excuse could you possibly have for that?”

  “What?” Elswyth’s shriek shattered a crystal champagne flute. “Sorry.” She flicked her fingers and the shards gathered into a cloud, then dove into the trash can.

  “Girlfriend,” she said more temperately, “you can’t just spring a surprise on your friends like that with no warning. You know the Council does not like to have sahirs anywhere near farasha police.”

  Coffee splashed into Astrid’s cup from the disgustingly high-tech machine. A percolator, like the one she’d first learned how to make coffee in, would have given her more time to compose herself. Or perhaps make up a suitable story.

  “The cops didn’t ask me why I was there,” she mumbled. She wouldn’t readily admit how much the woman’s scream had sounded like Gerard’s. Reliving either death cry meant reawakening nightmares that had shattered her soul for years.

  “But cops are trained observers and might spot something wrong, something we couldn’t arrange a spell fast enough to block.” Nathan set his coffee cup down on the counter, clearly preparing himself for a long interrogation.

  “The detective believes I work for the FBI.”

  “So what? Lots of baby J. Edgar Hoovers in this town.” Elswyth sniffed haughtily. “That’s not enough reason for a cop to be polite.”

  Astrid splashed unnecessary milk into her best coffee. “This farasha cop is my old friend.”

  “We’re not supposed to be—” Elswyth began, her voice deadly soft.

  “You should have known before—” Nathan interjected, sharper than an executioner’s blade.

  “Argos is my only recreation!” Astrid roared. The condo walls vibrated and the stone fireplace hummed, amplifying the truth in her statement. Every wineglass and pitcher echoed their song and she ruthlessly fed magick into the spell, using oh so very little of what she’d gained from Jake that morning.

  Nathan stiffened, then bowed low in acknowledgment.

  Elswyth flung up her hands in acquiescence. She wouldn’t lose her temper again here today.

  Astrid nodded slightly and gently released the spell. The magick slipped away, back into the room’s foundations, ready to feed her needs again at a moment’s notice.

  “Argos is my only recreation,” Astrid said again, much more gently. “Hundreds of thousands of people enjoy it and it’s impossible to check out all of them. I didn’t consider notifying the farasha police about the killing until I realized my longtime friend led the investigation.”

  Elswyth grunted, clearly still unhappy. Astrid couldn’t read her thoughts behind those brilliant black eyes.

  “First law is that the needs of the many—” Elswyth intoned an uncomfortable moment later, like a high priestess starting the confessional.

  “Outweigh the needs of the few.” Astrid rubbed her thumb over her cup’s rim. She’d dueled the Council long and hard for permission to proceed. If only she trusted their acceptance as much as her favorite spell book.

  “But if I could pass on a hint to somebody I trusted, surely that doesn’t infringe on my service to the many?”

  “You’d let him hunt for the murderer, and thus look out for the needs of the few?” Nathan cocked his head. “Interesting.”

  “Too risky!” Elswyth countered. “You’re Shadow Guard, the finest of all sahirs. He’s not one of the farasha cops, like those FBI we work with, who’re bespelled not to see what we really are. Even those who employ you believe you’re truly one of them.”

  “No, but the detective and I are friends. He won’t make trouble for me.” I hope. “Besides, I pointed out to him how close the site is to that nudist colony. He thinks that’s why I’m trying to keep my testimony low-key, so it won’t embarrass the Bureau.”

  “What!” Nathan choked.

  “Did he ask who you were with?” Elswyth asked. She studied Nathan, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “No, I told him I went there after some tests at Quantico.”

  “Not a bad d
escription of your FBI work, given all the special translating jobs you do,” Elswyth mused.

  “If he asks about companions, I’ll say that the club’s policy forbids me to say.” Astrid shoved the conversation into smoother channels.

  “Quite true.” Elswyth was still thinking hard.

  Astrid flicked her fingers and milk obediently began to heat for Elswyth’s beloved cappuccino. Sweetening her mood never hurt and might help.

  “Unless either of you would like to join me at the farasha station?” Astrid asked her oldest friends among the sahirs.

  “Like hell!” Nathan jerked upright. “A murdered farasha is not worth risking everything for.” He gripped Astrid by the arm and half shook her. “You’re a fucking idiot to even think of it. Where the hell is Astrid, the ice bitch, who taught me how to stay alive in occupied Europe and serve my country so damn well?”

  His harsh voice flayed Astrid’s spirit raw and she flinched.

  “Nathan,” Elswyth purred, deep and rich like a voodoo princess offering up the poisoned goblet, “have you asked yourself yet why the Council permitted Astrid to live after confessing to this reckless deed?”

  Two heads spun to stare at her.

  “What do you mean?” Nathan asked slowly and freed Astrid.

  She didn’t bother to voice the words; she’d worn grooves deep into her brain by asking herself the same question.

  “We all know the usual punishment for such behavior is death,” Elswyth reminded him.

  Astrid poured her coffee’s dregs down her throat without flinching. Their bitter taste was no fouler than that potential destiny.

  “But she’s still alive.” Nathan studied Astrid as if seeking signs to disprove that theory.

  “Maybe they want Astrid to go out on a limb.”

  “Not because I’m the most deadly sahir in the country,” Astrid protested.

  “They don’t know that.”

  “What do you mean?” Astrid frowned at Elswyth. A frisson of magick shimmered into life under her skin as if summoned by its mention.

  “Most sahirs only live to be fifty, perhaps eighty years of age, before they shatter and die while working magick.”