The Shadow Guard

by Diane Whiteside

  “Why were you really at that nudist colony?”

  “I, ah . . .” She stopped, swallowed a lump the size of the Pentagon, and tried again. She couldn’t lie. “I heard Melinda’s scream from the Beltway.”

  “But that’s miles away!”

  “I told you before: she sounded exactly like my husband when he was killed. She must have had a little magick in her to project it, because distance means nothing to pain and anger like that.”

  She shuddered, then quickly gulped the rest of her tea.

  “Anything else?”

  “Her last words were about duty.”

  “Same as your husband.”

  “How did you know that?” Astrid stared at him.

  “You wouldn’t be attracted to anybody less,” he said wryly.

  “What else?”

  “You know the rest of it. We couldn’t track the killer’s car because it was warded.”

  “Too many protections to attack it?”

  “Too many protections to see it clearly,” she corrected him. “Another sahir is involved in this.”

  “Is there somebody important who’ll help us?”

  “No, because it’s not a threat to our country.”

  “You mean the magickal cops won’t take this killer on.”

  “Correct. We’re on our own.”

  Totally frustrated, she snapped her fingers and steam whistled out of the teapot. Soothed by one small victory, she made herself a fresh cup of tea.

  “What do you want from me?” Jake’s Virginia drawl was thick enough to walk on and yet harsh enough to bring soldiers into line.

  “What do you mean?” She braced her back against the kitchen wall, ready for any confrontation.

  “What do you, Astrid, want from me, Jake? Why are you cowering over there when the sex is so good together that we can make the stars sing?”

  Oh, shit.

  “You scare the living crap out of me, Jake.”

  “I’d never hurt you, you know that.”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “Then tell it to me straight or I’m going to shake it out of you.”

  “Sahirs can die if a spell goes wrong or we try to channel too much magick,” Astrid said baldly.

  “Shit.”

  “But magick is a better drug than cocaine or anything on the street.”

  “Guess you want to shoot up all the time.”

  “Yes, which means we tend to die very young.” She looked at her cup, then set it aside. Gerard had taught her to drink tea, but this wasn’t a conversation for his memory.

  “That didn’t happen to you.” Harsh lines bracketed Jake’s mouth.

  “We can stabilize in two ways: either bond to another sahir or a kubri. A sahir is very risky.”

  “Since he’s as addicted to magick as you are.”

  “Plus, he can’t provide balance by linking to Earth, the way a kubri can.”

  “Your husband was a sahir.” Jake made the leap, of course.

  “Yes, he was. The bond is equally strong between any kind of magick worker. Distance has no meaning to it.”

  “Did he blow himself up during a spell?” Jake took her hand.

  “Oh, no. Gerard refined his magick during the First World War, and he was very canny. He never took an unnecessary risk but he knew how to drive a thrust home.”

  “You adored him.”

  “He was my life,” Astrid said simply.

  For long minutes, the only sound was the wood’s death throes in the fireplace while Jake’s expression grew sterner and sterner.

  “What happened?”

  “It was the beginning of the Second World War and the Nazis had started to overrun small countries. Norway, my ancestors’ home, was next in line.”

  “We weren’t at war then.”

  “The Shadow Guard doesn’t take its orders from the White House.”

  Jake blinked and Astrid hurried on before he could delve into that disclosure.

  “Norway’s crown princess was very fond of America and vice versa. The British Admiralty hoped an American sahir, especially one who spoke Norwegian, might be able to convince her to evacuate.”

  “So you went to Oslo.”

  “Yes, and Gerard sailed aboard the Heron, a destroyer on escort duty. Everyone hoped having a sahir there would help them find one of the big German ships.”

  She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She’d learned to move on. But the bone-deep cold any mention of that day brought still ran deep through her.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “It helped and they stumbled upon each other in a fog bank. There was no radar back then, so nobody knew anything for certain until they saw each other.”

  “Too late to run, too late to hide,” Jake chanted.

  “The first German shells almost ripped the smaller British ship apart.”

  “That’s when you heard Gerard die.”

  “A dying sahir can force his consciousness into a weapon, should it be sworn to follow the same path as he.” Tears dripped down her face but her voice still held firm. Her stomach was the same tight knot it had been that appalling night. “The Heron wailed a banshee scream when Gerard melded with her.”

  “Was she invulnerable?”

  “Not to the sahirs aboard the German cruiser but she became a far more deadly weapon. Her captain rammed the bigger ship so hard that it was forced out of the fight.”

  “The Heron was sunk?”

  “With almost all of her crew.” Astrid scrubbed her cheeks hard. “The next morning, the full German battle fleet attacked the Norwegian capital at dawn. They expected an easy fight.”

  “You didn’t give them one.”

  “All we had was a few naval reservists, not even enough to fully man the guns. But they halted those arrogant ships.”

  Jake sat down beside her on the sofa. “What did you do?”

  “I guided their torpedo to its mark and sank the biggest ship. The others retreated for a while, which gave the king and government time to flee.”

  “You did that without any help, right?” Jake laced his fingers with hers. “Against a warship fully guarded by sahirs?”

  “Yes.” Warmth flickered across her skin and brushed her veins.

  “Could you have done more with a kubri?”

  “Of course. But there wasn’t time to call any up, even if they were willing to work with me.”

  “Is that what you want from me? The chance to work great spells, thanks to accessing great power through me?”

  “Jake.” She gripped his hands harder. “There’s no safety net or guarantees for a kubri. If things go wrong and a sahir shatters, the kubri dies, too.”

  “Payoff could be worth it, though.”

  “Dying isn’t fun, Jake. When the other half of your link passes over, half of you goes with him!”

  “Oh damn, honey, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her close.

  Astrid went stiff with surprise for a moment, then relaxed. Whatever—or however much—he meant by this, she found more shelter in his arms than she’d met anywhere else since Gerard had died.

  “What do you say, we go out for beer?” Jake kissed the top of her head.

  Beer?

  She drew back a little and cocked her head at him quizzically.

  “Or pizza? I don’t know what you have here but I’m hungry. I’m paying, of course.”

  Men.

  She opened her mouth to set his mind straight about her pantry and her talents for restocking it.

  His phone rang and he snatched it off his hip.

  “Hammond.” His expression changed while he listened. “Oh yeah? No, I’m just surprised they arrived so fast. FBI must have really wanted to get them off their hands. Of course, I’ll be right back.”

  He shoved the bit of electronics back into its case, his expression abstracted.

  She frowned at him. Dammit, she’d almost hoped for a d
ate.

  “Sorry, but Melinda Williams’s files just arrived from GSA. FBI has reprioritized and pulled their folks off this investigation. I need to get back to the office to read them.”

  “Yes, of course you do.”

  “FBI probably didn’t find everything, fast as they went through her stuff.”

  “No, I bet they didn’t.” Her voice probably sounded as cold as she felt. “Can I help?”

  “Not with this; we’ve got to keep it under wraps at the station.”

  “Pity.”

  “Are you mad?” he asked cautiously.

  “No, I’m not angry. Just completely unsurprised.” And wishing she was hungry for somebody else.

  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “I’ll call you in the morning, if we find something new,” he offered.

  She cupped his jaw in her hands.

  “You just keep thinking of me, okay?”

  She kissed him thoroughly, long enough to drown herself in his taste. When his cock was a red-hot bar against her belly, she stepped back and gently closed the door on him.

  If she was going to go through hell getting to sleep, then he could have the same damn problem.

  Viper looked at his brand-new, prepaid phone’s display and spat an extremely ugly curse word.

  Next time, he wouldn’t bother getting the new phone. Or maybe he’d move to a different continent where the bastard couldn’t find him.

  Still, he answered on the third ring.

  “Yes, Mr. Big?” He kept his voice very respectful. Dammit, he still had red marks around his throat but no idea how the bastard had put them there.

  If he could just find the son of a bitch, he’d make him pay—in both senses of the world. No matter what that did to the Viper’s reputation with future clients.

  “I have another target for you,” Mr. Big said without preamble. “Same price as the last time”—wow!—“because the execution must occur within twelve hours.”

  Viper clamped a hand over his mouth an instant before he would have said impossible. He could either tell the truth and die or keep silent and get out of town fast. The third option was that Mr. Big was correct and there’d be a profit.

  “Okay,” Viper said. Maybe this would bring enough to get him an account in that new Luxembourg bank.

  “Okay what, worm?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Big!” Viper pumped enthusiasm into his voice. He’d greeted his sergeant’s suggestions to run around hot springs in the African desert the same way, since it bought him extra water.

  “There is another commission, worm.”

  “Yes, Mr. Big?”

  What kind of accent did Mr. Big have, anyway? He kept his syllables too crisp for English to be his native language. Viper recognized that problem because it was his, too.

  “After you remove this target, you will convince the buildings’ residents to leave it.”

  “Huh?” Nobody asked hit men to evict folks.

  “The methods are up to you, so long as they can’t be traced to me. But everyone must be out of there within forty-eight hours from now.”

  “Can I terminate with prejudice, sir?” Viper asked, using the idiotic American phrase for kill.

  “Yes.”

  Why did he want a bunch of people knocked off? Was this too dangerous even for Viper—unlikely!—or should he up the ante?

  “I will pay you triple the previous hit,” Mr. Big announced.

  Viper’s jaw hung low enough to sweep his desk before he snapped it back into place. That kind of money would definitely get him into Luxembourg, where the prissy aristocratic bankers never spoke to American cops.

  “You have a deal, sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jake shot another disgusted look at Melinda Williams’s files. If there was anything here worthy of murder, he sure as hell didn’t see it. He’d shuffled, reshuffled, and read property titles and possible timetables until his eyes crossed. Every location seemed viable for a building large enough to hold at least two courthouses.

  He lifted his head and sniffed. What was that scent? Had he worked the clock around again? Surely it couldn’t be time for more—doughnuts?

  A rumble of appreciation went up from the second shift, newly gathered in the squad room.

  Jake shoved his chair back and opened his office door.

  The delectable aroma washed over him again, twice as sweet and far more savory. Fresh doughnuts in every flavor, from sugar to cinnamon through chocolate and blueberry. Half the cops in the station were gathered around the coffee station at the far end to stuff samples down their throats, while more streamed through the doors faster than any fire alarm’s summons.

  Where had the goodies come from? All of the local doughnut shops cut back their baking after lunch, and nobody in the office made anything like this.

  Jake took a step closer. He should eat something before he hit his e-mail. After that, he’d figure out where next to focus the Williams investigation.

  Astrid backed out of the crowd, empty tray in hand.

  “You’re very welcome,” she assured two chocolate-daubed detectives. “Try the cinnamon; it’s my mother’s recipe.”

  She turned and her eyes met Jake’s. She wore a casual black jacket, black jeans, and a soft blue sweater, making her look far more like a young Belhaven detective than the rigidly correct FBI employee he’d worked with—or a heartbroken widow.

  He flushed, suddenly horribly aware of how clumsily he’d left her last night.

  “Hello, Astrid.” He gave her a tentative smile and drifted closer. What did a guy say on occasions like this? He hadn’t even had a steady girlfriend in high school. “Thanks for all the doughnuts.”

  “You’re welcome. I was feeling a little restless”—ouch!—“so I thought I’d work it out in the kitchen. Glad the guys let me in; I don’t know what I would have done with so many pastries, otherwise.”

  “Cops can always eat doughnuts,” Jake assured her truthfully. “But yours smell far better than most.”

  “Flatterer!” She laughed, the sound far more musical than any noise pumped through the lobbies, and Jake chuckled with her.

  Why the hell had he spent last night away from her? One of his team could have gone through the GSA files, while he comforted her. Then he could have woken up with her and laughed with her about some stupid new jokes on the Argos boards before going in to the station.

  It sounded like a life, unlike the cold coffee and stale sandwich drying in his office.

  Dammit, he needed to keep her around.

  “How’s the investigation coming?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling.

  “Not much new. Why don’t you grab some coffee and come see?”

  Astrid hesitated and cast a glance back at the cops chatting around the trays of delicacies.

  A dark-haired civilian woman came up behind her. She looked slightly older than Astrid and was also anointed with a visitor’s badge. “Go on, girl. I’ll make sure the crumbs hit the trash can, then visit my pal Danica. We need to talk about the Enfield House team in the Tidewater 5K.”

  “Thank you, Elswyth.”

  Jake nodded his thanks, too, but was met by a fierce glare. He stiffened before he remembered when he’d met its likeness before—the overprotective parent of a high school date.

  He inclined his head to the other woman in silent acknowledgment that he’d behave like a gentleman. He hoped there were etiquette books somewhere to help him.

  Elswyth’s mouth twitched, but she nodded regally.

  Astrid returned, balancing two cups of coffee and a small plate of doughnuts.

  “What did you find out?” She offered him the sweets.

  He rolled his eyes in appreciation and reminded himself not to mumble.

  “Thought those would get me past your guard dogs, if you’d set any,” she murmured sotto voce.

  He spluttered.

  “GSA lawyers gave all properties’ titles a clean bill of health
,” he said rapidly, after he’d recovered. “Some properties had environmental problems but the three finalists had none.”

  “Zero?”

  “Not at this early stage of assessment. Two were historic properties that have been cultivated under traditional agriculture methods and the third is an abandoned nineteenth-century warehouse. They’ll undergo a full test later, of course, if selected.”

  “No scam there.”

  “Not that I can see.” He shuffled his notes again. Each finalist’s photo, complete with summarized description, was spread before him like a deck of cards.

  “Anything on her fiancé?” Astrid tucked her legs under her.

  “He’s withdrawn very large sums from his bank but they’ve all been linked to the wedding.”

  “Ring, house, honeymoon.” She ticked items off on her fingers. “Dress, flowers, reception. Perhaps a wedding planner?”

  “How did you know he paid for so much?” Jake snatched a list out of his drawer and double-checked. “You missed something, though—her new car.”

  “Minivan?”

  “Yes, with more horsepower than sense.” He dropped the list back into its file and propped his feet up on the drawer. “So far every number on his phone bill has checked out, too.”

  “Which leads you back to her job.”

  “Yeah, and another big, fat dead end. Either that—”

  “Or believe some random whacko kidnapped her on the Beltway so he could murder her in a distant stretch of river.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Yeah.” Her voice said she didn’t believe it either.

  “We can do something else,” she commented a moment later.

  “Like what?”

  “Any of these places make your gut twitch more than another?”

  He glanced sideways at her, startled by her casual reference to his cop’s intuition. Then he tapped the Northern Neck property.

  “This one.”

  “Why?” Astrid put her feet down and scooted forward to look at it.

  “It’s too good to be true. Two hundred and fifty acres of undeveloped waterfront property within an hour of Washington just doesn’t exist anymore, even when the only likely buyer is Uncle Sam.”

  “Anything wrong with the owner?”