Guardian (The Protectors Series) (10 page)

“Like saving a life, Mel.”

She winced at that. Was old hurt making her accuse unfairly? Judge unjustly? He’d saved Wiley Boone’s life, she was almost sure. The man had been going downhill fast. Until Stefan had come to see him.

“I care about my reputation, sure,” he said, “but it’s more important that I not be barred from doing what’s needed. Would you have me let other people’s prejudices, their fears of the unknown. make me turn away instead of helping someone in pain? Or walk away from a dying patient I could save?”

Mel’s gut clenched. Without saying it outright, he’d struck right at the heart of her own issues, and damn him, he knew it.

He met her gaze without hiding the weariness in his face. No matter how little she wanted to believe him, she wasn’t getting any inner pings to make her think he was lying. He at least believed what he was saying.

Because he was right or because he was delusional?

“I can help people. If I fail, there’s no harm done.” He shrugged. “You can believe me or not since I have no way to prove it.”

“You have Wiley Boone,” she muttered.

Had she actually said that?

Stefan blinked. Carefully, he asked, “Are you saying you believe me?”

He’d been the only person in Boone’s room. She’d been convinced he’d done something and so had come here to force the issue. If he hadn’t, Boone had undergone a miracle cure, and that seemed even less likely.

“I’m thinking about it,” she said. “How does this relate to our breakup? You said you would tell me the truth about what happened.”

“When you thought I was at that local clinic, I was actually at the Mid-Atlantic Psychic Institute, studying natural energy manipulation. That’s how I treated Wiley Boone.”

Stunned, Mel stared at him. She’d expected him to admit he’d been unfaithful, to confess he’d been with some woman. Instead, he’d said the last thing she would’ve guessed. He had always seemed so rational. Given where he now worked, though, all of this made perfect sense.

“You knew how I would feel about that. Yet you let me fall in love with you. You talked about us building a future.” The last word snapped. She clenched her jaw for a moment, then took a slow sip of the tea. The lukewarm liquid burned going down because her throat was raw with old pain.

Stefan looked as miserable as she felt. At least he got to escape feeling betrayed and deceived in whole new ways.

“By the time these issues came up,” he said, “I was already in love with you. I hoped maybe you were more open to accepting those interests of mine than you seemed.”

“Then you were thinking irrationally.” He knew what she’d been through because of her mother’s beliefs, all but the beating on the school bus. There’d been no point in sharing that.

“Love is irrational,” Stefan said quietly. “No matter what you’ve come to think since then, Mel, I loved you completely. And I was faithful.”

He looked so earnest, too earnest to doubt. Her heart ached for her younger self and, unexpectedly, for his.

She sighed. “As far as women were concerned, I guess you were faithful. But you were going behind my back in a different way. You deceived me, Stefan.”

“I didn’t want to.” He ran a hand over his face. “I was trying to find a way for us, Mel, trying to gather my courage and tell you. Then you busted me.”

“Yet you still didn’t tell me.”

Stefan shrugged again. “If I’m going to be dumped, I’d rather be dumped for being only a liar instead of a liar
and
a wacko.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said wearily. “I guess I can see that.” The truth wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but it didn’t make anything better. A new kind of deceit by a man she’d loved didn’t set her heart free of the grief.

Part of her felt he didn’t love her enough to share this part of himself. The other part understood why he’d kept this from her. It still didn’t lessen the hurt.

Seeking composure, Mel sipped tea mechanically. Stefan stared out at the darkening afternoon.

“I won’t do anything to jeopardize your reputation,” she said, and gratitude flickered in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expose you to ridicule. I know what that’s like.”

“I wish you didn’t.”

There was that kind streak again, as heartwarming as ever. Not that she could let it matter. “That’s all history. So, just to have everything clear, you kissed me to shut me up.” Merely thinking of that made her feel itchy again, and stupid for feeling that way. “Did you think I’d forget what we’d argued about?”

“I didn’t think.” Stefan hesitated. “And it wasn’t to shut you up. We were arguing yet again, and I hated it.” Frustration etched itself in the taut lines of his face. He ran a hand through his hair. “I kissed you,” he said slowly, “because I’ve wanted to since the first time I saw you standing in Burton’s office. I didn’t think I’d get another chance. I guess it’s obvious I still want you, even more than I realized.”

He blew out a hard breath, his eyes pained. He lifted his hand, as though to touch her face. Her heart kicked. Then he slowly lowered his hand, leaving her again disappointed, no matter how unwise that was. “I never wanted to hurt you. And that’s the truth.”

As delight rippled through her, he added, “Whatever else you want to say about that kiss—and I realize there’s probably a lot, none of it good—it was honest.”

“For me, too.” Her cheeks burned, but if he could admit that, she wouldn’t shrink from it, either.

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry for all of it? You’re right that I should’ve faced up to these differences and not let things go so far between us.” He sighed. “I was young and in love, and I didn’t know what to do.”

If only she could blame him. “You weren’t the only one not facing up, Stefan. I shouldn’t have been so trusting.”

He started to speak, hesitated, and then said, “I’ve wished you were more so, that you’d been able to trust that we’d find a way. To trust me.”

Sadly, Mel shook her head. “I did trust you. As for our lasting over the long haul, that was never going to happen. I need a normal life, Stefan. I always have.”

“But you believe me about Wiley Boone?” Stefan eyed her thoughtfully.

“It’s the only explanation that fits. I have to believe it,” she realized, “or eat every word I said to you about why you had to have done something.” That reasoning was too logical to be invalid. Mel blew out a hard breath, hating the chink this situation had knocked out of the realistic foundation she’d built for her life. “So yes, I believe you.”

The surprise and pleasure in his eyes made her want to touch him, but that wasn’t smart. Instead, she said, “Obviously, there’s still an attraction between us. Probably most of it is unfinished business. Arguments have a way of bringing emotions to the surface, and things got out of hand. Can we agree to set aside whatever’s left of those feelings and work together?”

Stefan nodded. “That’s probably best.” The resigned, even disappointed, look on his face tugged at her sympathy, but she couldn’t let it matter.

This was the only smart play, so why did her heart ache and her throat burn? “I should head out.”

“With your coat, this time. I’ll get it.”

While she waited, Mel rinsed her mug and set it on the drain board.

“Here.” Stefan held the tan, trench-style coat by the shoulders. “Let me help you with this.”

Mel nodded her thanks and slipped her arms into the sleeves. With perfect timing, Stefan slid the coat onto her shoulders and squeezed gently.

Flipping her damp hair out of the collar, she turned to him. “Burton probably sent a message to your cell. He wants to have a meeting tomorrow, and I’m sure he’d like you to come.”

“Then I’ll see you there.” The grim resolve on his face matched the mood of everyone on the case.

Stefan escorted her to the door and grabbed an umbrella from the stand behind it. “I’ll walk you to the car.”

“I’ll dash. The rain has eased up, and you’re barefoot.” She wanted to reach for his arm, but touching him now, with these revelations between them, would lead them right back to that couch.

“Well, okay.” As she reached for the knob, he said, “Mel,” and waited until she looked at him. “Thanks for all the good parts. There were far more of them, at least for me.”

“For me, too,” she said, feeling her throat close around the words.

They stared awkwardly at each other. Mel forced a bright smile. “Well, here goes. Good night,” she choked out, and plunged into the rain.

D
r. Harper! Dr. Harper!”

Crossing the courthouse parking lot, Stefan glanced sideways. Jilly Porter from the
National Investigator
, with her bottle-blond hair swirling around her shoulders and a video cam operator trailing, hurried toward him. Too bad for her that hell would freeze over before he gave her a quote.

He tightened his grip on his medical bag and quickened his pace marginally, but he’d be damned if he ran from her. The glass door to the rear hall lay about twenty feet ahead.

“Dr. Harper! Steve!”

Her use of his long-discarded nickname sent a chill down his neck. He set his jaw.

Somehow, she was in front of him, her microphone in his face and her camcorder guy angling for a shot. Stefan raised an eyebrow. “Would you please get out of my way?”

“Do you deny you grew up in Issaquah, Washington, that in high school you played guitar and sang in a rock band called Ten-Speed Escape as Steve Harper, that your female lead, Krista Lee, committed suicide—”

“No comment.” He pushed past her. If she thought she was going to rake all that up again, she’d made a serious mistake. He wasn’t a kid grieving for his best friend now, and he wasn’t a fledgling mage.

“Never mind,” she called after him. “Here comes Ms. Wray. I’ll ask her.”

Shit.
Stefan couldn’t go inside and leave Mel to handle this. He hurried toward her.

“No comment,” she snapped as the tabloid team closed in on her. She didn’t break stride, but they kept pace.

The reporter said, “Ms. Wray, can you confirm you and Dr. Harper lived together when you were in college? Did you know he came from a family of wizards? Or that his band mate committed suicide because she was a failure as a witch?”

Mel’s face went stony, and her eyes flashed. The reporter actually took a step back. Stefan angled around her to Mel’s side. Would the wizard reference rattle her?

“No comment,” Mel repeated flatly.

“The people have a right to know.”

Mel simply pushed past her. Stefan followed. At their backs, Ms. Porter’s high heels clicked over the pavement. “Dr. Harper, why are you keeping your powers a secret? Do you use them in your practice? Does the Georgia Institute for Paranormal Research teach magic?”

Mel let her shoulder bump his. He glanced sideways and found his fury reflected in her eyes. Five feet to the door now. Burton had banned reporters from loitering in the courthouse.

Deputy Tim Mitchell stalked out the door. As he met them, he said, “Sorry about that, y’all. Go on in. I’ll get rid of them.”

Stefan held the door for Mel. As it closed behind them, she turned to him.

“The nerve of that woman, raking up an old tragedy and throwing it in your face.”

Mel’s indignant tone and hot eyes soothed his heart. After last night, he’d been afraid she would want even more distance between them.

Her face softened as she gazed up at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” Better than good if she was on his side about something magic-related. “But thanks.”

“Your secrets are your business,” Mel said firmly. “We’d better hurry. You know Burton likes to start on time.”

Sooner or later, Stefan knew, he would have to lie to the group seated around the fake wood conference table with Burton. The first half hour of the meeting consisted of a rundown of what everyone knew. Detective Dale Forrest, wiry, gray-haired crime scene tech Bitsy Morton, and Mel vented their frustration over the lack of new leads.

It was just as well they had none, though Stefan couldn’t tell them that. Taking on a ghoul would only get one of them injured or killed. He had colleagues scrying every hour, magically looking for the ghoul. It, and any like it, had to be hidden behind the screens of a ghoul compound. If they could find the superghouls’ base, Deke Jones, the shire reeve, could surround it with an attack force and put an end to this problem.

“Any questions so far, anybody?” Burton asked.

“I wanted to ask Stefan about those bullets Bitsy and her crew dug out of Wiley Boone’s wall,” Mel said across the table. “She said they were flattened, as though they’d ricocheted, but your statement doesn’t mention ricochets. When the guy didn’t go down from my shots or Boone’s, I would’ve assumed he had body armor, though I would’ve tried head shots if center mass didn’t work.”

Her wording implied she didn’t remember the confrontation. That was good for everyone’s peace of mind, but Stefan also had to let them know what a strong foe they faced.

“I didn’t see anything but your last shot,” he said, though he could still see her backpedaling, firing, still felt the fear and rage of that moment. “The guy kept coming, so I assumed you’d missed, though that seemed unlikely given the almost point-blank range and your skills. Maybe he had high-end body armor that wasn’t noticeable.” You could call an invisible magic shield that.

 The sheriff looked around the table at his task force. “Anybody know of any technology that can make a bullet bounce off a person’s head?”

No one spoke. Of course.

Stefan surveyed the grim faces around the table. Magic shields had made those bullets ricochet, information he wasn’t free to divulge. Without knowing, though, the next deputy to encounter a superghoul would charge in as Mel had, with about as much success. At least a bullet could kill the body, if not destroy the energy, of the ordinary variety of ghoul. Not this new kind, though, and Stefan couldn’t warn these officers.

Telling them the truth would expose secrets best kept buried and put a lot more people at risk. If Mundanes went after ghouls, mages would have to protect them, and that would make staying secret tough.

At least the shire reeve, Deke Jones, had mages patrolling the outlying areas.

“Anything new on the medical front?” Burton looked to Stefan.

“I wish there were. The toxin in the victims’ blood is similar to bile, a secretion of the liver, but it has essential differences. The wounds are not consistent with anything I’ve seen before. I’ve sent out queries to colleagues. At this point, I can’t say the purple eyes aren’t contact lenses and the curved talons aren’t add-ons, like plastic nails, but I wouldn’t put money on either of those.”

He was dancing around the truth. Playing word games. He hated it.

Dale Forrest shifted in his chair. “Stefan sent us that report. We’ve asked around at salons in the area. No one has heard of that kind of fake nail. They agreed to keep an eye out, though.”

“It’s odd,” Bitsy, the crime scene tech mused, “that we’ve got no chipped bits, nothing to help us identify the talons.”

“Were you able to get a good enough look to see if they could’ve been metal, maybe fake fingertips inside gloves?” Mel asked, turning to Stefan.

“Could’ve been,” he hedged. “I have no evidence either way.”

“I ran another check in the NCIC,” Mel said. “I put in as many variables as I could. There’s still no direct match aside from the Great Dismal Swamp case, none with similarities except that case in the Everglades. But I wonder if we could be dealing with a copycat.”

That must’ve been her version of
light duty
yesterday. Good. Stefan had feared she would wangle a ride in a squad car.

“Copycatting would require knowledge of the prior events,” Burton said. “If there’s nothing in NCIC or databanks, are you thinking there might be a local precedent?”

Mel hesitated, looking around the table almost apologetically. “I’m sure you all know Wayfarer has an unusual reputation. I wonder whether something like this, from a long time ago, might have contributed to it.”

“How do you want to follow up on that?” Burton asked. “I grew up here. So did most of my staff. The residents are anywhere from first to fourth generation.”

Bitsy Morton said, “My parents moved here in 1963. The whole Age of Aquarius thing in the sixties led to a big influx.”

Mel nodded acknowledgment to Bitsy. “I recently met a friend of Cinda’s, Hettie Telfair. I’m sure many of you know her.”

“Everybody knows Miss Hettie,” the sheriff responded. “The Telfairs have lived here since before the American Revolution. You think she mighta heard something that could help?”

“I figure it’s worth a try. I thought we could also check the back issues of the
Oracle
.” Mel’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “When you’ve got nothing, anything might help. For the longest shot of all, we might check into who does makeup for horror conventions and check online costume and theatrical supply houses for nails like our perp’s.”

No one laughed. They were all that desperate for a solution.

Stefan had to give Mel credit for creative thinking. These ideas might lead nowhere, but they were something to do. Meanwhile, maybe he and his friends could figure out this problem and end it before ghouls injured more Mundanes.

Dan Burton looked around the table. “Anything else?”

No one spoke. “All right, then,” he said. “Mel will talk to Miss Hettie and report back by e-mail. She’ll also draw up a plan for searching the
Oracle
archives. We don’t want to duplicate each other’s efforts. We’ll meet back here Friday morning.” He stood, and the meeting broke up.

Stefan grabbed his medical bag from the floor by his chair and eyed Mel as she chatted with Forrest. Maybe she would see having coffee with an ex-lover as a nice, friendly gesture. Forrest walked away, and Stefan angled to intercept her.

Bitsy Morton beat him there. “We’re done with Miss Cinda’s house, Mel. There’s no sign the killer ever went inside.”

“So I can move in?”

The hell she would, though Stefan knew better than to say so. Out there by herself, with a bulletproof killer roaming the area? No way.

“If you like.” Bitsy took a key from her jacket pocket and gave it to Mel. “I’ll send someone out to remove the crime scene tape.”

“I can take care of it. Thanks, Bitsy.”

The older woman patted Mel’s shoulder. “We’ll get this guy. Believe it.”

As Bitsy walked away, Stefan overtook Mel. “I’m due at the community shelter to look at a sick kid, but I have time for a cup of coffee. Join me?”

“You make house calls?”

“Sometimes.” Marc Wagner, the shelter director, had found Griff injured on the side of the road after a battle with ghouls, taken him home, and patched him up. That’d led to Griff finding a refuge, a home, in Wayfarer during his years as a fugitive. Because of that, any of his friends would help with anything Marc needed.

“This really is a small town,” Mel said. “As it happens, I’m expected at the shelter sometime this morning. I’m Cinda’s executor, and she made a bequest to them. Can you introduce me to the director?”

“Sure. Marc’s a great guy.” Grinning at Mel, Stefan added, “On the way, we can stop at Tom’s Grill & Griddle. Tom serves excellent coffee.”

“I could use some. The first shift started the coffee at seven. It tastes kind of like tar now.”

Because the
National Investigator
crew was hanging around the rear parking lot, Mel and Stefan opted to leave by the front door. Heading down the main hall, they met lawyers in suits, looking harried or smug and carrying the inevitable briefcases. Mixed in with them were businessmen, grandmothers, young people, farmers in overalls, a cross-section of the county’s people, all heading upstairs to the two courtrooms.

Walking beside Mel had always felt right. She was not only smart and kind but beautiful, with clear, gray eyes and strong, elegant features. An ache started in the center of his chest. She might’ve been able to rationalize his in-house physician cover job and accept what he said about treating Boone, but his admission last night had put him squarely on the freak squad in her mind.

He had no choice but to accept that. But he wouldn’t let her risk staying out in the countryside alone. He would protect her and other Mundanes as he always had.

Stefan had not cheated on her.

Mel’s mind kept turning over that knowledge. She’d spent most of last night dealing with the aftershocks of learning that what she’d believed the past nine years had not been true.

It changed things. She felt at ease walking beside him, almost as much as she once had, and wasn’t that a kicker? He might be off in left field like her mom, but he wasn’t beating everyone over the head with his supposed abilities.

They stepped out the front door and into clear sunshine and the mild autumn air. Stefan smiled down at her, and Mel’s heart thudded against her ribs, just the way it used to.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said. “I’d like to show you some of the town when we have time.”

“I’d really enjoy that.”

His brows lifted, as though in surprise, before his features relaxed into an open, comfortable expression. Clearing the air had been good for them both.

A burst of childish laughter drew Mel’s attention to the right, to the green square in front of the courthouse. A towheaded boy about three years old romped with a big dog that looked part Chesapeake retriever and a lot of parts indeterminate. A young woman standing by a blue umbrella stroller smiled as she watched the boy and the dog. Other mothers with strollers occupied benches on the square green.

The child let out a delighted squeal and flung his arms around the dog’s neck.

Mel couldn’t help smiling, too. “That’s just pure joy.”

“There’s nothing like a happy kid.” Stefan grinned.

Once, she had thought they might have children together.

Her pleasure dimmed, and Stefan’s fading smile implied he’d thought of the same thing. The old pain, the old longing for what might have been, jabbed into her heart. She wanted to touch him—to connect, to comfort.

Stefan cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted straight ahead. “The obelisk in the middle of the green honors Wayfarer’s World War I dead.”

Mel eyed the twenty-foot-high monument. “The town seems so much into peace and love, I’m surprised they would put up a war memorial. Though I guess that was done quite a few years ago.”

“Welcome to Wayfarer and its odd mix of opinions.” Stefan grinned. They stopped beside a glass-fronted shop. When he opened the door, the aromas of cinnamon, bacon, and coffee wafted out.