Guardian (The Protectors Series) (12 page)

Footsteps came down the hall above and behind him. Stefan stood and saw Will and Tasha, her boy-short, auburn hair neat today in the absence of a battle, approaching together. Stefan smiled. As part of Griff’s secret network when he was a fugitive, Stefan, Will, and Tasha Murdock, as well as Javy Ruiz and Chuck Porter, had become close friends. Nothing cemented a bond as tightly as knowing you had each other’s backs.

“Hey,” Tasha said. “I wondered if we’d overlap this morning.”

Climbing the stairs to meet them, Stefan nodded a greeting. “Will, have you ever heard of blood transfusions from Void demons to ghouls?”

Will’s and Tasha’s smiles died.

“Not exactly,” Will said. “There are old legends about Void demons sharing power with ghouls, before the Burning Times.”

“Any way to tell?” Stefan asked. “Any signs to watch for?”

“I’d have to look that up to be sure, but I hope for all our sakes that’s not what’s going on here.” Frowning, Will ran a hand through his hair. “I think the demons who shared were called Teachers.”

T
he main things you need are musical instruments and instructors?” Mel asked.

She and Marc had agreed to talk over coffee. They sat opposite each other at one of four long tables in the shelter’s dining hall. Behind a pass-through to his left, volunteers washed the dishes from the brief morning coffee hour.

 “I keep coming back to that piano,” he said. “I know that’s what she’d want for us, but they’re very expensive. If we could get one donated, maybe we could use some of the money to tune it and buy some other instruments.”

“There might be an old, used upright available cheaply,” Mel suggested. “It would need repair and tuning, but the cost might be minimal.”

“Maybe.” Wagner rubbed his jaw. His blue eyes turned thoughtful. She’d pegged him as being very young for his job, midtwenties or so, but now realized he was more likely in his early thirties. “Do we need to decide today?”

Mel shook her head. “Settling this estate is going to take a while. You could put out some feelers, see what turns up, and then we could go from there.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” His focus shifted beyond her. “Will, Tasha, want some coffee?”

“We didn’t want to interrupt,” a woman’s alto voice said.

Mel turned to see a tall, semiscruffy but attractive blond man in the doorway. He stood six two, and the auburn-haired woman at his side, lovely in an austere way, was five ten in flat shoes.

“Come in,” Marc said. To Mel, he added, “Tasha’s a decorator. She’s helping us replace our worn-out curtains. Will does magic tricks for our kids and helps with tutoring. Or whatever else we need.”

“Will Davis.” Smiling, the blond man stuck out his hand. He had a firm, businesslike grip.

“I’m Mel Wray.”

The woman’s smile was briefer, only a flicker, though her eyes held friendly warmth as she offered her hand. “Tasha Murdock. Are you new in town?”

“Just visiting,” Mel answered.

Marc said, “Mel is Miss Cinda Baldwin’s executor. Miss Cinda was generous to the shelter.”

“I hear she was generous to everyone,” Tasha said quietly, “and that she was a friend of yours. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Will glanced at Marc. “Remember the Christmas concert?” To Mel and Tasha, he added, “Miss Cinda taught the kids
Rudolph
, with a comedy routine. It was great.”

“She loved kids,” Mel said.

Will cocked his head. “Wray. Wait a minute. Aren’t you the FBI agent consulting on Miss Cinda’s murder case?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“I stopped at the bakery for a cookie, and Missy, the cashier, told me. I hope you catch that guy.”

“We’re trying.” Mel swallowed a sigh. She’d been in the bakery yesterday, and what she’d meant as a brief stop had become a lengthy chat with Missy. That was the downside of small towns. Everyone knew everything about everyone else. “You probably have things to talk about, and I should get back. Marc, thanks for the coffee. We’ll talk again.”

“Anytime.” He grinned. “I’m usually here or close by.”

Maybe if she hurried, she could walk back without Stefan. Walking with him had felt too familiar, too comfortable.

“It was nice meeting you all,” she said. The others replied in kind, and she started for the door.

Stefan walked through it. They almost collided, and her breath caught. Her traitorous heart beat faster when he flashed that warm, sexy smile of his.

“Finishing up?” he asked.

“Yes. I guess you’ve seen your patient.” Did that mean he was leaving? Returning to the courthouse?

Stefan nodded absently. She should smile, say good-bye, and go about her business, but the rush of pleasure at seeing him held her in place, looking up at him. Like a silly schoolgirl with a crush.

Mel straightened her shoulders. “Well. I’ll see you later, Stefan.”

“What? Uh, yes. And by the way, you can put me down for a shift at the
Oracle
. I can read microfiche as well as anyone.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” He seemed distracted. Had the child he’d examined been that sick?

“Good-bye, everyone.” Mel flashed a last smile and sidled past Stefan to reach the door. He stayed where he was.

Stepping into the sunlight, she shook her head at her own folly. She hadn’t wanted him to come with her. His staying with his friends was exactly what she’d hoped.

Why was she so disappointed?

A short time after Mel left, Stefan stood on the sidewalk with Will and Tasha. With no one else around, they could speak freely. “You’ll check on those legends, Will?”

“Sure. I don’t remember any details, and what I’ve seen is only a fragment. Jonas, my buddy in Finland, may have more. He seems to have a helluva library.”

Tasha grinned. “Why don’t you get him to pack it up and bring it? That Finnish accent is so sexy.”

“For all you know,” Will said, “he’s married. What do you know about Finnish accents, anyway?”

“I visited Finland when I was stationed in Europe with the navy. Great scenery, and I don’t just mean the mountains and lakes.” Tasha lifted her right index finger, then made a little stroke with it. “Tssss. Smokin’.”

“She likes the architecture,” Stefan said.

Still grinning, Tasha punched him lightly in the ribs.

Will shook his head. “You know, Stefan, if we said anything like that about the ‘scenery’ in Finland—and we could, I’ve seen calendars, so I know—she’d call us sexist pigs and punch us for real.”

“The difference,” Tasha said airily, “is that I don’t reduce guys to the sum of their physical parts, the way men who ogle women do.”

“Oh, right,” Stefan replied. “Now pull the other one, why don’t you?”

“I’m too busy speculating about Will’s buddy Jonas. So, is he married?”

Will smirked at her. “Don’t know. Don’t care. It’s not relevant to my dealings with him. Speaking of scenery, Mel Wray sure isn’t what comes to mind when I think of Feds.”

Tasha said, “Just because Griff consults for them sometimes, you shouldn’t expect them to all look like him.”

“He
used
to consult with them,” Will said, “when he had his powers.” He turned to Stefan. “Do you still think they might come back? I know you can’t violate a confidence, but hypothetically.”

Stefan shrugged. “As with so much else, Griff is unique. I don’t have anything to base a hypothetical answer on. Sorry.”

 “Damn,” Tasha muttered.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Stefan said. In a dry voice, he added, “Good thing we’re all so good at waiting.”

At least the comment drew a smile from his friends.

Will glanced down the street. “I might drop by the courthouse, see if Special Agent Wray wants to get better acquainted over lunch.”

“She’s not your type,” Stefan snapped before he thought.

Tasha regarded him with new interest.

Will’s eyebrows rose. “She’s pretty, has to be smart and brave if she graduated from Quantico. And she’s passing through, which guarantees short-term. She’s perfect for me.” He paused, looking curious. “Unless maybe you’re aiming in that direction. If so, say the word, and I’ll back off.”

Shit. The last thing Stefan wanted was their attention on this part of his life, but Mel deserved more than Will could offer. “The two of you wouldn’t get along.”

Now Will also stared too intently at Stefan. “Okay, then. Plenty of gorgeous babes out there.” Hands in his pockets, he headed down the street.

Good.

Tasha pursed her lips.

“What are you looking at?” Stefan demanded.

“A new side of you.” She cocked her head. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“You know how Will can be with women, and Mel’s an old friend, that’s all.” Stefan set his jaw against a surge of temper.

“If you say so.” Tasha shrugged. “I got an e-mail from Val. You were copied on it.”

“I haven’t looked at e-mail since early this morning. Everything okay?”

“They’ll be home late tonight. She and Griff are coming over here tomorrow to help the shelter kids with softball drills. They want to meet at The Bar for lunch. I have a client meeting, alas, so someone will have to fill me in.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You and Val have certainly gotten past that bristly first meeting.”

“I wasn’t sure we should trust her too fast. Her suspension from the shire reeve job could’ve been a ruse. I thought she might be screwing with Griff’s head, using him to bust us all. Once she showed us what she was made of, I had to like her. The woman has guts.”

“Is that your standard?” Stefan had known Tasha four years, but he still hadn’t figured out how she approached friendship. For all her fierce loyalty, she held herself a little aloof.

“One of ’em,” she answered cheerfully. “In a couple of weeks, I’ll put on a bronze silk bridesmaid dress—while giving thanks Val has good taste!—to help the two of them seal their deal. Now I have to run. I think I know where I can get a steep discount on those curtains Marc needs, but I have to pounce on it before someone else does.”

“Don’t let me keep you, then.”

Tasha hurried toward the parking lot behind the shelter, leaving Stefan alone with his thoughts. He had no right to care who Mel dated. None at all. He winced. His own failure to be open had topped the list of Mel’s reasons to steer clear of him. Now that he’d added what she considered woo-woo, she wouldn’t come anywhere near him as more than a friend. As lovers, in spite of what his body—and, he feared, his heart—wanted, they were done.

She was also done with the motel, he remembered. He might have a fight on his hands, but she was not staying out at Cinda’s alone.

Mel dug her fingernails into the knot holding yellow
CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS
tape around a branch on the azalea bush by Cinda’s small house. The knot gave at last, and she strode toward the yard’s corner, rolling the tape into a rough ball as she went.

At least the task let her avoid looking at the spot where Cinda had died. The grass had sprung up again, and the rain had washed away all traces of that fatal struggle. Mel was pretty sure she could find the exact spot easily, though, because the image of that night was engraved on her brain.

She’d handled crime scene tape before, but it was always a dismal task. Mel unwrapped the pine tree at the corner of the yard and resumed rolling. Her path would take her near the spot she’d been avoiding. The deputies thought Cinda’d been trying to get to her car. Its locks had been remotely opened, and the key fob had been found near Cinda’s body. Yet the crime scene unit reported no signs of a break-in. Why would she have fled the relative safety of the house?

Mel swallowed hard and steeled herself.
Have to face the memories sometime.
The house would be full of them, too.

A car horn honked, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up as a blue BMW sedan drove past her and turned into the driveway.

Stefan. Her heart started that irritating little dance again. It apparently cared nothing for their differences, or that they were incompatible.

Liar.

Okay, maybe not incompatible. Maybe they were as good together as they always had been. Mel kept rolling tape as she thought about that. Stefan seemed willing to build a bridge. The reluctance was all hers. Watching him shift the car into park and hook his sunglasses over the visor, she realized her worry about walking into Cinda’s house had eased.

Reality check time. Stefan wasn’t her mother. When they’d been lovers, he’d never once given her the slightest reason to think he’d hurt her or ignore her needs until the end, when he’d been afraid to tell her the truth. Otherwise, he’d always been sensitive to her emotions, and she would bet money he’d come tonight to distract her from the pain of being in Cinda’s house for the first time.

She wouldn’t even know about his
energy manipulation
if she hadn’t followed her hunch and gone to see him, hadn’t forced him to tell her. He was a respected physician, researcher, and law enforcement consultant. He was not going to stand in the Wayfarer Square and announce that he was some kind of miracle healer. Though this being Wayfarer, most people here would likely applaud.

 It was not fair that she put him in the same category as her mom.

Still, she didn’t know how to let go of the wall she’d built for survival.

Mel stopped rolling tape. She was approaching the spot where Cinda had struggled and died. She turned toward Stefan. At least he would help keep the memories at bay.

Climbing out of the car, he announced, “I brought pizza and beer to celebrate your first night out of the motel. Let me finish that while you warm the pizza.”

“Right. Give me the woman’s work,” she teased, trying to set a friendly tone. “I know how to roll crime scene tape.”

“Yeah, but I tend to nuke pizza into oblivion.” Despite his smile, his eyes roamed her face, a bit keener than she would’ve expected from his tone. He was checking to see if this was getting to her.

 That was so sweet, so thoughtful—so him—that she had to smile. “What kind of pizza?”

“Half fully loaded—that’d be for me—and half girlie vegetables and ground beef for you.”

The kind they’d always split. He’d described it just as he used to. Mel lowered her eyes hastily and swallowed to clear her throat. “That sounds great.”

He tugged the tape gently out of her hands. “Car’s unlocked. The food’s in the backseat.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the front door cracked.”

“You do plan to keep it bolted otherwise, though.”

His tone walked the line between a question and an order. Mel started to snap back at him but caught worry in his eyes before he hid it with a bland look.

 “Of course I will. I know all about crimes of opportunity, Stefan.”

“Right,” he agreed. “What should I to do with this when I finish?”

“Pitch it in the trash. They won’t reuse it, even on a tight county budget.”

She snagged the pizza and a six-pack of bottled beer from his car. The pizza box lid read
THE BAR, 75 CALHOUN STREET, WAYFARER, GA. GOOD FOOD FOR GOOD TIMES
. The beer carton bore a picture of a tumbledown, wooden building by a creek and the words
BAR BREW. JUST PLAIN GOOD
. Interesting. And the pizza smelled great.