Guardian (The Protectors Series) (16 page)

Mel raised an eyebrow at Stefan. “Are you sure you want me out there? You could’ve asked me earlier, on the phone.”

“I thought maybe you had plans.” He glanced at Marc, waiting until the minister had moved out of earshot. “Also, one of my friends needed to talk to me about something before everyone got here. I figured that might require privacy, but we’ve covered it now.”

Stefan paused, his eyes level and serious. “Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem.” But the lie rankled. He’d been honest with her, and they were adults, after all. Mel took a deep breath. “Okay, yes, I had a problem when I arrived. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Watching him closely, she said, “I saw you…holding hands with her.”

“Hey, I’m a babe magnet.” Stefan grinned.

She opened her mouth for a teasing reply, but instead blurted, “I was jealous.”

R
eally?” Stefan raised his eyebrows, his face unreadable.

Mel’s cheeks heated. How had those words popped out of her mouth? “It’s stupid, I know. Old issues, unfinished business, whatever you want to call it.”

“You were jealous,” he repeated softly.

“It’s nothing.” Mel shrugged. “I was dealing with it, trying to figure out why I reacted that way, when you walked up. You did the polite thing by asking, but you all seem very close, and I don’t want to intrude. Y’all have a nice lunch.” Trying to still her hammering pulse, she took a long drink of tea.

Stefan remained by the table. “It would be a nicer lunch if you joined us.”

Mel choked on her tea. Sputtering and coughing, she set the glass down. When she could breathe again, she stared up at him. “Things haven’t exactly been smooth between us.”

He frowned. “I enjoyed having pizza and going to the grocery store together last night. If you didn’t, then okay. If you did, you might enjoy lunch, too. You can meet the artist a New York critic said combined the best of Maxfield Parrish and Andrew Wyeth.”

“Your friend Griff. The bridegroom.”

“That’s the one. He painted that castle you liked.”

“Okay,” Mel said. Stefan genuinely seemed to want her company, and she couldn’t help being pleased by that. Somehow, she would earn his friends’ approval. “Lead on.”

He refilled his tea and walked with her out to the deck. Marc and the dark-haired guy, Griff, stood as Stefan made introductions. Val kept her seat but smiled a welcome. Stefan pulled out the chair beside his for Mel, leaving Marc on the end.

The waiter brought out their food. When he left, Val said, “Hettie told me Miss Baldwin was a friend of yours, Mel. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Mel glanced at Stefan. “I’m glad Sheriff Burton agreed to let me work the case. There are a lot of strange factors, but we’re all determined to solve it.”

“I’d like to be making more headway on that toxin,” Stefan admitted. “Getting a blood sample from that guy last night would’ve helped.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Mel told him. The urge to touch his hand was strong. Instead, she clasped hers in her lap. To Val, she added, “I hear you’re getting married. How are the wedding plans going?”

“Great.” The blonde grinned. “I have my dress, the bridesmaids have theirs, and our friend Hettie’s handling most of the arranging. I’m probably the least stressed bride to be this county has ever seen.” Griff hadn’t said anything, but she slanted a look at him, as though he’d spoken. “You should be grateful.”

“I am, believe me.” His eyes glinted with silent laughter as he rubbed Val’s shoulder. “We’re being married in Hettie’s backyard, and I think she took things over in self-defense. My mom had what we might call ‘very elaborate ideas.’”

Drizzling raspberry vinaigrette over a salad, Val nodded agreement. “Everything Lara suggested was gorgeous, but we want something simple. Marc’s going to perform the ceremony, and Stefan will sing.”

“So I heard,” Mel said. “I’m sure he’ll be great. He has a beautiful voice.”

Val glanced from her to Stefan and back. “You’ve heard him sing? He doesn’t do it as often as we’d like.”

“We met in a folk music club,” Stefan said. He shot Mel a warning glance across his hamburger.

Were his friends about to turn the spotlight on the two of them?

“What led you into law enforcement?” Griff asked.

“My roommate in college was murdered. It sort of changed my career path.”

“My parents were murdered, too,” Val said, “so I became a cop for while. I’m in private security now.” Her eyes met Mel’s in a moment of perfect understanding.

Mel blinked. She had experienced that kind of accord with other agents, male and female, but never with another woman her own age over something personal. Growing up as a misfit had made her unsure of herself and reluctant to risk opening up around other women.

“Being close to violent death changes you,” Marc said quietly.

Val nodded. “Can’t argue there. But let’s talk about something more pleasant on such a pretty day.”

The conversation wandered into movies, books, and local activities while the group ate. Mel suddenly realized Stefan had his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers folded over the top behind her, the way he used to sit.

Was he aware of what he was doing? Or was it merely the old habit stirring, just as it had when she’d almost sat back to make contact?

Val, at least, noticed. Mel saw her glance at Stefan’s arm. The blonde smiled and looked away, but what would she say to Stefan’s other friends later?

What did Mel want her to say? A week ago, the answer would’ve been easy, but now things were different. She and Stefan were growing closer, and she had no idea how she felt about that.

“We’re having a cookout this weekend,” Griff said. “Our kitchen will be, at last, finished.”

“Yay!” Val high-fived him. “Finally.”

“Stefan said that was the last of your remodeling,” Mel remembered.

“It is,” Griff replied. “No use being married to a great cook if she doesn’t have a good kitchen. Besides, in the old kitchen, I had no way to chain her to the stove.”

Val smiled sweetly at him. “Honey, you know just where you can stick that chain.”

Stefan and Marc hooted. Griff laughed. Pulling his fiancée close, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

They looked so happy together, so much in harmony. Mel shot a quick glance at Stefan, the man she’d once felt like that with. He also watched the engaged couple, and she caught a brief flash of longing that mirrored her own on his face. She leaned lightly against his fingers. He glanced at her in surprise before he brushed her back in a warm caress that seemed to waft over her heart.

Marc said, “You’re having a cookout, outdoors, to celebrate your finished kitchen indoors?”

“That’s the plan,” Val answered. “People gravitate to the kitchen, especially at an indoor party, and that makes seeing the room harder.” To Mel, she added, “Everybody’s been asking about the remodeling, so we figured we’d throw the house open and let them get a good look before the wedding.”

“Before we start cluttering it up,” Griff put in. “I was about to invite you, Mel, when we got sidetracked.”

Val tacked on, “We’d love for you to come.”

“That’s very nice of you.” Mel didn’t need a crystal ball to know they were including her because of Stefan. They seemed to think he would want her there. Or at least the option of having her there, and she felt too many confusing things about that to define. “If we get a break in the case, I’ll be working. Otherwise, I’d be happy to come.”

That didn’t commit her to anything where Stefan was concerned, but his knuckle lightly stroked the back of her shoulder. The brief, one-fingered touch, hidden from others, had once been their private
glad you’re here
message.

She was glad, too, an amazing feeling considering where life had taken them.

Val’s face turned serious. “As I said, I’m private security now, but I carried an Atlanta PD badge for two years. Griffin spent eighteen months as a police officer in Savannah and has consulted for the FBI. If you want to bounce ideas around, things that’re okay to discuss, of course, we’re available.”

Mel glanced at Griff, then at the others around the table. These people knew Stefan well. Far better than she did, after all these years. Did they know about his energy manipulation? Did they believe in it?

Something Stefan had said days ago clicked now. Was Griff the friend who’d been a “psychic” consultant? Even as the question occurred to her, she knew it was so. “I understand you had a successful art show,” she told him. “Congratulations.”

Griff nodded. “When I’m not painting, I work part-time with Val. I imagine Dan Burton has looked at this, but I keep coming back to the fact both victims were proficient in creative arts.” With a slight smile, he added, “Though some people around here don’t think much of Wiley’s yard sculptures.”

“We did look at that,” Mel said, “but we found no connection. Cinda mainly volunteered at the shelter and gave a few private lessons. Wiley sold his sculptures at craft shows and county fairs. We couldn’t find any overlap.”

“The connection may be that they’re both artists,” Griff said. “There are other people, some of them elderly, living out in the countryside alone. Why these two?”

Val frowned, tracing a little pattern on the tabletop with one finger. “If they’re trying to take a liver, maybe age matters.”

“I’ve never heard of the liver being associated with the arts,” Marc said.

“In medieval times,” Stefan responded, “the liver was thought to be the seat of the body’s ‘humors,’ fluids that controlled health and mood. Of course, we know better now. But there are crazies around who latch onto almost anything.”

Griffin commented, “From humors to creative energy isn’t much of a leap.”

“No.” Stefan rubbed his chin. A glint of something, maybe an idea, brought out the gold flecks in his eyes before they turned somber brown again.

“You thought of something,” Mel said.

“I almost did.” His brows knitted. “I nearly had it, and then it was gone. Something about creativity.”

He was holding back. Maybe he wanted to check out whatever this was before he mentioned it. Especially if his idea would sound silly without evidence to back it up.

“This has been great,” Marc said, “but I have an interview with a new volunteer in ten minutes.”

Stefan pushed back his chair and stood. “Mel, if Hettie’s home, we can go straight out there unless Dan’s expecting you back.”

“That sounds good. I’ll give her a quick call when we get outside.”

The group walked out together. Val and Griff turned to the parking lot. Stefan and Marc followed, but Mel stopped at the edge to make her phone call.

Griff unlocked a black Dodge Charger and opened the passenger door for Val.

“You still driving this rocket, Griff?” Stefan asked as Val climbed in. “Now that you’re about to be married, I figured you’d trade it for a minivan.”

“Nah. I’m leaving that for the little woman.”

Val shook her head and sighed. “Enjoy your delusions while you can. I figure those artistic hands’ll be much defter at diaper changes, when the time comes, than mine. I plan to leave you to it while I zip around in my Mustang.”

Her fiancé grinned at her. “We’ll see, babe.”

“Bet your gorgeous ass.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

Only people who cared very much about each other traded such cheerful insults. Mel had never had that outside of work. Except with Stefan. Protecting yourself tended to shut others out.

“Hello?” Miss Hettie sounded out of breath.

“It’s Mel Wray, Hettie. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Not at all. I was out in the garden. What do you need?”

Mel explained, watching the black Charger pull out of the parking lot. She returned Griff’s and Val’s waves and watched Stefan clap Marc on the back.

Stefan walked to Mel as she and Hettie signed off. His intent look made her breath catch. Her throat went tight with longing for what they’d had.

“Hettie says to come by,” Mel told him, glad she could manage a casual tone. “She has a friend whose great-aunt kept scrapbooks of unusual events going back to the turn of the last century. Hettie’ll ask her friend to bring them over.”

“That narrows the range better than an index.”

“We can hope. If this doesn’t work, we can wade through the raw material in the town library. I’ll call the sheriff’s office and tell them where we’re going. Maybe we’re finally about to catch a break.”

Four hours later, Stefan figured Mel was eating her words about catching a break. He was sure as hell eating his about an index. The late Araminta Cranshaw’s massive scrapbooks included everything from swamp legends—potentially useful—to unusually large hogs at the county fair—totally useless, as were her conspiracy theories about hog size.

Hettie had set him and Mel up at her antique, twelve-seat dining room table with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of homemade apple muffins. Afternoon sunlight slanted into the room, glistening on polished mahogany furniture and silver candlesticks and gleaming on the short curtain of sleek, dark hair hiding Mel’s face.

Stefan rubbed his left thumb idly against his forefinger. He remembered the soft, silky feel of her hair, the way his hands felt buried in its thick mass, the way having it trail over his body aroused him. When she absently pushed it behind her ear, the sight of those delicate whorls and the lobe reminded him of the way she shuddered with pleasure when he kissed her ears. His cock throbbed.

Shit
. He needed to dive in the pool or forget about it, but he couldn’t do either until he had a better handle on the odds if he dived. At least she was on board with learning more about his abilities.

She was stronger now, braver than she’d been in college. Tougher. She’d handled the first steps well, but he had to tread carefully for both their sakes.

His cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket. Will, maybe with info on that last research bit. If so, Stefan needed privacy. He swiped the screen. “Hey. I’ll call you right back.”

“Okay.”

Mel looked up. “Problem?”

“It’s a work thing. I’ll step outside for a minute.”

Her expression seemed to close at the mention of his job, not a good sign for his odds. On the other hand, she’d admitted to being jealous, so clearly he had some kind of chance.

Smiling, Stefan walked down the wide hall with its cypress flooring and worn Persian rug and out through the screen door to sit on the front porch steps. Hettie was reading in the gazebo hammock, out back, but after the summer’s uproar with Griff, Hettie knew or had guessed a lot about the mage world and what she called its
doings
.

After seeing Hettie wield her legal skills with lethal determination as part of Griff’s defense team—and in a Collegium trial, no less—the Council had taken all of three minutes to accept her promise to keep the secret that mages—and magic—not only existed but were present all around her in significant numbers. If Stefan were a betting man, he’d lay odds the Council was just a bit intimidated by Hettie Telfair in lawyer mode, and that was a good thing for this town.