Guardian (The Protectors Series) (3 page)

S
tefan’s chocolate-brown eyes widened in shock, then narrowed, then turned bland, all in the space of a heartbeat. His steady gaze held no trace of the heat she’d once inspired. Or the hurt she’d seen when they’d last met.

Neither of which she wanted to see, so why the hell was her heart skipping like a kid playing hopscotch?

He gave her a little nod. “Cami. Good to see you again.” He extended his hand. Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn’t refuse.

She pasted her most businesslike smile on her face. “Likewise,” she lied, in a steady voice at odds with her irrational and obviously hormonal pulse. When their hands touched, she had to clench her jaw against the zing that went up her arm. The slight narrowing of his eyes said he’d felt it, too. But he could dream on if he thought she’d admit to feeling the sizzle. Not after all this time. No way.

“I go by Mel now,” she said, pleased that her voice was steady and strong. The less girlish name served her better in the male-dominated world of law enforcement.

“Oh, y’all know each other,” the sheriff said. “Great. Saves time.”

The dispatcher, Angela, called Burton to the phone, leaving Mel and Stefan in awkward silence. Suddenly, she realized she was still grasping his hand. She released it and took a small step back without even meaning to.
Damn it.

Squaring her shoulders, she looked him straight in the eye. “Sheriff Burton said you were from this area. Where are you practicing?”

A cool, ironic smile flickered over his mouth. “I’m the chief in-house physician at the Georgia Institute for Paranormal Research, near Brunswick.”

She stopped the
No, really
just before it slipped out. Something in that smile of his dared her to say it.

“Does that involve a lot of toxicology?” She managed to make her voice cool and professional instead of snide.

“You’ll find a list of my papers on the Institute website. There are a few on toxicology.”

He sounded casual, but she had the distinct impression of a gauntlet flung. More than anyone, he knew how intensely she hated this woo-woo crap, and why. He was the only person she’d told about how she’d been ostracized, even bullied, in her small, rural hometown because of her mother’s persistent public advocacy of far-out New Age ideas. But that wasn’t the point. Mel couldn’t trust the resolution of Cinda’s case to such nonsense. He’d been brilliant once, but that wasn’t good enough.
Paranormal research, my ass
.

“You know,” she said, “the Bureau has toxicologists on staff. Now that we’re involved, Sheriff Burton could save what are probably scarce funds.” And he would opt for those savings just as soon as she had the chance to bend his ear.

“The sheriff likes having someone who knows the ground,” Stefan replied, and her blood pressure spiked. Still smiling, he added, “Besides, I’m interested now.”

Joining them, Dan Burton chuckled. “You don’t need to worry, Mel. Everybody in town knows Stefan. We’ll get value for our money.”

She very much doubted that, considering he’d chosen to work in the Twilight Zone. Even though the Georgia Bureau of Investigation did recommend him. “Sheriff, I need to speak with you before we head out.”

He glanced at the clock. “It’ll have to keep. We gotta get out there.”

“But—”

He strode past the counter and out into the corridor that bisected the courthouse.

“Dan hates being late,” Stefan said softly as they fell in step behind him.

His casual tone and use of the sheriff’s first name implied he and Burton were pals. Great. Just bleeding great. Cinda’s case would have an actual expert on it if Mel had to go all the way to the DC office to arrange it.

First, though, they had to deal with this press conference.

They had the wide hallway to themselves. It smelled of old wood, and its walls held portraits of dour-looking men. Beyond the glass double doors at the front, where a deputy stood, a sea of reporters and townspeople waited, with idiotic questions, no doubt.

The sheriff said, “Stefan, I hear you’re gonna sing and play the guitar at Griff’s wedding next month. You do much of that?”

Mel’s heart clenched. As students at Georgetown, he and she had sung together in the local folk music club, in their little studio apartment, and in bed, while joking with each other. The harmony of their blended voices seemed to parallel the harmony in their lives. Only there’d been a third part in the blend, one she’d never noticed.

“I’m not much for singing in public these days, but Griff and Val are very close friends.” With a grin, he added, “They’ll overlook any off notes I hit.”

Not that he’d have any. He was that good.

Stefan looked at her, and his face softened. “I noticed Miss Baldwin was from Essex, and the name rang a bell. She taught you how to play the flute.”

He’d remembered. Stunned, Mel nodded. Pain squeezed her heart again, and words slid out. “She always encouraged me to pursue it.”

“I’m sorry.” Kindness warmed his eyes, and the obvious sincerity in his words soothed her. He’d once understood what music meant to her, but that had been nine years ago.

He touched her arm, a brief, fleeting brush of his fingers, and the contact again sparked deep within her. Mel swallowed a gasp, wrenching her gaze to the side. Damn it, she couldn’t still be vulnerable to him. She wouldn’t be, not for a man who’d cheated on her.

They reached the front doors, and Stefan turned to the side exit.

“I’ll watch from the back,” he said, his voice strained. “See what people are saying.”

“I think we can guess some of it,” Mel said in dry tones.

His eyes turned cool and faintly amused. “I’ll join you after. Good luck.”

She must have imagined that note of strain a moment ago. He gave her a nod, slipped sunglasses out of his jacket’s breast pocket and onto his nose, and strolled toward the side door.

The sheriff tapped on the front door. Opening it, the stocky, graying deputy stepped to the side. Mel followed the sheriff out into the muggy heat and the din of shouted questions.

Some of them would be crazy, judging by the talk in the café. Would Stefan subscribe to those weird ideas? Had he changed that much? His current job indicated he had.

Tugging her own sunglasses from her pocket, Mel shrugged. No sense worrying about Stefan. She was getting him tossed off this case, and then she’d never have to see him again.

Stefan slipped around the side of the two-story, brick building and strolled past the crowd jamming the street. At least his six-one frame gave him a good view over their heads.

Dan Burton started by summarizing the situation, mostly repeating what had been in the paper and adding a few facts about Ms. Baldwin. Behind him stood a deputy in uniform.

The deputy shifted, revealing Mel. She stood straight, a tall, slender woman in a neatly tailored black pantsuit and blue, v-necked blouse.

Stefan’s breath took an odd little hitch below his heart. That was probably indigestion from this morning’s Mexican omelet, but he couldn’t deny he felt something. He took off his sunglasses and surveyed her as he hadn’t been able to do in the sheriff’s office.

The tailored shirt didn’t quite disguise the curve of the small, high breasts under it. Her dark hair hung almost to her shoulders in a sleek bob instead of the long, full curtain that once had fallen halfway down her back.

It had felt soft when he buried his hands in it. When she let it trail over his body.

That wide, ripe mouth, now wearing neutral pink lipstick instead of the bright red or coral she’d once favored, had been soft, too. Soft and yielding and welcoming.

Until everything blew up.

Hell
. The annoying hitch pinged his chest again. She wore sunglasses, so he couldn’t see her eyes. Nothing in her face hinted at anything beyond cool, professional attention to the sheriff, but he would bet she was watching the crowd. He could take a couple of steps backward, separate himself, and be more conspicuous. See how she reacted.

Damned idiot
. What was he, twelve? He set his jaw and stayed where he was.

Sheriff Burton paused. “Some of y’all have heard the FBI is assisting with the investigation. We’re grateful for the help. Special Agent Wray will say a few words and take your questions.”

That little twitch around her mouth had probably started to be a grimace, but she stepped coolly forward and removed the sunglasses. “The Bureau is cooperating in this investigation because of certain similarities, which I will not disclose at this time, between this case and others.”

Stefan frowned at the faint emphasis on
not
. Good luck on that with a tabloid like the
National Investigator
taking an interest. On his walk here, he’d seen a car with that wide eye logo on the doors. He knew that logo too well. After Mack’s revelations and Krista’s death, the vultures had hounded Stefan and the surviving band members for inside info on the mage community. Lack of proof didn’t stop them from alleging that Stefan, his band mates, and their families were wizards or into satanic rituals or whatever else would sell papers. But the tabloid press wanted something tangible to support their claims that the Pacific Northwest Psychic Institute, the cover for the area’s mage Collegium, was hiding a commune of witches, magic workers, and alien hybrids capable of taking over the United States.

Once all that took off, nothing could’ve saved Mack. The mage Council’s duty to protect its people mandated the dangerous step of wiping Krista’s revelations from his memory. If the tabloids hadn’t hounded Krista’s family and Stefan’s, Krista might still be alive.

Mel continued, “As Sheriff Burton indicated, we welcome any information about Lucinda Baldwin’s death or her movements in the days before it. We’ll take your questions now.” With a nod to the sheriff, she moved aside so they could share the microphone.

As he stepped up to it, she scanned the crowd. Stefan braced himself, waiting, and then her gaze met his. Damn it, there was that hitch again.

She studied him, and her impassive scrutiny suddenly pissed him off. He was one of the best physicians in the mage and Mundane worlds, and no matter what she’d insisted on believing, he had not cheated on her nine years ago. Before they were done with this case, she would damn well see the integrity she’d denied back then.

On the platform, Mel’s mouth went dry. Why the hell did Stefan have to be so gorgeous? His tall, lanky frame had filled out to fit the breadth of his shoulders, but the strong line of his jaw hadn’t changed. She remembered the feel of it under her fingers, the way his beard stubble had felt against her skin as his mouth explored her most intimate spots. The memory sent heat curling through her belly, then lower. She clenched her muscles, pushing mentally at the unwelcome sensations. Too bad her rebellious—and long-denied—libido refused to forget, just as her body remembered Stefan’s warmth when she nestled against his side, both of them sated and content, after they’d made love.

She couldn’t see his hands, but she knew them too well. Thinking about them made her breasts tighten. Thank God her suit jacket provided cover.

He’d had a light in his eye then, curiosity and humor she’d adored. Now he looked hard. Almost angry.

He’d be angrier when she got him bumped off this case, but that was just too bad. There was no way she could stay focused with him working so closely with her.

“Sheriff Burton,” someone called, and her mind snapped back to the press conference. She glanced at the blond woman holding up a microphone but saw Stefan’s mouth lift at one corner, as though they’d been playing Staredown and he’d won.

She barely managed to keep her face blank. If he meant to play childish games with her, she’d squash that idea fast.

“Jilly Porter,
National Investigator,
” the woman called out. “Sheriff, do you think the strange wound pattern on Miss Baldwin’s body was made by alien hands?”

Alien hands. Crap.
This case was tough enough without nonsense like that. At least Sheriff Burton deflected it smoothly with, “We have no evidence of any alien presence.”

He even managed not to laugh or groan when he said it.

“What about vampires, Sheriff? We heard the body was drained of all blood,” the dogged Ms. Porter persisted.

“I won’t confirm or deny exsanguination.” The sheriff’s voice held firm, but sweat trickled down the back of his neck and into the collar of his khaki uniform shirt. The day was muggy but not that hot. He must hate press conferences. If so, no wonder he’d welcomed having the Bureau step in.

He continued, “Talking nonsense about vampires and aliens is a waste of everyone’s time.”

“Could Ms. Baldwin’s murder be part of a satanic ritual?” someone called out in the back. “Or related to the recent reports of swamp demons?”

“Those reports,” he replied, “have not been substantiated.” The sheriff pointed at a bespectacled man in the front.

The man thrust a microphone toward the platform. “Special Agent Wray, can you confirm that this is the work of a serial killer with related deaths in North Carolina and Florida?”

“No, and I’ve nothing to say about those cases.”

The reporter frowned. “Because you don’t know or won’t comment?”

“Because I have nothing to say.” Mel kept her tone even with a struggle.

Other reporters shouted questions, repeating the aliens, swamp demons, and vampires theme, though one original thinker suggested a bear as the culprit.

After another fifteen minutes, the sheriff sent Mel a
help
look.

“Miss Baldwin was killed by a human being,” she said bluntly. “One from this planet. Of that much, we are certain, and that concludes today’s conference.”

They turned their backs on the shouting reporters and marched into the building. Mel and the deputy fell in behind the sheriff, the deputy gesturing for Mel to go ahead of him. Another deputy held the door open, then closed it behind them.

They walked through the too-warm lobby of the courthouse and down the corridor to the sheriff’s department at the back. Mel said nothing as Sheriff Burton and his deputy griped, with good reason, about the weird questions asked.