Guardian (The Protectors Series) (4 page)

The wood-over-steel door to the sheriff’s department stood open. They walked through it and behind the counter.

“Damn.” Sheriff Burton pulled a red bandanna from his green trousers pocket and mopped his brow. “Glad that’s over. What’d you want to talk about, Mel?”

“It’s private, if you don’t mind, Sheriff.” Though she’d discuss it in the open if necessary.

“Come on in.” He cut a direct line to his office, a cramped, ten-by-ten space carved out of the corner opposite Mel’s desk. He gestured that she should sit and closed the door.

Leaning against his cluttered desk, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Mel?”

“I’m concerned about Dr. Harper. I know the GBI recommended him, but if he’s into paranormal nonsense like we just spent twenty minutes discounting, I can’t see that as helpful.“

“I know what you mean. That’s a damned strange place where he works, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“I’m sure he does,” she lied, though he’d once had a superb mind, “but I can call Atlanta, see who we have available, and save you some money.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully, his eyes probing hers. At last, he said, “I kinda kept Stefan and some of his coworkers at arm’s length myself, when they started volunteering here in town. When I got to know ’em, though, I saw they’re regular folks working a strange job.”

“I understand the advantage of working with someone familiar. It’s just…because this case already involves unusual circumstances, I’m concerned that it might veer into irrational theories.”

“They deal with some strange ideas where Stefan works, I’ll give you that.” He studied her a moment more, as though he knew she wasn’t telling him everything.

Mel tried not to squirm. The past was irrelevant and not his business.

The sheriff turned, jotted down something, and handed her a piece of paper. “This is the contact number for Cathy Lamb at the GBI. Talk to her. Then if you’re still concerned, we’ll discuss this again, but I gotta tell you, Mel, I like having somebody here who’ll give me quick answers, make this a priority. Can you tell me the folks in Atlanta’ll do the same?”

“I can’t promise,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Well, then. Talk to Cathy Lamb and see what you think.” He pulled the phone across the desk and handed it to her. “I’ll be out front with a cup of coffee when you’re done.”

Mel dialed the number and climbed the phone tree to Special Agent Cathy Lamb. Lamb listened as she explained her concerns.

“Yeah,” Lamb agreed, “weird stuff. But the guy has skills.” She paused. “He’s the best. I’ve never seen anyone with better focus or a quicker brain. He’s intuitive on a level that’s almost scary.”

“Like ESP?” Mel asked in a dry voice.

Lamb chuckled. “Um-hmm, but he doesn’t talk about any of that to me, maybe because I don’t walk that road. Gut-level intuition works fine in my world.”

“Mine, too.” Mel rubbed her tight neck with one hand. “I don’t know about that paranormal stuff. I think I’d rather go with somebody else.”

Somebody who didn’t know what she looked like naked. Somebody who hadn’t told her he was volunteering at a clinic while actually going elsewhere, then refused to come clean when she’d caught him in the lie. Somebody who didn’t push all of her buttons just by looking at her. And the bottom line, somebody who didn’t work in Wacko City.

“That’s up to you and Burton, of course. Seriously, though, Stefan Harper is the best, especially at finding logical explanations for strange murders. He’s a pro at debunking supernatural claims.”

“Really? I’d think he would be the opposite.”

“So would I, but he insists only the truth serves justice. I don’t know why he works at that freaky place.”

Too bad he hadn’t been so keen on honesty nine years ago, when Mel had begged for the truth. Seeing him again dredged up all the pain of learning what she’d thought they had was a sham.

Lamb continued, “The man carries case files and chemical formulas in his head like a computer. If he’s available, I don’t use anyone else.”

Mel thanked her and hung up. Rubbing her neck again, she scowled at the phone. Lamb might think Stefan was the best with weird cases, which this one certainly was, but Mel had doubts. He’d dared her to check out his record. Why not do that?

She hurried out to her desk and pulled the keyboard close. A few taps of her fingers launched the search engine, found the website for the Georgia Institute for Paranormal Research, and opened the staff page.

There he was. The publications and conference presentations by his name were damn impressive, with ten on toxicology. A couple of those were coauthored with world-renowned experts. He clearly didn’t spend all his time on snake oil studies.

Yet dealing with him again…for a painful, breath-stealing instant, memory flashed across Mel’s mind, an image of her younger self cuddling in Stefan’s arms, talking through a logic theorem with those chocolate and gold eyes of his intent on the problem. On her.

She swallowed hard. That was then. Now he worked at the freak farm, so…no. She closed the browser window.

The image of Cinda’s dead, contorted face popped into her mind. Guilt twisted her soul. She’d put her own agenda over Cinda’s before, and look what happened. Now she was doing it again, only this time it was old business and personal, even less of an excuse.

She owed Cinda the best, and he appeared to be it. Besides, the sheriff had a point. The Bureau staff was juggling numerous cases. Stefan would work only this one. Damn it.

Sheriff Burton strolled over, coffee cup in hand. “How’d it go?”

Mel hesitated, but she couldn’t let her prejudice against woo-woo outweigh the objective recommendations. “I’m okay with it.”

Burton nodded. “If you have concerns at any point, though, you speak up.”

“That’s never a problem.” Mel grinned.

He smiled at her and wandered back to his office.

Mel paged through the reports in her file, bringing herself up to speed on the investigation. There was only one witness. Except for the woman in the car, no one in Cinda’s area had seen or heard anything. Blast it.

A shadow fell over her desk. She looked up, into Stefan’s cool, brown eyes. For just a moment, the wary look in them stung, which was ridiculous. She slid her professional mask in place, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction, though it shouldn’t matter. He’d been the one who lied and cheated, not her. She’d been crazy for him. Wanted no one else.

Still didn’t.

She stomped that thought as she would an oversize cockroach. With both feet.

“I’m heading to the hospital,” he said. “I’ll fax you a report when I’m done.”

“I’ll come with you.”
What the—?
Why the hell had she said that? Was she freaking nuts? The sooner he was out of her sight, the better.

“Afraid I’ll overcharge the sheriff, Special Agent?” Under the calm words lay an edge of steel.

Facing the challenge in his eyes, she couldn’t back down. “I hear you’re amazingly intuitive. If you uncover something unusual that bears on the case, I may have questions.”

And yes, she should monitor the way he spent the county’s money if he was doing anything out of the ordinary, but saying that would only piss him off.

“Fine.” His eyes narrowed as though he sensed her skepticism and distrust. “Let’s go.”

S
tefan opened the passenger door of his blue BMW sedan for Mel. Her decision to come with him made no sense unless she simply didn’t trust him…again.

“Nice car,” she commented, settling into the seat.

“Thanks. FYI, I didn’t buy it with consulting fees.”

He shut the door before she could reply.
Petty, Harper. Come on.

He was off his game with her, and he hated that. Hated what she thought of him. And wasn’t that stupid, considering she hadn’t trusted him, hadn’t loved him, enough to give him the benefit of the doubt when they were together.

When he climbed in and started the engine, she said nothing. She was probably too busy worrying about how much government money he intended to rake in, but she’d soon have to admit misjudging him there.

Of more concern was the way his blood heated when he touched her arm earlier. A residual attraction to her would not only be stupid beyond belief but would complicate their professional dealings.

More important was finding out what was going on and whether this killer’s purple eyes, assuming the description was accurate, signaled demon ties. Better to focus on the case. That included following up on the reports of
swamp demons
that journalist had mentioned. There might be a kernel of truth in those, and that possibility was scary as hell.

Mel cocked an eyebrow at him above her sunglasses. “Why the Georgia Institute for Paranormal Research? You wanted to be a trauma surgeon. Or run an ER. This seems…pretty tame in comparison.”

And far less admirable, judging by her faint undertone of disdain. It was probably too subtle for a Mundane to catch, but mage senses were keener.

His gut tightened, but he shrugged. “The money’s good. I set my own hours.”

“So you, what? Treat injured staffers’ bumps and scrapes? That can’t be much of a practice.”

He shot her an appraising look. “Why do you care?”

Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but pink washed over her cheekbones. New tension hummed inside the car. “I don’t, particularly. It’s a puzzle. I like solutions.”

A snappy retort sprang to his tongue, but he swallowed it. Despite her denial, she wouldn’t have asked if she truly didn’t care. Temptation welled inside him, surging into his throat and gnawing at his gut. He wanted to tell her the truth, just as he’d wanted to all those years ago.

She was the only woman who had ever made him think in terms of forever. He’d hidden his med school worries over doing something wrong, being responsible for someone’s death, from almost everyone. Cami…
Mel…
had been the one person he’d trusted with his fears. The things she’d shared about her unhappy childhood had given him the courage to confess his doubts, even to tell her a little about Krista’s death. Of course, he hadn’t risked revealing the real reason his best friend and musical partner had taken her own life, but the parts he did share meant something to him.

Mel’s reassurance, her faith in him, had soothed his heart.

Seeing her again and remembering how she despised him burned more than he would’ve expected. Coming clean now, telling her he’d lied about his whereabouts because he was studying magic, was lunacy. She would disbelieve him at best, freak into terror or disgust at worst. Her mom’s public claims to precognition and aura reading, along with her insistence on tossing tarot cards and crystals into casual conversation, had made Mel an outcast among the kids in the small farming community where she’d grown up.

He got that, so he totally understood her dislike of anything paranormal.

But the fact remained that if she’d trusted him when they were together, if she’d been more open to learning what he really was, he wouldn’t have to feed her his cover story now.

“I like having time for research,” he said. “Every couple of years, I fill in for a physician, usually a GP or family practitioner, who wants to take extended leave. I also help with the youth sports league and volunteer at the hospital free clinic and as needed at the Wayfarer Community Shelter.”

He did those things in between treating the venom wounds, broken bones, and other assorted battle injuries of his fellow mages. He was a trauma surgeon and an ER chief, and even more often than he’d like a battlefield medic. He was all the things she’d expected. Too bad he couldn’t tell her that.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why the Bureau?”

“You may remember my dad was against music as a career. He refused to help with college tuition or expenses if I majored in it.”

“He wanted you to do something practical, like teach, then come back to Essex and help him, your sister, and her husband run the farm.” He passed a slow-moving truck before he finished, “That’s why you majored in computer science and hid the music minor.”

Mel raised an eyebrow. “I’m amazed you remember all that.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything about you.” The words came out softly, not in the light tone he’d intended.
Idiot.

The flush in her cheeks deepened. Stefan jerked his eyes back to the road, and a wave of grief washed over his heart. Once she’d held all his hopes. Now they made awkward chitchat like strangers.

Which they were. This sucked.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, why the Bureau?”

She looked out the window at the passing woods of pines and live oaks with Spanish moss dangling from the branches. “During my senior year at Georgetown, my roommate was murdered.” Under her quiet words lay a current of pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Thanks. Anyway, I saw what a difference the cops made. They were kind to her family, even to me, and determined to put away the killer. And they did.”

“So you became an über-cop.” He smiled at her. “You never did anything by halves.”

For the first time, she smiled at him, with warmth that made his mouth go dry and his pulse pound. “Thank you for that. Seeing what happened after Carey, my roommate, died, knowing how important it is to survivors to see the killers punished…I love what I do.” She smiled again, a quick flash of contentment.

The gesture shot a little sizzle south, to the brain that remembered the feel of her, not caring what issues lay between them.

As his fingers itched to trace the line of her cheek, she added, “The Bureau goes after the worst of the worst. I started in the violent crimes division, but I’m in cyber crimes now. It was a good fit with math and computer science. If this is confirmed as a serial killing, they’ll probably send another agent, maybe several, more experienced in that field.”

“You’d move on, then.” That foolish little blip of regret would pass in time. As it should. There was no going back for him and her.

“Ordinarily, I would.” She hesitated. “This time, though, I’d try to stay. See it through.”

“Because it’s personal.” When she gave him a defiant nod, he added, “I get that. I’d want to hang in, too.”

“I have to do what I can for Cinda.” She let out a gusty sigh and shook her head. “Damn it, I hate this tabloid crap. Aliens, for God’s sake. Satanists, I can see, though I doubt it. But otherworldly stuff? Demons? Vampires? Please.”

“I know it’s frustrating.” He kept his voice even. She was scorning not only the fabric of his life but a very real menace. “But reports of swamp demons could contain useful information under the mistaken label.”

“The sheriff checked all that. Nothing to it.”

“Still, I’d like to see the reports.” Dan Burton probably wouldn’t object, whether or not she did. If all else failed, Stefan had friends who could hack them, but he preferred staying straight-arrow when he could.

She peered over her sunglasses, frowning. “Why do you want the reports? I know you work around some, er, unusual theories, but you can’t really believe in swamp demons.”

“I didn’t say I did.” Despite the chance that something of the sort was running around. “There are sometimes forces at work beyond bone and sinew.”

“I guess you’d say that, considering your job.” She turned back to the window. “I’ll stick to reality, thanks. There’s nothing to those reports, as I said.”

He could’ve argued, pointed out that creativity and art owed little to strict rules and a lot to imagination, but that would upset this fragile little truce. Still caring about her good opinion of him came as a shock, and it was a mistake. Fighting her disbelief and scorn for what he was would be about as productive as pushing molasses uphill without a bucket. It would complicate work on this case, stir up old wounds even further, and bring nothing but trouble.

Best to get the job done and move on.

Mel watched Stefan out of the corner of her eye. He looked calm, but she had a feeling she’d nettled him. For a moment there, she’d felt easy with him, but now he seemed remote. Barricaded.

She was also certain he hadn’t told her the full story about his job. A three-year, summa cum laude graduate of the University of Virginia, a summa cum laude graduate of Georgetown in medicine, a stellar emergency medicine resident at Mass General—and she would die before she let him know she’d followed his career in those first years—did not equate to working in la-la land. Not unless something drastic happened.

Yet Stefan had done just that after his residency. He’d virtually dropped out of sight except for the papers he published. His choices made no sense, and that had gnawed at her, even after she’d told herself repeatedly not to care.

She’d been so intoxicated by him, by his looks, their chemistry, and his clear belief in her, that she hadn’t questioned when she should’ve. Nobody had ever shown that kind of selfless belief in her abilities, especially not her dad and sister, who wanted her to fit their niche. At least Cinda had understood that Mel had to get the hell away from that town. She also fully supported Mel’s desire to pursue music.

Stefan had encouraged her to explore different paths and made it clear he would back whatever she chose. Despite the pressure of clinical rotations, he’d squeezed out time to spend with her, never behaving as though doing so was a sacrifice.

In the end, she’d figured out that none of what they’d had was real and he’d been fabricating a lot to cover his secrets. He’d had a woman on the side, after all.

She should remember that. This longing to smooth over the past was pointless. They might build a bridge, but it would be a bridge to nowhere. Better to solve this case, put Cinda’s killer behind bars, and get on with her life.

If only that stubborn lock of hair didn’t drop into his face, the same way it used to. He absently pushed it back, and the gesture resonated in her heart. She’d always felt absurdly tender when he did that. Not all the memories, after all, were bad.

Just the last ones.

“A friend of mine has done some consulting for the Bureau,” he said in a cool, detached—even a bit snotty?—tone. “As a psychic.”

“Is that supposed to put me in my place?” Before he could reply, she added, “Others can use the methods that work for them. I’ll stick to science.”

“That could be your loss.” He turned the car into the hospital parking lot. The glass in the windows of the three-story, concrete-and-steel structure gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.

“I’ll risk it.” Frowning at him, she said, “I hope you’re not going to try to sell me that nonsense as part of your analysis. I need scientific data, Stefan. Facts. Nothing else flies as evidence in court.”

“I know that,” he snapped, swiping his card in the gate to the physicians’ parking lot. “This isn’t my first waltz with law enforcement, as I’m sure you already know.”

He parked, and they climbed out of the car in stony silence. Stefan grabbed a tan leather messenger bag from the backseat. With a glance at her, he stalked across the asphalt toward the emergency entrance. Mel lengthened her stride to keep pace.

She shouldn’t have come with him. They would only irritate each other, and finding that she still had feelings for him came as a rude shock. Since she was here, though, maybe he’d turn up something useful that would make this trip worthwhile.

After a couple of quick turns and a few minutes walking through cool, blessedly air-conditioned corridors, they reached the morgue. Mel resisted the urge to fluff her blouse. The humidity outside had made it stick to her back under her suit jacket.

At the door, Stefan turned to her. “This can’t be easy for you,” he said quietly. “You’ll receive a copy of my report, so you don’t have to see her again unless you have questions for me that require it.”

The sympathy in his eyes made hers sting with sudden tears. Blinking them back, she looked away. The urge to lean on him, to rest her head against his shoulder for comfort, was idiotic. Her emotions were running away with her. “Easy or not, it’s my job. And she was my friend.” Dr. Milledge or Dan Burton must’ve told him she’d been at the crime scene.

He nodded acknowledgment and opened the door for her. Did she imagine that light touch on her back? Despite the tension between them, having him at her side buffered her against the chill of seeing the two steel tables and big metal drawers.

She hated that. His presence shouldn’t soothe her, but it did. It always had.

The tension in her chest became a knot in her throat. She swallowed hard.
Dear God, don’t let him see.
She stared hard at the metal desk and stools against the right-hand wall. A file lay on the desk. Cinda’s file.

“Milledge must’ve stepped out,” Stefan said. “We can wait in the—”

The door behind them creaked open. Harry Milledge, who served as part-time medical examiner in addition to his medical practice, hurried in. He’d pushed his wire-frame glasses up onto his thinning, gray hair and held a Styrofoam cup in one hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “Had a sudden urge for coffee.”

“Thanks for meeting us this afternoon, Harry.” Stefan offered his hand to shake. “Good to see you.”

“Glad you’re helping us with this. Special Agent Wray, nice to see you again despite the circumstances.” Milledge shifted the cup to his other hand to shake Stefan’s and Mel’s. “Coming in’s no trouble. I’m not in the office on Wednesdays.”