Guardian (The Protectors Series) (5 page)

He set the coffee down on one of the steel tables. “You read my report, Stefan?”

“I did, but if you’d run down the highlights, so I can be sure I don’t miss anything, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. Let’s pull the drawer out so you can take a look.”

Mel, Stefan noticed as he gloved up, hung back a couple of feet. She was probably pretending to look but not really doing so. Not that he could blame her. Seeing a friend’s body post autopsy would eat at anyone, but difficulty had never kept her from doing what she thought she should. He’d loved that about her. To spare her pride, he pretended not to notice her avoidance.

Milledge slid the drawer open and peeled back the covering sheet. The four puncture wounds he’d described caught Stefan’s eye immediately. Those were definitely from ghoul talons.

His jaw tightened against a wave of anger. He’d seen his share of bodies, but those of ghouls’ victims always outraged him. No matter how hard he and his fellow mages tried, they hadn’t managed to stop the ghouls from preying on Mundanes.

Stefan bent to look more closely, and his enhanced senses caught the faint, ammonia scent of venom, stronger than it should have been this long after death.

With one fingertip, he traced a narrow cut over one puncture wound. “What’s this?”

“I transected it. Never seen wounds like that, and the probe showed the damn”—his gaze flicked over Stefan’s shoulder to Mel and then back—“er, the holes are curved.”

Curved
. More confirmation of ghoul talons. The coroner peeled back the skin to show him the transection.

“Nice job with that cut,” Stefan said. The puncture was deeper than usual. Wider. Cleanly cauterized within, except at the tip. Venom usually corroded, not sealed, tissue. “Your incision goes directly along the length of the wound.”

Milledge shrugged. “I used the probe as a guide.”

While Milledge pointed out the gash over the liver and explained the wounds on the back, half of Stefan’s mind worked on figuring out the differences between these talon wounds and others. Could this be from something besides a ghoul? Some new, bigger ghoul? That would be a kick in the balls for the mages’ efforts. As a member of the southeast’s governing council, he knew too well how badly they were already outnumbered.

The older man asked, “You ever seen anything like that?”

“Can’t say I have.”
Can’t say
being the operative phrase. He’d seen far too many wounds like Miss Baldwin’s, but that wasn’t for Mundanes, even physicians, to know.

“I need samples,” Stefan said. “Blood, if you have it, tissue from the wounds.”

“Dr. Milledge took samples. There’s no need for more.” Mel’s voice was sharp, but when Stefan turned to her, she looked pale and strained, though not too strained to question his integrity.

He took a grip on his temper. “I’m here to consult, Mel, and in toxicology that means tests. I need samples for that.”

She bit her lip, as though she regretted speaking up. “Can’t you use Dr. Milledge’s?”

“No. I can’t. Testing pollutes or destroys tissue samples. I charge only for lab time. Taking the samples won’t blow the budget, so do you want my help or not?”

“It’s not the budget,” she said slowly, as though dragging the words out. Her expression grew more strained, her eyes dark. “It’s…she…Never mind. Do what you need to.”

It’s the cutting
, she’d almost said. He wasn’t a precog, but he knew that as surely as he knew his name. Understanding softened his voice. “I won’t mark her up any further.”

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I know you won’t.”

The trust and the apology in her face killed the last of his irritation. If she trusted him at least a little, maybe they could make this collaboration work.

As though she’d sensed the thought, her face grew wary again. She turned away.

Shit.
Stefan might not yet know what had killed Lucinda Baldwin, but he knew it was some kind of new and potentially more lethal enemy. To find it, he had to get Mel to trust him again, at least professionally, and that wasn’t going to be easy.

“I could use a cup of coffee,” Stefan said as he and Mel left the morgue. Better to deliver bad news in a relaxed, informal setting. “Believe it or not, the cafeteria here stocks a good brew.”

“I thought you were leaving after this.” Still pale, she directed a surprised glance at him.

“I have some time.” He paused, studying her. “You’ve given me an interesting puzzle. I’m willing to spring for coffee while we discuss it.”

Eying him skeptically, she cocked her head. “Lead on, but I need to get back. I’m supposed to report to Atlanta today, and it’s after five already.”

“This won’t take long.”

They walked silently through the corridor, past Medical Records and up the stairs to the cafeteria. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the lawn and the visitor parking lot. After the cold, clinical atmosphere of the morgue, the brightness washing over the Formica tables came as a relief.

Stefan led Mel to the coffee station, and they fixed their drinks. To his surprise, she used a yellow packet instead of the sugar she’d once favored.

When she saw him looking, she pulled a wry smile. “Can’t afford the calories from the real thing anymore.”

“Black is simpler all around.” He raised his cup to her in salute.

At the cash register, Stefan exchanged greetings with the cashier and added, “Both of these.”

“I can pay for my own coffee,” Mel stated.

“I’m sure you can, but it was my idea. I pay.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, chilling his gaze. “It doesn’t obligate you to anything, even believing what I’m about to tell you.”

She flushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

But she let him pay and followed him to a table by a window. Seated, he subtly angled his head to the light and drew it in, recharging his power. Any form of natural energy would do, but the sun’s was easy to tap. Its light and warmth also lifted his spirits after the depressing sight of the elderly, innocent woman who’d been slaughtered by a ghoul.

“Before we get into the specifics of the case,” he said, directing a bland stare into Mel’s eyes, “let’s clear something up. I don’t do this for the money. Feds and cops aren’t the only ones who care about justice. That’s why I charge only for lab time.”

She blew out a breath that whiffled her bangs. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I…This is awkward, Stefan. More than I thought it would be.”

He acknowledged the admission with a nod. “Can’t argue with that. So we’ll focus on the case and solve it as quickly as possible.” Then he could walk away from her and swallow the unwise arguments lingering on his tongue. The memories drawing the blood south from his head as she blew on her coffee to cool it. When they were together, she’d blown on his skin the same way.

“Fair enough,” she said. “You sound like you have some ideas.”

“I do.” He yanked his brain north again. “First, I’m with Milledge in not having any idea as to what would cause wounds like that.”

She blanched but nodded. “Granted, it’s unusual. I’d hoped you could explain that.”

“Not yet.” He grinned at her. “But I will, I promise.”

“Thanks.” A tiny smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

Maybe that smile meant he was making progress in forging a truce. “Then there’re the wound patterns, definitely consistent with human hands in requiring an opposable thumb.”

“And the blood loss? Or are you about to suggest vampires?” The teasing light in her eyes took the sting out of the words.

“I have them on my list as a last resort.” A very last resort. The few that existed pretty much kept to their enclave in Bulgaria, rarely preying on humans and leaving the trademark double-puncture jugular wounds when they did.

She flashed him an appreciative smile that stirred warmth in his chest, probably relief because she was relaxing at last. That smile had always sucked him in, made him want to cup her smooth, warm cheeks in his hands and kiss that firm mouth until she melted, neither of them able to think of anything except how much they wanted each other.

Focus, Harper.

“The wound over the liver could be coincidence,” he said. “Or it could be a deliberate choice, which points to some sort of ritualistic killing. If I had to bet, I’d go with the latter for now. The wound tracks the top edge of the liver. That looks deliberate.”

“Oh.” Mel glanced down into her cup. Her breasts rose as she drew a slow, deep breath. It hissed out audibly. “How can someone be that precise without some kind of scan?”

“Absent x-ray vision, like Superman’s in the comics, I don’t know.” Unless some magical sense served as a guide. Ghoul venom had chemical similarities to human bile, formed by the liver. Was this a new breed of ghoul that could sense bile? “Even for an experienced surgeon, making a cut that precise would require luck.”

“So that brings us back to coincidence.”

“I don’t trust coincidence. I’d rather assume the worst until I have reason to do otherwise.”

She opened her mouth as though to speak, then hesitated. After a moment, she asked, “What’s your concept of the worst as of now?”

“Somebody wanted a liver. Somebody didn’t get it.”

“Therefore somebody will try again,” she finished, looking sick.

“And they will fail. We’ll get this guy.” He gripped her free hand on the table, sending a spark up his arm, and her eyes jerked to his.

She leaned back in the seat, withdrawing her hand. Her expression turned cool, shuttered.

Stefan cleared his throat. “Everyone who lives alone, especially out in the country, should lock up and stay in after dark.”

“I’ll talk to Dan Burton about stepping up his patrols, too.” Her eyes narrowed and lost focus as she thought.

“Good idea.” His gut knotted at the resolve dawning in her face. “You going out in a squad car, Mel?”

If she met some kind of superghoul, the automatic under her jacket might not save her. The effing ghouls, even the usual variety, were not only strong but fast.

“Hm? Oh, no. The sheriff has only so many cars.”

As Stefan relaxed, she added, “I have my car.”

Hell.
“If you’re going out, I’ll ride with you. Where are you staying, anyway? Not out at Miss Baldwin’s alone.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m moving out to Cinda’s when the crime scene techs finish and will stay there while I clear up the estate. As for riding along, that’s chivalrous of you. But unless you travel heavily armed, you’d only be in my way.”

Despite her calm tone, the walls had risen between them again, the brief, easy rapport shattered. He tightened his jaw. Telling her what she might be facing, a warning she would never believe, would only raise the walls higher and piss her off. It would also breach the secrecy vital to mage survival. He made himself lean back in his chair and eyed her calmly. “I have friends who live out near the swamp, and I know the back roads better than a GPS does. If you need to respond to a call in a hurry, I can guide you.”

“Thanks, but the Bureau trusts me to face the world with only my shield and my Glock 23 for company. I also have a Glock 27 as a backup weapon. I’ll be fine.” Her softening expression contrasted with the wary shadow in her eyes. “Besides, don’t you have a job to tend to?”

“I can take a few days. Benefit of being top dog.”

“I appreciate that, but you stick to solving the mystery of those wounds. I’ll protect the populace.”

If she thought she was going out alone to do it, they would see about that. She wouldn’t become ghoul prey on his watch. Mel didn’t know the area the way Burton’s deputies did. Stefan also had powers that would protect her. The only trick was keeping her from figuring that out.

M
el’s headlights cut through the darkness, flashing across the tall pines, sycamores, and live oaks that bordered the narrow road. Spanish moss draped over the branches created an eerie effect and sent a prickle of dread down her spine.

Scowling, she took a tighter grip on the wheel. She wasn’t usually so easy to spook. Why was tonight different?

The radio Sheriff Burton had temporarily hooked up in her car seemed unnaturally silent, but this was rural Georgia with five officers on the network, not Atlanta with hundreds of on-duty officers and thousands of potentially troubled citizens to generate chatter. There’d been two calls tonight, both false alarms from residents whose imaginations were revved by the strange circumstances of Cinda’s death. Even a false alarm, at this point, would be a nice break from monotony.

The dashboard clock read ten fifty-three. The deputies were already heading in to surrender their cars to the third shift, but she’d stick around a while longer to help cover the shift change.

Mel sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The silence was giving her too much time to think. Her mind was filled with thoughts of weirdos, cults, and the market for stolen organs. But a liver would have no value unless it was in excellent condition. Could removal in someone’s front yard preserve it that well?

And what about tools for such a theft? The witness said the suspect wasn’t carrying anything, and the deputies hadn’t recovered any surgical instruments. Or a cooler. If the sheriff was right that Cinda had been killed in the yard, there should’ve been more blood. The only way there wouldn’t be was if the killer took it. Or did he have an accomplice?

Maybe Stefan would have some ideas about the medical questions. Mel grimaced. Better to puzzle over murder than to dwell on how good he’d looked this afternoon or how unexpectedly kind he’d been. Of course, his kindness toward everyone was one thing that had drawn her to him. He’d always shown great capacity for empathy and understanding.

It was just too bad for her that his voice evoked memories of intimate nights. Worse, simply standing next to him made her pulse flutter and her heart yearn.

If that wasn’t bad enough, she couldn’t stop thinking about how natural talking to him had seemed.

The radio crackled. The night dispatcher’s cigarette-roughened voice announced, “All units, report of a ten fourteen at 7311 Jasper Church Road, Wiley Boone’s place.”

A ten fourteen meant there was a prowler. Mel glanced at the GPS display. She was close to Jasper Church. She tugged the mike free. “Unit nine responding.”

Her adrenaline spiked. She lowered the window, set her Bureau-issued bubble light on the Jeep’s roof, and stepped on the gas.

Thanks to the absence of traffic, she swung wide and took the turn onto Jasper Church at a high speed. At the intersection, a two-story farmhouse sat back from the road, its windows dark. The reflective numbers on the mailbox post marked it as 6001. She shot past it, by a field dotted with the white puffs of cotton awaiting harvest, then whizzed by a dark bungalow.

“Unit nine,” the dispatcher said, “you now have a break-in. Resident is armed with a 12-gauge and has been advised to barricade himself in a room if possible.”

“Roger that,” Mel replied.

“Unit seven will back you up,” the dispatcher added.

Mel acknowledged and jammed her foot on the gas.

Speeding along Jasper Church Road from the opposite direction, Stefan swore silently. He’d bet good money unit seven was almost to Wayfarer. As with everything else, Dan Burton liked shift change to be on time.

That meant Stefan would arrive before anyone in the khaki and green of the Wayfarer County Sheriff’s Department. He’d used his cell phone to inform the department he was near and would respond in case of injuries. Mel would be pissed, but that was too bad. If this turned out to be an ordinary break-in, he’d let her handle it, only providing a light shielding and staying out of her way. If not, then he’d be forced to step in. Unless he needed the broadsword at his left hip, he would conceal it with a magical screen.

Stefan’s headlights reflected off a mailbox number, 7389. He was almost there.

“Dispatch, this is unit nine,” Mel’s voice said. “I’m on scene.”

Stefan’s heart rolled into his throat. She was there alone, going in alone.
Damn it.
He mashed the gas harder.

The dispatcher responded, giving Mel the homeowner’s location, saying they’d warn the man she was coming in the front.

The house came into view, a small, one-story wooden structure set on cinder-block pilings. Her dark green Jeep sat on the road’s shoulder in front of the house, and oddly shaped metal figures dotted the yard. Sculptures? If Stefan had to run out of the house for some reason, he’d better remember they were there.

Light washed out the open front door and illuminated Mel as she stepped onto the two-foot-high porch from the side, a handgun at the ready. She wore her badge on a lanyard around the neck of a blue windbreaker with a mic clipped to its shoulder. He would bet the jacket said
FBI
on the back.

She crept to the door, but her head turned toward him as he pulled up. He flipped on the interior light so she’d recognize him. Scowling, she waved him back.

A crash came from inside the house, then the loud, deep
boom, boom
of twin shotgun barrels discharging. Inside, someone screamed.

Mel shouted, “FBI! Freeze!” and charged into the house.

Oh, freaking fuck!
Stefan slammed the car into park, jumped out with his sword still magically screened, and translocated to the porch.

Another shot rang out, sharper and more distinct, then another as Stefan drew his concealed blade. The sounds cracked across Mel’s voice shouting, in tones deeper and harder than he’d ever heard from her, “FBI! Freeze.”

Pouring power into his weapon so that it glowed with energy, Stefan charged through the doorway. Twenty feet away, at the far end of a living room–dining room combo that spanned the front of the house, Mel backpedaled toward him, retreating from a male ghoul. The muddy yellow aura around the ghoul signaled magical shielding. The ghoul was unusually tall, about six five, with huge shoulders and glowing purple eyes. Demon host eyes.

Fuck
.

Stefan’s blood iced even as the acrid ammonia stench of ghoul burned his nose. His magical senses pegged a wounded Mundane in another room, but despite the too-strong smell, only one ghoul was present.

 Racing forward, he flung a magical shield around Mel. The ghoul raised a ham-size fist and blasted a stream of muddy golden energy at Stefan.

As he dived and rolled to evade, she fired again. The bullet ricocheted off the ghoul’s shield and zinged upward to take a chunk out of the ceiling. “Freeze,” she snapped again.

The ghoul roared, a wordless, chilling sound, and slammed a backhanded blow through the shielding around her. The impact shot Mel toward the left wall.

On his feet again, fighting his fear for her, Stefan ramped up the shielding around Mel an instant before she crashed into a floor lamp and then the wall. He slashed at the ghoul, driving it back before it could follow up.

Mageborn speed let him duck a swiping blow that left the ghoul’s side undefended. Stabbing under the rib cage, he snapped, “
Morere
,” the command to die.

His blade skated upward, deflected by shields.

That wasn’t possible. Shock paralyzed him for a heartbeat. How strong was this damned thing?

The ghoul’s lips spread into a feral grin as it reached for him.

Heart thudding, Stefan dodged left, slashing backhanded for the thing’s hamstring with all the power he could muster. The blade slipped through the shield but only nicked the back of the ghoul’s calf.

What the hell?

The ghoul seized a battered, green loveseat, then flung it at him. Stefan poured more power into his shield, protecting Mel as well as himself, and blew the sofa apart before it struck his blade.

Above the crack of shattering wood came the wail of a siren. The ghoul darted out the door, and Stefan ran after it. When he reached the porch, the ghoul was nowhere in sight. He opened his senses but caught no hint of a ghoul presence anywhere near. Could it be screened, lying in wait near the house? If so, surely he’d smell it. He extended his range, searching, but found nothing.

Had it translocated? But ghouls couldn’t do that.

At least, most ghouls couldn’t. But most ghouls didn’t have purple eyes or shielding strong enough to shrug off the power he’d slammed against it. That thing posed a far more lethal threat than its kindred.

A white Wayfarer County Sheriff’s Department cruiser swung into the yard, flashers casting a gaudy, blue light. Stefan sheathed his sword and quickly rolled a magical screen around the blade, hiding it, before the stocky brunette deputy jumped from her vehicle. She drew her sidearm.

Hands raised, he called, “I’m Dr. Stefan Harper.”

“Dispatch said you were here, and I got your photo, so we’re good.” She hurried toward the house. “Status?”

“The assailant’s gone, but we have two wounded, including Special Agent Wray. We need an ambulance.” Drawing renewed energy from the woods all around, from the trees, nocturnal animals, and even the insects, recharged his power. He hurried inside to check on Mel. She had courage, to a terrifying degree, but she’d been overmatched.

She lay against the wall, oddly crumpled, her hair a tangled mass across her face. His breath froze for an instant before his magical senses detected her life energy. The other person in the house was badly injured and in agony. He’d have to hurry to make sure they both lived.

When he touched Mel’s carotid pulse, it was thready. A quick magical scan showed a rising goose egg on her right temple and slight bleeding from her brain’s right temporal lobe. How hard had that thing hit her, to do this much damage through a magical shield?

Stefan could heal her in minutes, but the waves of torment rolling off the other victim indicated urgent need. The scent of blood, too strong for a minor wound, wafted into his nose.

That victim needed him more than Mel did. He had to go.

Yet he ached to stay.

Shit.

He took two more seconds to focus his energy and stop the bleeding of the epidural hematoma, reducing the swelling, and gently brushed the hair out of her face.

As Stefan rose, the deputy, whose name tag read
G
ARNER
, hurried through the door. “Two ambulances inbound,” she said, then stopped in her tracks. “Holy shit,” she breathed, surveying the room.

“Stay with her. There’s another victim in the other room.”

“On it.” Garner knelt beside Mel.

The kitchen area lay to Stefan’s right, with what appeared to be two small bedrooms flanking a bath ahead. The life force he’d sensed was in the room to his right, the one with the door hanging at a crazy angle. A whimper came from there.

Stefan hurried in and flipped on the light. A thin man with graying brown hair lay on his stomach, breathing irregularly. Blood pooled at the lower back of his faded brown pajama shirt and under his right shoulder. His abdomen, near the liver, looked untouched.

 The ammonia stench of ghoul venom burned Stefan’s nose and throat. He coughed, then swallowed hard. Best not to breathe deeply.

The man moaned and made a feeble effort to turn over.

“Lie still.” Kneeling, Stefan sent healing energy into the bony shoulder under his hand. “It’s going to be all right.”

No matter what he and his fellow mages had to do to ensure that.

Mel had never been in a quieter ER. No beeping machines, no groans or conversations or sobs drifted into her curtained booth, just the occasional muted squeak of nurses’ shoes on the linoleum. Into the silence, memories crowded. Another ER, another night, her mother’s screams.

Mel’s gut knotted. She had to get out of here.

A petite, brown-haired nurse whisked the curtain aside and stepped in. “How are you doing, Special Agent Wray?”

“I’m fine. Ready to leave, in fact.” Sitting up made her head throb, but there didn’t seem to be any other damage.

“That’s good to hear. What do you remember about this evening?” The nurse looked down at her watch and put light fingers on Mel’s left wrist.

Not much
. She’d pulled into the yard, responding to the break-in, gotten out of the car…and everything after that was blank until she’d opened her eyes in the ambulance.

“I’m sure everything will come back to me after a good night’s sleep. If you could sign me out, or whatever the procedure is here, I’ll get out of your way.”

“We’ll have to see what your CT scan shows.” The woman gave her a stern look. “Don’t try to tell me your head doesn’t hurt.”

CT scan? What CT scan?
Mel shrugged, making her head throb harder, and barely managed not to wince. “Bumps and bruises are part of my job.”

“Um-hmm, and making sure they don’t cause other problems is part of mine. Just relax. Dr. Harper will be in to see you in a minute.”

Dr. Harper?
Had Stefan treated her? Frowning, she rubbed next to the lump on her temple. The pressure didn’t help.

“There was a man hurt in that house. How is he?”

“I really couldn’t say.” The nurse gave her a bland, professional smile and whisked through the curtain again.

Mel closed her eyes, trying to remember, but nothing came. She had no memory of Stefan at the scene, but…he’d been there when the EMTs wheeled her into the building, and she remembered snippets of conversation with the staff doctor on duty. That was spotty, too. At some point, she’d traded her shirt, bra, and jacket for a gown. She was glad to still have her slacks, but her guns were locked in the ER drug cabinet.

Her head hurt like an overused kettledrum. Lying down had been better, but she needed to be upright to talk her way out of here.

Footsteps came down the hall, not squeaky on the linoleum. Not a nurse. Familiar. God, how could she still recognize Stefan’s tread after nine years?