The Guardian (10 page)

He still had time. He had to go slowly, too. Something had spooked her, and he couldn't risk exposure. And damn it! He had wanted to get the necklace off when he'd removed her clothes, but he'd lost himself in her and she'd driven him mad to have her. He recognized the Maiden Bear image. The old Whitemag must have given it to Fala the night of the failed wedding attempt. Rotten luck.

He'd felt the powerful mojo behind the amulet when he'd touched it. Very different from his own inherited powers. This energy came from ancient shamanic magic, white magic steeped in curing the sick, divining the hidden and controlling evil. A heavenly supernatural wisdom that no theory in science could begin to explain. And this magic stayed only within Fala's female line. Another mystery.

Even the physicists at BOSP couldn't figure that one out, nor could they harness the power from the Ursa Major constellation. He knew once Fala was gone that the fate of the world would change, and probably not in a good way. But humanity would survive, and he had his brothers to think about. Didn't he?

Thoughts of his brothers made him step away from the door. He walked through the living room and saw snowflakes flitting past the window. Snowing? At first when he'd heard the lightning and thunder he had thought it came from his touching her magic amulet. But it must
have been the precursor to a freakish winter storm. Whatever it was, it had spooked Fala. He'd felt her pull away. And she was still wearing the damn charm. He'd lost valuable time.

Sure, they'd had mind-blowing sex, but emotionally she was no closer to him. There had been a moment afterward when he thought her heart had opened to him, but then the lightning and thunder agitated, thrust them farther apart. He wished he could have read her thoughts at that moment, seen what caused her to back away. But the charm had blocked his entry. He'd lost his edge. He'd get it back once the charm was gone. She had come under his spell, and she would have no choice but to fall in love with him.

Yeah, he'd be forcing her. No free will involved at all. But his brothers had been taken against their will. They had no choice. At the thought, he grimaced as he walked into her kitchen. He snapped his fingers. The overhead light switched on. Fuzz stood near his water bowl. He looked up at Stephen, his perceptive brown eyes accusing and grave.

“What are you looking at?”

The rabbit shot past him and into the living room, toenails
clicky-clacking
on the hardwood.

Remorse like he'd never felt before struck him. He ran his hands through his hair as if to pull it out by the roots. Then he felt his shirt chafing the raw area on his chest where the medallion had left its mark. The sting of it intensified, along with his guilty conscience. He wanted to find a way to save Fala and his brothers, but he knew that was a pipe dream. He'd have to decide. Fala or his brothers? The thought made him groan inside.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Fala appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing tennis shoes, her long legs covered in jeans, her high, proud breasts displayed tantalizingly in a cotton turtleneck and matching mauve cashmere sweater. Her hair was still wet, and she'd pulled it back in a severe bun. She raised her dimpled chin, those bright blue eyes surveying him as if he'd just stolen her purse. One wisp of hair hung down near her ear and curled close to the corner of her mouth. Stephen longed to touch it. Strike that—he wanted to touch her all over.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Where?”

“To Kent's office. He's there. I spoke to his secretary.”

Her gaze darted to the refrigerator where her gun and badge lay. She looked surprised to see he hadn't touched them.

“Don't worry, they're still there,” he said.

“Do your powers include mind reading, too?” She gave him a wide berth as she snatched up her gun and badge.

Stephen wanted to grab her and show her what his powers could do to a beautiful, defiant shape-shifter, but instead he gazed expectantly at her. “Only if you want them to.”

She shook a warning finger at him. “I don't. Not now, not ever. Keep
all
your powers to yourself.”

He looked at her lips and wanted to kiss that pout off them.
Later,
he promised himself. “Your wish is my command.” He stepped over to the stove and pulled the second TV dinner from the microwave. “Let's eat.”

She waved her hand toward the candle burning on the tiny table and the white Zinfandel he'd opened. “That's very Martha Stewart of you, but I told you I wasn't hungry. We don't have time to eat. I want to get to Senator Kent's office.”

“Well, I'm gonna eat.” He hoped to stall for time and he sat down, shoving his long legs beneath the tiny bistro table.

She stood there glowering at him while he ate the mushy mashed potatoes and lukewarm corn. It was the worst thing he'd tasted since Leland had tried to make chocolate chip cookies, but he made a face as if he were eating manna.

She gulped, her Adam's apple working behind the prim turtle neck, then she watched him sip the wine. Finally she relented and sat down. “You can stop faking it. I know they taste like yesterday's
Washington Post.
”

“You got me.”

“You're easy.” She graced him with a smile, her eyes glowing with merriment, humor radiating through her face until she was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

He sucked in his breath and managed to say, “I'll do better in the future.” Her grin was contagious and he felt the urge to smile again. The urge felt good. Damn good.

F
ala and Stephen left the parking deck and hurried down Constitution Avenue, past sidewalk vendors hawking coffee, hot chocolate and hot apple cider.

They crossed the street and found the entrance to the Hart Building, a massive nine-story complex that housed committee and subcommittee hearing rooms as well as fifty senators' suites. An underground subway extension connected the Hart Building to the Dirksen Senate Office Building, and she could feel the nonstop train traffic vibrating beneath the sidewalk. Life underground.

It snowed in earnest now, a good inch on the ground. Flakes pelted her face, salted her hair. Cold air bit through her leather jacket. She shivered as the rush-hour traffic weaved past her. She wished she'd worn her down parka instead of the leather coat.

As if he read her mind, he took off his trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you, but—”

He grabbed her hand as she tried to take it off. “No protest. Use it!”

He didn't turn her hand loose right away, and his touch immediately warmed her fingers. Though they were walking in thirty-degree weather, his hands felt like they'd just left an oven. Definitely warm-blooded.

She decided the coat actually felt good, and his alluring scent still lingered on it, so she relented and kept it on. No harm in that. “Thanks,” she said grudgingly.

He still looked annoyed by her protest and didn't answer her.

She watched the snowflakes landing on his long, dark lashes and eyebrows, hitting his lips and melting. It reminded her of that one moment at the table, when she thought he might smile. His lips had actually moved in the direction of a grin but hadn't quite made it. It had thawed his wintry expression with a genuine warmth that swept hot waves into her belly and made her remember that staggering lovemaking session. But the affectation had only lasted a moment before his expression turned sphinxlike again, his eyes hardening into that inscrutable barrier.

When they reached the entrance, Fala handed Stephen back his coat. He grunted under his breath as they faced two security personnel in gray suits, Ken doll clones with buzz cuts and plastic smiles that stayed plastered to their lips. The two young men interrogated them, made them sign away their firstborn and took Fala's .45, then they were escorted up to Senator Kent's office. She felt naked without her service weapon, but she understood the security precautions.

As soon as they neared the office, the medallion on her chest twitched. She winced and stiffened. Tumseneha here? Her gaze swept the hallway. Busy workers leaving for home, coats over their arms, black briefcases swinging. A maintenance worker replacing a lightbulb in an exit sign.

Where was he?

Abruptly Tumseneha's evil aura pounded her senses from all directions. The blood drained from her face, even as she felt his paranormal imprint snaking down her spine, crawling over each vertebra, leaving a clammy, slithering sensation.

He had to be here somewhere.

She didn't want to face her nemesis again around so many people. Damage control wouldn't be so easy this time. There were too many people in the building, and she couldn't make all of them forget. Not to mention the deaths of innocents. Death followed Tumseneha like a shadow.

On edge, her breath raw in her throat, she followed Stephen and the security suits to Senator Kent's office.

The heavy door clicked behind them and echoed in the depth of his massive workplace, then the suits left them. The medallion quivered on her chest like a divining rod. Pay dirt.

It seemed like a long way to the receptionist's desk. This one room was bigger than her whole apartment. No wonder taxes were so high. It would take the whole federal budget to heat the Hart Building.

The male receptionist looked like a Mark Harmon clone. Sexy graying temples. Clear green eyes. A nice
yellow aura, too. A real capacity to love, this one. Tumseneha wasn't hiding in his skin.

The receptionist straightened the huge brass nameplate on his desk with the name Mr. John Shelton etched in it, while he shared a look with Stephen.

Fala watched to see if they knew each other.

Nothing registered on the receptionist's face.

Stephen's expression gave nothing away.

John Shelton checked out Fala's body, his smile more than courteous. Her highly developed hearing picked up on his adrenaline rush.

Stephen stepped in front of her and blocked John Shelton's view of her. “We're here to see Senator Kent.” He didn't sound happy, either. Was he jealous?

“Do you have an appointment?”

Fala recognized his voice from the morning call she'd made. She whipped out her badge from a pocket. “I called earlier. We're here investigating Katrina Sanecki's murder.”

The moment she mentioned Katrina's name, John Shelton blinked and shook his head. “Horrible shame about Katrina. A real sweet girl. Everyone here liked her.”

“How long had she worked for Senator Kent?” Fala asked.

“About two years. Been with him since the election. She was indispensable to him. He's heartbroken over her death.”

“I'm sure he'll see us anyway,” Fala said.

“He called and told me to cancel all appointments for the day.”

“So, he's not here,” Stephen replied, his deep voice bored and oddly more at ease.

Mr. Shelton gave him a wary look. “Sorry.”

Fala butted in. “Was Katrina dating anyone you know of?” She hoped to confirm her suspicions that Kent was doing his assistant. If the cuddly picture she'd found in Sanecki's apartment was any indication, they'd been warming sheets for a while.

Mr. Shelton looked at Fala, his expression closing down. “No.”

“No one here…like, say, Kent?”

“Senator Kent is married,” he said, on the defensive now.

“And that's supposed to stop affairs on the Hill?” Fala arched a brow at him.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.” She gave him a teasing innocuous smile.

It coaxed a grin from him.

“Was she seeing anyone else?” Stephen asked, as he stepped into Fala's line of vision again.

She elbowed Stephen in the ribs and enjoyed the flinch. There was no room in her life for a jealous, arrogant warlock.

Stephen shot her a sour look as Fala stepped closer to the office door of Senator Kent's inner sanctum.

The charm did a warning dance.

Fala smiled back at John Shelton. “Do you mind if I just take a quick peek in the senator's office?”

“I'm sorry,” he said with genuine sincerity, as he checked out her body in a way that suggested they could
work something out later. “I can't let anyone in there. Only his aide and secretary are allowed in.”

“Oh, right, got it. Thank you for all your help.” Fala reached across the desk and touched his hand.

Energy left her and jumped into him. His eyes suddenly faded into a familiar vacant stare as she said in a serene spellbinding pitch, “You're going to let us search his office and then you're going to forget we were here.”

Mr. Shelton nodded, his expression zombielike. Humans. They were so helpful.

Stephen grabbed Fala's arm. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh. I'm just searching the senator's office.”

“You have the power of suggestion?” His eyes narrowed and gleamed with surprise. “Don't you?”

“No. We should go,” he said. “We're not going to find anything here.”

“The killer's here, or he's been here recently.”

“How do you know?”

“Gut feeling.” She wasn't about to reveal that the talisman had warned her of their target, or that she had the ability to sense supernatural auras, or that the murdering werewolf was Tumseneha in wolf's clothing. She still didn't trust him, especially now since she was so close to finding Tumseneha. She noticed his gaze swinging from the door to her and back again, as if he wanted to leave.

She said, “What's the matter, you getting cold feet?”

“It's my job to protect Kent's reputation. I told you that.”

Was that all Stephen was protecting? “Okay, you
protect him. I'll be the bad cop and find the dirty on him.”

Stress lines connected the black strands of hair covering his temples as he followed her inside the office. She had a feeling he was worried about more than his job.

They stepped into another condo-size office. Plants, law books and Rembrandt copies filled the walls. A massive mahogany desk seemed to stretch like a train in the center of the room. Burgundy leather wing chairs stood invitingly opposite the desk.

Tumseneha's aura wrung the air and dripped down her spine like arctic water. She walked to the desk and picked up a picture of Senator Kent and his wife holding hands. She had that dutiful Capitol Hill spouse look. Senator Kent towered over his wife. Striking black eyes peered back at the camera. Every brown hair in place. A swarthy apple-pie veneer clung to his confident pose. All the trappings of a happy couple on their way to the White House.

Could Tumseneha have taken possession of Senator Kent's body? Was this part of his game?

Stephen sat behind the desk and began searching the drawers.

Fala flicked on the computer and hit a password-protected block. “Are you a software charmer as well as a warlock?”

“Sorry.” He shrugged.

Her magic powers ended with living things. Fala hit the intercom button and said, “Mr. Shelton, do you know Senator Kent's password?”

“No,” came a deadpan reply.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelton.”

“Any time.”

“You don't need to flirt with him.” Stephen pulled a stack of constituent letters that Kent needed to sign and flipped through them.

“Jealous?” Fala tried a few passwords that came quickly to mind.

Stephen surprised her by saying, “What if I am?” The hard silver in eyes melted, and his gaze roved over her body in a possessive way.

“Then you need to find a cure,” she said, her voice on the sassy side. An inner longing for him, almost as disturbing and powerful and dangerous as the sensation of Tumseneha's aura, closed around her. It made her feel short of breath, disoriented, confused. She had to stop typing.

“I don't think I'm ready to.” His gaze slid down her throat, settled on her cleavage, exposed by her open jacket, then slowly rose again to meet her eyes.

Fala couldn't look into his silvery, smoldering eyes. They promised so much yet gave so little. He was still an enigma to her. She couldn't sense his essence, and that frightened her more than facing Tumseneha.

At her avoidance, Stephen turned his attention back to the desk. He opened more drawers then he said, “What have we here?”

He pulled a small satchel from the desk. He sniffed it and said, “Wolfsbane, cannabis, diviner's sage, nightshade and myrrh.”

Fala had already smelled the tisane and identified its contents before he'd spoken. “A conjuring mundhai?” Her brows snapped together. “That's used to control
spirits and werewolves.” It looked more and more like Tumseneha was, indeed, using Senator Kent's body. Kent was someone of power, an easy pawn in this cat-and-mouse game. But why Kent?

Stephen stuffed the satchel back in the drawer and said, “You should know something. Senator Kent's a practitioner of black magic.”

At the disclosure, Fala's jaw dropped open. After the initial shock wore off, she jammed her hands on her hips and blurted, “You knew this all along and you didn't tell me.” At his smug, calculating expression, she said, “Oh, I get it. That's why you couldn't tell me about him earlier. That's why you're on the case? Kent contacted you?”

Stephen nodded. “He didn't want the press learning of his dark secret.”

“How many witches are on the Hill?”

“Seven covens I know of.”

Fala's jaw dropped slightly. First BOSP. Now witches in power. And she thought humans were ignorant of the supernatural world. Was there anything Uncle Sam wasn't into these days?

“What other paranormal beings are in power?” she asked.

“Vamps, a few zombies.” His lips stretched at the irony of that. “Lots of fallen angels, seers, sorcerers, wizards, warlocks, witches, a few werewolf-inhabited—”

Fala held up her hands. “Stop. I don't want to know.”

“You asked.”

“Sorry I did.” Fala decided she wasn't voting in the next election. She turned the conversation back to Kent. “So did you know he had the power to conjure werewolf spirits?”

“No, but this doesn't prove he's our murderer. It only proves he's into dark arts.”

“It comes damn close. Katrina Sanecki was his aide. He was having an affair with her. Got nasty. Maybe she threatened to expose him. He wanted her out of the picture and he conjured the werewolf. Then—” Fala snapped her fingers “—bye-bye, baby.” She hoped her theory sounded convincing.

“Nice assumption, but that's all it is. We're not even sure the werewolf that attacked your station and you is the same one that did the killing. It's only your hunch. The forensic reports would be more definitive. They could have arrived at my office. We should check there next.”

Why was he trying to steer her away from Kent? She had a feeling there was more behind his covering for Kent than witchcraft. “Yeah, why don't you go and read them, and I'll question Kent.”

“I don't want you harassing the senator.”

“Tough. He's the only good lead we have at the moment.”

“I wouldn't call it a lead.”

“Okay, let's call it instinct, intuition, a premonition.” And an evil aura dripping all over his office.

“He had an alibi when I spoke to him. He was at home with his wife all night.”

“Why are you just telling me this?” Fala angrily snapped off the computer.

“I didn't think you'd believe me.”