Guardian of the Night
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Perfect. Blue smiled in hopes of relieving his evident anxiety and not giving away her own. “Not to worry. I have five ornery older brothers at home. I’m pretty good at handling that kind of macho male mentality.”
Lowell’s uncertain expression remained in place, but, to his credit, he attempted a smile. “Well, I’ll see you in a bit then.”
Blue watched him go, then slowly surveyed the spacious room with its high ceilings and period furnishings. Plain, drab, and what she decided had to be beige walls and beige bed coverings. It was hard to say for certain in the low light. No pictures or other decorating items. Judging by the room’s size, she thought it might be what was considered the master suite. A quick look into the adjoining bathroom and she was sure of it.
She exhaled a weary breath and wondered how the heck she was supposed to do her job if Drake didn’t want her here? She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. Easy, she decided. She’d just have to change his mind. She had a lifetime of experience charming the male of the species.
It only took Blue a few minutes to unpack her things and check out the weapons Lucas had arranged for her use. She strapped on the ankle holster, pulled her jeans leg down over it, then shrugged into her shoulder holster before going downstairs. She always felt naked without her gun. Throughout her whole life, the people she loved most had accessorized with weapons. Well, except for her mother, who’d crossed herself every time one of them walked in or out of a room carrying a gun. Though she had little tolerance for violence, Margaret Callahan was as tough as nails. She’d had to be to survive in the same house with that many cop egos.
Blue checked out the other three rooms on the second floor. All were bedrooms, one looked to be Lowell’s. Each room was as large as hers and had its own private bath. And all were dull-as-dirt beige. Lowell had hung a few pictures, of family or friends, she supposed, and on one wall was a large Georgia Bull Dogs banner. A small television set occupied the far corner. She wondered if the island had cable. Probably not.
She resisted the urge to check out the third floor. It was off limits, Lowell had said. Judging by its size, as seen from outside, Mr. Drake’s suite most likely made up the entire floor. He was probably sleeping up there right now. She shook off the vampirish images that formed in her head as she recalled Chester’s remark about the reclusive man. Time to get the lay of the land.
Her hand glided along the curved banister as she slowly descended the staircase. For the first time she noticed the finer details of the huge chandelier that hung above the center hall. It was lovely, dimly lit, but lovely just the same.
She wondered vaguely if the electrical wiring had been modified or if the lights themselves had been changed in some way to ensure that the light wattage remained so low. Though her eyes were already beginning to adjust as Lowell had said they would, it was still too dark for her liking.
But she’d deal with it.
The main parlor was just as plain and beige as the rest of the rooms. Not that she had anything against beige, mind you. But this beige monotony was unbroken by anything other than wood floors and wood trim, all the color of rich, dark coffee, like the mahogany door on the front of the house. She considered that maybe white was too reflective and most other colors too dark, thus the selection of beige. Maybe she’d ask about that. Eventually.
Thankfully the parlor’s furnishings were more contemporary and slightly more colorful. There was another television set and a stereo system. Someone liked classical music, she decided, noting the stack of CDs. A desk and computer along with row after row of book-filled shelves occupied one side of the room. Like the rest of the house, the windows were shrouded in thick draperies—even they were beige. But at least this room looked used. The brown leather sofa looked worn and comfortable and was flanked by two plaid overstuffed side chairs.
As she strayed back into the hall a whiff of something absolutely heavenly enticed her nose and made her stomach rumble. She followed the delicious scent to the kitchen at the rear of the house.
“Whatever that is, it smells great,” she commented aloud.
Lowell glanced up from the oven. “Ten more minutes and you’ll find out.” He closed the door and laid the oven mitt aside. “It’s my own secret recipe.”
Blue smiled at the note of camaraderie in his tone. “Can’t wait.” She took in the kitchen in one sweep. Modern, but not so much that it took away from the house’s overall feel of a bygone era. “I think I’ll take a walk and get my bearings,” she announced, feeling restless and with a definite need to see the sun one last time before it disappeared for the day, leaving her to this gloom.
He nodded absently. “Don’t be long.”
Blue was careful to lock the front door behind her just as Lowell had instructed. Taking her time, she surveyed the grounds around the front of the house. The spirit bottles jangled as the breeze kicked up, drawing her attention or maybe warning her of some impending doom. She grinned and wondered if Lowell had done that, or maybe Mr. Drake under the cover of darkness just to spook the locals. But surely neither of them would be the superstitious type.
As she strolled around the house she was caught off guard again by the dark, foreboding forest that closed in on the yard from both sides. Trees, centuries old and laden with moss, towered over the thick brambles and undergrowth that cloaked all else. The distant rustle of leaves startled her, sent her backing up several steps. She executed a quick right face and marched to the backyard.
Pete’s sake, she was too old for this kind of childish behavior.
The moment she rounded the corner at the back of the house, her breath caught. The beach flowed right up to the grass, less than twenty yards from the house. The blue surf foamed white, roared and then died on the sand, dragging back only to start the whole process over again. All but a sliver of the sun had melted into the horizon, leaving vivid streaks of gold and orange to color the otherwise royal-blue sky. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air.
She wished she was barefoot as she walked through the sand, but she was on the job. She looked back at the house. God, it was beautiful. A wide screened porch had been added for enjoying the view of the Atlantic. A widow’s walk loomed high overhead. She wondered if anxious wives had used it as a lookout for their husbands returning from the sea. Or maybe the pirates and smugglers had benefited from the perfect vantage.
Blue was certain she’d never seen any place more beautiful.
Despite the darkness that lay within those walls, she couldn’t call this place unappealing. It was no wonder Mr. Drake had chosen this island, this house as his refuge.
She turned to look out over the ocean once more, chafing her arms to chase away the tremble that accompanied the knowledge that the sun was now completely gone.
She stalled mid-turn.
A thread of tension tightened inside her.
Someone was watching her.
Chapter Three
Blue stared up at the third-story tower room as the tension erupted into a shiver that raced across her skin. She braced herself against the sensation, but it didn’t help.
Someone was watching her.
Was it him?
Drake?
The last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon, slinking away with the waning light and leaving nothing but the gray of desolate dusk as she stood on the beach and peered up at the house through the thickening gloom.
“I’m not so easy to spook, Drake,” she muttered. “So don’t be thinking you can be rid of me so simply.” Lowell had warned her that Drake didn’t want her here.
She would change his mind. Surely common sense would prevail. If the man’s life was in danger, he needed protection. His enemy could strike at any moment.
A crack ruptured the silence.
Blue recognized it instantly.
Gunshot. High-powered rifle.
The sand kicked up where the next round pierced it. She dove for cover. There was none.
Simultaneously unholstering her weapon and scrambling toward the edge of the forest, Blue kept her head low as yet another shot rang out and plowed into the ground less than three feet away.
A hunter, she considered.
Not open season if things on the island were consistent with those on the mainland.
The shots hadn’t come from the direction of the house. Not likely from Drake. At least she hoped liked hell it wasn’t him. Then again, he could be over the edge.
As soon as she’d reached the fringes of the forest, she stilled, listening for telltale sounds of the approaching shooter.
Silence.
Long minutes passed as she moved deeper into the concealing shadows of the forest, her ears ever alert for sound, her gaze moving constantly in search of movement. There was no time to think, only to act.
She needed to work her way around to the front of the house and then use the overgrown shrubs for cover to cross the lawn. Getting inside and checking on Drake was top priority.
He could be in danger.
This little game of carnival shooting gallery could be nothing more than a distraction to keep her occupied while the real trouble went down inside.
Lowell kept the house locked. That was good. But it wouldn’t stop an assassin intent on accomplishing his mission.
She kept moving, adrenaline urging her forward. The undergrowth was thick…the brambles unforgiving. She pushed through the brush, trying not to think about what might be hiding within its concealing depths.
As the threat appeared to lessen, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Complete darkness had closed in around her.
Her heart thundered in reaction, sending the sting of panic rushing through her torso…her limbs. Her hands shook. Sweat dampened her skin. She had to keep going.
…I wouldn’t want to be out in these woods at night. The memory of the very words she’d thought only a couple of hours ago slammed into her head.
And here you are, another little voice taunted.
Blue muttered a curse. She reached beneath her button-up shirt and shook the light stick hanging on her chain. The black color of her shirt kept the glow hidden, but it was there and that’s all that mattered. She could make the dark go away if only a little. Instantly her heart rate dropped to a more normal pace.
Moving cautiously, she was almost to the front of the house. No more shots had been fired and she hadn’t sensed any signs of a tail. Maybe it was some local goofing off with target practice. If that was the case someone needed to instruct him on weapon safety. Those shots had been all too close for comfort. On second thought, Blue decided the guy needed his butt kicked L.A. style.
A twig snapped maybe ten yards behind her.
She stopped. Held her breath. Listened intently. And squinted into the consuming darkness without moving a muscle. There was something…
A whisper of foliage against fabric or maybe skin tingled her auditory senses.
He was closer…almost on top of her.
She darted to her right, then ran like hell, hoping to God she wouldn’t crash into a tree.
The light from the full moon pierced the thick overhead canopy from time to time, just enough to give her some sense of place and direction. A silent mantra trembled on her lips over and over keeping her focused. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the dark. She had her gun and her light. They were all she needed.
In spite of the blood pounding in her brain and the occasional crashing sounds made by her plunge through the dense vegetation, every now and then she heard a snap or a rustle of underbrush behind her.
He was coming.
Harder, faster she surged forward, low-lying branches snagged at her clothes, her skin, like long bony fingers from the stone-cold hand of death.
Her shoe snagged on a root. She pitched forward and barely caught herself before she hit the ground.
He was almost on top of her now.
She pushed onward. Her lungs were beginning to burn for more oxygen. She couldn’t control her breathing anymore. Had to breathe deeper, faster. Had to have more air. What the hell? She was already making more than enough noise to give herself away.
She burst into a clearing, thigh-deep weeds and brush slapping at her jeans.
A shaft of moonlight glinted off something large…a building.
Blue lunged for it and took cover inside. A dank, musty odor immediately shrouded her. She crouched down, her weapon clenched in one hand as she braced the other on the floor for support while she caught her breath. She didn’t even want to know what the furry stuff under her fingers was. Moss maybe. She could hope.
She held her breath, released it slowly. Willed her heart rate to decrease. Forced her mind to focus on the impending threat…to pinpoint the direction and proximity. He couldn’t be far away.
Listening intently, analyzing each sound, she heard nothing but the resonance of the night bearing down on her.
The constant cry of cicadas.
The wind stirring the leaves.
Damn, it was dark.
She made herself as small as possible, hunkering in the blackness just inside the open doorway, her weapon leveled steadily in her right hand, her left hand now flattened against her chest, feeling for the small light stick beneath her shirt and drawing comfort as her fingers closed around it.
He moved.
She didn’t hear him and certainly didn’t see him, but she sensed the movement.
To her right…five yards away maybe.
She squinted in that direction and saw nothing. He couldn’t be that close. If he’d left the cover of the trees, she should have seen at least a glimpse of him or a glimmer of movement in the moonlight.
…roams around all hours of the night like some kindda vampire… Chester’s words echoed.
Glass jangled, jerking her gaze to the left.
Spirit bottles like the ones back at the house hung from the lowest limb of a nearby live oak. The bottles swayed, banging against each other from time to time, the moonlight glinting from their surfaces. A new kind of uneasiness slid through her and she called herself every kind of fool. She was not superstitious. And she damn sure didn’t believe in vampires.
The deep weeds rustled, yielding beneath a heavy footstep.
She looked right again, her heart jolting back into top speed.
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
Dammit.
There had to be.
“It’s safe to come out now, Maggie Callahan.”
Her heart skidded to a near-stop at the sound of the deep, male voice splitting the darkness, drowning out all other sound with its richness…its seeming oneness with the night.
“Whoever was shooting is gone now. You don’t have to be afraid.”
She blinked, peered as hard as she could in the direction of the voice, but saw nothing. She swore silently.
“Come out, Maggie Callahan,” he said, an underlying amusement in his silky tone now. She could almost see him smiling. “Let me show you the way back to the house before you stumble over something that bites.”
She gritted her teeth against a shudder. Who the hell was this guy? It wasn’t Lowell or Chester. There was a slight, ever so slight, drawl, but the voice was too deep and smooth to belong to either of them. It could be Drake, she considered, but she couldn’t imagine him running out into the darkness like this since his life was in danger already.
Not unless he’d lost his mind anyway.
“Who are you?” she demanded, giving away her position but seeing no way around it. She darted to the other side of the open doorway just to be safe, thankful that the ancient floor didn’t creak under her weight and the suddenness of her move.
“Maybe you’d prefer that I call you Blue.”
She tensed. He hadn’t given her a straightforward answer, but he’d narrowed the possibilities. Besides her family, only her close friends and the people with whom she worked knew the nickname she’d been called all her life—bestowed because of the unusual deep color of her eyes.
She’d told Lowell. This had to be Drake. Or someone he’d hired to scare her off.
“I asked you to identify yourself,” she demanded, impatience and anger searing away any lingering fear. If this guy was yanking her around—
“I’m the man you came all this way to protect.” He laughed softly, the sound shivering across her frazzled nerve endings. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
She shook off the effect his voice had on her and issued yet another demand. “Prove it. Show yourself.”
She didn’t know how much he’d changed in the past five years or what physical scars he’d suffered, but she would surely recognize him to a degree from the picture in the mission profile. The Noah Drake of five years ago had thick, dark hair and even darker brown eyes. He’d been a hell of a good-looking guy with an athletic body to match.
But that had all likely changed.
“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said, that smooth voice containing a challenge now. “Besides, I don’t think you want to risk further exposure to the curse.”
Curse? She wanted to throttle whoever he was. “Just show yourself or some ID and everything will be cool,” she told him flatly. No way was she stepping out into the open until she knew who this guy was. Curse. Yeah, right.
“There’s a small cemetery behind this old chapel,” he went on as if she hadn’t said a word. “They say there’s a voodoo witch buried there and anyone who comes near her grave will die a terrible death. Now you don’t want that, do you, Specialist Callahan?”
It was Drake. He had the kind of high-level clearance to know the organization that had actually sent her. Lowell only knew that Rothman had hired her. She kept to herself the litany of adjectives that tumbled into her mind. Very descriptive adjectives she was certain Drake wouldn’t want to hear since they all accurately expressed what she thought about him at the moment.
“I’m not afraid of any curse.” Blue stepped out into the open, but didn’t put her gun away. She turned slowly, peering into the darkness for any manifestation of Drake. “Nor am I the one receiving the death threats.”
“No one has actually threatened my life,” he argued pointedly and without conviction.
Blue whipped in the direction of the sound, it was closer and from her left this time. Where the hell was he?
“Then why am I here?” she argued. “And why are you being so secretive? Why didn’t you call out to me when I was running like hell through these damned woods?” She was mad now.
“Hmm.” The sound seemed to resonate all around her. She trembled in spite of the anger fueling her courage. “First,” the taunting words went on, “you’re here because Edgar Rothman feels guilty.” Pause. “Secondly, I didn’t call out to you until I was sure.”
Drake was right behind her.
Blue spun around. “Sure of what?”
She blinked. Nothing. Only darkness.
“That there was no one else except you.”
“Where the hell are you?” This had gone far enough.
“Turn around, Specialist Callahan,” he said as if she were a child, “and walk straight ahead. You’ll find the house in that direction.”
“Why can’t I see you?” Frustration made her voice tight and a little high-pitched. She did as he said and turned around slowly, very slowly, but she didn’t like this one bit.
“Straight ahead, Blue,” he ordered.
She stiffened her spine and tightened her grip on her weapon. Whatever his game, she wasn’t playing. Maybe Rothman didn’t know his friend had dropped over the edge, but he was going to find out the minute Blue got back to a phone. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why I can’t see you.”
“Then it’s going to be a long night for you, I fear.”
He was gone.
Though she hadn’t heard a sound and damned sure hadn’t seen him, she knew it as surely as she knew her own name. The air felt suddenly thinner, lighter, as if a presence that diminished all else had abruptly vanished.
Blue shook herself. Maybe the intensity was just her imagination. With the silence coagulating around her, she was beginning to think she’d imagined the whole conversation. This was too damned strange.
Deciding not to take the word of some disembodied voice, she moved slowly around the old building he’d called a chapel and looked for a path of any sort leading away from it. The moon’s light was scarcely any help, but she was glad for it. She stumbled again, this time over a rock. She straightened and glared down at the hindrance in her path.
It wasn’t a rock.
An old headstone stared back at her.
MAGGIE “BLUE” CALLAHAN made her way back to the house much more quickly than Noah had anticipated. She had more guts than he’d given her credit for. He’d stayed close the entire journey just in case. Though she hadn’t heard him and definitely hadn’t seen him, she’d known, or at least suspected, that he was there. She’d stopped and looked directly at him twice. Her perceptiveness was uncanny.
Noah smiled. Unexpected. He enjoyed that aspect of observing her, even if her presence did infuriate him.
He’d watched her on the beach. She didn’t look like a bodyguard. Not only was she female, but she was attractive as well. Long blond hair that she didn’t bother to restrain had drifted over her shoulders and danced playfully at the wind’s invitation. She stood tall and slender, but she didn’t look thin. Rather she appeared fit and strong. But it was the curve of her cheek and the masterfully carved details of her mouth that had held his attention the longest.
Very attractive. Also unexpected.
She’d felt him watching her even then.
The technology that allowed him to view the world in any capacity during daylight hours was best described as high-powered sunglasses or the reverse of night vision, all built into a savvy camera with zoom and wide-angle capabilities. In his room, as in the main parlor, there was a monitor which he could tune to east, west, north or south, and see all angles from the house. This was his only means of self-protection during the day, other than Lowell’s presence. Well, there was the escape tunnel…but that was a last resort. Only he knew of its existence and it held dangers of its own.
She’d walked along that beach, staring out over his ocean as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and he’d grown aroused by the image. He’d longed to taste the length of her slender throat…those lush lips. To trace her body with his hands.
He forced away the frustrating thoughts. For five long years he had disciplined himself against all emotion, all needs that didn’t equate to survival. He would not allow this woman to shake what he’d suffered endless hours, days and months to build.
Blue was at the front door again, unlocking it with trembling fingers. He heard her muttered curses as she tried twice to accomplish her task. Noah moved to the rear of the house where he would prepare before going inside for their first and only face-to-face meeting.
No matter how efficient or attractive Miss Callahan was, he didn’t want her here.
He didn’t need anyone else.
And he definitely couldn’t risk losing control. Firm, relentless control was all that got him through each day.
“I said, I want to see Mr. Drake.”
The sound of Blue’s outrage carried through the house and was now directed at Lowell. She’d stormed into the kitchen and demanded to know where Noah was. Lowell, of course, had no idea.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure where he is at the moment.” He raised his empty palms, but even that seemingly nonchalant gesture didn’t hide his mounting concern. “When he heard the shots,” Lowell explained, “he rushed out. He hasn’t come back.”
Blue’s furious expression didn’t change. “Does he keep any weapons on the premises?” She glared at Lowell, daring him to avoid the truth. “Say a high-powered rifle, maybe?”