Ella attempted to pull herself together and offered Bea a rueful smile. “It should tell you that he’s a guy and that he had to come to the area this morning on business anyway. Right, Kees?”
His hand tightened on her shoulder when she tried to slip away, and under the friendly upturn of his lips, she read both his warning not to move and his humor at her desire to do so. “You know I can never argue with you, little one.”
Her surprised choke of laughter probably struck Bea as part of a silly exchange between lovers. Ella meant it as punctuation for the seven thousand things they’d fought over in the last eight hours, from whether or not he intended to kill her, to the fact that she had no intention of letting him sleep in her apartment last night, to the fact that he should stay out of sight while she was at work and wait for her to bring the information regarding the address he’d come from to him at the end of the day.
So far, the only argument she’d won had been the one about her not dying, and really that was only because he’d never wanted to kill her in the first place. Technically, he’d let her win that one.
Bea looked from one to the other, smiling in obvious pleasure. She’d been nagging Ella for months about dating more and meeting a nice man, and she was obviously inclined to like Kees just for existing. At least, while he stayed in this form, she was. Of course, even an inclination couldn’t suppress Béatrice’s instinct to mother.
“Business,” Bea repeated, fixing her gaze back on the gargoyle in human’s clothing. “What kind of business are you in, Kees? If you don’t mind my asking.”
The steel underlying her tone implied that she didn’t really care if he did.
Ella stiffened, but Kees seemed to take the question in stride. His expression remained friendly and relaxed as he replied, “Not at all. I work in private security.”
Bea’s brows rose. “So you’re a bodyguard, then? That sounds exciting. You protect famous people from crazy fans?”
“Something like that, at least part of the time. Not that I work with celebrities, or anything exciting. There’s actually more standing around and waiting for things to happen in my line of work than most people think.”
The urge to haul back and kick the huge monster’s shin nearly overwhelmed Ella. He sounded so casual and easy answering Bea’s questions, as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times before. No hesitation, no searching for a plausible cover story, and not even any whopping lies. He was in private security, if you counted keeping the world safe from demons—and even Ella had to admit that probably did count—and protecting people from the ultimate evil. Even his comment on there being a lot of waiting around in his job rang with truth. He was being completely honest.
And it drove Ella out of her mind bonkers.
But maybe she was just feeling a little tense.
Bea nodded and glanced back over her shoulder at the people milling in front of the museum. The crowd didn’t appear to be thinning, but now there were some uniforms mixed in with the spectators, and Ella could see Dr. Lefavreau standing at the top of the steps near the door, speaking with a tall man in a sports jacket.
“Well, I shouldn’t keep you from your business, Kees,” the assistant curator said, turning back to face them with another smile. Ella thought this one looked forced. “And Ella and I will need to speak with the police and our director. Everyone who works for the museum will need to be interviewed, and it will likely take some time. In fact, I would not be surprised if the decision was made to close the museum for the day, so I can’t even offer a tour of the exhibits to distract you until Ella can be swept off for a romantic lunch.”
Kees nodded politely to indicate he heard Bea’s words, but Ella could see he had his gaze fixed on the figures on the steps. When his eyes narrowed, she noticed a flicker of movement inside the open doorway and saw Patrick Stanley lurking in the shadows like a rat. Or a vulture. Something stinking and carrion-feeding and potentially rabid.
She cursed under her breath.
“What is it?” Bea asked.
Ella pointed.
This time, Bea cursed. In French. “Just what we need to make an unpleasant situation unbearable.”
Ella watched as the other woman stalked off, and stepped out from under Kees’s arm. “You should go. The police are going to want to talk to me, and there’s no way to tell how long this will all take.”
She dug into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and handed it to him. “Here. Take this. I’ll try to find a way to get into the files as soon as I can, and I’ll call you, either when I know something or when they kick me out. Or haul me off to jail.”
Turning, she moved to follow Béatrice toward the museum. It took about two steps before she acquired a large male shadow. The glare she sent his way had no impact on him whatsoever, and they reached the group gathered near the door before she had time to tell him to bugger off.
“Ella.” Dr. Lefavreau greeted her in his usual serious tone, but she could detect no hint of extra disapproval in his voice. Maybe Stanley hadn’t had time to sufficiently embellish his story about last night. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m well, sir, thank you. And you?”
He certainly didn’t look like a very happy man. Maurice Lefavreau was a white man in his sixties with a thick head of white hair, even thicker black-framed glasses, and the barrel-shaped torso of a man used to fine food and French wines. He looked as much like a banker as a museum director, but his knowledge of and appreciation for art made his dark eyes dance with excitement whenever the museum acquired a special new piece. Ella had always liked him, and he tended to treat all the members of the museum staff as if he were a benevolent uncle to each of them.
“I’m distressed, Ella, very distressed.” He frowned and clasped his hands behind his back. “I take it that Béatrice has filled you in on our terrible misfortune?”
Ella schooled her face into a mask of dismay. It wasn’t difficult, considering it was a feeling she’d spent a lot of time with since last night. “She said that one of our statues was missing, sir. The terrace gargoyle? But I can’t imagine how someone could have simply made off with a piece quite so large and heavy.”
“Neither can I, my dear. Neither can I. That’s why I’m hoping the police can shed some light on the matter. This is Detective McQuaid. He will be heading the investigation for us. Detective, Ms. Harrow is the manager of our gift shop and one of our most popular docents. She was working last night at our fund-raising event, along with Béatrice.”
If Ella had tried to conjure up an image of a police investigator, Detective McQuaid would not have been it. She’d likely have gone with someone older, a world-weary man in his fifties, graying hair, soft around the middle. In contrast, McQuaid appeared to be in his thirties, Caucasian, with sandy-colored hair, the build of an athlete, and the rugged features of a high school football star all grown up. Instead of ingrained cynicism, his expression appeared open, and his blue eyes glinted with humor.
And when he looked at Ella, there was a definite spark of masculine interest.
Then he held out his hand, and his gaze flicked to Kees. Understandable, considering that the minute the detective had shifted closer, the gargoyle once again placed a possessive hand on Ella’s shoulder.
She ignored it and shook the detective’s hand. “Detective McQuaid.”
“Ms. Harrow. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shifted his gaze back to her face and flashed her a smile that could only be called charming. Maybe boyish. “I understand you were here late last night. After the event officially ended?”
“That’s right. Bea and I were the last ones here.”
“And did you notice anything unusual?”
* * *
Kees felt Ella stiffen under his hand. He’d learned enough about the little human in the last few hours to know she must be biting her tongue to keep from responding to that question the way she wanted to. In her eyes, she’d seen nothing but the unusual.
In
stead of giving in to the snort he half expected, she replied with calm sincerity. “No, nothing at all. Once the guests left, everything was quiet. Perfectly normal.”
“You didn’t see anyone who didn’t belong at the museum?”
“No.”
“And you left the museum with Dr. Boucher?”
She nodded.
The door to the museum opened further and a man shifted forward. “I’m not certain that’s quite the truth, Detective,” he sneered. “But maybe Ms. Harrow has trouble telling the truth about many things. I saw Dr. Boucher leave the museum a little before one A.M., and Ms. Harrow definitely did not accompany her.”
Béatrice, the woman who had first greeted Kees and Ella upon their arrival shot the man a pointed look. “Do you really want to get into what happened here last night, Mr. Stanley? Right here on the museum’s front steps? Should we do that now?”
Kees heard the hostility and the challenge behind the woman’s frosty civility and took a second look at the man in the doorway. He appeared smooth and sharp and oozing with arrogance, and his eyes glinted with hunger and violence whenever he looked at Ella. He was the man on the terrace last night, the one who had attacked the little human.
Kees felt his lip curve in a snarl. He couldn’t help the low sound that rumbled in his chest.
“Perhaps Béatrice is right,” the museum director said, stepping forward to cut through the rising tension. “I’m certain we can do this more comfortably in my office. Or perhaps, since there are so many of us, in the ballroom.”
The detective agreed genially, and the group moved forward, Kees sticking to his human like pine sap and ignoring her surreptitious pokes to his rib cage. He had no plans to leave her alone, not with the mortal authorities and the human male from last night each posing a threat to her safety. Not only did he need Ella to help him locate Gregory Lascaux, his missing Warden, but something about her brought out all his protective instincts.
The group moved into the ballroom, or what had once been a ballroom and now served as the museum’s large West Gallery. Kees felt the museum director’s gaze on him and offered him a questioning look.
“Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” Lefavreau frowned and glanced from him to Ella. “Ella, will you introduce me to your companion?”
The little human stifled a groan, but Kees’s sharp hearing detected the quiet rumble.
“Dr. Lefavreau, I’m so sorry. Kees, this is Dr. Maurice Lefavreau, the director of the museum. Doctor, this is Kees. He’s, um…”
“I am a close friend of Ella’s. I was walking with her to work this morning when we saw the commotion outside.”
The older man nodded shortly. “I’m certain you’ll understand if I insist that only the museum staff be involved in this morning’s business. With the nature of the matter at hand, strangers just…”
He trailed off when he saw Kees’s expression go stony.
“I will stay with Ella.” Kees purposely kept his tone low and allowed a hint of menace to creep into his tone. He had no intention of allowing his little human out of his sight in company like this.
The group stopped and congregated around the two wooden benches positioned in the center of the open space. As soon as they halted, Stanley turned to face Bea, going immediately on the offensive.
“Yes, I do want to talk about what happened last night, Béatrice. I warned you I would be bringing the incident up to your employer,” he snapped before he addressed the museum director. “Maurice, I’m uncertain what either of these … women may have told you about our interactions last night, but I—”
The detective interrupted. “Before anyone starts going into details about last night, I’m going to stop you. I’d prefer to hear from each of you individually. Dr. Lefavreau, if I could accept the offer of your office to do that?”
“Of course, of course.” The doctor waved a hand to indicate McQuaid should follow him. “Allow me to escort you there.”
“Appreciate it.” McQuaid turned and smiled at Ella. “You mind coming first, Ms. Harrow?”
Kees definitely didn’t like the hint of suggestion lacing the detective’s smile, and when Ella nodded and moved to follow the two human men, Kees kept right on her heels. McQuaid caught the movement and his smile faded.
“I’m afraid I need to speak with Ms. Harrow alone,” the man said, straightening his shoulders and still falling at least three inches short of Kees’s imposing height. “You can wait out here.”
Baring his teeth in something close enough to a smile to lie about it, Kees dug in his heels. “I go where she goes.”
“Look—”
Ella put her hand on Kees’s arm. “It’s fine, Kees. Really. I’m sure this won’t take long. Just wait for me here.”
Not what Kees wanted to hear, but the intensity behind her words was hard to miss. He knew she was determined to keep him at arm’s length—she’d been attempting to do so since the moment he first moved from his pedestal (though at that point, he doubted her arms had been long enough to suit her)—but he disliked that idea. He couldn’t protect his human if she wouldn’t let him stay with her, and somehow the compulsion to protect her was strong. Stronger than he’d ever experienced before.
Normally, humans as individuals meant little to him. He had been summoned to protect the species as a whole, but it wasn’t his job to go around rescuing them one by one. He kept the demons at bay so that they could live their lives, however long or short those might be. He barely noticed that they differed from one another, let alone cared what happened to any one of them. How could he, when Guardians didn’t fall prey to the burden of human emotions?
Oh, Guardians experienced anger—rage against the demons gave them strength to their purpose—and certainly, he had experienced frustration at times during his long slumber or when a demon didn’t go into exile so quickly as he might like, but he’d never felt any of the more human emotions. He felt a brotherly bond with his fellow Guardians, but he didn’t suffer from fear or jealousy or possessiveness.
And he certainly didn’t consider himself capable of caring for a human. So what was it about Ella Harrow that made him react so differently than he had in the past? It was something he might have to ask Gregory.
As soon as they found him.
Ella squeezed his arm tightly, and he scowled down at her.
“Fine.” The word sounded less than sincere, but he had led the other humans to believe he was Ella’s lover, so if they believed him to be irrationally jealous or possessive as well, so be it. It didn’t make it true. “I will wait for you. But if you have need of me, call out, and I will be by your side in an instant. Do you understand?”
She looked up at him with a combination of surprise and wariness in her gaze. It made the gray depths of her eyes darken like storm clouds.
She nodded. “I understand.”
A strange impulse grabbed Kees, and he found himself grasping her around the waist and tugging her against him. She had to crane her head to keep her eyes on his face, and he took advantage by swooping down and sealing his lips against hers.
She stiffened in his arms. Her hands went up to press against his chest, and he tightened his grip in warning. Let her think he feared the detective and the others seeing through their act. In reality, he simply wanted to savor the moment.
She felt soft and sweet against him, a sweetness that was mirrored in her taste, all warm sugar with a hint of spring violets. Her lips even felt like the petals of a delicate flower, and they bloomed open when he traced his tongue along the plump surface of the lower one. Diving in, Kees forgot all about their audience and continued kissing her for the simple pleasure of it.
He experienced a surge of desire that took him by surprise.
Desire? For a human? When he pulled back, she looked up at him through hazy eyes, her brows drawing together in confusion. He understood the feeling.
“Go answer your questions,” he murmured. “I’ll wait right here until you
return.”
And maybe while she was gone, he’d be able to figure out just what the hell was going on, why she made him feel more like a man than like a monster.
She offered an uncertain smile and turned to follow the museum director and the detective down a hall toward the rear of the house. Kees watched her go, ignoring the curious looks of the other humans. None of them could possibly be more puzzled by his behavior than he was.
What had the little human done to him?
* * *
What in heaven’s name had the gargoyle done to her?
Ella sat in Lefavreau’s office facing his desk and the classically handsome police detective perched on the corner. The director had told them to make themselves comfortable, handed McQuaid a file containing all the museum’s paperwork on the provenance of the missing statue, then returned to join the others.
Ella knew she should be focusing on ways to get a good look at the information in that folder, but her attention lingered back in the ballroom. More specifically, on the lips of a certain male monster who seemed determined to throw her off balance at every turn, first by not killing her, and now by pressing on her the most intensely sweet kiss of her life. What in God’s name was going on?
“Guess your boyfriend’s the possessive type, huh?”
McQuaid’s voice broke into her thoughts and dragged her attention back to the present. She felt her cheeks flush.
“I don’t—I guess. I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other very long,” she stuttered, her gaze sliding away from his. How was she supposed to explain something she didn’t understand herself? “I’m not even certain how serious it is.”
“Well, looked serious for him, at least. Not that I can blame him for feeling possessive over such a lovely woman.”
Before Ella could decide if that comment was flattering or uncomfortable, McQuaid looked down at the folder in his hands and flipped through the pages. Then he set it aside and drew a small notebook from his jacket pocket. Finally, something she expected a detective to do.
Heart of Stone Page 5
