by Cat Adams
“I know.” I did know. He has always been good about being there when I need him. I don’t expect him to read my mind … well, not often. “I was going to tell you at brunch.” I hadn’t wanted to fight. I’d wanted him to hold me, to listen to me, to help me heal. That wasn’t likely to happen now, was it?
Bruno sighed and unfastened his seat belt. He scooted toward me as far as the gearshift knob would allow. “Come here.”
I moved to meet him and was rewarded with the hug I needed so badly. His arms were strong, his muscled chest warm. Just the smell of him was comforting. I could feel his heartbeat slowing, his muscles unclenching as his anger faded. He spoke gently, his words not much above a whisper. “I’m sorry about Ivy. Even if it is for the best, it’s going to be strange for you not having her around.”
I nodded against his chest, unable to speak for the lump in my throat.
He sighed. “And you’re probably right. I’m more of a leader than a follower.” He said it grudgingly. “You okay now?”
I nodded again, pulling away a bit. He moved back into his seat and strapped in.
“I probably look like hell,” I said as I rebuckled my own seat belt.
“Sweetheart, you always look beautiful to me.” He meant it, it wasn’t just another line of bullshit. Still, I pulled down the sun visor to check my makeup as he eased back onto the highway. This time he drove like a normal human being.
Neither of us said anything until he parked in the restaurant’s lot. Then he turned to me and said, “I know you need your independence. But I need to be a part of your life. I’m not trying to be controlling, or an ass, but I’m not into being used, either.”
Had I been using him? I didn’t think so. But I might have been taking him for granted, and that was wrong.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been taking you for granted. I don’t think I’ve been using you and I definitely have appreciated it when you’ve jumped in of your own free will. You’ve made all the difference in a couple of really tough spots. But we have to figure out what our boundaries are going to be, because I don’t want to have this fight with you for real instead of just over a miscommunication.”
I opened my door to get out of the car. The minute my shoes hit the pavement, the magical protections that had been spelled into the restaurant and the land around it sent a jolt through me that made me gasp in pain. Whoever had done the wards had put a lot of power in them. No vampire or other monster would be able to come near this place.
I am not quite a monster, but I am close enough that sometimes magic like this didn’t much like me. I took a deep breath. Steeling myself, I rose slowly to my feet. Bruno had practically vaulted around the car to see what was wrong, but once he realized what I was reacting to he stood still and waited, letting me handle it. When I was ready, he took my hand and we walked together into Antoine’s.
6
My alarm went off bright and early Monday morning. I felt like hell. I hadn’t slept well. After clearing the air, Bruno and I had managed to have a pleasant meal, talking about our college days and my cousin’s wedding the previous summer. Antoine had worked his usual magic and presented me with probably the world’s best Belgian waffles and other goodies designed for my special needs. But even though things were better, there was still more than a little underlying tension between Bruno and me. I went to bed with a lot on my mind—not a good recipe for sound sleep. My thoughts had chased themselves like horses on a merry-go-round, only not nearly so pretty. When I finally did drop off, I had nightmares. Not the demon-stalking-me nightmares, thank God, but the old standbys: my father’s abandonment; being attacked by zombies. Not exactly a restful night. I drank a couple of cups of strong black coffee along with a nutrition shake, then ate a jar of Gerber beef and noodles. I was running low on baby food. I’d need to stop by the store soon. In fact, I should probably grab something on the way to the library, just to be safe.
It didn’t take long to shower and put on my makeup. I made sure to use concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes. I wanted to look good but dignified, like the head of a successful company. Today was a big day. I’d reserved one of the small conference rooms in the university library for interviews. We’d scheduled them there because most of our potential recruits were recent university grads we’d found through the college placement office. It hadn’t been difficult or expensive to book the room for most of the day, and it was certainly convenient.
I hoped Dawna would meet me there, but I wasn’t counting on it. I texted her to confirm, but she didn’t reply. So I got on the computer and printed out the e-mail she’d written setting out the plan for the day, along with its attachments—the schedule of appointments and the applicants’ résumés. Then I stuck the packet in a file folder and drove into town.
Even early as it was, traffic was terrible. I was stuck for a long time on Oceanview, trapped by a multicar pileup up ahead. Frustrating. I barely had time to stop at PharMart for some baby food and nutrition shakes before I had to be at the library to get things set up for the interviews.
The wards around the building buzzed against my senses. They were a little painful to cross, but not nearly as bad as those at the restaurant had been. I was able to get through them and into the building with no real trouble and went immediately downstairs.
G-38 was a largish study/conference room. It was fairly boring: white walls, gray industrial-grade carpet, a big laminate table surrounded by cheap rolling chairs. The overhead fluorescent lights were the ecofriendly kind that turn themselves off if there isn’t any movement in the room. They also wash out normal complexions. I probably looked like a corpse despite my very careful makeup job.
I was wearing a charcoal gray pantsuit with a dark rose blouse. My silver jewelry went well with my storm-gray eyes. My gray shoes had minimal heels. I’d pulled my hair into a French braid. It was a very professional look but still feminine.
I stashed my groceries under the table at the far end. Then I picked seats for the interviews. I set down my folder plus a pen and pad I could use to take notes in front of my chair, put a bottle of water alongside them and two other bottles in front of two other seats—one beside mine, for Dawna, if she came, and one for the potential hire, opposite us. I sat down and flipped through résumés for three whole minutes before I got bored and decided to take a quick trip to the bathroom. After all, it could be hours before I got another chance. When I came back, Dawna was sitting at the chair next to mine. She looked gorgeous … and utterly miserable.
Dawna is Vietnamese, tiny and delicate, with gleaming dark hair and exotic features. She’s a natural beauty who also knows the absolute best way to dress to play up her assets. Today she was wearing a hot pink skirt suit that nipped in at her tiny waist and was both long enough to be proper and short enough to show off a great pair of legs in three-inch heels. It was obvious she had been crying heavily, despite her perfectly applied makeup and the antitears eyedrops I could smell on her skin.
Crap. Apparently she was having an even worse morning than I was. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I sat down next to her. She shook her head soundlessly, fighting back tears.
“Can’t talk about it?”
“After the interviews,” she whispered, her voice harsh and raw.
“Okay. I get that. But when we’re done here, I’m taking you to La Cocina and we’ll talk. You can tell me about whatever it is, and I’ll bitch to you about Bruno.”
She gave me a weak smile.
“You know I’ll help any way I can, right?” I looked her straight in the eye, I needed her to know I meant it. I might be annoyed with her, but she was my friend, damn it.
She nodded. Rummaging in her purse, she found a tissue and used it to dry her tears and blow her nose. Then she pulled out a compact and made repairs to her makeup. She was just finishing when there was a light tap on the door. Our first interviewee was right on time.
Brian Carter was just about to graduate college and was looking for his fir
st full-time job. That he was young was not a problem. That he was immature was. He kept staring very inappropriately at my chest and Dawna’s everything and trying to make jokes, so I cut the conversation short. There was no chance in hell I was hiring that bozo. He left reluctantly, leaving the door open behind him.
Interview two came right on his heels. Talia Han stood five eight and was built like a tank. She was wearing a T-shirt so white it practically glowed, a visible anti-siren charm, and black dress pants. Her body fat ratio had to be under three percent and her musculature was impressive. I guessed that her trousers had to be specially tailored—her thighs were bigger around than Dawna’s waist. Her upper body was equally impressive. Her skin was a lovely caramel color, her eyes a striking hazel and slightly tilted. Her hair had been shaved close to her head, but what there was of it was curly and medium brown.
“Hello, Dawna.” She smiled, showing very white but slightly crooked teeth, and passed each of us a résumé with a folded paper attached. “Ms. Graves.”
“Talia.” Dawna was a little flabbergasted, but she recovered well. “Celia, this is my cousin, Talia. I haven’t seen her in—”
“Fifteen years,” Talia supplied. “Not since my father moved us to Chicago. But I’m back, I need a job, and Grammie told me you were hiring.” She took a seat, making herself comfortable while I looked over the résumé and its attachments again. It was a stall tactic. Dawna had obviously been thrown by her cousin’s appearance. Evidently the name hadn’t rung a bell when she’d scheduled the interview. I figured I’d give her a few seconds to recover. Besides, the résumé was worth another look.
Talia was former military, a marine, with experience in the military police. The attachments were a pair of targets from the range. The results were impressive. She was obviously skilled at handling both handguns and magic. She was only a level four, but I didn’t doubt for a minute that the corps had trained her just as meticulously as the Catholic church trained its warrior-priests. I’d seen what a level four could do with proper training. The answer was: a lot.
I looked up from the paperwork. “So, what are your goals with regard to a position with our company?”
“May I speak freely?”
“I’d prefer it,” I answered. Dawna nodded her agreement.
“I need a job. There aren’t a lot of them available right now in the private sector, and some of the people with whom I’ve interviewed seem a bit”—she paused—“put off by my appearance. I didn’t think you would be. And truthfully, I hoped that the family connection might help.”
“You list several references on the résumé. Is it all right if I call them?”
“Please do.”
We chatted a bit more. I asked most of the questions, exploring details of her training and specific examples of how she’d handled various situations. Dawna chipped in a little, but for the most part she let me take the lead. As we wrapped up, I told Talia I would call her in a few days, after I’d had the opportunity to check references.
She rose, shook hands with both Dawna and me, then left, closing the door behind her.
“Well?” I asked my partner.
“I … I don’t know. Like she said, it’s been fifteen years. She’s changed.”
I started ticking off positive points. “Well, I like to support the military. She seems to have credentials. I’m assuming she knows how to follow orders, and she was smart enough to come in wearing a charm. That earns her a few points. We need a mage. I was hoping for a six, but with enough training, a four can do pretty much everything we’re likely to need, and she definitely has the intimidation factor that’s important for a lot of the simple bodyguarding work.”
“We do need another female bodyguard. You’re going to be tied up in administrative stuff a good part of the time.”
Oh, God, I hoped not. But she was probably right. Damn it.
“So what’s the problem?”
“When we were kids she was kind of a bully, really aggressive and mean. I mean, she’s probably outgrown it…” Her voice trailed off.
“But it may be her basic nature, which might make her too aggressive for what we need.”
Dawna nodded.
“Okay. Why don’t you do the calls? You’re better at subtle than I am. See if you can find out if she’s got it under control or if there’s still a problem. Check around with the family, too, if you think you can without causing a problem. We’ll hold off on a decision until we know more. Does that work?”
“It works fine.”
We had a few minutes until the next scheduled interview. I cracked open the bottle of water in front of me and took a pull as I hastily racked my brain for something to talk about. Dawna’s one of my best friends. It shouldn’t have been difficult. But I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I was saved by a light knock on the conference room door. I called, “Come in,” and the person outside opened the door.
“Kevin?” I was startled to see him. Kevin Landingham was Emma’s brother and he’d worked at the university—until the day he gave the college president a shove. Happily, he hadn’t killed President Lackley, and Lackley had decided not to press charges, since he knew about Kevin’s PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder is a real bitch to deal with. People can have bouts of rage that are difficult to control.
Thankfully, Kevin hadn’t totally lost it that day. If he had, Lackley would be maimed or dead. Werewolves are strong, with or without the full moon. President Lackley didn’t know Kevin was a shifter—most people didn’t—so he didn’t realize just how lucky he’d been. In the end, Kevin still got fired. Since then, he’s put in a lot of time remodeling his sister’s new house, gotten himself a service animal, and is doing better. But he still has a haunted look in his eyes.
Standing in the doorway, Kevin looked uncertain but gorgeous in a navy suit that was just a hair too big for him. He was still big, blond, and strikingly good-looking, but despite working on Emma’s house, he wasn’t quite as ripped as he had been once upon a time. He was carrying a briefcase, and Paulie, his assistance dog, stood at his side, groomed to within an inch of her life, her work jacket strapped into place.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Emma told me you’re hiring. I wanted to submit an application.”
I blinked … twice, slowly. Wow. This … this was unexpected. “Well, come in. Sit down.” He nodded and stepped into the room. Setting the case on the table, he withdrew two copies of his résumé, passing one to Dawna and one to me, before sitting down. Paulie settled onto the floor beside him.
It was an impressive résumé. Of course I knew it would be. Kevin has a background in both black ops and tech. More to the point, I’d worked with him before. He’s a good man to have in your corner, smart, skilled. I’d love to have him on board. But I wasn’t sure our company would be the best fit for him.
“What type of position are you looking for?” Dawna asked.
“I’m hoping to start out doing mostly tech support, but I’m capable of installing security systems and doing basic bodyguarding. I’m not up to going into military confrontations at this point. I may never be again.” He said it calmly, but I thought I could see a little strain around his eyes.
“What would you consider a military confrontation?” Dawna asked.
“The situation Celia wound up in in Mexico would be a good example. There might not be a declared war going on down there, but it’s still a war zone.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed.
“I also am not certain how well I’d be able to handle anything demonic,” he admitted, his expression haunted. “On the other hand, I know you’re going to be setting up new offices. I could be a big asset with regard to the security systems and tech.” He spoke with confidence, but his eyes were still dark from memories he’d rather not think too hard about. I understood that feeling all too well.
“There’s no question in my mind that you have the skills,” I assured him. “I’m only worried about one thing…”
“The thing with Lackley?” He sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit.
“No.” I gave him a rueful grin. “I’ve wanted to pop him in the mouth more than once myself. I can totally understand the urge.” Yes, his loss of control worried me. But I knew Kevin had gotten better in the past nine months. I was willing to give him a chance. “What worries me is this. In Mexico, I was working with an experienced crew that included some very alpha personalities. One of the men knew me personally. Even though I was in charge, he wasn’t able to behave professionally and follow orders because of our prior relationship. That undermined my authority with the other men and made me look bad to the clients, to the point where I had to fire him. We’ve known each other a long time, Kevin. Can you follow my lead?”
To give him credit, he thought about the question before he answered. When he spoke, his voice was calm and confident. “There was a time when I couldn’t have,” he admitted, “but that was before I actually saw you in action, during the situation at the Zoo. You work hard. You’re willing to invest in good equipment. You prepare as much as you can, you’re good at strategy and tactics, and you’re able to change your plans on the fly when things go wrong. You don’t ask anything from anybody that you wouldn’t do or haven’t done yourself. I respect that, respect you. So yes, I believe I can.”
“What are your salary requirements?” Dawna asked.
“I’m willing to negotiate,” Kevin said. “I have extensive experience, but I also have a couple of black marks on my record.”
I smiled at him as I sent a thought to Dawna. My siren telepathy still isn’t perfect, but I keep working on it, and with the ring my cousin gave me, I’m much better than I used to be. What do you think? I’m leaning toward hiring him.
Dawna gave a minuscule shrug; apparently it was my choice.
