by Cat Adams
Sadly, I wasn’t. Alarms mean trouble. People don’t like trouble. On the whole, most of them wil cower
behind charmed thresholds or inside power circles, hoping and praying that whatever’s out there wil
pass them by.
I came around the corner just a few feet from where I’d started, to find a blocky man dressed in the
kind of nice clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in the better clubs but would stil hide the same kind
of arsenal I was carrying. He stood on the perimeter, holding the probe in his hand, examining it with a
rapt expression on his face.
I came to a skidding halt in the wet grass. “Johnson?” I stared in disbelief. It was Bob. It real y was.
Seeing him standing there made me feel better. Because Bob Johnson is an experienced
professional. Hel , he’s the man who’d convinced me to go into the business when I first got out of
col ege. Everyone else had told me that a “vanil a” mortal with no magic or psychic abilities had no
business fighting the monsters. Bob said that no human was a match for the monsters, talent or no,
that the two things that were most important were brains and good equipment. I’m not stupid, and I’m
wil ing to pay for top-of-the-line weaponry.
I met Bob when Vicki’s grandfather hired him to work up the security for her estate. It had been the
old man’s “housewarming gift.” I’d watched Bob set everything up. He’d been patient enough to explain
the how and why of everything he did—let me fol ow him around for days. It was obvious he knew his
stuff. With an almost unlimited budget to play with, he’d done one hel of a job. I’d been impressed at the
time. I stil was.
His plain features lit up with a delighted smile. He brushed a hand over shaggy hair the color of warm
honey. “Celia Graves, as I live and breathe. Don’t tel me you’re here to guard the prince?”
I nodded my affirmative, and Bob’s grin widened. “Is this yours?” He held out his hand to me. The little
scanner looked almost impossibly tiny balanced in his huge palm.
“Yup. Just bought it this afternoon. Works like a champ.”
“I heard. But why didn’t you put it on stealth mode? What good is the deluxe model if you don’t use al
the bel s?”
“There’s a stealth mode?” Yow! I couldn’t help but grin—nearly identical to the one Bob had on his
face.
He snorted and rol ed his eyes but proceeded to flip the little car over and show me a switch I hadn’t
noticed before. “So what was with the alarm?”
I told him about the break in the perimeter. His expression sobered instantly. He handed me my car
without any fuss and said, “Show me.”
I showed him. He didn’t have a lot of magical talent—almost none real y. But that didn’t keep him from
squatting down and using what little he did have to test the area around my little “fix it” job.
He looked up at me, his expression serious. “This isn’t going to hold up for more than a few minutes.
We need to get upstairs, warn the client, and cal in the cavalry.”
“Agreed.”
I let him take lead. Neither of us had a weapon drawn, but our jackets were open, our hands loose, so
that we could react in a hurry if need be. We moved deliberately toward the side entrance, eyes
scanning the area for any sign of trouble.
Nothing. Not a damned thing. It should’ve reassured me. Instead, I felt the tension in my shoulders
tighten another notch. Why would a demon break a barrier and then just leave?
I turned to the side, providing cover as Bob took the wal et from his back pocket and pul ed out a key
card. I’d been provided a similar card when I’d been hired. From the corner of my eye I saw him slide
the card through the black security box. A series of smal lights flashed green. When the last one lit, I
heard the lock on the door click open.
We stepped inside and the door swung shut, locks and spel s closing behind us. I waited as he
repeated the process with the service elevator.
I blinked, trying hard not to stare as I caught sight of him in the polished stainless-steel door. His
whole body language had changed. He looked like hell. Oh, he was stil clean, and the clothes were
pressed. But there was this sense of defeat about him. You could almost smel it, like a cheap cologne.
It showed in the slight slump of his broad shoulders, the hesitation in his movements that had never
been there before. He was pale—but then he’d been living on the East Coast. Probably hadn’t had a lot
of beach time. Stil , there’s pale and there’s pale. I hesitated, trying to think what to say, and couldn’t
come up with a damned thing that wasn’t prying. So I reached forward to hit the intercom button.
“Celia Graves.” I pronounced each syl able of my name clearly as I held down the button to the
intercom speaker.
“Bob Johnson.”
The two of us turned to face the security camera, giving them a good look. I didn’t bother to glance up
at the monitor mounted near the ceiling in the corner.
“So,” he said, while we waited for someone to answer. “You’re looking good—real y good. The
business must be agreeing with you.”
It was my turn to snort. “Hardly, but thanks.” I unconsciously smoothed fingers against my ash-blond
hair. The hair is shoulder length at the moment, longer than I like to keep it. I’ve had enough business
that I haven’t had a chance to get it cut. If I hadn’t been wearing it pul ed back it’d be driving me crazy.
“No, real y. You’re closing in on beautiful tonight.”
That made me stare at him with an open mouth. I am not beautiful. Oh, sure, I have pretty good bone
structure, but my features are too harsh to be considered traditional y pretty. At five ten, I’m too tal for
my body type, and my skin goes beyond “creamy” to nearly goth pale. My last boyfriend described my
eyes as the gray of storm clouds with chips of ice. A fair enough description, and certainly more poetic
than I would have expected.
“I’d better not look beautiful. Seriously, Bob. That’s not good for business. Be honest. Is this outfit too
… much?” I looked down at my clothes and then looked up at his face. He final y understood what I was
talking about and my question made him look at me critical y. I was wearing mostly black, from the
comfortable flats on my feet to my jeans and blazer. The only contrast was the deep burgundy of my
blouse. Wel , that and the garnet earrings I was wearing that matched it. I’d put on makeup, but it was
minimal. I was, after al , here on business. I’d noticed that if I look too good, male clients get the wrong
impression—start treating it as a date—and the other bodyguards don’t take me seriously. Better to
keep things simple and avoid misunderstandings.
He’d just opened his mouth to reply when a voice came through the speaker above. “You’re early.”
The tone made it sound like we’d done a bad thing, but I heard the whir of machinery as the private
elevator descended toward us from the penthouse.
“We came early to check the perimeter for threats. There was a problem.” Bob did his best bored,
professional voice. “We’l need to report it to the authorities.”
I could’ve sworn I heard swearing in the instant before the intercom was cut off. It surprised me a
little. One of the first things I’d learned as a bodyguard was that you don’t let the prot
ectee know you’re
upset. Concerned is okay. But you stay calm. Emotions just get in the way, so you bury them deep.
Don’t get me wrong, you stil feel them, but they’re under control and they don’t show.
Which meant somebody upstairs wasn’t a professional. Terrific. I just love working with amateurs.
(And if you believe that, there’s this bridge …)
I cast a meaningful look at Bob, and he rol ed his eyes. We stood in silence for a few seconds. In the
end he was the one who spoke first.
“The outfit is fine. Not overdone. Sorry. I understand how compliments can be a double-edged
sword.” He paused. “So, how’s Vicki?”
I shrugged off the compliment. He’d meant wel , but … wel , it does always worry me. “Stil in the
hospital. She seems to like it there.” She did. I’d have felt trapped, but she liked the safety of it. “How’s
Vanessa?”
He flinched, and I saw a flash of pain in his eyes before he was able to hide it. “We’re divorced.” He
closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his face was a pleasant mask. “Back on
the market again.” He smiled, but I knew him wel enough to know he didn’t mean it. “She got everything
except the clothes on my back and my weapons. That’s the main reason I took this job. I didn’t real y
like the look of the guy they sent to talk to me, but I needed the money.”
“Speaking of weapons, what have you got on you?”
He held open his jacket to show me his main gun, a Glock Safe Action 9mm in a custom leather
holster. Loops in the lining of his jacket held a pair of throwing knives. I knew they had high silver
content, and could tel from the engraving that he’d sprung for the throwing accuracy spel s. But that
was it. Which was so not like him that I was actual y taken aback. I tried to hide my surprise, but it
must’ve shown, because he answered me, his voice gruff with embarrassment.
“I had to pawn some of my stuff to pay for the ticket out.”
Wel , shit. I real y didn’t know what to say in response to that, so I kept my mouth shut. It just seemed
safer.
“Wel ? I showed you mine—” He made a gesture that was more a demand than an invitation. Which
was fair, I suppose. But I was almost embarrassed to show him. Steeling myself, I held open the jacket
and watched his eyes widen as he took inventory of my armament. “Damn, girl! And it doesn’t even
show.”
“Special tailoring and spel s on the jacket,” I admitted. “And I had the sleeves made wide enough that I
could draw my knives.” I did just that, pul ing one with a smooth, easy draw. I held it out to him hilt first.
Anybody else, I wouldn’t have shown the knives. They were a gift from Vicki and are valuable as hel .
The spel work on them is such that they rank as major magical artifacts. People have kil ed to get their
hands on that sort of thing. For me, though, they were a major part of my kit, because a single scratch
from the blade wil kil pretty much any of the monsters. I never wanted to get close enough to have to
use them, but I damned wel wanted to have them … just in case.
Bob let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hands over the polished wood handle. I was guessing he
was testing the spel work as wel but couldn’t be sure. “Damn, girl, you get the best toys.”
“Gift from Vicki,” I admitted.
He shook his head and passed the knife back with what was almost reverence. “Keep those out of
sight if you can. Don’t want to invite trouble.”
I just nodded my assent and thought about the possibility of trouble. Something about this job was
bugging me. (Other than the obvious demon thing.) It wasn’t obvious, just a pebble in your shoe kind of
thing. Bob had said he didn’t like the guy who’d interviewed him. I couldn’t say I disagreed. The guy I’d
talked to had been vague about details of the job to the point of being coy. I don’t like coy. He’d
answered my questions in ways that real y didn’t tel me much of anything. I’d come damned close to
rejecting the job.
And then there was the fact that I suspected I might have been chosen just because I was a woman,
to force Rezza into toeing his father’s progressive line.
Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when a woman is specifical y needed—you get a female client,
she needs someone who can check out the ladies’ room without problems, go into dressing rooms. But
that wasn’t what this was supposed to be.
“I feel better knowing you’re here.” Bob admitted quietly.
“Back atcha, big guy.”
The elevator bel rang. We stepped inside the elegantly appointed cabin. Pressing the button for the
top floor, I turned to face the front as the doors whooshed smoothly closed. When they reopened I
stepped into an expansive living space. One entire wal was a bank of windows, open to show a
panoramic view of the city lights sparkling below.
Stupid. Unless those windows were bul etproof, I could see three perfect spots for a sniper’s roost,
and that was without real y trying. I thought about the demon again. What if he was in the room with us
already? I needed to figure out a way to check each person. I couldn’t do it openly for fear of a violent
reaction with possible hostages. But leaking a little holy water onto my palm and then shaking hands
with everyone would just make it look like I had sweaty palms.
“You’re early.” The retainer repeated his earlier complaint. In photographs in my research file, he was
always just a pace behind the king, always with the same dour expression. I turned to face him, keeping
my expression neutral. He stepped away from a group of men standing by the bar. His voice was
disapproving. I’d thought that the photos just made him look cranky, but they’d only captured the real
him. I immediately felt sorry for whoever his significant other might be.
Standing at about five nine, he was a little bit shorter than me. I could tel he didn’t like it. He was
apparently used to looking down that beakish nose and glaring with those beady black eyes until the
person opposing him backed down. If that’s what he wanted, he’d picked the wrong girl. I wouldn’t start
trouble. Certainly not with a client. But I wouldn’t grovel or toady, either. Wouldn’t be much use as a
bodyguard if I did. I gave him the pleasant, not-quite-blank expression I reserve for difficult clients. He
didn’t seem to like that, either. Sometimes, you just can’t win. I held out my water-soaked hand. He
looked at it like it was a distasteful bug.
Crap. Now what?
I lowered my hand after a few awkward moments. There would be other opportunities before we left.
“I came in a little ahead of time to check the perimeter, meet up with the other guards, find out who’s
going to be in charge, and iron out the details.” I sounded polite, professional, without even a hint of
irritation or sarcasm. My gran would be so proud.
“I wil be in charge.”
The man who glided away from the bar spoke with a hint of an accent and more than a hint of
condescension. I recognized him from his pictures. The prince was six two and slender, he moved with
a sleek grace that should have been effeminate but wasn’t. He was wearing gray dress slacks with a
cream-colored silk shirt that had enough buttons left open to expose a lightly muscled but hairless
chest. His light brown curls were artful y mu
ssed; his dark eyes narrowed with appraisal as he looked
me over from head to foot. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.
“Ultimately, of course”—I gave a respectful nod—“but general y with a multiperson team, there’s a
coordinator the other guards report to. I was wondering who that was going to be.”
He stopped, barely two inches away from me. I think he expected me to react. He was obviously
used to women reacting sexual y and men backing down. I didn’t do either. I simply stood my ground,
pleasant and impassive, waiting for him to respond. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say.
But maybe I was wrong. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot—
“I wil be in charge,” he repeated.
Apparently he was that much of an idiot. Oh joy. I cringed inwardly but kept my mouth shut, counting to
ten so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I could walk away from the job, but the money was damned
good and the connections were better. Any smal business grows by word-of-mouth referrals. Tick him
off and I could be going hungry for a long time. But it was tempting. Because his stupidity could get me
kil ed. On the other hand, Bob was here. He’d have my back—and I’d have his. Risking my life is part of
what I get paid for. And, again, I was going to be getting an almost obscene amount of money for this.
I glanced across the room to where the rest of the security team was standing. I mean, I couldn’t
actual y be the only person worried about this, the only one to notice the prince’s glassy, bloodshot
eyes, could I? Surely somebody else was bothered by the situation?
Two of the guards stared past me as if I were beneath their notice. I felt my jaw clench, and had to
force myself not to grind my teeth. I didn’t know either of them, which surprised me. I’m fairly wel
connected in the industry. I’ve worked with most of the independents at one time or another, and most
of them have come to respect my abilities and treat me as an equal. I’d have bet half of what I was
making that they were pissed because I was a woman. I’ve dealt with the prejudice before. You’d think
I’d be used to it.
You’d be wrong.
Bob’s soft cough drew everyone’s attention while I was shaking hands with the third guard. He was
