Keeper of the Shadows (The Keepers: L.A.)

by Alexandra Sokoloff

  “Why do you say that?” she managed.

  “Shifters have a tendency to die badly,” he said. “Something I hardly need to tell you, Keeper.”

  He looked straight into her eyes, a compelling, almost hypnotic gaze. “Believe me, my dear, if he were alive on this planet I would have found him and had him back in the business long ago. He could have named his price.”

  Barrie found she had to make an effort to pull her eyes from his. Damn mesmerizing vampires. She felt a little weak from the intensity of his stare and reached for her glass of water to give her a moment to recover her balance. Her overwhelming feeling was that Darius was telling the truth, but that was what was so tricky about vampires and Others generally. Under the right circumstances, they could make you believe...anything.

  She put her glass down and smiled at him while being sure, this time, not to look directly at him. “Maybe I’ll find him for you,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”

  She was shocked at her own audacity, but exhilarated, too.

  “You do that,” Darius said, with an edge of wariness, and for a moment she was sure he was going to dismiss her. But then he asked, “Is there anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. I’ve come across the most interesting rumor.” She glanced at him without making eye contact. “Is it true that Johnny Love died on set, before Otherworld even finished shooting?”

  Darius looked as shocked as if she’d staked him. “Certainly not. I was on set for the last few days of shooting, and Johnny was most assuredly there. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed if my own client had dropped dead?”

  He sounded truly incredulous.

  Instinctively she nodded, as if she completely agreed with him. “That’s what I thought. It was just so outrageous.... I mean, we’ve all seen the film. No one could possibly have kept a secret like that.”

  Darius shook his head, as if still trying to recover from the idea. “Where on earth would you have heard something like that?”

  “It was an anonymous source. Really left-field...but of course I have to check out every lead.”

  He was watching her in a way that made her feel a little like a mouse with the huge shadow of a hawk circling her. He rose and moved around the couch, rendering her even more profoundly uncomfortable. She hated to have her back to a vampire.

  “I must say, I’m concerned that your father and uncles are so far away. I do hope you’re not meeting any of these ‘sources’ in dark alleys.”

  She was fairly certain his words were a coincidence, but she couldn’t help but think of the alley where Tiger had been dumped.

  “Well, there’s one source who might be able to clear everything up for me right away. But I need your help to get to him.”

  “And who might that be?”

  Barrie took a breath. “I need to see DJ.”

  The vampire actually laughed out loud in disbelief as he sat back down. “See DJ?”

  For a moment she expected him to say, No one sees DJ.

  “If anyone knows what was happening on that movie, it would be him,” she pointed out.

  Darius chuckled and leaned forward to pat her hand indulgently. “You’re overestimating your reach and mine,” he told her. “DJ doesn’t inhabit the same planet as any of the rest of us. You might as well ask to see Johnny Love.”

  Don’t worry, I’m already on it, she thought silently. But what she said aloud was “I don’t need a private appointment. The premiere of his new movie is tonight. If you can just get me in, I’ll take it from there.”

  He frowned. “There’s been a wait list for tonight for months, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Liar, she thought. As if you can’t get tickets to anything, anywhere, anytime you want. “That would be great, Darius, thank you so much.”

  He rose, signaling the end of the interview.

  “Even if you can talk to him, I wouldn’t count on the clarity of his memories. DJ’s—” he paused delicately “—habits...started long ago.”

  Drugs again. There are drugs all through this case.

  “Do keep me apprised,” he told her at the door. Not a request.

  “Of course,” she told him, lying.

  Darius’s shifter assistant walked her to the staircase, and she was aware of him still standing above her, watching as she walked down the slow spiral of the staircase.

  She pushed out the doors with a feeling of release and relief. But as she walked down the curving path toward the adjoining garage, the feeling of being watched, tracked, continued.

  It was one of those huge Century City garages, with confusing levels and half levels. As she headed toward her car, heels clicking, she became aware that she was essentially alone in the labyrinth of concrete pillars and rows of cars. And yet, she didn’t feel alone....

  She didn’t change her pace but focused her attention on her astral body, the aura of energy perception that surrounds every living being, human and animal. It was the astral body that shifters learned to manipulate. As a shifter Keeper, she also had a certain natural facility with manipulating the astral body. It was what allowed her to put on a glamour, and she could also tune in to the heightened perceptions of her astral body to sense people and beings around her.

  Her heart began to beat faster as she realized there was indeed someone following her, someone who was intently focused on her. Then she was unnerved to feel a rush of heat through her body, an undeniably erotic charge.

  She stopped in her tracks in shock.

  And then she realized what was happening.

  She turned around and faced the dimness of the garage.

  “Shifter, I feel you. Show yourself!”

  There was a shimmer in the darkness, and then Mick Townsend was standing there looking at her.

  “Following me?” she accused, furious.

  “I can’t seem to stay away from you, Gryffald,” he said with a half smile.

  “Maybe a restraining order would help.”

  She moved to brush by him and reach her car, but he caught her forearms, and she felt an electric shock of attraction.

  “Barrie,” he said, and she had to look at him, then found she couldn’t breathe. “Things got a little intense last night.”

  That was the understatement of the year. She couldn’t even work up the strength for a retort.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right,” he continued, and damn him, he would not stop looking at her with those eyes, those green, green eyes....

  “Well, I’m fine, obviously, so you can stop now.”

  He shook his head. “You never quit, do you? Walking right in to see Darius.”

  “This is my job,” she flung back at him.

  “You don’t have to do it all by yourself every second, do you? This isn’t something you should be nosing around in alone.”

  Safer than doing it with you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

  “Barrie, there’s more to it than you think there is—and more to whoever is behind it.”

  “That’s really not something you have to be concerned about,” she began coolly, but he tightened his grip on her arms.

  “But I am concerned,” he said roughly. “That should be obvious by now.”

  “I just don’t understand why—”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, and pulled her to him to kiss her. Her mouth opened under his, and she felt arousal coil through her like a snake. His hands moved on her waist, his legs were hard against hers, and her whole body flashed back to him kissing her the night before, a sense memory of his hands on her. And her skin, her limbs, her blood, responded in the same way, right there in the garage.

  I am in such trouble, she thought. I am gone.... And then there were no thoughts at all, just an aching, delicious desire.

  When he finally lifted his head from hers, she felt as if the whole garage was spinning. They stood in the concrete dimness, both breathing hard.

  “Tonight,” he said,
his voice a low and intoxicating murmur, his hands caressing her waist. “Not business, a date. Just us. I’ll pick you up after work. Seven o’clock.”

  “Okay,” she said with absolutely no control over her responses. He bent and kissed her again, this time backing her against the side of the car, and she could feel his legs and his throbbing sex and the garage spiraled as her legs shook underneath her.

  Then he stepped back, took her key and opened the car door for her. “Seven,” he reminded her.

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  He shut the door on her, closing her inside, and she sat in a limp daze...watching as he turned and slowly walked down the aisle of parked cars, and she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be trying to get into DJ’s premiere that night but all she could think was Seven? How am I going to last the whole day?

  And then she felt a twinge.

  After work? Did he just say “after work”?

  Mick had the same schedule she did, the night shift. So, what work was he talking about?

  She sat up, suddenly alert again, and stared out the windshield.

  Halfway down the aisle, Mick was stopped beside the Bentley. He zapped the door open and lowered himself into the elegant car.

  Not even valet parked, she thought, which made her even more sure he had been following her. And that’s way too much car for a journalist, she told herself grimly, and started her engine.

  Then she followed him out of the garage.

  The Bentley rolled out onto the street, smooth as glass, and she turned after it, trailing it crosstown, west on Wilshire, always hanging back, concealing her little Peugeot behind larger vehicles.

  Mick drove the car like an L.A. native, switching lanes often and gliding around slower cars to time the lights perfectly. Barrie prided herself on her driving but had to admit a grudging respect; he wasn’t just driving well, he understood the traffic. And having to admit it just pissed her off.

  In Westwood he turned abruptly into the parking garage of a tall office building. She made the turn into the garage herself, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the Bentley stopped at the valet station. Mick was just handing over his keys to an attendant. As she watched, Mick said something to the valet, who laughed and nodded. Mick tapped the man’s arm in a familiar gesture, and the valet gave him a little half salute. Her eyes narrowed. That valet knows him.

  She watched as Mick pushed through the inner glass doors toward the elevators, then sped up to the valet station and let the next valet take her keys. As he handed over her ticket, she asked him, “Who was that man with the Bentley?”

  The valet didn’t have to ask who she meant. “Mr. Stuart.”

  Barrie felt a surge of cold shock, but outwardly she did no more than raise her eyebrows. “Mr. Stuart, of course. What floor is he on?”

  “Sixteen, miss.”

  “Thank you so much,” she said sweetly, and headed for the glass doors.

  The elevator took her up to a three-storied modernistic lobby, and she strode up to the building directory, a gleaming marble slab with names and numbers carved into the surface.

  Her eyes scanned for the sixteenth floor and then stopped, staring, at the name of the company that occupied it: The Circle Foundation.

  And the name of the CEO: Michael Stuart.

  Chapter 10

  The elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor, and Barrie stepped out into a waiting room worthy of a museum. She took great pleasure in L.A.’s architecture: the surreal silver curves of the Disney Concert Hall; the Streamline Moderne of LACMA, the County Museum of Art; the oh-so-noir geometric patterned staircases of the Bradbury Building.

  But the lobby of the Circle Foundation was one of the best examples of modern design she’d ever seen.

  Money, she thought, dazed. So much money here. It didn’t just rival GAA’s offices, it surpassed them—in artistry, anyway.

  Across the vast space of the lobby, a sleek receptionist with a haircut as modern as the decor sat at an island of a—desk? counter?—speaking into her Bluetooth.

  Barry moved slowly forward into the space.

  There were two huge, clear glass panels standing in the light of a domed skylight, etched with names and looking vaguely like the tablets of the Ten Commandments. One side held the names of donors to the Circle Foundation, the other a list of endowed charities and causes. She recognized the names of quite a few of the organizations: homeless shelters, scholarship foundations, intervention centers for at-risk youth. And they all had something in common: they quietly catered to the needs of Others.

  Her eyes stopped on one familiar name, and she froze.

  Out of the Shadows.

  The shelter where Tiger had been living briefly before he went back on the street.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked from her island. The acoustics of the room were so good it sounded as if she were standing right beside Barrie.

  Barrie turned to her, startled, and walked forward, improvising. “Oh, hello. I’m affiliated with Out of the Shadows,” she said smoothly. “I was in the building, and I’ve heard so much about the Circle’s offices. I just thought I’d pop in and take a look.” She faked an appreciative glance around the lobby. “Just as beautiful as everyone says.”

  The receptionist gave her a practiced smile. “Yes, it’s a wonderful place to work.”

  “I’m sure,” Barrie smiled back. “And I had no idea how many other organizations Circle is funding! Mr. Stuart is so modest about it all. Is he fairly new as CEO?”

  “Not at all, he founded the company,” the receptionist answered, and then apologized as she reached to answer the phone.

  Barrie glanced up at the glass monument in front of her, at the date etched in the clear surface.

  Established 2005.

  As the receptionist spoke into the phone, two men in suits came out through the glass doors leading into the inner offices.

  As the doors began to close behind them, Barrie moved quickly toward them and darted through.

  She heard the receptionist’s voice calling behind her, but she strode grimly along the inner hall, straight down toward what was clearly the corner office.

  Another sleekly gorgeous secretary rose from her desk as Barrie barreled forward.

  “I’m sorry, did you have an appointment with Mr. Stuart?”

  “Yes,” Barrie said through clenched teeth, and pushed through the door.

  * * *

  Mick sat behind a massive desk, talking into his Bluetooth as he leaned back in an ergonomic chair, looking out on his sweeping view of Santa Monica and the ocean beyond.

  He caught one glimpse of Barrie and his feet hit the floor. “Call you back,” he snapped into his headpiece, and threw it on the desk as he stood, facing her.

  “Mick Townsend? Michael Stuart? J. Paul Getty? Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  “Barrie, look, sit down, let’s talk—”

  “Not until I know who I’m talking to. And I mean the truth. Except, oh, right, you’re incapable of telling the truth.” She was aware that she was ranting but she couldn’t help herself. She was furious.

  “Barrie—”

  She sidestepped him, not letting him come near her. “Everything about you is a lie.”

  “Come on, now, be fair. Do you tell everyone you’re a Keeper?”

  The question stopped her dead.

  “Our lives are secret, they have to be,” he said reasonably.

  But you were keeping it from me, she thought, and was immediately uncomfortable with her assumption that he should tell her everything, because...

  Because of what’s happening between us.

  “I wanted to tell you,” he said, as if hearing her unspoken thought. “I was going to tell you—”

  “When?” she demanded.

  “Tonight,” he said immediately. “Why do you think I wanted to see you? Everything’s been happening so fast....”

  What is he talking about? she won
dered, and then he continued, and she knew.

  “I was suddenly so deep with you and I didn’t know how to go back to the beginning.”

  She felt warm all over.

  No. Don’t get sucked into this. He has some major explaining to do.

  She turned in a circle, spreading her arms to indicate the enormous office.

  “What the hell are you doing pretending to be a journalist?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that made her want to twine her own hands into his hair again. Stop it.

  “Pretty much the same as you,” he answered. “Keeping an eye on Others. There’s no better place than a newspaper to get a sense of what’s going on out there, on the street level. The owner of the Courier is a friend, and I went in last month to establish an identity that I could use to get access to certain situations...criminal investigations. It was only supposed to be temporary, just long enough that I could throw the right names around in a pinch, but...”

  “But what?” she demanded.

  “But then I met you.” He looked at her. “And the plan changed.”

  I don’t believe you, she thought, but only because she wanted to believe him so badly.

  Don’t cave, she ordered herself. Make him tell you what’s really going on.

  She was a little breathless as she demanded, “So, essentially you’ve set yourself up to be some kind of—of undercover watchdog of the Otherworld.”

  “If you want to call it that,” he said, not contradicting her.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s the Keepers’ job.”

  Some kind of understanding flickered on his face. “I know that. And I have the highest respect for what you Keepers do. I think you and your cousins have been doing a miraculous job since you stepped in. But, Barrie, you know the system in L.A. is broken. It’s a mess. The infighting and secrecy are making any regulation all but impossible. It’s not just frustrating, it’s dangerous. You above anyone should know that unprecedented crimes are taking place in the Otherworld.”

  That brought her up short. It was disturbing, beyond the norm, that in the few short months that she and her cousins had been Keepers, Rhiannon and Sailor had been embroiled in solving vicious serial murders. It did seem like something larger was bubbling up from somewhere dark and unfathomable....