Guardian (The Protectors Series)

by Nancy Northcott

  “Could’ve been,” he hedged. “I have no evidence either way.”

  “I ran another check in the NCIC,” Mel said. “I put in as many variables as I could. There’s still no direct match aside from the Great Dismal Swamp case, none with similarities except that case in the Everglades. But I wonder if we could be dealing with a copycat.”

  That must’ve been her version of light duty yesterday. Good. Stefan had feared she would wangle a ride in a squad car.

  “Copycatting would require knowledge of the prior events,” Burton said. “If there’s nothing in NCIC or databanks, are you thinking there might be a local precedent?”

  Mel hesitated, looking around the table almost apologetically. “I’m sure you all know Wayfarer has an unusual reputation. I wonder whether something like this, from a long time ago, might have contributed to it.”

  “How do you want to follow up on that?” Burton asked. “I grew up here. So did most of my staff. The residents are anywhere from first to fourth generation.”

  Bitsy Morton said, “My parents moved here in 1963. The whole Age of Aquarius thing in the sixties led to a big influx.”

  Mel nodded acknowledgment to Bitsy. “I recently met a friend of Cinda’s, Hettie Telfair. I’m sure many of you know her.”

  “Everybody knows Miss Hettie,” the sheriff responded. “The Telfairs have lived here since before the American Revolution. You think she mighta heard something that could help?”

  “I figure it’s worth a try. I thought we could also check the back issues of the Oracle.” Mel’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “When you’ve got nothing, anything might help. For the longest shot of all, we might check into who does makeup for horror conventions and check online costume and theatrical supply houses for nails like our perp’s.”

  No one laughed. They were all that desperate for a solution.

  Stefan had to give Mel credit for creative thinking. These ideas might lead nowhere, but they were something to do. Meanwhile, maybe he and his friends could figure out this problem and end it before ghouls injured more Mundanes.

  Dan Burton looked around the table. “Anything else?”

  No one spoke. “All right, then,” he said. “Mel will talk to Miss Hettie and report back by e-mail. She’ll also draw up a plan for searching the Oracle archives. We don’t want to duplicate each other’s efforts. We’ll meet back here Friday morning.” He stood, and the meeting broke up.

  Stefan grabbed his medical bag from the floor by his chair and eyed Mel as she chatted with Forrest. Maybe she would see having coffee with an ex-lover as a nice, friendly gesture. Forrest walked away, and Stefan angled to intercept her.

  Bitsy Morton beat him there. “We’re done with Miss Cinda’s house, Mel. There’s no sign the killer ever went inside.”

  “So I can move in?”

  The hell she would, though Stefan knew better than to say so. Out there by herself, with a bulletproof killer roaming the area? No way.

  “If you like.” Bitsy took a key from her jacket pocket and gave it to Mel. “I’ll send someone out to remove the crime scene tape.”

  “I can take care of it. Thanks, Bitsy.”

  The older woman patted Mel’s shoulder. “We’ll get this guy. Believe it.”

  As Bitsy walked away, Stefan overtook Mel. “I’m due at the community shelter to look at a sick kid, but I have time for a cup of coffee. Join me?”

  “You make house calls?”

  “Sometimes.” Marc Wagner, the shelter director, had found Griff injured on the side of the road after a battle with ghouls, taken him home, and patched him up. That’d led to Griff finding a refuge, a home, in Wayfarer during his years as a fugitive. Because of that, any of his friends would help with anything Marc needed.

  “This really is a small town,” Mel said. “As it happens, I’m expected at the shelter sometime this morning. I’m Cinda’s executor, and she made a bequest to them. Can you introduce me to the director?”

  “Sure. Marc’s a great guy.” Grinning at Mel, Stefan added, “On the way, we can stop at Tom’s Grill & Griddle. Tom serves excellent coffee.”

  “I could use some. The first shift started the coffee at seven. It tastes kind of like tar now.”

  Because the National Investigator crew was hanging around the rear parking lot, Mel and Stefan opted to leave by the front door. Heading down the main hall, they met lawyers in suits, looking harried or smug and carrying the inevitable briefcases. Mixed in with them were businessmen, grandmothers, young people, farmers in overalls, a cross-section of the county’s people, all heading upstairs to the two courtrooms.

  Walking beside Mel had always felt right. She was not only smart and kind but beautiful, with clear, gray eyes and strong, elegant features. An ache started in the center of his chest. She might’ve been able to rationalize his in-house physician cover job and accept what he said about treating Boone, but his admission last night had put him squarely on the freak squad in her mind.

  He had no choice but to accept that. But he wouldn’t let her risk staying out in the countryside alone. He would protect her and other Mundanes as he always had.

  * * *

  Stefan had not cheated on her.

  Mel’s mind kept turning over that knowledge. She’d spent most of last night dealing with the aftershocks of learning that what she’d believed the past nine years had not been true.

  It changed things. She felt at ease walking beside him, almost as much as she once had, and wasn’t that a kicker? He might be off in left field like her mom, but he wasn’t beating everyone over the head with his supposed abilities.

  They stepped out the front door and into clear sunshine and the mild autumn air. Stefan smiled down at her, and Mel’s heart thudded against her ribs, just the way it used to.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he said. “I’d like to show you some of the town when we have time.”

  “I’d really enjoy that.”

  His brows lifted, as though in surprise, before his features relaxed into an open, comfortable expression. Clearing the air had been good for them both.

  A burst of childish laughter drew Mel’s attention to the right, to the green square in front of the courthouse. A towheaded boy about three years old romped with a big dog that looked part Chesapeake retriever and a lot of parts indeterminate. A young woman standing by a blue umbrella stroller smiled as she watched the boy and the dog. Other mothers with strollers occupied benches on the square green.

  The child let out a delighted squeal and flung his arms around the dog’s neck.

  Mel couldn’t help smiling, too. “That’s just pure joy.”

  “There’s nothing like a happy kid.” Stefan grinned.

  Once, she had thought they might have children together.

  Her pleasure dimmed, and Stefan’s fading smile implied he’d thought of the same thing. The old pain, the old longing for what might have been, jabbed into her heart. She wanted to touch him—to connect, to comfort.

  Stefan cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted straight ahead. “The obelisk in the middle of the green honors Wayfarer’s World War I dead.”

  Mel eyed the twenty-foot-high monument. “The town seems so much into peace and love, I’m surprised they would put up a war memorial. Though I guess that was done quite a few years ago.”

  “Welcome to Wayfarer and its odd mix of opinions.” Stefan grinned. They stopped beside a glass-fronted shop. When he opened the door, the aromas of cinnamon, bacon, and coffee wafted out.

  “Oh, man.” She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled. “That’s promising.”

  When she opened her eyes, Stefan stood frozen, staring at her. The heat in his eyes made her breath catch. Time seemed to hang suspended until a figure loomed in the doorway and jerked them out of the moment.

  They stepped aside for Deputy Walt Thompson, exchanging greetings, and Stefan ushered her inside.

  Five booths made of dark wood ran along the wall to their right, with one
at the far end. Two small tables topped in blue laminate and flanked by two chairs apiece sat in the space between the booths and the counter. An elderly man occupied one booth. Another held two middle-aged women who had what looked like graphs spread on the table.

  Stefan touched Mel’s arm, sending a jolt of awareness through her. “Grab a booth,” he suggested. “I’ll get the coffee. My treat.”

  Mel bit back her offer to pay. She didn’t have to prove herself to him or stand on some footing of financial equality, so she thanked him and chose a seat.

  One of the women looked up with a quick smile and a nod as Mel walked past. Returning the greeting, Mel had to admit, again, that small towns had some advantages. Strangers looked each other in the face and at least seemed friendly.

  She slid into the corner booth, facing the door out of habit.

  Stefan leaned over the counter. “Hey, Tom. How’s it going?”

  “Good enough, I reckon.” A lean man with thinning white hair strolled out of a hidden area at the counter’s end. “How’re you doing, Doc? Any progress on Miss Cinda’s case?”

  “Not the kind we’d like,” he answered. “Can I get a cinnamon bun and a couple of coffees?”

  “Sure thing. Yours black, as usual?”

  “Yep, thanks, and the other with the yellow packets and cream.”

  “Be right out.” Tom disappeared from view again.

  Stefan took the seat across from Mel, setting his medical bag beside him. “You’re in for a treat. Tom’s cinnamon buns are unequaled. The navy missed out when they assigned him to the hospital corps instead of whatever they call the cooks.”

  “I can hardly wait to try it.”

  Tom delivered their coffee. The white, ceramic mugs each bore a blue anchor, maybe a nod to the navy, and the words tom’s grill & griddle on one side.

  “The lady’s coffee is on the house,” Tom said, “on account of Miss Cinda.” To Mel, he added, “That was an evil thing, ma’am, and I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you.” Tears stung Mel’s eyes. “That’s very kind.”

  “So was she.” Tom nodded and walked away.

  Blinking against the tears, Mel stared at the wall.

  Stefan laid his hand over hers on her cup, lightly, as though he wasn’t sure she would welcome it. HisThe kindness wrapped itself around her heart, and she turned her hand to grip his.

  After a moment, she blotted the tears and smiled into his concerned eyes. “That was nice. The whole town seems to know I was Cinda’s friend.”

  Stefan’s thumb brushed back and forth over her knuckles. It was an idle movement, not meaning anything, but the shivers it sent through her were monumental. Crap. Gently, she freed her hand to wrap it around her cup again.

  “He’s a good guy,” Stefan said, “and it’s a nice town.”

  Tom returned to their table and set the cinnamon bun and two smaller plates, with forks, in the middle. The smell was heavenly.

  When he walked away, Mel’s gaze dropped to the plate he’d given them. The puffy, golden-brown spiral showed brown streaks of cinnamon beneath a thick, white glaze. “Holy crap,” she whispered. “Stefan, this is as big as my face.”

  “Almost. Since we’re due at the shelter, we should dig in. Do you want to cut it, or shall I?” His eyes shone with amusement that brought out the gold flecks.

  “You’re the one who works with knives.”

  He cut the pastry before sliding half onto the plate in front of her. “Enjoy.”

  Mel cut a piece and tasted it.

  The sweet glaze dissolved in her mouth, joining cinnamon and airy bread on her taste buds. “Mmm.” She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the wonderful flavor.

  When she opened them, Stefan was grinning, but his eyes were dark, the way they used to be just before he kissed her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she gulped the heavenly coffee, which also had a hint of cinnamon in it, to hide her telltale blush.

  He forked up a bite of his half. “You should see your face.”

  “This is amazing. I think my arteries are closing, but I don’t care.”

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  She was beginning to realize she still liked him, too, and that was so unwise.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes before she noticed a bit of glaze stuck to the corner of Stefan’s mouth.

  He glanced up. “What?”

  “You have frosting on your mouth.” Mel reached across the table and brushed the fleck away with her thumb. The warm, soft touch of Stefan’s lip jolted her with memory. Once, she would’ve kissed that away.

  His eyes turned dark again.

  “That got it.” Her voice sounded strained. No wonder, when her pulse was skipping.

  “Thanks.”

  He picked up his mug and directed a grave look across the table. The uncertain expression on his face triggered her alarm bells.

  She steeled herself. “Whatever you’re going to say that I won’t like, just spit it out.”

  “It’s about your mom.”

  Mel’s stomach felt suddenly leaden. She never discussed her mom, but Stefan knew that. He wouldn’t raise the subject unless he had something important to say. “What about her?”

  “You know how I helped Wiley Boone when other doctors couldn’t?”

  She gave a tiny, tight nod, dreading where he was going, as Stefan continued, “It’s possible I could use those techniques to help your mom, too.”

  “Mom doesn’t have a physical condition. You know that.” Mel tightened her grip on the warm coffee cup. She so did not want to talk about this, but if Stefan believed he could help, no matter how wrongheaded he sounded, she had to listen.

  “I do know.” Stefan spoke slowly, as though choosing his words, but his eyes stayed level. “The ‘special treatments’ I use,” he began, making air quotes with his fingers, “can sometimes help people reconnect to the real world.” He paused, as though waiting for her to object before cautiously continuing, “You’re especially not going to like this part, but it’s possible she actually has some kind of gift. If so, it likely isn’t strong, considering she never succeeded in foretelling the future or doing any of the things she claimed were possible.”

  “You’re saying she isn’t deluded?” Was that possible, or was he deluded, too?

  But there was Wiley Boone to consider.

  Besides, she’d done some research on Stefan yesterday, as well as on the case. He was one of the most respected physicians in the southeast and consulted on cases all over the world. She needed to remember that, not lose herself in the pain of her childhood. She’d fought hard to overcome that, to grow strong. She was strong. She would listen and not let fear rule her.

  Stefan shook his head. “What I mean is that her psychosis may not be due to an inner malfunction. Something may have happened on a metaphysical level to sever her connection to reality. People with slight gifts often want more. In trying to attain it, they sometimes encounter forces beyond their ability to confront.”

  Mel’s emotional walls slammed up. Studying his earnest, tense face, she leaned back against the wooden booth. “So you think she…met an energy monster or something?” Did he not hear how ludicrous that sounded? Why was she even listening to this?

  Because Stefan was the one saying it, and her gut insisted he’d done something unusual to help Boone. And regardless of anything else, she no longer doubted his concern for her.

  He shook his head, also shifting backward, away from her. “An energy monster might be the Hollywood version.” His smile flashed briefly, warily.

  That wariness pinched her heart. He was putting himself out there by telling her this, trusting her not to recoil, not to ridicule him the way people in Essex had ridiculed her.

  Crap. She’d let her own fear make her one of those people. She would not be that. She wouldn’t.

  “Okay,” she managed.

  Stefan nodded. “I can’t know without examining her, but things do exist th
at human eyes can’t see. Many people believe in angels. It isn’t much of a stretch to accept that not all things we can’t see are good.” He shrugged. “It could explain what happened to your mom.”

  If you believed in woo-woo like invisible beings, maybe, which Mel most certainly did not. She stared down at her plate, trying to find some common, solid ground with him, to repay his trust by opening up, although this area was quicksand for her.

  Not everything with her mom had been troubling. “We used to have great Christmases,” Mel said slowly, “with music and lights and homemade Christmas tree cookies. Then the cookies stopped and so did Christmas when Mom decided to celebrate the solstice and Yule instead. Séances replaced baking, and the tree and the notes to Santa gave way to outdoor ceremonies with crystals and rocks.”

  Her voice trailed to a pained whisper. The memory of that acute loss knifed into her heart. There was no sense telling him what made it worse, that her mom invited the town to those rituals.

  “Are you all right?” Stefan asked softly.

  Mel shrugged. “I don’t know. If she really had some…gift…” Hearing the disgust in her voice, she flashed Stefan an apologetic look—“that would make things more understandable.”

  “Maybe.” Stefan waited until Mel looked back at him. “But it doesn’t excuse her failure to see how you suffered for her advocacy.”

  The deep understanding in his eyes reached through the pain, comforting her. He was standing up for her, seeing her side, the way he always had. Having Stefan’s strength bolstering her, believing in her, still had the power to warm her, even after all these years. Maybe because she now knew his feelings for her had been real, not a sham. Nobody else in the world had ever given her that kind of support, that acceptance for exactly who she was. And feeling that again, she realized, was so very dangerous to her heart.

  She cocked her head, studying his worried frown. “Why are you telling me this, about my mom?”

  “Because I think there’s a good chance I may be able to help her.”

  Mel’s heart did a slow, almost painful roll. Again, he was thinking of her despite everything that had happened between them.