The Shadow Guard

by Diane Whiteside

  She stretched, extending every limb like a sated cat lolling on a windowsill. Her hair whipped over her head in a golden veil and settled onto the pillow, smooth and fine as his grandmother’s lace curtains.

  Astrid must have used her magick to clean up the wild tendrils he’d enjoyed a few minutes ago.

  Magick.

  “Can you make it to the station by eleven a.m. tomorrow morning, Astrid?” Jake asked.

  “What?” Astrid rolled onto one elbow and stared at him. The bedclothes were still jumbled around their ankles, thanks to the last round of sex. Her sweat-streaked, naked body gleamed like an offering to Argos’s gods under the nightlight’s distant glow. Glowing like a pearl, her skin was touched with rose and amethyst from his nibbles. She didn’t look entirely real except for the growing fire in her emerald eyes.

  Had they ever flashed at him before? Truly flashed, like fireworks or an old-fashioned gun, which needed fire to set off the gunpowder?

  No, that had to be impossible, just like the golden lights he’d seen spinning around him when they had sex.

  “Why are you asking me right now about eleven a.m. tomorrow?” Astrid said carefully, clipping her words as if she were handloading a shotgun.

  Jake refused to wince. He had the advantage, after all: he’d won their bet.

  “That will give me a few hours to clear my desk, then go through my files and figure out the best place to utilize your services.”

  “Utilize my services?” Her breasts heaved, bringing her nipples up toward his mouth.

  He kept his gaze steady on her face. If he looked down, he might remember just how responsive they’d been an hour ago and how she’d pulled his head closer to encourage him.

  “Jake, it isn’t even one a.m.,” she pointed out. She jerked her thumb at his high-tech alarm clock, which blazed the time brightly enough to compete with the sun and monitored every governmental radio channel, to boot.

  “Murder investigations are damn important,” he shot back. Umbrage pushed heat toward his skin and into his voice but he beat it back. He needed to make Astrid, more than anybody else, understand. “Murders happen every hour of the day and night. They need to be solved fast before the killer escapes.”

  “Jake.” Astrid laughed as if she couldn’t find words, the sound sharp as water erupting from a hot skillet. “Jake, when was the last time you went for twelve hours without thinking about your job?”

  “What does that have to do with this?” He gaped at her, genuinely astonished.

  “Come on, Jake, you can tell me.” Her voice softened to an irresistible lure.

  “Not since I became a homicide cop. So what?” He’d never admitted this much to the departmental shrink.

  “It’s the middle of the night, you have a naked woman in your bed who’s very willing to have sex with you—and you want to talk about your job?” She ran her fingers lightly up his thigh and rested her hand on the old bullet wound in his hip. “Does this strike you as maybe a little odd?”

  “Not really.” He shrugged but kept watching her, torn between irritation and the urge to claim her. Better not mention how often the other sergeants teased him about always being online to the station. “Most homicide cops stay very busy.”

  “No family—”

  “Got a brother in the Army,” he countered quickly. At least, the last he’d heard. Logan’s job didn’t encourage writing about his schedule.

  “Good! Having family is vital.” Her smile was bright enough to blind him. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. But the way her breasts brushed against him hardly let him relax.

  “Your house is set up so you can eat, sleep, and do cop business. There isn’t room for anything else here.”

  “Oh yes, there is.” He stroked her jawbone with a single finger, just the way she liked. “I keep all my gaming systems in the attic.”

  “Locked away in high-topped trunks?” Her eyes tilted into opalescent green slits of pleasure, like a purring cat, but she didn’t lean her hips against him, dammit.

  “Nope, out in the open, monitor after monitor.” He nuzzled the thrumming pulse in her throat and she shivered. “Lots of high-powered systems to play risky games with, like Argos.”

  “Games that will wait for you to come to them,” she pointed out, but the edge was gone from her voice. Her leg slipped between his, silky smooth compared to his hair-roughened, scarred limb.

  He cupped her ass and savored how her feminine curves rippled along his front. Who cared what they argued about when it ended like this?

  “Yeah, of course they’ll wait—but this won’t.” He lowered his head to kiss her again. As he hoped, she responded like a gasoline-soaked rag to a cigarette. Conversation stopped, to be replaced by the purely enjoyable sensations of a woman wrapping herself around him and hurling herself into his kiss.

  “Eleven a.m. tomorrow, right?” he murmured a few minutes later when he lifted his head.

  She shut her eyes and laughed, all good nature this time. “You truly don’t think about anything except cops, gaming, and sex, do you, Jake?”

  Her long fingers stroked his lower back, near his tailbone. How did she know that played havoc with his ass—and cock?

  “Why should I?” he countered lazily and rolled a little closer.

  Two months ago, he’d have agreed with her. No way in hell he’d tell her that his favorite troika had become a quartet, with her as the fourth member.

  His fingertips teased wetness from between her thighs, musky and irresistible as before. His brain promptly skittered south.

  “You might try it,” she murmured. “It could sharpen your edge. But I’ll be there when you say, no matter what.”

  She blew a kiss across his cheek, soft as a cherry blossom’s first blush. Then her mouth opened for him and he claimed her eagerly.

  Better to think about the fun here and now than worry about getting involved with a broad who wasn’t telling him everything she knew. Even if she was his oldest friend and only ally.

  Jake shot another glance around the bedroom, just for form’s sake. Years of overhearing gossip at the station assured him that this was not the moment to strut, no matter what he thought. Astrid was using the master bathroom to clean up, something no mere male interfered with.

  “No, honey, I can’t see anything of yours up here.” Despite his best efforts, the mirror showed an enormous smirk on his face. Damn, but he’d had a great time last night, as evidenced by his bed’s utter wreckage—and their clothing’s disappearance.

  Shit, he’d better wipe it out of his voice before she got pissed. He cleared his throat then used the same, soft drawl he’d use to placate his favorite barista. “I’ll check downstairs to see what I can find.”

  Astrid shut off the running water and gave a very unladylike snort. “If anything survived to be found.”

  Jake’s grin broadened. How did he get lucky enough to find a fuck buddy like her?

  He laughed at himself and finished tucking himself carefully into his trousers. His cock went comfortably, even though it should be demanding a long day attired in nothing more than sweatpants.

  He was neither bruised nor sore, despite a night when sexual excesses had outnumbered hours of sleep. He’d drowsed for no more than a few minutes at any time, yet he felt more than ready to take on his qualifying exam at the firing range. A full day of bracing heavy guns against their kickback and concentrating on ever-changing targets’ fine details would be a delicious challenge. But not today.

  There was no clothing on the upstairs landing. If he remembered right—damn, what memories!—he’d been the only one still sporting any clothing at that point. Mainly because his boots, unlike hers, wouldn’t let him remove the other stuff very quickly. The last item of hers he’d removed was that purple top when . . .

  Jake halted in mid-stride, halfway down the stairs. Black hair, cut shorter than his, stirred against the leather sofa. His grandmother’s much-darned quilt barely concealed the ma
n’s form sleeping underneath, folded like an origami bird to fit onto the narrow space. Two stockinged feet rejected the sofa’s strict confines and hung over the edge in mute refusal to conform.

  A tanned face was shoved into a pillow, like a small boy collapsed into a sudden nap.

  Jake’s heart flew into his throat.

  Little brother Logan was home. At least for a short while, he was alive and safe.

  “Hey there, big bro.” Logan’s hand emerged from under the pillow and waved. No point in asking yet how long he’d stay this time.

  “Welcome home.” This time, Jake welcomed the shit-kicking grin to his voice. He vaulted downstairs, using the newel post.

  Logan unfolded himself from the sofa and met him in a bear hug. He was heavily tanned—not surprising for a Special Forces sniper—but solid muscle clutched Jake, not concealed flinches or hidden wheezes from sickness or injury.

  They pounded on each other happily, hard enough to leave bruises. It was a few minutes before they broke apart to share words.

  “You’re looking good, Logan.” He had dark circles under his eyes and the long-distance stare of somebody fresh from combat. His rumpled uniform reeked of scents that Jake could only guess at and didn’t want to learn the origin of.

  Dammit, he had to take some leave to spend time with his brother. But how?

  “Get in late last night?” Jake asked, careful to keep things casual. “Glad you made it long before that guess in your last email.”

  “After midnight. Didn’t want to wake you after I saw that.” Logan jerked his head at Astrid’s purple top, brilliant as a tropical bird atop the coffee table.

  Jake felt the old, slow burn from his teenage years climb into his cheeks. He and Astrid hadn’t left it there, nor any of their clothing. No, the silk had landed on the damn newel post.

  Fifteen years of living in different worlds vanished under Logan’s knowing gaze. He grinned and gave Jake the thumbsup.

  For an instant, they were teenagers again, covering up each other’s wild antics.

  “Lucky guy,” Logan said softly. “Didn’t think you’d ever bring a girl here, especially not somebody who’d spend the night.”

  “She’s a good friend.” Jake shrugged, unable to explain his relationship with Astrid any further. Guildie? Sahir? Material witness in a murder? Better not say anything more.

  “Anyway, I folded all of the clothing and put it there.” Logan scratched his back through his suspiciously new armygreen T-shirt.

  “Thanks.”

  “Like to see her wearing that skirt,” Logan added.

  “Hell, no!” Why had he said that? Was he getting possessive? This was his brother talking, not a stranger.

  “Got you that time, didn’t I?”

  “Pig.” He’d fallen into another of Logan’s traps. At least it eased the tight lines around his brother’s mouth.

  “I won’t poach.” Logan playfully punched him in the arm, his eyes dancing. “Just been a while seen I’ve seen a woman in anything so feminine.”

  “Maybe. If you ask nice.” Jake drew himself up, mimicking their father’s railroad engineer hauteur.

  “Nice? You should want to show her off, if you ask me!”

  “Jake?” Astrid’s clear voice cut through the start of a new mock battle. What was she doing here? How had she gotten dressed?

  Both men spun to face her.

  She wore a neatly tailored jacket, a crisp wool skirt that barely reached her knees, and a ruffled silk blouse which refused to let him glimpse her breasts. She was a vision of femininity that he needed to somehow let walk out of his house, when every instinct screamed “drag her back to bed.”

  “Wow,” Logan breathed.

  Her mouth didn’t quite twitch.

  Jake definitely wanted to wall her off from his brother. Instead, he slipped his hand under her elbow. Time to stake out his claim—and make sure his FBI lady knew how much his rumpled sibling was worth.

  “Astrid, this is my brother, Master Sergeant Logan Hammond. Logan, this is Astrid Carlsen from the Bureau.”

  Logan’s eyes narrowed briefly at the last word, proving he’d registered the reference to her employer.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Astrid.” Logan’s drawl became even slower, the way it always did when he was under stress. “My brother sure is a lucky man.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Logan.” She nodded politely, her eyes never flickering below his face. “I’m very glad you made it home safely and I wish you a great reunion with Jake.”

  “Thanks, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear a bathroom calling my name.” Logan disappeared up the stairs as if chased by J. Edgar Hoover.

  “As I said before, you’re very lucky in your family,” Astrid said softly. “He’s a fine man.”

  “Yes, he’s the best.” Especially if you overlooked some of his more memorable teenage scrapes. “I’m sure your family—”

  Her expression closed into an icy mask, more suitable for an enemy’s graveside than recalling fond memories. “All of them are dead, Jake.”

  He’d investigated far too many homicides to ask any more questions if he didn’t need to. The worst loss was probably her husband. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her about that. Grief cut everyone in different ways, few of them pretty.

  “My condolences on your loss.” He sure fumbled his sympathies for somebody who’d met a wealth of grieving widows.

  “It’s okay; it was a long time ago.” He doubted it was okay, judging by her tone. Hopefully, the scar was buried deep enough to let her think about other men.

  She picked up her coat. He helped her into it, his hands lingering on her when he helped her fasten the buttons.

  “I’ll ask my FBI supervisor for leave, which shouldn’t take long,” she said briskly. “Once I have that, I’ll let you know when we can start working together.”

  “Thanks. Can I drive you back home?”

  “No, I’ll take Metro. You should spend time with your brother.” She kissed her fingers then laid them on his lips. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

  “Gotcha.” The old anticipation of texting Andromache ripped into him again.

  She started to turn away but he caught her back to him and kissed her. When the only thing holding his wits together was the pressure of his zipper against his cock, he released her.

  He was damn glad to find her flushed and breathless.

  “Wretch,” she whispered softly. Green and gold sparks whirled through her eyes, like living motes of laughter and lust.

  “See ya later, Astrid,” he said, certain now she’d come back.

  “Until then.”

  A whirl of brisk morning air gusted through the living room behind her and chilled his bare chest and toes, together with any tendency to hover by the window.

  “Nice girl,” Logan commented from where he sat on the stairs. He’d washed his face but still wore his uniform.

  “Thanks.” Jake leaned against the wall and looked over at him. He had a few minutes left before he absolutely had to leave the house. Even if he was late, telling the lieutenant that his brother was back from deployment would automatically buy him extra time. Every second with Logan was valuable.

  “Food in the fridge is edible; Señora Ramirez replaces it every week when she cleans,” he announced to block one ancient source of arguments.

  “What—no science projects?” Logan headed for the kitchen.

  “Nope, and no extra work for her, either, to clean it out.” Jake grimaced involuntarily at some of the lectures he’d received from his mother’s cleaning lady. “She comes every Thursday and won’t open any closed door.”

  “Sounds good. Glad you kept her on all these years.”

  “What else could I do?” He hesitated for an instant, then added one of their old jokes. “Why should I keep up with things? After all, Mom made you do the chores, since you were the one who always screwed up.”

  “Like hell!” Logan
lowered the carton of milk and rubbed his forearm across his mouth to remove his mustache. “You can’t boil water!”

  “Which is why Señora Ramirez had a job after the folks died.”

  “Bullshit. You mean the good old motherly touch for the high school boy, that the social services folks demanded to see when you were my guardian.” Logan shook his head. “Get real: you just wanted an excuse to keep her on when I enlisted after graduation.”

  He took another long swig of the ice-cold milk.

  “For the times like now when you show up unexpectedly.” Jake leaned back against his wine cellar and crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe Logan wouldn’t spot the latest additions in this area too soon.

  “And to keep the food safe and the dirt out.” Logan ran a hand over his very bristly jaw. “Maybe I’ll order in something. Vietnamese soup, maybe.”

  “Lots of menus by the kitchen computer.”

  “I noticed. Still use the same password for it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Awesome.” Logan yawned wide enough to swallow a whale.

  “Is this investigation as big as the papers say?” he asked without looking.

  Jake blew out a breath.

  “My gut thinks so,” he admitted.

  “That’s real bad, big bro.” Blue eyes, so like their mother’s, opened to regard him intently. “Neither of our guts has ever been wrong.”

  “No, they haven’t.” He met Logan’s gaze steadily. “I haven’t always been able to do anything about it, though.”

  “Who has?”

  They laughed together bitterly.

  “I’m going back to bed, Jake. I’ve got a few weeks’ leave—”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “Yes, pretty much.” Their eyes danced together. “After that, I’m stateside, probably for some kind of R&D stuff.”

  “Working with deep thinkers?” Logan, condemned to be polite to folks who wrote papers, instead of being in action?

  “Yeah, I ran into some in the ’Stans.” He waved his hand vaguely, but Jake wasn’t about to press for details. Logan’s world was notoriously close-mouthed to the point of penalties being etched in blood.