The Guardians (MORE Trilogy)

by Franklin, T. M.

  “Luce—”

  “And she was gorgeous! I mean, no offense, you know I think you’re beautiful. You are beautiful, but she was gorgeous, and it just hit me as odd—”

  “Lucy—”

  “And I hated not saying anything to you, because we tell each other everything, right?”

  “Lucy, slow down.” Ava shifted to face her on the bed, one leg tucked under her. “What woman?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know who she was. She’s tall and, like I said, gorgeous. Pale, but in a pretty way, not sickly, long straight black hair . . .”

  Ava’s stomach flipped.

  Katherine.

  “And they seemed to be having this intense conversation. I mean, not like fighting, but . . . involved.”

  Ava knew she had to tread carefully. “It’s okay, Luce. I know her.”

  “You do?”

  Ava nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. She and Caleb work together.”

  “She’s a physics tutor?” Lucy looked skeptical.

  Ava laughed. “No. He has another job.”

  Doing what?

  Ava feared she was painting herself into a corner. “Back home on school breaks, you know?”

  “So what’s she doing here?”

  What is she doing here?

  “Oh, you know, she’s pretty new at it, and Caleb kind of works as a consultant when he’s away. They’re old friends, so he’s helping her out.” It sounded weak and full of holes, even to her. She held her breath, remembering the old adage that the simpler a lie, the better. If in doubt, shut up. She reached for her book, like the conversation was over.

  “Are you . . .” Lucy ducked her head, trying to meet her eyes. “Are you sure that’s it? I mean, it didn’t look like a work conversation.”

  Ava forced herself to meet Lucy’s gaze. “I’m sure. It’s nothing, Luce, really.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “ ’Cause you know I’ve totally got your back, right? If that witch was making the moves on your man . . .” She clenched her fists like a boxer. “I would take. Her. Out.”

  Ava laughed. “I appreciate the thought,” she said. “But it’s really not necessary. Caleb and me, we’re good.”

  “Well, the offer stands.” Lucy stood up and went back to her own bed, flopping down and still managing to be graceful about it. “You’d do the same for me, right?”

  Ava grinned. “In a heartbeat.”

  In a confinement facility in New Elysia, Elias Borré considered his surroundings with an indifferent air. It was nice, as prisons went; more like a small condo than a cell. The one-bedroom unit was comfortably furnished; the only thing lacking was anything that could be used as a weapon—like knives in the kitchen or mirrors in the bathroom.

  He sat on the rather stiff sofa, watching the door, as he had for the past hour or so, too distracted to concentrate on reading any of the drivel lining the nearby bookshelf. He’d appeared briefly in front of the Council before being assigned his “quarters” and was scheduled for further questioning the following morning.

  The Council had procedures, after all, and even Rogues were allowed time to rest. It was all so very civilized. He eyed the cameras they didn’t even bother to hide, wondering who was watching, and resisted the urge to make a crude gesture.

  Borré felt the presence of another a few seconds before a quiet knock sounded at the door. It was irritating, since he was locked in—the knock only reinforced the illusion of privacy. It’s not as if he could stop anyone from coming in anyway. He didn’t bother getting up but remained on the couch as the door opened and the person he’d been expecting entered.

  Borré glanced significantly at the cameras.

  “Don’t worry,” his visitor said, taking a seat in a chair across from him. “They’ve been dealt with.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and Borré didn’t pursue the point, instead relaxing back into the sofa cushions. “Have you heard from Sloan?” he asked.

  “Foster’s back with the Michaels girl. Sloan and his men are keeping tabs on both of them.”

  “His men?” Borré raised a brow. Sloan Bartok usually worked alone. He never needed anyone else.

  His companion smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Simply ensuring all bases are covered. He knows how important this is.” He rubbed at his lower lip. “He asked about you.”

  Borré nodded. “Yes, well, it’s difficult for him. We work so closely, and with this . . . development.” He waved a hand to indicate his surroundings. “He’s not used to it.” There was more to it, of course, but Borré did not feel compelled to reveal it.

  “I don’t completely understand it, myself,” the visitor said. “Why allow yourself to be captured by the Protectors? I know it has to do with Foster—”

  “Foster’s but a tool. A piece of the puzzle.”

  “Don’t you think I deserve to see the whole picture?”

  “You deserve,” Borré said with a pointed look, “the reward you will earn when this is all over.”

  The man’s jaw tightened, but he nodded in acceptance. “What of the girl?”

  Borré smiled. “Sloan knows what to do. The girl will come to us in time.” He stood, crossed to the window overlooking the city, and tapped on it with a knuckle—plastic, not glass.

  Typical.

  “Why not take her?”

  Borré frowned in irritation. “Because getting her is not the point, old friend. No, she will join us of her own free will.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Borré smiled icily. “She will. They all do, eventually.”

  Ava knew it was a dream, but it didn’t matter to her heart. It raced as she walked down the street through a dark neighborhood, a brisk wind cutting through her coat and whipping her hair around her face. She could see lights in one house centered in a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. She made her way toward it, stepping around a discarded basketball and a wayward Rollerblade.

  A chill ran down her spine as she looked up at the modest two-story home, and she spun around, certain she wasn’t alone. She scanned the area but could hear nothing above the wind until a squeaky rattle drew her attention to a loose street sign, hanging crookedly from a single bolt.

  152nd Court SE

  Slowly, she turned again to face the house only to see a dark figure standing in the shadows near the front porch. Her senses tingled. He was Race.

  “Hello?” she called, but the figure either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her.

  The front door opened, and a man emerged, carrying a plastic garbage bag. He whistled lightly and headed for a pair of cans already sitting on the sidewalk. He turned to glance back at the house, and the dim light from the front door was enough for Ava to identify who he was: Officer Nick Simmons from the campus police department. The one who helped her when she was attacked by Tiernan all those months ago. Back when all her nightmares had centered around the Protector.

  Ava’s breath quickened as the dark figure followed Officer Simmons, slipping silently through the yard. The illumination from the house didn’t seem to reach him, and he remained hidden in the shadows. Ava was unable to make out any details. He was a shrouded specter, the only glint of light from a blade clutched in his right hand.

  She shouted out a warning to Officer Simmons, but he didn’t respond, continuing instead to the curb to deposit the trash into a can and smash it down with a slight grunt. He turned to go back to the house and came face-to-face with the mysterious pursuer. Officer Simmons opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gasp, his body clutching around what Ava knew was the knife.

  “No!” she screamed, trying to run toward him—to help in some way—but her feet wouldn’t move. It was as though she was slogging through knee-deep mud, the ground sucking her in with every fruitless step.

  Officer Simmons fell to the ground, blood spreading out in a sickening bloom across his shirt.

  The attacker whirled around and was gone.

  Officer S
immons gurgled, blood spurting from his mouth, and with his last breath, his head fell to the side, and his dead eyes latched on to her accusingly.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. And then she awoke, sweating and fighting for breath, with tears streaming down her face.

  “Ava? You okay?” Lucy’s raspy voice drifted over from across the room.

  Ava willed her heart to slow, forcing a note of calm into her voice. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” she whispered. Ava sat unmoving for several minutes, even as she gripped the sheets to ground herself, listening to Lucy shift under her covers until she was breathing steadily again.

  Quietly, Ava slipped out of bed, grabbed her shoes and a coat, and headed out of the room. She couldn’t explain to Lucy where she was going or why, but she didn’t dare waste any time getting there. Pulling her hair into a haphazard ponytail, she raced down the stairs and out the back door, knowing Katherine would be waiting there. Instead of trying to avoid her, Ava ran right up to her.

  Katherine raised a brow in surprise. “Good evening,” she said, taking in Ava’s disheveled state with a long, slow look. “Out for a little stroll, are we?”

  “I need your help.” Ava knew she was wild-eyed and more than a little frantic. She hoped it would help her case. “There’s someone in danger. We have to protect him.” She reached out to tug at Katherine’s sleeve. “Do you have a car? No, of course you don’t. Why would you need a car?”

  “Slow down,” Katherine said calmly. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “There’s no time. He could be there right now.” Ava scrubbed at her face. “Look, I’m going. Your job is to watch me. So you can either help or I guess follow me and hope I don’t get murdered.”

  The corner of Katherine’s mouth lifted the tiniest bit. “Come on,” she said finally. “I’ll find us a car.”

  They raced toward the edge of campus.

  Well, Ava raced. For Katherine, it was more of a slow jog. Ava spared a minute to be aggravated yet again that she still wasn’t as fast as the rest of the Race.

  Katherine scanned the cars parked along the side of the road, then moved toward a red Mustang convertible with the top down.

  “We’re lucky it’s been an early spring,” she said as she hopped over the side into the driver’s seat. Even snow showers were not uncommon in early March in Missouri, but unseasonably warm temperatures had some people breaking out the short sleeves and, fortunately for them, putting the tops down. Katherine reached under the steering column to pull out a handful of wires.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” Ava asked, opting to open the door instead of climbing over.

  Katherine shot her a glare. “I was doing this before you were born.” The engine roared to life, and she let out a little squeal. “Sixty-six, Candy Apple Red Mustang convertible . . . a very good year.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows, and Ava realized it was the first time she’d actually seen Katherine excited about anything. But now was not the time. “Head east,” she said as Katherine put the car in gear. “Toward Belmont Park.”

  Katherine sped through town, and in a few minutes, they wound past the park to the neighborhood Ava now recognized from her dream. She watched the street signs, letting out a distressed sound when she spotted the crooked one identifying 152nd Court Southeast.

  “Turn here,” she said quietly. “To the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. And be careful.”

  To her surprise, Katherine didn’t have an indignant response to that. Instead, she slowed down a little and turned off the headlights, her superior sight more than enough to avoid any obstacles.

  The wind picked up as she pulled to a stop, and Ava scrambled out of the car, searching the area in front of the house with first her eyes, then reaching out with her Race senses.

  “What is it?” Katherine asked, coming up to stand beside her. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ava replied slowly. She walked toward the house, avoiding the basketball and the Rollerblade, just like in her dream. A light flicked on upstairs two houses down and Ava caught a glimpse of someone peering out the blinds before it went out again a few minutes later.

  Her eyes darted back and forth from the front door to the shadow of the trees where she’d seen the mysterious figure in her dream. But he wasn’t there. Perhaps she was early. Maybe she’d gotten there in enough time to warn Officer Simmons.

  Or maybe she was too late. Her eyes flashed to the garbage cans at the sidewalk, but there was no body lying next to them.

  Thank God.

  That didn’t necessarily mean anything, though. Her dreams were not always literal and could have been a reaction to a potential threat, not necessarily a specific one.

  She made her way to the front door and knocked—first tentatively, and then with a bit more force—glancing over her shoulder to where Katherine stood in the shadows, ready to intervene if it was necessary. In a few minutes, the door opened, and Ava exhaled in relief when she saw Officer Simmons standing before her, rumpled and sleepy, half-mast eyes blinking in confusion.

  “Ava? Do you know what time it is? What are you doing here?”

  Oh, now that’s a good question.

  “I was, uh . . .” She scrambled for an answer and settled on the first one to pop into her mind. “I couldn’t sleep and was just . . . walking and I thought I . . . uh . . . I saw something suspicious.”

  “Really?” He squared his shoulders, instantly in police mode. “Where?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I thought I saw someone in the shadows.” When he started to step out onto the porch, she moved to block his way. “They’re gone now, I think. I just thought you’d want to know. I mean, I didn’t know it was you, Officer Simmons, obviously, since I didn’t know where you lived. But I thought whoever lived here would want to know.” She heard a quiet snort behind her and decided she owed Katherine a kick in the shins. “So, yeah. You might want to keep an eye out. You know. Just in case,” Ava said. “Be careful.”

  “Okay,” Officer Simmons said slowly. “Thanks for the warning.”

  She nodded once and turned to leave, then had a thought. “By the way, have you taken your garbage out tonight?” His mouth dropped open a little, and Ava was pretty sure he thought she was a nut. Not that she blamed him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I took it out a few hours ago. Are you sure you’re all right, Ava?”

  “Me?” Ava floundered a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Really. Sorry to bother you.” She backed down the porch stairs, waving weakly. “You have a good night.”

  She turned to hurry down the street, checking to make sure he’d gone back inside before getting into the car. Katherine was already there, of course, waiting in the driver’s seat and wearing a wry smirk.

  “Care to tell me what that was all about?” she asked as she started the engine.

  Ava sighed. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

  She stared out the window as they made it through the quiet town back to campus. She’d been so certain that her dream was more than a dream. Obviously, either she’d misunderstood it or it was just her subconscious messing with her. Ava should have felt reassured, but she didn’t. Instead, an unsettled tension weighed on her shoulders, and just like with Caleb, her intuition continued to prod at her, insisting that something wasn’t right. The problem was she had no idea what to do about it.

  Sloan Bartok stood on a rooftop a safe distance away, watching as the red Mustang finally turned around and left the neighborhood. His pale red hair curled around his head, blowing wildly in the wind, and he shoved it distractedly out of his face, annoyed.

  He’d never been one to question orders, mainly because he knew he wouldn’t be given any answers, but the night’s assignment had proven an exercise in frustration. First, he’d been sent to intercept the cop, only to be diverted to Allenmore to the girl’s dorm then back again to the cop’s suburban neighborhood, but simply to watch from afar. It seemed a ridi
culous waste of time, not to mention a waste of his particular skill set.

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a familiar number, breathing deeply to maintain his composure.

  “Yes?” a voice answered.

  “The girl was here, just as you said.”

  The line was silent. Only Sloan’s slow breaths measured the long seconds until the voice replied quietly, “And?”

  “She’s gone now. She spoke with the cop and then took off with Katherine Ross.”

  “Katherine? Really?” the voice said. “That’s a bit surprising. I was unaware the two had become friendly.”

  Sloan didn’t say anything. He’d learned that often it was simply best to wait for instructions.

  “You know what to do. It should look like a crime of passion. Cover your tracks carefully. We don’t want any inconvenient questions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A witness or two might be helpful, though. I assume you can handle that?”

  Sloan almost rolled his eyes, a bit insulted by the question. “Already taken care of, sir.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Bartok. Your efficiency will be rewarded.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Inform me when the job is done,” he said. “Oh, and Mr. Bartok?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget the wife.”

  The phone went dead, and Sloan slid it into his pocket as he rolled his shoulders to loosen his muscles. He checked his weapon, then thought better of it and holstered the Glock. He reached down and slid the hunting knife he kept under his pant leg out of its sheath. Even in the darkness, the blade flashed as it caught a glimmer of light from the moon, and Sloan smiled in satisfaction. He didn’t often use weapons—given his gift, he didn’t need to—but this particular assignment called for unorthodox methods.

  He leapt from the rooftop and walked casually down the sidewalk toward the cop’s house, the knife gripped loosely in his fingers. He whistled and flipped it in the air, catching it first by the blade, then the handle. If things went according to plan, he’d be done before dawn. Maybe grab some breakfast before he went home. He could go for some pancakes.