by Adams, Cat
it
encountered.
I vowed to add a thousand to the
amount I’d offered them to watch the
house. Refilling the pool isn’t cheap and
despite her protests, I knew David had
changed the water right before I’d left.
After writing myself a reminder, I
changed into my suit and went for a
swim. The tide rolled out with me,
following me into the water.
There really isn’t any way to explain
what it feels like to swim in the ocean.
Once my body cooled to the temperature
of the water, it was as if every wave
was an extension of me. I dove through
the breakers and swells until the surface
was nearly flat. There wasn’t much of a
breeze and the sun warmed my hair. A
porpoise appeared and chuckled at me—
probably commenting on the waste of
using my arms. Feeling playful and
relaxed at last, I played with the
porpoise, diving right alongside his
sleek gray form. We came out of the
water
nearly
simultaneously,
then
dropped back in again. We must have
done this about ten times before he
bobbed his head in approval, tittered,
and swam away to join a group that was
tail-walking in the distance.
I floated on my back for a time while
the seagulls overhead swooped and
dipped in approval. I’d been away from
the ocean long enough to pine for the
sea, and yes, to miss my noisy feathered
friends. One of them flew down fast, as
though dive bombing a ship, and I nearly
dropped under the water to avoid being
hit. But it slowed at the last second in a
fluttering of snowy wings and delicately
dropped a tiny pink conch shell onto my
bare stomach. Then it flew back up to
join its fellows overhead. How sweet. A
gift from my admirers.
I have weird admirers.
I suppose I should have called some
people to let them know I was back. But
I really wanted peace and quiet for at
least a day or two. So I put my new
conch shell on the mantel with the others
I’d collected over the years, called out
for pizza since my fridge was bare, and
opened a bottle of wine.
I thought a lot about the wine before
selecting a simple California white,
ignoring the magically enhanced red I’d
come to relish. I couldn’t drink that wine
right now, not without conjuring up a
whole lot of bad memories. I didn’t want
to think about the man who’d created that
wine. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow,
either.
It took two more days of swimming,
sitting on my favorite rock overlooking
the water, and just padding around the
house before I felt ready to be part of the
real world again. Finally I dressed and
headed for the office one morning
instead of the beach. I was looking
forward to a nice, normal day dealing
with a backlog of telephone calls and
paperwork—and chatting with Dawna,
my smart, savvy receptionist, who is
also one of my best friends in the world.
I run a private security business out of
an office on the third floor of one of the
last historic buildings in downtown
Santa Maria de Luna. It’s an old, red-
brick Victorian with gingerbread trim, a
wide front porch, and a balcony on my
floor that lets me get fresh air while
offering partial protection from the
California sunshine. Once upon a time it
had been a stretch to afford the rent.
Prices in Santa Maria aren’t as bad as in
Hollywood or L.A., but they’re not
cheap, either. After I inherited the
building (and the headaches that go
along with owning commercial property)
that wasn’t an issue. I hadn’t even known
Vicki had owned my office building until
after her death.
Pulling into my reserved spot in the
parking lot, I found myself smiling. God,
it was good to be back. I couldn’t wait
to get back to normal, or as close to it as
I could manage. Dawna’s car was in its
usual spot. I wasn’t surprised. As
receptionist, Dawna wasn’t scheduled to
start for another hour, but she gets into
work early more often than not. Maybe
we’d get a chance to talk before the
day’s craziness started.
Ron’s car was not in his spot, for
which I was grateful. One of my tenants,
Ron is an attorney and an ass, but not in
that order. I really wasn’t in the mood to
deal with the level of bullshit his attitude
creates.
Gulls swooped and dived overhead as
I climbed out of the car. They cawed and
performed aerial acrobatics, trying to get
my attention. I smiled and made a
shooing gesture. “Go play. I’m going to
be inside all day.”
Anyone watching would be amused to
hear me talking to them. They would be
shocked to see the gulls obey, swooping
one more time before flying off toward
the shore.
Dawna must have heard them, or me,
because the minute I opened the door,
she raced toward me and pulled me into
a hug.
“Thank God, you’re back!” I grunted a
little as she squeezed me tighter. Dawna
is petite, but apparently she’d continued
the workout schedule she’d started
before I left because she was much
stronger than she had been.
She held me at arm’s length, long
enough for her dark eyes to take in every
inch of me from head to toe. “You look
like hell, girlfriend. What happened?”
I tried for humor. “I look a lot better
than I did two days ago. I even trimmed
the singe off my hair and scrubbed off
the blood.” Her eyes widened but I
didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t ready to talk
about it, so I made a show of looking her
over in turn. I might look like hell, but
she looked great. Part of it was just good
looks. She’s part Vietnamese and has the
kind of exotic features that attract a lot of
attention. She also knows exactly how to
make the most of her assets. Today she
wore a black pinstripe skirt suit with a
snow white blouse, accessorized with a
delicate diamond necklace and matching
earrings. And of course there was that
big honking rock on her finger.
After a whirlwind romance I sort of
instigated by realizing, while on a date
with a certain guy, that Dawna would
make a much better girlfriend for him,
she was going to become Mrs.
Christopher Gaetano. Being engaged
definitely agreed with her. She was
practically glowing with joy.
I was happy for her, but thinking about
it made me all too aware of the absence
of John Creede from my life. “There’s
too much to talk about without coffee.
Besides, if you have a minute, there are
a couple of things I’d like to discuss
with you.”
“Uh-oh.
That
sounds
ominous.”
Releasing me, she gave me a wary look
and turned away to shut the door.
“It’s not bad.” I gave her a smile. “I
promise.”
“Good. You head on upstairs. I’ll
forward the phones to the service and
pour coffee.” She gave me a gentle push
toward the stairs, followed by a shooing
motion that was almost identical to the
one I’d given the gulls.
“Thanks, Dawna.”
“No problema.”
The familiar words brought back my
smile—a smile I held on to clear up until
the moment I was standing outside the
open door of the empty office on the
third floor where John Creede had
created the magical wine currently
sitting undrunk in my beach house.
Though he’d had other offices, he’d
rented this one to be close to me while
we were dating. The room was empty
now; the floor was damaged where
someone had pulled up the temporary
flooring that had been where he’d
performed his magic.
He was really gone.
Shit.
I blinked back tears. I was not going
to cry, damn it. Absolutely not. I’d done
what I had to do. I really did believe
that. I’d do it again. But it didn’t make it
hurt any less seeing that empty office,
remembering when Mexico had started
to really go wrong.
“What do you mean you
reassigned him?” I kept my
voice down. The office
door was closed, but the
walls of the building were
none too thick and I didn’t
want anyone overhearing
this argument.
“I decided I needed to
have Jorge help with the
spell work on the vans.”
“You
decided
you
needed? And you didn’t see
any reason to check with me
first, even though I’m the
one in charge? Humberto
was depending on Jorge to
watch his back, and I
assigned
Jorge
to
him
precisely because he could
cast a protection spell in
case there were booby
traps. Which there were, so
now I’ve got an injured
man. What the hell, John!”
John gave me “the look.”
It was an expression I’d
seen far too much of over
the past couple of weeks:
superior to the point of
condescending. The men
had seen it, too. It was
undermining my authority
with them and with the
clients. People had begun to
run my orders past John
before actually following
them, and to obey his orders
before mine. That was
unacceptable.
He spoke carefully, as
though addressing a child …
or at least that was how it
felt. “You hired me for my
expertise.”
Really? When did I say
that? “No, Creede, I hired
you because you have good
men and good equipment,
and I thought you were
capable
of
following
orders. Apparently I was
wrong about the last part.” I
spoke softly, but my voice
was cold enough to frost the
windows,
despite
the
Mexican midday heat.
His face darkened, anger
making his golden eyes,
filled with magical flame,
flash menacingly. “We both
know you needed to hire
me,
Celia. You’re not
qualified to handle this kind
of project. Bodyguard, sure.
But
a
full-fledged
evacuation
with
a
multiperson crew? I can’t
believe
you
agreed
to
handle
the
evacuation
without a soul to back you
up. Remember, you called
me. Hired me to cover your
ass so you didn’t embarrass
yourself in front of the
clients.”
Embarrass
myself?
Embarrass myself? Oh, no.
Oh, so fucking no. “I called
you because you had people
available. Maybe I didn’t
mention you weren’t my
first
choice.
I
called
because your business has
sucked lately. Remember
that part? That I said on the
phone I wanted to do you
the favor of a quick
paycheck? But screw it.
You’re fired. Get your
Miller & Creede people
together and get your butts
back to L.A.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he
said
in
a
dangerous,
venomous whisper. I could
actually feel the power of
his magic building in the
room, rising like scalding
water.
I met his eyes without
flinching, without backing
down. “I’ll have Dawna cut
you a check for the days
you’ve actually been on the
assignment.”
In a fit of pique, he’d taken both vans
and all the contractors except Maria,
Luis, and Lorenzo. It had floored me that
he would risk people’s lives that way.
Totally unprofessional.
And very likely unforgivable.
But I’d gotten them all out. By myself.
The only person who would be
embarrassed by that was John Creede.
The tricky part was going to be figuring
out how to get the word out that I’d
succeeded without “taking the credit.”
That little bomb hit me as I stared at the
empty room.
“Celia.” Dawna’s voice brought me
back to the present. “Are you okay? You
look … odd.”
I didn’t feel odd. I felt hurt, sad,
humiliated, and pissed. John and I had
been fairly serious. I’d really thought he
respected me as a person and as a
professional, and that we’d be able to
work well together. Apparently I’d been
wrong. It hurt. A lot.
She passed me over a cup of steaming
coffee. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.
” Again, maybe never.
The eyes that met mine were worried.
“Okay.” She sounded doubtful. “If you
say so.”
“I do.”
I was spared further discussion by
Ron’s baritone bellow from downstairs.
“Dawna!”
“Oh hell, ” she muttered. Ron may not
be my favorite tenant, but Dawna loathes
him. Of course, since she’s the
receptionist, she bears the brunt of most
of his bad behavior. More than once he’s
driven her close to quitting or to
violence. He thinks his law degree
makes him superior to the rest of us mere
mortals. He’s an autocratic, demanding
bully, but he pays his rent on time and
ponies up for building maintenance
without too much complaint, so I’ve put
up with him.
I laughed. “Good to see some things
haven’t changed. Go. I’m all right.”
“But we were going to talk.” She cast
a filthy look at the staircase.
I knew she didn’t want to go down
there. I couldn’t even blame her. But it
was her job. Like it or (obviously) not.
“We will. Later. Go.”
With a huge sigh, she flounced down
the stairs and back to work.
Later was a lot later. Ron kept Dawna
hopping all morning and I wound up
having an unexpected visitor.
* * *
“I need you to find my daughter.”
The sunlight streaming into my office
through the balcony windows wasn’t
being kind to the woman seated across
the desk from me. Laka is from the Isle
of Serenity, home of the Pacific sirens,
and usually she looks lovely, thanks to
her Polynesian coloring and features and
a wide, easy smile that can light up a
room. But she wasn’t smiling today and
there were lines of worry on her face,
which I’d never seen before. She was
dressed simply and wore no makeup, her
hair pulled back in a thick braid that
hung down her back. She looked old and
tired. Then again, she probably was.
Sirens can live a long time, and if her
teenage daughter, Okalani, was missing,
Laka probably wasn’t getting much
sleep.
I weighed how to respond. I’d met
Laka’s daughter a couple of years earlier
when I’d been on Serenity on business.
Okalani had a remarkable talent—she
was a strong enough teleporter to be
able to transport groups of people. She’d
saved my life, and the lives of a lot of
other people, using that gift. And while
she had an attitude problem—what
teenager doesn’t?—I’d kind of liked the
kid.
I wasn’t surprised she’d gone missing.
From the first moment I’d met her, she’d
made it very clear that she wanted to get
