Guarded Heart (4 page)

He’d lain awake all night listening to the noises of the
lake around him. Each unexplained sound could have been a sniper on a boat. Yet
when Brook’s steady, quiet breaths continued and no bullet sliced through his
walls, he’d assumed he was wrong.

Never in his life had he been so paranoid and worked up. He
wished he could blame it all on Brook. But she hadn’t created this situation.
She was here to help him resolve it. And so he wouldn’t snap and snarl at her.
At least he would try not to,
valiantly
.

* * * * *

Brook had slept as much as she ever did—as much as a witch
could while monitoring an empathy net stretched wide around the house. The net had
told her she’d probably gotten more rest than her client had. He’d tossed
within his bed for hours before giving up five minutes earlier. He was now
barricaded behind the bathroom door—a room she hadn’t fortified beyond nailing
plywood over the window. Brook hoped he didn’t plan to make the room his haven.

While he was beyond the reach of her protection, she decided
to get in a quick shower in the bathroom down the hall. Brook lifted her bag
from the floor and moved in the opposite direction. She’d feel better in fresh
clothing.

Though the shower was short, standing beneath her element
for several minutes recharged her spirit. She ran her fingers through her
towel-dried hair and then quickly dressed.

When she went downstairs, Brook found Morgan in the renovated
kitchen toward the back of the house. He made quick gestures over a
coffeemaker. The room was awash with bright morning light—a note Brook didn’t
enjoy. If the light could get in, so could other things.

“There are four giant windows in here,
”
she said.
“
You should have waited for me.”

He grunted his first response. Actual words emitted from
between thin lips moments later. “Lovely morning to you too, Ranger Calder.”

Brook shook away her frustration with him as she settled
near the table. “Do you have any plans to leave the house today?”

“No. I have a morning conference call and then I will be
doing paperwork.”

“You need to go about your business as usual,” she said,
even though he hadn’t specifically stated he’d changed his weekly routine.
Water witch intuition told her he had.

Sure enough, Morgan’s response was strained. “I’m not
putting my covens into danger by visiting them as I ordinarily do.”

“Holing up in your lakeside cottage will prompt your enemy
to escalate his or her campaign against you.
”

Morgan whirled on his heel, giving her the full measure of
his frustration. “How much more escalated can they get? They sent armed men to
my door to kill me for thirty thousand dollars!”

The meditation in the shower had helped but it wouldn’t last
long if Morgan continued behaving foolishly. She took a beat to maintain her
calm. “They can go after those you care for to draw you out.”

Morgan’s honey-colored skin paled.

“You aren’t keeping anyone safe by hiding,” she said.

Even
he
wasn’t safe hiding in this house. Apart from
a sniper shot through one of the countless windows, determined assassins could
use explosives. They could ram a speedboat into Morgan’s office. They could
have a neighbor lure him out and then bash him over the head with a
two-by-four. There were any number of ways to kill a man. Only luck and
vigilance would keep him alive.

Morgan exhaled visibly as he faced his coffeepot. “The
Chicago coven is holding a fund-raising event Friday. Tonight is the final
organizational meeting. I should attend because it was my idea to hold the
event.”

“Then we attend as expected.”

“The event is black-tie.”

She barely covered her groan before she escaped to his
office and began cloaking the windows with thick blankets.

* * * * *

Brook half listened to Morgan’s baritone voice rising and
falling during his conference call while she scanned the emotional signatures
of a pair of fishermen on the lake. They were content with their catches and
conversation. She couldn’t say the same for Morgan. His irritation grew with
each passing minute of his priestesses’ bickering.

She wasn’t completely sure what the women wanted from him,
only that they each believed someone else was at fault for the situation they
found themselves in.

Morgan soon cut into their conversation with an oddly
patient tone given the mood she sensed from him. “Priestess Markem, you are
concerned about overfishing in Wayne County while Priestess Parker is lamenting
the lack of tourism in Luzerne causing an imbalance among the larger fish
species. Ladies, I shouldn’t have to point out the obvious in this situation.”
He gave them a few moments to come up with the obvious on their own. When they
didn’t he said, “You should combine tithe money to run advertisements that the
smaller crowds and ample fish in Luzerne County make it the perfect location
for outings.”

A stunned silence lasted until Morgan addressed the next
issue the priestesses had brought up. “Work with local law enforcement agencies
to place signs lakeside about littering. And then use witches to patrol for the
worst offenders. Be sure to get
physical
evidence that can be shown to
the vanilla humans. You will need photographs of the offenders in action and
their license plate numbers so they can be tracked. Don’t simply rely on
intuition and water quality to prove your points. Human authorities don’t care
for these things.”

It sounded as if he were speaking to children. Any witch
with common sense would understand these issues. And yet one of the women
argued
with him that photographs weren’t needed if they had the debris in hand.

“You may discard my wisdom and do as you will. That is your
prerogative,” Morgan said dryly. “But you may not discard my wisdom and then
bring this issue to this table again in the future. Is that understood?”

Morgan had taken a hard stance on something? The man had
always soothed ruffled feathers and stroked egos at the cost of his own honor.
Was this a hint he’d changed?

“Thank you for your indulgence and patience, priestesses.”

A fluke
, it must have been a one-time fluke, because
those were the flowery parting words of a spineless man.

The older gentleman’s eyes focused on Brook repeatedly.
Though Irvin wasn’t the only witch in the room aware of her presence, he was
the only one who gave her that knowing smile. So it came as no surprise when he
sidled up beside her moments after Morgan began mingling.

“He looks like shit,” Irvin said in quiet amusement. “Did he
sleep last night?”

“You’d have to ask him.
”

She was focused on her client. Brook didn’t appreciate the
distraction Irvin presented. It was difficult enough to filter through all of
the constantly changing emotional signatures. Four kinds of envy were felt from
different corners of the room. Two kinds of anger, a dash of happiness and a
healthy coating of misery joined them. As usual she measured the threat levels
but deemed the situation safe for now. No one in the room wanted to kill anyone
else—at least not seriously.

Irvin ignored her obvious cues. “Will you be going to
Friday’s fund-raising dinner?”

She didn’t bother glancing at him. “Wherever Priest Seaton
goes, I go until the situation is resolved.”

“Then I look forward to a dance with the best Ranger in the
country.”

Brook’s attention snapped to the older male’s face. His
expression skirted smirk territory while maintaining gravity. But she was too
caught on what he’d said to contemplate his mood.

There would be
dancing
at this dinner. And he
expected her to join in.

She opened her mouth to argue only to have the mayor’s
vanilla human wife interrupt. Brook would have to hold her arguments about
Ranger duty and witch safety for another time.

Irvin redeemed himself by parading a half-dozen witches past
Brook while she discreetly guarded the regional priest. He introduced her not
as the Water Ranger intent on ferretting out the bad element but rather as an
old friend of Morgan
’
s who was
interested in perhaps moving to the area. The reactions she got from the locals
were what she
’
d come to expect of
clients—her mannish attire and masculine mannerisms didn
’
t trip anyone
’
s
sense of competitiveness.

Irvin, however, wasn
’
t
the only one to flirt. Two men a few years older openly leered even as they
pretended to be interested in her story. Brook filed Norman Foster and Gerald
Maxwell
’
s names away as people to
avoid at the fund-raising dinner.

An hour of careful observation passed before the regional
priest extracted himself from the chatty organization members. He murmured it
was time to go home. They easily passed by several humans and witches on their
way to the car without incident.

Morgan drove while she concentrated on the threats around
them. Vehicular manslaughter wasn’t out of the realm of possibility in this
situation, a fact of which she was quite aware.

She could use their proximity to her advantage. “Tell me
about your uncle.”

Morgan glanced at her. “Irvin?”

Brook didn’t ask if he had other uncles. He ought to
understand why she brought up the subject. Nevertheless, she gave him a brusque
nod.

“I’ve gone to him for advice for years,
”
he said.
“
I trust him implicitly.”

The only response she gave him was a slight lift of her
eyebrows.

Morgan’s jaw slackened. “You think
Irvin
is trying to
have me killed? Why? Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he resents your power. Maybe he thinks it should be
his.”

“No. Irvin is my kin
and
godfather. He would never
try to hurt me.”

“You can’t instantly discount him as a threat simply because
you share blood.”

“And you can’t instantly demonize someone simply because you
think everyone is evil.
”

Morgan truly believed she’d failed to learn anything over
the years. Strangely it didn’t annoy her. It amused her.

“I don’t think everyone is evil,” she said without a trace
of ire in her voice. “I think everyone has the capacity to do evil things.”

“My uncle isn’t the bad guy.” Morgan’s pitch lifted
emphatically. “I’d have known. I’d have picked up on ill will at some point
over the years.”

“Statistics show the culprit is generally someone close to
the client. Rangers are trained to consider everyone a threat, even the clients
themselves. It
’
s part of why we
’
re sought. We ask the hard questions
our clients are unwilling to consider. Your uncle is a suspect. Your girlfriend
is a suspect. Your entire region is suspect. And any other living family
members…you can consider them on that list as well. Do you have any other
living family members, Priest Seaton?”

“Not that I’m going to share with you—”

“That’s not part of the deal you signed.
”

Morgan sighed. “I have four cousins in California. I haven’t
seen my mother since I was very young. The last I heard, she was living in
Florida. She has living sisters scattered around the northwest.”

“Are there any in this area?”

“No. Only Irvin.”

Brook nodded. The thinning of Morgan’s lips implied he’d
perceived the motion as more than it was. While she thought Irvin needed to be
watched, she hadn’t moved up his threat level.

“It’s not Irvin.” Morgan’s agitation increased, echoing his
insistence. “He’s the one who insisted I get a Ranger for protection. If he
wanted me dead would he do that?”

“Yes.”

His gaze whipped toward her. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“It makes perfect sense to a killer.” Brook was in her
element discussing motivations. “Who would suspect the man who insists his
victim have the best protection?”

The best protection…without her weapons.
Someone
had
intercepted Brook’s package.

“But it would make killing me that much harder.”

She gestured for him to focus on the road again so they
weren’t flattened against a semi. “Yes, it would but killing is relatively
easy. Covering it up is the difficult part. Irvin’s hiring of the Rangers is
documented. No one within your covens will question his innocence.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Who gets the position if you were to die?”

“The covens would nominate several and then a vote would be
called,” Morgan said.

“The trusted uncle of the dead priest—the uncle who did
everything in his power to protect his nephew apart from take the bullet for
him—he would be nominated, wouldn’t he?” Morgan didn’t disagree when she
paused, giving him the chance. “And he’d have a good chance of winning. He’s
the brother of the former high priest for the Pacific Northwest, the uncle of
the high priest for the Great Lakes Region. He’d have a
damn
good chance
of winning.”

“It’s not Irvin,” Morgan said in a low voice.

And then he went quiet.

They rode in silence nearly half the distance to Gary before
he gave into the irritation Brook had sensed steadily growing within him.

“Why do you hate people so much?”

Brook didn’t immediately snap that people had rarely done
anything good for her. That wasn’t strictly true. More often than not, people
were selfish creatures she couldn’t abide for any length of time. Morgan
already had bad opinions of her. She didn’t need to play into his hands. But gone
was her earlier amusement.

“Questioning a person’s motives in a volatile situation does
not mean that I hate people,” she said.

“You’ve always thought the worst of everyone,” he said as if
she hadn’t answered. His delivery was impassioned, frustration lacing each
word. “And now you’ve found an organization, a job that enables—no
encourages—
your
bad attitude.”

Blood rushed to her face. Why was she beginning to feel
shame
for her beliefs? No one had ever taken her to task for them. No one but Morgan
Seaton. He’d been doing it since they were children. And while she prided
herself on heeding no one’s opinions, the warmth of embarrassment still coated
her neck.

“My bad attitude has saved many lives.” Her response was
tight.

“But at what cost, Brook?”

The casual use of her name caught her off guard. It lasted
only a second before her mind raced for an answer. “No client has complained of
the cost since I began with the Rangers.”

“What would it get them if they did?” He shook his head
twice. “They’d be seen as ungrateful.”

Rather than speculate on the motivations of her past
clients, Brook spoke words she hoped would end the conversation. “You can find
out firsthand when I resolve your situation.”

“Why can’t you just be more aware of the collateral damage
of your actions?”

“I’m not the same girl you met at six. Stop treating me like
it,” she found herself snapping. “And for your information, any collateral
damage that occurs is the fault of the
villain
in the scene, not the
Ranger.”

“I’ll stop treating you like that when you do the same.”

Brook didn’t bother responding. She
was
guilty of
behaving similarly. Maybe he’d let the ride
continue in silence this time.

* * * * *

Morgan wanted to grab her by the ears and shake some sense
into that stubborn head of hers. She thought
Irvin
was trying to kill
him? It was ridiculous!

The man had welcomed him with open arms when he’d moved into
the area. He’d been the first to introduce Morgan to every mover and shaker in
the Great Lakes Region. Irvin had been instrumental in Morgan’s rise to power.
He wouldn’t then try to have him killed months after they’d succeeded in
gaining a lofty position.

Brook was way off base.

And yet…

What if she wasn’t?

Irvin stood to gain the most from his death. He’d even been
nominated for the post the last two times it had been vacated. But his lack of
experience as a priest had seen him passed over in favor of others who knew how
to manage groups of witches.

Irvin had explained the situation himself. There’d been no
rancor. Morgan would have noted it.

This new, disturbing twist on the situation displeased
Morgan. His mood made it nearly impossible for him to settle down. Tonight only
a portion of his insomnia was due to the female sleeping on the floor at the
foot of the bed.

He shouldn’t have been so hard on her. She was only doing
her job. Part of her job was to present every possible angle. She hadn’t done
anything typically Brook-like since she’d arrived.

Morgan felt bad that she was stretched out on the hard
wooden floor with only a thin mat for cushion. He should have looked for a cot
in the place. Surely there was one somewhere. And if there wasn’t, he could buy
one. Brook shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.

Without warning, images flooded his mind of her in bed
beside him, her long limbs stretched out along his and his palm fitted over her
hip. Blood rushed to his head in mortification as he fought down the image.

This was
Brook
blasted
Lochlan
on his floor.
She’d sooner laugh in his face and push him into the cold lake than she would
climb into his bed. And he’d sooner be thrown into the cold lake than suffer
her proximity.

Morgan shoved his pillow tightly over his head in an attempt
to block out the rise of lust he refused to acknowledge.

* * * * *

Brook stepped out of the shower and immediately scented
bacon—maple bacon to be exact. When she’d slipped into the bathroom five
minutes earlier, Morgan had been snoozing peacefully on his oversized bed. Now
he was in the only room she hadn’t fortified.

Brook charged through the cottage, intent on giving him a
much-needed chastising. “Do you have a death wish, Priest Seaton?” Her tone
lowered derisively. “Because hanging out in the
only
room in the house I
didn’t board up without me certainly
seems
like it.”

Morgan faced her. His spatula halted above the crackling
bacon. His odd frozen stare made Brook strangely uncomfortable. Hadn’t he heard
her?

Brook soon sensed desire flowing from him. What in the…

A glance down showed she’d dashed out of the bathroom with a
narrow towel wrapped around herself. Though everything important was covered,
it wasn’t the most appropriate of attire to wear when upbraiding a client.

She had the sudden urge to flee. Her neck heated in embarrassment.
To combat it, Brook squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and stared him
head-on in the hope he wouldn’t realize she regretted her actions.

“Neptune in the sea,” Morgan said, croaking the words. He
turned his back on her and viciously jabbed at the bacon slices. “Put on some
fucking clothing.”

Morgan’s anger competed with desire—emotions she clearly
sensed over her empathic net.

If he had a reaction to her lack of clothing it was merely a
natural response to a stimulus; any male would have experienced it. Yet he was
angry
for that natural response.

Well, it wasn’t as if she’d wanted him to desire her. It
would only complicate the assignment more than it already was.

She battled irritation. Clearly the turn in her mood was due
to his failure to move to a safe room. And it was surely because of her
inability to behave with civility at this moment that sent her into a retreat.
It had nothing to do with disappointment.
Really.

Morgan pitched two more slices of bacon into the sizzling
pan, thrusting the spatula beneath the others with angry focus. He needed
something to concentrate on other than the image in his head of a dripping,
furious and nearly nude Brook. Neptune in the deepest depths! Had she no brain
in that sopping head of hers? Didn’t she know no words spoken in a towel would
get through to a male?