Guardian (The Protectors Series) (8 page)

I
came by to check on Mr. Boone.” Stefan tried for a brisk tone to hide his weariness. “And what brings you here?”

“I came to see if he remembered anything about his assailant.” Mel walked to the bed, still frowning, looking around as though she’d sensed something.

Surely she wouldn’t, but…a fragment of faint memory, something about creativity and magic, flitted through Stefan’s brain. He shrugged it off. He could worry about that when his ass was clear of her suspicions.

“As you see, he’s sleeping,” Stefan said.

Her frown deepened. She’d probably smelled the lavender candle and wondered at the scent. Still, the best defense was a good offense. “You’re not supposed to be working today. Or driving. How did you get here, Mel?”

“I rode with Detective Forrest. He heard Mr. Boone was doing worse and wanted to see if he could tell us anything else. In case he continues to deteriorate.”

“He’s resting comfortably now. As you can see.” Stefan stalked around the bed to confront her. Bad move. Proximity let him catch a whiff of her fresh, apple scent and reminded him of how sex intensified it. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Boone probably obeys medical restrictions. No matter how you came here, you’re supposed to be off today.”

“Forrest is dropping me at the motel after.” Her frown gave way to cool appraisal. “He’ll be the one doing the questioning.”

“So where is Detective Forrest? This is late for a witness interview, isn’t it?”

“It’s only seven thirty.” Mel cocked her head, directing a considering look at Stefan. “Forrest stopped at the men’s room. I came ahead to see if Mr. Boone was awake.”

“You should wait to question him. He needs his rest.” The purging Stefan had done would tire the man. He’d sleep for a few hours yet and awaken on his own.

Mel glanced from Boone to Stefan, and that curious, distracted expression crossed her face again. “Two hours ago, Dr. Howe said he was getting worse.”

Before she could pose another question, he asked, “Have you remembered anything about the other night?”

“Not yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the third degree?”

“Routine follow-up.” Damn, he was sick of lying to her.

Stefan shouldered his messenger bag, picked up Boone’s chart, and hoped he didn’t look as tired as he felt. “How has your day been?”

“Boring. I need to get back to work.”

He kept his tone mild. “Looks to me like you already have.”

When she lifted her chin, he raised a hand to halt her protest. She’d regained her color and looked reasonably well rested. Also far too suspicious.

“Any confusion or other problems today?”

“No.” She clipped off the word.

He stared at her, waiting. Having started this as a diversion didn’t prevent him from caring about how she was doing.

Mel looked into his eyes, and the tension in her shoulders ebbed, as though she’d read the concern in his face. A rueful smile curved her mouth. “I talked to a colleague in Atlanta, caught up on my e-mail, read up on reported sightings of nonexistent beings on the Internet, met a charming friend of Cinda’s and her delightful if enormous golden retriever, talked to Cinda’s lawyer about starting probate, and browsed amid crystals, candles, tarot decks, Wicca whatnots, and pastries in Wayfarer. I can tell you every shop on Burke Street and several of the ones on the side streets. I had my nails done in the strangely named Beautiful Auras salon. I had dinner with a couple of the deputies and Detective Forrest, none of whom seemed to think I was behaving abnormally, and am now on my way to the motel to turn in early. I’m fully capable of managing alone tonight and of doing light duty tomorrow, as you can see.”

“You’re mouthy enough, anyway.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words and to hide his relief. If she could rattle off a description like that, she had full possession of her faculties.

Her eyes widened, as though his teasing took her by surprise. The corners of her mouth crooked up. “Come on, Stefan, let me out of the box, huh?”

Humor gleamed in her gray eyes, and the years of estrangement seemed to drop away. So often, this kind of teasing had led to lovemaking. He stuck his hand in his trousers pocket to keep from cupping her cheek. “Okay. Light duty tomorrow. That means nothing even vaguely resembling the ‘enforcement’ duties of your job description.”

“Okay, Doc.” Her smile widened, warming, and his idiot heart thumped faster. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Have you made any progress?”

“Not much.” He let out a breath that sounded frustrated, even to his own ears. The urge to confide in her the way he used to hit him hard. Her way of gently listening to what bothered him, to his fears and concerns, had always healed him, lifted his stress. But she couldn’t deal with what he was. He’d best keep reminding himself of that.

“I’m headed home now,” he said. “I have some more tests to run, and then I’m coming back to Wayfarer.” He needed to do the kind of investigating no Mundane could.

Stefan had a standing offer of a bed from his friends Griffin Dare and Valeria Banning, Griff’s fiancée. “I’m staying at a friend’s place out near the swamp, but you can reach me on my cell. Even tonight, call me if your head starts to hurt.”

Damn it, that suspicious look was back, shadowing her eyes and tightening her jaw.

“I don’t know what it is,” she said slowly, holding his gaze, “but something’s not right here. Boone was supposed to be worse.”

“There’s no way to predict recovery patterns or pace in a victim when we still don’t know about the toxin. Besides, this whole situation isn’t right. Purple-eyed assailants, maybe hopped up on PCP, strange wounds at nerve junctions, liver cuts. Since you’ve been to the sheriff’s office, I assume you read the statement I gave Deputy Garner about the other night.”

The suspicion in her eyes gave way to indecision. He blew out an audible breath and rolled his shoulders. “Look, we’re all on edge, and we all want this solved. I’ve had a long day, and I’m heading out. Give Forrest my best.”

Stefan kept his back straight and his stride brisk until he cleared the door. He sensed, rather than heard, Mel walk to the opening. Reaching out with his mage senses, he could feel her intense energy focused at the center of his upper back. She was watching him walk away, likely trying to figure out what he’d done, and that did not bode well. Not at all.

The next morning, Mel and Forrest walked toward Wiley Boone’s room together. “It’s the damnedest thing,” Forrest mused, “Wiley improving so much between the time Dr. Howe did rounds and the time we saw him last night.”

Below his thinning, blond hair, the stocky man’s face wore a perpetual frown, and his clothes were always wrinkled, as today’s blue suit was. But his colleagues admired his tenacity and insight.

Mel matched strides with him and tried to stop wondering what Stefan was up to. He’d looked exhausted when she walked in last night, so weary she would’ve asked him what was wrong if he’d stopped grilling her about her own health for a minute or two.

For a single moment, when she walked into the room, he’d also looked guilty. Why? He had every right to see his patient, and he had admission privileges here at Wayfarer County. She blew a breath and shook her head at herself. Maybe she was just inventing reasons to think about Stefan Harper.

Forrest continued, “Doc Howe said Wiley’s skin was yellowish during afternoon rounds yesterday, jaundiced on account of that stuff in his blood. If his skin tone improved, is that crap gone?”

“We can hope.” There was so much they didn’t know about this toxin. And she couldn’t explain it, but she had a weird feeling Stefan knew more than he was saying. Maybe he had theories and was simply holding them back until he confirmed them. Why else wouldn’t he speak up if he learned something useful?

Yet her gut said he’d done something. She’d almost …
felt
it when she walked into Boone’s room last night.

Forrest said, “When I spoke to Dr. Howe, he said the level of that junk in Boone’s blood had gone up since morning. Seems like it’d take time to go down, too, but damn if he didn’t look pretty good last night.” He glanced at Mel. “If this guy suddenly recovered, maybe others can, too. Though God forbid there be any others.”

“You said it.” Mel nodded, but the phrase
suddenly recovered
stuck in her mind.

Yeah. Right. She knew better than to think hocus-pocus could cure anything. Being around Stefan was throwing her off her stride. Or maybe this town and its love of the metaphysical was messing with her head. It wasn’t as though he had instant curative powers. She must’ve imagined that guilty look, maybe because she figured he deserved to feel guilty when he was around her.

And it was time she finally let that go. Work with the man, keep her distance, and focus on the now. Dwelling on past hurts or the man who’d caused them wouldn’t fix what she had lost. Or erase the stupid urge she’d felt last night, the desire to soothe his weariness, to just…talk to him.

Time to let that go, too.

They reached Wiley Boone’s room as he was finishing breakfast. Lying with the bed’s head raised, the thin man smiled at them. “Good mornin’, y’all. You talk to Dr. Howe yet?”

“Yes, sir,” Forrest answered. He and Mel had agreed that he, as the local officer, should take the lead. “Dr. Howe told us your blood’s cleared up. That’s great. We appreciate you sharing your medical information so freely.”

“I want that sumbitch caught.” Boone shook his head, and silvery stubble along his receding jawline glimmered in the morning light. “Say, y’all don’t know if my sculptures is damaged, do you?”

“We can have someone check,” Forrest said. “My dad’s right partial to those sculptures of yours.”

Sculptures? Trying to remember, Mel stifled a frown. Oh, those metal things in Boone’s yard. A flash of memory hit her. She stood on Boone’s porch, weapon in hand, as Stefan pulled up in his car. She’d waved him back, with those sculptures between them…and the rest was still blank.

“…feelin’ a lot better,” Boone was saying. “Better’n yesterday, and sure as he—as goodness—better’n yesterday evening.”

“When did you notice an improvement?” Mel asked. The question had sort of sprung out on its own. She shot Forrest an apologetic glance, and he shrugged.

“When I woke up this morning.” Boone nodded at them. “I didn’t want nothin’ to eat yesterday, but today, I’m ready to go. Give me a little more rest, and I could cut a rug with you, young lady.” He laughed, revealing a gap between his front two teeth. “That nice young doctor told me I’d be okay.”

Dr. Jedediah Howe was in his sixties. Mel glanced at Forrest, who looked puzzled but nodded to her to go ahead.

“What doctor?” Mel asked.

“The one what was there when I come in the other night. Hastings, Henry…some ‘H’ name.”

“Harper?” Reassuring a patient would be natural for Stefan.

“That’s it. Nice young fellow. Kept saying to rest easy, he wouldn’t let me down.”

“In the ER?” Mel asked, not sure why she was following up.

Boone’s brows knitted. “Nooo. I don’t think so. Last night, maybe. But I didn’t have no visitors before I went to sleep. Must’ve been down in Emergency. I remember him talking to me. Bandaging these stick-holes that damned fool jabbed in me. Bandaging ’em more’n once, seems like.”

Stefan bandaged him more than once?
Mel’s heart hammered. “Dr. Harper came to look in on you last night,” she said. “You don’t remember that?”

“No, ma’am, not exactly.” Frowning, he picked at the bedclothes. “Seems like I remember him talking to me, changin’ my bandages, but everything’s all confused.”

They thanked him for his time and walked out. “Where were you going with those questions about Harper?” Forrest asked.

“Just checking Boone’s memory,” Mel improvised. “In case he has to testify.”

Forrest nodded, satisfied, but Mel couldn’t forget the way Stefan had looked last night. After hearing what Boone had said, she was certain Stefan had done something to help him, maybe something experimental or a nonapproved use of a drug. Whatever it was, he had to put it on record in case, God forbid, someone else needed it. Unfortunately, she was the only one in a position to convince him.

Stefan slammed a cross-body punch into the heavy bag. The
smack
of impact rippled up his arm. He followed with a short left jab, then another right cross.

Jab, cross, jab, cross, jabcross, jabcross, jabcross, jabcrossjabcrossjabcross.

He’d lied to Mel. Again. Okay, he hadn’t so much lied as omitted, but it still bit. Lying to Mundanes was nothing new and was necessary sometimes, as he well knew, but he was sick of lying to her. He’d wanted to touch her last night. To connect again.

That damn bright mind of hers had caught that something was off, and she’d cocked her head at him the way she used to when she was poking at something that bothered him, something that had him on edge. Damn, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that, missed the way she always wanted to know what was going on with him.

Except about the magic
.
About what you really are.

Breathing hard, Stefan stepped back to find the range for a roundhouse kick. He pivoted on his left foot, hips turning, right leg rising and swinging, then straightening to strike the bag with his shin and the top of his foot. The impact, with its loud
thwack
, was satisfying but not cathartic, not at all. Maybe because he knew every lie, every omission, built the wall between him and Mel higher.

Sometimes he thought that wall was dropping. Sometimes the warmth that used to live in her eyes appeared, even if only for a moment. He missed it.
Thwack!

Hell, might as well be honest. He missed
her,
no matter how immature or flat-out stupid that made him. When they were together, she’d been taking an über-heavy course load to graduate early, spent all her time studying or on her work-study job, but when he felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities he would one day shoulder, she’d always found time to listen. Or to play a duet or two, Mel on the flute, Stefan on his guitar. Or to take him to bed and wipe all his concerns from his mind for a while.