“Excuse me?” I stared across the seat at her, eyes wide.
“I mean it. You call him for help. I bet he figured you wanted him to be your white knight, charging in to rescue the damsel in distress—when in fact, you only wanted an efficient subcontractor with excellent equipment. That had to be a blow to the ego of the top guy in the game.”
I spluttered. I couldn’t help it. A white knight? Seriously? So not me.
She shook her head, grinning. “A lot of other women would’ve been angling for the rescue. Probably more than one had done just that. Set up a situation where only he could fix the problem.”
“I’m not like other women.”
“Amen to that.” She laughed, then continued, “But anyway, I can see how he got his signals crossed and wound up grumpy.”
“He wound up more than grumpy.”
“So did you,” she pointed out. “And when you get grumpy, you occasionally overreact. Like … kicking him out of the country when you had people to get to safety?”
Well, that was true enough. We rode in silence for a few minutes. I finally said, “I am perfectly capable of running a large team.”
“Well, duh. Of course you are. Nobody said you weren’t.”
I didn’t answer. She’s a bright girl. She connected the dots and turned to me with shock clear on her face. “Tell me he didn’t! That bastard.” Emma’s face flushed and her eyes blazed. If John Creede had been here now, she’d have given him an earful, no doubt about it.
“He’s not completely wrong, though.” I started reciting the facts. “Glinda offered me the job to get me out of town, not because I was qualified. The company kept the offer on the table because nobody else would take the job—including Miller & Creede. In fact, there’s a good chance MagnaChem hired me because they figured I’d drag Creede into this. It’s not like our relationship’s exactly been a secret.”
Emma pulled the SUV into her father’s long driveway. “Okay, I can buy that.” She cast a glance my way. Her expression was thoughtful, almost stern. In that moment she was every bit her father’s daughter: cold, logical, and brilliant. “But let’s look at this logically. You got everyone out, right?”
“Yes.” It had been damned close, and hard as hell. But we managed it.
“Even after you fired his ass and had no replacements?”
“Yes.”
“And the only injury occurred when John disobeyed your orders?”
“Yes.”
“Other than you being left behind because you saved that local, everything went smoothly once you had a team that did what you told them?”
“Yes.”
She made a voilà-type gesture, then slammed the Suburban into park just outside of the garage door. “Then you’re capable. And he’s an ass.”
We didn’t talk much for a while after that. First, we were mirror wrangling. Second, she’d given me a lot to think about and was giving me time to digest it. Still, I could sense her excitement from the moment we pulled out of the driveway; it grew steadily as we got closer to her new place. Her eyes lit up. Her fingers started tapping against the steering wheel. Hell, she was practically bouncing in her seat.
We rounded one last corner, and there it was.
Wow. Just … wow. I live in the guest house of a mansion and I’ve been in and out of some pretty magnificent homes because of my work. But Emma’s place … it wasn’t a mansion. It was a church. Okay, it was a small church, but it still probably took up most of an acre. Located on the outskirts of town, it was a beautiful old stone building with a pair of bell towers and gorgeous architectural details. It probably wasn’t old enough or important enough to qualify for the historical society mission trail, and it was too small and outdated for a modern congregation. The church and grounds were surrounded by a gated wall; as we drew up to the gate, I spotted a parking area on the east side and a small cemetery on the west. I wondered who had been buried there—perhaps the very first missionaries stationed there?
“Is it decommissioned?” I was wondering if the place still qualified as holy ground.
“It’s in the process,” she said with a smile. “But even after the paperwork’s done, this place has seen years and years of daily masses and prayers of the faithful. I’ve been told by a church authority that the prayers have sunk into the stone itself.”
Wow. I whistled as she slowed the SUV. “It’ll probably take a hundred years for that kind of protection to wear down.” Emma would be safe—safe from vampires and demons. It wouldn’t be anathema to werewolves, but that was a good thing, since her brother, Kevin, turned into a wolf with the full moon.
“Welcome to my Fortress of Solitude,” Emma quipped. Hitting the button on the garage-door opener she’d clipped to her sun visor rolled back a gate that looked like wrought iron, but was probably heavy-duty, spelled silver steel. There was barely enough time for her rear bumper to clear the perimeter before the gate began moving back into place. And that perimeter! As we crossed it, the magic hit my senses like a ripsaw, making me yelp in unexpected pain. I’ve been able to sense the magical perimeters around most buildings for a while now. Most barriers are no big deal. The better ones are a little uncomfortable. But this … wow … and OW.
“Damn, girl, who did your spell work?”
“Kevin had somebody do it. It’s seriously over the top, right? The wards aren’t lethal, but only because I insisted.” She shook her head.
I paused, trying to come up with a tactful way to ask a very personal question. Kevin had been my friend. Maybe he still is. We’ve had our issues, but I still care about him. He’s a tough SOB, but sometimes even tough isn’t enough. Things happened to him that nobody should have to go through. It left him with a bad case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Paranoia was just one of his issues. “Is he getting therapy?”
“Yeah. But I’m not sure how much it’s helping.” She stopped the car. I saw tears in her eyes as she turned to me. “I’m really worried about him, Celia, but I just don’t know what to do. He’s been through so much. Most of it he can’t or won’t talk about, even to a therapist. I want to help, but I have no clue how.”
The unfortunate truth was that there probably wasn’t a lot we could do other than be there for him and be as supportive of him as we knew how to be. Of course in my case, being supportive might actually be better accomplished by my absence. How much did that suck?
I opened my mouth to say as much, but she held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t. Just … don’t. It isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
Then why did it feel like it was?
“Celia, he was in black ops. No matter how bad the crap you’re involved in gets, none of it is as bad as what he got into on his own. Remember, he was going on missions with Jones and the others for a decade before he even met you. He’s seen things that would put the rest of us in the psycho ward. And you weren’t the one that got him put in the zoo. You’re the one who got him out.”
“The zoo” was what most folks called the jail for werewolves and other preternatural types. It had been a really high-tech, highly spelled installation out in the desert. Had been, until it was taken over by demons. Now it was a layer of glass and blasted earth.
I didn’t know what to say, so I changed the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”
She blushed and I just knew there was more to it than she was willing to tell. Instead, she backed the SUV into the spot closest to the front walkway. “Wait till you see the inside. Kevin’s been helping me renovate. Some of the stuff he’s installed is just so cool.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Kevin’s background has given him access to all the best toys. Besides which, he works in IT when he isn’t running around being a soldier of fortune. He’s a serious geek with major skills in all sorts of areas.