Maureen Child
Eternally

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the real Bob Robison, friend and all-around nice guy who’s been bugging me for years to get into one of my books—and to his wife, Marilyn, for being able to survive the craziness with style!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Coming Next Month

Chapter 1

The body was found sprawled across Nicole Kidman’s star on Hollywood Boulevard.

The tourists who’d spent all night partying, stumbled across what was left of Mary Alice Malone and ended their vacation with a whimper.

Sunlight glittered off camera lenses and shone down on the scene with a merciless glare. Pooled beneath the young woman’s body, blood, in tiny dark rivers running from opened veins, crept into the gutter. The dead woman’s wide blue eyes were frozen open in surprise, staring into the morning sky. Her left breast was gone, excised, as if by a talented yet depraved surgeon and her yellow silk blouse had been deliberately torn and arranged to expose the injury.

Belatedly a blanket was dropped over the body. But Mary Alice Malone was long past appreciating the privacy.

Ghoulish crowds jostled for position, cameras clicked and the unfortunate tourists wept. Police strung yellow crime scene tape and hid the pity in their eyes.

In L.A., one murder more or less—even one this vicious—hardly merited more than a mention on the local news channels and a small article on page two of the newspapers.

One man took note, though.

One man stood at the edge of the crime scene, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered mob. He knew his quarry was near. He’d recognized the killer’s handiwork. He’d chased him before. And won. Now he would be forced to do it again.

And he knew that this murder was only the beginning.

The party was in full swing and Julie Carpenter swiveled on her desk chair to impotently glare at the door separating her suite from the rest of the house. Eardrum-shattering rock music pumped through the place, the bass making the walls tremble like a tired old man looking for a place to lie down.

Her head throbbing and her stomach growling, Julie surrendered to the inevitable. No way was she going to get any work done tonight.

“Thank you, Evan Fairbrook,” she muttered and tossed her pen down onto the legal-size pad of paper in front of her. Letting her head fall back, she stared at the ceiling through gritty eyes and called down one more curse onto the head of her ex-husband.

He couldn’t be just a liar and a cheat. Oh, no. Wasn’t enough just to sleep with her best friend and God knows how many other women in Cleveland. Evan, it turns out, was a first-class weasel. Before Julie had caught on, he’d emptied their bank accounts and stolen her car. If she’d had a dog, he would have kicked it.

She couldn’t stay in Cleveland. Not with everyone looking at her, whispering about her, wondering how such a bright woman could have been so knuckle-dragging stupid. Julie sucked in a gulp of air and reminded herself that moving to California had been a good thing even though she missed her folks and her younger brother. She was in a new city, with a new job, surrounded by people fortunate enough to have never even heard of Evan Fairbrook.

No more suburban split level for her, either. Now she shared a historic old house high in the Hollywood Hills with two women who had become good friends. And, she was reinventing her career. The career that had supported Evan while he got his software business up and running.

The same software business that had folded the minute Evan milked all the money out of it and took that plane to Barbados. Julie’s only hope now was that he got melanoma from romping around buck naked in the sun with her ex-best friend Carol.

“On his nose,” she mused, smiling. “He should get a big, black hairy mole on his nose. Or maybe another body part he’s equally fond of. Yeah. And then it should rot and fall off. The body part, not the mole. Slowly.”

As curses went, it was one of her better ones, she thought, enjoying the mental image of Evan standing helplessly watching as his prized member swayed, tilted and dropped to the sand. As for Carol, the treacherous witch, it was enough of a curse that she was with Evan in the first place.

Julie blew out a breath and snorted. “Good for me.” A year after Evan had screwed her over, she was able to see the humor in the situation. Sort of. Her pride had been dinged a little—okay, crushed, stomped and spit on—but once Evan was gone from her life, she’d been forced to admit that she hadn’t really missed him. So what did that say about her?

She shook her head. Man, it was way too late to do any soul searching. Instead she’d eat the last of the Coney Island Waffle Cone ice cream in the freezer. She got up and headed for the door leading from her suite to the hallway connecting it to the kitchen of the huge old house. The mother-in-law suite she occupied in the 1920’s Craftsman-style house was way at the back of the building, usually giving her the privacy she preferred.

She’d been lucky to find this place. Number one, she hated apartment living. But more than that, being a freelance writer for the L.A. Times meant she needed a home base that was flexible. She did a lot of traveling and having housemates meant she didn’t have to worry about her place while she was gone. Plus, she had company when she wanted it and privacy when she didn’t.

Eventually, though, she’d like to move to the beach. And she’d take summers off. And do some damn sand frolicking herself.

Her cell phone rang before she could open her door and she checked caller ID before answering. “Hi, Kate.”

“Hi.” Kate Davies, one of Julie’s housemates whispered into the phone, her voice almost lost in the slam of music still pounding through the house. “Hey, what do you want to eat tonight?”

Julie smiled. Living with two women who considered splitting an M&M a walk on the wild side had its fringe benefits. Neither Kate nor their other housemate, Alicia Walker ever ate if they could help it. And since they were determined to maintain their chic, skeletal look, whenever they went out on dates—which, let’s face it, was a lot more often than Julie did—they brought a doggy bag back for her.

“Where’d he take you tonight?” Julie asked, hoping for a decent steak for once. If Kate or Alicia brought her back one more box of sushi, she’d sprout gills.

“Oh,” Kate whispered, “you’d love it. Ruth’s Chris. Just breathing in here I think I’ve gained two pounds.”

“Thank God. Meat.”

“So, what’ll it be? Filet mignon?”

Julie sighed. “I think I just had an orgasm.”

Laughter spilled through the phone. “Baked potato or garlic mashed?”

“Please. Garlic mashed. Definitely.” Not like she had to watch her breath or anything. “Order the steak rare to allow for heating up later. And if he’s willing to spring for dessert, anything chocolate.”

“It’s been so long since I had chocolate,” Kate half moaned.

“Live a little,” Julie urged, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her favorite jeans were so old and faded, they were more thread than fabric. And her T-shirt covered a figure that was more rounded than was fashionable. But then, she wasn’t trying to catch a man, was she?

She closed her eyes to her reflected image and concentrated on Kate again. “Eat something you have to chew for a change.”

“I’ve got a shoot tomorrow, Julie. I can’t eat.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Sorry. What was I thinking?”

“How’s the party?”

“Haven’t been out there yet.”

Kate sighed. “Live a little,” she retorted, throwing Julie’s words back at her. “Go. Have a drink. Talk to people. Maybe a male people. Person. Whatever.”

Julie pushed away from the door, shaking her head. “No, thanks. Been there, survived that.”

“You’re too young to be a nun.”

“And you’re too thin to diet.”

“Tell you what,” Kate said, her whisper hushing through the phone, “you get laid and I’ll eat a sandwich.”

“A whole sandwich?” Julie teased.

“Half,” Kate compromised.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” A pause, then, “Oops. Gotta go. He’s coming back from the bathroom. See you later.”

“Right. Bye.” Still smiling, Julie slipped her cell phone into the front pocket of her jeans and opened the door. Instantly music slapped at her. Thundering drums, wailing guitars and the crash of the bass that jolted through the floorboards and up through the soles of her bare feet.

She shook her head, winced and headed down the dark hall. Sounds of the party drew her through the shadows into the kitchen. The lights were on, glancing off the bright yellow walls and white cabinets, searing into Julie’s eyeballs like needles. On one side of the room, a man and woman were wrapped around each other as tightly as shrink wrap on a new DVD.

A quick jolt of envy shot through her, but Julie squashed it.

Sex=Bad.

If her hormones hadn’t been doing the happy dance when she’d met Evan, none of this would have happened. Celibacy had to be better than letting your desires lead you down roads that only dead-ended.

Deliberately she turned her back on the couple, ignoring completely the muffled sighs and groans. But her insides twitched and a wash of heat ran through her despite all her efforts. To fight the neediness, she grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and headed for the one sensual delight that never let a woman down.

She yanked the freezer open and a chill blast of air wrapped itself around her. Snatching up the carton of ice cream, she took a moment to appreciate the fact that because she shared a house with a wannabe actress and a part-time model, the ice cream she bought was always in the freezer waiting for her. Smiling, Julie had the lid off and tossed onto the counter even before she swung the freezer door closed again.

“Whoa!” Startled, she took a step back and stared up into pale blue, icy eyes. “Didn’t know you were there.”

She hadn’t even heard the man come into the room. Not a big surprise, though, considering the volume of the music. Although, she admitted silently, there was no way she could have missed this guy any other way. He shifted his cool gaze to the couple across the room from them and his jaw tightened.

Tall, at least six foot four, he had broad shoulders, long legs, night-black hair and sharply chiseled features. He was dressed all in black, from the jeans that hugged his legs to the T-shirt straining across a muscled chest to the three-quarter length coat that hung to the middle of his thighs.

A coat? In summer?

Ah, life in Hollywood, where image was everything.

When he swung those pale eyes back to her, Julie took a deep breath and a big bite of the ice cream. It wasn’t enough to cool her off, though. She had a feeling that standing buck naked in a snowstorm wouldn’t do it, either.

He frowned at her, then shook his head and glanced back to where the shrink-wrapped couple were practically horizontal on the counter. Before Julie could say anything, the tall, dark stranger was halfway across the room. He grabbed the guy’s shoulder and spun him around.

Lover boy didn’t much like the interruption. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Hey,” his girlfriend complained as she tugged her tube top back up to cover most of her breasts.

“Leave. Now.”

Something in Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous’s voice must have gotten through. The shorter man grabbed his girlfriend, swung her off the counter and tugged her across the room. Just before he slipped through the swinging door, though, he tossed back one last shot. “You are so lucky I don’t feel like fighting tonight.”

Julie half laughed as they disappeared into the main flow of the party. “You notice he didn’t try to threaten you until he was sure he could escape.”

“He’s here. I know he’s here. Somewhere.”

“Who? Hell,” Julie said, just a little nervous at being alone with a man bristling with a sense of power, “half of Hollywood’s here tonight.”

“This is your home.” His gaze snapped to hers as his voice, deep and low, rumbled as insistently as the bass.

She swallowed. Everything about this man felt just a little over the top. Danger seemed to flash around him in electrical arcs that might as well have been lit by neon. He wasn’t the ordinary guest who showed up to these parties. This man was…different. “Yeah. Why?”

He moved in closer and Julie felt heat rippling off of him in thick waves. Just watching him walk—long legs, slow, determined strides—was enough to make a woman go all hot and gooey. Not a man for a recently declared celibate to be around for very long. Her knees wobbled unsteadily even as her pulse kicked up into high gear.

It suddenly dawned on her that because of the noise level, if she had to yell for help, it wouldn’t do any good. No one would hear her.

“Have you noticed any strangers here?”

“Huh? You mean besides you?” Julie forced another laugh and took a bigger bite of ice cream, still wildly hoping the frozen treat would cool off the heat building inside. “You’re kidding, right?”

She waved her spoon at the closed swinging door separating the kitchen from the living room. “Everyone here is a stranger. Parties are free-for-alls in this town. One person tells someone, who tells someone else who tells someone and—” she paused for yet another bite of ice cream “—you get the picture.”

He scowled and his eyes narrowed. “That’s what I thought.”

Julie took another bite and momentarily savored the swirl of caramel as she studied him. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t need help. What she’d need was a cold shower. Every cell in her body was tingling. Those eyes of his were downright hypnotic. She could almost feel herself leaning in toward him and it took everything she had to lean back instead.

His gaze swept the kitchen again, as if looking for something he’d missed in his first perusal. Finally, though, those eyes came back to her and she swallowed hard.

Still, he hadn’t threatened her and she wasn’t about to let him know she was even the slightest bit worried. She waved her empty spoon at him, sweeping up and down. “You’re an actor, right?”

“No.”

“Really?” Was it hot in the kitchen? Or was it just her body lighting up like a bonfire? “Because you’ve got the whole mysterious man of the night thing going and—”

“You should leave, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave,” he repeated, reaching out to grab her upper arm. “Now.”

His hand touched her bare arm and heat sizzled into life between them.

One of them definitely had a fever. She just wasn’t sure which one.

He let her go almost instantly, and his eyes narrowed as he watched her. Like he was blaming her for that short burst of fire.

Stepping back from him, Julie said, “It’s one thing for you to throw Don Juan and the bimbo out, but this is my house.” At least one third of it. And right about now, she’d be really happy to see either Alicia or Kate come marching through that door. The kitchen seemed to be getting smaller. And hotter. “I’m not going anywhere. But I think you should.”

Kieran MacIntyre felt the fire still burning his fingertips and a part of him stood back and wondered at it. Through the countless centuries he’d been wandering this earth, he’d never experienced that jolt. He’d known others of his kind who had and in the beginning, he’d even been jealous of it.

But as time passed and the years piled up behind him like dirty beads on a piece of string, he’d learned that he was the lucky one. He had no distractions to keep him from the hunt. He had no other to worry about. He didn’t have to concern himself with agonizing over the loss of a Mate when he’d never found one.

Until now.

He’d first become aware of her three months ago when she’d called his home trying to set up an interview with him. Naturally her request was rejected, but he’d looked her up online and had been immediately intrigued. Her photo had haunted him since and he’d made it his business to keep a distant eye on her. Until tonight of course, when he’d been forced to confront her.

Stray curls of dark red hair escaped from the ridiculous ponytail she wore at the top of her head. Her green eyes were huge in a pale face sprinkled with just a few golden freckles. Instinct pushed at him to grab her. Hold her. Tip her head back, taste her neck, feel her pulse pound beneath his mouth. Fill his hands with her breasts and bury himself in her heat.

His body roared with life and a hunger he’d never known before. And he didn’t want it. Didn’t need it. He’d survived for this long without a Mate and he’d done a hell of a job of it, too. He’d never liked complications. Not in life and certainly not since his death. Easier by far to keep his distance from the mortal world, do his job and then fade from the memory of everyone whose life he’d touched.

Better to be alone.

Count on no one but himself and the other Guardians.

But she smelled sweet. Fresh.

Alive.

The floral shampoo she used clung to her seductively and he wondered if her skin would taste as good as she smelled. Her high, full breasts rose and fell quickly with her agitated breathing and her eyes seemed to get bigger, wider, as she watched him.

Did she sense the connection between them?

Could she have any idea at all about what was to come?

“Who are you?” she asked quietly, her whisper almost swallowed by the noise drifting to them from the adjacent room.

Who was he? An interesting question. Guardian? Warrior? Knight? Too many answers and not enough time.

He took a step closer, and she moved too, backing up until she bumped into the kitchen counter behind her. She jolted in surprise and dropped the carton of ice cream to the floor.

She couldn’t know. Couldn’t even imagine the world he moved through.

His gaze locked with hers, Kieran moved in even closer, dipping his head, letting her fill him with scents that drugged him, that poured through him like rich wine.

His heartbeat thundered in his chest.

He had no time for this. And yet, he knew he couldn’t leave her without one taste. Since he first saw her photo, he’d known this moment would come—now, he wouldn’t waste it. Cupping her cheeks between his palms, he took her mouth, intending only a brief, hard kiss that would assuage the sudden, all-encompassing need raging within. But one brush of her lips to his and he was lost.

She sighed into his mouth and her lips opened for him. His tongue swept into her depths and he felt himself drowning in the heat of her. Senses overloading, his body felt engulfed in flames. She sighed again and the soft sound spiraled through him like knives, tearing through a centuries old apathy as if it were fragile silk.

Her breasts pressed to his chest, he felt the thundering beat of her heart as if it were his own. It shuddered through him, pounding in his head, his blood.

She dropped the spoon and it clattered on the tile floor like a warning bell.

Kieran groaned, let her go and reluctantly stepped away, willing his body into quiet. The instinct to take her was strong, nearly overpowering. She trembled, eyes wide, and he wanted to lay her down on the floor and lose himself in the heat of her.

“Wow,” she said softly, “you’re really good at that.”

He rubbed one hand across his mouth and refused to admit he was shaking. He had no time for this. No time to be distracted by something he wasn’t going to claim anyway.

He wasn’t here for her.

Exactly.

Kieran had followed the scent of his prey to this house. All day, he’d hunted it, always a step or two behind. Tracking the elusive trace energy signature all demons left in their wake. Now, it seemed that Fate had taken a turn in the hunt. Why else would the beast he sought have come here?

To her house?

The power of the beast throbbed in the air, its hunger, its desire pulsing wildly and it amazed Kieran anew that the mortals couldn’t sense it. Somewhere in this house, the demon moved freely, already on the hunt, deciding who it would kill and when.

And he was the only man who could stop it.

Chapter 2

“You still haven’t answered me,” she said, voice tight, eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“Kieran MacIntyre.” His name, nothing else. She didn’t need to know more. Hell, she didn’t need to know his name. He wouldn’t be seeing her again if he could help it.

Her eyes went wide and flashed with excitement. “You’re MacIntyre?”

“Yes.”

“The man of mystery?” she continued and he could almost see her mind whirling behind her eyes. “The reclusive philanthropist, Kieran MacIntyre? Seriously?”

“And you’re Julie Carpenter. A reporter.”

Those amazing emerald eyes narrowed briefly. “How do you know that?”

“When you try to arrange interviews,” he countered, “do you actually believe you’re not being checked out in return?”

“Oh.” She nodded then said, “Okay then, that makes sense. And here you are. Isn’t this a happy coincidence? You, here, I mean. With me.” She practically scrubbed her palms together in eagerness.

“I’m not here for an interview.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do one.”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “It does.”

There was no time to waste. Not with her. A distraction was something he couldn’t afford at the moment. Even one so tempting as she. Hunger raged and warred with the instinctive knowledge that he was wasting time. The hunt was all that mattered. A century and a half ago, he’d found the demon. And he’d done it without having a Mate by his side. Now, he would do it again.

He could hardly look at her, though, without wanting her. Her mouth was red and swollen from the kiss that he was trying to forget. He’d be damned forever if he let his desires make his decisions for him.

Hell, doing just that is what had gotten him killed in the first place.

Bending down, Kieran snatched up the ice cream and the spoon. As he straightened, the edge of his coat slipped back.

“Is that a sword?” Her voice yipped on that last word and he saw fear glint in her eyes.

“Bugger.” He shot her a quick look, tossed the ice cream and spoon onto the counter, then tugged his coat back into place. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“Sure. Of course.” She nodded. “Gazillionaire swordsman. No big. Happens every day. In Bizarro World.”

He saw her thoughts wheeling through her brain and easily read the agitation in her eyes. Frustration coursed through him. He’d come to this house following a trail—and because he’d worried she might be in danger. Now, she was clearly imagining herself in danger from him.

Why the hell had she shown up in his life? This should have been a simple hunt. Locate his prey, incapacitate it, move on.

But nothing was as it should be.

“I don’t have time to explain,” he muttered and moved away from her. Easier to think if he couldn’t inhale her scent.

She practically leaped toward the phone hanging on the wall opposite the refrigerator. With the receiver in her hand and her finger on the number nine, she said, “Make time, sparky. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t dial 911.”

In one long stride, he was beside her, wrenching the phone from her hand and hanging it up. Damn telephones. Ever since their invention, things had been harder for Kieran and his kind. Too easy for witnesses to call the police—or worse, some tabloid.

“Because,” he said, keeping one hand on the phone so she couldn’t grab it again, “the police will only confuse things further.”

She snorted. “Most criminals would say that.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Most criminals would say that, too.” She yanked at her hand, trying to get free, which only convinced him to hold her tighter. She winced and said, “So what’s your deal? Is the whole philanthropy thing a front? Or maybe you just like to dress up and scare people?”

“Damn it woman…” His fingers coiled tighter around her wrist.

“Let go of me, you psycho.”

Fragile bones beneath smooth, hot skin. His thumb moved over her flesh, distracting her momentarily from the fear still dancing in her eyes. Kieran met her gaze and held it, focusing his power on convincing her that she was safe. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Instead of being soothed as he’d expected, the woman glared at his hand, still holding her wrist. At last, he let her go and she rubbed the spot where his fingers had been. Savoring his touch? Or trying to erase it?

“You’re carrying a sword and you expect me to take your word for anything?” She slipped out from under the close press of his body and took a step or two to one side. “Who carries a sword, for God’s sake?”

“Don’t try to run,” he warned softly. “I’ll catch you.”

She sagged against the counter. “You probably would. Fine. I won’t run. Just…get out.”

He stared at her. “If you’re thinking of writing a story about this—you should know my lawyers will make that impossible.”

“You come into my house wearing a sword, breaking my wrist and you’re gonna sue me?”

“I didn’t break your wrist,” he said and heard the barely banked anger in his own voice.

“Came close.”

“Woman,” he muttered, wishing he were somewhere fighting a demon to the death. It would have been easier than dealing with her. “There is more going on here than you know.”

“I’m getting that,” she said, scowling at him.

He watched her, couldn’t stop watching her if truth be told. Despite her fear of him, she held her ground. She lifted her chin and looked directly into his eyes, with the strength of a warrior. And this Kieran understood. Respected.

For centuries, he’d wandered the earth. He’d seen the worst of humanity and the best. He’d battled demons and men with the same single-minded determination. He’d been with women who quailed at the sight of him yet yearned for the taste of danger to add spice to sex. But never had he met the one woman who could reach him. The one woman who might, if old tales could be believed, be his salvation.

Even the thought of the word choked him. There was no salvation for those like him. The most he could hope for was another battle to follow the last. To move on through the years, untouched by time, able to adjust the memories of those whose lives he brushed up against so that he remained unremembered.

This he knew. This he expected.

She was a surprise.

Her green eyes fixed on him, he could sense her thoughts, the wild clashing of instinct and desire. She trembled and the strength of her need was as powerful as the fear darting through her.

Before he could think better of it, he attempted something he suspected—hoped—had no chance of success.

You are safe from me, woman.

She jolted away from the counter and shot him a look that was both intrigued and horrified. “How did you do that? Talk to me in my head? How could I hear you? What’s going on?”

Kieran plowed one hand through his hair, scraping his short, neat nails across his scalp, hoping the minor irritation would distract him from the mess this was quickly becoming. She shouldn’t have been able to hear him. Shouldn’t have reacted at all. The fact that she had, shook him to the core. “I’m telepathic.”

“Ah…” She nodded jerkily and inched closer to the swinging door leading into the party, still barreling along at top volume. She slid one hand across the tiles as if to steady her movements. “Well, that explains everything. A telepathic swordsman. Fabulous. Lucky me.”

“Stop.”

She did. As if he’d fired a bullet at her feet.

Going to her, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her tightly to him. Her breath left her in a rush as her breasts slammed against his chest.

“I’ll scream,” she warned.

“No, you won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you know I won’t hurt you.”

She took a couple of short breaths and squirmed against him in a way that made him wish for more time. Her hips collided with his need, thick and hard and every twist of movement was glorious torture.

“I don’t even know you, why would I trust you?”

“There’s no reason you should. But you do.” His mind reached for hers and in that tumultuous well of sensation and emotion, he soothed her with gentle whispers.

“Stop doing that,” she demanded, but quit trying to escape his iron grip. “It’s creepy having someone else sneaking through my brain.”

“I am no happier about it than you.”

Questions boiled in his mind and were just as quickly smothered. He had no time for legends. No time to explore the new territory in front of him. Julie Carpenter had no place in his life nor he in hers. She was an accident. A twist of fate, a distraction thrown in front of him to keep him from his prey.

Damned if it wasn’t working.

Through the fabric of her shirt, her skin felt soft, pliant. He wanted to drown in the taste of her, take her scent deep inside him. He wanted to lick every inch of her body and when he was finished, he would begin again. He wanted to fill his hands with the weight of her breasts, suckle at her rigid nipples until she was writhing beneath him, begging for the orgasm only he could provide. And when her body trembled on the very brink, he would join his body to hers, filling her with heat, until, together, they were swallowed by the flames.

Still he let her go, pushing her from him, as if needing the distance between them. He hadn’t expected her to hear him telepathically. Only a true Mate could do that. Only a woman destined to be at a Guardian’s side could be touched by his thoughts. It had been a test he’d thought she would fail. Hoped she would fail.

But she hadn’t and now Kieran was a man with even more to consider. He took another step back. The cold, solid length of the sword he carried slapped against his side, reminding him all too well of his true purpose here.

Gleefully, eagerly, it wandered the old house.

The music swelled within it, dancing through its veins, pounding in its head. Hunger roared within, demanding release.

So many choices.

It moved through the crowd, unnoticed in the throng, its fingers trailing across lush bodies, its hot breath dusting sweat dampened skin, its hands longing for a blade.

Soon, it thought.

Soon the blood would run, thick and dark.

Soon, the hunt would begin again.

Behind them, the kitchen door slammed open, allowing in a blast of music and the shouted conversations and laughter of the party.

Julie looked past the broad-shouldered man in front of her to the blond woman grinning at her from the doorway.

“Julie! You’re with a guy! Yay you!” Instantly she slapped one hand across her mouth and winced. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah,” Julie said, her chin hitting her chest. Trust Alicia to come into the room at exactly the wrong moment. Or was it the right moment? Julie wasn’t sure anymore.

“Sorry about that,” the other woman said with an embarrassed shrug. “Too much wine, I think.”

“It’s okay.” Giving her roommate a wry smile, she realized that she should actually be relieved that the smiling blonde had barged in.

So why wasn’t she? Good question, she thought and searched for the answer.

A few months ago, she’d tried every trick she knew to get an interview with L.A.’s own mystery gazillionaire. She hadn’t been able to worm her way through his guard dogs—lawyers. Now here he was—big as life, a hell of a kisser, and hey, possibly nuts—in her very own kitchen. She didn’t even know what to think of him. Gorgeous, sure. Lust worthy, without a doubt. But what kind of man carries a sword and tiptoes through other people’s minds?

By all rights, she should be terrified just being alone with him. Yet, the only thing she was really worried about here was her virtue—which, let’s face it had disappeared a long time ago.

Besides, if Kieran MacIntyre had wanted to kill her, he could have done it when his tongue was down her throat. She shivered at the memory and squelched the desire to do it again. For heaven’s sake, what the hell was going on?

“So,” Alicia prompted, nodding her head at Kieran as she spoke to Julie, “who’s your friend?”

“He’s not my friend,” Julie countered, glancing from her roommate to Kieran and back again. Only a moment ago, she’d been worried about being alone with him. Now she nearly resented Alicia’s presence. “I just met him,” she said, avoiding for some reason, giving her friend Kieran’s name.

One blond eyebrow lifted and Alicia grinned. “Way to go, Jules.”

“Oh, yeah, yay me,” Julie muttered, her gaze swinging back to the man in front of her.

Alicia laughed and walked straight to the refrigerator, swaying her hips in a timeless invitation that was more unconscious than deliberate. “See? I’ve been telling you for weeks that you have to get your head out of your work once in a while.”

“Yeah, well…” She glanced at Kieran, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead his ice-blue eyes were locked on her roommate.

Typical.

Well, what did she expect? She wasn’t exactly dressed for seduction, that amazing kiss notwithstanding. Then she noticed that Kieran was looking at her again. “She’s your friend?”

“Yes,” Julie said, glancing now at Alicia, who was rooting around in the fridge. “She lives here with me.”

“She should leave,” Kieran said softly, his voice somehow carrying over the slam of the party noise.

“Huh?” Julie moved away from him. For God’s sake, was the man going to try to empty the house one person at a time?

Alicia hooted, “Hah! I knew there was another bottle in there somewhere!” She dragged her prize, a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge before shutting the door again. “Who’s leaving?”

“Nobody,” Julie said, never taking her gaze off Kieran. The man could melt steel with that hot glare, but she wouldn’t back off.

Alicia stepped up beside Julie. “He wants us to leave? Our own house?”

“For your safety.”

“Uh-huh.” Alicia nodded slowly, as if soothing a crabby three-year-old. “Okeydokey. Julie honey, I’m going back into the party now. You coming?”

The overhead light shone down fiercely, throwing Kieran’s features into sharp relief. He looked…otherworldly. Mysterious. Dangerous. And just a little bit—okay a lot—sexy. Shadows hid his eyes, but Julie felt the power of them just the same.

“Something’s wrong here,” he finally said, though he looked as though he wanted to say more.

“I’ll say,” Alicia muttered and gave him one last dismissive glance before turning her attention to Julie. “Come on, Jules. Let’s go.”

“No,” Julie said, still looking at Kieran. She didn’t know why, but for some reason, she wasn’t ready to walk away from her sword-wielding mystery kisser. “I’ll be fine.”

Alicia turned a glare of her own on Kieran. “If he bugs you at all, call the cops.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Honey, I never worry,” Alicia said with a wink, still ignoring the man watching both of them. “Makes wrinkles.”

She never looked at Kieran again when she left the room.

“You won’t leave?” he asked when they were alone again.

“No.”

He nodded. “I can’t promise to protect you.”

“Who asked you to?” Her spine stiffened even as a tiny curl of worry unwound in the pit of her stomach.

Funny, but in the six months she’d been in Hollywood, she hadn’t felt the need for protection. Until tonight. This moment.

“It’s my duty,” he said, crossing the room to her in a few long strides.

“You just met me and I’m suddenly your duty?” How she’d managed to speak past the huge knot in the middle of her throat was a mystery. Almost as big a mystery as the man crowding in way too close to her.

He backed her up against the counter until she felt the cold tile pressing into the small of her back. She shivered, but she knew damn well it wasn’t the cold causing it. No, it was the heat pouring off of him to surround her, to invade her, to make her want…oh, boy.

How was it possible that her normal, everyday life had taken such a completely weird turn in the span of about twenty minutes? And how could she be more interested in feeling him hold her again, kiss her again, than in figuring out what the hell was going on around there?

“You won’t leave. I accept that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Stay in your room. Lock the door.”

“Trust me,” she whispered. “First thing on my agenda.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Great,” she said, “movie quotes.”

“I don’t know what to do about you,” he admitted, lifting one hand to trail his fingertips along her cheek, then slowly, softly, down the length of her throat.

Julie sucked in air through gritted teeth and tried to ignore the feeling that her blood was bubbling in her veins. His fingertips strayed to the scoop-neck collar of her shirt and she held a shaky breath, waiting…hoping he wouldn’t stop. But he did and she wanted to grab at him.

God.

She’d never felt anything like this. Hadn’t known she could feel this. Sex with Evan hadn’t exactly been the stuff romance novels talked about and her one other lover, a guy in college, hadn’t been much better. But this guy made her think that maybe there was more to discover.

And how crazy was she? Standing in a kitchen fantasizing about a mind-reading gazillionaire with a sword?

He grabbed her when she would have slipped away, then keeping a tight grip on her arm, he lifted his head, closed his eyes and concentrated. Seconds ticked past, marching in time with Julie’s heartbeat. She stared up at his face, studying his sharply defined features, noting the strength in his profile.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s gone.”

“It?” She shook her head, more confused than ever. “What it?”

“I have to leave.”

“Right,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. Probably better all the way around if he left. Quickly. “Good idea. You go. I stay. But first tell me what this ‘it’ is.”

“Doesn’t matter now. You may be safe, but there’s no way to be sure.” He stepped back and away from her as if desperate to put a little space between them. His gaze moved over her face with a touch as sure as his fingertips had been only a moment before. “I shouldn’t have met you tonight. There’s no room in my life for you.”

Julie inhaled quickly. “I don’t have room for someone like you, either.”

“Wanted or not, we are connected,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I don’t yet know what it means.”

“Be sure to let me know when you find out,” she murmured, still shaken.

He stalked to the back door, yanked it open and started outside. Then he paused, caught between the dark and the light and turned to spear her with a hard look. “Lock your door.”

When he was gone, Julie slumped against the counter and blindly reached for the now melting carton of ice cream. She lifted it and drank down what she could, before grabbing a fresh spoon and heading for the back door. She turned the dead bolt, hooked the chain and swept the yellow curtain aside to look out into the darkness.

Kieran was already gone.

Swallowed by the shadows.

And standing in the brightly lit kitchen, she felt a tremor of unease slip through her. Throat tight, heart pounding, she headed for the dark hall and her rooms beyond.

With every step, she felt unseen eyes watching her. The fine hairs at the back of her neck lifted and a chill swept along her spine. Her steps quickened, her breath shortened. Fear walked with her when she stepped into her room and slammed the door closed. Leaning against it, she turned the cold, brass dead bolt, then the antique key in the doorknob and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.

Kieran pulled a satellite phone from the inner pocket of his coat and flipped it open. Stabbing the speed dial, he waited while on the other end of the line, a phone rang and rang. Finally…

“Santos.”

“What took you so bloody long?”

A laugh rippled across the line. “Kieran. Should have known I’d be hearing from you. I heard it escaped again.”

Kieran scowled, glanced down the darkened street and crossed it hurriedly, moving toward the black Lexus he’d left just beyond the reach of streetlights. “There’s been a kill. This morning.”

“Didn’t take it long.”

No, it hadn’t. But then, the demon had been locked safely away for more than a hundred years. Of course it would want to revel in a fresh kill right away. The trick would be to keep it from doing any more damage.

Kieran punched a button on his key ring and unlocked the car as he approached. He opened the driver’s side door, but before getting in, he paused, concentrating, focusing his energies toward the beast he must find.

“You have its trail?” Santos asked.

“Had it,” Kieran admitted, glancing back over his shoulder toward the house where he’d left Julie Carpenter. He’d allowed himself to become distracted by her. He’d filled his mind with her scent and forgotten about the other. About his mission. Hard to believe. “Gone again now.”

“So you are calling for reinforcements?” The Spaniard’s voice was tinged with amusement.

“No,” he said, confident in his hunting abilities. He’d never needed help before. He wouldn’t this time, either. At least not with the actual hunt. As a Guardian, he’d done his duty over the centuries, accomplished whatever task was set in front of him.

This time, he swore, would be no different.

Even though, it already was.

“Look,” he said, taking off his sword and tossing it onto the passenger seat before sliding into the car and buckling his seat belt, “what do you know about Mates?”

A deep chuckle rumbled into Kieran’s ear and he glowered even while he fired up the engine and threw the car into gear. “What the bloody hell is so damned funny?”

“Ah, my friend,” Santos said, his Castilian accent flavoring every word, “it was only a matter of time before you would come to me with such questions.”

The Spaniard’s sense of humor could strike at any moment, usually when it was least appreciated. But they’d been friends for five hundred years. Ever since that night in old Madrid when the two of them had held off a crowd trying to burn another Guardian, Adrienne Marcel, as a witch. Not that the Immortal would have died in the fire, but recovery from severe burns could have taken her years.

Tonight Kieran was in no mood to play games. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning, that an English knight will never be the lover a Spaniard is.” He laughed again. “I will be happy to give you any tips you require.”

Kieran rolled his eyes, steered his car around a corner and headed down the hill toward Hollywood Boulevard. If nothing else, he’d go back to the scene of the first kill. Look around. Try to pick up the trail again.

“I’m not English,” he growled, “as I’ve told you a thousand times and more. I’m a Scot and the day I need help screwing a woman is the day you can bury me.”

“Ah,” Santos said with only a twinge of regret, “but burial is not for the likes of us, my friend. One only buries the dead, yes?”

“We are dead, Santos. We just don’t know enough to lie down.” He stared at the twin slashes of his headlights, slicing through the darkness, spearing into the bushes and trees crowding the edges of the narrow road. A flash of red eyes as the lights crossed them but Kieran didn’t slow. It wasn’t the demon. Only another nocturnal animal.

“This is true, Mac. But I think it was not the point of this call to discuss the sad state of our too long lives.”

“No.” Too long? He didn’t know anymore. He looked at mortals and sometimes wondered how they could be satisfied with eighty or so short years. But he’d had centuries to fight and sometimes he thought perhaps the mortals had the better deal.

He took another sharp turn as his thoughts splintered. He glanced at the speedometer and slowed down a fraction. One thing he didn’t need was one of L.A.’s finest giving him a ticket. “I want to know what you know about Mates. The Guardian legend.”

The legend Kieran had never put much stock in, despite the few Guardians he’d known over the years who had actually found women to bind themselves to. Perhaps, then, it wasn’t that he couldn’t believe in the legend itself, but that it held no truth for him.

“Ah.” Curiosity colored Santos’s voice as he asked, “You have met…”

“A woman.”

“Always a good place to start.”

“She’s…different.” Stupid word. Incomplete. Julie Carpenter was more than different. She was a flame to his dry tinder. The heat to his cold. And just thinking of her now tightened his body until the ache of it nagged at him like a rotten tooth.

“What do you wish to know?”

“Everything that isn’t common knowledge,” Kieran said flatly as the Lexus finally reached the bottom of the hill. He took a hard right, weaving in and out of traffic like a man with a death wish—or a man to whom death meant nothing. “I’ve never bothered to find out more than the basics before. Now I want to know. So discover whatever you can and get back to me.”

“And the beast?”

“I can handle it.”

“If you change your mind, I’m near.” He paused, took a drink of what Kieran knew was probably Napoleon brandy, “I followed my quarry to San Francisco.”

“You get it?”

“Was there any doubt?” Santos chuckled.

“No,” Kieran said, smiling now. As a warrior, he could appreciate the talents of another. “I’ve never known you to fail.”

“Nor you, my friend. After all, we have reputations to protect,” Santos mused. “Now, I find I am enjoying the view from my hotel of the bridge on the bay. I will be in the city for a while yet.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need assistance.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat beside him.

Though he wasn’t interested in asking for help, Kieran admitted to being glad for the knowledge that Santos was close by. Still, thanks to satellite phones and private jets, no Guardian was isolated anymore.

So many things had changed over the centuries, he thought, drawing to a stop at a red light. His gaze moved over the crowded sidewalks. Hookers, dressed for business, lounged against the sides of buildings and waved desperately at passing drivers. Homeless men and women crouched in dirty doorways and teenagers looking for trouble strutted in packs.

Kieran looked at them all as the beast would. As potential victims. Wandering from light to shadow, the people moved, separate and apart.

And he realized that no matter how much had changed, death remained the same.

Chapter 3

The crime scene tape was long gone. As a reminder of what had happened, though, dark splotches of dried blood muddied the sidewalk under the pale yellow wash of a nearby streetlight.

Nicole Kidman, movie star, had deserved better. But then, so had the young woman whose life had ended on a dirty city street. Moving about the scene, Kieran searched for the faint energy trace left in the wake of all demons. Not much more than a smudge on the air, it was a key weapon in fighting the beasts. But the scent of it had already dissipated enough that tracking in the usual way would be unfeasible.

So, he took a chance.

Kieran stood on the sidewalk star and opened his mind, reaching blindly for a connection to the demon. Not that a telepathic connection was always possible. Every demon was different—though all provided that faint trace element—each of them had different abilities and weaknesses. This particular demon was slightly telepathic—something that just might help Kieran find it.

He frowned as he concentrated. Snatches of malevolence slapped at him, but nothing complete. Nothing substantial enough to help him in his hunt. But the demon was even older than Kieran, so its ability to evade pursuers wasn’t really surprising.

Just frustrating.

Disgusted, he scanned the area, discounting the cluster of cars with irate drivers cursing at each other as they sat, locked in congestion. The traffic never changed here. Two in the morning or two in the afternoon, the cars would be stacked up bumper to bumper. Idly he thought that the time of horses had been much better. Though he’d been among the first to buy an automobile, he’d missed the companionship of a horse.

A blond hooker walked slowly past him, shooting him a quick, appraising look, then scurried on, limping slightly on sky-high heels. A young man with wild eyes and a scraggly beard handed out flyers inviting passersby to one free drink at a local topless bar and the neon sign across the street from Kieran fluttered like a racing heartbeat.

The demon could be anywhere by now. Could have even left the city in an attempt to escape him. But Kieran didn’t think so.

This particular demon was a creature of habit. It preferred crowded areas, where people were practically stacked on top of one another. And usually, when it found a place, it locked in on it. The last time, in 1888, it had been London, the East End.

Whitechapel. A section of the city so crowded with back alleys and a twisting, sinuous layout of tenements and bolt holes that it had taken Kieran almost five months to track it down.

Just thinking about that time, brought it all back with a rush that filled his mind. The damp fog swirling through filthy, overcrowded streets like gnarled fingers of smoke, coiling around the unwary, holding them fast in the bowels of the city. He could almost smell the greasy stench of bad liquor and the nearby slaughterhouse. The layer of hopelessness and decay that had colored every square foot of Spitalfields.

Five long months he’d spent in that miserable hellhole. He’d tracked the demon relentlessly—not an easy task since the damned thing had changed bodies too damned often. But Kieran had finally caught the vicious bastard. Just like he would this time.

Turning abruptly, Kieran started down Hollywood Boulevard. Even late at night, the sidewalks were crowded. Not so much with the tourists, who usually had enough sense to keep to their hotels, but with the local denizens who reclaimed the street every night.

Teenage runaways, caution in their eyes, grouping together for whatever protection they could find. Homeless men digging for food in trash cans, and the ever present hookers, masking their own fatigue with brittle smiles and halfhearted come-ons.

Here on the streets, no one expected anything from him. No one knew he was actually Kieran MacIntyre, wealthy man with a mysterious background. Here, he was simply known as “Mac.” A solitary man with a hard eye and little patience. Kieran blended into the background, becoming a part of those who wandered in the darkness. Women watched him as he passed and, mostly, other men steered a wide path around him.

“Hey, Mac.”

He stopped, looked to the right and nodded at Howie Jenkins. A Gulf War vet, he kept his Purple Heart proudly attached to a stained gray overcoat he wore religiously, winter and summer. His salt-and-pepper beard hung to his narrow chest, and his blue eyes were filmy with an alcoholic haze.

But despite what his life had come to, Howie still had a soldier’s soul. Making him an excellent fount of information from time to time.

“Howie. How is everything tonight?”

“You know,” the man said, keeping one fist tight on the shopping cart loaded with his worldly belongings. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

“Have you seen anyone new lately?”

Howie laughed, a raw, grating sound that rattled in his chest until he coughed hard enough to hack up a lung. When he finally caught his breath, twin flags of bright red shone on his sunken cheeks. “That’s a good one, Mac. Hell, there’s always somebody new around here. Don’t always last, but they always come.”

“True enough,” Kieran muttered, letting his narrowed gaze sweep the street again before shifting back to Howie. “This one would be different, though. He’d stick to the shadows. Watching women.”

There was no way to know what this demon would look like now. It could manifest in this dimension, but mostly, it chose to inhabit the body of a willing mortal. And God knew there were plenty of evil souls in L.A. for the demon to choose from. As in Whitechapel, the demon could slide from body to body, always changing its shape and appearance in an attempt to elude the Guardian assigned to track it.

One thing would not change, however—this demon’s lust for blood and its preference for killing women.

Howie laughed again until he wheezed. “Well, we all watch the women, man.”

“Not like him.”

Something quick and intelligent flashed in Howie’s rheumy eyes briefly. Lips tight, he asked, “He the one got that little girl early this morning?”

“That’s him.”

“We know what he looks like?”

“No.” Damn it. The demon could be anyone. It took on and cast off identities with every kill. That’s why there’d been so many different “eye witness” reports on Jack the Ripper. Some had seen an older man, tall. Others swore he was a short man of not more than thirty. Scotland Yard had discounted all of them. Only Kieran had known that every witness was telling the absolute truth.

Idly pushing and pulling his shopping cart, Howie turned a look on the street and frowned when one of the hookers draped herself over the opened window of an SUV. He nodded in her direction. “Girls like Heather there, ought to be warned.”

“You can try,” Kieran muttered, knowing that warnings were never taken seriously. Even those who should know better were always convinced that nothing would happen to them. Hell, he’d done his best to convince Julie Carpenter that she might be in danger and all he’d accomplished was making her scared of him.

Not that he gave a good damn, he assured himself.

Still, thoughts of her brought a buzz to his veins and an ache to his groin. In those few stolen moments, she’d gotten to him. A couple of kisses, a quick grope, and those big green eyes and she’d infiltrated his mind.

“Nah,” Howie was saying now as Heather climbed into the car with her latest customer. “They won’t listen.”

“Probably not.”

“You’re huntin’ this guy?”

“Yeah,” Kieran said softly. “I am.”

“Then you’ll get ’im.”

He would. But in Whitechapel, five women had had to die miserable deaths before Kieran had caught up to the demon. And if it hadn’t enjoyed itself so much with its last victim, Mary Kelly, giving Kieran enough time to track the scent of blood and fear…

“Keep your eyes open for me,” he said abruptly and reached into his pocket for the wad of bills he kept ready. Peeling off a fifty, he handed it over and watched it disappear in a wink into Howie’s coat pocket. “If you see something, contact me.”

“Always do, Mac,” the older man said, already starting down the street, looking for cans and bottles, “always do.”

Kieran watched him go, thinking briefly of all the old soldiers he’d known over the centuries. No matter their circumstance, there was always a core of steel to be counted on. And for this hunt, he would need all the steel he could find.

It felt the Guardian’s frustration. His anger. And it smiled.

A dark, gleeful joy rose up inside it and the demon held it close, savoring the rush of anticipation. The world had changed much in the last century. Though some things remained the same. It lifted its hands and idly studied them. This mortal it inhabited was young. Strong. The man’s soul had been as dark as any it had ever encountered and the demon smiled. It was always so easy to find a willing partner.

Swallowing the mortal’s will was simple enough. And so would learning anew how to become a part of humanity. Mortals had advanced much in the last century, but the hungers were still there. And it would feed on those hungers until the city itself wept for mercy.

The beast would slide into the shadows that reached out for the unwary. Become a part of that darkness. It would learn. And kill. And this time, it would not be stopped.

This time, it would defeat the Guardian sent to cage it once more.

Wondrous, to be matching wits with its enemy again. Satisfying to know it had already outmaneuvered MacIntyre. It had left the party earlier, just long enough to lead the Guardian away from the selected prey.

And while MacIntyre roamed the streets, the demon returned to the bright lights and the pulsing music.

To the woman who would die before sunrise.

Julie sat up all night.

Kieran MacIntyre, rich, gorgeous…crazy wouldn’t leave her mind. Thoughts of him kept stirring up feelings she really didn’t want to examine too closely even while her brain kept trying to warn her off. A gazillionaire recluse who came with his own sword?

Just didn’t make sense. A few months ago, she’d dug into MacIntyre’s life, learning as much about him as she could before beginning her efforts at gaining an interview with him. And nowhere in any of her research had anyone mentioned that the great man himself might just be a real wacko.

“You’d think that would have been worthy of at least a footnote or two,” she muttered, gaze darting around her room—every light she had was on and blazing, chasing off any hint of a shadow. “But apparently not.”

No mention of craziness. She frowned, remembering that in all her research there really hadn’t been much of anything mentioned. No one seemed to know much about the man who lived in a veritable fortress high in the Hollywood Hills. Oh, there was plenty of information about the charities he’d supported over the years. About the endowments he’d made to inner city foundations and women’s shelters.

But there’d been nothing on his background. Who he really was. Where he’d come from. He’d only been in L.A. for ten years, and yet, nowhere was there a note of where he’d been before coming to California.

Why?

Had all previous reporters been too afraid of him to dig too deeply?

Remembering the flash of something dangerous in his icy-blue eyes, Julie could understand that. But at the same time, she had to wonder how Kieran MacIntyre had managed to intimidate all the press. Frowning, she thought of the sword he kept at his side and realized that maybe it wasn’t all intimidation. Maybe he just dispensed with reporters who got too close or weren’t scared enough to back off.

“Oh, that’s a lovely thought,” she mumbled, shaken.

Her eyes felt gritty, her stomach was twisted into knots and her brain hadn’t stopped racing all night. Arms wrapped around her up-drawn knees, she heard Kieran’s voice over and over again in her mind. She saw his eyes, those pale blue depths that seemed to stare right through her. And she tasted his kiss on her lips.

Everything he’d said replayed over and over again in her mind. Fear warred with desire and lost miserably. She had no proof he was dangerous. After all, he hadn’t killed her. And he’d had plenty of time to.

“Great,” she whispered. “Just the quality a woman should look for in a man. ‘Hey, he hasn’t killed me yet.’ Yeah. My hero.”

Outside her room, the night crawled past. The party carried on for hours, music, laughter and shouts subtly invading her room at the back of the house. And despite being irritated by the rumble of sound, she was also grateful for it. At least she didn’t have to be alone in a silent house with nothing but her own crazed thoughts for company. At least she knew there were other people nearby.

And when the party finally ended, she knew that Alicia and Katie were there in the house with her. She wasn’t alone.

Staring blankly while her mind raced, she waited hours for the dawn to streak the sky outside her window. Rocking in place, she watched the night slowly, inevitably, fade. And when those first pale colors deepened into scarlet and violet, she drew her first easy breath.

“Idiot,” she muttered, safe now in daylight, apart from the intangible fears that had clawed at her for hours. She crawled stiffly out of bed, and switched off the bedside lamp and the overhead light that had burned throughout the long night.

She’d spent the night terrified—all because of a great kisser with a hell of an act and a sword he probably carried for compensation. He’d scared her, given her dire warnings and despite all of that, nothing had happened.

She hadn’t been threatened.

She’d simply been had.

“Does he just enjoy playing night marauder? Suckering some idiot woman into buying that man of the night routine?” She pushed her hair out of her face, letting her temper kick in—being mad, much better than being scared. “Does he get his jollies by scaring somebody then disappearing?”

Julie’s voice echoed hollowly in her room and didn’t give her an ounce of satisfaction. Because despite the fact that nothing had happened to her, that she felt like an idiot for locking herself up and staying awake all night—a part of her still believed that Kieran hadn’t been playing games.

“Which means what exactly?” Frowning, she muttered an answer to her own question. “It means that you’re talking to yourself. Not a good sign. If you don’t watch it, girl, you’ll be as crazy as he is.”

Groaning slightly as her cramped muscles screamed in silent protest, she stretched, wincing, then stumbled toward the bathroom. As the day began, she stood under a steaming hot shower, hoping the stinging spray would wash what was left of her fears away.

But even as she dried off and smoothed on the jasmine-scented body lotion she habitually splurged on, Kieran’s face drifted through her mind again. She closed her eyes and felt his hands on her arms, his mouth on hers, the hard ridges and planes of his body pressed against hers. And something inside her quickened into an eager gallop. Obviously it had been way too long.

“Oh for God’s sake.”

Grumbling, she pushed his memory away, determined to not let him influence her day as he had her night. Fear had kept her company for hours. She’d jolted at every sound, kept her gaze fixed on her locked door and hadn’t even relaxed when the party finally wound down and the house settled into silence.

Now she had to get dressed, drop in at the paper and pick up the notes in her desk. She had an interview scheduled with Selene—no last name—hairdresser to the stars. Making a face, she shook her head and reminded herself that these fluff pieces paid well and were usually picked up by the AP.

Didn’t take her long to climb into what she privately thought of as her “uniform.” Black pants, white shirt, black jacket and black boots. Not exactly a fashion plate, but the photographer assigned to her wouldn’t be taking shots of her.

Julie gathered up her briefcase, made sure she had her mini tape recorder, a fresh steno pad and at least three pens with her. Then she swallowed the last vestiges of her nighttime nerves, stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her.

Her boot heels clicked musically on the floor as she walked into the kitchen and stopped dead. It looked like a small nuke had been detonated nearby. Dirty glasses, empty food platters and wadded up napkins littered the counter. A shattered wineglass was splintered across the floor and a curtain rod hung drunkenly from only one hook.

“What the hell?” She took a step, listened to the crunch of glass beneath her foot and winced, stepping wide of the mess and walking along the edge of the room toward the swinging doors.

She pushed the door into the living room open wide and expelled one long, disgusted sigh. The damage in here was even worse than the kitchen. Remnants of what must have been a beaut of a party were scattered throughout the living room and connected dining room. Sofa cushions were half on the hardwood floor, someone’s discarded shirt draped across the coffee table, empty arms hanging over the edge and a bowl of chips lay on its side, its contents spread out and crushed into oily oblivion.

Stale cigarette smoke hung like blue fog in the room and the smell fought for precedence over the stink of spilled liquor. Only a few minutes ago, she’d been grateful for her housemates. Now she wanted to kick both of them.

Shaking her head, Julie shoved empty glasses aside and laid her briefcase onto the dining room table. She crossed the room, opened up two of the windows and then, still muttering dire threats, walked into the living room, and stomped across the littered floor to the French doors leading to a tiny, walled patio.

“God, Alicia,” she muttered darkly, as her right foot slipped in a puddle of congealing guacamole, “couldn’t you at least have picked up the garbage before crashing?”

But, knowing her housemate, Julie figured Alicia had hooked up with some guy at the party and decided to put off clearing the rubble for as long as possible. Alicia wasn’t exactly known as Ms. Clean. And Katie wasn’t much better, though she would at least feel guilty for leaving the mess.

Julie turned the latch on the brass doorknob, flung open the French doors to air the house out and took a deep breath of fresh morning air. Irritation simmered inside as she noticed Alicia, stretched out on one of the two cushioned chaise lounges, her face turned away from the house and toward the rising sun.

Still wearing her party clothes, right down to the ridiculously high heels she’d spent a fortune on, she’d obviously stretched out to relax the night before and had fallen asleep.

Shaking her head, Julie started across the flagstone patio and accidentally kicked an empty beer bottle, sending it skittering across the stone and into the bushes lining the wall. She sighed as it clinked against the bricks.

“Alicia,” she started, frowning at a swarm of ants climbing a tiny mountain of dried onion dip splattered on the patio. The last of her fear drained away under a rising tide of disgust. “Damn it, Alicia, the house is a wreck and I’m not cleaning it this time.”

Usually straightening up after parties fell to Julie simply because she was the only one who couldn’t live with the mess. Kate and Alicia’s slob tolerance level was way higher than her own.

Still Alicia hadn’t moved. Hell, she didn’t even stir and Julie’s temper spiked up a notch or two. “Hello?” she snapped. “Don’t you have an audition this morning?”

Her friend didn’t even flinch.

“God.” Julie blew out a breath, came up behind the other woman and reaching down, grabbed Alicia’s shoulder and gave her a shake. “You could sleep through a bomb blast, couldn’t you?”

Alicia slowly tipped to one side, her blond hair falling in a sleek arc, sliding down until her head hung over the edge of the chaise. A bloody mockery of a smile ringed the base of her neck.

Julie took an instinctive step back as she stared into her housemate’s wide, staring, empty eyes.

The bright, cheerful sunlight showcased the river of blood that had soaked into the blue flowered cushion beneath Alicia’s body. Birds screeched and tittered from the trees. A car whizzed down the street, its engine roaring.

And on the tiny patio, shielded from its neighbors, Julie felt the world tilt out from under her feet. She took a breath and released it in a scream.

She was still screaming when the first squad car arrived.

Chapter 4

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Julie hugged herself tight and hunched deeper into the cushions of the couch. Reaching out with one hand, she pushed a bag of chips out of her way and curled her legs up beneath her. In one corner of her mind, she realized that she was trying to be invisible. To hide from the reality of what her world had suddenly become.

And she didn’t care.

God, she wanted out of this house. Away from the scents of blood and the overpoweringly strong mingled scents of aftershave coming from the dozen or so men wandering through her house.

Blindly she stared at them all as if she still couldn’t believe they were there. Crime scene investigators jostled uniformed police officers. Radios crackled and whispered conversations rose and fell like the tide as two detectives studied the patio where Alicia still lay as if waiting for evidence to jump up and shout Here I am!

Outside the French doors, shade dappled the patio that Julie would never again be able to step onto without seeing Alicia lying there staring sightlessly. A soft wind rippled through the house, caressed Julie’s skin and made her shiver.

Crime scene techs twirled their brushes, decorating every flat surface with the graphite powder they used to lift fingerprints. A pointless exercise, since half of Hollywood had been in the house last night. But there were routines to follow, rules to obey and she was too stricken to care what they did.

What did any of it matter now?

Alicia was gone and Kate…

The rattle of wheels and metal jolted through the house and she jumped in reaction. Pushing off the couch, Julie ignored every other person in the room and started toward the gurney two men were pushing toward the front door.

“Kate,” she whispered, reaching out for her friend’s hand and stopping short of touching her. Kate’s features were still, her chocolate colored skin seeming somehow pale.

A brilliant white bandage wrapped her throat and IV needles jutted from her arms, trailing tubes hooked to plastic packages dripping fluids into her body. Julie’s stomach lurched and tears she’d thought dried up stung her eyes again. Even breathing hurt, as if her lungs were being squeezed in a vise.

How could this have happened?

How could Alicia be dead?

How could Kate be so badly hurt?

What was happening?

“Excuse me, miss,” one of the paramedics said brusquely with a quick glance at his patient. “You have to step back, let us get her to the hospital.”

“I should go with her,” Julie said, staring at Kate’s face, unsuccessfully willing her to open her big brown eyes.

“Sorry, not possible.” He didn’t sound sorry, just hurried. Julie jumped back as they pushed the gurney past her. All she could do was stand there and watch.

Just an hour ago, she’d found Alicia’s…body and hurried into the house to call the police. That’s when she’d found Kate, her other housemate, lying on the floor behind the couch. The same dark red ring circled the base of Kate’s neck, but the slice hadn’t been deep enough to kill her. Instead Kate was gravely injured, but still breathing. Thank you, God.

So far, the police were speculating that Kate had surprised Alicia’s killer and in his haste to escape, the killer hadn’t taken the time to make sure his second victim was dead.

A sloppy killer.

Should that make her less scared or more so?

God, she didn’t know what to do.

Mouth dry, eyes streaming, she turned in a slow circle, trying to get a grip on what was happening. But how could she? No one was ever prepared for this kind of thing. Murders didn’t happen in your own home. They happened to some poor slob who was safely distanced from you on the TV set. Killers didn’t slip through your house, killing people you loved, leaving them lying in their own blood like forgotten dolls.

Outside the house, media vans were already parked. Didn’t take long for news to travel. Not when every television station and newspaper in town was hooked into the police radio frequency. For now, all of the reporters were being stalled at the base of the driveway, held back not by their own moral codes, but by the string of police officers standing guard.

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