When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (15 page)

“It’s okay. Really.”

“I think I’ll take my daughter to get a drink.”

“Of course,” Paul said, turning to Wes and Kevin. “And I’ll take these young men around the room and introduce them to their admirers.”

Kevin shot her a glance that she interpreted as a question: Was she okay? Could he leave? She nodded and managed a small smile, then watched as Paul led the two college boys away.

“Daddy,” Andy said as soon as Paul was gone. “I don’t—why are you here?” She could tell the question
surprised him—why wasn’t she asking about her mom? But she couldn’t tackle that question straight on. If she came at it sideways, maybe it would hurt a little less.

There were only a dozen or so people in the room, so it was easy for them to find a seat in a quiet corner. “I’ve told you, sweetheart. My ministry is about fighting evil. And evil walks the earth.”

“I thought you meant by, you know, prayer. And bake sales. And evangelical preaching. Not—oh, jeez, Daddy, I don’t even know what this is.”

“This is war,” her father said, with an intensity she’d rarely seen in his eyes. “This is the war that rages in heaven.”

“Does that make us the angels or the demons?”

“Don’t be flippant, Andrea.” He drew in a long, noisy breath. “I never wanted you on the front lines like this. Not you, and not Kevin. I only learned today what Kevin’s been up to—and what happened to him the other night.” He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. “He told you what he saw?”

“He told me a story about a werewolf. Daddy, I came tonight because Kevin needed a friend—he was so nervous.” She deliberately didn’t mention the story that she’d been hoping to walk away with. “But I don’t believe in this stuff.”

“Whether you believe or not, it’s true. I’ve seen one myself. I saw the one that killed your mother.”

“One what?” she asked slowly.

“Andy.” Her father’s tone was gentle. “A werewolf killed your mother.”

She hugged herself against a sudden wash of cold. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“I didn’t want you to hear it, either. I wanted to keep
you safe, away from this world. I wanted you to walk far away from evil and stay only in the light. You deserve that, Andrea, and it’s what I want for you.” He sighed. “But the truth is, I should have told you long ago.” He brushed her cheek. “You deserved to know what happened to your mother.”

“So tell me now.” She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know—not yet. But once the words were out, she couldn’t call them back.

“Your mother was an exceptional woman,” he began. “I think you already know how we met. I was traveling, preaching in small communities across the South. She lived in New Orleans and she came to one of my iced tea socials.”

Andrea smiled, imagining her mother in a crisp cotton dress and her father in his suit, probably melting in the Louisiana heat, but unwilling to take off his jacket, because it would have been bad manners.

“We knew right away—sometimes it’s like that. You see someone, and suddenly there’s a warm knot in your heart, as if God is telling you that he’s made it easy and put the other half of your soul right there in front of you.”

Inexplicably, she thought of Agent Doyle. Of the way she’d gotten all twisted up looking at him. But that wasn’t the same—she’d been pissed off, and that was a different kind of knot than the one her father was talking about.

“She was a true New Orleans girl. Magic and voodoo and portents. Now you know I don’t cotton to that kind of thing, but I loved your mother, and she loved me, and when I moved on she came with me. We were married six months to the day that we met, and to her credit she
never talked about zombies or vampires or the living dead. Not at first, anyway.”

“She used to tell me about fairies,” Andy said wistfully.

“I remember. I asked her to stop. She believed they were real, and I was afraid she’d make you believe, too.” He frowned. “She told you about other things, too. Dark things. I had to beg her to stop telling you stories. You had nightmares—she stopped when she realized she was scaring you. You really don’t remember?”

“No.”

“She stopped talking, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it. She became obsessed.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She started arguing with me. Telling me that my thinking was one-sided. That being human didn’t make someone good.”

“It doesn’t.”

“No, of course not. But she also said that being a vampire or a werewolf or a demon didn’t make you bad.”

Andy licked her lips. “She went looking for them?”

Her father nodded. “She went looking, and what she found killed her.”

The words seemed to hang flat between them. She felt cold again, and wished she’d brought a shawl. “That’s—that can’t be true.”

“Why are you here if you don’t believe?”

“I told you,” she said. “Kevin asked me to come.”

But he didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he sat back with wide, disappointed eyes. “Oh, no, Andrea. Please, no.”

A tight fist seemed to squeeze around her heart. “No, what?”

“Are you writing an article?” His voice was low, barely audible even though she was sitting just inches away from him. “Andrea, what Paul is doing—what I’m doing—it’s important work. But stealth is a requirement. You write an article and his entire operation is at risk. People aren’t ready to—”

“Daddy.” She clutched his hand. “I’m not chasing a story,” she lied. Except was it a lie? True, that’s why she’d come. But that was before she knew her father was involved. Anything she wrote now would expose her dad as a nutcase, too. Even if all this stuff about vampires and werewolves was true—dear God, could it be?—no reader would believe it. The world at large would still label them all crazy.

And yet at the same time, how could she walk away? Could she find a new angle? A way to write about this without getting her father involved? Somehow this strange subculture had killed her mother, and didn’t that deserve some attention?

She pushed the questions away, her mind spinning too much to think. She didn’t have to decide right now, all she had to do was protect her access.

Her father looked at her for a long time, then finally nodded. “Paul can’t know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’re a reporter. I trust your word,” he added, and she felt guilt rise hot in her throat. “But Paul doesn’t know you. If he finds out about your pen name—”

“What? What would he do?”

It seemed to take a moment for her father to answer. “He’s a friend and he trusts me. I don’t want to violate that trust.”

“Of course. I can keep a secret.”

“And Kevin?”

“He can, too. I promise.”

Her father didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “So this is a one-time thing? You came tonight simply to support your cousin? And after this you’re walking away from Paul and all the rest of it?”

The question caught her off guard. She couldn’t walk away—but she couldn’t explain why without admitting that she’d lied about wanting to find a way into a story.

But there was more to it than that. Whether he was right or not, her father really seemed to believe that a werewolf had killed her mother. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around that possibility, but she also trusted her dad. How could she trust him about everything else and think he was a mental case as far as Gretchen’s death was concerned?

Suppose—just suppose—that all of this freakishness really was true. Suppose that werewolves and vampires did exist.

And suppose that one of them had really killed her mom.

She drew in a breath and faced her dad. “I can’t do that, Daddy. I don’t know what I believe yet, not really. But if werewolves really do exist, then I’m not walking away.” Because then it wouldn’t be about the article anymore.

Then it would be about revenge.

Paul moved through the party with Wes and Kevin, introducing them to the handpicked guests. They were playing their parts exceptionally well. Wesley was as arrogant
as always, and Kevin was charming and shy. Between the two of them—and the irritatingly absent Stu—they’d taken down a dark creature. A werewolf thought by many to only walk in nightmares. Granted, most of his guests already believed, but the few who didn’t—some key politicians that Travis Sullivan had invited, for example—were duly impressed.

It was what Paul wanted—to intrigue the powerful and draw them in. His operation was expensive, and his own resources would only stretch so far. In fact, those resources had recently been seriously diminished—he’d paid out quite a premium to arrange for tonight’s operation.

He glanced at his watch.
Soon
. Soon six of his best operatives would retrieve a key package. Paul bit back a wistful smile; there’d been a time when he would have insisted on leading the operation personally. Tonight, it was under Bryce’s control.

Yes, the operation had been expensive to put together, but it would be worth it. The coffers needed to remain full—hell, they needed to overflow. Travis’s deep pockets had been a boon, but other assets were needed. Ultimately, Paul wanted his Dark Warriors to spread across the globe—an unbeatable force that was humanity’s fortress against the armies of the night. It was events like this that would help him reach that goal. Small gatherings of power players, who showed their appreciation in both cash and introductions to others who were similarly inclined. The problem of financing was universal, and though he would much rather be focusing on planning and training, he knew gathering support was a necessary evil.

But necessary though it was, his mind was only half on it. Mostly, he was watching Andy.

He’d seen her expression when he mentioned her mother. The pain and the shock. She hadn’t known how her mother had died; he’d bet his entire operation on it.

Not that he could blame Andrew for keeping such a thing from his daughter. Even if she hadn’t been there to witness it, knowing that her mother had been ripped apart like that … that a beast’s claws had dug into her flesh, had pried out her entrails …

Paul shuddered, pushing aside his own dark memories. From across the room, his gaze sought Andy, still sitting on a small sofa with her father. Her skin was soft in the candlelight, her eyes stunning. They were kindred spirits, her and him. Bound together by the painful loss of a parent and, undoubtedly, by the need to see their parents’ murderers pay.

“Sorry I’m late,” Travis said, sidling up. “She’s very beautiful,” he added.

Paul turned to him with a frown. “She?”

“The woman talking with Andrew.”

“That’s his daughter,” Paul said.

“Is she?” Travis frowned. “She looks familiar.” He shook his head, as if brushing off the thought. “She’s a new addition to our little family?”

Paul nodded slowly. “I expect so. She came with Kevin. He cleared it with me first, of course.” He looked pointedly at Travis, then nodded across the room at a tall, lanky man who was sipping a drink. “I see that you didn’t extend the same courtesy.”

“Doyle?” Travis chuckled. “Trust me. He’s an asset.”

“Is he? And who exactly is Mr. Doyle?”

“Ryan Doyle. He’s with Homeland Security.”

“Travis—”

The politician raised his hand. “Trust me. This guy’s one of us. He’s been around the block—hell, he’s even fought vamps. He’s as frustrated as we are at the government’s inability and unwillingness to fight these creatures. So he’s been fighting on his own. Better for all of us if he joins our cause.”

“And you just decided this on your own?”

“Well, yes.”

Paul worked his jaw, trying to keep his patience with his very wealthy, very well placed friend. “Did it ever occur to you that he might be one of them? A vampire? A werewolf?”

“We go out for coffee. During the day.”

“My point is that you haven’t finished your training. You’re still susceptible.” Despite multiple sessions with the vampire who was locked in the bunker, Travis still hadn’t mastered the skill of blocking a vampire’s influence.

“He didn’t put a whammy on me.”

“How can you be sure?”

Travis kept a smile plastered on his face, but it was his political face—the mask that hid his true emotions. “I know the man. Talk to him. Decide for yourself.”

“I intend to.”

The last thing Paul needed was another dark creature infiltrating his organization. The realization that Jordan was a werewolf had taken a bit of the wind out of his sails. Before, Paul had been so sure that he’d covered his tracks. The discovery that the weren knew about him—that he was poking around and asking questions and gathering intel—had been a serious blow. More, it had been an object lesson in the need for speed. Now that
the dark creatures knew he was planning a major operation, they were surely mobilizing to shut him down. Searching for his bunker, his safe houses. Trying to identify his soldiers and seconds.

He needed to act fast before they managed to do serious damage. And he really didn’t need his right-hand man dragging an unapproved stranger into the mix.

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll take him with me,” Travis said.

Paul shook off the suggestion. “No. If he’s a mole, then he already knows anything he’s likely to overhear from our guests. And I want the chance to get closer. Besides, you and I need to talk.” He turned and headed for the door to the balcony, not waiting to see if Travis followed.