Guardian of the Night. Debra Webb
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of her.
“No.” She shrugged as if considering her other options. “I can’t think of anything else I need at the moment. I’ll get settled and maybe do a little exploring before it gets too dark.”
“Very good.” He hesitated once more before leaving. “There is one other thing.”
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for yet another revelation that would hinder her ability to do her job.
“Mr. Drake isn’t pleased about this. He didn’t want protection. The fact of the matter is I’ve gone directly against his wishes allowing you here. I’m not sure your first meeting with him will be pleasant.”
Perfect. Blue smiled in hopes of relieving his evident anxiety and not giving away her own. “Not to worry. I have five ornery older brothers at home. I’m pretty good at handling that kind of macho male mentality.”
Lowell’s uncertain expression remained in place, but, to his credit, he attempted a smile. “Well, I’ll see you in a bit then.”
Blue watched him go, then slowly surveyed the spacious room with its high ceilings and period furnishings. Plain, drab, and what she decided had to be beige walls and beige bed coverings. It was hard to say for certain in the low light. No pictures or other decorating items. Judging by the room’s size, she thought it might be what was considered the master suite. A quick look into the adjoining bathroom and she was sure of it.
She exhaled a weary breath and wondered how the heck she was supposed to do her job if Drake didn’t want her here? She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. Easy, she decided. She’d just have to change his mind. She had a lifetime of experience charming the male of the species.
It only took Blue a few minutes to unpack her things and check out the weapons Lucas had arranged for her use. She strapped on the ankle holster, pulled her jeans leg down over it, then shrugged into her shoulder holster before going downstairs. She always felt naked without her gun. Throughout her whole life, the people she loved most had accessorized with weapons. Well, except for her mother, who’d crossed herself every time one of them walked in or out of a room carrying a gun. Though she had little tolerance for violence, Margaret Callahan was as tough as nails. She’d had to be to survive in the same house with that many cop egos.
Blue checked out the other three rooms on the second floor. All were bedrooms, one looked to be Lowell’s. Each room was as large as hers and had its own private bath. And all were dull-as-dirt beige. Lowell had hung a few pictures, of family or friends, she supposed, and on one wall was a large Georgia Bull Dogs banner. A small television set occupied the far corner. She wondered if the island had cable. Probably not.
She resisted the urge to check out the third floor. It was off limits, Lowell had said. Judging by its size, as seen from outside, Mr. Drake’s suite most likely made up the entire floor. He was probably sleeping up there right now. She shook off the vampirish images that formed in her head as she recalled Chester’s remark about the reclusive man. Time to get the lay of the land.
Her hand glided along the curved banister as she slowly descended the staircase. For the first time she noticed the finer details of the huge chandelier that hung above the center hall. It was lovely, dimly lit, but lovely just the same.
She wondered vaguely if the electrical wiring had been modified or if the lights themselves had been changed in some way to ensure that the light wattage remained so low. Though her eyes were already beginning to adjust as Lowell had said they would, it was still too dark for her liking.
But she’d deal with it.
The main parlor was just as plain and beige as the rest of the rooms. Not that she had anything against beige, mind you. But this beige monotony was unbroken by anything other than wood floors and wood trim, all the color of rich, dark coffee, like the mahogany door on the front of the house. She considered that maybe white was too reflective and most other colors too dark, thus the selection of beige. Maybe she’d ask about that. Eventually.
Thankfully the parlor’s furnishings were more contemporary and slightly more colorful. There was another television set and a stereo system. Someone liked classical music, she decided, noting the stack of CDs. A desk and computer along with row after row of book-filled shelves occupied one side of the room. Like the rest of the house, the windows were shrouded in thick draperies—even they were beige. But at least this room looked used. The brown leather sofa looked worn and comfortable and was flanked by two plaid overstuffed side chairs.
As she strayed back into the hall a whiff of something absolutely heavenly enticed her nose and made her stomach rumble. She followed the delicious scent to the kitchen at the rear of the house.
“Whatever that is, it smells great,” she commented aloud.
Lowell glanced up from the oven. “Ten more minutes and you’ll find out.” He closed the door and laid the oven mitt aside. “It’s my own secret recipe.”
Blue smiled at the note of camaraderie in his tone. “Can’t wait.” She took in the kitchen in one sweep. Modern, but not so much that it took away from the house’s overall feel of a bygone era. “I think I’ll take a walk and get my bearings,” she announced, feeling restless and with a definite need to see the sun one last time before it disappeared for the day, leaving her to this gloom.
He nodded absently. “Don’t be long.”
Blue was careful to lock the front door behind her just as Lowell had instructed. Taking her time, she surveyed the grounds around the front of the house. The spirit bottles jangled as the breeze kicked up, drawing her attention or maybe warning her of some impending doom. She grinned and wondered if Lowell had done that, or maybe Mr. Drake under the cover of darkness just to spook the locals. But surely neither of them would be the superstitious type.
As she strolled around the house she was caught off guard again by the dark, foreboding forest that closed in on the yard from both sides. Trees, centuries old and laden with moss, towered over the thick brambles and undergrowth that cloaked all else. The distant rustle of leaves startled her, sent her backing up several steps. She executed a quick right face and marched to the backyard.
Pete’s sake, she was too old for this kind of childish behavior.
The moment she rounded the corner at the back of the house, her breath caught. The beach flowed right up to the grass, less than twenty yards from the house. The blue surf foamed white, roared and then died on the sand, dragging back only to start the whole process over again. All but a sliver of the sun had melted into the horizon, leaving vivid streaks of gold and orange to color the otherwise royal-blue sky. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air.
She wished she was barefoot as she walked through the sand, but she was on the job. She looked back at the house. God, it was beautiful. A wide screened porch had been added for enjoying the view of the Atlantic. A widow’s walk loomed high overhead. She wondered if anxious wives had used it as a lookout for their husbands returning from the sea. Or maybe the pirates and smugglers had benefited from the perfect vantage.
Blue was certain she’d never seen any place more beautiful.
Despite the darkness that lay within those walls, she couldn’t call this place unappealing. It was no wonder Mr. Drake had chosen this island, this house as his refuge.
She turned to look out over the ocean once more, chafing her arms to chase away the tremble that accompanied the knowledge that the sun was now completely gone.
She stalled mid-turn.
A thread of tension tightened inside her.
Someone was watching her.
Chapter Three
Blue stared up at the third-story tower room as the tension erupted into a shiver that raced across her skin. She braced herself against the sensation, but it didn’t help.
Someone was watching her.
Was it him?
Drake?