The Keepers. Heather Graham

let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

      He changed in a split second, appearing to be no more than mist, and heading out. Cursing silently, she did her best to make the change as quickly and efficiently.

      Still, he looked impatient when she met him back on the street, though she couldn’t have been more than a few seconds behind him.

      “You could have caused a real problem in there tonight,” he told her.

      They had met on the street corner, beneath the shadow of a giant oak that dripped moss. He was tall, dark, lean, strikingly handsome—and deadly—in the glow of the flickering electric streetlight. Powerful in a way that was frightening, that stole her breath.

      She wasn’t afraid of him, she told herself.

      She was the Keeper.

      “I was there to see that the right thing was done,” she said with dignity. “And I would have managed just fine—if you hadn’t come in and messed everything up.”

      “I’m a cop, and I know how to manage any situation—especially one that has to do with vampires.”

      “I repeat. I am responsible. I am the Keeper. Your Keeper.”

      He bristled at that, and took a step closer to her. He used a body wash or aftershave that was subtle and masculine, and despite herself, she took a step backward, not sure if it was because she was intimidated—or because she found herself too attracted, too tempted to lay her hands on the broad expanse of his chest.

      She forced herself to stay still as he took a step closer to her, pointing a finger and touching her just above her cleavage.

      “You are the Keeper. But you’re overstepping your bounds. You’re supposed to step in when we can’t handle a situation ourselves. In this case, I was handling the situation just fine.”

      She shook her head. “I can’t trust you to kill a vampire,” she said, her words soft.

      “You have to trust me.”

      “A vampire has committed murder,” she reminded him.

      “That’s not proven,” he insisted. “Look—we’re on it. Give us a chance, Fiona. Good God, learn from your parents. They were amazing, because they understood delegation.”

      “My parents are dead,” she reminded him angrily.

      She was surprised when he seemed to soften, when something in his eyes became gentle, almost tender.

      “I’m sorry. Please, give me a chance … as a cop—and as a vampire. I will get to the bottom of this, but none of us will be in good shape if we get the city abuzz with rumors, and all the underworld starts getting edgy and worried. Please.”

      She nodded. “I don’t want a panic erupting, either, but that’s the point. I have to keep watching—that’s what Keepers do,” she reminded him. She was overwhelmed by the sense that she needed to get away from him. She didn’t want to be this close, didn’t want to be noticing his physique or realizing that his scent was extremely evocative. She wanted to be irritated from a distance; she wanted to solve the problem herself, because she was the Keeper.

      “I have to get home,” she heard herself say a little nervously.

      “I’ll drive you.”

      “I have my own car,” she told him quickly.

      “I’ll walk you to it,” he told her.

      “I’m all right. This is my city.”

      “And like every city, it has crack houses, drug addicts and plain old thugs. I’m a cop—I do my job even when the denizens of the underworld aren’t out causing trouble. I’ll walk you to your car.”

      “Honestly, Jagger, I’m a Keeper.”

      “And a Keeper—just like a vampire, werewolf, shapeshifter, pixie, pooka, leprechaun or even a lamia—can be taken by surprise. Why the hell do you think our kind had to escape the old world, then flee places like Salem, to find a place where we could blend in? We’re all vulnerable, Fiona, despite whatever strengths we have. We’re all vulnerable—in so many ways.”

      He took her arm as they walked down the street. She wanted to wrench from his touch, but …

       The lady doth protest too much, methinks, she thought.

      But she was so acutely aware of him!

      They reached her car.

      “Good night, Fiona,” he said, as he opened her door for her.

      “You’ll keep me apprised—of everything going on? From a cop’s standpoint and a vampire’s?” she inquired.

      He nodded.

      “I have to follow up and investigate. You know that.”

      “Have some faith in me, please,” he said.

      “I’m having faith. But I’m using what I’ve got, too, that’s all.”

      “I’ll report in daily,” he said.

      “Yes, you will.”

      He smiled suddenly.

      She frowned, looking at him. “I don’t see anything to smile about in any of this, Jagger.”

      “Oh, certainly not. Not in the situation.”

      “Then?”

      “You just have to have the last word, don’t you?” he asked.

      She didn’t reply, just slid into the seat, and he closed the door. She stared at him and turned the key in the ignition. He stepped away quickly as she gunned the engine, then started to ease out onto the street.

      A good exit, she told herself.

      Except that she could hear his husky laughter even as she drove away.