Keri Arthur - Embraced By Darkness

He raised a dark eyebrow. "That's an unusual question, is it not?"

"Not when I'm trying to find out if her encounter was deliberate or alcohol-induced."

He smiled. "It was very deliberate, trust me."

"Ah." So Callie's sister had been finding excuses to explain Callie's behavior. I wondered if Callie had used the same excuse with Liam. And whether he'd believed it.

I gulped down the remainder of my coffee, then rose and gave him a card. "If anyone else remembers anything, please give me a call."

He took the card, then reached down for one of the pens sitting on the coffee table and scrawled a number on the back of it.

"I know how to contact the Directorate," he said, handing the card back. "So I have no need of your number. However, should you wish anything else of me, please ring that number. It's my private, not business, line."

I smiled as I took his card. "I seriously doubt I could afford your rates."

He raised a hand, his fingers brushing my cheek, a featherlight caress that might as well have been a sledgehammer, so strongly did my body react. "Lust burns between us, Ms. Jenson. Should you ever wish to pursue it, it would be my pleasure. I do have a private life beyond managing this club."

"But I'm not sure I have a life beyond that of a guardian." I stepped away, and tried to ignore the frustrated screaming of my hormones. "Thanks for your help, Shadow."

He smiled. "I'll await your call, Ms. Jenson."

I didn't reply, just got out of there while I was still in control of my desires. Once back in the car, I turned the AC onto full cool, and wondered what the hell I should do next. The guardian training I'd undergone tended to concentrate on the other side of a guardian's life—the killing and surviving. The actual hunting bit was, in many ways, left up to individual instincts.

Right now, my instincts were insisting that if I wasn't going to give them sex, then I sure as hell better give them food. And maybe I'd think better on a full stomach.

I started the car and drove around until I found a McDonald's drive-thru, and ordered a couple of burgers, some fries, and a Coke. I munched as I drove, and after a while, found myself heading toward the leafy and money-rich suburb of Toorak and the home of Dia Jones.

Dia was a psychic—and a blind woman who saw far too much. I'd helped rescue her kid from the clutches of the madman who was her brother and her master™ at least in the sense that he could control all those who'd been created in the lab by his father. That madman was dead, but my help had indebted Dia to the Directorate, and she was one of us now—even though she was officially listed as a consultant.

I hadn't seen her a whole lot since the events on Deshon Starr's estate, though I knew Jack had been in contact with her a number of times. Part of me was iffy about seeing her now, simply because, while. I liked her, being in her presence made me feel a little uncomfortable. It was like she could see through whatever I said, and glimpse the truth or lies behind it.

But if anyone could clarify—or at least hint at—what was going on, then maybe it was Dia. And any shortcut to solving our murder had to be a good one if it managed to save a life.

I pulled up in front of her house, which was more in the style of the grand old English mansions often shown on TV than the heavily ornate, American South style that seemed so prevalent on the rest of this street. The brickwork had been painted a warm, soft gold, and ivy crawled up the walls and across the roof, giving the impression that the house had been here forever. I climbed out of my car and walked through the ornate, wrought-iron gates. A lush, somewhat overgrown lawn stretched from the side gate to the porch, and pencil pines lined the boundary. I was still in as much awe of the place as I'd been when I first came here so many months ago. It was a pocket of peace in the middle of a thriving, bustling community.

Of course, Dia had been afraid that the government would take this mansion away from her, as it had started confiscating all of Deshon Starr's properties after we'd destroyed his crime syndicate and killed the man himself. Or monster, as he was. But Dia had a good bargaining chip—the Directorate wanted her services, and this house had been part of the price. I didn't know the other. Jack wouldn't tell me and I hadn't yet found the documents on the Directorate's network.

I walked up the steps and pressed the buzzer. There were a few beats of silence, then the intercom cracked and a soft voice said, "Yes?"

"Dia? Riley Jenson from the Directorate. I need to talk to you, if you have the time."

"Riley? Of course I have. Be there in a minute."

Another few seconds passed, then the door opened and Dia was standing there, as ethereal and beautiful as ever. Her hair—a pure whitish-silver—was loose, and shone with an almost unnatural brilliance as it spilled down the back of her long, flowing white dress. The garment scooped in at her waist, hinting at her shape while not emphasizing it. But no matter how stunning she might look in her floaty garb, it was her eyes that always got me. Even if she was blind, the blue of her eyes was magnetic—and yet, in many ways, unforgiving. And once again I was struck by the sensation that this woman saw far more than she was ever likely to admit.

Of course, the blue of her eyes wasn't natural, just like the silver hair. Her true hair color was a mix of silver and brown, and her eyes were also naturally brown, ringed by blue, but she'd once told me silver and blue suited her better. Dia wasn't only a psychic, but a clone with Helki shapeshifting genes who was able to subtly alter her appearance as easily as I could become a wolf.

"It's lovely to see you again, Riley." Her voice was as warm as her smile. "But I'm gathering this is not a social call?"

"Unfortunately, no." I hesitated. "How's little Risa doing?"

Her smile broke free, stunning in its richness. "She is beautiful, and will be pleased to see you again. Come in."

Last time I'd seen her, Risa had been barely seven months old, and certainly not up to talking. Yet, like her mom, there'd been a tremendous amount of power in her violet eyes. And even at seven months, she'd seemed to hold far more awareness of the world and her surrounds than any normal child.

But then, I guess she wasn't a normal child. She was the daughter of a clone and who knew what father. I'd seen Risa's birth certificate, but the man listed as her father didn't actually exist. It was yet another puzzle I was determined to resolve—for my own curiosity, if nothing more.

I stepped over the threshold and into Dia's huge hallway. A massive chandelier sprayed rainbows across the soft golden walls and carpets, and highlighted the various toys scattered about the place—though none of them, I noted with interest, rested in the middle of the hall, but rather hugged the sides. Either someone had been cautiously tidying up after the daughter so the mom didn't trip, or the child took an unusual amount of care when playing. I was betting on the latter.

A vase of sunflowers sat on a. redwood table, lending some spring cheeriness to the hall, and the staircase that spiraled upward was again scattered with toys. I went through the first of the two doors that led off the hall, noting with a smile that the bright, modernistic painting that had once dominated wall-space above the marble fireplace had been replaced by a gorgeous picture of Dia and her daughter.

I sat on one of the large sofas and was just about to ask where Risa was when she came bolting around the corner on a plastic train, white pigtails flying as she made choo-choo noises.

She gave me a grin and a wave as she flew on by and disappeared out the doorway, barely avoiding her mom's legs.