Jan Hambright - Dark Guardian

Turning in the darkness, he focused on her where she lay between two fallen shelves. She’d been minutes from death. They would have crushed her if he hadn’t intervened. But somehow he doubted only intervention was going to be enough to protect Olivia Morgan’s life. He’d have to do that and so much more.

Glancing at the file box tipped over next to her, he made a decision. He would allow her to discover enough information about her brother to be satisfied. She would leave Black’s Cove and their secret would remain secure.

Moving his hand in front of him, he willed the shelves into place.

They rocked upright, slaves of the telekinetic energy he forced on them. Next the file boxes were raised, refilled and put back into place, all except for the one she was after, that one he mentally slid onto the lowest shelf.

He knew she would return to the clinic in a couple of days—he’d seen it in a precognitive vision. And when she did, she would find what she was looking for.

OLIVIA’S SENSES RETURNED, starting with pain throbbing from a bump on her head. Awareness brought her around and she bolted straight up in the seat, almost banging her forehead on the steering wheel of her car in the process.

What had just happened?

Blinking several times, she got her bearings, shaking off the last of the fog that blanketed her mind. She couldn’t recall leaving the clinic. In fact, her last memory was of her flashlight mysteriously being jerked out of her hand.

She swallowed, fishing for memories beyond that. Nothing. Still, she couldn’t keep a shudder at bay. It ripped through her, setting her nerves on end.

“Dang.” She hadn’t gotten the file. Reaching up she patted her naked head. Her lucky red ball cap was missing. She’d dropped a clue, but she wasn’t going back for it tonight.

Turning the key in the ignition, she started her car and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was 3:20 a.m. She was missing an hour? She eyed the clinic as she pulled out into the driveway.

She had to have Ross’s file. She’d be back to try again, but next time, she’d come prepared for whatever lurked in the basement.

STEPPING OUT of the woods, he stared at the taillights of her car in the distance. He could still smell her sweet floral scent on the red baseball cap in his hand and on his clothes, still see the curve of her face as he’d carried her to her car and put her safely inside.

A wave of indignation raged through him. Olivia Morgan had to leave Black’s Cove. He wouldn’t have her blood on his hands.

He’d been watching her every move, but so had the others. They’d followed her here tonight just like he had. That knowledge worried him as he stepped out of cover and onto the cobblestone path that led him away from the building and all the secrets it contained.

Olivia sat in a booth next to the window in the local coffee shop on Main Street. Her unobstructed view of the front door of Black’s Cove Gazette made the cup of weak coffee sitting in front of her almost palatable.

The newspaper would open in ten minutes. She glanced at her list, information she had to dig up from the newspaper’s archives.

A racy black Jaguar pulled up to the curb next to the restaurant. A man climbed out of the car, pausing long enough to lock the vehicle.

She gave him a once-over, sure he was the best looking thing she’d seen in this town to date. She stared at his broad shoulders as he turned, jaywalked across the street and disappeared into the Gazette office.

“Refill?” the waitress asked, holding a half-full coffeepot in her hand.

“Sure.” Olivia slid her cup to the edge of the table. “That’s a pretty great car, don’t you think?”

Glancing up at the young woman, she held her breath. The ploy was lame, but if it got her a name, then the benign question was worth it.

“That’s Jack Trayborne’s car. You should see his red convertible.”

“I bet it’s even better.” She pulled her full cup back and reached for the sugar. So this was the infamous Jack Trayborne? “He’s easy on the eyes, too. Is he single?”

The waitress’s cheeks pinked and she was about to reply, when an older woman waved at her from behind the counter. “Your order’s up, Emily.”

She nodded and turned around.

Olivia smiled to herself, pretty sure the young woman was nursing a crush. She could almost do the same, if she didn’t think Jack Trayborne was hiding secrets.

She had half a mind to march over to the Gazette and confront him face to face, but taunting the tiger before the cage door was all the way shut could get you bit. She loved risk, but not risk without a cause.

After last night’s freaky encounter in the basement of the clinic, she planned to lay low, blend in, ask the locals about Trayborne and hope to get some answers that would put her investigation back on track. Because at the moment, she didn’t have squat.

The front door of the newspaper office pushed open and he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Olivia focused on his dark good looks, enjoying the way the morning sun glinted off his coffee-colored hair. He was decked out in a charcoal gray business suit and much younger than she expected, midthirties she guessed. He didn’t look like a threat, but she couldn’t keep a sense of foreboding from coasting over her nerves.

An elderly couple paused to speak with him. He smiled at something they said, nodding his head in agreement. They waved before moving down the street, arm in arm.

Jack Trayborne crossed the road, a hint of a smile still bowing his sexy mouth. He reached his car, pausing next to it to raise his cell phone to his ear. He glanced over the car’s roof as he spoke, meeting her gaze with deep blue eyes and a placid expression.

A jolt of attraction zapped her. Her throat constricted and the heat of embarrassment rushed into her cheeks.

She broke the connection first and picked up her cup, bringing it to her lips in a nonchalant manner she didn’t feel. He’d set her damn nerves on fire and she was blowing it. There wasn’t much incognito about gawking at her enemy.

Chancing another look, she almost choked. In the instant between realization and reality, he’d slipped away.

She set down the cup, tossed a couple of bucks on the table and left the café.

Looking both ways, she crossed the street and entered the Gazette, determined to forget about the odd encounter. This was one strange town; it only stood to reason that Jack Trayborne was odd, too.

“Miss Morgan,” the receptionist said, looking up from behind a high counter positioned between the public and the newsroom, visible behind a half wall of glass. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to use the archives for a couple of hours this morning.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

A zing of caution wiggled up her spine. “Is there a problem?” She glanced at the sign-in sheet on the counter. It was blank.

“No. No problem. The exterminator is coming in to spray this morning. Everything has been draped. No one is allowed down there right now.”

Arguing didn’t appear to be an option. Anyway, who could argue for exposure to chemicals.

“When can I get into the archives?” she asked, picking up the morning’s edition of the newspaper from the desk. The headline leaped out at her. Phantom Saves Elderly Couple from Plunge off Hwy 21.

Couple claims they never saw the man who saved their lives, but they don’t dispute that the phantom played a role in their miraculous rescue and they believe he exists…

“At the end of the week.”

“Hmm?” She snapped back into the conversation, still pondering the ridiculous article.