Guardian's Patience, page 16
part #5 of Guardians of the Race Series
Her eternity of kissing, however, was short lived. While plundering her mouth once more with his tongue, Broadbent’s hands slid down to her backside to grasp the tightly encased globes of her rear end. He gripped them firmly to hoist her further upward so that her breasts would be within easy reach of his mouth. Pinkie rested on her hands to keep her body raised above his in what was a perfect position for him to enjoy her bounty. His next move reminded her of what she’d almost forgotten. He raised her blouse to draw it up her body and over her head.
She could see that where the current situation was heading and she panicked. Pinkie didn’t do naked. Scantily clad, yes, and preferably in the dark. Completely naked? No. Everything was going too well and she didn’t want to ruin it by exposing too many bumps and bulges. It turned too many men off even fully clothed.
“You take the fat one,” she’d heard too many times after the presumed coin toss. “I’ll take the pretty, thin, hot, fill-in-the-blank other one next to her.”
The room was heavily darkened with the heavy outer shutters. The Paenitentia’s intolerance of sunlight was something she’d learned from the scolding Grace gave the boys when they’d arrived with the injured Broadbent, but she’d also learned that because of it, these Guardians saw better in the dark. Pinkie found that amazing, but it offered no comfort to her now.
“Wait! Stop!” she called out more stridently than she’d intended.
Broadbent immediately stopped. He withdrew his hands as if burned by her bare flesh, helped her to her feet, and sat up.
“I do beg your pardon,” he blustered. “I don’t quite know what came over me. Forgive me, please.”
“Oh, Pookie, no. Don’t look like that. It’s not you. It’s me.” Pinkie touched his cheek and then, grabbing what she needed from the top of his dresser, ran to the adjacent bath. “Don’t go anywhere,” she called as she shut the door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Well? Did it work?” Dov asked his twin who had his ear plastered to the door. There was only room for single file on the attic stairs and Dov had won the toss for the prime location.
Though two doors separated them, Dov distinctly heard Broadbent’s groan. Hand fisted, he pointed his thumb toward the ceiling.
Grinning, Col returned the gesture and then saw his brother’s eyes grow wide as he motioned Col to move and do it quickly. They were almost to the second set of stairs leading to the main floor before Dov Spoke again.
“Whatever’s going on in there, the Professor’s not happy about it. He was right on the other side of the door, in the kitchen, and I’ve never heard him talk like that before.”
“What? What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Shit, fuck, and be damned’. That’s what he said.”
“Well, at least we taught him something,” Col muttered of the twin’s favorite phrase, but neither of them smiled.
Chapter 15
“What do you mean the she isn’t there?” Abyar shouted. “What do you mean the shop is closed?”
Poynter wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer those questions. The shop was locked up tight with a closed sign on the door and the gypsy fortune teller was nowhere to be found. It had been that way for several days and he wasn’t about to voice his own suspicions; that she’d probably run like a scared rabbit after witnessing the fight in the alley. If he told Abyar that, Poynter figured he’d lose his head for it. Not being a stupid demon, he kept his mouth shut and stared blankly at his boss.
Andi, listening to the exchange from the kitchen, did a little foot-tapping jig. Though she’d wanted to make a gift of the girl, and was looking forward to witnessing the little bitch’s painful demise, her disappearance was probably for the best.
“Has she gone to visit a friend? Has she left for good? How much did she pack?” Abyar shouted and Andi hoped Poynter had learned his lesson and guarded what was left off his pretty face.
“No one in the neighborhood knows anything about her except that she tells a good fortune and always smiles.”
Good. Poynter was moving toward the kitchen door for a quick escape. She was right about him. He had brains. The others, watching from their seats around the kitchen table weren’t so fortunate. They watched and waited, excited by the possibility of bloodshed, but couldn’t connect the dots to form the picture of what came next. If Poynter managed to avoid Abyar’s wrath, he’d take it out on one of them. Andi quietly eased the door open and left it ajar.
“Then break in! I want to know who she’s with and where she’s gone. I want her. Do you hear me? If you find her... No! When you find her, you take her. You bring her to me. She broke a blood oath and I’m going to collect.”
“You mean she screwed you over and got away with it,” Andi muttered to herself. Under other circumstances, she might have liked the bitch.
Abyar moved so fast, his body was a blur. “I heard that, bitch!”
Andi’s head exploded with pain as she was thrown against the door she left open for Poynter’s escape. She landed in a heap on the floor.
“Like you’re trying to do?” he screamed into her bleeding face. Spittle sprayed across her cheek. “Do you think I don’t notice how you contradict my orders? How you offer up that sagging body of yours to get them to ignore my commands?”
Andi, who’d forced herself upright into a sitting position against the door, now rose to her feet, using the door for support.
“I offer them nothing! Your commands?” she screamed back and mocked him in a high, ridiculous voice. “Find the girl! Find the girl!” She wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand. “That’s all we’ve heard from you for days. What about business? We need money. We need to fix this rat hole up. We need food and we need blood. I can’t bring over more demons without it.”
Long ago, she might have begged him in the wheedling, little girl voice he insisted she use. There was usually a price she had to pay, but her demon lover knew how to use pain in the most exciting ways. Their time together in the Otherworld had changed him and since their escape, he hadn’t changed back. He’d always been evil, but he was no longer fun.
He raised his clawed hand as if he was going to hit her again, but changed his mind and pointed his sharpest talon at her instead. “Then do your job. Use your little ‘gift’ to mesmerize the donors. Pick their pockets before you use them. Surely you don’t need the hired help for that. If you want more money, spread your legs and earn it. That’s all you were good for in the Otherworld and all you’re good for here; fucking and cooking, and you don’t do either very well.”
She curled her lip at the demons he referred to as the hired help. They stared at her with that same stupid, bloodthirsty look on their faces, except now, Poynter stared, too.
“You’d like them to believe that, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, no longer caring if he killed her or not. “Who brings them over? Who keeps you from wasting your time locating a portal and tracking them down one at a time?”
“Who taught you?” he asked.
He had, in fact, taught her to use the blood rituals that were faster than the long, drawn out method she’d used when they first met, but he’d never shown her how it was done. Andi was convinced he couldn’t do it by himself. Abyar’s greatest talent was claiming other’s talents for his own.
His hand moved again and though determined not to, she flinched. He grabbed her throat and raised her up by the neck until her toes barely touched the ground.
“Let me show you what else I can do, my dear, worthless witch. Anyone,” he called over his shoulder to the others, “who brings me the girl, gets this one as his reward.”
~*~
“What did you find?” Canaan asked, leaning back in his office chair. He waved to the seat against the wall. “Anything interesting?”
Nardo was in charge of intel. If information was there to be found, he was the one who would find it. His high-tech games had been the force behind the resurgence of interest in young men joining the Guardians. His hacking skills were also unparalleled.
“Yes and no,” Nardo said, showing his Liege Lord several sheets of paper. “What there is, is interesting in a weird sort of way, but I don’t know what conclusions can be drawn from it. She didn’t start life as Patience Delecourt.”
He read off the pertinent data; date of birth, place of birth, parents’ names. “Father took off when she was two. Mother hooked up with the stepfather a year later. No siblings. Stepfather tended bar, mother told fortunes and played cards, so she was probably a DOM, too. Stepfather’s employment is a matter of public record. The stuff on the mother comes from a newspaper article.”
“She made the news? Why?”
Nardo held up his hand. “I’m getting to that, boss, but you need the set-up first. There are no arrest records for either parent, and Stepdad seems like a good guy, although that might not be true either. No sign of Social Services being involved with the family, and I know that’s no proof that everything smelled like roses, but that’s all I got. Patience P. Pendergast did well in school right up until the middle of her Junior year. Then the shit hit the fan. Don’t know why, but her grades tanked and she got picked up for some minor shoplifting, though the charges were dropped. Okay. Rebellious teenager. Probably no biggie.” He gave the date and moved to the next page.
“Here’s where things get hinky. One month later, Mom and Stepdad bite the big one during a robbery while they were closing up shop. Now, not only the cops, but Social Services get involved. The kid’s still underage, but it looks like they were going to let her stay with Grandma, Bio dad’s mother, by the way, which is weird, too.” He shook his head. “The old lady lived with them and there was no other immediate blood family staking a claim, so I’m thinking if she doesn’t know where dear daddy is, nobody does. Two days after the funeral, Patience P. Pendergast disappears, leaving Grandma and all her worldly possessions behind.”
Canaan folded his hands behind his head. “Anything odd about the parent’s death?”
Nardo shook his head. “No demon involvement, if that’s what you mean. Mother took two shots to the heart. It was quick. Stepfather took one to the chest and one to the neck. He bled out. Cops got the amount taken from the register tape. No drugs, no nothin’ else that might have been a motive. That’s how they made the papers and that’s where I got the ‘They were good people’ stuff, but people always speak well of the dead. How often do you hear ‘The bastard deserved to die’? It’s still an open case.”
“Do you think she was involved?” The question hung in the air.
“The women think she’s okay,” Nardo said slowly, “And Broadbent...” He shrugged.
“I didn’t ask about the women or Broadbent.”
“Okay. She could have been a typical runaway who saw this as her chance to bolt or, she could have been involved in some way. She was never a suspect, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved with whoever did it, but here’s a little more hink to add to the list. When I say she left everything behind, I mean clothes, wallet, make-up, everything, yet they wrote her off as a runaway.” He flicked the paper with his finger. “You ready for the rest of it?” At Canaan’s nod, he continued.
“She’s gone for three years. Poof.” He snapped his fingers. “Then she shows up in Houston, Tallahassee, Akron. She’s all over the map, never stays in the same place for more than six months. She disappears again and this time, when she shows up, she has a new name, though it’s funny she kept Patience. She continues to follow the same pattern until four years ago when Grandma dies. A year later Pinkie shows up to collect what little inheritance there was. She disappears again until two years ago when she buys a dilapidated building down on Canal and sets up shop. Where the hell has she been and why?”
Canaan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “She was running, but not like a typical runaway. She was a kid. Maybe she lived on the streets. It took her time to learn the ropes. Maybe she filled in with under-the-table jobs or things she doesn’t want to admit. Keep running. Keep moving. By the time they find you, you’re gone. For fifty dollars you can change your name, but not if fifty dollars is food or rent. She ran, but I don’t think she was a runaway. She had to keep track of the grandmother to know the woman was dead. Why do that if you don’t care? According to you, there wasn’t that much money involved. Why not go back for the funeral and collect right away? Because someone you don’t want to see might be at the same funeral. Wait a year and then take your chance. Grace says she was planning to run again when Broadbent got hurt.”
“You think she’s using us to hide, using Broadbent.” Nardo’s remark was half statement, half question.
Canaan shrugged. “Like you said, yes and no. I think she’s hiding, but I don’t think she’s using Broadbent. I think she genuinely likes the guy. Grace says Pinkie loves him. What do I know?” He shrugged again and Nardo laughed.
“You going to give Broadbent the heads-up?”
“You do what you think best about that, but you make sure he keeps it to himself. The same goes for JJ. I don’t want Grace to know. I won’t have her upset. Not now. Not so close to term. Broadbent may know some of it already, although I don’t think he knows she’s hiding. He wouldn’t keep something like that from us. He’d want our help. For now, we trust our women to know what they’re about, but we keep our eyes open and hope that she learns to trust him or the women enough to open up. Until that happens, keep digging.”
Chapter 16
Broadbent pulled the bottle of Cuvee from the top shelf of the closet and took it into the little kitchen. He’d been saving the Camus Cognac as a gift for Nico’s birthday, the one his loving mate had assigned to him since there was no record of his birth. Broadbent would have to order another bottle. He needed this more than Nico did. Nico, after all, knew all there was to know about women.
Ignoring the brandy snifter since he wasn’t wasting the precious time to warm it, the distraught Guardian grabbed a tumbler from the cabinet and poured several inches of the expensive liquor into it. He eyed the rich liquid and added another two inches.
“Shit, fuck, and be damned.”
With the twins’ favorite curse still burning his tongue, Broadbent tilted his head back and swallowed the cognac down. It was difficult for a Paenitentia to get drunk. Their metabolisms were simply too high, and higher still for a Guardian in prime physical condition. But Dov and Col, that deleterious duo, had used their wretched resourcefulness and found a way.
“Drink it hard and drink it fast,” he quoted their ridiculous ditty, “And it will kick you up the ass.”
Broadbent didn’t want to get drunk, but he would definitely benefit from a boot in his posterior.
He’d ruined the moment. He wasn’t sure what he’d done or how he’d done it, but he was sure the fault was his. He’d never been able to grasp the what or how of things the way other people did. He saw no cleverness in the words the twins used to make women laugh. He never understood what it was about the look Nico gave Hope to make her blush and smile so sweetly. Even JJ, as hard and fierce as any Guardian, would melt into female softness at the touch of Nardo’s hand. And Grace, ah, Grace. She was unmerciful in her teasing and tormenting of their stern faced Liege Lord, yet when he took her in his arms, the love that shined from her eyes was like a beacon of light in a storm tossed sea. Broadbent had observed and notated all of this, yet his rational mind could discern no clue to unlocking the mystery of it.
For one brief, resplendent moment, he’d thought he’d found the key in Patience Delecourt. With his arms about her, his lips reveling in her soft sweetness, he’d felt that elusive happiness to be his at last. And then she’d jumped as if he’d pinched her, which he was pretty sure he hadn’t, and then she’d backed away like a frightened rabbit and run for the bath.
“Shit, fuck, and be damned,” he muttered again and eyed the bottle of cognac, wondering if another round would be beneficial to the gentle buzz within his brain.
“Pookie?”
He heard the tentative question in her call. Pookie. The name was absurd, but every time she said it, he felt warm inside. Her use of it made him smile and somehow feel special.
“Pookie? Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked, sounding almost as if she might cry.
Patience stood in the doorway, an angelic vision in a short, creamy peignoir and gown. The peignoir was open and when she moved, it floated around her like a glittering cloud. It was the gown that drew his rapt attention, though. Its ruffled edge ended just below her most private parts, drawing interest to them even as it barely covered them. The gown was loosely cut, but the fine hand of the silk allowed it to cling enticingly to her generous curves. Her breasts were clearly outlined as were the darkened circles of her areolas.
He wasn’t sure if his lightheadedness stemmed from the Cognac or the revelation before him.
“Good Lord.” She was beautiful.
He stood, empty glass in hand, staring at her and she wasn’t sure what to make of his inspection. His head was cocked to one side and his eyes traveled slowly down her body and up again. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t find her voice.
Pinkie thought she’d gotten past thinking of herself as the ‘fat girl’ in high school. She thought she saw herself as what she was and what she was, was round. She was born that way and while she might not be as round as she once had been, there was still no denying it. Her mother was round, her Grandmother was round, and though she had no proof, Pinkie was convinced every female ancestor she had was short and round, too. Once, during the summer before she started high school, she’d starved herself down to what the charts called a ‘normal’ weight, but all she saw was an emaciated looking round person and it didn’t stop the jokes from her classmates.
