“Anya,” he murmured in silken tones, “make very certain there are no mistakes.”
Duncan was damned proud of himself.
He hadn’t pulled his gun when Fane had stood protectively close to Callie, his expression hard as he clearly tried to convince the young diviner to return to Valhalla with him.
Or when Callie had lifted her hand to touch the Sentinel with an intimacy that made him growl like a fucking dog.
Or even when Fane had sent Duncan a glare that warned all sorts of bad, bad repercussions if Callie was hurt on his watch.
Yeah, so kudos to him.
Still, he couldn’t resist wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders when she at last returned to his side and the hulking guardian jogged up the steep path, pausing at the top to send Duncan one last glare.
And if that made him a caveman ... then so be it.
“He doesn’t look happy,” he muttered, tugging her even closer to his side.
At least he hadn’t pounded his chest, right?
“He’s not.” She heaved a faint sigh before turning to study him with a determined expression. “Where do we go first?”
His gaze slid over her pale, perfect features, barely resisting the urge to pluck off her reflective glasses so he could drown in the sapphire beauty of her eyes.
“I know where I’d like to go,” he murmured softly.
She lifted a brow. “Should I ask?”
His hands lightly skimmed up and down the back of her arms. “My apartment is only a few miles away.”
He felt her revealing shiver of pleasure, but she shook her head in warning.
“I thought you genuinely wanted me to help in your investigation.”
He grinned. “I do, but I’m a man.”
“And?”
With a chuckle he stepped back, reaching in his front pocket to remove his cell phone.
As much as he preferred the idea of luring her to his apartment, he understood that their relationship had become physical at supersonic speed. Not that he was complaining. Hell, no. But the lack of traditional wooing meant Callie couldn’t be certain that he valued her as much for her swift intelligence and quiet courage as he did for her beauty.
Something he intended to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“And I’m about to call the station so we can get on with the investigation,” he assured her.
She smirked at his overly innocent smile, but reached out to grab his arm. “Why do you have to call the station? I thought we were going to investigate the designer shops?”
“We are, but I’m hoping to narrow down the search by finding out which salons carry a local designer.” He struggled to remember what Frank had told him. “Sung something or other.”
“Let me.” She pulled out her own phone and scrolled through her contacts.
“Who are you calling?”
“Serra.” She lifted the phone to her ear. “She’s intimately familiar with every store in a hundred-mile radius.”
Duncan had a searing memory of Serra’s skin-tight clothing and kick-ass boots. He didn’t have his coroner’s personal experience with female attire, but he did have a butt-load of sisters. He’d learned to recognize a fashionista.
His da had nearly strangled his youngest sister when he discovered she’d used his credit card to buy a six-hundred-dollar designer purse. He shuddered to think what the psychic had spent on her boots.
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
She pretended she didn’t hear his muttered words as she spoke into the phone. “Serra, do you know a designer named Sung? Great, where can you buy the label?” She listened, nodding her head. “Thanks, you’re a doll.” She paused, a faint smile curling her lips. “Fane? Actually he’s on his way back to Valhalla, although it’s going to be a touch and go landing, so if you want to catch him you need to be prepared. Good pluck.”
She returned her phone to her pocket, then sent him a curious smile as she felt his lingering gaze. “What?”
“I thought you liked your guardian?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why would you leave him at the mercy of that man-eater?”
“Hey.” She punched him in the shoulder, the blow surprisingly strong despite her lack of bulk. Were all high-bloods more powerful than norms? It would explain why his bench press record at the police academy was still unbeaten. And deflate a small piece of his ego. “Serra’s my dearest friend.”
“She’s terrifying,” he countered, giving an exaggerated shudder.
“You think I can’t be terrifying?” she asked, only partially teasing. “You haven’t seen me mad yet.”
Hmm. His gaze briefly flicked to the crimson flames of her hair. He’d already discovered the passionate nature beneath her facade of calm. He didn’t doubt for a second that included a temper that could flay him alive.
“And I don’t intend to,” he warned, brushing his thumb over the lush curve of her lower lip. “I am, after all, completely adorable.”
“What you are is full of shit,” she corrected dryly.
His bark of laughter echoed around the secluded alcove. “Possibly.” Ignoring the gazes from his fellow cops, which ranged from disgust to blatant envy, he steered Callie toward the path leading up the bluff. “Did she give you the name of a store?”
“Two. Victoria’s Boutique at the Plaza and the Paris Gallery in Independence.”
She easily jogged up the steep incline, the sway of her ass encased in the tight jeans sending a sizzling heat through Duncan’s body. Oh, he wanted his hands on the rounded derriere, preferably as she was riding him to oblivion. Or maybe while she was on her hands and knees as he took her from behind.
“Duncan? Is something wrong?”
Callie’s question intruded into his sinful fantasy, forcing him to realize that they’d reached the top of the bluff.
Damn.
He hadn’t responded to a woman with this sort of mindless lust since . . .
Since never, he was forced to concede.
Not even during his crazed, hormonal teen years.
Clearing his throat, he tapped the name of the salons into his phone’s GPS, feeling a heat crawl up the back of his neck. Thank god, Callie was a diviner and not a psychic.
She’d push him back down the bluff.
Head first.
“All set,” he muttered, lifting his gaze to meet her puzzled frown. “Let’s go.”
She followed in silence, allowing him to settle her in the front seat of his car and take off at a speed considerably less reckless than when he’d arrived. She wasn’t obeying his order, merely trying to figure out why he was blushing like an idiot.
Thankfully her lingering scrutiny was distracted as he turned onto Broadway and made his way to the Plaza.
Pressing her nose to the window, she appeared fascinated by the Spanish-inspired buildings and exquisite fountains that were a trademark of the area. At night the neighborhood was bathed in stunning lights and the air was filled with soft jazz, but during the day it was the domain of the upscale shoppers.
With a low laugh, Duncan pulled into an underground parking lot and turned off the motor.
Callie turned to meet his smile with a frown. “What’s so funny?”
He slid out of the car, not surprised that Callie was already standing near the hood by the time he’d shut the door. She might be forced to travel with a guardian, but that didn’t mean she meekly depended on a man.
If anything, she fought for every inch of independence she could claim.
“You look like my five-year-old niece, Tabby, when I take her to the carnival,” he answered her question, placing a gentle hand on her elbow as he strolled toward the nearby stairs.
“And how’s that?”
“All wide-eyed wonder.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t often leave Valhalla and when I do it’s rarely for pleasure.”
A deep, aching regret clutched at his heart. Her words were simple, spoken without bitterness. But to a man who’d grown up surrounded by loving family and a community who’d easily accepted him, it made him want to hit something.
What kind of world forced a little girl to remain hidden behind protective walls or risk being attacked by small-minded vigilantes?
He had an easy answer.
It was the same world that would happily demand her help when her “curse” could help solve a murder.
With an effort, he squashed his surge of anger. He couldn’t change Callie’s past. All he could do was try to show her that there were good and beautiful things to be discovered beyond Valhalla.
They stepped onto the sun-drenched street just a block from their destination.
“You’ve never been to the Plaza?” he asked as they strolled along the sidewalk.
“Not.”
“We have time if you want to look around.” He nodded toward an exclusive jewelry store across the road. “Maybe do a little shopping.”
The sun glinted off her reflective glasses as she turned in his direction. “You assume because I’m a woman I must love to shop?”
He leaned down to steal an all too brief kiss. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”
Chapter Eighteen
Callie did her best to hide her smile as she planted her hands on her hips.
Deep inside she had to admit that she was enchanted by Duncan’s teasing. She’d never spent her days indulging in light flirtations like other young girls. Not because she didn’t want to, but people treated diviners differently, even among high-bloods. It might not always be suspicion, but at the very least . . . wariness. And Callie was by nature more serious than many of her friends.
Now she couldn’t deny a giddy enjoyment at being treated like a pretty woman who’d caught the attention of a virile, drop-dead sexy man.
Of course, she might be naive, but she wasn’t stupid. Duncan was a man who expected to have his way, either with charm or sheer arrogance. If she didn’t keep him in line, he’d trample all over her.