Heart of Stone (6 page)

“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured Bea, mustering up an expression of puzzlement. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”

“We’ve had a robbery.” Bea pulled back, her expression a mix of grief and anger. The woman treated the pieces in her collections like her own children, with a combination of pride, love, and possessiveness. “Someone stole Sir Arthur.”

“Sir Arthur? How is that even possible? He must weigh at least eight or nine hundred pounds. Somebody would need a forklift just to get him off the pedestal.”

“The police are already back there looking for tire tracks, footprints, anything they can think of, but heaven knows what they’ll find. I certainly can’t explain how it happened. All I know is that when I came in this morning, I let the gardener out the terrace doors and he turned right around and shouted that our gargoyle had flown the coop.”

It took a supreme act of willpower for Ella not to cast a sideways glance at Kees, who remained still and quiet beside her. Luckily, he still looked like a human and not the very statue that Bea had told the police was stolen.

“Wow, I can’t even believe that,” she murmured, shaking her head for effect.

“You’re not the only one. If not for the big space and empty pedestal where he used to be, I don’t think the police would believe it either.” Bea stepped back and her glance drifted over to Kees. Her brows shot up and she looked from the gorgeous, towering male to Ella’s petite form. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Ella, is this a friend of yours?”

Oh no, he’s just my mythological kidnapper slash cross to bear.

Ella opened her mouth to offer some sort of explanation—heaven only knew what it was going to be—but Kees beat her to it. He smiled easily at the other woman and held out a hand.

“I’m Kees, Ella’s … companion,” he said, the pause implying a whole bunch of levels to the relationship that Ella would truly have preferred not to visit. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. As is the surprise,” Bea said, slanting Ella a sly, sideways glance. “I don’t recall Ella mentioning you. She must have wanted to keep you all to herself for a while.”

Kees grinned and slung his arm across Ella’s shoulders, drawing her close against him. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

Ella wondered if the pain would be mutual when she elbowed him in the stomach. “We haven’t actually known each other that long, so there really hasn’t been a lot to tell.”

“Hm, looks like there’s enough for the man to be walking you to work in the morning. I think that’s pretty telling.”

Bea’s teasing tone set Ella’s nerves on edge. She knew her boss didn’t mean anything but friendly humor, but being pressed up against Kees’s side like a cold compress didn’t strike Ella as funny. It struck her as … deeply disturbing.

Her eyes told her that the gargoyle’s human disguise remained flawless. No one looking at him would guess him to be anything other than a drool-inducing hunk of a man, the same as any other movie-star handsome guy walking down the streets of Vancouver. But Ella knew that under that tan skin and rippling muscle was a creature with horns and wings and fangs, the kind that stepped straight out of a nightmare.

So why did her skin tingle when he touched her? And why did her heartbeat speed up as if her teenaged crush had just passed her a note in study hall?

Ella attempted to pull herself together and offered Bea a rueful smile. “It should tell you that he’s a guy and that he had to come to the area this morning on business anyway. Right, Kees?”

His hand tightened on her shoulder when she tried to slip away, and under the friendly upturn of his lips, she read both his warning not to move and his humor at her desire to do so. “You know I can never argue with you, little one.”

Her surprised choke of laughter probably struck Bea as part of a silly exchange between lovers. Ella meant it as punctuation for the seven thousand things they’d fought over in the last eight hours, from whether or not he intended to kill her, to the fact that she had no intention of letting him sleep in her apartment last night, to the fact that he should stay out of sight while she was at work and wait for her to bring the information regarding the address he’d come from to him at the end of the day.

So far, the only argument she’d won had been the one about her not dying, and really that was only because he’d never wanted to kill her in the first place. Technically, he’d let her win that one.

Bea looked from one to the other, smiling in obvious pleasure. She’d been nagging Ella for months about dating more and meeting a nice man, and she was obviously inclined to like Kees just for existing. At least, while he stayed in this form, she was. Of course, even an inclination couldn’t suppress Béatrice’s instinct to mother.

“Business,” Bea repeated, fixing her gaze back on the gargoyle in human’s clothing. “What kind of business are you in, Kees? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The steel underlying her tone implied that she didn’t really care if he did.

Ella stiffened, but Kees seemed to take the question in stride. His expression remained friendly and relaxed as he replied, “Not at all. I work in private security.”

Bea’s brows rose. “So you’re a bodyguard, then? That sounds exciting. You protect famous people from crazy fans?”

“Something like that, at least part of the time. Not that I work with celebrities, or anything exciting. There’s actually more standing around and waiting for things to happen in my line of work than most people think.”

The urge to haul back and kick the huge monster’s shin nearly overwhelmed Ella. He sounded so casual and easy answering Bea’s questions, as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times before. No hesitation, no searching for a plausible cover story, and not even any whopping lies. He
was
in private security, if you counted keeping the world safe from demons—and even Ella had to admit that probably did count—and protecting people from the ultimate evil. Even his comment on there being a lot of waiting around in his job rang with truth. He was being completely honest.

And it drove Ella out of her mind bonkers.

But maybe she was just feeling a little tense.

Bea nodded and glanced back over her shoulder at the people milling in front of the museum. The crowd didn’t appear to be thinning, but now there were some uniforms mixed in with the spectators, and Ella could see Dr. Lefavreau standing at the top of the steps near the door, speaking with a tall man in a sports jacket.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you from your business, Kees,” the assistant curator said, turning back to face them with another smile. Ella thought this one looked forced. “And Ella and I will need to speak with the police and our director. Everyone who works for the museum will need to be interviewed, and it will likely take some time. In fact, I would not be surprised if the decision was made to close the museum for the day, so I can’t even offer a tour of the exhibits to distract you until Ella can be swept off for a romantic lunch.”

Kees nodded politely to indicate he heard Bea’s words, but Ella could see he had his gaze fixed on the figures on the steps. When his eyes narrowed, she noticed a flicker of movement inside the open doorway and saw Patrick Stanley lurking in the shadows like a rat. Or a vulture. Something stinking and carrion-feeding and potentially rabid.

She cursed under her breath.

“What is it?” Bea asked.

Ella pointed.

This time, Bea cursed. In French. “Just what we need to make an unpleasant situation unbearable.”

Ella watched as the other woman stalked off, and stepped out from under Kees’s arm. “You should go. The police are going to want to talk to me, and there’s no way to tell how long this will all take.”

She dug into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and handed it to him. “Here. Take this. I’ll try to find a way to get into the files as soon as I can, and I’ll call you, either when I know something or when they kick me out. Or haul me off to jail.”

Turning, she moved to follow Béatrice toward the museum. It took about two steps before she acquired a large male shadow. The glare she sent his way had no impact on him whatsoever, and they reached the group gathered near the door before she had time to tell him to bugger off.

“Ella.” Dr. Lefavreau greeted her in his usual serious tone, but she could detect no hint of extra disapproval in his voice. Maybe Stanley hadn’t had time to sufficiently embellish his story about last night. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m well, sir, thank you. And you?”

He certainly didn’t look like a very happy man. Maurice Lefavreau was a white man in his sixties with a thick head of white hair, even thicker black-framed glasses, and the barrel-shaped torso of a man used to fine food and French wines. He looked as much like a banker as a museum director, but his knowledge of and appreciation for art made his dark eyes dance with excitement whenever the museum acquired a special new piece. Ella had always liked him, and he tended to treat all the members of the museum staff as if he were a benevolent uncle to each of them.

“I’m distressed, Ella, very distressed.” He frowned and clasped his hands behind his back. “I take it that Béatrice has filled you in on our terrible misfortune?”

Ella schooled her face into a mask of dismay. It wasn’t difficult, considering it was a feeling she’d spent a lot of time with since last night. “She said that one of our statues was missing, sir. The terrace gargoyle? But I can’t imagine how someone could have simply made off with a piece quite so large and heavy.”

“Neither can I, my dear. Neither can I. That’s why I’m hoping the police can shed some light on the matter. This is Detective McQuaid. He will be heading the investigation for us. Detective, Ms. Harrow is the manager of our gift shop and one of our most popular docents. She was working last night at our fund-raising event, along with Béatrice.”

If Ella had tried to conjure up an image of a police investigator, Detective McQuaid would not have been it. She’d likely have gone with someone older, a world-weary man in his fifties, graying hair, soft around the middle. In contrast, McQuaid appeared to be in his thirties, Caucasian, with sandy-colored hair, the build of an athlete, and the rugged features of a high school football star all grown up. Instead of ingrained cynicism, his expression appeared open, and his blue eyes glinted with humor.

And when he looked at Ella, there was a definite spark of masculine interest.

Then he held out his hand, and his gaze flicked to Kees. Understandable, considering that the minute the detective had shifted closer, the gargoyle once again placed a possessive hand on Ella’s shoulder.

She ignored it and shook the detective’s hand. “Detective McQuaid.”

“Ms. Harrow. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shifted his gaze back to her face and flashed her a smile that could only be called charming. Maybe boyish. “I understand you were here late last night. After the event officially ended?”

“That’s right. Bea and I were the last ones here.”

“And did you notice anything unusual?”

*   *   *

Kees felt Ella stiffen under his hand. He’d learned enough about the little human in the last few hours to know she must be biting her tongue to keep from responding to that question the way she wanted to. In her eyes, she’d seen nothing but the unusual.

Instead of giving in to the snort he half expected, she replied with calm sincerity. “No, nothing at all. Once the guests left, everything was quiet. Perfectly normal.”

“You didn’t see anyone who didn’t belong at the museum?”

“No.”

“And you left the museum with Dr. Boucher?”

She nodded.

The door to the museum opened further and a man shifted forward. “I’m not certain that’s quite the truth, Detective,” he sneered. “But maybe Ms. Harrow has trouble telling the truth about many things. I saw Dr. Boucher leave the museum a little before one
A.M
., and Ms. Harrow definitely did not accompany her.”

Béatrice, the woman who had first greeted Kees and Ella upon their arrival shot the man a pointed look. “Do you really want to get into what happened here last night, Mr. Stanley? Right here on the museum’s front steps? Should we do that now?”

Kees heard the hostility and the challenge behind the woman’s frosty civility and took a second look at the man in the doorway. He appeared smooth and sharp and oozing with arrogance, and his eyes glinted with hunger and violence whenever he looked at Ella. He was the man on the terrace last night, the one who had attacked the little human.

Kees felt his lip curve in a snarl. He couldn’t help the low sound that rumbled in his chest.

“Perhaps Béatrice is right,” the museum director said, stepping forward to cut through the rising tension. “I’m certain we can do this more comfortably in my office. Or perhaps, since there are so many of us, in the ballroom.”

The detective agreed genially, and the group moved forward, Kees sticking to his human like pine sap and ignoring her surreptitious pokes to his rib cage. He had no plans to leave her alone, not with the mortal authorities and the human male from last night each posing a threat to her safety. Not only did he need Ella to help him locate Gregory Lascaux, his missing Warden, but something about her brought out all his protective instincts.

The group moved into the ballroom, or what had once been a ballroom and now served as the museum’s large West Gallery. Kees felt the museum director’s gaze on him and offered him a questioning look.

“Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” Lefavreau frowned and glanced from him to Ella. “Ella, will you introduce me to your companion?”

The little human stifled a groan, but Kees’s sharp hearing detected the quiet rumble.

“Dr. Lefavreau, I’m so sorry. Kees, this is Dr. Maurice Lefavreau, the director of the museum. Doctor, this is Kees. He’s, um…”

“I am a close friend of Ella’s. I was walking with her to work this morning when we saw the commotion outside.”

The older man nodded shortly. “I’m certain you’ll understand if I insist that only the museum staff be involved in this morning’s business. With the nature of the matter at hand, strangers just…”