Heart of Stone (7 page)

He trailed off when he saw Kees’s expression go stony.

“I will stay with Ella.” Kees purposely kept his tone low and allowed a hint of menace to creep into his tone. He had no intention of allowing his little human out of his sight in company like this.

The group stopped and congregated around the two wooden benches positioned in the center of the open space. As soon as they halted, Stanley turned to face Bea, going immediately on the offensive.

“Yes, I do want to talk about what happened last night, Béatrice. I warned you I would be bringing the incident up to your employer,” he snapped before he addressed the museum director. “Maurice, I’m uncertain what either of these … women may have told you about our interactions last night, but I—”

The detective interrupted. “Before anyone starts going into details about last night, I’m going to stop you. I’d prefer to hear from each of you individually. Dr. Lefavreau, if I could accept the offer of your office to do that?”

“Of course, of course.” The doctor waved a hand to indicate McQuaid should follow him. “Allow me to escort you there.”

“Appreciate it.” McQuaid turned and smiled at Ella. “You mind coming first, Ms. Harrow?”

Kees definitely didn’t like the hint of suggestion lacing the detective’s smile, and when Ella nodded and moved to follow the two human men, Kees kept right on her heels. McQuaid caught the movement and his smile faded.

“I’m afraid I need to speak with Ms. Harrow alone,” the man said, straightening his shoulders and still falling at least three inches short of Kees’s imposing height. “You can wait out here.”

Baring his teeth in something close enough to a smile to lie about it, Kees dug in his heels. “I go where she goes.”

“Look—”

Ella put her hand on Kees’s arm. “It’s fine, Kees. Really. I’m sure this won’t take long. Just
wait for me here.
”

Not what Kees wanted to hear, but the intensity behind her words was hard to miss. He knew she was determined to keep him at arm’s length—she’d been attempting to do so since the moment he first moved from his pedestal (though at that point, he doubted her arms had been long enough to suit her)—but he disliked that idea. He couldn’t protect his human if she wouldn’t let him stay with her, and somehow the compulsion to protect her was strong. Stronger than he’d ever experienced before.

Normally, humans as individuals meant little to him. He had been summoned to protect the species as a whole, but it wasn’t his job to go around rescuing them one by one. He kept the demons at bay so that they could live their lives, however long or short those might be. He barely noticed that they differed from one another, let alone cared what happened to any one of them. How could he, when Guardians didn’t fall prey to the burden of human emotions?

Oh, Guardians experienced anger—rage against the demons gave them strength to their purpose—and certainly, he had experienced frustration at times during his long slumber or when a demon didn’t go into exile so quickly as he might like, but he’d never felt any of the more human emotions. He felt a brotherly bond with his fellow Guardians, but he didn’t suffer from fear or jealousy or possessiveness.

And he certainly didn’t consider himself capable of caring for a human. So what was it about Ella Harrow that made him react so differently than he had in the past? It was something he might have to ask Gregory.

As soon as they found him.

Ella squeezed his arm tightly, and he scowled down at her.

“Fine.” The word sounded less than sincere, but he had led the other humans to believe he was Ella’s lover, so if they believed him to be irrationally jealous or possessive as well, so be it. It didn’t make it true. “I will wait for you. But if you have need of me, call out, and I will be by your side in an instant. Do you understand?”

She looked up at him with a combination of surprise and wariness in her gaze. It made the gray depths of her eyes darken like storm clouds.

She nodded. “I understand.”

A strange impulse grabbed Kees, and he found himself grasping her around the waist and tugging her against him. She had to crane her head to keep her eyes on his face, and he took advantage by swooping down and sealing his lips against hers.

She stiffened in his arms. Her hands went up to press against his chest, and he tightened his grip in warning. Let her think he feared the detective and the others seeing through their act. In reality, he simply wanted to savor the moment.

She felt soft and sweet against him, a sweetness that was mirrored in her taste, all warm sugar with a hint of spring violets. Her lips even felt like the petals of a delicate flower, and they bloomed open when he traced his tongue along the plump surface of the lower one. Diving in, Kees forgot all about their audience and continued kissing her for the simple pleasure of it.

He experienced a surge of desire that took him by surprise.

Desire? For a human?
When he pulled back, she looked up at him through hazy eyes, her brows drawing together in confusion. He understood the feeling.

“Go answer your questions,” he murmured. “I’ll wait right here until you return.”

And maybe while she was gone, he’d be able to figure out just what the hell was going on, why she made him feel more like a man than like a monster.

She offered an uncertain smile and turned to follow the museum director and the detective down a hall toward the rear of the house. Kees watched her go, ignoring the curious looks of the other humans. None of them could possibly be more puzzled by his behavior than he was.

What had the little human done to him?

*   *   *

What in heaven’s name had the gargoyle done to her?

Ella sat in Lefavreau’s office facing his desk and the classically handsome police detective perched on the corner. The director had told them to make themselves comfortable, handed McQuaid a file containing all the museum’s paperwork on the provenance of the missing statue, then returned to join the others.

Ella knew she should be focusing on ways to get a good look at the information in that folder, but her attention lingered back in the ballroom. More specifically, on the lips of a certain male monster who seemed determined to throw her off balance at every turn, first by not killing her, and now by pressing on her the most intensely sweet kiss of her life. What in God’s name was going on?

“Guess your boyfriend’s the possessive type, huh?”

McQuaid’s voice broke into her thoughts and dragged her attention back to the present. She felt her cheeks flush.

“I don’t—I guess. I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other very long,” she stuttered, her gaze sliding away from his. How was she supposed to explain something she didn’t understand herself? “I’m not even certain how serious it is.”

“Well, looked serious for him, at least. Not that I can blame him for feeling possessive over such a lovely woman.”

Before Ella could decide if that comment was flattering or uncomfortable, McQuaid looked down at the folder in his hands and flipped through the pages. Then he set it aside and drew a small notebook from his jacket pocket. Finally, something she expected a detective to do.

“Dr. Lefavreau said you and Ms. Boucher were the last two people in the museum last night. Is that correct?”

Ella met his gaze and nodded. “That’s right. We shut things down behind the guests, made sure the caterers got everything cleared away and cleaned up, then locked up once everyone was out. I think it was around one o’clock.”

“But Mr. Stanley said you didn’t leave together.”

Her mouth tightened. “No. Béatrice left by the front doors, locking the house and setting the alarms behind her. She encouraged me to go out by the back gate in the garden. I’m fond of the gardens, so she knows I leave that way a lot. She wouldn’t need to check that gate, because it locks automatically behind whoever goes out that way.”

The detective studied her, his expression still open, but his blue eyes sharp. His mouth curved in a small smile. “You and Ms. Boucher aren’t big fans of Patrick Stanley, are you?”

“To be fair, he’s not wild about us, either.”

“There some sort of history to that?”

The question sounded casual, but Ella debated with herself before she answered. “I’m assuming you were paying attention when he and Bea had words outside?”

McQuaid’s mouth quirked. “Kind of my job.”

“Right. Well, I don’t know Mr. Stanley well. I’ve only met him a couple of times, and always at museum events or when he stopped by to talk to Dr. Lefavreau, but he … makes me uncomfortable.”

The detective said nothing, and Ella paused. Patrick Stanley was a wealthy and powerful man. She would have to choose her words carefully and not make any direct accusations. She didn’t have the money to defend against a defamation suit.

“After the event, when Bea and I thought we were the last ones here, I was on my way across the terrace toward the back gates, like I said, and Mr. Stanley just popped up out of nowhere. He startled me. I thought the gardens were empty. He attempted to start a conversation, but I just wanted to go home. It was late, and I was exhausted.”

“Understandable.”

“I tried to move him along. I offered to escort him out front to unlock the door for him, but he…”

How could she say this delicately?

“He hit on you.”

Ella started to nod, then caught herself. That way there be dragons. “Excuse me?”

McQuaid laughed. “It’s not hard to figure out. Attractive young woman. Dark garden. No witnesses. And Mr. Stanley is known to appreciate attractive women.”

That was one way of putting it.

Ella just shrugged. She had no intention of confirming that for the record. Did they still have debtor’s prisons?

“Mr. Stanley made a few comments that I found inappropriate, but Bea came out of the house and interrupted. She showed him out the front, and I stayed back on the terrace to regain my composure.”

“This is the terrace where the statue was located?”

“Yes.”

“And it was there during this whole time?”

She nodded. “I actually sat down on the edge of the pedestal while I pulled myself together. I remember tilting my head back and looking up at it. It’s always been one of my favorite pieces.”

“You said this was a little before one?”

“Between twelve thirty and one. I wasn’t checking my watch, but the party ended at midnight, and the caterers were super-efficient. I do remember it was about twenty after twelve when they climbed into their truck.”

“Okay, go on. You were alone on the terrace for how long?”

Until the missing statue came to life and left the museum of its own accord?

“Not very, I don’t think. It was late, and you might say I had a stressful night. Once I got a hold of myself, I didn’t hang around.”

McQuaid watched her steadily. “Why didn’t you go with Ms. Boucher and leave where she could keep an eye on you? Wouldn’t that have made you feel safer?”

Ella grimaced. “To be honest, I needed a minute to myself, and I didn’t want to spend another second in Mr. Stanley’s company, even with a chaperone. The altercation had shaken me up, and I’ve always found the gardens peaceful, especially the terrace. Like I said, the gargoyle statue was my favorite, so I used to hang out there occasionally.”

“Okay.”

“I spent about five, maybe ten more minutes just taking deep breaths and pulling myself together. Then—” She caught herself as she recalled what had happened then. How reality had tilted on its axis and Sir Arthur magically sprang to life. But that was exactly what she couldn’t tell the police.

She finished with a shrug to cover her hesitation. “Then I made my way through the garden and out the back gate.”

McQuaid jotted down additions to a couple of his notes, then glanced up at her. “After leaving the garden, did you go straight home?”

“Yes.” Hell yes. At top speed. A couple of hundred feet above the skyline.

“How far away do you live? You take the bus?”

Ella hesitated, then carefully edited events. No reason to make him talk to bus drivers in vain. Obviously, none of them had seen her. “Usually I take the bus. My apartment’s about twenty blocks from here, but last night I went on foot.”

The detective looked up, his brows lifting. “What made you decide to do that?”

Um, the monster who scooped me up didn’t give me much choice.

“I guess I needed more time to clear my head.” Which was true, even if the rest of her statement wasn’t. Precisely “When I hit the bus stop, there wasn’t one in sight, and at that hour, I didn’t feel like waiting around. I just wanted to get home.”

“Well, at least you made it safely. What did you do with the rest of your night?”

“I stayed in. Got cleaned up, went to bed.”

“And was anyone with you at your apartment?”

“Um.” She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Kees stayed the night.”

McQuaid just hummed and acknowledgment and made another note. “Anything else you can remember? Did you see anyone suspicious on the street when you left the museum grounds by the back gate?”

Ella had been too far above the streets to notice much of anything. Even if she’d had her eyes open. And hadn’t been praying for her life. “Not that I can recall. It was late, though, and I was kind of in my own little world. I just wanted to get home and get to bed.”

Where she could hide under the covers. Too bad that strategy hadn’t worked.

“Okay. Well, if you thin—” A shrill chime sounded from the detective’s pocket, and he reached in for his cell phone. “Excuse me.” He poked at the screen. “McQuaid.”

Ella watched while he listened to someone on the other end of the connection. Then he held up a finger, muttered something into the phone, and stood.

“Gotta take this. Just give me a second.” He stepped out of the office and clicked the door shut behind him.

She wasted half a second wondering at the stroke of luck before good sense kicked in and she grabbed the file folder off the desk. Rifling through the papers inside, she skimmed quickly through the information before she found what she was looking for. Committing a name and partial address to memory, she placed the folder back where she had found it and resumed her seat a second before the door opened and McQuaid stepped back inside.