Make Me A Match (The Matchmaker) (2 page)

Annoyed with their little display of mutual flirtation, I
looked away. Every day it was the same. Even though she was a year younger,
guys always fell for Lizzie’s innocent and charming personality. I supposed it
didn’t hurt that Lizzie was as hot as a supermodel with a body straight from a
Victoria’s Secret catalog. While I was…well…
me
.

“She’s on your father’s side,” he explained.

“Figures.” Anger fought with surprise. As much as I wanted
to know what the heck was going on, my pride wouldn’t allow me to ask
questions. I wanted nothing to do with my father, the man who’d abandoned us
years ago for his secretary. How cliché. And I sure as heck wanted nothing to
do with his family, a family who hadn’t even deemed it important to send a
birthday card once in a while.

“She’s left you something.” His warm breath brushed across
the back of my neck, stirring the loose tendrils that had escaped my braid.

I shivered, an unwelcome response to his nearness.

“Oh my gosh!” Lizzie cried out in excitement. “What’d she
leave her?”

Curious, I glanced over my shoulder. “Money?”

He frowned, as if finding talk about money vulgar. Typical
snob. “No.”

“Can I sell it for money?” I asked just to annoy him, and it
worked.

He sighed, obviously exasperated. “Well, not exactly.”

I turned back around, hiding my grin. “Then I’m not
interested.”

How had this man found me, anyway? I did as much as possible
to keep my address a secret, not wanting to incur the retaliation of some
two-timing husband.

Kelly was smiling at the target, leaning into him a little
too desperately. Was he pulling back? I should have been coaching her, not
thinking about my father, now of all times. Yes, ironically I coached Kelly on
how to flirt. Me, a seventeen-year-old who rarely dated. But that was beside
the point. How dare my father’s family leave me something. I wanted to shove
whatever it was down their throats and hoped they choked on it. I didn’t need
anything from my father’s family…ever.

“Emma,” Lizzie hissed. “You’re being rude.”

I glared at Lizzie. Had my sister forgotten how our father’s
family had ignored us when we’d needed their support the most? She was way too
forgiving for her own good. I sure as heck wasn’t going to appease some
deathbed sense of guilt.

The man sighed. “Ms. Watts, I don’t think you understand.”

I turned around once more, my anger flaring. “Oh, I
understand completely. You don’t seem to, though, so let me spell it out for
you. I want nothing from the family who abandoned us when my father left. I
want nothing from the family who never called, not even sent a card. Do you
understand now, Mister…”

I didn’t have his name. My rant would have been so much more
effective if I’d had his name. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
There was a bump there, as if it had been broken during a fight. I doubted this
suit had fought anyone, unless it had been bullies picking on him in school.

“Owen Emerson. I’m Mr. Emerson.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Emerson,” I sneered. “Whatever
it is my aunt left me, give it to charity. Now, please leave so I can do my
job.”

His annoyed gaze flicked to Kelly, then back to me. I could
imagine what he thought of my “job.” The look of disgust was plainly written
across his handsome face. “Ms. Watts, please listen to me. I can’t give this
gift away. It’s quite…impossible.”

I could admit, if only to myself, that I liked the way his
voice sounded; smooth, deep, and lyrical. I completely understood why women so
easily fell for an accent. Yes, his accent was hot, and I hated myself for
thinking so.

“Nothing’s impossible, Mr. Emerson.”

“Eh, yes.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of
course, but in this case, there really is no way to donate this gift.”

“Really?” Lizzie asked, butting her nose into the
conversation. “I’m Lizzie, by the way.”

They shook hands like the best of friends. I tried not to
curse at her. Really, whose side was she on?

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“So, what do you mean,” Lizzie asked. “Why can’t you give
the gift away?”

His gaze flicked from me, but not before I noticed the
unease. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely correct. Perhaps there is one way
to dispose of this gift.”

“Yeah?” I prompted, resting my camera on my knees. He had
the most interesting scar on his jaw, a thin line that looked almost like a
knife wound. No way. Was probably from a paper cut. “How?”

“Death.” He looked down at us, those green eyes shimmering
with sincerity. “The only way to get rid of this gift is by dying.”

Lizzie’s gaze went wide. A look of pure horror, or was that
excitement, crossed her perfect features. My sister did love the drama.
“Death?” she whispered.

I sat upright and laughed. He looked so serious that I
couldn’t help myself. Between the two of them, I felt like I was in the middle
of one of those daytime soaps my mom liked to watch. “What, exactly, is this
supposed gift?”

“Emma,” Lizzie interrupted, nudging me in the side. “The
target’s looking this way!”

I jerked my head toward Kelly. The target watched us,
frowning, while Kelly tried desperately to regain his attention, even so much
as shoving her breasts in his face.

“Crap!” I grabbed a fistful of Owen’s shirt and jerked him
down. He landed with a thud half atop me. Lizzie had somehow managed to crawl
under the lilac, but I was barely aware of my sister. No, I could only seem to
focus on the guy whose body was pressed to mine.

“Ms. Watts, this is quite inappropriate,” he hissed.

I would have laughed at his outrage, if I hadn’t been
offended. I was a healthy, attractive female and he was complaining? Was he
gay? The hot ones always were. Or was Lizzie right, did I need a makeover that
badly? I shifted, attempting to put distance between our bodies, but the
movement only brought us more fully together.

“Bloody hell.” He started to rise, but frantically I grabbed
the lapels of his jacket, using my weight to hold him to me.

“Lizzie, is the target still looking?”

“I don’t know.” She crawled out from beneath the bush and
peeked between the branches. “Oh no.”

I stiffened. “What?”

“He’s coming!”

Just at that moment I heard “Abort!” in my earpiece.

“Crap.” I released my hold and shoved my palms against
Owen’s hard chest. He didn’t budge. “Move, man!”

He quirked a dark brow in an imperious way that annoyed the
heck out of me. “What, now you want me to get up?”

“Don’t be difficult!”

With a glare, he jumped to his feet in a fluid, easy
movement I couldn’t help but admire. Almost like someone who had studied the
martial arts. But I didn’t have time to contemplate that little suspicion. I
was much less graceful as I scrambled to my feet.

“You!” I heard someone scream behind me.

“He sounds angry.” Lizzie stated the obvious as she stumbled
to her feet.

“Crap, crap, crap.” I snatched my camera from the ground. I
couldn’t afford to leave it behind. “Run, Lizzie!”

I didn’t bother to look back. The target huffed toward us. I
wasn’t worried about Kelly. She knew to leave and regroup at the apartment
later. But Lizzie was stumbling over her own feet, thanks to her ridiculously
high heels.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” the man screamed. He’d
probably have a heart attack and I’d be blamed. “Did that witch put you up to
this? I’ll sue! I’ll call the police!”

People were staring, turning to look toward us. My cover was
totally blown. It sure as heck wasn’t good for business to be seen. I jumped
over the curb and onto the asphalt. As long as Lizzie could keep up, we’d make
it.

“Ms. Watts, we really need to talk,” Owen called out.

“Sorry, borrowed the car. Have to get it back to the
rightful owner.”

“This is important!”

I latched on to Lizzie’s arm and dragged my sister across
the parking lot. No man, or woman, left behind. “I’m not interested, Mr.
Emerson.”

I dared to glance back. Owen was merely standing there
looking just as put together as when he’d arrived. Not a speck of dirt marred
his suit; not a hair out of place. A freaking god.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it,” I added.

With that said, I turned back around and raced across the
lot toward the beat-up Toyota. As I climbed inside and pulled out of the
parking lot, I couldn’t shake the bad, bad feeling that this wasn’t the last
I’d seen of Owen Emerson.

Owen

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man,
realizing he’d lost Emma, apparently thought to take his anger out on me.

Ignoring him, I watched the small car tear out of the car
park. I’d just met her and already she was leaving me to clean up her mess. Was
it possible to dislike someone so intensely after only having had a five-minute
conversation?

I brushed a leaf from my vest, frowning over a smudge of
dirt that marred the material. I’d get a bloody demerit, thanks to her. The
Consulate had taught us to keep up appearances at all times; we were
professionals, after all. Yes, upon occasion we were required to use brute
force, but that didn’t mean we had to dress like cavemen. “I assure you,
sir
, I had nothing to do with this.”

I gave the man a bored glance, hoping he’d take the hint and
leave. Apparently the look hadn’t been dismissive enough.

The older man’s jowls quivered with righteous indignation.
“You tell your woman—”

I held up my hand, having no wish to go further with this
topic. “She’s not
my
woman.”

As if I’d date someone like her; the idea was insane. I
glanced reluctantly at the car park, a space now devoid of frustrating women. A
female who wasn’t even polite enough to listen to reason. A woman whose job it
was to destroy marriages. Hell, what would the elders think?

Besides, it would be unprofessional to date a client, even
if I could admit to myself that she wasn’t half-bad to look at. Blonde hair,
brilliant blue eyes, hot body. But that innocent face belied the mouth and
crankiness of a seasoned sailor. What had I gotten myself into? Bemused, I
started to walk away, hoping to regroup with a pint somewhere.

“See here.” The man grabbed my shoulder.

Instinct flared to life. I dropped my briefcase. Before I
could think twice about the rationality of my actions, I spun around, grabbed
the man’s wrist, and flipped him over onto his back. I couldn’t deny the
thrilling sense of release I felt at the physical exercise. No matter how much
training, how much education…East London was still buried deep within me.

“Sir, it would be best,”
for
both of us
, “if you went back to your dinner.”

We were drawing a crowd. Chair legs scratched against the
deck as families turned to get a better look. Shite, attention wasn’t good at
all. One of the first things we’d been taught was to blend in. One visit with
Emma, and I’d lost sense of everything I’d been taught. I’d become that
pathetic street sod once more, my education falling to the wayside.

“Do we have an understanding?” I growled, pressing my foot
into his chest and keeping him pinned to the ground.

Sweat broke out just below the man’s receding hairline. I
knew fear when I saw it. “Yeah, sure,” he grunted.

Disgusted with myself, the man, and the entire situation, I
released my hold. He didn’t look back as he stumbled toward the restaurant,
scurrying like a rat to garbage. Just as I’d thought, the man was a bully who,
when pushed back, easily gave in. I’d dealt with plenty of bullies in my youth,
before the Consulate had come for me. I’d even been one a time or two.

I sighed and swiped my hands on my trousers, as if that
could erase the memory of a crappy childhood. Restless, I picked up my
briefcase and started down the footpath that led toward the beach. My body
didn’t seem my own, my thoughts annoyingly jumbled, my skin tingling with an
awareness that hadn’t been there before I’d met Emma. Even if my rational mind
refused to acknowledge her as my client, my body knew the truth. I was stuck
with the chit.

“Owen, my boy.”

A human would have been startled by the old man’s sudden
appearance, but I’d seen too many odd things to be startled by much. Jotham
wore his typical green robe, which was inconspicuous enough where we resided,
but ridiculous-looking here amongst the humans and their shorts and T-shirts.

Jotham seemed to neither notice nor care about the sudden
attention. “Come, let us walk.”

I bit back my refusal. I didn’t want to walk; I wanted to go
after Emma, force her to understand. Or maybe I wanted to return home and beg
them for a new assignment. But I couldn’t because then I’d have to admit I’d
left without permission. Of course it really wasn’t in their hands, but in the
hands of fate.

And fate could have a wicked sense of humor.

We followed the footpath to a boardwalk that ran the length
of the beach. Me in my suit, and Jotham in his long green robe. Yes, we looked
insane. I completely understood why those along the beach were drawing their
children closer. They most likely thought we were from some odd religious sect
invented by humans to justify their existence.

“Well done, lad.” Jotham strolled unhurried down the
boardwalk, his hands clasped behind him. “You’ve found her, and have taken care
of the initial meeting.”

“She ran away.” I scoffed. “The woman refused to listen to
reason.”

I couldn’t see the old man’s lips smiling through that thick
white beard, but those faded blue eyes crinkled at the corners, looking
suspiciously like amusement. “Well, that happens sometimes.”

Yeah, I’d find it humorous as well, if the client hadn’t
been mine. “Happens? What if she doesn’t believe me?”

Frowning, I kicked at a rock. I’d never even contemplated
the idea that she might not accept her fate. Yes, I assumed she’d be shocked,
but surely she could tell she had powers…that she wasn’t normal. I could sense
her abilities a continent away. And if I could, that meant other supernatural
beings would soon as well.

“It doesn’t matter if she believes, the powers will come as
they will. You must remember, Owen, humans tend to ignore any sense of magic in
their lives. They don’t understand; it frightens them, and so they pretend it
doesn’t exist.”

“Excellent plan,” I muttered sarcastically.

We paused, staring out over Lake Michigan. The sun sent rays
of orange and pink across the cresting waves. Gulls hovered over the water,
their cries peppering the air with a natural music. How could humans not
believe in magic when it surrounded them? In the setting sun, in the bloom of
the yellow flowers creeping across the sand, in the call of gulls above? The
pulsing energy could be felt as easily as the wind. I certainly wasn’t a
sentimental twit, but magic was as much a fact as the earth revolving around
the sun.

“The happiness, anxiety, and hate they feel comes from a
lack of understanding. They sense the magic but they don’t understand it, and
the feelings frustrate them.” Jotham continued his pace, the boards underfoot
creaking with our weight. “They think they’re sick, they think it’s anxiety
without having a clue that what they’re really sensing is magic.”

A warm breeze swept across the water, stirring sand
particles into the air, tiny crystals that hung suspended for the briefest of
moments, shining and sparkling under the setting sun.

“And if we told them, we’d have another witch hunt,” I said.
“There are too many nonbelievers. Too many who have yet to reach that level of
acceptance.”

He nodded. “’Tis better this way…for now.”

I raked my fingers through my hair. “Perhaps, but not exactly
helpful when I’m trying to explain to my client that she has powers.”

“Client?”

I flushed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yes, we’ve been
told it’s better to think of them as a client, rather than—”

“Human? A living being?”

There was no anger in his voice or on his expression, only
mild curiosity. Jotham had lived too long to let his emotions get the better of
him. But I knew him well enough to sense the judgment in his question.

“I understand you’re upset, but there have been too many
Protectors ruined, heartbroken even, when their clients died. It’s better to
remain aloof.”

“I see.” Jotham stroked his long beard, his attention on two
children building a sand castle near the water’s edge. “Of course. We wouldn’t
want to
feel
anything. That would be
quite disastrous.”

I knew better than to respond. I, too, realized the
ridiculousness of the rule. It could be bloody difficult to resist an
attachment with one’s clients. I’d even grown to appreciate Emma’s aunt.
Although I highly doubted I had to worry about becoming attached to Emma Watts.

Jotham patted me on the back in a companionable way. “Well
then, your client awaits. She needs to know the truth and there’s no one better
to tell her than you.”

I was the
only
person who could tell her what she was. With no alternative but to confront her,
I drew energy from the rays of the setting sun. Yes, I had a feeling I’d need
all the strength I could get. I’d sensed the hardness in Emma. A venerable
steel wall wrapped around a damaged soul. As much as she annoyed me, she also
intrigued me. Damn it all, why hadn’t Clarice mentioned her niece? At the very
least, warned me.

“You haven’t told the others I’m here?”

“No. Not yet. I think it’s best we work in secrecy for now.
If your instincts are correct, then the truth will cause an uproar.”

“Agreed. And I won’t give up on Emma.” As if I had any other
choice. This was my job. A job fate had chosen for me years ago. An
honored
choice. Or so I’d been told
repeatedly throughout my life. Now…I wasn’t so sure.

“Brilliant,” Jotham said. “I’m glad you’re not going to give
up on the dear woman.”

Dear woman?
That
was taking things a bit far.

“I knew you wouldn’t because you’re a good man, Owen. But
mostly I’m glad you’re not giving up on her because she’s being followed.”

I stiffened, my skin tingling with sudden warning. How had I
not noticed before? Damn, but this was why we were supposed to control our
feelings. Emotions got in the way. “What?”

Jotham stepped off the boardwalk and started across the car
park toward an ice cream shop, his long robe sweeping back and forth over his
slippered feet. “Your Ms. Emma Watts. I believe she’s being tracked at the
moment. Would be best if you take care of any nastiness before she notices.
Would hate to introduce her to our world in such a way.”

Shite, I thought I’d have time to at least explain things in
a calm and rational manner. I
should
have had time. How did they know already? “What’s following her?”

“Demon, I believe,” Jotham said over his shoulder. “The
earth spawn are always the first to know, after the Protector, of course. Good
luck.”

“Bloody hell,” I whispered as I closed my eyes,
concentrated, and disappeared.

********

If I were lucky, I could kill the demon and dispose of the
body before Emma even realized she was in danger. More importantly, before the
Consulate discovered I was gone. I reached out with my senses, finding her
easily enough. The moment her aunt had died and the woman’s powers had
transferred to her niece, my tracking system had kicked in, although I hadn’t
told anyone but Jotham. Because we were fated to be together until she died,
I’d always be able to find Emma. I hadn’t thought much about that before. Now,
after meeting her, the thought of forever seemed awfully long.

The demon’s stench hit me as I materialized. Jotham had been
correct, although I wasn’t surprised. He always seemed to know things others
didn’t. I couldn’t spot the demon but I knew it was there, for the odor of
rotting flesh permeated the area, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I
was standing in a cemetery.

Emma weaved her way around tall obelisks and flat headstones
that erupted from the brilliant green earth, without a clue of what was to
come. Unwillingly, my gaze went to her, admiring the sway of her hips. An
unwelcome heat stirred in my chest. Hell, as ridiculous as it seemed, my body
was attracted to her. There was just something about the woman’s casual stroll,
the way she exuded confidence, yet if one really looked into her eyes—those
brilliant blue eyes—one could see the emotion there. Pain. Confusion. Sorrow.
She was a puzzle, a mystery.

But I wasn’t a bloody psychologist who could help her sort
out her issues. I was here to protect her, end of story. Determined to ignore
my feelings, I started after my stubborn ward. I’d follow at a discreet
distance until the demon decided to grace us with his presence. Hopefully I
could destroy the monster before Emma noticed.

Large oaks and maples shaded the area from the setting sun
and provided enough shadows for me to easily blend into the darkness. Extending
my senses, I searched for the demon. Hell yes, definitely in the area.

Dinnertime. The town was quiet, the cemetery even more so.
What sort of person cut through a graveyard when walking home? The woman had no
common sense. Didn’t she realize that demons and other supernatural beings
harnessed their strength in cemeteries, harvesting the lingering emotion humans
left behind? Apparently she didn’t. She was completely clueless.

Fortunately, she had me. And I knew much, much more about
her than she realized. I knew she owned no car and the vehicle she’d driven in
her haste to escape had been her friend’s. I knew she lived in a converted loft
with her sister in this small lakeside town, although her mother had moved to
Florida. I knew she supported the family with the PI business. I knew her life
was about to change drastically.

What I hadn’t known was she’d be so bloody stubborn, and,
damn it all, so attractive. I wasn’t sure which annoyed me more. Her looks I
could deal with, her stubbornness was another matter. Then again, what had I
expected? For her to smile prettily up at me, pack her bags, and eagerly leave
to start her new career?

She followed the dirt path as it curved around a mausoleum,
the stained glass window of an angel staring down in judgmental censorship. How
would she react when she knew the truth of my sudden appearance? I had a
feeling it wouldn’t be good. I certainly didn’t look forward to that moment,
but the sooner it happened, the better. I tore my gaze from Emma and searched
the cemetery.