The Guardian by Connie Hall Page A

knocking on his door. Then she had become a priority in his life.
    Impatience for her to arrive at his office nagged at him. For reasons other than his immediate goal, reasons that he didn’t want to analyze or even consider, he couldn’t wait to be near her again. The thought caused the pain between his legs to grow unbearable.
    â€œThat’s right, Fala Rainwater. I’m here, waiting,” he whispered.
    Then a portal opened in the center of the crystal room and a supernaturally projected 3-D image of Striker Dark, the director of BOSP appeared. The image shot down from the pyramid, all in yellow and blue sunnyhues this morning. Pretty ironic, since Striker Dark was a vampire.
    His dead, cold eyes blinked at Stephen from a square face and a sea of blond shoulder-length hair. He was a powerful vamp, about fifteen hundred years old—if his employee record was correct. Stephen thought him older, by the presence he commanded, but he’d never asked Striker. In fact, Stephen knew little about him, other than Striker Dark wasn’t the type of boss he’d ever want to get caught deceiving. Stephen had been present when Striker had terminated a few employees, and it still brought back stomach-turning memories. Stephen felt his own pulse getting out of control.
    â€œHow’s that murder investigation going?” Striker asked, gazing into a specialized, fiber-optic bathroom mirror. His projected reflection glowed red as he straightened his tie. “I’m close.”
    â€œMake sure Kent stays out of the picture.” Striker slipped into a gray tailored coat that fit him like a second skin. “Our asses are in the wringer on this one.”
    â€œI’ll handle it.”
    â€œDo you need help with the shifter? She’s to be protected at all costs.”
    â€œI’ve got it covered.” Stephen kept the composed edge in his voice. “She’ll eventually trust me. If we brought another agent in on it, she would become a problem.”
    â€œI want updates.”
    â€œYou’ll have them.”
    â€œGood. I knew I could count on you.” Striker smiled at him, his bloodred lips stark against his pale skin.
    Stephen quickly changed the subject. “Where are you off to?”
    â€œDowning Street. The prime minster requires his monthly update on the London office.” He checked his watch. “And I’m running late. Don’t forget to brief the new recruit for the Richmond office. We’ll talk later.” Striker’s image dissolved.
    Stephen knew the dark magic protecting him would conceal his emotions and his deception. Still, it didn’t keep him from being on edge. If he sought help from anyone, his brothers would instantly die. He couldn’t let that happen.
    He meditated on Fala, but an impression of her eluded him, and he had to concentrate harder to find her. She was driving now, on her way to his office. He relaxed a little.
    Suddenly another telepathic image wavered and shimmered and began to appear in the center of the room. The new recruit? Typical timing for a newbie. He’d have to get rid of him ASAP.
    Â 
    Thirty minutes later, Fala passed the massive grounds of the Catholic University of America. She turned down Michigan Avenue, slowed, counting the addresses on the buildings. She pulled over across the street from a Gothic stone structure. A huge lawn, brittle and napping through winter, surrounded a Greek temple, but on a smaller scale. Doric columns bordered the perimeter of the rectangular building. There were no windows, unless they were hidden. The only opening she could see was massive front doors, at least twenty feet high. A small drive, covered by a stone arch, led around to the backof the building. It wasn’t a very welcoming place, and it looked rarely used.
    She glanced again at the address she’d written down. Then at the small sign that hung on one of the stone columns: Library of the Divine