Marley flinched, even though she had to get the same reaction from everyone she met. She waved a hand at her eyes. “I know. Freaky, right? They used to be almost lavender. Quinn—my sister—calls them Easter-egg eyes.” The description was a good one. The leeching had bleached most of the color, leaving purple specks that did remind Sam of candy eggs.
“What…happened?” Riley asked.
Marley managed a smile. “Long story. I’m sure I’ll have time to tell you later. You’re Riley?”
Alana nodded. “Yes, Riley Kordek—Marley Canton, our education coordinator.”
“Temporary.” Marley waved a hand around the small office, crowded with filing cabinets that ringed the walls, barely leaving room for her desk and one guest chair. “I’m sorry, I’d stand, but as you can see, there isn’t really room for that.”
“No problem.” Riley tucked her hair behind one ear and folded her hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Sam watched Marley do a quick assessment of Riley and tried to see her through the other woman’s eyes. For the first time since the attack, he saw the runaway who’d walked into the bar with her vulnerable core hidden under a tough veneer. He liked the shagginess of her blond hair, but suspected the other women thought she needed a haircut. Her teeth were straight, as if she’d had braces, but she didn’t wear makeup. Not that she needed it, with lush lashes around her dark hazel eyes and a natural light pink tinge to her golden complexion.
He realized what he was doing and swung his attention to Marley, who was already watching him, a half smirk on her face. “Hey, Sam.”
“Hi, Marley.” He hunched his shoulders with his hands deep in his pockets, glad she hadn’t gotten up to hug him. But she surprised him by rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the others.
“Did she fill out the registration form yet?”
“No, can you go over that with her? And Sam, umm—” Alana turned back to him, obviously unsure what to do with him.
“I have to talk to John. He here?”
“Yep. In his office.”
“Great.” He smiled at Riley. “I’ll be back. You’re in good hands here.”
Riley nodded and sat in the chair next to Marley’s desk, her jaw tense and lifted slightly. Defensive, but she’d be okay.
Alana crossed the hall to the break room, and Sam went to the right to John’s office. The man sat at his desk, a phone to his ear and a scowl on his face. “I don’t care if it’s three thousand miles, find a way to get there. You’re closer than anyone else, and she needs you now… Fine. I’ll tell her.” He slammed the phone down, grumbling, and looked up when Sam rapped on the doorframe. His expression cleared and almost became a smile. “Sam! Get your ass in here!” He stood to clamp Sam’s hand with his and motioned for him to sit. Sam closed the door behind him and sank onto one of the sturdy, padded wooden chairs.
John’s office was bigger than Marley’s, with fewer cabinets, and had the advantage of a big window on the back wall. The two chairs in front of the large, file-strewn desk were nicer than the single worn visitor chair Marley had. But Riley probably preferred that one, Sam thought, because it had a metal frame.
“What was that about?” he asked, indicating the phone.
John shook his head. “Goddess down south. Young, naïve. Asshole ex has been harassing her. Power source is live trees, and she rarely leaves her forest. But she went to a family wedding on the plains, and it looks like the ex followed her.”
Sam nodded. “Out of her element, not enough access, perfect time to attack. You didn’t have a protector scheduled to go with her?”
John gave him a “you know better” look. “She didn’t tell us. Figured she wouldn’t need it. Until he showed up, she tried to scare him away, and everything fizzled.” He closed the file on top of the mess and shoved everything to the side. “The guy I’m sending is good, though.” He launched into a story about his protector and the kid’s two brothers, who’d signed up for training because they thought it would have the cachet of the Navy SEALs without the hard work. Their trainer had quickly disabused them of that but convinced them to stay anyway.
“Would you believe,” John said, “Nick got those three shaped up and ready to work in less than a month?”
Of course Sam believed it. Nick Jarrett was a friggin’ Mary Sue. He could do anything, protect anyone, had every skill a protector needed and then some. Forget about the time he almost died because he underestimated his enemy, or the time he let Quinn be bait for a guy who’d turned out to be more dangerous than any of them had presumed. Nick had his share of flaws, but the head of the Protectorate seemed to forget that.
“I’m not here to talk about Nick.”
“’Course you’re not.” The older man stood. “Come on, let’s go outside. Hate being cooped up in here.”
Sam followed without protest. John had been in charge of the protectors for over twenty years, but only in the last three had he been so tied to the Society. Before, he’d had a role on the board and a loose working relationship, but he’d operated out of his own home base. He hadn’t hesitated to volunteer for his new job, but it meant a lot more paperwork and a lot more indoor time. As far as Sam could tell, John hated the city.
They took the stairs instead of the elevator, and once outside, John lit up a cigarillo and strolled toward a park a block away. Sam shrugged off his jacket in the unseasonably warm late-afternoon sun.
“Much better,” John sighed. “Air’s not always too fresh, but it’s better than in there. Less compromised, if you know what I mean.”
“Ahhh…” Sam frowned, not sure he did. “Yeah.”
John returned a greeting to a cart vendor on the corner before they crossed the street. “So you ran into Millinger, did you?”
“Worse. I saw Anson. I think,” he corrected immediately. “In Connecticut. Someone was following Riley. I only got a glimpse of the driver, but he looked like him.” He related everything that had happened and everything Riley had told him. “What’s his status?” he asked John at the end.
“Don’t know. We can’t find him.”
“What?” Sam stopped walking to stare at him. “How?”
John shrugged, the gesture deceptively casual. “His parole officer said he never missed a check-in. But he cleared parole last month and in the past week or so, he’s managed to elude our guy. Can’t catch him at home or at work. Which is…guess where?”
Sam didn’t have to work hard to come up with that one. “Millinger,” he ground out. “Why does it not surprise me that Anson is in the middle of something again?” They should have kept the asshole in jail, but it was pointless to gripe about that. The civilian authorities had had no reason not to release him. In their eyes, worse offenders had gotten off easier.
They reached the park, and John settled down on a bench that faced into the trees instead of onto the rush-hour traffic clogging the street.
“So what are your thoughts on this?” He squinted at Sam through his cigarillo smoke.
“They’ve been following Riley for months. They orchestrated things so she was alone and vulnerable, watched her, pushed her beyond her limits. Like they want to see what she can do.”
“And?”
“Millinger has to be a front.”
“For?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. But Riley can’t be the only goddess they’re looking for. She wasn’t even registered.”
John stubbed his butt out on the sidewalk and pocketed it. “I’ve had reports from some of my team about strangers sniffing around their assignments. Mostly, they approach when they’re in power, so our guys aren’t around.” Protectors generally worked when a goddess’s source wasn’t available and she was, for whatever reason, vulnerable. For a while, a few years ago, they’d worked around the clock, but once the leech story had been contained and they’d determined the threat level was low, they’d backed off again.