Page 7 of Fire Dancer

I’d ignored it, imagining I could be around Pippa without being haunted by what could have been.

But, ha. Sedona could build me a statue and call itwishful thinking.

Apparently, I wasn’t smarter now than I’d been at twenty-two, but then again, we’d been different people and truly perfect for each other back then.

We’re still perfect for each other,my wolf insisted.

Maybe. Probably. But a guy didn’t hunt vampires by day — or night — and lead a white-picket-fence life with a sweet, peppy woman on the side. It was just too much to risk — especially when that sweet, peppy woman didn’t understand the meaning of the wordrisk. Pippa was trusting. Optimistic. Unguarded. In the normal world, those were all positive traits.

In my world, they could get her killed.

Just then, I spotted Stacy exiting the drugstore, pausing to hold the door open for the next person with a bright smile.

In some ways, she was a lot like Pippa. All the ways that could get her killed.

“Records & Tracing. This is Agent Heller,” a voice came over the phone.

I snapped back to focus. “I’d like you to run a license plate number, please.”

I gave him the number, listened, then nodded. “Later today would be fine. Thank you.”

I hung up, still watching Stacy. She placed her purchases in the vehicle, then walked to a coffee shop and disappeared inside.

Stacy who? From where? Doing what, for whom, and why?

And what about her hulking driver who barely showed himself? He wasn’t a bodyguard or her employee, because he never emerged to open the door or help her. That suggested two employees of similar rank. But employees for whom or what company?

My radio squawked with an APB.

“All units. Report of a 10-54 at Gunnery Point. Repeat, possible 10-54 at Gunnery Point.”

I frowned. A 10-54 was a dead body. I listened in as two police units called in. Both were dispatched to the scene.

I glanced at the SUV, then the radio, torn. The 10-54 could be anything or anyone, and I could read the police report later. But two units — and the urgency in the dispatcher’s tone — suggested a case of special interest. And as good as the local police were, they were mere humans and thus likely to overlook any hints of supernatural activity.

Stacy emerged from the coffee shop, looking as carefree as ever. Meanwhile, a police car drove down the main road, followed closely by a second one. Neither had their lights on, but they were clearly in a hurry.

I threw a last glance at Stacy, then threw the Jeep into gear. Right now, the police call took priority.

I pulled out onto the main road, following the squad cars.

* * *

Gunnery Point, as it turned out, was an overlook five miles north of town and another two miles down a rough trail. Two pink Jeeps stood there with about a dozen tourists milling around, some peering downward, others turned away in horror. Several hugged or shed tears, while others held hands, looking morose.

The police waved me away at first but let me through a moment later.

“Ah, Agent Kemper,” the first officer, an olive-skinned woman, sighed with a note of resignation.

City police officers didn’t know what agency I worked for, but they knew I was cleared to observe all local investigations. I’d overheard rumors claiming I was everything from FBI to a top-secret NSA unit specializing in extraterrestrial activity.

Close enough, I supposed, to my actual employer — the Agency for the Detection and Monitoring of Supernatural Activity, or ADMSA.

“Officer Jimenez.” I nodded my greetings and strode over toward the heart of the action, where a police officer and one of the Jeep drivers had started herding the tourists away to a safe distance. Another two officers peered over the edge of the cliff as the second driver and a pair of tourists explained how they’d made their discovery.

“…taking pictures, and that’s when we spotted her,” one of the tourists was saying.

I stepped up, exchanging silent nods of greeting with the officers.

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