The Darkest Kiss (Riley Jenson Guardian 6)

"Sal darling, nothing in this world would get me to bite you. And what's this about personal messages?"

"I've got one here from a Ben Wilson. He says it's urgent and asks if you could call him immediately.">Either that, or she just wasn't taken in by my charming personality and easy-to-get-along-with ways.

"I wasn't aware the Directorate now had day-shift guardians," she said, inspecting the badge more carefully than necessary.

Like anyone in their right mind would want to fake a guardian badge.

"New squad, announced several months ago." I shoved the badge back into my pocket and resisted the urge to suggest that maybe she should start reading internal memorandums a little more often. "I'll take over here for the moment. Thanks."

She sniffed, then rose and moved away. I sat down in her seat, my nostrils flaring as I sampled Rosy's scent. She smelled of lavender and eucalyptus, and also very human. I shoved a coffee and a piece of cake toward her. "Here. You look as if you need this."

She ignored the cake and wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam cup, her smile as wan as her lined features. I'd presumed - wrongly - that someone like Gerard James would have a young and attractive personal assistant. Someone that was easy on the eyes as well as efficient at her job. From the little Kade had said, he'd just seemed that type.

But Rosy had to be in her late fifties - and with no makeup and her gray hair cut into an old-fashioned bob, she looked a good deal older. Maybe it did his political image good to have an older assistant or maybe she was simply damn good at her job.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you about this afternoon, and finding Gerard James." I lifted the lid off my coffee container and tossed it lightly into a nearby trash can. "You can take your time. There's no rush."

She nodded, but for several seconds she didn't say anything. She just sat there with her hands wrapped around the coffee cup and her eyes cast downward.

"Rosy?" I said gently.

She jumped a little. "Oh, yes." Her voice was quivery, but she continued. "It was a little after two-thirty when I arrived at the office."

"Do you always start so late?"

"No, but last night he was at a fund-raiser, so he gave me the morning off. We were going to work late to make up for it."

"So the office was all locked up when you came in?"

"Yes." She took a sip of coffee, then added, "I have a set of keys, because I'm usually here before him. He likes - liked - a cup of coffee to be ready as soon as he arrived."

"What time was he due in, then?"

"Not until three, but he's usually fifteen minutes early." She hesitated, her pale blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I went into his office to put his coffee on the desk as usual. And that's when I saw - "

She stopped and took a large gulp of air. Her hands were trembling so hard the coffee was threatening to spill over the sides of her cup and scald her fingers. I reached out, gently plucking the Styrofoam cup and placing it back on the table. But I couldn't help wondering if the depth of her reaction was due just to shock, or if it was something deeper. Something that wasn't actually sexual, because from everything I'd heard about Gerard James, I very much doubted if Rosy would be his type. But that didn't mean Rosy couldn't have had a thing for him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time a PA had fallen for her boss. And, after all, there was probably little more than ten years or so between them. Not much, in the scheme of things.

"Was there anything unusual, or out of place, that you noticed?"

She shook her head. "Just him, on that desk." Her lip quivered, and a lone tear tracked down her pale check. "It was such a shock, seeing him like that, you know?"

"I know." I hesitated. "Did you notice his clothes anywhere?"

I certainly hadn't, but maybe Cole's crew had already bagged them.

"No," she said, "but they're probably hanging in the bathroom. He was always neat like that."

Even when in a mating rut? I found that hard to believe, but then again, he was a politician. They were a breed far different from the rest of us. "What function did he attend last night?"

"It was at the Crystal Palace in St. Kilda. Some charity fund-raiser he was asked to speak at."

"Do you know who his date was?"

Her snort was disparaging. For the first time, I saw something more than sorrow in her face. "Alana Burns. She was one of the Toorak Trollops."

Amusement twitched my lips. No need to ask Rosy what she thought of the "Trollops," because it was right there in the tartness of her voice. "Who are?"

She waved a hand, coming perilously close to knocking over her coffee. I reached forward and slid it out of the way again. "They're a dozen or so single or divorced Toorak ladies who make themselves available to attend all the best functions. With only the best-bred men, of course."