Hidden Moon (Nightcreature 7)

"Lake Bluff Sheriff's Department. " Grace removed her sunglasses, hooking the earpiece in her shirt before striding forward with her hand on the butt of her gun.

Those nearest to her shrank back. The babble of another language rose from the ones behind them.

"Bull in a china shop," I muttered. I might have changed, but she hadn't.

Putting on my best CNN anchor smile, I moved up beside her. "I'm Claire Kennedy, mayor of Lake Bluff. Can I ask what you're doing here?"

The babbling slowed to a trickle, although everyone continued to stare. A few actually made the sign of the cross, or near enough. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were afraid of me. Or maybe they were just afraid of Grace.

"Take your hand off your gun," I whispered.

"Not. "

"You're scaring them. "

"Scared of the sheriff is a healthy thing to be. "

I pressed my lips together. At my change in expression the indecipherable babble started up again. I raised my voice. "Is there anyone in charge?"

"Someone who speaks English?" Grace added.

"That would be me. "

A ripple began near the back - sound, movement, an aura of deference as they bowed their heads. The crowd parted and a man appeared.

"Holy shit," Grace murmured.

I choked, not just at her words but also at the sight of him. "Holy shit" about summed it up.

He wore the black pants common to the other men and shiny knee-high black boots, but his chest was bare and shimmering with sweat or lake water, hard to tell without a taste.

I blinked at the thought, a type I hadn't had for a very long time.

Smooth, bronzed skin flowed over lean muscles and a ridged abdomen. A breeze blew in from the mountains and he tensed, biceps flexing, at the sudden chill in the air.

But it wasn't just his body that left me speechless. With eyes like blood beneath the moon and a face that was all sharp edges at the cheeks, chin, and nose, how could I be faulted for staring?

Someone handed him a towel, and he rubbed the cloth over his chest, the movement both efficient and suggestive. My stomach skittered, and I had to force myself not to look away from his suddenly amused gaze and follow the path of his hands.

He lifted the towel to his slightly curling ebony hair, just long enough to brush the spike of his collarbone. When he scrubbed at it, droplets flew, and the strands played peekaboo with the silver cross dangling from his left ear.

He threw the cloth behind him as if expecting someone to catch it, which they did, before handing him an impossibly white shirt. While he drew it over his head, I glanced at Grace, who rolled her eyes.

"Sheriff," he greeted, with an accent so Irish I smelled clover. "Mayor Kennedy. I'm Malachi Cartwright. " He bent slightly at the waist. "Call me Mal. "

"No need to get chummy," Grace said. "You won't be staying. "

Cartwright's eyebrows lifted, along with one corner of his mouth. "Won't we now?" he murmured.

Chapter 2

Grace stepped forward again, fingers tightening on the butt of her gun. I threw my arm out, smacking her in the chest. She growled. "Stop that," I ordered. "I'll handle this. " My father always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and I'd found it to be true. Of course Grace's dad had been of the opinion that might is always right, and he'd made certain that was true. Grace was more a chip off the old block than I was.

She ignored my words and shouldered her way in front of me, leaving her hand on the gun. "You can't just camp here. We've got a festival starting in a few days. "

"Which is exactly why we've come, darlin'. " Cartwright stretched out his arm and a sheaf of papers appeared in his palm. I knew the stack hadn't just appeared, but whoever was giving him things was damned quick about it.

He presented the sheets with a flourish. "We've been hired to entertain you. "