The Keepers Story 01 - The Gatekeeper

monsters?”
    “No!” she protested. “I told you—it’s all an act. I’m trying to find out who killed Angela, and I think I know.”
    “What? Who?”
    “I’m trying to get to know people who are close to Carl Bailey,” she said. “Everyone’s on guard, too intimidated by him, on his own turf. But people are less wary, more willing to talk, when they’re away from work. Maybe Bailey himself will even show up here one of these days. I’m certain he’s behind her death, if he didn’t kill her himself. He has his eye on this place, and I think he’d do anything to get it. If Angie heard something about what he was up to, something he didn’t want her to know, he wouldn’t have thought twice about siccing some killer werewolf on her. As for my...sexual activity, I accept very few private clients. Luckily for me, my performance has earned me the right to choose who I do and don’t see.”
    “This is dangerous. You’re dangerous!”
    “Good,” she told him flatly.
    “And how do you get rid of those clients without...delivering?” Saxon demanded. He reminded himself that he wasn’t her father. He had no right to sound so angry. But...
    She was dangerous, all right.
    She shook her head and offered a dry grin. “I make them believe they were involved in an experience that was pure magic.”
    “And how do you do that?”
    “It’s in the eyes,” she said softly.
    “You have werewolf eyes, animal eyes,” he said. His voice was harsh.
    “Yes. And I could have made you leave here without suspecting a thing, thinking you’d been to heaven and back,” she told him.
    “I doubt that,” he assured her. “I’m Elven, remember?”
    “And I’m half Elven—and half wolf,” she reminded him sweetly. “Should we test it out? Or perhaps you should leave now. And make sure you arrange an exceptional gratuity for me, will you?”
    He walked over to her, jaw locked, frustration boiling inside him. “What’s the matter with you? Your sister disappeared. Do you want to disappear, too?”
    “I’m forewarned—and I do have that wolf thing going for me, after all.”
    “You can stop that. Some of my best friends are werewolves,” he said.
    She laughed. It was a nice sound. An honest sound. “Sorry, but that is so, so patronizing.”
    He flushed, then was annoyed with his own reaction. He was a cop, for God’s sake. “It’s not patronizing. It’s just the truth,” he said. “Listen—”
    “I’m not going away. I’m free and over twenty-one. And here in Vegas, my activities—or whatever activities you suspect me of—are completely legal. You can continue on your quest—just leave me alone to follow mine.”
    She surprised him by smiling again. A real smile, not pretending to be a hardcore temptress or making fun of him.
    “Let’s start over, shall we?” She walked over to him, offering her hand. “My name is really Calleigh. Calleigh McGowan. From San Francisco. I’m a Libra—usually very fair in all things. I love long walks in the forest, and I think there’s nothing quite so beautiful as a full moon rising on a clear night. And you’re...?”
    He couldn’t help it; his lips twitched. He gave her his hand. “Saxon Kirby. Detective by trade—and inclination. I have a deep-seated need to help the underdog, and I loathe watching the powerful take advantage of the weak.” He paused, shaking his head. “What the hell am I doing standing here still talking to you?”
    “Admitting that I’m not going away, that I may actually be—” she paused to laugh “—of some help. Face it, Carl Bailey is always surrounded by security, and he may have half your department in his pocket.”
    “All right, back up.”
    “I said may,” she stressed.
    “And Carl Bailey may not even be behind these deaths. It could be any one of a whole list of suspects, including the new hotshot in town—that Canadian wolf who’s been throwing around so much money.”
    She could manage a truly impressive stubborn set to her chin. “I’m telling you, it’s Carl Bailey. He runs the werewolves of Las Vegas. The Keeper here is...weak.”
    Weak. That was an understatement.
    “It’s not like that in San Francisco,” she said. “There are laws in San Francisco, and everyone knows you obey them or you pay the price.”
    Saxon frowned. San Francisco had laws—why couldn’t the rest of the world manage it?
    No time to dwell on that now.
    “I should call your father,” he threatened.
    She looked