Gale Force

I'd always liked the beach house; it had been my favorite of the Warden properties in this part of

the country. But that had been before I'd known the truth, and the depth of all the cruelty that the

people I'd trusted were capable of inflicting on others. ''That Earth Warden. Was he the only

one Bad Bob made you . . . ?''

''No,'' David said, and got up. He looked down at me with dark, impenetrable eyes, and offered

me his hand. ''Still trust me?''

I took it and let him pull me to my feet. ''I will always trust you,'' I said. ''Thank you for

trusting me.''

He kissed me, just a gentle brush of lips. Something about this place turned him cautious, opened

old wounds, and I could tell that even if I'd found a way to break the wards, it would have been

hard for him to stay inside these walls. ''Do you mind if I choose the next stop?'' he asked.

''Hey, you're the guy with the black AmEx and unlimited credit line,'' I said. ''Speaking of

which, you know that humans pay their debts, right?''

He didn't look at me. He was staring at the beach house, with a shadow in his eyes that I'd never

seen before. ''So do Dji

Chapter Ten

David's choice for our temporary refuge was just outside of Miami: another beach house, but if

the Warden retreat was one that would comfortably fit a B-movie lead actor, this was A-list all

the way. A Mediterranean-style villa, probably large enough to hold twenty people in comfort on

a long stay, it had a gracious, sweeping stretch of grounds, a sculptural waterscaped pool, and its

own white-sand private beach, a near-impossibility in Miami. I shuddered to think what the place

would cost to maintain, much less buy.

''You're kidding,'' I said. David came around to the driver's side and opened my door. ''David,

really. You've got to be kidding. Rich people don't find this kind of thing very amusing when

they come home to find us performing Goldilocks and the Three Bears in their bajillion-dollar

mansion.''

''It's all right,'' he said. ''It belongs to a friend.''

''A friend?''

''A very good friend,'' he clarified, and flashed me a smile. ''We'll stay in the guesthouse, if it

makes you feel any better.''

We made it only about three steps from the car when two huge, evil-looking Rottweilers came

bounding out of the darkness, silent and intent on ripping our limbs off one at a time, but both

dogs came to a fast, skidding halt when they came within five feet of us, or, more accurately, of

David.

''Hello, boys,'' David said, went down on one knee, and petted the two ferocious attack beasts.

They licked his face and rolled over to have their tummies patted. ''See? It's fine.''

''It would be fine if you'd let me know when you were going to show up. By the way, you're

ruining my guard dogs,'' said a voice from the grand marble sweep of the stairs leading up to the

house. Lights blazed on, bright enough to land aircraft, and I squinted against the glare. A man

came down the steps, moving lightly despite the fact he was past his athletic days. In his fifties,

with a pleasant, interesting face and secretive dark eyes, he was dressed in blue jeans and a

comfortable old T-shirt that had DON'T PANIC, along with the little green guy from Douglas

Adams's Hitchhiker series as a graphic.

The jeans were expensive. So were the deck shoes. I couldn't decide if he was a well-paid

caretaker or a slumming owner.

''Good to see you, too, Ortega,'' David said, and gestured toward me. ''Joa

There was something about Ortega that felt just slightly off to me . . . not the clothes, not the way

he looked, not the smile he gave me. I couldn't define it, not immediately, and then I realized

that the feeling was familiar. It was the indefinable sense that I'd had around David, when I'd

first met him-a vibration that I'd grown used to now.

I nodded to Ortega. ''How exactly does a Dji

laughed, and his eyes flashed lime green, then faded back to plain brown.

''Very good,'' he said. ''But then, I expected no less. So, this is the one causing all the trouble?

The one you intend to marry?''

David nodded. Ortega gave me a benevolent sort of smile.

''Charming,'' he said. ''And dangerous. But I suppose you know we're attracted to that. Well,

then, how may I be of service to my lord and master?''

Ortega was New Dji

picture any of the Old Dji

with a graphic. Well, maybe Ve

''Need a place to stay,'' David said. ''Guesthouse?'' Ortega bowed his head slightly, and in the

gesture I got a sense of antique gentility. It went oddly with the jeans and T-shirt. ''As always,

what I have is yours. Just let me move the cartons. I haven't gotten around to sorting through

things quite yet.''

''Thank you.'' David gave the adoring Rottweilers one last pat and stood up to take my arm.

''We're not here, by the way.''

Ortega smiled. ''You never are.'' My Mustang faded out. ''I put your car in the garage. Slot five,

next to the Harley. Seemed appropriate.''

I looked at David, baffled. He shrugged. ''Ortega collects things,'' he said. ''You'll see.''

I knew that some of the Dji

Ortega owned some of the biggest, splashiest real estate in a big, splashy, highly visible

community. Granted, the rich were different, but I was willing to bet his neighbors had never

guessed just how different. It worked in his favor that the exceptionally well-off tended to isolate

themselves in these luxurious fortresses, and only moved in their own particular social circles.

David took my arm and walked me down the wide, flawless drive toward what I could only

assume was the guesthouse-big enough to qualify as multifamily housing, and fancy enough to

satisfy even the pickiest of pampered Hollywood stars looking to slum it. He must have seen

from the bemusement of my expression what I was thinking, because he laughed softly. ''We're

safe here,'' he said. ''Ortega's known as a recluse-it's not just as a disguise for humans; it's

true among his fellow Dji

''He's . . . not what I would have expected.'' The Dji

about them, but Ortega seemed . . . normal. His eccentricities were more like what you'd expect

from a dot-com genius who'd cashed out of the Internet game early and sailed away on his

golden parachute.

The door to the guesthouse swung silently open for us as we walked up the steps. Night-

blooming flowers poured perfume out into the air, and I stopped to drink it all in. The cool ocean

breeze. The clear night air. Rolling surf.

David, gilded silver by the moonlight.

''What are you thinking?'' he asked me, and stepped close. Our hands entwined, and I crossed

the small, aching distance between us. Our bodies fit together, curves and planes. He let out a

slow breath and closed his eyes. ''Oh. That's what you're thinking.''

I put my arms around his neck. ''I'd be crazy if I wasn't,'' I said. ''Look, it's been driven home

to me today that we're living in a bubble. If it's not the damn reporters sneaking hidden-camera

footage, it's the Sentinels trying to wipe us out. If we have even a second of safety and solitude, I

don't think we should waste it.''