Gargoyles in Uniform

The irony was not lost on Whitney. A graduate of the #1 journalism school in the country was covering a social event, instead of tracking down corporations dumping toxic waste into the Delaware River or ambushing deadbeat landlords saddling their tenants with broken heaters.Whitney Lewis couldn't believe she was filing her story in a bathroom. She was a Magna Cum Laude graduate of Emerson College, for goodness' sake.In her evening gown with her laptop perched on her knees and her heels discarded next to her, she wrote about who'd attended the Philadelphia Arts Center Gala with whom, as if it mattered to anyone. Well, it must have mattered to someone, or her father wouldn't have relegated her to the gossip department, instead of the hard news department. She sighed as someone entered the bathroom, but she didn't look up. If she filed the story now, she could go home and sleep. Another woman entered and went right into the stall next to the first woman. At least the bathroom in this f

"I can't help you," Agostina said through clenched teeth.Whitney rose, needing to move. She strode around the small green park. "Can you point me in the direction of someone who can get me on the guest list?"A sigh came through the phone. "You didn't hear this from me. Okay?""Okay," Whitney said, stopping short. "Go ahead." Hopefully, she was on to something. This could be the story that rocketed her out of the society beat and into actual news. Her father couldn't deny her that for much longer—especially if she broke a story no one else had yet. "I learned about them from my friend, Karen. Karen heard about them from her friend. I don't know how that friend heard."Whitney wanted to hurry her along. She needed the sauce for this story. "Okay. Can you get me on the guest list?""Well, I don't know. It's exclusive and secret," Agostina said, suddenly haughty.Yes. Whitney knew that. The secretiveness was what intrigued her. How had they kept the nightclub so exclusive in the age of

"I want to delete any pictures you've taken of this place," Deke said. He held out a hand that looked like it could lift weights and field-dress a deer.Whitney eyed it for a moment. "I've done nothing wrong.""You weren't on the guest list.""How do you know?""I know." His caveman demeanor was starting to wear on her."I'm not giving up my phone."In a motion so swift, she didn't see it, he grabbed her purse and unzipped it. She snatched at it, but he put it out of her reach while he dug into it. He pulled out her phone, handing the purse back to her."This isn't right," she protested.His steely gaze came back to her face. "You are dealing with people's livelihoods here. All is fair in love and war." He handed her the phone. "Unlock it.""No.""I'll drop it off the side of the building."She believed him, and since it was a company-issued phone, she unlocked it before handing it back to him. The paperwork for a new phone would be a nightmare. Then, there would be a meeting with her

"As little as possible," Deke said. "Oh?" Whitney said from the doorway.Deke hadn't noticed the water had stopped running. He hoped she hadn't heard the references to goblins. That would take some explaining, which he wasn't interested in doing. He rose. Her wet hair was slicked back from her bare face. The look on her face spelled determination. She was even more beautiful now. Even as he thought that, he reminded himself that he didn't want to see Whitney that way."I've made you some food," he said.She eyed him, and then Trent, who seemed overly interested in his plate. As gargoyles—and former military—they shouldn't have been afraid of a woman who was a little spit of a thing, compared to them. Then again, the shortest drill sergeants were usually the toughest—and the smallest dogs were far more likely to attack than the biggest ones were.With that in mind, Deke retrieved the plate and put it at the place he'd set for her. Would his fried rice soothe the savage beast?She slid

"Because mine isn't trackable.""All phones are trackable.""Not if you know the ones to buy," Deke said. His thumbs raced over the keys, and she was impressed. She was just past the age of having gotten good at texting. She did it, but she wasn't as fast as he was.The waitress came over with a coffee pot, and Whitney could have hugged her—or the pot. The black liquid couldn't fill her cup fast enough—or her empty stomach. Running from bad guys worked up an appetite.Who was she kidding? She was always hungry.The woman stood over them in a lime polyester uniform underneath a stained apron. She didn't pull out a pad to write down their order. "What'll it be?"Deke motioned for her to go first. A gentleman.She hadn't looked at a menu, but Whitney knew what she wanted. "A short stack, bacon, two fried eggs over easy, and rye toast.""I'll have what she's having," Deke said, his eyes still on his phone. The waitress left, and Whitney lifted her coffee mug with two hands, taking in as m