Knight in Blue Jeans by Evelyn Vaughn

Author:Evelyn Vaughn [Vaughn, Evelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9780373276356
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2008-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Arden barely recognized the girl’s cry, into the bare knees she’d drawn up to her face, as human. Poor thing! Immediately she fell to her knees beside Sibyl, tried to draw the girl into her arms—but the teenager twisted away from her and turned her face into Trace’s legs, as if hanging on to the biggest man there would protect her. “Shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come.”

“Great,” muttered Trace. “Why’s it gotta be me?”

“Comfort her,” snarled Arden.

Obediently, he reached down and awkwardly patted her head twice, like he might Dido, who was snuffling the girl’s face with concern. Then he seemed to tire of that and pulled her hair instead. “Hey, grow up.”

Arden would have chided his heartlessness—if Sibyl hadn’t drawn her face out of his knees to glare up at him. “I am grown. And trapped, you idiot.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Arden still didn’t like it, but what worked…worked.

“Don’t worry, dear.” Greta stood, wiped her hands on her apron. “You’re welcome to stay as long as it takes for the boys to rid us of that annoyance. Again.”

Sibyl nodded and murmured, “Safety in numbers. Enemy of my enemy…”

Arden, relieved of that concern, went to Smith’s side. She liked being at Smith’s side. It felt…right. Right, after far too much wrong. “Let’s just call the police and report him for harassment.”

Smith eyed her, as if torn about disagreeing—which wasn’t like him—but it was Sibyl, behind them, who said, “Comitatus own the police. And the courts.”

The sheer powerlessness the girl felt against this secret society was too much for Arden. “My father still has some clout in this town, as well.”

“Can’t disagree,” muttered the girl.

Arden looked at the others, who were acting as if this man in his car was some kind of monster. He wasn’t. Comitatus or not, he was just a man. That society of his couldn’t remain secret if enough people asked questions. They couldn’t treat people the way they had Greta’s father—or, Arden truly suspected, Smith and Mitch—if enough people protested their pretense of omnipotence. She had no intention of giving up her personal power today, damn the consequences.

“Fine,” she said—and left the house before even Smith, with a gasped “Arden!” could follow her.

The early evening heat of August surrounded Arden like a hot blanket as she strode, quite alone, to the car parked down the street. It was running—likely to keep the air-conditioning on—but so well-designed that its idling engine was nearly silent.

She tapped on the window, folded her arms and waited.

Nothing happened. Down the street, a knot of boys continued to play basketball on a cracked driveway. Some blocks away, a police siren sounded—not an unusual event, and nothing for concern. Despite the setting sun, which turned the western horizon a mixture of pinks, blues and oranges, the heat hadn’t lessened.

Arden knocked with more force. “Prescott Lowell?”

Finally, with a waft of cold air, the driver’s side window slid soundlessly down to reveal his expensive haircut, expensive smirk and gaze of absolute disdain. Only

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