Make Me A Match (The Matchmaker) Read online

  I didn’t have his name. My rant would have been so much more effective if I’d had his name. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. There was a bump there, as if it had been broken during a fight. I doubted this suit had fought anyone, unless it had been bullies picking on him in school.

  “Owen Emerson. I’m Mr. Emerson.”

  “Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Emerson,” I sneered. “Whatever it is my aunt left me, give it to charity. Now, please leave so I can do my job.”

  His annoyed gaze flicked to Kelly, then back to me. I could imagine what he thought of my “job.” The look of disgust was plainly written across his handsome face. “Ms. Watts, please listen to me. I can’t give this gift away. It’s quite…impossible.”

  I could admit, if only to myself, that I liked the way his voice sounded; smooth, deep, and lyrical. I completely understood why women so easily fell for an accent. Yes, his accent was hot, and I hated myself for thinking so.

  “Nothing’s impossible, Mr. Emerson.”

  “Eh, yes.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course, but in this case, there really is no way to donate this gift.”

  “Really?” Lizzie asked, butting her nose into the conversation. “I’m Lizzie, by the way.”

  They shook hands like the best of friends. I tried not to curse at her. Really, whose side was she on?

  “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “So, what do you mean,” Lizzie asked. “Why can’t you give the gift away?”

  His gaze flicked from me, but not before I noticed the unease. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely correct. Perhaps there is one way to dispose of this gift.”

  “Yeah?” I prompted, resting my camera on my knees. He had the most interesting scar on his jaw, a thin line that looked almost like a knife wound. No way. Was probably from a paper cut. “How?”

  “Death.” He looked down at us, those green eyes shimmering with sincerity. “The only way to get rid of this gift is by dying.”

  Lizzie’s gaze went wide. A look of pure horror, or was that excitement, crossed her perfect features. My sister did love the drama. “Death?” she whispered.

  I sat upright and laughed. He looked so serious that I couldn’t help myself. Between the two of them, I felt like I was in the middle of one of those daytime soaps my mom liked to watch. “What, exactly, is this supposed gift?”

  “Emma,” Lizzie interrupted, nudging me in the side. “The target’s looking this way!”

  I jerked my head toward Kelly. The target watched us, frowning, while Kelly tried desperately to regain his attention, even so much as shoving her breasts in his face.

  “Crap!” I grabbed a fistful of Owen’s shirt and jerked him down. He landed with a thud half atop me. Lizzie had somehow managed to crawl under the lilac, but I was barely aware of my sister. No, I could only seem to focus on the guy whose body was pressed to mine.

  “Ms. Watts, this is quite inappropriate,” he hissed.

  I would have laughed at his outrage, if I hadn’t been offended. I was a healthy, attractive female and he was complaining? Was he gay? The hot ones always were. Or was Lizzie right, did I need a makeover that badly? I shifted, attempting to put distance between our bodies, but the movement only brought us more fully together.

  “Bloody hell.” He started to rise, but frantically I grabbed the lapels of his jacket, using my weight to hold him to me.

  “Lizzie, is the target still looking?”

  “I don’t know.” She crawled out from beneath the bush and peeked between the branches. “Oh no.”

  I stiffened. “What?”

  “He’s coming!”

  Just at that moment I heard “Abort!” in my earpiece.

  “Crap.” I released my hold and shoved my palms against Owen’s hard chest. He didn’t budge. “Move, man!”

  He quirked a dark brow in an imperious way that annoyed the heck out of me. “What, now you want me to get up?”

  “Don’t be difficult!”

  With a glare, he jumped to his feet in a fluid, easy movement I couldn’t help but admire. Almost like someone who had studied the martial arts. But I didn’t have time to contemplate that little suspicion. I was much less graceful as I scrambled to my feet.

  “You!” I heard someone scream behind me.

  “He sounds angry.” Lizzie stated the obvious as she stumbled to her feet.

  “Crap, crap, crap.” I snatched my camera from the ground. I couldn’t afford to leave it behind. “Run, Lizzie!”

  I didn’t bother to look back. The target huffed toward us. I wasn’t worried about Kelly. She knew to leave and regroup at the apartment later. But Lizzie was stumbling over her own feet, thanks to her ridiculously high heels.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” the man screamed. He’d probably have a heart attack and I’d be blamed. “Did that witch put you up to this? I’ll sue! I’ll call the police!”

  People were staring, turning to look toward us. My cover was totally blown. It sure as heck wasn’t good for business to be seen. I jumped over the curb and onto the asphalt. As long as Lizzie could keep up, we’d make it.

  “Ms. Watts, we really need to talk,” Owen called out.

  “Sorry, borrowed the car. Have to get it back to the rightful owner.”

  “This is important!”

  I latched on to Lizzie’s arm and dragged my sister across the parking lot. No man, or woman, left behind. “I’m not interested, Mr. Emerson.”

  I dared to glance back. Owen was merely standing there looking just as put together as when he’d arrived. Not a speck of dirt marred his suit; not a hair out of place. A freaking god.

  “Whatever it is, I don’t want it,” I added.

  With that said, I turned back around and raced across the lot toward the beat-up Toyota. As I climbed inside and pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn’t shake the bad, bad feeling that this wasn’t the last I’d seen of Owen Emerson.

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man, realizing he’d lost Emma, apparently thought to take his anger out on me.

  Ignoring him, I watched the small car tear out of the car park. I’d just met her and already she was leaving me to clean up her mess. Was it possible to dislike someone so intensely after only having had a five-minute conversation?

  I brushed a leaf from my vest, frowning over a smudge of dirt that marred the material. I’d get a bloody demerit, thanks to her. The Consulate had taught us to keep up appearances at all times; we were professionals, after all. Yes, upon occasion we were required to use brute force, but that didn’t mean we had to dress like cavemen. “I assure you, sir, I had nothing to do with this.”

  I gave the man a bored glance, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. Apparently the look hadn’t been dismissive enough.

  The older man’s jowls quivered with righteous indignation. “You tell your woman—”

  I held up my hand, having no wish to go further with this topic. “She’s not my woman.”

  As if I’d date someone like her; the idea was insane. I glanced reluctantly at the car park, a space now devoid of frustrating women. A female who wasn’t even polite enough to listen to reason. A woman whose job it was to destroy marriages. Hell, what would the elders think?

  Besides, it would be unprofessional to date a client, even if I could admit to myself that she wasn’t half-bad to look at. Blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, hot body. But that innocent face belied the mouth and crankiness of a seasoned sailor. What had I gotten myself into? Bemused, I started to walk away, hoping to regroup with a pint somewhere.

  “See here.” The man grabbed my shoulder.

  Instinct flared to life. I dropped my briefcase. Before I could think twice about the rationality of my actions, I spun around, grabbed the man’s wrist, and flipped him over onto his back. I couldn’t deny the thrilling sense of release I felt at the physical exercise. No matter how much training, how
much education…East London was still buried deep within me.

  “Sir, it would be best,” for both of us, “if you went back to your dinner.”

  We were drawing a crowd. Chair legs scratched against the deck as families turned to get a better look. Shite, attention wasn’t good at all. One of the first things we’d been taught was to blend in. One visit with Emma, and I’d lost sense of everything I’d been taught. I’d become that pathetic street sod once more, my education falling to the wayside.

  “Do we have an understanding?” I growled, pressing my foot into his chest and keeping him pinned to the ground.

  Sweat broke out just below the man’s receding hairline. I knew fear when I saw it. “Yeah, sure,” he grunted.

  Disgusted with myself, the man, and the entire situation, I released my hold. He didn’t look back as he stumbled toward the restaurant, scurrying like a rat to garbage. Just as I’d thought, the man was a bully who, when pushed back, easily gave in. I’d dealt with plenty of bullies in my youth, before the Consulate had come for me. I’d even been one a time or two.

  I sighed and swiped my hands on my trousers, as if that could erase the memory of a crappy childhood. Restless, I picked up my briefcase and started down the footpath that led toward the beach. My body didn’t seem my own, my thoughts annoyingly jumbled, my skin tingling with an awareness that hadn’t been there before I’d met Emma. Even if my rational mind refused to acknowledge her as my client, my body knew the truth. I was stuck with the chit.

  “Owen, my boy.”

  A human would have been startled by the old man’s sudden appearance, but I’d seen too many odd things to be startled by much. Jotham wore his typical green robe, which was inconspicuous enough where we resided, but ridiculous-looking here amongst the humans and their shorts and T-shirts.

  Jotham seemed to neither notice nor care about the sudden attention. “Come, let us walk.”

  I bit back my refusal. I didn’t want to walk; I wanted to go after Emma, force her to understand. Or maybe I wanted to return home and beg them for a new assignment. But I couldn’t because then I’d have to admit I’d left without permission. Of course it really wasn’t in their hands, but in the hands of fate.

  And fate could have a wicked sense of humor.

  We followed the footpath to a boardwalk that ran the length of the beach. Me in my suit, and Jotham in his long green robe. Yes, we looked insane. I completely understood why those along the beach were drawing their children closer. They most likely thought we were from some odd religious sect invented by humans to justify their existence.

  “Well done, lad.” Jotham strolled unhurried down the boardwalk, his hands clasped behind him. “You’ve found her, and have taken care of the initial meeting.”

  “She ran away.” I scoffed. “The woman refused to listen to reason.”

  I couldn’t see the old man’s lips smiling through that thick white beard, but those faded blue eyes crinkled at the corners, looking suspiciously like amusement. “Well, that happens sometimes.”

  Yeah, I’d find it humorous as well, if the client hadn’t been mine. “Happens? What if she doesn’t believe me?”

  Frowning, I kicked at a rock. I’d never even contemplated the idea that she might not accept her fate. Yes, I assumed she’d be shocked, but surely she could tell she had powers…that she wasn’t normal. I could sense her abilities a continent away. And if I could, that meant other supernatural beings would soon as well.

  “It doesn’t matter if she believes, the powers will come as they will. You must remember, Owen, humans tend to ignore any sense of magic in their lives. They don’t understand; it frightens them, and so they pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “Excellent plan,” I muttered sarcastically.

  We paused, staring out over Lake Michigan. The sun sent rays of orange and pink across the cresting waves. Gulls hovered over the water, their cries peppering the air with a natural music. How could humans not believe in magic when it surrounded them? In the setting sun, in the bloom of the yellow flowers creeping across the sand, in the call of gulls above? The pulsing energy could be felt as easily as the wind. I certainly wasn’t a sentimental twit, but magic was as much a fact as the earth revolving around the sun.

  “The happiness, anxiety, and hate they feel comes from a lack of understanding. They sense the magic but they don’t understand it, and the feelings frustrate them.” Jotham continued his pace, the boards underfoot creaking with our weight. “They think they’re sick, they think it’s anxiety without having a clue that what they’re really sensing is magic.”

  A warm breeze swept across the water, stirring sand particles into the air, tiny crystals that hung suspended for the briefest of moments, shining and sparkling under the setting sun.

  “And if we told them, we’d have another witch hunt,” I said. “There are too many nonbelievers. Too many who have yet to reach that level of acceptance.”

  He nodded. “’Tis better this way…for now.”

  I raked my fingers through my hair. “Perhaps, but not exactly helpful when I’m trying to explain to my client that she has powers.”

  “Client?”

  I flushed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yes, we’ve been told it’s better to think of them as a client, rather than—”

  “Human? A living being?”

  There was no anger in his voice or on his expression, only mild curiosity. Jotham had lived too long to let his emotions get the better of him. But I knew him well enough to sense the judgment in his question.

  “I understand you’re upset, but there have been too many Protectors ruined, heartbroken even, when their clients died. It’s better to remain aloof.”

  “I see.” Jotham stroked his long beard, his attention on two children building a sand castle near the water’s edge. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to feel anything. That would be quite disastrous.”

  I knew better than to respond. I, too, realized the ridiculousness of the rule. It could be bloody difficult to resist an attachment with one’s clients. I’d even grown to appreciate Emma’s aunt. Although I highly doubted I had to worry about becoming attached to Emma Watts.

  Jotham patted me on the back in a companionable way. “Well then, your client awaits. She needs to know the truth and there’s no one better to tell her than you.”

  I was the only person who could tell her what she was. With no alternative but to confront her, I drew energy from the rays of the setting sun. Yes, I had a feeling I’d need all the strength I could get. I’d sensed the hardness in Emma. A venerable steel wall wrapped around a damaged soul. As much as she annoyed me, she also intrigued me. Damn it all, why hadn’t Clarice mentioned her niece? At the very least, warned me.

  “You haven’t told the others I’m here?”

  “No. Not yet. I think it’s best we work in secrecy for now. If your instincts are correct, then the truth will cause an uproar.”

  “Agreed. And I won’t give up on Emma.” As if I had any other choice. This was my job. A job fate had chosen for me years ago. An honored choice. Or so I’d been told repeatedly throughout my life. Now…I wasn’t so sure.

  “Brilliant,” Jotham said. “I’m glad you’re not going to give up on the dear woman.”

  Dear woman? That was taking things a bit far.

  “I knew you wouldn’t because you’re a good man, Owen. But mostly I’m glad you’re not giving up on her because she’s being followed.”

  I stiffened, my skin tingling with sudden warning. How had I not noticed before? Damn, but this was why we were supposed to control our feelings. Emotions got in the way. “What?”

  Jotham stepped off the boardwalk and started across the car park toward an ice cream shop, his long robe sweeping back and forth over his slippered feet. “Your Ms. Emma Watts. I believe she’s being tracked at the moment. Would be best if you take care of any nastiness before she notices. Would hate to introduce her to our world in such a way.”

  Shite, I though
t I’d have time to at least explain things in a calm and rational manner. I should have had time. How did they know already? “What’s following her?”

  “Demon, I believe,” Jotham said over his shoulder. “The earth spawn are always the first to know, after the Protector, of course. Good luck.”

  “Bloody hell,” I whispered as I closed my eyes, concentrated, and disappeared.

  ********

  If I were lucky, I could kill the demon and dispose of the body before Emma even realized she was in danger. More importantly, before the Consulate discovered I was gone. I reached out with my senses, finding her easily enough. The moment her aunt had died and the woman’s powers had transferred to her niece, my tracking system had kicked in, although I hadn’t told anyone but Jotham. Because we were fated to be together until she died, I’d always be able to find Emma. I hadn’t thought much about that before. Now, after meeting her, the thought of forever seemed awfully long.

  The demon’s stench hit me as I materialized. Jotham had been correct, although I wasn’t surprised. He always seemed to know things others didn’t. I couldn’t spot the demon but I knew it was there, for the odor of rotting flesh permeated the area, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I was standing in a cemetery.

  Emma weaved her way around tall obelisks and flat headstones that erupted from the brilliant green earth, without a clue of what was to come. Unwillingly, my gaze went to her, admiring the sway of her hips. An unwelcome heat stirred in my chest. Hell, as ridiculous as it seemed, my body was attracted to her. There was just something about the woman’s casual stroll, the way she exuded confidence, yet if one really looked into her eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—one could see the emotion there. Pain. Confusion. Sorrow. She was a puzzle, a mystery.

  But I wasn’t a bloody psychologist who could help her sort out her issues. I was here to protect her, end of story. Determined to ignore my feelings, I started after my stubborn ward. I’d follow at a discreet distance until the demon decided to grace us with his presence. Hopefully I could destroy the monster before Emma noticed.