Interview With a Gargoyle Read Free

reason to call anyone, except maybe an industrial clean-up crew. She figured tomorrow would be soon enough to contact her HMO and get the name of a good psychotherapist in her plan. Right now, a dignified retreat seemed to be her best option.
    “Well, Palmer, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for saving me. I’ve got to get back to work. And by the way, you have a little Gogmar on your T-shirt.”
    He glanced at his chest, and while he was distracted, she bolted for the back door.
    She’d have made it too, except she forgot she was still holding the broomstick, and it barred her hasty getaway. She turned to chuck it next to the Dumpster, and that’s when hell itself roared into the alley.

Chapter Two
    The blinding beam of a single headlight swept the alley. Palmer and Melodie both put their hands up to shield their eyes, which did little to increase visibility. The strong scent of diesel accompanied the belly-rumbling thunder of a six-cylinder on low idle.
    Fortunately, the rider cut the light, leaving Mel blinking at the phantom color dots that swirled in front of her eyes. When her stunned retinas recovered, she focused on the movement of leather-clad arms reaching up to remove a gleaming black helmet.
    Next to her, Palmer drew his sword and shoved one broad shoulder forward in a move that said, “Get behind me, wench.” Annoying as it was, though, the attitude suited him.
    A masculine wave of dark hair tumbled from the helmet, and Hell’s angel revealed a face that could stop traffic. A day’s growth of sexy stubble shadowed a granite jaw. Sculpted lips curved in a humorless grin, and deep-set hawk eyes zeroed in on the puddle of Gogmar evaporating around their feet.
    “Oh, crap, it’s DeWitt,” Palmer muttered near Melodie’s ear. She might have commented, but she was currently bewitched by a stare that made her palms slippery on the broom handle and her heart beat triple time.
    Here was a man who sizzled.
    She’d never been the type to be rendered speechless or weak-kneed by a show of testosterone, but Sugar Honey Iced Tea, this man was fine . Correction: This leather-wearing, Harley-riding, ally-skulking thug was fine .
    He tucked his midnight black helmet under one arm and cocked a perfectly arched brow at Melodie’s sword-wielding savior. “ You killed the Gogmar, didn’t you?” His words held an exotic lilt, just the hint of a Scottish brogue.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was making out with my girlfriend. We didn’t see anything. Right, sweetheart?”
    Palmer wrapped an arm around Mel’s shoulders, and the weight of his embrace nearly knocked an inch off her height. “Huh? Oh…right.”
    She assumed she was protecting them both by agreeing with him. Nevertheless she wasn’t fully comfortable with Tall, Dark and Dangerous thinking Palmer was her boyfriend, or—and more importantly—that she was the kind of girl who would make out in an alley.
    “You do realize you’re standing in Gogmar guts,” the mysterious DeWitt said.
    “Umm…” The smell in the alley had grown into something no skunk could hope to emulate, and Melodie’s desire to flee before she started to melt had become unmanageable. She decided to rat Palmer out and ducked from under his arm. “ He did it.”
    The back door of Gleason’s was two steps away, and she could have had it slammed, locked and dead bolted in a heartbeat if only she could have torn her gaze away from DeWitt’s piercing stare.
    “So what if I did?” Palmer stepped up, sword ready, while Mel inched back.
    Leather God shrugged. “That’s fine with me. All I want is the cabochon it carried, and I’ll be on my way.”
    “It had no cabochon,” Palmer replied.
    Skepticism lit those fathomless eyes, and DeWitt smirked. Mel conveniently forgot her desire to flee when he lifted a massive thigh and swung himself off the seat of his Harley.
    Leather boots, stone-washed jeans, black T-shirt, and a scuffed bomber jacket completed his