The Gatekeeper. Heather Graham
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Elven detective Saxon Kirby is under pressure to find out who left a gnawed body at a Las Vegas tourist attraction. He already knows what is responsible: a werewolf. The Keeper of the Vegas werewolves is supposed to control his charges, just as Keepers have kept vampires, shifters and other paranormal races in check for over a century. But the local Keeper is weak and there is nothing to stop the murderous wolf—except Saxon.
Saxon’s investigation leads him to Calleigh McGowan, a half-werewolf, half-Elven dancer who entrances him with her sensual moves and promise of carnal pleasure. She’s a sexy distraction Saxon doesn’t need—even if Calleigh has her own reasons for hunting down the rogue werewolf. But in order to catch the killer, they’ll have to put their lives—and hearts—on the line.
Look for more stories in The Keepers: L.A. series coming soon from Harlequin Nocturne, starting with Keeper of the Night by New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham.
The Gatekeeper
New York TimesBestselling Author
Heather Graham
New York Timesand USA TODAYbestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels, many of which have been featured by the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and mother of five, she still enjoys her South Florida home, but loves to travel as well, from locations such as Cairo, Egypt, to her own backyard, the Florida Keys. Reading, however, is the pastime she still loves best, and she is a member of many writing groups. She’s a winner of the Romance Writers of America’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America, and also the founder of The Slush Pile Players, an author band and theatrical group. Heather annually hosts the Writers for New Orleans conference to benefit both the city, which is near and dear to her heart, and various other causes, and she hosts a ball each year at the RT Booklover’s Convention to benefit pediatric AIDS foundations.
For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.
Contents
Chapter 1
The City News and Herald
Las Vegas
Are Zombies Roaming the Streets of Las Vegas?
The scene on historic, neon-lit Fremont Street was an unprecedented bloodbath last night as a crowd of several thousand went into a panic, killing and trampling one another as they scrambled to survive a “zombie apocalypse.” The frenzy began when the body of Marston Greenwood, thirty-eight, of Portland, Oregon, was discovered in the midst of an Old West display beneath a blazing green neon Z. The man appeared to have been partially consumed by some sort of animal, which sent the crowd into a frenzy just as, ironically, the cast of the new Zombievillerevue appeared on the street for a promotional stunt—with tragically unfortunate timing. While eyewitness accounts vary, one survivor, Sam Nichols of Nunnelly, Tennessee, claims, “Some guy who walked like a mummy and had a serious skin rash stumbled toward a woman just as she discovered the body. She screamed, and the man next to her—I think he was a Texan, ’cuz he was fast on the draw—tried to protect her and shot the zombie or actor or whatever the hell he was. Then people were screaming, running like crazy. There was a giant hairy creature roaring down the road, and I couldn’t tell the showgirls from the hookers or the actors. Music was blaring from somewhere, but you could still hear everyone screaming. Looked to me like zombies or werewolves or vampires or God only knows what were ripping through the streets, tearing into everyone.”
Despite Nichols’s claims and other similar reports, police, state and federal authorities have characterized the tragic incident as a case of mass hysteria in reaction to the combination of an unfortunate death and the ill-timed promotional performance by the Zombieville cast. The agencies have joined forces for the continuing investigation into the tragedy. Pending notification of family, the names of the dead are being withheld.
While the area is currently closed, Mayor Herman Langston is assuring the local population and tourists alike that the situation is now under complete control. “Vegas is open for business. Police are out in force, and while we’re all shocked and saddened by the horrific events of last evening, we will not be shut down by this tragedy that has been visited upon our exceptional city. The local hotels and casinos are offering free rooms and entertainment, so if you already have plans to visit us, don’t change a thing. And if you don’t already have plans, then this is the time to make them.”
Saxon Kirby stood in the morgue staring at the body of lynching victim Joe Moore. Art Krill, the medical examiner, was carefully removing the rope used to hang the man. He spoke in his dry monotone so the microphone clipped to his chest could record his findings.
“The deceased, identified as Joe Moore, thirty-one, resident of Las Vegas, Nevada, actor by trade, appears to have been in excellent health before his death. X-rays show that the deceased’s neck was not broken, and that he died...”
Saxon didn’t actually need to be there. There was nothing for him to do but stand around and watch. But he was a cop, a detective, and his presence was expected. He was pretty sure that no one needed a medical degree to figure out that the poor guy was dead, and that he had died slowly, ripping desperately at the rope around his neck as he kicked and fought before finally losing the fight. The smell in the room was rank, but then, hanging wasn’t an easy way to die. The body gave in and the bowels emptied. There was no dignity in death. He’d met Joe Moore a few times. He’d been a decent guy and a half-decent actor who’d finally gotten his big break with a role in Zombieville.
Yeah, his big break.
Saxon looked out at the stainless steel gurneys filling the room. The statistics were horrifying: nineteen dead and forty-nine in local hospitals, some in critical condition.
He turned and exited the autopsy room, his strides lengthening as he left the morgue. Outside in the bright Las Vegas sunlight, he headed for his car.
“Detective!”
He stopped and turned.
Captain Clark Bower was there. It was unusual to see him at the morgue. Then again, this entire situation was unusual.
Bower was nearing retirement. He was a good captain, but at the moment he just wanted to finish out his last three months in office.
“Captain,” Saxon said.
“You’re leaving already? I thought—”
“Captain, what am I going to learn here that we don’t already know? Joe Moore was hanged. Eleven died of gunshot wounds, and the others were stabbed or trampled. I was here earlier for the autopsy of the man who was...cannibalized—and