The Secret by Elizabeth Hunter Page A

eyes flipped between them, but he said, “Probably out in the gardens.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Anytime.”
    Malachi let her guide them up another set of stairs, this one shorter than the last. When they walked through the last gate, the garden opened up to a graveled walkway lined with olive trees interspersed with flower-filled urns. Ava didn’t stop to admire the view but went straight up the path, heading for the large house he could see towering over the gardens.  
    They passed the front door and the covered patio beside it, still following the path to the side of the house where he could hear the faint sounds of a guitar and the recognizable voice of one the most celebrated human musicians.
    Jasper Reed was known for performing rock and roll, blues, and American folk music, but he’d collaborated with classical musicians and even written scores for movies. He was, without a doubt, one of the most gifted human musicians of his age. And when they finally rounded the corner and came upon him, Malachi knew his talent wasn’t merely rumor.
    The man sat on a low bench, guitar in his lap, several empty coffee cups on the table in front of him along with an overflowing ashtray. Several of the domestic staff watched him from a shaded doorway, one smoking, two whispering, but all of them with rapt eyes on the man.
    Reed appeared to be in his forties, but Malachi knew he had to be older in human years. Dark hair like Ava’s. A classically handsome, unlined face. And a soft voice laden with a practiced breathy rasp.
    The music was pure in its simplicity. Seductive in its tone. His voice was quiet but seemed to suffuse the air around him until every human within its hearing was held in thrall. Even Malachi was entranced.
    Ava stopped in the shade of a spreading oak, watching her father. And he was, undoubtedly, her father. She’d said she looked like her mother—and she did—but there was a quality of expression she shared with Reed. So much that Malachi wondered how anyone could have been ignorant of her parentage. Her face was yearning. Her power flared.
    And was answered when the music stopped and her father turned toward her.
    A crooked smile. “Ava? Baby girl, what are you doing here?”
    Then Reed’s eyes fell on Malachi, and the scribe knew without a doubt where his mate’s power had come from.
    Talented musician. Wasted drug addict. Delinquent father. Jasper Reed might have been many things.
    But he wasn’t human.

Chapter Four

    “HEY, JASPER.”
    Her father put his guitar down and held out his arms. “Come here! What are you doing here, Ava?”
    She could lie to herself all she wanted, but when Jasper opened his arms, the little girl in Ava leaped with joy. The girl who’d never belonged stepped forward and embraced the man who had fathered her.
    “Came to say hi.”
    “Why didn’t you call?”  
    His arms were warm, and he smelled like sunshine and coffee and soap. He’d probably smell like cigarette smoke soon enough, but in that moment, she took a deep breath and enjoyed the feeling of his stubbled cheek against hers.
    “Wanted to surprise you.”
    Jasper wasn’t stupid. He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
    “Since Luis was being closemouthed about where you were. Why weren’t you answering my e-mails?”
    He scratched his cheek, the dark stubble hinting at some Mediterranean heritage he’d never confirmed. He didn’t know much about his family, he’d always told her. But was it the truth? Or did he just not want to share?
    “No Internet up here, baby girl. And I’m not sure where that phone is.” He looked around, and Ava could see his eyes were bloodshot. Hard nights. He’d been having hard nights. She was surprised he was up and playing early with eyes like that.
    Jasper had called her “baby girl” as long as she could remember. When Ava was a child, it had seemed a sweet endearment from a man she thought of as an uncle. It was only later, when she’d learned he was