With Just Cause

by Jackie Ivie

  The car didn’t make much noise, and very little motion, but Deandra heard and felt it as they pulled away from the curb. And then the old woman spoke, her voice carrying what sounded like a hint of amusement.

  “I have to congratulate you, my dear.”

  “For what?”

  “Giving my niece-in-law something to talk about this evening... other than herself.”

  “Missus Pert Boobs back there?” Deandra asked.

  The lady snorted. It probably went for a laugh, if she’d allow that sort of reaction. It took her a few moments to recuperate.

  “Such a surprise. You. Arriving like that. Pulling your guns on us—”

  “Is it far?” Deandra interrupted her.

  “Not really.”

  “Then don’t waste my time on small talk, okay? I’ve had a very bad day.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  Deandra looked down at her black leggings that had rips at both knees, the combat knife strapped to her thigh, a Western shirt that was wrinkled and drooping at the breast pocket from all the stuff she carried in it. If she wasn’t mistaken there was blood spray beneath her right breast – probably from the frying pan attack, and the entire ensemble was topped by a gun belt worn low on her hips.

  “You’re joking, right?” Dang. She seemed to say that a lot, now that she thought of it.

  The woman sighed. “Ah. To be young again. You have no idea.”

  “Look. I just want to get to Grimm. Okay? I don’t want to know anything more about the Bradley family than I already do. And that includes you.”

  “That’s tarring everyone with a wide brush.”

  “So?”

  The car coasted to a stop. Deandra looked out a window, unable to make out much since she faced the western horizon. And the sun. She hooded her eyes and looked back at her companion. They moved again.

  “You have to pardon the others. And any other Bradley you might meet. What happened with the Marshal was a long time ago. They don’t remember. Or maybe they wanted to forget. Or maybe they never knew. I’m different. I’ve actually seen him. At a club in Pecos one night. When I was about your age.”

  “Bull sh—”

  For some reason she stopped shy of saying the entire expletive. Her belly did a flip-flop motion. She probably should’ve forced that bread down her throat earlier. Or grabbed a bite of stew. Or something. The woman smiled.

  “He’s a big man. Muscular. Manly. Much larger and stronger than the others. And quiet. Mysterious. Never did say much. He’s the only dark Bradley. Everyone else is blond. Or has light brown hair. Not our Grimm. And he’s handsome. More so than any Bradley... before or since. Even if he is a ghost, that man’s a looker. It’s said a fleeting glimpse of Marshal Bradley is enough for a girl to lose her heart. No other man will do. I know what they mean.”

  Every word resonated with Deandra until she could swear he was right beside her. Looking down at her. And when the woman’s voice softened, it brought an emotion close to jealousy right to the fore.

  This was ridiculous. Jealousy? Over an old woman’s words? Deandra cleared her throat. “Have you been... over-imbibing or something? Because I’m not buying into this story. Grimm is, at most, thirty. But I’m leaning toward twenty-eight-ish.”

  “Oh my. My. I do believe you’ve actually met him.”

  I’ll say. Deandra nodded. Blushed. Warmed. Felt vaguely aroused. She was rather glad the interior was dim as the woman tried to penetrate the area to look at her closely.

  “Goodness me. That’s... incredible.”

  “Incredible or not, it’s true. I’ve met him. I’m trying to reach him and warn him. That’s why I’m here. Now. Are we ever going to manage that – or is this some ploy to get me out of the ‘big’ house?”

  “My dear. Oh my. This is so... it’s unbelievable.”

  “You’ve got about ten seconds, lady. I’m tired of the tricks and I’m tired of the stories. Face it. I’m just tired.”

  “Forgive me. It just... nobody talks about Grimm Bradley because so few have seen him. That... and it’s an old family secret that we’d prefer stayed buried.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, okay?”

  The sun went behind a bluff or something. The instant ability to see without pain was a relief. And a mixed blessing. Deandra pulled the sunglasses off, folded them, and put them in the much-abused pocket with the other stuff, before regarding the woman across from her with as little expression as possible.

  “Grimm Bradley is a rumor. A curse. A creature of the night. It’s said he’ll never cease haunting us. Because of how he was treated. And how he died.”

  Deandra’s belly churned worse. Noisily. She closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Reopened them. The woman hadn’t changed expression. She looked sincere. Honest. Not remotely crazy.

  Was everyone else sane, and she’d lost her mind? Was that even possible?

  The car stopped.

  “Oh good. We’ve arrived. Edwin?” The woman pushed a button on the console. A voice answered.

  “Yes Ma’am?”

  “I’d like my wheels prepared, please. To my door.”

  It was too dark to make out where they were exactly, but it didn’t look like the opening to an abandoned mine. Or the entrance to a functioning refinery and power plant. In fact, it looked a lot like a—

  “Cemetery Hill, Miss Grace. As ordered.”

  Deandra’s knees shook, knocking together. For a moment, she didn’t think her legs would move. The driver went about assisting the older woman onto her standing conveyance, ignoring Deandra. That was just fine with her. She didn’t want anyone noticing she was about to suffer a nervous breakdown. If Grimm was a real, honest to goodness vampire... did that mean she’d killed live, breathing humans today who were hunting a monster?

  Her belly churned again. She swallowed down the acidic taste. This didn’t mean anything other than she’d been brought to a cemetery. For all she knew the entrance to Grimm’s home was around here. He couldn’t possibly be a vampire. He couldn’t. He was flesh and blood and hot and hard and male—

  And really good in bed.

  Deandra commanded her body to work, managed to reach the end of the seat, and then forced her legs to walk beside the older woman. Only it was more a jog as the old lady’s conveyance zipped over the concrete pathway, putting a slight whirring sound into the early evening air.

  “Ah. Here it is. Number seven-eight-oh-two. Beside his mother. They’re buried beneath the old oak, exactly as she wanted. I don’t think he’s in there, though. Back in the twenties my uncle Seamus had the grave opened. At night so no one would see. They didn’t find anything. It was hushed. Everything about Grimm seems to be hidden like that. But to banish his young wife’s fears, Uncle Seamus bought another coffin, filled it with rocks, and had it reburied. Oh, bother. The site’s covered in tumbleweed. You might have to do a bit of brushing. Or weeding. I’ll call Edwin.”

  “No.”

  Deandra went to her knees beside the tombstone, brushing at the shrubbery with hands that shook so much her fingers didn’t work. She did it with her eyes closed. She didn’t realize the reason was to beg. With her entire being. Her heart. Her soul. She had the stone cleared. She opened her eyes. And then she read it.

  Grimm Bradley. RIP 1873.

  They said people’s lives passed before their eyes before they died. Not true. It happens in times of extreme stress, mental agony, and heartbreak. And it took a span of a second. Deandra collapsed onto the dirt, spilling the contents of her pocket on the ground, as she sucked in the earth-scented air.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The walk back was long. Chilly. Strength-sapping. Incredibly lonely.

  All of that was fine. There wasn’t much facing her at the end of it except a murder charge. Or a surfeit of them.

  The old woman had offered assistance. A ride. A stiff drink. Whatever she needed. Deandra had ignored her until the sound of the woman’s wheeled thing moved away and th
en dissipated. She’d heard the engine of the big black limo as it drove off. Out in the night somewhere she heard a coyote howling. A bit of wind rustling some shrubbery. None of it meant much. There was too much to consider, lying there, hugging a bit of ground that hid a coffin full of rocks. She hadn’t cried. She’d rarely blinked despite how her eyes burned as she stared time and again at a truth that couldn’t be. Grimm Bradley was a vampire. They existed. And he was one. She’d made love with a dead thing. Horror should have replaced the solid poundings of emotion her heart kept sending to pain her. But it wasn’t. Why did she still have such massive feeling for him? He was a monster. Everything that had happened today was proof, but she’d been so immersed in the aura of being in love that she’d missed it.

  Love? What a joke. She couldn’t love him. He was a monster. A demon. An undead being that sucked blood from his unsuspecting victims while sending them into realms of delight...

  Damn it!

  Deandra kicked at the dust of the road, scuffing the toe of her canvas shoe. What the hell. Might as well have her shoes match the rest of her attire. She looked worn, old, and used, exactly as she felt. She’d probably be covered in dust before she reached the hacienda. The road department out here hadn’t even graveled this stretch and the Bradley’s well-maintained asphalt ended at their overbearing gatepost. Good riddance to it. She didn’t want anything to do with any Bradley ever again.

  Ever.

  So... she had a dirt road to follow for eighteen miles. Might as well be eight hundred. She’d gone about three, each one getting slower as her mind fought to absorb today’s events. There wasn’t much moonlight, but that didn’t seem to matter. She’d put her night vision goggles up, but they actually made it harder to see. She’d chucked them back in the dirt about a mile back. She should be thrilled to still have hyper senses. It was probably a side effect of making love to a vampire.

  At least there was something she’d gained out of this. Maybe it would help her in the future. Having the ability to see and hear and smell beyond physical normality in a maximum security prison couldn’t hurt. It might even be helpful. Deandra swiped at her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. Nope. Regardless of how the road blurred before her face and her eyes kept watering. She wasn’t admitting to tears. Geez. That would be the frosting atop this cake.

  The dust swirled suddenly, choking her, and then Grimm was there. Right in front of her. Massive. Gorgeous. Spine-tingling. She gasped a moment before she was grabbed, lifted against that sculpted belly and chest, and then just held, while everything about him shuddered.

  “Deandra, my love! Finally! Do you have any idea how long I’ve searched—”

  “Put me down.” No. Don’t do it!

  They dropped. His legs flexed on the landing.

  “Now, let me go.”

  His arms opened. She stepped away. One step. Another.

  “Are you angry? Forgive me. I know I’m late. But it took forever to find my mother’s ring. You don’t know how it is! You put something away, and over the years you forget where. And then it took quite a search to locate you. Len was certain you’d be at the Bradley Ranch. But no. I checked.”

  “That probably went over well.”

  “I wasn’t seen! I am rarely that stupid. You don’t know what happens when a Bradley catches a glimpse of me.”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Deandra replied.

  “You do?”

  “I had a bit of conversation with an old lady named Grace. She’s... uh... some sort of relation. Wait a minute. You’re doing an awful lot of talking all of a sudden.”

  He winked. Her heart replied with a hard staccato of beats. She ordered it to cease. She might as well try to quit breathing. What was she doing? He was dead. Or rather... undead. There wasn’t any future for them. There wasn’t anything other than more heartache.

  “You noticed? It’s strange, but all of sudden I want to talk. I want to communicate. I need to talk and listen, and share... everything! I have been so favored! I had no one to talk to until now. And then like magic, you appear. Standing in a window, as if it’s nothing to upend my entire world. My love. My mate. My only—! But I digress. I wanted to do this right and for that I had to find my mother’s ring.”

  “Your... mother’s ring?”

  He grinned, showing off some pretty impressive canines. “You are second-guessing me, and I’m not even on bended knee yet. What do you think?”

  He held out his hand where a little ring glittered from a spot just before the knuckle of his little finger. It looked like a round-cut, perfect ruby. Close to a karat in size. Set with what could be diamonds on either side. It was stunning.

  “You like it? It’s the only thing she gave me that the Bradleys allowed me to have. But I know if he could have found it, my cousin would’ve taken it from me too.”

  “Your cousin?”

  “Woodrow Bradley Junior. Who else would shoot me in the back? And for what? He had a wayward wife. They ran into me in town. The moment he introduced her I knew she’d be trouble. How could it be my fault that she... uh... she—”

  “She wanted you?” Deandra finished for him.

  “Exactly! How was I to know his wife tormented him with me? I never went around any of them.”

  “Is there no end to the black history about you?”

  “How is it my fault? I didn’t even live on the ranch. I moved on. Got a government job. Lived in the big city. That bastard crept into my house while I slept. Shot me in my bed. And then while I lay there bleeding, he told me why. He was jealous. Always had been. His wife’s lust was too much. The heir to the Bradley Ranch... envious of a bastard half-breed? Didn’t make sense.”

  “Does to me,” Deandra replied. “But just tell me you made him pay for it. Okay? That’s all I want to know. That one of the stinking-rich Bradleys had to pay for what they did.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Cancer got him. Ate him up from the inside. Took him a powerful long time to die. He suffered. It looked real painful, too, especially toward the end. I know. I’d visit him at night. To watch.”

  “You tormented him. Please say you did. Didn’t you?”

  The smile he gave her was fairly nasty-looking. Especially with the fangs he displayed. Deandra gulped. He looked wicked. And infinitely sexy.

  Sexy? Had she even lost her common sense? Grimm was a monster. She was supposed to be distancing herself. Ending this.

  “Oh, enough sordid history. What’s past is done. What do we care? The future is ours! Yours and mine. And. So.”

  He lifted his eyebrows and looked unsure for a moment. Then he set his shoulders and went on one knee in the dust at her feet. The pulse her heart gave was intense, sending warmth whooshing through her.

  “Deandra? My love. My one and only love. Will—uh... will you marry me?”

  He pulled the ruby ring off and held it up to her. Looked up at her with an expression that was close to killing her. This was impossible. It had to stop. She had to find the fortitude to say and do things totally at odds with everything in her entire body. She’d use facts. Truth. Something besides this love emotion hovering so near the surface!

  “You’re dead.” She told him. The words warbled.

  “Actually, I believe the term is undead. And yes. I am. Call it my dark side.”

  “But... you’re a vampire.”

  “I know. But all men have faults. So I am a vampire. Is that so bad? Truly?”

  “You’re joking, right?” Crap. There was that phrase again.

  “Deandra, please. You are my mate. My love. The only woman in the entire universe for me. I love you. I want to marry you. I want you by my side for all eternity. Please say yes, that you will marry me. Please?”

  Her heart was turning into a live entity that shot pain everywhere. “You should’ve told me.”

  “You’re right, Sweetheart. And I would have. I swear. If you hadn’t found out from Len I’d be here telling you
everything right now. But he said it wouldn’t matter. You lit out for the Bradley Ranch the moment you suspected my danger. Can you please look beyond my faults and say yes? Please say yes, my love. Please?”

  “Oh... Grimm.”

  She swayed in place. There wasn’t any way to resist such a perfect man. Perfect proposal. Perfect ring. She was moving her left hand out when a movement in the road beyond him caught her eye. Oh, crap. She’d forgotten the Hunters sent after him.

  “Got you!”

  Deandra leapt Grimm before the words ended, shielding him from an arrow coming at killing speed. It hit with a sickening thud into her right breast, sending fire and agony down her arm and through her torso. The momentum also carried her crashing into Grimm, who went full-out onto his back on the road with her atop him. Like an automaton, Deandra groped for her left gun with her working hand. Grimm grabbed for the right pistol. He sat up, bending her with it. And then they both fired; the sound simultaneous and loud.

  Both Hunters fell, both shot with perfect accuracy right in the centers of their foreheads. Their crossbows landed on either side of them. She and Grimm had reacted as one. Together. Indivisibly and indelibly linked. With just cause. And perfect aim.

  “Nice shot.”

  She and Grimm said it simultaneously. And she’d have laughed except the pain grabbed her again, this time encompassing her entire right side.

  “Hold on, love. I’ll get... this out.”

  Grimm spoke between gritted teeth, then smacked at the arrow shaft; sending it shooting out her back, and dousing her with blood. A moment later, he had his shirt off, ripped in half, and was holding the wads of material to the front and back of her. She heard his destroyed shirt start singing somewhere near her chest. Grimm swore, lifted a thigh to keep pressure against the exit wound and a second later he was fumbling through the pad of material for what turned out to be a cell phone.