“How many were there?” Jarvis leaned against the wall of the cave, too tired to care if he ever moved again.
“Two of ours dead, with another half dozen seriously wounded.”
Considering the number of Others who had crossed the barrier, that was miraculously low. “Tell your men to stand down for the next four hours. We’ll take the first watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
His fellow Paladins might not appreciate his decision, but they had more stamina than the purely human guards. If the barrier resumed blinking on and off like a damned lighthouse, they would need the guards rested and ready to fight.
When the guard was out of earshot, he pulled out his radio and signaled headquarters. A blast of static had him cursing; nothing electronic worked quite right this close to the barrier.
It quit crackling long enough for him to hear a voice.
“Where the hell are the reinforcements you promised?” he demanded.
He could only understand about every other word, but they didn’t add up to good news. Help was days away, not hours. He felt like hurling the radio against the cave wall.
“Yes, sir, I understand. I also understand that you and the others never take this fault line seriously. One day it’s really going to flex its muscles, and we’ll be lucky if we live long enough to say we told you so.”
He hit the disconnect button before the Regent could offer more excuses. He’d heard it all before, and it had been decades since he’d believed anything they had to say. The New Madrid fault line might not have the glitz and glory of the Pacific Rim, but it was just as deadly. He was sick and tired of seeing his fellow Paladins die over and over again with little relief, and it had been almost five years since he’d taken a vacation longer than a three-day weekend.
He could always ask for a transfer. The local command, tired of his constant demands for more help, would probably be glad to see him go. But he was too old, too close to the end of his journey toward madness, to want to learn the resonance of a new section of the barrier or to memorize all the tunnels that provided access to it.
Pushing away from the wall, he headed down the passageway to where the next Paladin stood watch. He ignored the row of dead Others, their faces contorted in the final pain of knowing they’d failed to find sanctuary in this world. Generations of Paladins had fought off the constant threat of invasion, never knowing what drove the dark warriors to suicide rushes across the barrier.
Or caring.
He approached the Paladin with caution. Their nerves were all stretched to the breaking point from too much fighting and so much death. A wrong move on his part and his comrade would swing his sword first and ask questions later.
He pulled a couple of breakfast bars from the pocket of his cargo pants. “Thought you might like something to hold you until the meals arrive.”
“Thanks.” The weary warrior took the bar without taking his eyes off the barrier.
“I let the guards grab some sleep.” Jarvis ripped open his own bar and took a bite. It tasted like sawdust but it took away the coppery taste of battle. “We’re on our own for another couple of days.”
“I figured.”
“I’ll tell the others.”
Jarvis continued on down the passageway, repeating the conversation at every station. By the time he’d made the complete circuit back to his own post, he had to force himself to take each step. Bone-aching weariness and frustration drained the last bit of his reserves.
The young guard was waiting for him at his post.
“I thought I told you to stand down.”
“Yes, sir, you did, but I thought we’d stick around until you all had a chance to eat. I’ve sent hot rations around to all of the Paladins. Once they’ve eaten we’ll retire as ordered, sir.”
They both knew he should have followed orders, but they also knew Jarvis wasn’t about to complain. Sometimes the relations between the Paladins and the guards were strained, but twenty-four hours of nonstop combat was a good reminder that they were on the same side of the fight.
“Thanks.”
“Your food should be here in a couple of minutes.”
“Great.”
Jarvis sank down against the wall and stretched out his legs. It felt damn good to be off his feet, even if the rough floor of the cave wasn’t comfortable. He was too tired to care. He’d eat and then make rounds again.
And once the barrier settled down, he was going to get in someone’s face about the fiasco of the past two days. Paladins weren’t goddamn superheroes. They hurt and bled and died, sometimes for good. It was one thing to throw them in too few numbers against the invading Others when the barrier went down unexpectedly. But to keep asking the impossible from those still left standing was both unfair and unwise.
“Here’s your food, sir.”
Jarvis accepted the tray and took a grateful sniff of the rich aroma. At least someone upstairs had done one thing right. He dug into the meal as if it were his last. Time spent here on the front line of the secret war between this world and the darkness on the other side of the barrier had taught him to eat fast, because a hot meal was a rarity not to be wasted.
He was about to eat his dessert when one of the other Paladins called his name. “Hey, Jarvis, look at this. I found it by one of the dead Others.”
A small rock about the size of a marble came flying through the air. He snagged it with a flick of his wrist and held it up between his forefinger and thumb. The many-faceted blue stone caught the light and fractured it into all the colors of the rainbow. He’d never seen anything like it. He’d have to show it to Trahern; there’d been some pretty strange rumors coming out of the Seattle sector.
Just that quickly, his apple pie lost its appeal. Although he ate it anyway, he didn’t enjoy it, knowing the trail of death Trahern had been following now led right into Jarvis’s neck of the woods.
“I want to go home. I need to go home.”
Trahern prayed for patience. He’d already told Brenna twice that stopping by the house wasn’t a smart move, but she wasn’t listening. Whoever wanted her dead probably had the place under surveillance. That’s what he would do under the circumstances.
Breakfast had consisted of a drive-through at a fast food restaurant. They still hadn’t had their little talk, so that was hanging over his head. Enough was enough. It was time for Brenna to face some cold, hard facts. Without signaling, he cut across traffic to make a left turn, causing several cars to hit their brakes. The sudden maneuver made Brenna squeal in fright, but he didn’t care. He was pretty sure they hadn’t picked up a tail, but if someone was following them, they’d likely reveal themselves now.
Other than a few nasty looks, no one seemed overly interested in them. Good.
“What was that all about?” Brenna had moved on to temper. “Are you crazy? You could have gotten us killed!”
He shot her a nasty look. “You’re getting your wish, Brenna. I’m taking you home.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to guess his real intent. “But you said it was too dangerous.”
It seemed that she didn’t trust him. Smart woman. “It is, but you don’t believe me. Besides, you want the truth. I’m going to give it to you.”
They rode in angry silence as he took an indirect route to the judge’s house, finally turning down the street a block over from her father’s home to park the car.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“Because if we walk up to the front door, we might as well stop at the sporting goods store and buy a couple of targets for our backs. Coming in from the alley gives us a fighting chance of making it inside.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she weighed his words and decided how much to believe him. “Won’t they be watching the alley, too?”
“Good question. And that’s why you’re going to wait here until I see what we’re walking into. Once I’m sure the approach is clear, I’ll return for you.”
He handed her his cell phone alon
g with the car keys. “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, get the hell out of here and then call Jarvis. His number is on speed dial. He might not be able to come get you right away, but he’ll know what to do to keep you safe.”
“Watch your back.”
“I will. Stay in the car and be ready to make a run for it.”
“But—”
He surprised them both by planting a quick kiss on her lips. He could tell himself that it was the fastest way to quiet her, but he knew better. Before he could pull back to get out of the car, she latched on to his shoulders and dragged him closer to her. The green of her eyes darkened and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.
“What?” He could hear the same heat in his voice.
“I’ve waited a lot of years for you to kiss me right. Even allowing for yesterday’s attempt, I suspect you can do better.”
With a groan, he settled his lips over hers. Her arms went around his neck as she tilted her head to one side to allow them a better fit. He nipped at her lower lip and his tongue met hers.
Brenna surprised him with her boldness. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she murmured her approval when he tried to pull her across the console into his lap. He banged his elbow on the steering wheel in the process, reminding him where they were and what was at stake.
As much as he wanted to finish what they had started, Brenna deserved better than being groped in the front seat of a car. When—and if—he ever bedded her, it wouldn’t be a quickie where anybody walking by could see.
He broke off the kiss and reached for the door handle. “I’ll be back.”
Ignoring her look of frustration, he stepped out of the car into the bright summer sun. He wished he’d thought to grab his sunglasses, but he wasn’t about to set foot in the car until he got his testosterone back down to a manageable level.
The neighborhood was a quiet one, the kind where little old ladies spent their days sitting by the windows, making note of who mowed their lawns on Sunday and of anyone who didn’t belong. If he spent too much time looking around, someone would likely report him to the police. But that meant it was just as difficult for the enemy to do much prowling around.
He cut through a narrow side street to the alley bordering the judge’s backyard. The high hedges that offered him protection would do the same for anyone waiting to catch Brenna returning to her home. He checked his gun, making sure he could reach it in a hurry.
The old gate had been replaced but there was no lock on it. A chain with a lock wouldn’t keep out determined intruders, but it would have slowed them down. Even a dog would have provided some protection, raising hell when someone tried messing with the car.
But that was all water under the bridge. When the house was once again safe, he’d make sure Brenna had a top of the line security system installed.
The latch on the gate screeched softly as he eased it open. He left the gate propped open in case he had to leave fast and loped across the grass, up the charred porch to the back door.
After a careful look around the perimeter of the yard, he used the key he’d lifted from Brenna’s purse. Had it even crossed her mind to wonder how he was going to get into the house? Probably not—another sign of her innocence. Well, that was about to go the way of the dodo. She’d never be safe unless she learned and accepted that there was more to her father than sitting on the bench and pronouncing judgment.
Inside, the whisper of the air conditioner filled the silence. The house had the empty feel of abandonment about it. Cereal bowls sat on the kitchen counter where Brenna and her father had left them. The small pool of milk at the bottom smelled sour and the few flakes of cereal had hardened along the edges.
The police had left chaos in their wake. Brenna would hate knowing that someone had gone through every drawer and cabinet, perhaps even her dresser upstairs. Just the thought of some ham-handed cop groping through her underwear made Blake want to punch someone.
Flexing his hands and wishing he had a handy throat to choke, he took a quick walk through the house, noting the disorder in each room. What had they been looking for? And who were they? The police would have looked through the house, checking for clues to the bomber’s identity, but it was doubtful they would have been quite this thorough since the attack had taken place outside.
No, someone was searching for the judge’s files—but not the court cases he’d handled. A chill ran down his spine. He hoped that Nichols had managed to stash the papers or disk where no one else would think to look.
Trahern left the house. The longer he was away, the more likely Brenna would decide to come check on him, despite his orders. He rounded the corner just in time to see her climbing out of the car. Muttering, he jogged the last distance, ready to tear into her.
Before he could launch into his tirade, she held out his cell phone. “Jarvis wants you to call him ASAP. He said it was important.”
He growled and punched in Jarvis’s number. It rang half a dozen times and then cut over to voice mail. If Jarvis was in such an all-fired hurry to talk, why wasn’t he answering? He must be underground, which played hell with reception. He snarled “Call me” into the receiver and then disconnected.
“Let’s go.” Grabbing Brenna by the arm, he set off toward the house.
Brenna jerked her arm free from his grasp and stopped. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing, unless you count trying to keep you out of the line of fire while you fight me every inch of the way.” If he was being unreasonable, too bad. No one had ever offered him any prizes for charm.
“If you’d give me explanations rather than orders, maybe I’d cooperate a bit more.”
Her chin came up. Cute, but not particularly intimidating. On the other hand, it did take some of the heat out of his anger even as it tempted him to kiss her again.
“Look, let’s just get inside. Standing out here leaves us too exposed.” He took a couple of steps and was relieved she did the same.
When they reached the backyard, he quickly hustled her past the damaged porch and scorched bushes. She was all but running for the door and, unless he was mistaken, crying, as well. Inside the house she froze, her gaze riveted on the two bowls sitting by the sink. He wished he’d thought to stick them in the dishwasher, but it was too late for that.
“I wouldn’t cook eggs for him because his doctor wanted him to watch his cholesterol. Instead, he ate cold cereal for his last meal.” A lone tear streaked down her face and fell onto her shirt.
His hand settled on her shoulder in awkward comfort. “You fussed at your father because you loved him. He knew that.”
She sniffed and used the hem of her shirt to wipe her face.
“Come on, Brenna. I’ll look around down here while you pack a few things.” He gently shoved her toward the door into the dining room. From there, she could head upstairs while he stood watch.
“Why can’t I stay here?” There was no real energy in her question, as if she had already accepted the need to keep moving.
“We’ll get you back here as soon as it’s safe.” Which might be never, but he wasn’t going to say that. Not yet, anyway.
She trudged up the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight, he started through the lower floor to see how thorough the police’s search had been. It didn’t take long for him to realize they had checked every crack and crevice in the house. What did they know or suspect that had them digging so deep?
He decided to wait until Brenna came downstairs before checking her father’s secret hiding places. When she learned that her father had led a double life, she was going to feel betrayed on so many levels. The only way she was going to believe him was if she saw the evidence herself.
He could hear her footsteps echoing overhead in the silent house. He’d always thought of this house as warm and inviting. Generations of people had lived and died within its solid brick walls, leaving their mark on the worn woodwork and the hodgepodge of remodeling jobs done over the years.<
br />
Now the stain of violence had changed that, making the house feel old and sad. He ran his hand over the marble fireplace, liking the feel of the smooth, cool tile. There was a row of family photos in a variety of sizes scattered along the mantel, and it shocked him to realize that he was in one of the pictures.
He couldn’t resist picking it up. The judge stood smiling with one arm around Brenna’s shoulders and his other hand on Blake’s shoulder. Brenna had grinned at something her father had said just as Maisy snapped the picture. At that age Brenna had usually tried to keep her lips together when she smiled, but this time she’d grinned with her braces glinting in the afternoon sun.
Had he ever been that innocent? Not that he could remember, and certainly not past age five or six. Life had a way of stripping away the rose-colored glasses early for a boy living with a mother who was little better than a whore, and who had no idea which of her customers had knocked her up. He’d been accused of being a cold-hearted bastard; it was the truth.
He closed his eyes and thought back to the night when Brenna’s father had welcomed him into their home to live. To this day, he had no idea how the judge had seen past the bitter anger of a sullen, abused teenager and seen someone worth redeeming. In those days he’d had been more of a feral animal than a human, barely surviving life on the streets. But between the judge’s stern but fair discipline and his housekeeper, Maisy, spoiling Blake with cookies, they’d gradually tamed his need to strike out at anyone who came too close. He ran his fingers over the picture, missing both the judge and Maisy.
“My father loved that picture. He always meant for you to have it.”
Brenna’s quiet words almost startled him into dropping the picture. He carefully set it back on the mantel. How had she managed to walk up behind him without him hearing her?
“When you disappeared I was so angry, but my father never was. He was proud of how much you changed while you lived with us.” She touched her father’s face in the picture. “He was a great believer in second chances.”
Dark Defender Page 7
