Defeat the Darkness (Paladins of Darkness 6)

by Alexis Morgan

  The clock upstairs chimed softly, warning her the morning was slipping away. She had very little time to get things ready before opening the shop. On her way up to her bedroom, she walked past a mirror and came to a screeching halt. Oh, God, she looked like something straight out of a horror film. Her hair was mashed flat on one side, and she still had faint blanket marks on her face. Coupled with the ratty shoes, oversized sweatshirt, and flannel boxers, she made quite a fashion statement.

  It was a wonder Hunter hadn’t run screaming in the other direction. Served the man right if she did scare him a bit, though. Feeling cheerier, she headed into the bathroom to get cleaned up. While she wouldn’t mind giving Hunter a few nightmares, she couldn’t afford to do the same to paying customers.

  Tate was mad at him. Good. Although it was hardly his fault that she’d gone into panic mode just because D.J. had shown up unannounced and hadn’t been able to find Hunter. He’d had to fight to keep a big grin off his face when she’d come charging up to him over at the Aunties’ house. Seeing how she looked fresh out of bed had had a predictable effect on him, but luckily she’d been too intent on getting right up in his face to notice what had been going on further south.

  He’d much rather go after her than deal with D.J., but duty called. No doubt Devlin had sent D.J. scurrying up here in response to Hunter’s message last night. Next time he’d make it clear that he didn’t need or want reinforcements unless he asked for them. Maybe eventually they’d even believe him.

  Speaking of whom, where was the idiot anyway? He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and spotted D.J. heading for the woods with a duffel bag in his hand. Hunter put two fingers in his mouth and let loose with a shrill whistle. When the other Paladin immediately whipped around, Hunter started toward him. Maybe they’d have more privacy in the woods.

  “I take it Tate found you.”

  “She did.” Hunter let a little of his temper show. “The question is why you dragged her out of bed to hunt for me?”

  “You left Devlin a message saying there’d been some action last night. When you weren’t in your apartment, I thought she might know where you were.”

  “She’s my landlady, not my keeper.”

  “Glad to hear it. Think I’ll stop in her shop for something hot before I head back.” Then the bastard had the balls to leer back toward Tate’s house.

  Hunter crowded in close, getting right up in D.J.’s face. “Leave her alone.”

  D.J.’s eyebrows snapped down over his eyes. “Like you said, she’s not yours. That makes it none of your business if I want to check out her… pastries.”

  That did it. Hunter’s fist connected with D.J.’s stomach, sending the other man staggering backward. His retreat didn’t last long. D.J. flung his duffel to the ground and came charging straight back. Hunter sidestepped, deflecting the brunt of D.J.’s attack. Even so, the other Paladin had a good thirty pounds on Hunter, all of it muscle, and he used it to his advantage to get in a few good licks of his own. But what D.J. didn’t have was the powerful need to protect Tate.

  Hunter knocked D.J. to the ground and stood ready to beat some sense into the hapless fool when D.J. held his hands up in surrender.

  “So I was wrong. She is yours.”

  Hunter wanted to deny it, but it was hard to under the circumstances. He tried anyway. “No, she’s not. What she is, though, is innocent. I don’t want her dragged into our world.”

  “Okay, I hear you.” The Paladin drew a ragged breath as he sat up.

  “Good. Now, how about we get back to business?” Hunter held out his hand to pull D.J. back up to his feet. “Sorry I lost my temper like that.”

  The other man dismissed the apology. “Don’t sweat it. I have that effect on most people.”

  Hunter couldn’t help it. He laughed, but winced at the pain in his jaw and flexed his hand. “It’s been awhile since I punched somebody. But, damn, that felt good.”

  “For you maybe.” D.J. picked up his duffel. “But I’m glad to be of service. Now show me what you found last night.”

  “It’s not much, but somebody came through. I know that much for certain.”

  He led the way into the woods, feeling as if he’d just turned a major corner. It had felt good. In fact, damned good. So what if it took a bloody nose and a few bruises to feel alive again?

  Chapter 7

  Hunter’s leg was killing him. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours after he’d come back up from the beach last night, and the scuffle with D.J. hadn’t helped. Pride kept him from asking D.J. to slow down, if that was even possible for the Seattle Paladin. From what Hunter could see, D.J. only had three speeds—fast, faster, and fastest.

  It didn’t help that the day was miserably warm. Considering all the years he’d lived in Missouri with its hotter-than-hell summers, he should’ve been accustomed to a little heat, but then he’d spent most of his time underground in the constant chill of the limestone caves. At least it would be cooler once they were down by the beach.

  “D.J., hold up when you get down to that next bend in the trail. That’s where we turn off for the cave.”

  When Hunter caught up with the other Paladin, he pulled the sword out of his cane and carefully set the wooden cover to the side of the trail where he could retrieve it on the way back. D.J. unzipped his duffel and pulled out a double-bladed ax and a sword.

  “Nice blade you’ve got there, Hunter.” He held up his own weapons. “Any suggestions?”

  Hunter gave a low whistle. “The sword. There’s not room inside the cave to swing an ax, and that’s a damn shame. I’d like to see you in action with that beauty.”

  “Maybe one of these days you’ll get a chance.” D.J. returned the ax to his bag, handling the heavy weapon as if it were no heavier than a baseball bat. “Thanks to the volcanoes, we get to dance pretty often in this region.”

  Hunter understood the dark memories in D.J.’s voice all too well. “I saw St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Rainier when I flew in. It was quite a sight, not to mention I see Mt. Baker every time I go into town. Having volcanoes hovering in the distance takes some getting used to.”

  D.J. nodded. “They’re beautiful to look at, but personally, I hate every last one of them. I figure they stay covered in snow year round because they’re such coldhearted bitches.”

  Hunter couldn’t fault him for thinking so. “We don’t have volcanoes in Missouri, but we’ve got a major fault line where the river deposits have never fully solidified. We get the occasional big shaker, but we also get the kind of quake that comes in swarms, all low-level intensity, but enough to screw up the barrier for weeks.”

  D.J.’s smile was sympathetic. “Oh, well, keeps us employed.”

  “Yeah, nothing like job security.”

  Not that he had that anymore. If Devlin decided Hunter was no longer needed, what then? But now wasn’t the time for a pity party.

  He pointed at the narrow ledge with his sword. “We have to sidestep our way across that to reach the cave.”

  D.J. stood back. “Lead the way.”

  The two men made their way across without mishap. Although judging by the way D.J. practically dove into the cave, he wasn’t overly fond of the experience.

  As soon as they stepped into the dim interior of the cave, Hunter cursed. Paladins had better-than-average night vision, but a little light wouldn’t have hurt. “Sorry, I didn’t think to grab a flashlight before we came down here.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve got one in my bag.” Then D.J. sighed. “Which is on the other side of the ledge.”

  “Just a minute. Let me check something.”

  Hunter carefully made his way over to where the unknown camper had left his gear. Sure enough, there was a pair of flashlights tucked into the bag of supplies.

  “Here.”

  He tossed one to D.J. and turned the other one on, focusing it on the cave floor. There wasn’t enough loose dirt and sand to hold footprints very well, which was proba
bly a good thing. There would’ve been no way to know how old any prints were anyway, but it also meant that he and D.J. wouldn’t be leaving any signs of their own visit for their targets to notice.

  D.J. did a slow three-sixty, studying his surroundings. “I’d guess it’s not much of a cave by Missouri standards, is it?”

  “It’s big enough to have a stretch of barrier. That’s all that counts.” Hunter pointed at the camping gear with his light. “And it’s big enough for someone to be using as a back door into our world.”

  Hunter slowly approached the barrier. “Speaking of which, how come Devlin hasn’t had you guys blow this place all to hell before now? Back home Jarvis just had a team of Paladins cave in a tunnel the Others were using to escape from.”

  D.J. knelt down to study the camping gear. “Yeah, we heard the bastards caught some poor SOB and carved him up like a Thanksgiving—”

  Then he stopped mid-sentence, a look of horror on his face. “Oh, shit, Hunter, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. If you want to deck me, I won’t fight back.”

  For once Hunter’s first reaction wasn’t anger. He actually laughed, although he wasn’t sure if that surprised him or D.J. more.

  “Thanks for the offer, but don’t sweat it. It could’ve been worse.” Not really. Being tortured to death was about as bad as it could get.

  D.J.’s expression pretty much said the same thing, but at least he let it drop.

  “But to answer your question, Hunter, we haven’t blown it up for a couple of reasons. One is that it would be hard to make it look like natural causes brought down the hillside. But mainly because the bad guys don’t know that we’ve found this place, which gives us our first real shot at catching them. If we close this spot down, then they’ll move their operation someplace else we don’t know about yet.”

  Hunter nodded. “Makes sense. Hopefully we can nail the bastards sooner rather than later. I haven’t been here long enough to see if there’s a pattern to their behavior yet, but I keep watch every night.” He backed away from the barrier. “If you’ve seen everything you want to see here, I’ll show you where I’ve set up my blind.”

  D.J. handed Hunter the other flashlight. Once he had them stowed back where they belonged, Hunter led the way along the ledge back to the trail. He put his blade back into its cover while D.J. picked up his bag.

  “See if you can figure out where my camp is.”

  D.J. studied the beach below, the trail above, and the woods where the bluff jutted out into the bay. “If I were going to pick a spot, I’d look for someplace up there so I could see them coming,” he said, pointing to the trail above them.

  “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. There are actually a couple of different approaches down to the beach, so our uninvited friends might not be coming from the trail by Tate’s house.”

  He pointed across toward the far slope. “I set up about halfway down that rise over there because it’s the only place where you can see both directions of the trail as well as the cave entrance.”

  “Not bad, Hunter. Devlin will be impressed. I know he’ll appreciate the additional intelligence on the setup.”

  “Well, if you’ve seen enough, let’s get out of here. I’m pretty sure they only come and go at night, but I’d rather not be seen hanging around down here just in case they do have someone keeping an eye on the place.”

  They walked along in silence until they reached the top of the bluff.

  “Want to grab some lunch?”

  D.J. looked surprised by the offer. “Sure. I assume we’re not going to Tate’s?”

  “No, I thought we could drive into Bellingham. Tate only offers tea and a few pastries.”

  That much was true, but it was also true that he’d prefer to keep anything to do with his real purpose for being in Justice Point separate from Tate and the other residents. On a personal level, the last thing he wanted was D.J. sniffing around Tate.

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. Although I suspect that Tate might offer more than tea. You just don’t want her offering it to me.”

  “Remember that free punch you promised me? Keep jerking my chain, and I might just take you up on it.”

  D.J. clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, okay. Tate Justice is definitely off limits.”

  Then he added, “But if that changes, let me know.”

  Tate took advantage of a quiet spell to top off the tins of tea. She drew in a deep breath, letting the familiar scents soothe her. Some of the teas were spicy, some pungent, and some even smelled of dried grass. To her, they all smelled like home. Her uncle had been the one constant in her world, and this old house a refuge against the chaos of her mother’s lifestyle.

  Maybe a cup of her favorite Darjeeling would perk her up. She filled a pot with hot water and set it to steep while she made herself a sandwich. She carried it all over to the table where Hunter usually sat, not that she picked it for that reason. It was the one spot where she had a clear view of the road that ran by the front of her house as well as her driveway.

  Hunter had left with D.J. over two hours ago. The two men had looked awfully chummy considering how adamant Hunter was that they weren’t friends. Of course, he was equally insistent that she needed to steer clear of him, yet he’d invited her to dinner. The man needed to learn how to make up his mind.

  Though that didn’t keep her from hurting for him. Last night had been nothing short of disaster. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that whatever had happened to him was still causing some pretty severe aftershocks. He’d been fine right up until dessert, but somehow she doubted that strawberry shortcake had caused his near meltdown.

  It was a puzzle all right, one that he wouldn’t let her close enough to solve. Ignoring the stab of pain the thought caused her, she pulled out her laptop. Maybe getting lost in her story would help. She’d left the gunslinger at the heroine’s mercy as he fought off the infection from his wound. Maybe it was time to have the sheriff come knocking at the door, a quick reminder to the heroine who the real good guy was.

  The sheriff was handsome, kind, and… boring, Tate realized. He might think to bring the heroine flowers or even some pretty ribbon for her hair, but none of that seemed to matter. The gunslinger, on the other hand, was surly and carried enough baggage with him to stock a luggage store. Yet he was the one who made the heroine’s pulse race and curled her toes when he’d finally given in and kissed her in a fit of anger.

  Tate suspected the direction her novel was heading meant that both she and the heroine were in deep, deep trouble. Even so, she was on a roll. The heroine had just reluctantly agreed to go for a buggy ride and picnic with the sheriff. She hated leaving the gunslinger alone while he was so sick, but she couldn’t risk the two men seeing each other. The lawman would feel obligated to save her from her outlaw, and that was the last thing she wanted.

  Before Tate could describe their outing, a car pulled up in front of the house. She quickly saved her file and started to clear the table, ready to wait on a potential customer. Then she recognized the car and groaned. What was she doing here? Tate considered turning the Closed sign around and pretending to be gone, but that never worked.

  If her mother was desperate enough to show up on Tate’s doorstep, it meant she had nowhere else to go. Delaying the inevitable would only make things worse.

  Tate opened the door. “Mother.”

  The other woman sailed into the shop in a cloud of cloying perfume. “Now, Tate, you know I prefer to be called Sandra.”

  That was true, and it was petty of Tate to refuse to do it. She forced a smile, pretending that she was glad to see her only parent. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are my mother or that you’re forty-six.”

  Sandra looked insulted. “I’m not a day over forty, and you know it.”

  Some things never changed, especially Sandra’s problems with addition. Tate was twenty-six, and according to her birth certificate, Sandra had been twenty when she’d given birth. Someh
ow, those two figures added up to a smaller number every year. At this rate, Tate would eventually be older than Sandra, but logic had never been a strong suit for her mother either.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Mother?”

  Sandra perched on the edge of the chair Tate had just vacated. “I’d rather have coffee.”

  “This is a tea shop. I don’t serve coffee.”

  She didn’t have to look in Sandra’s direction to see the combination of disappointment and petulance on her face. Those were the only two expressions her mother ever wore when they were alone together, just as Tate always gritted her teeth and prayed for patience.

  “Fine. I’ll have a cup of that same stuff you gave me last time.”

  It was just another indication that they both lived in her mother’s self-centered universe. Tate offered over fifty varieties of tea, yet she was supposed to remember which flavor her mother had tried months ago. But of course, she did. Sandra’s visits were always memorable, if not pleasant. She reached for the Lady Grey and a pot.

  She set a plate of cookies down with the tea in front of her mother and then picked up her laptop. Sandra didn’t know about Tate’s dream of being published, and Tate wanted to keep it that way.

  “You know I don’t eat sweets, Tate. That’s how I’ve managed to keep my figure all these years. I’m still a perfect size six.”

  And Tate wasn’t. Her mother also towered over her by almost five inches, giving Sandra the willowy model look she was so proud of. Except for her blond hair and blue eyes, Tate had taken after her father’s side of the family.

  “Would you like a sandwich instead?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble. One piece of bread, lean turkey, no mayo. If you don’t have turkey, then lean ham will do.”

  Tate took her time assembling the sandwich, relieved to get a brief respite from Sandra’s company. Although she loved her mother, their relationship was complicated. Somewhere along the way their roles had reversed, making Tate the responsible one.