With Just Cause (2 page)

The guy standing there looked like he came
right out of an old Western movie. Complete with cowboy hat, chaps,
and he even wore a band of bullets crisscrossing his torso. The
only thing out of place was his weapon. She’d been right. It was an
AK-47. Good thing most of the 2100 Radical Society carried side
arms.
If
they’d remembered them, that is.

“And now... your turn, Old Woman.”

Absolutely nobody answered him. Not in words,
or with a bullet. So... either they were all failing because they
didn’t have the guts to really shoot another person when it
counted, or they’d failed by not bringing their pieces to this
gathering in the first place. Deandra had hers. Sort of. It was
stashed in the bottom of her project basket. Where it did no good
whatsoever. But she had to try and reach it. There was going to be
mass murder in front of her eyes if she didn’t do something.
Anything. Everyone else looked frozen in place.

It was too late to say I told you so. And
that they should’ve gone to Tahoe for their bi-annual retreat,
which had been her vote.

Deandra scooted from the wall, going the
length of her arms, but before she finished, the man cried out as a
rope whipped through the entryway and looped about him. His body
jerked backwards like a life-sized marionette. She was seeing
things, but that didn’t stop the show. The intruder looked like
he’d been lassoed; stopping his advance and making him lose his
grip on his weapon. Then his entire body flew right back out the
door as if pulled by a jet engine. Or something with tremendous
power.

And that’s when she found out shattered glass
didn’t do much damage through clothing or a ponytail style
hairdo.

Deandra had the answer because one moment
she’d been on her butt in the midst of said glass, and the next she
was on her feet, her back against the wall beside the window frame,
breathing shallowly and rapidly. She didn’t even know how she got
there. And even better. She had her Derringer in her hand, while
flickers of firelight showed the upended project bag she’d tossed.
Without one recollection on how she’d managed all that.

It was up to her. Nobody else did much except
peer at her over the rim of the fire pit.

Just great.

With her luck, it wouldn’t even be a zombie.
It was probably an alien, and one just as vicious as the movies
usually portrayed. The thought flashed through her mind before she
stopped the stupidity. She reminded herself again that there
zombies weren’t real. Or aliens. The man who’d just been ripped
from the room had been very human. And very brutal. And very
threatening. She shouldn’t care what happened to him, or how it
happened. She should be grateful it was his shrieks of torment and
pain coming from the courtyard right outside. And not theirs.

And then the sounds stopped. Just like that.
Deandra took a deep breath, slid a finger under the curtain, and
peeked.

Well.
She had one answer. They
didn’t call it devil night because of a full moon.

Deandra scanned the area to the count of
three and then pulled her head back, awaiting some kind of response
as she exhaled. None came. She nodded to the group of women
watching her and then did it again, this time checking for
movement. Nothing. The entire clearing was a dim bit of shadows and
more shadows. And then the headlight beams sliced through the
clearing from a lone moving vehicle.

A vehicle. A truck. Maybe even a 4-x-4. A
real, honest-to-goodness modern vehicle was out there. Burning gas.
Or maybe it was diesel. Didn’t really matter. That vehicle meant
civilization. And that meant help.

The headlights glinted on the tripod
concoction that held their windmill. And then it touched boots.
Belonging to a body. Strapped at least eight feet in the air. It
looked like the intruder. Maybe. But she couldn’t be sure because
the truck rounded a corner or something, and she lost the
light.

Deandra narrowed her eyes, focusing on the
spot. Darn Lasik surgery. They’d warned her it might affect her
night vision, but it had seemed like a minor issue then. Now? In a
scene without artificial light? Blurred night vision was definitely
an issue, and not remotely minor.

The sound of an engine grew louder. That
meant the vehicle was probably approaching. Brought by sounds of
gunfire maybe? Or... crap. It might even be a compatriot of their
intruder guy. Deandra moved the gun to her left hand, swiped her
right along her shirt to dry the instant sweat that hit, and then
palmed it again. She wasn’t the best shot, but she wasn’t the
worst, either. And she was all they had at the moment.

A flash of the vehicle’s hi-beams lit the
windmill. Touched for a full second or two. Disappeared. In that
time she saw what she needed. That really was the intruder up
there. Minus his hat. And his bullets. And even his chaps. He
looked like a rag doll, his body strapped to one leg of the
windmill. And he wasn’t dead. She could see his thrashing movements
against his bonds. He was gagged, too.

Now... who could have such strength that they
could lasso a man, yank him through a door, and tie him to a pole
that far above the ground? And in that short a space of time?
Without one hint of a bullet fired? Or any other sound? Who? Or...
what?

The answer loomed into being, becoming a
black mass that blocked her view. Light spilled into the area as
the vehicle topped the last ridge leading to the hacienda, putting
illumination on the man standing in the window aperture mere inches
from her. Deandra gasped and jerked back, but he didn’t move. He
just stood there, looking her over with the most quizzical
expression on one handsome face. Really, breath-stealing gorgeous.
Dressed in black for the most part, the dark color matching his
hair and eyes, while the barest hint of stubble shaded his chin and
upper lip. Absolutely perfect features.
Wow
. He was beyond
gorgeous. Guys this handsome didn’t exist. Or if they did, they
were somebody’s arm candy. Somebody really rich.

He was tall, too. The cowboy hat worn low on
his forehead only emphasized it. And he was fit. Muscled. Sculpted.
He wasn’t wearing loose enough clothing to hide how much time he
spent working out. And since Deandra had already dated two very
body-conscious males, she knew how much time and work that kind of
physique took. And how much narcissism usually accompanied it. That
frame was exactly what she always went for. Only this guy’s
physique was complete and total overkill. Especially when combined
with his face.

The guy was swoon-worthy. In spades.

That must be what was happening. Deandra had
never fainted. In her life. Now was a horrid time to start. The
area about her nose tingled, and then it spread to her chin. Her
neck... her chest, her belly. Her legs trembled. The awareness of
something fascinating sent quivers rippling all over, lifting goose
bumps. Over and over. As if she stood beneath a waterfall that
spewed electrical current rather than water.

He acted like he knew, too. A slight quirk
touched his lips, not exactly smiling, but definitely like he
might. He moved then, stretching the fabric of his upper sleeve
about a bicep in order to lift a hand toward her, palm upward.
Silently. Waiting for her to take it. Put her hand within his
grasp. To go with him. As if she really was standing wide-eyed, in
some dreamlike state. Enthralled. Entranced. Breathless.

And actually considering it.

Deandra’s breathing hitched and the Derringer
dropped from numbed fingers, glancing off just-as-numbed toes.
There weren’t words to describe the sensation. There was just this
span of time. This moment. This unbelievable suspension of
reality.

The truck entered the courtyard with a
whoosh, spraying grit with the way the driver slammed on brakes.
Deandra’s eyes shifted, and when she looked back, the space before
the window was empty. Completely and totally empty. Vacant. As if
that man had been a figment of her imagination.

“
Hola!”

A loud voice announced it as the engine died,
the lights shut off, the door opened and then shut, sending a large
swath of light from the interior dome onto the ground before it too
disappeared. But he replaced it a moment later with a flashlight
beam, demonstrating the newcomer had enough sense to keep one
handy. Behind her Deandra could sense the others moving, hear the
hint of a member of their group who actually started weeping. And
then their hostess replied, stepping out through the bullet-ridden
door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Good eve,
Senior
. You are Mister
Griggins? Leonard Griggins?”

It was impossible to see him clearly. Not
with the flashlight he wielded at them.

“Oh, please. Call me Len. Everyone else does.
You got the message from my company? VAL? About the room?”

“
Si Senor.
It is
ready.
”

“Excellent. Looks like I got here just in
time, too. What’s that fellow doing up there?” The light flicked to
the intruder’s boots and then back.

“He’s a man of the lowest order. A coyote. A
plague on the land.” The sound of the shotgun getting cocked
accompanied the end of her sentence.

“Coyote, huh? Trafficker?”

“
Si.”

“Drug or human?”

“I do not think he cares. Whatever pays.”

“Not good. If he had a human cargo tonight,
they might still be out there. Injured. Hungry. Scared. You got a
ladder?”

“Ladder?”

“Can’t interrogate him if I can’t reach him.
Nice roping job, by the way. How about some duct tape. You got any
of that?”

“Duct tape?”

“I gotta silence him again afterwards. Unless
I decide to kill him. Never mind. I’ll use my own tape. Well...
hello, ladies.”

The man’s voice lowered and had a warm note
in it as he probably saw the other members of the 2100 Radical
Society spill out onto the porch. Deandra wasn’t paying attention.
She was still riveted in place, trembling with the sensation she’d
received from gazing into the man’s eyes. Just before he’d
disappeared. And that was just weird. The entire evening was. She
didn’t have this good an imagination.

Actually...

She had a very vivid imagination, but even it
wasn’t good enough to conjure that guy up.

“Anyone see what happened?”

Most of the 2100 Radical Society answered at
once, sounding like a mess of sound. The cacophony activated her.
Bringing her back from the spell the cowboy had cast. Or whatever
it was. And then she had to face her complete failure. She’d be a
complete waste in a real catastrophe. She’d just proved it. Deandra
bent to retrieve the Derringer before joining the group at the
portal, her shoes crunching on pieces of broken window glass.
Reminding her.

“One at a time, ladies. One at a time.
You?”

He gestured to Edna. Probably because she was
at the front. Deandra slunk around the back edge of the crowd,
since they were packed together in one section of the porch.
Huddled. Obviously failing that portion of survivalist training,
too. They were supposed to keep at least five feet between them at
all times. It made it them more difficult targets to hit.

“That man,” she gestured up to the trafficker
fellow. “He—he shot up the place.”

“You handle it, did you?”

“Uh... no.”

“You see who did?”

“No.”

“Did anyone see what happened?”

“I did,” Deandra answered.

The guy turned his flashlight on her,
blinding her. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her barrel at
him.

“Whoa. No need for that, lady.”

“Lower your light then.”

He did. It took several seconds before she
could see again. And it was even more indistinct and dark than
before. Asshole.

“You see what happened?”

“Basically.”

“You gonna tell us?”

“You’re not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

“There was a man here. Cowboy type. Big. Real
big.”

“Cowboy type?”

“Yep.”

“You get a good look at him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. You’ll be coming with me. When we
find out where we’re going. Anyone fetch a ladder yet?”

“Why her?”

It was Edna asking it, in a fairly
belligerent tone. That was probably because she took this
survivalist stuff seriously, while Deandra was more of a biannual
participant. The rest of the time she was elbow deep in filing
patient charts.

“Anyone else have a gun handy?”

“Uh...”

“That’s what I thought. You any good with
that Derringer?”

“I hit what I aim at,” she replied. Damn.
That was just trite and stupid. And exactly what every actor said
in a spaghetti Western.

“Fair enough. Any movement on that ladder?
No? Fine. I’ll handle that, too.”

He grunted. The truck door opened, the engine
turned, and then the guy maneuvered his truck right beneath the
windmill. He killed the engine and they all watched him climb atop
his cab. Even then he had to strain upward to cut the cloth gag on
their coyote fellow. The moment he did, the fellow started cursing
and whining and stumbling over his words. All spoken in Spanish.
Few recognizable.
Demonio. Diablo. Vampiro
.

“Where is your cargo?”

The moment the fellow stopped for breath, Len
inserted the question. All that happened was more garbled Spanish
about demons and devils. And vampires.

Vampires?
Right.
Deandra
smiled slightly as the sound of duct tape getting yanked from its
roll split the night next, and then the fellow started firing
accented English. Finally.

“You stupid
gringo
! You waste time
on me? No! Can’t you see? I am not the monster! The devil is out
there! You must stop him! The vampire... he already killed Manuel!
Sucked him dry! Now he is after me! He will kill us all! You
must—!”