Defeat the Darkness (3 page)

“Bloody and still mooing.”

“That makes three of us. Brenna and Laurel like theirs a little less raw.”

The screen door opened a second time, and two women joined them outside. “Talking about us again?”

Hunter studied them. Both were attractive but in different ways. As soon as Laurel got close to Devlin, the Paladin leader slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Lucky bastard, he was the first Paladin to ever dare date a Handler. When Hunter had first heard the rumors, he'd been surprised that the Regents had allowed the relationship to continue. Now that he'd seen the two together, he realized the Regents must have figured they'd stood to lose both Devlin and Laurel if they'd pushed it. The two were very obviously in love.

The same with Brenna and Trahern, but Hunter had already seen them together back in Missouri. She'd fought tooth and nail to drag her man back from insanity. Hunter liked that about her. He wondered if she know that Jake had a bit of a crush on her. Hunter figured it had started when from the two of them had been shot at the same time.

Laurel smiled at Hunter. “As soon as the steaks are done, we'll be ready to eat.”

“Sounds good.” He wasn't much for etiquette these days, but for Laurel and Brenna he'd make the effort. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

“You're welcome.” Brenna gave him a warm smile. “How are all the John Does doing these days?”

It took him a minute to remember that was the name Jarvis had told her to call all of the Paladins in Missouri when Trahern had breached security and brought her inside the compound without any authorization. Even if her late father had been one of the Regents, outsiders weren't allowed in the underground facility.

“They're all fine; Jake sends his regards. He said to tell
you that his computer game is about to be released. He'll be sending you one of the first copies.”

He eyed Trahern briefly before adding, “The dragon Jake named after you is a real beauty. It even has your coloring.”

Her face lit up. “He shouldn't have done that.”

She was clearly pleased, even if Trahern wasn't. He grabbed Brenna's hand and tugged her onto his lap. “That's right. He shouldn't have.”

Devlin laughed and pointed his tongs at Hunter. “You might want to warn your friend that Trahern doesn't share.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “For Pete's sake, it's just a dragon. I think it's sweet.”

Devlin planted a quick kiss on her cheek, then started piling an obscene amount of barely cooked beef on a platter. “These are done. Let's eat.”

Hunter followed them inside and took the place at the end of the table, uncomfortably aware that he was the odd man out. He'd been feeling that way a lot lately.

Tate Justice pulled back her lace curtain and looked outside to check the weather. It was misty and cool. Perfect. Maybe it was selfish of her to wish for light rain every day, but her business thrived when the weather drove people inside. When it was hot and sunny, she sat inside her tea shop all day by herself. On the other hand, that gave her more time to work on her book.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee, her secret sin. She might run a small tea shop, but she liked a good French roast with her morning granola. Sometimes
she thought it was a bit sad that her worst vice was coffee. However, living as she did in the small community of Justice Point, there weren't all that many opportunities for sin.

Her daily to-do list was filled with the mundane activities of a small business owner and wanna-be writer. She read over today's list: check stock and call in an order for more tea, sweep the hardwood floors in the shop, do some laundry, and write her daily allotment of pages. Oh, yes, and pay the bills.

That last one had been carried over from the day before and the day before that. She'd run out of both excuses and time. She knew she had enough to cover all the bills, but after the past few weeks of particularly nice weather, it was a tight squeeze.

If only a tenant would magically appear for the furnished apartment over the garage. She'd posted it for rent a month ago, but so far there had been no takers. Most of the locals were too elderly to handle the stairs, and the village was too far from the bus route to the nearest college town to make it convenient for a student.

Someone would come along eventually. She didn't absolutely need the money, but it would give her budget a bit more breathing room. Sighing, she reached for the stack of bills and her checkbook. As painful as it would be, at least she'd be able to start her day with a clear conscience.

When Tate unlocked the front door of her tea shop on the first floor of her Victorian home, three of her favorite
customers were already waiting for her. Collectively known as the Auntie Ms, Madge, Margaret, and Mabel were three elderly sisters who lived down the road. No one in Justice Point knew exactly how old they were, and Tate wasn't about to ask. Two of them were twins, though all three women looked enough alike that sometimes it was hard to tell them apart.

“Good morning, dear. Here are some of those cookies you like so much.” Mabel shoved a plate into Tate's hands before heading for the sisters' favorite table in the shop.

“You shouldn't have.”

She meant it. The sisters had to pool their limited resources just to get by. But no amount of arguing would stop them from making cookies for everyone in town. Tate made it up to them by sending them home with soup and other staples as often as they would let her. She understood pride and tried her best not to offend them.

The twins filed in behind Mabel, moving a bit slower with their matching walkers. When the trio was settled, Tate brought them a pot of their favorite tea and the morning paper. As usual, the Auntie Ms squabbled over who got first crack at the front page.

Tate swept the large front porch and fluffed the cushions of the wicker furniture scattered along its length. The checkers box was looking a bit ragged, and she made a mental note to bring out one of her empty tins to replace it. Nothing flowery or she'd get complaints from the two gentlemen who spent their afternoons trying to best each other at their favorite game.

Satisfied that everything was in order, she went back inside and started checking her inventory and making out her supply order. When that was done, she pulled out her laptop to edit the pages she'd written the day before. The hero was about to ride in and rescue the heroine from the villain. As a reader, she hated wishy-washy women and made sure the heroine was on the verge of saving herself already.

“Tate, dear, I think you have a customer.”

Normally, Tate would've finished the sentence she was working on, but the excitement in Mabel's voice jarred her completely out of the story, derailing her train of thought.

Whatever had caught the attention of the Auntie Ms had them all sitting up straight and staring out the window. Tate couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but they reminded her of a flock of house finches twittering over the approach of a cat.

Tate came around the counter to get a better look but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Before she could ask what was going on, the back doorbell rang. That was odd. The locals all knew to come around to the shop entrance.

“I'll be back, ladies,” Tate told the sisters.

“Take your time, dear,” Margaret said.

“Yes, all the time you need,” Mabel added with a definite twinkle in her faded blue eyes.

“We
certainly would.”

That last remark came from Madge, which set all three of them off in a fit of giggles. What on earth had gotten into them?

The bell rang twice more before she made it to the door. Somebody was in a hurry. She turned the old-fashioned key to unlock the door and opened it to find nobody there. She stepped out on the back porch to look around, wondering if some tourist's kids were playing around.

Then she saw him. That was definitely no child. A man, easily several inches over six feet tall, was walking around toward the front of the house. She noticed he favored his right leg, but it didn't detract one iota from the impression of overwhelming masculinity.

She tried to speak, meaning to call him back, but all she managed was a squeak. Evidently that was enough, because he immediately spun around and headed straight for her, radiating aggression as he stalked back to where she stood. She instinctively backed up a step, but then stopped and held her ground.

He smirked at her reaction.

She'd see what the jerk wanted and then send him on his way with good riddance. “Can I help you?” she said.

He stopped a few feet from the porch. “That depends. Are you the owner?”

His voice was painfully hoarse, sounding like rough sandpaper, sending shivers through her. “Yes, I'm Tate Justice.”

“Then you can help me. I saw your ad for the apartment. I want to rent it.”

Oh, no. The first serious looker she'd had, and it had to be this guy. “You haven't seen it yet.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are there any other places for rent in town?”

“Well, no.”

“Then it doesn't matter what it looks like, does it?” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash. “I believe the ad said first and last months' rent.”

Visions of a balanced budget with a bit of cushion danced through her head before common sense took over. This guy was hardly what she'd had in mind when she'd run the advertisement. Even so, what grounds did she have to refuse him?

“Do you have any references?”

“No.”

She studied his ragged jeans and the faded flannel shirt he wore unbuttoned over a white T-shirt. “Do you have a job? Locally, I mean.”

“I can pay my bills.”

That didn't exactly answer her question. Then she noticed he was carrying a cane. “I'll show you the apartment, but I fear it may not be suitable for you.”

“And why is that?”

Now
this
was awkward. “The stairs are steep.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “I can handle a few steps. Now show me the place if you insist, so I can get moved in.”

It all boiled down to the fact that she needed the income and he needed the apartment. Her decision made, she met his gaze head-on and nodded.

“I'll get the key.”

I
t was obvious that her new tenant hated being stared at, but there was no way to avoid it. Considering the small size of Justice Point, Hunter Fitzsimon couldn't have been shocked that his moving a handful of boxes up a staircase would draw a crowd.

However, her neighbors had spent more than enough time ogling the newest resident. Tate waited until Hunter was inside the apartment, then she shooed everyone back around to their own yards. When Hunter came back out, he found himself alone, but if he was surprised, it didn't show. With the same look of grim determination, he returned to his truck for another load of boxes.

His limp was getting more pronounced, clear evidence that he'd made one trip too many up the stairs. She'd seen him carry in a duffel bag and a motley assortment of cardboard boxes but nothing that looked like food.

It would only be neighborly to take him some lunch. Making some extra sandwiches wouldn't be that much more bother than making just one for herself. Add a couple of soft drinks, or better yet a cold beer, one of her fresh blueberry muffins, and maybe an apple. No, make that two apples. He might get hungry later.

She tucked the food into a basket and set the sign in the shop window to say she'd be back in fifteen minutes. Timing her approach was tricky. She waited until he'd carried up another load. Picking up two of his smaller boxes, she followed him up the steps.

He exited the apartment just as she reached the top step. He immediately snagged the top box off her stack and stood glaring down at her. Tangled in the net of his angry gaze, his eyes green and smoky and framed by ridiculously long eyelashes, it took considerable effort for Tate to look away. He clearly wasn't thrilled to see her. Fine. He was her tenant, not her best buddy. But he still had to eat.

“I didn't ask for help.” He shoved the box inside his apartment and reached for the second.

She hesitated before releasing it. “I know you didn't, Mr. Fitzsimon. I realize you are perfectly capable of hauling all this stuff up here by yourself.”

He didn't respond. If anything, Hunter looked even angrier. When he held out his hands again for the box, she surrendered it.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, and started back inside.

Before he could close the door, she stepped up on the small landing and blocked the door with her hand.

He prevented her from opening it any farther. “What now, Ms. Justice?”

“It's Tate, and this is yours.” She all but shoved the basket at him. “It's lunch. I thought you might be hungry.” She turned away. “No rush in returning the basket.”

“Ms. Justice, I don't need—”

Ignoring him, she skipped back down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she looked back and smiled. “Look, I know you've got a lot to do, and I've got to get back to the shop. Let me know if you need anything.”

The sound of the door slamming closed was his response.

Hunter watched his pesky landlady through the window until she disappeared into her behemoth of a house. His first instinct was to go after her and shove the basket right back into her interfering hands, but that was his temper talking.

She'd meant well. Earlier, she'd even run off all the nosy neighbors to afford him some privacy when she'd thought he hadn't been looking. Maybe she
did
understand that he wanted to be left alone. And the truth was, he was in no shape to drive anywhere just to eat. If he didn't rest his leg soon, he'd be in for a world of hurt.

After a final trip up the stairs, he limped over to collapse on the small couch and gingerly lifted his leg up to rest on the coffee table. Shards of pain ripped through his much-abused limb with lightning speed. Gritting his teeth,
he kicked his head back and waited for the worst of it to pass.