Dark Defender (3 page)

He hadn’t believed her the first time she’d told him that, and he obviously didn’t believe her now. His pencil stub stood poised over his notepad, but he hadn’t written down a single word since she’d verified her address and phone number. She glanced from him to his partner, Detective Swan. Their attitudes puzzled her. Why would she lie? She was the one who most wanted her father’s murderer brought to justice.

Detective Montgomery shifted his considerable weight in the molded plastic chair by her bed. “Tell me again how it happened, Ms. Nichols. Start with breakfast that morning and go from there.”

How would knowing if she ate eggs or cereal help explain the explosion that had destroyed her world? “My father and I are…” Her throat constricted with pain, but she forced herself to continue. “That is, my father and I were both early risers. As soon as I got up, I went for a run while Dad read the paper. Afterward, I came home and showered. Then we each ate a bowl of cornflakes with skim milk.” If he wanted details, she’d give him some. “The spoons had flowers on their handles. The bowls were white with blue stripes around the top. My glass held sixteen ounces of iced tea.”

Her inquisitors didn’t appreciate her efforts one bit, but at least Montgomery wrote something on his pad. “And then?”

“I did some routine chores—laundry, paid bills, that sort of thing.”

“And your father?”

“He spent most of the morning at his desk in the library. I heard him make several phone calls. When I went in to see if we were still on for lunch, he was gone.” She stared at the ceiling, letting the events of Saturday morning run through her mind like a movie, watching for details that might satisfy the police’s need for information.

The younger detective moved away from the wall, closer to her bed. “Did he act worried or upset?”

She shook her head. “No, Dad always got lost in his work because he paid attention to the details. That’s what made him such a good judge. When he was studying a case, sometimes you had to say his name two or three times to get his attention.”

“Do you know which case he was working on?” The pencil was poised to write again.

“No, I don’t. In fact, I had thought he was between major cases right now.” But if that was true, what did he need at his office that was so important that he had to find it on a Saturday morning?

“And even though the two of you had plans, he suddenly decided to leave?”

She’d already told them that. “Yes. We agreed to reschedule for another day.”

“Did the two of you often go out to lunch on Saturdays?”

“Sometimes, not regularly.”

“Did you pick the restaurant or did he?”

The two detectives were both asking questions now, making her feel as if she were in the middle of a tennis match. “We both felt like Italian, so we chose accordingly.”

“Do you know who any of the phone calls were to?”

The rapid-fire questions made her head ache. “No, I don’t. Sometimes he shared his work with me; sometimes he didn’t. It also wasn’t unusual for him to go into the office if he needed to borrow a specific book. He has an extensive library at home, but not as comprehensive as the one at the courthouse.”

“We’ll want to get his phone records.” Montgomery closed his notebook, stuck it back in his pocket, and stared at the floor for a moment, as if gathering up his scattered thoughts.

“Ms. Nichols, thank you for talking to us, especially when you’ve been through so much. If you think of anything else, please call us.” He laid a business card down on her bedside table. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I would appreciate being kept informed on your progress, detectives.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Detective Swan answered without much conviction.

After they left, weariness washed over her, leaving her shaken and a little frightened. Due to her father’s job, she’d spent a lot of time around the law enforcement community. She’d mostly found them to be dedicated to their profession—sympathetic to the victims of crime but hard on criminals. She just wished she knew which category these particular detectives thought she was.

C
ome on, Trahern, she’s safe for the moment. Finish your beer.”

Blake’s first inclination was to refuse. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have hesitated to depend on the Guard to keep Brenna safe, but the recent betrayal back in Seattle had left him distrustful. He’d known Purefoy for years and never suspected the man would betray any of the Paladins, much less their Handler, Dr. Young.

So he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave Brenna’s welfare in the hands of strangers. Too many years had passed since he’d last served in St. Louis for him to be familiar with the local personnel.

But rather than argue with Jarvis, he picked up his drink and took a long swig. Considering how tired he was, he should have been loading up on caffeine rather than alcohol, but his friend had insisted on stopping for a sandwich and a couple of cold ones.

“Don’t worry, Blake. If she’s anything like her old man, she’ll handle whatever the police throw at her.” Jarvis leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet at the ankles, the picture of a man content with his life and relaxing after a long day.

Blake knew better. Despite Jarvis’s easygoing appearance, he had a hair-trigger temper that simmered just beneath the surface. Almost all Paladins did; some were just better at hiding their true natures than others. Others, like Blake, didn’t bother to try. Men usually moved out of his way without hesitation, not even aware of how they knew the danger he represented.

Women often had a different reaction. On some primitive level, they recognized him as the alpha male he was. In the dimmest memories of mankind, he would have led the men in the hunt and had his pick of the women to warm his bed at night. Modern women were smarter than that. They might like to walk on the wild side on Saturday nights, but he wasn’t the kind of man they’d take home to meet the family.

That was fine with him.

He didn’t deal well with crowds or clingy women at the best of times. Now, when all of his protective instincts were at full throttle, his nerves felt stretched to the breaking point. It wouldn’t take much to shatter the fragile control he had over his need to strike out at a handy target—like the bastard who’d killed the judge.

Which brought him right back to the problem of Brenna Nichols. She’d grown into a lovely woman, her beauty unmistakable despite her bruises and unkempt hair. And though she was twenty-six now, those big green eyes of hers held the same innocence that had irritated the hell out of him twelve years ago.

“Hey, partner, you’re thinking too hard.” Jarvis straightened up. “You’ve got to be running on empty. Let’s go check on your woman one more time and then hole up at my place for some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll start turning over rocks to see what crawls out.”

“She’s not my woman, Jarvis,” he said with cold anger. The last thing he needed was for rumors to start about his relationship with Brenna. She was the daughter of a former mentor. End of discussion.

His old friend raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Let’s get a move on before you crash.” He stood up and tossed some bills down on the table.

Blake would rather stay in a hotel, or even the emergency barracks near the barrier that the Regents provided for visiting Paladins. But right now he needed Jarvis’s goodwill more than he needed privacy. His friend’s guest room would serve until Brenna was released from the hospital.

It didn’t surprise him when Jarvis left the bar through the back rather than the front. They both paused as they stepped outside to let their eyes adjust to the darkness. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze in the narrow alley, and the smell of old garbage hung heavily in the night air.

“I left my car a block over that way.” Jarvis nodded toward the end of the alley. “Why don’t I drop you off at the hospital, and then you can head for my place when you’re ready?”

“Sounds good to me.”

After only a few steps his shirt was clinging to his skin. Damn, he’d forgotten how hot St. Louis was in the summer. They walked along in silence, for which Blake was grateful. He was thickheaded from too little sleep and too many questions he had no answers for. But before he allowed himself to rest, he’d make sure that Brenna was settled in for the night and that the guards understood their lives were in jeopardy if they failed to keep her safe.

When they reached the street at the far end of the alley, Jarvis headed for a bright blue 1969 Chevelle SS.

“I should have known you’d still be driving that beast.”

Jarvis grinned and patted the roof of his baby. “While you’re here, we’ll have to take her down some of those roller-coaster highways in the Ozarks and let her rip. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“I’m surprised you can make it from one gas station to the next without it complaining.” Though he wasn’t above admiring the feel of a 396-cubic-inch engine as it tore down the road.

His friend looked insulted. “I just finished the restoration on her about a year ago. I did most of it myself—new paint job, new interior, all of it to factory specs. Except for the stereo, she looks just like she did when she first rolled off the lot.”

“And for what you’ve spent on this thing, you probably could have bought two new cars. Something more practical in a nice beige.”

His friend snorted. “Shut up, Trahern. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

When Jarvis climbed in and turned the key in the ignition, a deep-throated rumble purred through the car. Blake leaned back and fought to keep his eyes open. After a few blocks, Jarvis let loose with a string of curses. Blake immediately sat up and reached for his gun, only to remember he wasn’t carrying one.

“What’s wrong?”

Jarvis pointed straight ahead. “See all those flickering lights in the hospital parking lot?”

A sick feeling settled in Blake’s stomach even as adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream, readying him for battle. A bevy of cop cars and fire trucks, all with lights ablaze, were blocking the road ahead. He was already reaching for the door handle before Jarvis stopped the car.

“I left all my weapons in Seattle, figuring on restocking here. Have you got anything I can borrow?”

Jarvis reached under the seat and tossed him a bean-shaped gun pouch. “I’ll park the car and be right behind you.”

“Fine.”

Blake ran through the shadows for a block before he slowed to a walk. He couldn’t risk drawing unwanted attention to himself by charging into the hospital like the goddamn cavalry. He wouldn’t do Brenna any good cooling his heels in a jail cell, especially if they pulled his old police records.

The activity seemed to be centered around the entrance to the emergency room, so he circled to the front of the hospital. A handful of the medical staff stood huddled together, smoking as they ignored the chaos a short distance away.

He waited until a couple of the employees ground out their cigarettes and broke away from the group before making his approach.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me what’s going on? I was on my way to visit a friend in the hospital when I saw all the lights.”

The two men, both orderlies judging by their uniforms, shrugged. “The fire alarm went off. Evidently some trash caught on fire, and a few patients in the far wing had to be evacuated just in case. The all clear came through a few minutes ago, and the patients have already started returning to their rooms. The police are just finishing up their paperwork.”

“Thanks.”

If someone wanted to get at Brenna, what better way to do it than throw the whole hospital into chaos? Even with police and firemen crawling all over the place, there would be a window of time before they arrived during which anyone could slip in and out of the hospital without a soul noticing. And in a medical center the size of this one, there would be enough personnel turnover to cover the presence of an unfamiliar face.

Maybe the fire and commotion had nothing to do with Brenna, but Blake had never liked coincidences. He headed for the staircase and took them two at a time up to Brenna’s floor.

No guard was on duty at the door to the stairs. Son of a bitch! He ran down the hallway, sliding to a stop when he spotted the cluster of guards standing around Brenna’s bed. He shoved his way through to the front, only to see that her bed was empty and the machines that had been monitoring her vitals were dark and silent.

He grabbed the nearest guard by the front of his uniform and shoved the barrel of Jarvis’s gun against the man’s throat.

“Where the hell is she?” Blake’s eyes flicked down to the man’s name badge. “Speak quickly, Baxter, and you’d better have a good answer—because there’s nothing I’d like better right now than to squeeze this trigger.”

The sound of a door opening and closing and the sound of shuffling footsteps caught Blake’s attention. He froze, unwilling to release his victim, but aware that everyone’s attention had shifted to the person or persons behind him.

“Blake Trahern! What are you doing?” A hand grabbed his arm and tried to tug him away. “Stop scaring him like that.”

Brenna’s voice, weak and hoarse, sounded like heaven to him. He slowly lowered the gun, not wanting to startle one of the other guards into a rash act, then stuck it in the back of his waistband.

When he turned to face Brenna, she was swaying slightly.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he snarled.

She managed to straighten her shoulders and stand her ground. “When the fire alarm went off, we had to evacuate. Once the all clear was sounded, we came back.”

“Back where? Your bed was empty and these piss-poor excuses for guards were all clustered around your empty bed, instead of standing watch.” He put his hands on his hips and glared down at her.

A faint blush crept up her face. “I needed to use the restroom, not that it’s any of your business. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

When she moved to step around him, she almost fell. Blake swept her up in his arms, muttering about stubborn fools. Despite the urge to just dump her on the bed, he gently settled her back on the mattress and pillows. After yanking the blankets up around her, he gave the guards a look that sent them scurrying for their posts.

Brenna counted to twenty before opening an eye to see if the room had quit spinning. When her vision cleared, she turned her head to face Blake. “Did you have to be so rude to them?”

“I’ll be nicer when they convince me that they’re taking their jobs seriously.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “You should not have been allowed out of this room until one of them verified in person that the fire alarm was going off for a legitimate reason. It could’ve been set off just to create confusion for your father’s killer to get in here to finish the job he started. They’re supposed to be professionals and should have known better.”

“But the nurse and doctor said we had to—”

“Damn it, Brenna, I don’t give a rat’s ass what they said! Someone killed your father and damned near killed you in the process.” Blake grabbed onto the railing along her bed, his knuckles white with the strain. “Your safety comes first. The next time those bozos out in the hallway screw up, I
will
pull the trigger and do the whole damned world a favor.”

His eyes had darkened to the color of a summer storm, sending a chill through her. “You can’t go around threatening to shoot the police, Blake.”

“They’re not the police,” he sneered. “Which reminds me. What did the detectives have to say for themselves? Do they have any leads?”

The sudden change in subjects and in his mood confused her. What did he mean, the guards weren’t sent by the police? Who else would post men to guard her door?

“Two detectives stopped by. It was strange. They seemed more interested in what my father had for breakfast and where we’d planned on having lunch, than who had planted the bomb. I didn’t like their attitudes one bit.”

She finally gave in to the need to close her eyes and had almost succeeded in drifting off to sleep when Dr. Vega came back into the room.

“Ms. Nichols, I’m sorry about all the chaos this evening. I’ll have the nurse reattach only the most necessary monitors. Now that you’re awake and lucid, we want to start backing off on some of this stuff. Once she has you taken care of, try to get a good night’s sleep. That will go a long way toward getting you back to normal.”

As if anything would ever seem
normal
again.

Tears stung Brenna’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks as she finally drifted off to sleep.

Awareness returned to her slowly. The familiar beep and whir of machines kept pace with her heart and lungs, and the scent of disinfectant and other chemicals stung her nose. She was still in the hospital. She’d been hoping that it all had been a nightmare and that she’d wake up to her old life.

She heard a murmur of low voices and immediately recognized Blake Trahern’s. The second one took her a bit longer. It belonged to Blake’s friend…Jarvis? She had no idea if it was his first name or his last.

For the moment, she was content to float between the dream world of sleep and harsh reality, listening to see if she could learn something about Blake and what had brought him back to St. Louis.

“The doctor says she should be able to fly in a couple of days.” That was Trahern. “I’ll see about chartering a private plane to take her to Seattle.”

“I see two problems with that. First of all, she isn’t going to want to go, not until she finds out what happened to her father. Second, no matter how much you trust your Handler, I don’t know the woman at all, and I’m not about to send the judge’s daughter halfway across country alone to stay with strangers. Now, if you were to go with her…”

“We’ve already discussed that, Jarvis. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“So we’re back to where we started: finding a safe place for Ms. Nichols here in town. After we track down the killers, then she can decide for herself what she wants to do.”

Brenna opened her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, gentlemen, with or without one of you as an escort. As soon as the doctor releases me from this place, I’m going straight home. And why would you two be searching for the killers? Isn’t that a job for the police?”