With Just Cause (10 page)

“Of all the rude—”

“Save it, lady. People are dying and I’m not
playing. Are you the oldest one here or not?”

“Well!”

“Look. I don’t mean your age. I mean—I don’t
have time for this! There are two men right behind me. They’re
seriously insane. Killing people. Or didn’t you hear me? I’ve lost
two girlfriends already. Maybe more.”

There was a collective gasp. Everyone started
looking a bit more interested.

An older, distinguished looking man stepped
out next. He wasn’t as old as the woman, but he had gray streaking
his temples and looked like he might be the one Deandra needed. He
was also dressed in a gray three-piece suit. In the Texas heat. On
a weekday without any significance. What was she thinking? He
probably dressed that way every night. He and Missus “Pert Boobs”
were welcome to each other. Deandra just wanted to find Grimm. She
needed to be with him. Feel him. Be held by him. Banish these
bogeymen.

“What do you want from us?” he asked.

“Tell me where I can find Grimm.”

“Grimm?”

His face scrunched up. The woman’s did an
exact expression, only on her, it really defined her age. She
probably should spring for another facelift in the near future.

“Grimm?”

“Grimm Bradley. Your... cousin. Or whatever.
Look. I know he’s the black sheep. I know you don’t have anything
to do with him. But you’ve got to help me. Those guys are right
behind me. They’re going to harm him! And I won’t allow that to
happen! So. Why don’t you just tell me where to find him and I’ll
let you go back to leading your useless lives. Okay?”

Drat her tongue! She should’ve bitten it. Any
helpful expression got wiped out by her assessment. And then the
man looked to the French maid person.

“Esther, go call security.”

Deandra pulled her guns, swiveled them into
her hands and cocked them. The move was swift, sure, and perfectly
executed. As if she did it every day of her life. Everyone took at
least a step back, and then from way in the back came a feeble old
lady’s voice.

“I think... I know who you’re speaking of,
young woman.”

“Aunt Grace, really!”

“Stand aside Woodrow, and let me
through.”

The crowd parted. Deandra re-holstered her
pistols. The woman who approached had purplish white hair wrapped
all about her head, set with so many diamonds it sparkled. She was
small, hadn’t much excess weight on her, and wore a light blue
satin dress that made the other Bradley woman look pretty
skanky.

“You know Grimm?”

“I’ve... heard of him.”

Deandra nearly smacked something. Grimm had
said he was the black sheep. He hadn’t been kidding. This woman had
heard
of him? Of all the rude, arrogant, snobbish,
haughty, egotistical—. She stopped her own litany of adjectives. It
wasn’t getting her anywhere. And she was finally getting close. So
close.

“Good. Just tell me where he is, then. I’ll
be on my way.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll accompany
you.”

“Now, Grace. You know what the doctor
said.”

The gray-suited man spoke up. The old lady
waved a hand at him.

“Oh, stow it, Randall. Can’t you see we’ve
got a situation to handle?”

Deandra interrupted them. “For the love of—!
I’m in a hurry, folks! Life and death, remember?”

“In that case, we’ll take the car. Randall?
See to it. I’ll just be a moment. And Esther? Escort this woman
out. No. Take the back way. Back door. Honestly.”

Deandra stiffened. The old woman saw it and
smiled before speaking.

“You all heard this young woman. We’re
expecting visitors of ill repute at any moment. I really don’t wish
to meet up with them near the front of the house. And get the guns
out. We’ve been forewarned. Now get armed. And don’t worry, my
dear. I’ve got an elevator. I’ll probably beat you there.”

o0o

The car was a stretch limousine. Polished so
the dark red finish mirrored what was becoming a colorful sunset.
The burnished reflection still hurt. Even through the sunglasses
she still wore. She squinted, taking in the length of drive, the
slice of light blue silk from the older woman’s skirt showing she’d
not only beat Deandra to the car but she’d beat her to a seat, and
a man wearing a red and gold trimmed black suit, holding the door
open for her. Deandra would’ve rolled her eyes, but it might hurt
and take too long. And nobody would see or care anyway.

She ran the steps and slid into the car,
taking a seat with her back to the driver and opposite the other
occupant. The door shut, sealing them into an interior that reeked
of darkened window glass, old money, and supple leather. And air
conditioning. Good heavens. They had the air conditioning running,
despite how the old woman clutched a heavily fringed shawl about
her. Deandra would never understand the wealthy. It was a waste of
time to try.

The car didn’t make much noise, and very
little motion, but Deandra heard and felt it as they pulled away
from the curb. And then the old woman spoke, her voice carrying
what sounded like a hint of amusement.

“I have to congratulate you, my dear.”

“For what?”

“Giving my niece-in-law something to talk
about this evening... other than herself.”

“Missus Pert Boobs back there?” Deandra
asked.

The lady snorted. It probably went for a
laugh, if she’d allow that sort of reaction. It took her a few
moments to recuperate.

“Such a surprise. You. Arriving like that.
Pulling your guns on us—”

“Is it far?” Deandra interrupted her.

“Not really.”

“Then don’t waste my time on small talk,
okay? I’ve had a very bad day.”

“You don’t look it.”

Deandra looked down at her black leggings
that had rips at both knees, the combat knife strapped to her
thigh, a Western shirt that was wrinkled and drooping at the breast
pocket from all the stuff she carried in it. If she wasn’t mistaken
there was blood spray beneath her right breast – probably from the
frying pan attack, and the entire ensemble was topped by a gun belt
worn low on her hips.

“You’re joking, right?” Dang. She seemed to
say that a lot, now that she thought of it.

The woman sighed. “Ah. To be young again. You
have no idea.”

“Look. I just want to get to Grimm. Okay? I
don’t want to know anything more about the Bradley family than I
already do. And that includes you.”

“That’s tarring everyone with a wide
brush.”

“So?”

The car coasted to a stop. Deandra looked out
a window, unable to make out much since she faced the western
horizon. And the sun. She hooded her eyes and looked back at her
companion. They moved again.

“You have to pardon the others. And any other
Bradley you might meet. What happened with the Marshal was a long
time ago. They don’t remember. Or maybe they wanted to forget. Or
maybe they never knew. I’m different. I’ve actually seen him. At a
club in Pecos one night. When I was about your age.”

“Bull sh—”

For some reason she stopped shy of saying the
entire expletive. Her belly did a flip-flop motion. She probably
should’ve forced that bread down her throat earlier. Or grabbed a
bite of stew. Or something. The woman smiled.

“He’s a big man. Muscular. Manly. Much larger
and stronger than the others. And quiet. Mysterious. Never did say
much. He’s the only dark Bradley. Everyone else is blond. Or has
light brown hair. Not our Grimm. And he’s handsome. More so than
any Bradley... before or since. Even if he is a ghost, that man’s a
looker. It’s said a fleeting glimpse of Marshal Bradley is enough
for a girl to lose her heart. No other man will do. I know what
they mean.”

Every word resonated with Deandra until she
could swear he was right beside her. Looking down at her. And when
the woman’s voice softened, it brought an emotion close to jealousy
right to the fore.

This was ridiculous. Jealousy? Over an old
woman’s words? Deandra cleared her throat. “Have you been...
over-imbibing or something? Because I’m not buying into this story.
Grimm is, at most, thirty. But I’m leaning toward
twenty-eight-ish.”

“Oh my. My. I do believe you’ve actually met
him.”

I’ll say
. Deandra nodded. Blushed.
Warmed. Felt vaguely aroused. She was rather glad the interior was
dim as the woman tried to penetrate the area to look at her
closely.

“Goodness me. That’s... incredible.”

“Incredible or not, it’s true. I’ve met him.
I’m trying to reach him and warn him. That’s why I’m here. Now. Are
we ever going to manage that – or is this some ploy to get me out
of the ‘big’ house?”

“My dear. Oh my. This is so... it’s
unbelievable.”

“You’ve got about ten seconds, lady. I’m
tired of the tricks and I’m tired of the stories. Face it. I’m just
tired.”

“Forgive me. It just... nobody talks about
Grimm Bradley because so few have seen him. That... and it’s an old
family secret that we’d prefer stayed buried.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, okay?”

The sun went behind a bluff or something. The
instant ability to see without pain was a relief. And a mixed
blessing. Deandra pulled the sunglasses off, folded them, and put
them in the much-abused pocket with the other stuff, before
regarding the woman across from her with as little expression as
possible.

“Grimm Bradley is a rumor. A curse. A
creature of the night. It’s said he’ll never cease haunting us.
Because of how he was treated. And how he died.”

Deandra’s belly churned worse. Noisily. She
closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Reopened them. The woman hadn’t
changed expression. She looked sincere. Honest. Not remotely
crazy.

Was everyone else sane, and she’d lost her
mind? Was that even possible?

The car stopped.

“Oh good. We’ve arrived. Edwin?” The woman
pushed a button on the console. A voice answered.

“Yes Ma’am?”

“I’d like my wheels prepared, please. To my
door.”

It was too dark to make out where they were
exactly, but it didn’t look like the opening to an abandoned mine.
Or the entrance to a functioning refinery and power plant. In fact,
it looked a lot like a—

“Cemetery Hill, Miss Grace. As ordered.”

Deandra’s knees shook, knocking together. For
a moment, she didn’t think her legs would move. The driver went
about assisting the older woman onto her standing conveyance,
ignoring Deandra. That was just fine with her. She didn’t want
anyone noticing she was about to suffer a nervous breakdown. If
Grimm was a real, honest to goodness vampire... did that mean she’d
killed live, breathing humans today who were hunting a monster?

Her belly churned again. She swallowed down
the acidic taste. This didn’t mean anything other than she’d been
brought to a cemetery. For all she knew the entrance to Grimm’s
home was around here. He couldn’t possibly be a vampire. He
couldn’t. He was flesh and blood and hot and hard and male—

And really good in bed.

Deandra commanded her body to work, managed
to reach the end of the seat, and then forced her legs to walk
beside the older woman. Only it was more a jog as the old lady’s
conveyance zipped over the concrete pathway, putting a slight
whirring sound into the early evening air.

“Ah. Here it is. Number seven-eight-oh-two.
Beside his mother. They’re buried beneath the old oak, exactly as
she wanted. I don’t think he’s in there, though. Back in the
twenties my uncle Seamus had the grave opened. At night so no one
would see. They didn’t find anything. It was hushed. Everything
about Grimm seems to be hidden like that. But to banish his young
wife’s fears, Uncle Seamus bought another coffin, filled it with
rocks, and had it reburied. Oh, bother. The site’s covered in
tumbleweed. You might have to do a bit of brushing. Or weeding.
I’ll call Edwin.”

“No.”

Deandra went to her knees beside the
tombstone, brushing at the shrubbery with hands that shook so much
her fingers didn’t work. She did it with her eyes closed. She
didn’t realize the reason was to beg. With her entire being. Her
heart. Her soul. She had the stone cleared. She opened her eyes.
And then she read it.

Grimm Bradley. RIP 1873
.

They said people’s lives passed before their
eyes before they died. Not true. It happens in times of extreme
stress, mental agony, and heartbreak. And it took a span of a
second. Deandra collapsed onto the dirt, spilling the contents of
her pocket on the ground, as she sucked in the earth-scented
air.

The walk back was long. Chilly.
Strength-sapping. Incredibly lonely.

All of that was fine. There wasn’t much
facing her at the end of it except a murder charge. Or a surfeit of
them.

The old woman had offered assistance. A ride.
A stiff drink. Whatever she needed. Deandra had ignored her until
the sound of the woman’s wheeled thing moved away and then
dissipated. She’d heard the engine of the big black limo as it
drove off. Out in the night somewhere she heard a coyote howling. A
bit of wind rustling some shrubbery. None of it meant much. There
was too much to consider, lying there, hugging a bit of ground that
hid a coffin full of rocks. She hadn’t cried. She’d rarely blinked
despite how her eyes burned as she stared time and again at a truth
that couldn’t be. Grimm Bradley was a vampire. They existed. And he
was one. She’d made love with a dead thing. Horror should have
replaced the solid poundings of emotion her heart kept sending to
pain her. But it wasn’t. Why did she still have such massive
feeling for him? He was a monster. Everything that had happened
today was proof, but she’d been so immersed in the aura of being in
love that she’d missed it.

Love? What a joke. She couldn’t love him. He
was a monster. A demon. An undead being that sucked blood from his
unsuspecting victims while sending them into realms of
delight...