With Just Cause (3 page)

His words ended abruptly, turning into
throaty gibberish.

“Remember ladies, this is why you never go
anywhere without a handy-dandy roll of basic gray duct tape.
Thousand and one uses for this stuff. One of them is silencing bad
guys. That’s probably in the top twenty. No. Make that top
ten.”

Len jumped down, making the pickup sway. And
then he was looking for her. Needlessly. Deandra was at the
passenger door.

“You carrying a crucifix, lady?” he
asked.

“It’s Deandra. And no.”

“Holy water?”

“Are you for real?”

“You heard the man. We’re hunting a vampire.
With our luck, he’s probably bullet-proof.”

He was laughing at his own comments so she
didn’t need to. Deandra climbed in. He didn’t even wait for her to
fasten her seatbelt before doing a circle about a dirt bike in the
center of the courtyard. This night couldn’t get much weirder.

What the hell was she doing?

Deandra had some time to consider her sanity
as they drove. She’d gotten into a pickup with a complete stranger.
She was out in the Texas wilderness. Near the Mexican border
somewhere. Without her wallet. Her purse. Her I.D. Even her cell
phone. She subconsciously ran her forefinger along the trigger of
her Derringer. She did have that. This Len guy looked unarmed. He
wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was hunched forward
slightly, concentrating on where he was driving.

She looked out again. The view hadn’t
changed. The landscape was eerie and silent and arid. Full of
shadows. Desolate. They weren’t on a road. Or even a track. Deandra
grabbed at the strap atop the doorframe as they rumbled over
another bit of incline that ended in a sideways slide, spewing
rocks and dirt into the headlight beams. She returned to studying
her driver. She might need it for a mug shot description, if
nothing else.

This Len fellow was probably over six foot,
but not by much. Deandra was five foot eight, and whenever the cab
leveled, his head wasn’t much above hers. She used what light came
from his dashboard to study and memorize. He wasn’t remarkable. He
had normal features. Normal sized nose. Not exactly plain. Not
exactly handsome. Very few lines. No scars. No mustache. Not much
she could use there. Hmm... She checked his frame next. He wasn’t
muscled like the cowboy fellow had been – seeing two such ripped
males would be hard to imagine twice in one night – but he wasn’t
slim. She already knew he was athletic. He’d demonstrated it when
he’d jumped atop his cab earlier.

He didn’t look to have any distinguishing
features that would help a police sketch artist.
Great.
She was failing at every facet of survival. And then it got worse.
He noticed.

“You got a problem with me, lady?”

“What?”

“You’re going to have a hell of a time
shooting me and keeping hold of that chicken bar at the same
time.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Sure. Look for yourself. Tracks.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s because you’re looking at me. I can’t
help it our bad guy drove like a maniac. But if you’d look, you’ll
see the tire marks of a 350cc dirt bike. Good choice. Same one I
own. Optimum vehicle for any situation. Easy to maneuver. Great on
gas. Perfect for hauling five gallon jugs full of drinking water.
And if you dump it, you can pick it up. Hard to find anymore,
too.”

“You can tell all that from tracks?”

He grinned. “Got the size from the bike in
the yard back there. The survivalist stuff is something you should
already have learned.”

“Really? Why?”

“You belong to a survivalist group. And I
have to say... you’re wet behind the ears. Or only half-dedicated.
Haven’t decided which.”

“How do you know that?”

“That B & B is not for tourists. You’re
the lone one there with a ready gun. And you don’t even have the
holster.”

“Your name’s Leonard Griggins. Right?”

“Yep.”

“Are you a Ranger?”

“Nope. Have to be Texan for that. Shit.”

They dropped a good foot into a dry ravine,
the lights glancing off shrubs hanging over the sides. The move
jostled most of the items in his cab and the space behind the seat,
too. Deandra clung to the bar above the doorframe.

“Sorry about that.”

“So what are you? Special Forces?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“Uh... concerned citizen. Looking to mount a
rescue of newly arrived immigrants. You heard the guy.”

“All I heard was stuff about demons,
monsters, and vampires. I think he was smoking his own
merchandise.”

“Yeah? Well, all I heard was coyote and
trafficking. And something about Manuel.”

“Manuel?”

“The partner fellow. You were listening,
weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well... if that fellow had a partner that
generally means he needed one. Why? Because he was trafficking
something big time. I’m just checking to see if it’s illegals or
drugs. Don’t care much about drugs. But humans? Well. Those I do
care about.”

“What about the cowboy?”

He shot a glance over to her. Then back to
the road. “What cowboy?”

“The one I saw.”

“Don’t have to look for him, Hon.”

“It’s Deandra. And—”

The rest of her question was a short cry as
the truck careened into space, coming to rest more on its side than
upright. The stop jounced everything that wasn’t tied down. It also
cracked her neck with the backward jerk. The engine died and he
killed the headlights, leaving the dim glow of the dome light. It
took a few seconds to figure out everything was still in place and
she wasn’t hurt, and a few more to attend to Len. He’d braced his
feet against the base of the gearshift as he rummaged about the
area behind the seat. He had two sawed-off shotguns when he turned
back around. He made eye contact with her as he simultaneously
cocked them against his thighs. It was intimidating. Forceful. And
competent-looking. She felt like a complete novice. Then he smirked
at her.

“Coming?” he asked.

“You know, I had you slated for an asshole
already, Mister Griggins.”

“Save it. We got work to do.”

He clicked the dome light off, shoved his
door open with a shoulder, and shrugged through the opening.
Deandra would’ve been at his heels, but unfastening the seat belt
while it supported her took time. Scrambling out a crookedly parked
truck took more. And she dropped the Derringer somewhere in the
cab, too. It made a loud clatter against the floorboard. Or maybe
it was the passenger door. At least the gun didn’t go off, shaming
her completely.

She might as well face facts. She’d be a
complete failure at surviving an apocalypse. Heck. She’d have
trouble surviving a car-jacking. She wasn’t even wearing leather.
Or denim. Only slim-fit twill leggings and a short-sleeve tunic
made of some t-shirt material. Not even a jacket. She scratched her
elbow on the doorframe as she exited, before landing on rocks that
pressed through the rubber soles of her canvas sneakers. It wasn’t
entirely her fault. She’d been dressed for an evening of tall
tales.

It could be worse. She could have been
dressed like the majority of the 2100 Radical Society. They’d been
in pajamas. It was still a good thing Edna wasn’t along to
critique.

Leonard was waiting for her, crouched at the
front fender of the truck, eyeing a gray shaded van about 50 yards
away. Windowless in the passenger compartment. Nondescript. A
kidnapper vehicle. There wasn’t any movement, but it was hard to
see with only a slice of moon assisting.

“What are we waiting for?” she whispered.

“Signs of trouble. And Tex.”

“Who?”

“Your cowboy.”

Deandra caught a breath. “Wait a minute. You
know him?”

“Yep.”

“Then... why am I out here?”

“You’re a loose end at the moment. That’s why
you’re out here. Alone. With me. Preservation of the company.
Nothing else. No bad feelings?”

Her entire body went cold. “What... does that
mean?” Her voice showed her anxiety, damn it. And double damn her
luck for losing the Derringer!

“Exactly what you think. But don’t worry. I
still have to speak with Tex. Find out why he let you live. For all
I know, you’re a Hunter. I just haven’t decided if you’re a really
incompetent one, or just especially good.”

“A... hunter? Of what?”

“Vampires. Bastards.”

The world spun in a sickening fashion.
Deandra sat. Ungracefully. Getting a good feel of sharp rocks
through her stretch twill pants and hi-rise satin panties.

“You’re insane,” she informed him.

“Nope. Just cautious. Maybe you didn’t even
get a good look, and this is all just small talk. You lose your
little gun, did you?”

“I got a good look,” Deandra replied.

“And not one word about his looks? Every
other woman who’s ever seen him can’t shut up about just how
handsome he is, and you don’t say squat. Come on, Hon. Tell another
Texas-sized whopper.”

“Did you want a pickup full of women?”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder at her.
At least, that’s what his shadowed form appeared to do.

“You’re forgetting the 2100 Radical
Society.”

“The who?”

“My survival group. Those ladies back at the
hacienda. If I’d mentioned this cowboy was drop-dead gorgeous on
top of being extremely well built, you think they’d have stayed
behind tamely? You didn’t get a good enough look at Edna if you say
yes.”

He chuckled. “Hmm. Good thinking. I like you.
It’ll be a shame if—stow it. You any good with wound care?”

“Wound care?”

“We may have wounded to deal with. You heard
the coyote. Come on. At my heels. Pronto, Sister.”

He took off at a jog, bent at the waist with
the shotguns hovering just above ground level. Deandra copied him,
crossing more rock strewn ground that bit through the soles of her
shoes before he stopped, hunching down behind a tree stump. Or a
large rock. Or even a slight hill like the one he’d run into with
the truck. It was hard to tell. She stumbled and sat ungracefully
beside him, sent there by a movement of the earth beneath her. Or
maybe it was a ground tremor. Or earthquake. Behind her the sound
of metal getting moved carried through the air. Len didn’t even
react.

“Didn’t you hear that?” she whispered.

“What?”

“Your pickup getting demolished.”

“No worries, Love. That’s just Tex. Putting
it back upright for me.”

“Wh—at?”

The word was split in two. That’s what
happens when saying it through shaky lips. Her entire body wasn’t
far behind. Goose bumps wavered across her, lifting every hair on
her body. Deandra wrapped her arms about herself. She wasn’t cold,
exactly. She felt... odd. Excited. Energized. Expectant. Like she’d
just been strapped into a new thrill ride and the engine had just
started beneath her.

It was more than odd. It was... beyond
sci-fi. And then he was there. The cowboy fellow. Dropping to a
knee at her side. Silent. Deadly. And unbelievably sexy. Their eyes
met and a solid jolt of something slammed right through her. It
altered her breathing. Stopped her heart. It electrified. Stunned.
Amazed. Almost... frightened. Deandra swallowed and closed her
eyes. But when she opened them, he was still there. Still watching
her from beneath the shadow of his hat brim. And still sending
perfect arcs of lightning. Without expending one bit of effort. The
slightest smile curved his lips.
Holy
cow. Guys like this
just didn’t exist. Reactions like this didn’t happen. Emotions like
this were complete fiction. He put his hand toward her again.

And this time she took it.

He was chilled. Clammy feeling. And yet, at
the first touch a pleasurable rush zipped through her, crumpling
her legs. He knew it, too. He had her pulled right against his
chest as he stood. Wrapped his free arm about her. Holding her off
the ground. Against solid, muscled male.

Oh... boy.

She had a vivid imagination. It was working
overtime at the moment. The embrace warmed. Sparked. Aroused.
Deandra panted with the gift of sensation romance writers try to
explain. They’d all missed the mark. She was glowing. Vibrating.
Pulsating. All of it patently ridiculous. And there wasn’t any of
her that wanted to stop one bit of it.

“‘Bout time you got here, Tex.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Oh... Wow
. This cowboy’s voice was
akin to dark chocolate as it melted on her tongue. Deep. Mellow.
Shiver-inducing. Especially with her ear pressed against his chest
like it was.

“Attitude. That’s all I get from you guys.
First His Highness. Then Babycakes. Now you. Fine. But tell me. We
need a 4-D team?”

“No.”

“Survivors?”

“Eight. Female. They’re huddled in the van.
Won’t come out.”

“You been in the area?”

“Yeah.”

“And they won’t come out? You gotta be
kidding me. Wounded?”

“No one is wounded,” the cowboy answered
him.

Their words probably made sense. If she
listened. Pondered. Deduced. And if she’d move away from this man.
Move away from the pulsating wonder of being held in massive arms?
No way.

“I see blood. A lot of blood.”

The cowboy growled.

“You gonna tell me why?”

“Montoya had a weapon. He was a fair
shot.”

“Where is Montoya?”

“Terminated. Per contract.”

“And Manuel?”

“Who?”

“The other coyote.”

“Oh. Him. They were transporting human cargo.
I got angered.”

“Yeah. We noticed. Didn’t we, Deandra?”

“Deandra?”

The cowboy said her name, making it into a
symphony of mystery. Hauntingly poignant. Actually, everything
about this was already at that stage. And the sensation just kept
growing.