With Just Cause (7 page)

“Why not?”

“Why not what?” he asked.

“Why don’t you have anybody to talk to? Don’t
you have any friends?”

“No.”

“No childhood friends, either?”

That was so amusing, he chuckled slightly.
Childhood friends? He’d had the protection of his mother until he
turned thirteen. She wasn’t even in her grave before he’d been
shunted out to the bunkhouse with the ranch hands. That gained him
the bullying of just about everyone. He’d already been big for his
age. That’s when he got strong. Tough. Resilient. Powerful. The
bullying hadn’t lasted long.

“Well?”

“Not many about the ranch.”

“The ranch?”

“I worked the ranch. Cattle mostly.
Horses.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a cattle
baron.”

His lips twitched in amusement. He kept it to
himself. He didn’t dare smile yet. Not until he retracted his
fangs. That required concentration and effort and his body was too
supremely sated to work at either. “I’m the poor relation. Black
sheep. Remember?”

She looked about again. “This doesn’t look
very poor to me.”

The smile broadened. He had to consciously
keep his lips from showing his secret. Not yet. Not until they knew
each other better. A lot better.

“I don’t like poverty.”

“Who does? That doesn’t change life
much.”

“I did something about it.”

“How?”

“I’ve... had a lot of time.”

“Time? I have time now. I quit college after
getting my BA in history, of all things. There are no jobs in the
field. So, I had a choice. Change my major and return to college
and rack up more bills I’d have a harder time repaying, or find a
job that paid so I could stay afloat. It’s a vicious cycle. If you
go to college, you can’t afford to eat. And if you get a job, you
can’t afford to be in college. And if you leave college, you have
to start paying the bills for your education, but if you stay in
college, you still can’t eat while the bills just keep piling up
that you’ll have to eventually pay. And bonus. You can’t find a job
in your chosen field anyway. Like I said. Vicious cycle. I mean,
look at me. I’m a Confidential Medical Records Technician for a
walk-in clinic in Omaha. That’s a fancy word for a filing clerk who
keeps her mouth shut.”

“I had a different kind of time, Love.”

She stiffened, then relaxed. When she spoke
her voice contained a slight tremor. He cursed the slip of tongue.
Too soon, Grimm
.

“Okay. I’m listening. Explain your concept of
time.”

That was a loaded question. He’d had more
than a century of time. And he got paid well for his assignments
from the Vampire Assassin League. Very well. Grimm stuck his tongue
into a cheek, slicing it against a fang as he considered what to
tell her.

“I like to carve.”

“Carve?”

“I’m good with my hands.”

“I’ll say. Oh. You mean, carve. With
wood
.”

The sauciest grin put two dimples into her
cheeks as she flicked her eyes away. A rosy blush topped her
cheeks. Damn! That created a reaction as his canines grew even
more. Sharper. Longer. Thicker. He felt the same response in his
groin. Unbelievably. He should probably warn her.

“The rich folk like their luxuries. And can
afford them. Like this bed.”

“You carved this bed?”

The awe staining her voice felt good.
Everything about his mate had the same effect. Grimm couldn’t
believe his luck. He nodded.

“Wow.”

“There’s more. If you ever visit the Bradley
Ranch, you’ll see.”

“They bought your work?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope you charged them a hefty price.
Really hefty.”

“Yeah.” It had felt astronomical at the time.
But not nearly enough. Who’d have known the prices antiques would
fetch nowadays?

“Good. I’d hate to think they got away with
everything. Those Bradleys. They probably don’t even allow you into
the big house.”

“Didn’t have much choice at first. My mother
was a headstrong woman. Not many took her on and won.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? Are they still holding your
parentage against you?”

“She’s uh... passed on.”

“I’m sorry. Geez. I should just stay quiet. I
have a really bad grasp of after-sex conversation, don’t I?”

“This wasn’t sex,” he replied.

He heard and felt her gasp. And then the
longest span of time before she released the breath, sending sweet
air all over him.

“What... did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“So... what does that mean? Exactly? And use
more than four words. Okay?”

“I-I-I’ve never felt like this. “

Damn it. He stuttered again. He had to look
away and gulp on the embarrassment.
He gulped?
Incredible.
He was dead. Inanimate. He existed only to feed. Fed only to exist.
And yet ever since she’d entered his sphere, the world was passing
out wonders. It was almost like he lived again. Got reanimated.
Somehow. Through a power only true love could wield. He’d been told
it was possible. If one was patient. And supremely lucky. He hadn’t
believed it. He still might not. It was too fresh. Too new. Too
perfect. Grimm blinked rapidly on what couldn’t possibly be
emotion.

“And?” she prompted.

“What?”

“Men! They can’t pay attention to the
slightest thing. Ask them about feelings and emotions and they turn
into turnips.”

Grimm growled and grabbed for her, lacing an
arm beneath her to pull her atop him. Gloried in her quickened
heartbeat as it seemed to drag his dead heart into rhythm with it.
Gathered a handful of ass and just held her atop him. Vibrating.
Regenerating.

“Oh love. If you think that was just sex, I’m
going to have to do something to change your mind.”

He felt her arms lock about his shoulders.
Heard her slight moan. He couldn’t wait any longer. He opened his
mouth and stabbed into her throat.

Rosa’s Bed & Breakfast was an old
building. Fashioned mainly from adobe bricks and framed with wood.
Everything about it looked archaic and open; from the mazelike
floor plan to the easy access of the front rooms. Those rooms had
proven how easily a man with a gun could breach them. And he hadn’t
even tried the overly large windows beneath a wide porch, shuttered
when needed.

All of it was perfect camouflage for the
survivalist retreat accessed through the kitchens somewhere.
Nothing about the hacienda betrayed the building’s real function,
nor was it obvious from the bedrooms at the back. Those were built
for defense, manufactured of reinforced concrete covered with adobe
façade. There were false shutters mounted along the walls
portraying windows, while the real window openings were slits along
the top frame. Narrow horizontal slits, two inches by fifteen, they
let in air, very little light, and zero perpetrators. They were
also perfect for picking off bad guys with a rifle.

The place was excellent ground zero should a
survivalist situation actually occur. It could be precipitated by
an EMP – Electronic Magnetic Pulse – from somewhere in the cosmos.
Or should a massive sell-off happen in the world markets. Or a
nuclear disaster - and that scenario had a side entanglement if it
included a military strike. Survivalist skills would be necessary
in any number of other scenarios that usually involved disrupted
power supplies. Because without electricity, everyone would be
thrust into third-world conditions – or worse - and society would
start to disintegrate.

How rapidly that happened was up to those who
survived.

The entire complex hidden within Rosa’s Bed
& Breakfast had been designed for exactly what occurred the
moment Deandra opened her eyes, after a long stretch that draped
her arms over both sides of her single-sized bed.

Crap.

She was back. Grimm had told her she couldn’t
stay. Despite how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, cocooned in
security and love, exhausted and replete with their second bout of
lovemaking. He’d been totally accurate. It hadn’t remotely been
sex. In fact, everything they said and did was very near love. He’d
still brought her back here. And why?

Because she wasn’t staying with him.

Not until he had his ring on her finger.

It was old-fashioned and that just made it
more wonderful. She’d glowed when he’d said it sometime before
dawn. She probably still did.

Deandra’s skin grazed sheets of finely woven
cotton, but nothing near the 800 or so thread count sheets Grimm
used on his bed. And then the sound of gunfire came through her
window opening, coming in rapid-fire spurts and from more than one
gun.

Her eyes flew wide, and instantly slammed
shut as the slice of light through her window opening pained her.
No. Not just pained. It wounded like a blade was stabbed into each
eye socket. Of all the bad timing. Why did the downsides of Lasik
Surgery have to manifest now?

Deandra rolled, skinning her knees on the
floor as she hunkered beneath the bed. Getting her bearings.
Evaluating. She slit her eyes open, and even that amount of light
hurt. A quick tug brought her backpack from the foot of her bed
into the space beneath it. A moment of shuffling through the
contents got her a pressed powder compact, a tube of lip gloss, and
her dark glasses. Deandra shoved the gloss and compact into the
chest pocket of the extra-large Western shirt she wore. Belted with
what looked like one of his bolo ties. Atop what felt like leggings
worn without underwear. Grimm had dressed her... and she hadn’t
even felt it?

Deandra swiped the moisture gathered in both
eyes, donned the glasses, and squinted at the view.

Whew
.

It wasn’t clear, but she could see. Sort of.
She needed to move to the next phase of any situation: data
gathering. It looked as if Rosa had an excellent staff. They even
kept it dusted beneath the bed. And that was a stupid thing to
notice. It looked to be past noon, the sun working its way toward
late afternoon. She’d slept that long? And the rest of the 2100
Radical Society had let her?

Sounds of another burst of gunfire came
through the window. Then some guttural remarks she couldn’t make
out. They were loud. Masculine. And harsh. Whoever was attacking
the hacienda this time sounded a lot more organized than the coyote
fellow from last night. What she wouldn’t give for her Beretta. It
was probably still sitting on the floorboard of Len’s pickup.
Deandra scooted to the door frame and hugged the side of it before
poking her head out.

The corridor was empty. She raced it, making
very little noise despite moving so quickly it resembled flight.
She’d never run that quickly and silently in her life. And while
that was odd, it wasn’t something she’d turn down at the moment.
The hall hooked left into another hall, took a couple of doglegs to
the right, a right angle turn to the left, and then it spewed her
out into the kitchens. Wondrous smells emanated from every pot,
while the aroma of freshly baking bread mixed in. She hadn’t eaten
since yesterday sometime. Her belly growled, reminding her. Deandra
grabbed up a loaf, pulled off a large chunk, shoved it in her
mouth, and spat it back out. They’d changed their recipe or
something. It tasted worse than sawdust might.

Fine. She’d eat later. First she had to find
out what was happening, who were the perpetrators, and how many
there were. She entered a hall containing more light than the
others. She sniffed. It smelled like they were burning something
rotten in the fire pit. It wasn’t wood. The stench grew stronger
and more pungent the closer she got to the big gathering room, the
one with the funnel fireplace where Edna had been telling spooky
stories.

A lifetime ago.

“What the hell do you think you’re
doing?”

That sounded like their new friend, Len. He
didn’t sound nonchalant and self-assured. He sounded angry.
Frustrated.

“Len. Len. Len. I can call you Len, can’t I?
Doesn’t everyone?”

The voice sounded feeble. Old. And a lot
closer. If that was the perpetrator, it sounded easy to take him.
Deandra reached the end of the wall and hugged the edge. Held her
breath and waited, listening with a sense of hearing that exceeded
her wildest imagination. If she concentrated, she could hear actual
sounds of breathing. Some bits of sobbing. Sniffing.

Unreal.
She had super powers? She
watched the opposite wall for shadows. They shouldn’t have lit the
fire. It gave her shadows to work with. And then she remembered the
makeup compact. And the mirror.

“Hell no, Lord General Beethan. You can call
me Mister Griggins.”

“Ah. You know my name. And our mission. Good.
Very well. Mister Griggins it is. Want to cut through all the
nonsense... or you want to do this the hard way?”

“There are women and children here!”

“That is hardly my fault.”

“Assholes.”

There was the sound of guns getting cocked.
She estimated ten. At least. Shotguns by the sounds of it. The
effect was intimidating and meant to be. Deandra slid the mirrored
compact from her pocket, clicked it open with one hand. Held it
out, tipped toward the room beyond.

“Name calling is not necessary, Mister
Griggins. And completely unwarranted. You know why we’re here and
you know what we want.”

“Says who?”

“Why be stubborn? We know he’s around. And we
want him. So what say you just give him over and save a lot of
useless bickering... and you some skin.”

There was a stifled cry following that. It
didn’t come from a male. It came from the chunk of shadows at the
edge of the wall. That was probably her group. And maybe the girls
from last night. Deandra caught their reflection in her mirror.
Just as she thought. It was the entire 2100 Radical Society group,
their hostess Rosa and her staff, and eight young girls. All
huddled on the far side of the room.