Dark Defender Page 2

  Fury, hot and violent, burned through Blake. In the space of two heartbeats, he slammed the young guardsman up against the wall, his hands wrapped around the fool’s throat.

  “She’s not just anything. If you and your buddies had been doing their job, maybe the judge wouldn’t have been blown all to hell. Where were you then? Out pressing your pretty uniforms and polishing your army boots?”

  The other guards buzzed around him like flies, trying to pry his hands off their friend’s neck, but Trahern ignored them. He wouldn’t kill the fool. Not because he deserved to live, but because his death would only complicate matters. Trahern squeezed a bit tighter just to show he could, and then let his victim drop to the floor.

  Three of the guards brought their guns up, aimed straight at Trahern’s gut, while the fifth dragged their gasping compatriot to safety. Jarvis spoke up, cutting through the growing tension.

  “If you shoot Trahern, Sergeant, you’ll only piss him off even more. And you’ll have every Paladin in the area riding your ass for the rest of your miserable life.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  Blake hoped the guards had the good sense to back down. He couldn’t afford another death for a lot of reasons—but primarily because Brenna needed him alive and sane, whether she knew it or not.

  His Handler back in Seattle had warned him that he was damn close to the edge of crossing over into becoming Other, the enemy he’d spent a lifetime fighting. Regulations had required that she send his records along to the St. Louis office…just in case. The grief in her eyes was all too clear. They both knew it wouldn’t take much more violence for him to rage out of control. If that happened, not even Jarvis would be able to keep either the local Handlers or the Guard from putting him down like a rabid dog. Hell, Jarvis would probably help them. No one was safe when a Paladin went rogue, and they all knew it.

  Blake only hoped he could hang on to his humanity long enough to find out who had betrayed Judge Nichols. One of the Paladins back in Seattle had also come under attack. They had traced the trouble to a traitorous member of the Guard, but he’d died before they could learn how far up in the organization the betrayal reached. Trahern had contacted Judge Nichols about it, since he was the only Regent he trusted completely, and the car bomb had come too close on the heels of his inquiry for it to be a coincidence.

  He owed it to Nichols to bring his killer to justice—Paladin justice. Once he had Brenna stashed somewhere safe, he’d start looking, but he couldn’t do anything until he got this bunch out of his face.

  “What’s it going to be, boys?” He glanced at the guns and then back at their owners. “Are you going to put those popguns away or use them?”

  Dr. Vega interrupted their stare-down party. “Mr. Trahern, Ms. Nichols is asking for you.”

  Trahern followed Dr. Vega back into the room, leaving Jarvis to deal with the Guard. Bracing himself, he hoped like hell he wouldn’t be the one to break the news that her father was dead.

  Brenna hurt everywhere. The pain was bone deep and centered around her heart. Something was horribly wrong—something far worse than waking up in a hospital without knowing how she’d gotten here. A doctor and nurse hovered over her bed, doing their best to reassure her that everything was going to be all right. But it wasn’t. She’d lost far more than a few days of her life; she just couldn’t remember what.

  Worst of all, there was the cold-eyed stranger who claimed to be Blake Trahern. She’d only gotten one clear look at him before he’d disappeared from her room, but there’d been nothing familiar in the hard planes of his face. Her thoughts were thick and slow moving, probably due to the pain medication. It took all her energy to dredge up an image of his face.

  Her last memory of Blake was the night of his high school graduation. He’d stood out on the stage because of his height. With his dark blond hair and silver gray eyes, she’d thought him the best-looking boy in his class. When he’d first moved in with them, no one thought he’d graduate, much less do so with honors. Her father had been so proud of Blake.

  A dark chill washed over her. Where was her father? He would never have abandoned her like this. If he’d been there and had to leave for some reason, he would have left a message for her. Surely they would have given it to her by now.

  She forced out the question she had to ask, even if she didn’t want to know the answer. “Where’s my father?”

  When Dr. Vega broke off eye contact, she knew. Memories flooded back into her mind, shattered and broken. She remembered standing on the small porch outside their back door. Her father had waved at her as he turned the key in the ignition, saying he needed to run by his office, which was strange because he rarely worked weekends. She had turned away to go back inside; there had been a flash of light and then the noise…so much noise…shattering glass and someone screaming…maybe her?…and then pain.

  Oh, God! His car had blown up! Pain, fresh and horrendous, tore through her. She struggled to sit up, but the nurse and Dr. Vega held her back.

  “Easy, Ms. Nichols. You don’t want to tear your stitches open,” Dr. Vega warned. “Do you want something more for the pain?”

  Tears running down her face, she looked toward the nurse who was drawing up an injection. “No more medicine right now. Please. I need to think. Everything just hit me all at once.”

  Dr. Vega frowned as he considered her request. “All right, but if it gets to be too much for you, don’t hesitate to ask for something to help you sleep. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.”

  “I will, Doctor.” But before she would allow them to sedate her again, she wanted some answers. Maybe the man out in the hall could tell her more. She still wasn’t convinced he was Blake Trahern, because Blake would never have abandoned her father for years, even if he hadn’t wanted to keep in touch with her. Still, she’d pretend to believe him, to find out what he knew and how.

  She forced a control into her voice that she didn’t feel. “Would one of you ask Mr. Trahern to come back in?”

  “Certainly, Ms. Nichols, but only for a short visit. Right now you need rest. For the next day or so, I think it best to restrict any visitors as much as possible.” Dr. Vega stepped away from her bed but paused in the doorway. “We do have to notify the police that you’ve regained consciousness. They’ll want to talk to you about the incident.”

  For some reason, that frightened her even more than dealing with the man out in the hall. Were they coming to explain what had happened, and why? Or did they expect her to be able to shed some light on the situation for them? If so, they were out of luck.

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment, but she felt Trahern’s approach. He moved with the soft silence of a big cat, but she swore she could feel the intensity of his gaze from all the way across the room. When he reached the side of her bed, she braced herself and looked up at him. For several seconds, he said nothing as he allowed her to look her fill. The silver gray eyes were the right color, as was his hair. The hard set to his mouth was new but not unexpected. The young man who had made his home with them had not had an easy life; it was bound to take a toll.

  “It’s been a long time, Brenna.” His voice was deeper, but there was a note of familiarity, something of the boy she used to know.

  But she couldn’t think about that right now—not with a wall of grief threatening to fall in on her and bury her in the rubble of pain and sorrow. Drawing a deep breath, she shoved the painful memories down to be dealt with later.

  “How much do you know about what happened to my father?” She deliberately didn’t use his name although she was beginning to suspect he really was exactly who he’d claimed to be.

  “Enough, although I haven’t gotten a copy of the police report yet. I drove by your house, but I didn’t stop because I needed to get here.”

  “Why?” She had to ask the question, even if she already knew the answer.

  “Don’t play games with me, Brenna. You’re not stupid. Someone planted the bomb
that killed your father and damn near finished you off, too. Until we know who was behind the attack, you’re not safe.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but his blunt words were somehow easier to deal with than the doctor’s sympathy. “So you’re convinced he was the target and not me.”

  The look he gave her was one of pure disgust. “Get real, Brenna. Even if the reviewers thought your latest book sucked big-time, their weapon of choice would have been words, not explosives.”

  She focused on the one piece of that speech that surprised her. “You know about my books?”

  His eyes suddenly found one of the machines above her head to be absolutely fascinating. “Yes.”

  Despite the situation, that small admission made her smile. “You actually read some of them?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve read all of them, except the latest one on women pioneers here in Missouri.”

  “And what did you think?” She waited for his answer even as she wondered why his opinion mattered.

  His eyebrows snapped together. “You have more important things to worry about right now than what I think about your writing.”

  But she’d learned stubbornness from an expert: him. “Did you like them?”

  “Yes, damn it, I did. You have a real knack for bringing history down to the individual level, letting the reader see and feel what it was like to live back then. Now, can we move on to more important things?”

  The little show of temper was almost the last bit of information she needed to accept that this man was the boy she’d last seen over ten years before. One last test and she’d know for certain.

  “What kind of cookies did our housekeeper Maisy bake just because you liked them so much?”

  He stepped closer and glared down at her. “You still don’t believe it’s me, do you? Well, too damn bad, Brenna, because I’m all that stands between you and—”

  Another voice interrupted him. “Come now, Trahern, don’t mislead Ms. Nichols like that. Who do you think watched over her until you came charging in here to stand guard?”

  “Shut up, Jarvis.”

  “Is that any way to show your gratitude? I saved you from those guards just now. Surely that earns me an introduction.”

  “No.”

  There was no hostility in Blake’s voice, but neither was there any welcome in his body language. Maybe the other man’s approach merely reminded him that they weren’t alone. Who was this Jarvis, that he would have stood guard over her in a hospital? With his dark hair and eyes, he looked nothing like Blake, yet there was a great deal of similarity in their stance—especially in the way their eyes kept checking out their surroundings every few seconds.

  “I’m Brenna Nichols, Mr. Jarvis.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Nichols. Your father was a good man. We had nothing but respect for him.”

  Trahern elbowed his unwelcome companion in the ribs. “That’s enough.”

  Jarvis put a little more space between them. “I heard the doctor tell the nurse that the police will be here in a few minutes.”

  “So?” Trahern said.

  “If you don’t want to be tied up here for hours answering questions we don’t want to answer, I suggest we get out before they arrive. She’ll be safe enough while they’re here.”

  Brenna was getting really tired of them avoiding her questions and talking as if she weren’t in the room. “Why would the police want to question Blake?”

  Jarvis’s smile was a little too practiced for her to trust it. “Because until they know who killed your father, everyone is a suspect. Especially strangers who can’t explain what business they have for being here in the first place.”

  “Get out, Jarvis.”

  Jarvis planted his feet wide and stood his ground. “After you, Trahern.”

  Why couldn’t Blake explain? And how had he found out about her father’s death so quickly? But he was already moving away from her bed, probably to disappear from her life just as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “When will you be back?”

  Jarvis stood in the doorway, watching down the hall. “The guards will let us know when the police have come and gone.”

  “We won’t leave you alone, Brenna,” Blake said. “Not until we get to the bottom of this.” He was almost to the door.

  “Isn’t that the police’s job?” She knew she was missing something here, something important. “Blake?”

  “Not now, Brenna. There isn’t time.”

  She didn’t want him to leave, although he’d given her no reason to trust him. She just knew facing a bunch of policemen asking questions to which she had no answers would be easier with Blake Trahern standing at her side. She blinked back tears, not wanting to appear weak.

  “Fine. Go ahead and leave. It’s what you’re good at.” If she sounded bitchy, so be it.

  His cold gray eyes stared across the room at her. “Snickerdoodles.” Then he was gone.

  Brenna pushed the button and raised the head of her bed to better face down the two detectives who had invaded her room. After their initial offerings of sympathy, their visit had quickly shifted to more of an inquisition.

  She marshaled enough strength to let a little displeasure show in the tone of her voice. “I’ve already told you everything I know, Detective Montgomery. I have no idea who hated my father enough to kill him.”

  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, no
t 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.

  Chapter 2

  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.