“That other night, when Amanda Sinclair was killed—I should have been out there, hunting, not in here, kissing you.”
She gaped at him for a moment. “Are you saying it’s my fault Amanda Sinclair was murdered?” Her voice emerged as a hoarse rasp. She folded her arms.
He gaped. “No! God, no! No, not your fault—my fault. I should have been out there. I should have been looking. My fault, Sully, not yours.” He pressed his thumb to his chest. “None of this has anything to do with you. It’s all on me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ri-ight,” she said slowly, although her tone didn’t quite suggest agreement. “So this,” she said, unfolding one arm to encompass her kitchen, “this was all what? An oops?” her voice rose on that last word, and he winced.
O-kay. He’d screwed this up. Monumentally. And he’d managed to minimize the first real emotional connection he’d had with a woman in years. Ever. “No. Yes. Hell, sort of.”
She gaped at him. Then she held up a finger. “Okay, first, the correct answer to that was supposed to be a hell, no.”
“What we shared meant something to me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And that is the problem. I’m not supposed to feel this—” he held up his palms, shrugging. “I don’t even know what this is, that’s how foreign it is,” he exclaimed. “I’m supposed to up and go when the Ancestors call, and if we keep going down this—” and again he gestured, palms up “—then I won’t want to answer the Ancestors’ call.”
She stared at him for a moment, and that cute little crooked pout of hers got more crooked, the tighter she pursed her lips. “I see.”
His eyes narrowed. “See, I get worried when you say that,” he said. “I think you see something that I don’t mean.”
“Okay, well, let me break it down for you,” Sully said, her hands dropping to her waist. The position hiked up his shirt, exposing more of her tanned, toned thighs. “You are hiding from this,” she said, and gestured between them. “You feel something, so you are running. You’re using your vocation as an excuse to avoid a personal relationship. With...me. You don’t trust. You don’t trust me, you don’t trust us.”
His eyes rounded. “Trust?” He placed his hands on hips. “Really? Me? Trust issues?” He found he could only repeat the hot words, so surprised was he by her comments. He was sure he’d get around to forming some rational response.
“Yes. You. Trust issues. You didn’t want to tell Sheriff Clinton about the killer witch. Reform law recognizes your authority as a Witch Hunter, Dave—just like they would a guardian enforcer hunting down a werewolf, or a vampire guardian hunting a rogue vampire. Tyler’s not going to arrest you for enforcing tribal law on one of your own kind. But you don’t want his help—because you don’t trust him?”
Dave frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but she was already talking.
“You don’t tell the nulls there’s a null-killing witch coming after them, you don’t want to trust them with the information and still allow you to hunt that witch down. And if I hadn’t enhanced that white lie you told about us dating with the breakup factor, you wouldn’t have allowed me to tag along in your investigation—because you don’t trust me. I’m a witch who wants to help, and you don’t trust me to do that. Now, you’re starting to feel something, and you don’t trust us. You want me to believe that all I am to you is some quick screw that you can’t get involved with.”
“Hey, there was nothing quick about us,” he told her, and she shot him an exasperated glare. “And you’re not completely wrong,” he allowed, holding his hands up. “You’re right. I don’t trust the sheriff. Nice guy,” he said quickly, “but once I approach him, I have to follow Reform rules, and they don’t work, not for us. He’d want us to arrest the witch, and have him stand trial with Reform peers—who may or may not be witches, when we already have a higher authority who have made a decision. I trust Tyler—to do exactly what his job tells him he has to do, which doesn’t align with what I have to do.”
He sighed. “The nulls—I’m not sure about them. Someone is walking among them. Both Amanda Sinclair and Jenny opened their front door to this guy and let him walk right in. He’s somehow been accepted by that community, and is able to walk freely among them, so yeah, you’re right, I don’t trust them. But you...”
He stepped around the counter. “I have never met anyone who is so damn trusting, and that scares me.”
Her frown deepened, and he paused, searching for the right words. “You...you’re amazing. You’re so...big-hearted,” he said, shrugging. It was the only word he could think for her. “You can’t help yourself, you need to help others. You try to ease people’s pain—I saw you with Jenny. You were so frustrated that you couldn’t use your empath powers on her and ease her suffering—yeah, I saw that.” He nodded at her shift in position, her disconcerted expression. “You tended to my wound, when I’d done everything that should have made you run in the opposite direction. You’re wanting to hunt down this killer—to prevent him from hurting others. You’re helping me, because I need it. I saw you at the funeral, Sully. When you take on the pain of others, you put yourself at risk. When I visited your shop, you made me tea.”
“After I tried to skewer you with a fork,” she argued.
He nodded. “Okay, granted. But that’s my point. It’s so easy to get past your defenses. You sense, therefore you trust, regardless of whether I’m worthy of that trust. You don’t really know me,” he told her, and he had to force the words out of his throat. “You don’t know what I’ve done. You’re right—I don’t trust easily, but in my line of work, that’s a survival skill, not a flaw.” He ran his hand through his short hair. “Which is why I have to leave. The longer I stick around, the more danger I put us both in.”
Her blue gaze was dark and solemn, and she sighed. “I would never, ever, beg or force someone to stay with me against their will,” she said quietly. “You want to leave, leave.” She levered herself away from the wall, and dragged his shirt over her head, and tossed it to him.
He caught it to his chest, still warm from her body. He looked at her, standing naked and proud, her shoulders back, her chin up. And no, he damn well didn’t want to leave.
“I hope you find your witch,” she told him sincerely. “Be safe.”
She turned, walked across the short hall to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
He turned in her kitchen, holding the warm garment to his chest, and stared at the abandoned plates on the counter, the sullied remnants of a glimpse of heaven.
He’d blown it. He blinked, then turned and walked down the hallway to the living room. He scooped up his gear and was dressed in minutes. He looked around for his jacket, and realized he’d left it in the back of Sully’s car the night before.
He glanced down the hallway, toward the bend that led to Sully’s bedroom. This was lousy. He didn’t want to leave her like this, thinking...thinking what? That he thought she was just a brief dalliance? Or that he didn’t trust her?
His lips tightened. Maybe that was for the best. If she knew how he felt, that he wanted nothing more than to walk down that hall and crawl into bed with her and never, ever leave—would that change the situation? Would it make her feel better, or worse?
He closed his eyes, letting his senses drift down to that bedroom at the end of the hall. He could sense the peace and tranquility of her room, and he tried to sense her, to comfort her. He gently searched for her essence—a spark exploded in front of him, and he flew across the room, flipping back over the sofa.
Ouch. He looked up from his position on the floor. Okay. She was pissed. He could respect that. He’d knocked, and she’d sent him flying. He got the message. Go away.
He rolled to his feet, pulling up his backpack as he did, and strode out of the house. He shoved his backpack into one of the panniers on his bike, then crossed to the trunk of Sully’s car for his jacket. He
shook his head. Sully had left the rear window down. The woman had no regard for securing herself or her possessions. He reached in for his jacket and tugged at the sleeve. It caught on the lid of a long metal box in her trunk. He tugged harder, and the jacket pulled free. The lid clanged open, and Dave froze when he saw the contents.
What the—? He reached in and pulled the box closer, frowning at the weight of the darn thing. He peered inside, his jaw dropping.
A supply of swords, axes, knives and arrows—along with a heap of deadly looking blades, gleamed in the light of day. A cloth bag sat in one corner of the box, and when he pulled at the fabric, he heard a clink, then saw the treasure of Reform dollars winking up at him. A lot of them.
He heard the soft slap of flip-flops on the veranda, and looked up at the woman, that sweet, naive, gullible woman, standing on the top step, hands on hips, as she glared down at him. He glanced back down at the mobile armory and cash stash in the trunk of her car, then back up at her.
“Who are you?” he exclaimed.
Chapter 15
Sully padded down the steps and across the yard. “I’m a cutler,” she responded shortly, and reached for the lid of the box. First he’d dumped her—although they’d only had a one-night stand, so she didn’t think that was the technical term for the one-night-wonder-lover walking out on her. Skunk, maybe. Now he was snooping through her stuff. Dave’s large hand flashed out to catch the lid, preventing it from closing.
“This is not cutlery,” he exclaimed, pulling out a stiletto blade.
“It’s a knife,” she pointed out.
“That’s one hell of a knife,” he remarked. He replaced the stiletto and removed one of her short swords. “Why do you have these in your car, Sully?”
She shrugged. “I made them.”
“All of them?” he asked in disbelief, scanning the weapons. She tried to close the lid again, and he braced his hand against the lid, then delved his hand into the cloth bag and pulled out a fistful of coins.
“Where did you get this money?” he rasped.
“Weren’t you leaving?”
“Where, Sully?” His voice was low, grim. Determined.
She considered lying, but decided against it. “I made that, too.”
He dropped the coins, and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh. My. God.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Dave.”
He removed his sunglasses, and his eyes opened to slits as he peered closely at her. “It’s not?”
His voice was quiet, almost conversational. Reasonable. Receptive. And he’d removed the dark lenses that hid his eyes. He seemed open. Approachable. “No, it’s not.”
He lifted his chin in the direction of the box. “So, that’s not really what it looks like?”
She paused, looking at him, then the box. “What does it look like?”
“Well, it looks like you’re selling counterfeit cash and weapons,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I give the money away, not sell it, and I’m not an arms dealer.” She thought about it for a moment. She did make weapons on commission, though. “Uh, technically, I might be an arms dealer, but only a little bit.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together to show just how little an arms dealer she was. The thought almost brought a smile to her face, but Dave’s expression was so serious she didn’t think he’d see the humor in it.
His mouth gaped open for a moment. “Only a little bit?” his voice emerged as a high-pitched whisper.
“Well, if I’m being completely honest—”
“Please—”
“I do make weapons for a price, but it’s only on a commission basis.”
“—don’t tell me.”
Sully blinked as his words sank in. “Oh.”
Dave’s shoulders sagged. “You told me.”
“You did ask.”
“I wanted deniability.”
Dave slung his jacket over the rim of the trunk and braced both hands against the car.
“You’re not a cutler,” he said, shaking his head.
“I am a cutler,” she told him, then shrugged. “I also make...other stuff.” She leaned back against the car and folded her arms. She’d quickly changed into a cotton camisole and a skirt, and had come outside to make sure he left—or so she told herself. It wasn’t because she’d wanted one last glimpse of the man who’d given her fireworks and made her feel safe.
Four years.
“Ah,” he said slowly as comprehension spread across his face. “These are the coins you were talking about, when we first met.”
She frowned. “What?”
“You mentioned coins on the beach, as though you were surprised the Ancestors had sent me after you for that.”
“Oh.” She vaguely remembered asking him about it, and feeling confused and hurt that the Ancestors would sic a Witch Hunter on her for such a trivial matter. “Yeah.” She eyed the way his biceps flexed as he gripped the edge of her trunk window. She wasn’t going to stare. She wasn’t going to think about them wrapped around her, or the way she felt when she was in those arms...the passion, the sense of protection. She had to remind herself he was on his way out. Leaving. Adios, amigo.
And she was going to be just fine. This was not a—she pressed her palm to her chest. God, she hurt. No, damn it. This was no big deal.
“Why?”
She blinked, his question bringing her back to the matter at hand. The serious matter at hand. She hadn’t expected him to find her...stuff. Only a few people knew about her sideline business, and it was weird, having to explain it to the man she’d shared a bed with. Well, sofa. Kitchen counter. Whatever. This wasn’t a conversation she’d expected to have. Especially not when she really wanted to go curl up in bed and cry.
“Why?” She eyed the drive. “I really thought you were leaving,” she grumbled.
He turned to face her. “Sully.”
She narrowed her eyes against the glint of morning light. “You want me to tell you?”
He nodded.
“Really?”
He nodded again.
“But Dave, I’d have to trust you with some sensitive information,” she said, “and I’d hate for you to think I’m too naive and gullible.” She glared at him meaningfully, and his lips tightened as he recognized his words thrown back him.
“Sully.”
She levered herself away from the car. “No, Dave. You can’t have it both ways. You accuse me of being too trusting, while you won’t trust anyone, and then you demand me tell you what you want to know.” She leaned forward. “Well, guess what? Trust works both ways, buddy.”
She turned to walk away, but stopped when his hand gripped her arm. Not enough to hurt, but enough to turn her to face him. Worry. Genuine concern, flooded her. Damn it, he was doing it again, without even realizing it.
“Are you in trouble, Sully?” he asked earnestly.
“Not if you don’t tell the sheriff,” she answered honestly.
His exasperation, tinged with frustration, pricked at her, but she could still feel his very real worry. For her. No. He didn’t get to do that. He didn’t get to worry about her, or feel that warm concern for her, because that made this whole walking out thing really, really suck. But obviously, he wasn’t walking out, not until he had some answers.
She sighed. “Look, you’ve probably noticed the nulls here are really struggling. The fishing season hasn’t really hit the high mark, and we have families who are struggling to put food on the table. This,” she said, jerking her chin in direction of the coin bag, “is just to get them by until the fish stock picks up. That’s all. That’s all it’s ever been.” She wasn’t some criminal mastermind, for crying out loud.
His mild relief warmed her, and she pulled her arm from his grip. She didn’t want to feel his emoti
ons, didn’t want to understand. She wanted to hold on to her anger from earlier. Because if she held on to that anger, the hurt couldn’t touch her.
“The weapons?” he asked.
She paused as she considered her answer. “I like weapons,” she answered in a low voice. They made her feel...safe. “And I think Jenny and others can use them, right about now.”
Dave sighed, his lips firm. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, stepping away from the car. “You’re leaving, remember?”
“Sully, I don’t want to leave, I have to leave. Every minute I spend with you, everyone else is in danger from this witch, including you.”
Damn it. She glanced down at her flip-flops. Buried beneath his need to flee she could see his annoying, frustrating, bloody-minded logic. It didn’t mean she had to like it.
Four years.
The words kept repeating themselves over and over in her head. Four years since she’d been with a man, and when she finally surrendered, when she shared something of herself, he ran.
Rode a motorcycle. Whatever.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, then looked out past her front yard toward the headland. “I have things to do, too.”
She could see him out of the corner of her eye. His expression was somber, his gaze an almost brilliant silver against his tanned skin and close-cropped beard. She wasn’t going to meet his gaze, though. She didn’t want him to see how shredded up she was inside.
Silly, silly girl. She’d gone and gotten hooked on a Witch Hunter.
“I’ll, uh, get going, then.” He stood there for a moment, waiting for her response.
She nodded. Her pose was casual, arms folded, but she could feel the tiny little arcs pressing into her skin as her fingernails dug into her biceps. She wasn’t going to cry.
Witch Hunter Page 16