Defeat the Darkness (Paladins of Darkness 6)

by Alexis Morgan

  For now, he’d keep walking.

  Tate had no idea what drew her to the window at that exact moment. Wisps of clouds scuttled across the night sky, the wind driving them inland with their burden of rain. Hopefully they would be gone by morning. The tea shop was closed on Mondays, and she could use a nice day to get some work done in the yard.

  She was about to turn away when she saw him. Hunter Fitzsimon was out walking. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. He seemed to be an intensely private man, and walking after dark made it unlikely that he’d run into many people. At least he had the good sense to stick to the road. There were a few trails that led down the bluff to the rocky beach below, but they were treacherous even during the daytime when visibility was good.

  If he’d turned in that direction, she would’ve felt obligated to follow him. And wouldn’t he love that? He already thought she was a busybody. Although she’d occasionally rented one of her extra bedrooms to relatives and friends of her neighbors when they’d asked her to, he was the first real tenant she’d ever had.

  Hunter was a far cry from the uncomplicated college student she’d envisioned her future renter to be. He definitely had more baggage than the few boxes he’d carried up to the apartment. She assumed it probably stemmed from whatever life-altering event had left him limping and hurting inside and out.

  As rude as he’d been to her, she would’ve written him off as a lost cause, but then he’d been so sweetly polite to Mabel when she’d presented him with that plate of cookies. If he was going to snarl at someone, better that it was Tate than one of her elderly neighbors. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  She’d spent far too much time thinking about Hunter for one day, and it was past time to call it a night. At least she didn’t have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to get her chores done before opening the shop. She could sleep in, run a few errands, and then spend the afternoon working out in the yard if the weather cooperated. If it didn’t, she’d sit out on the porch with a good book. Her to-be-read stack was getting out of control again.

  She picked up the top book and wandered back over to curl up in the window seat in the corner bay window. She hadn’t chosen the spot for the clear view of her driveway. It was none of her concern if Hunter Fitzsimon managed to find his way back to his apartment or not.

  He was a big boy and could take care of himself. Even so, she kept a wary eye on the road outside as she read. The time stretched out as she turned page after page, the story failing to capture her attention. Finally, she tossed the book toward the pile and settled back against the cushions to watch the stars fade in and out as the clouds rolled in from the Sound.

  As she relaxed, she floated somewhere just this side of sleep before slowly drifting into dreams about a mysterious stranger with moss green eyes.

  ———

  The rain held off until Hunter had outdistanced the demons dancing inside his head. He’d exhausted his body some time ago, but it had taken far longer to wear down the sharp edges of his mind. Now it was time to turn around. He needed to get back before he lacked the energy to make it up the stairs. Sleeping on the ground even in the rain wouldn’t kill him, but it would only draw more unwanted attention from the other residents of Justice Point.

  He’d only been in town for roughly eighteen hours and he already had one of its citizens a little too interested in him. Hopefully Tate Justice would get over her need to keep an eye on him. If not, he’d have to figure out how to fix that. Her curiosity wasn’t the only problem with having Tate Justice so close by.

  It had been only a few months since his life had been ripped apart right along with his body. It had been even longer since he’d taken a woman to bed, and she’d been little more than a willing warm body. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what the woman looked like, much less her name. After a brief, frantic coupling, he hadn’t bothered to ask for her phone number, and she hadn’t offered.

  Which brought his thoughts right back to his pixy of a landlady. He normally went for leggy blondes, but what Tate lacked in height she made up for in compact curves, the kind that would cushion her lover’s thrusts nicely no matter how he took her.

  Of course, that was the last thing he should be thinking about. He wasn’t there to indulge in lustful fantasies. He had a job to do for the Paladins, and even if Devlin had sent him up here as a favor to Jarvis, it was clear that the need was real. If someone from this world or Kalithia was stirring up trouble, Hunter would find out and put a stop to it.

  Tightening his grip on the head of his cane, he imagined the sweet slide of its hidden blade twisting into the gut of an Other or the heart of a human traitor. He didn’t care which as long as he could watch them die.

  The lights were still on at Tate’s. He stood in the shadows of the tall firs across the driveway and stared up at her figure in the upstairs bay window. Crazy woman. Why wasn’t she tucked into bed like all the other residents of Justice Point? He was tempted to throw a rock at her window to startle her awake, but it would be too easy for her to guess who’d done it.

  The last thing he needed was for her to get the idea that he was watching her as much as she was him. He had enough problems. Leaving the shadows behind, he cut across the grass to the garage. He took his time climbing the steps. All in all, the walk had done him good. After a long soak in the tub with the jets on high, he’d crawl into that big, soft bed.

  The only thing wrong with that picture was that he’d be doing it all alone.

  The rev of a powerful engine outside interrupted Tate’s pleasant dream. She didn’t remember the details, but there was definitely something about slow dancing wrapped up in the arms of a tall stranger. She could still hear the music, but her partner was a bit vague. Well, except for the reddish brown hair that brushed his collar and eyes that were a distinctive mix of gray and green.

  She stood up and stretched. The brake lights of a big pickup truck glowed dimly in the darkness below. She couldn’t tell what color it was, but even so it didn’t look familiar. No one in Justice Point drove anything that massive. Obviously some stranger had picked the wrong turnoff and was following the loop back out onto the highway.

  Odd, though, that he didn’t have his headlights on. Maybe the driver was trying to be considerate by not shining them into the houses this late at night. She hoped he remembered to turn them on before he got much further.

  That reminded her—had Hunter made it back to his apartment all right? It would seem so, since the only lights on in the apartment were in the bathroom and bedroom. She was pretty sure the living room light had been on when he’d left for his walk.

  The grandfather clock down the hall chimed just once. It was definitely well past time for her to crawl into bed herself. As she pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, she smiled. Maybe if she fell asleep humming that same waltz, the mysterious partner from her dream would be willing to dance again.

  ———

  His driver cursed and swerved back toward the center line, the road almost too narrow for two vehicles to pass each other without riding on the shoulder. “Have I mentioned how much I hate driving this road at night?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, you have, Mr. Black. Repeatedly. It’s been duly noted and given all the consideration it deserves.”

  Which obviously meant none. He didn’t give a rip about how Joe felt. He paid him for his muscles and his willingness to do anything for money. Feelings didn’t even make a blip on his radar, and they both knew it. Flipping on the headlights, Joe pulled out onto the highway and drove in aggravated silence.

  “Slow down.”

  “Who’s driving?” Joe sneered.

  He hated it when Joe took the curves a little too fast, which was precisely why he did it.

  Time to yank his leash again; it was growing more and more tiresome. “Need I remind you which one of us controls the money in our arrangement?”

  Joe immediately slowed down. They only had about fifteen miles before they reached t
he interstate, and then it would be a straight shot back to civilization. Thank God. He couldn’t imagine living in a hellhole like Justice Point. Why did they even bother giving the place a name at all?

  They rode in silence. He only enjoyed classical music, while Joe leaned more toward twang and thumping bass. Since he couldn’t stand the stuff himself, they’d long ago agreed to keep the radio off. Unfortunately, however, Joe couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes at a time.

  When Joe couldn’t stand the oppressive quiet anymore, he asked, “Was there a message this time?”

  “Is that really of your concern?”

  “Not particularly. But if there wasn’t, it usually means another trip up here sooner rather than later. I just want to make sure I’m available.”

  Would he never get their roles in this game straight? “I pay you to be available, Mr. Black. I hope this isn’t a bid for more money. That would not please me at all.”

  Joe shot him a worried look. “No, sir, I wasn’t asking for a raise.”

  “Good answer.”

  He also knew Joe hated being called Mr. Black, but one of the conditions of the job was that they never use their real names. When they’d struck the deal, Joe hadn’t looked past the money being offered. He’d needed to get some creditors off his back, the kind who took late charges out of your hide with a knife. It had only occurred to Joe later to wonder why secrecy was so important when his duties only consisted of driving his employer up the coast once or twice a month.

  All they ever did after parking the truck in a clump of trees was follow a trail down the bluff overlooking Justice Bay to a small cave. Sometimes there was an envelope waiting, sometimes not. Then Joe would drive them both back to Seattle and drop off his employer at a different location every time.

  The money was good, the job simple, but Joe was starting to realize the money was a little too good and the job a little too simple. It would be some time yet before he would earn enough to pay off his bookie though. So for now, he’d do his best to keep his employer happy.

  If that were to change, well, tragic accidents happened all the time.

  Chapter 3

  Tate sat cross-legged on the ground and stared at the flower bed. Something had been grazing on her flowers again. Short of installing an electric fence, there wasn’t much she could do besides making the surviving plants look their best. It was a losing battle, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  A shadow fell over her. Based on its size and the heavy silence, it could only be Hunter Fitzsimon. They had managed to avoid each other for a couple of days. She wondered what desperate situation made him seek her out. She stood up before turning toward him.

  “Did you need something, Mr. Fitzsimon?” She was rather proud of how calm she sounded, especially since her traitorous body took immediate notice of how very fine he looked in those worn jeans and a faded Tom Petty T-shirt. Even behind his sunglasses, she could feel the intensity of his gaze.

  “Where’s the nearest coin-op laundry?”

  She eyed the stuffed pillowcase that he had slung over his shoulder. “I suppose there’s one in Bellingham somewhere, but there’s no need for you to drive that far. You can use my washer and dryer whenever you want. It’s included in the rent.”

  Not that the idea had even occurred to her until now. She dusted off her knees and headed up the steps. “Come inside, and I’ll show you where everything is.”

  Hunter followed in silence through the tea shop and into the kitchen.

  “The laundry room is back here. I keep detergent and softener on the shelf above the washer.”

  “Next time, I’ll use my own. I was going to buy some in town.”

  Big surprise. “That’s fine. There’s plenty of room on the shelf, so you don’t have to carry it back and forth.”

  He nodded.

  “Once you’ve started a load, come out to the shop if you’d like to wait for it to finish. I’m afraid I don’t serve coffee, but—”

  “I don’t drink the stuff,” he interrupted.

  Hunter shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and started stuffing his clothes into the washer. So he was a boxers guy, Tate noticed, and brightly colored ones at that. Of course, he had to catch her staring. His mouth was a straight slash of pure disgust.

  Definitely time to move on. “I have pastries and tea, and today’s paper is on one of the tables, too. I don’t think anyone’s gotten to the crossword puzzle yet.” She was almost out the door when he spoke again.

  “I’d appreciate some tea. Whatever you’ve got.”

  He was a tea drinker? He didn’t seem the type, but okay. She’d make him some Pu’erh, a man’s tea if there ever was one. Besides, it was rumored to have strong medicinal qualities. “I’ll have some brewing for you. Want a muffin or scones to go with it?”

  “Anything would be fine.”

  Anything? Like maybe a quickie behind the counter? Tate felt her cheeks flush. Oh, now that was a wicked thought. Just because Hunter was halfway approachable today didn’t mean he was interested in being friends, much less anything more. She really needed to get out more, especially if Hunter Fitzsimon was going to be hanging around her shop regularly.

  Luckily, a carload of tourists pulled up to the shop. They’d provide the perfect barrier between her and the enigmatic man who had just started her washer.

  Hunter leaned against the counter and stared at the washer, willing it to work faster. Voices drifted in from that nightmare of a tea shop. He shuddered at the image. The cluster of small tables coupled with more lace and floral prints than he could stomach made him feel oversized, awkward, and pissed off. Normally he would’ve ignored such feminine trappings, but he’d focused on the decor rather than the seductive sway of Tate’s hips and how well she filled out those jeans. Or worse yet, how much he wanted to peel them off of her.

  Hell, he had to quit fantasizing about Tate Justice even if she did look at him with feminine interest in her eyes. Even before the attack he never messed with nice girls; they wanted a future he couldn’t provide. Tate was definitely an innocent, not at all the type to be up for a meaningless romp in the sheets. The last thing he needed was to complicate his life even more by messing with a woman like that.

  Maybe he should haul his wet clothes right back out of the washer and drive into town, except that would only raise more questions. With a curse, he left the utility room and headed into the tea shop, intending to let Tate know he’d be back when his clothes were done. Tate was chatting with a family seated near the window. She looked in his direction and gave a quick nod toward the far corner of the shop.

  He followed her gaze and spotted the table she’d set for him. Next to a plate piled high with small pastries was a teapot and a mug sized for a man’s hand. His temper stirred again, but even he wasn’t enough of a jerk to blow her off, not when she’d gone to such effort to make him comfortable in her shop.

  He maneuvered through the tables, sitting with his back to the wall, and slowly counted the seconds until his leg settled down. After adding two lumps of sugar to his mug, he poured the tea and took a sip. He didn’t recognize the deep, rich flavor, but he liked it a helluva lot better than the cheap tea bags he bought at the grocery store.

  He unfolded the paper and read the national news. He only skimmed over the local stuff because he wouldn’t be in the Seattle area long enough to care about it. He folded the page, ready to start the crossword puzzle, before he realized he didn’t have a pen. He was about to toss the paper on the next table when he saw Tate had left a pencil sitting by his plate.

  Even that irritated him. He preferred ink when doing a crossword puzzle. No guts, no glory. She had no way of knowing that, but lately “reasonable” wasn’t exactly in his vocabulary. He concentrated on the clues and filled in the small boxes, letting the rest of the world fade into the background. The peace wouldn’t last long, but he’d settle for what he could get.

  The door to the sho
p opened and closed, leaving the room blessedly quiet. He could remember when he actually enjoyed a crowd, especially when he and Jake went on a pub crawl looking for a good time. But not anymore. Now he needed silence and solitude.

  A shadow fell over his table. He carefully filled in the last two letters on the puzzle before looking up. Tate gave him a tentative smile.

  “The washer stopped. I can switch loads for you if you’d like.”

  The last thing he needed was for her to be handling his boxers—under any circumstances. “I’ll get it.”

  He got up from the table and walked away, only belatedly realizing he should’ve thanked her.

  Tate’s day had been a long one. Business in the shop had come in fits and starts; one minute no one, and then several carloads at once. The menu was limited to a few sandwiches and pastries, so at least the prep work had been minimal.

  Even so, one person could only do so much. In the back of her head, she’d been hoping that if a college student rented the garage apartment, she might have been willing to exchange working a few hours a week for reduced rent.

  Somehow she didn’t think Hunter would be interested. The image made her smile at the effect he’d have on her customers. He didn’t exactly exude warmth and welcome, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sexier than sin. Oh, yeah, any woman with a pulse would sit up and take notice when he spoke in that gravelly voice and took her order.

  She’d spent far too much time thinking about him lately. She leaned back in her window seat and let his image fill her mind. His wavy hair needed a good trimming, and his clothes were chosen for comfort rather than style. She wondered why there was so much anger in his straight slash of a mouth and storm colored eyes. As much as she’d like to get to know him better, he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted to be left alone.

  But why? Perhaps he’d always been a loner, but somehow she didn’t think so. She suspected the accident that had damaged his leg had left him wounded on the inside, too.