Chapter 15
Chapter 15
S ully 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 emotions, 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.
At least, not until after he’d left.
He turned and walked toward his bike, slipping his leather jacket on as he went. He got to his bike, then paused, his hand resting on the handlebar. Then he abruptly turned and stalked over to her. She straightened, frowning, and her eyes widened when his arms slid around her waist, pulling her in for a hot kiss.
Frustration. Anger. Lust. Sorrow. All bombarded her at his touch, his tongue tangling with hers. It was quick, but it was a whirlwind of emotion and passion that left her breathless when he lifted his head. He tilted his forehead against hers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He stepped away, and this time he didn’t look back when he reached his bike. He slid his helmet on over his head, straddled his bike, and within too few seconds he was riding out of her driveway.
Sully stood where she was, shoulders sagging, by the trunk of her station wagon. She listened as the sound of his bike slowly diminished, to be taken over by seagulls, crashing waves and the sound of cicadas looking for their mates.
Tears blurred her vision. She had done so well. She’d avoided guys—especially the strong, dominant kind of guy. She’d managed to secure her heart, her safety, her sanity ... She straightened her shoulders. No. She wasn’t going to fall apart again. She wasn’t going to surrender her peace of mind, her independence, her identity, to a man. Never again.
She turned back to the house. She hadn’t been lying to Dave. She did have things to do, and a delivery to make. He was going to pursue this witch on his own. He’d made that clear.
Well, she hadn’t said anything about stopping her own search for this bastard. This guy was hurting her friends, and she had every intention of stopping him—with or without Dave’s help.
Dave smiled at the librarian who brought forth another old book from the archives and placed it with the others on the table at which he sat. “This is the last one, and contains the first census records since Reformation,” she told him in a hushed tone. He glanced about. It must be a reflex for the woman, as he was the only person in the records section of the library.
“Thanks.” He summoned forth a slight wisp of power. She was human, and there were no nulls in the library that he could sense. “If there is anything else you can think of that will show me the family trees of the nulls, let me know.”
She smiled at him sweetly as she nodded. “If I think of anything else on null families in the area, I’ll let you know.” He watched as she walked away, her low heels making a slight clack-clack as she lowered her reading glasses. She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear as she crossed to the catalogs.
Dave opened the large-paged book. The pages were divided in columns, with neat, meticulous script detailing the names, ages and connections of the residents of Serenity Cove since the town was recognized as part of Reformation society.
He placed one hand on the pieces of paper the librarian had given him to make notes on, and another on the book. There were lots of pages, and more volumes to sift through. It would take him hours, if not days, to sift through all of this on his own.
A little voice whispered that he didn’t have to do it on his own, that Sully wanted to help, and that she could get the nulls to reveal the names he was looking for.
He lifted his chin. Well, that would dangerous. For everyone. He’d never had to rely on anyone else to do his job. Witch Hunters worked alone. He’d never had a partner work a hit with him before. Nor had that partner wanted to bring in a whole damn community to help, either.
No. He was on his own. It was better this way. Less...danger. To Sully, anyway.
He closed his eyes, summoning his powers. He murmured a reveal and transfer spell, and could feel the pages warm beneath his hand. He raised his hands from the surface, slowly opening his eyes.
Names on the page started to glow, and he watched as the glow drifted out of the book and onto the piece of paper. Names, dates and connections—they all imprinted on the paper, giving him a list of the purebloods in the area since the town’s formation. The pages started to flip, faster and faster, as the names were pulled forth. More books opened, more glowing references. He sat back and waited until the last name landed on the paper, and then he murmured a genealogy spell. He watched as the names reconfigured on the page. Some names faded—individuals who had already passed away.
It took a while, and it was probably early afternoon by the time he had a list of purebloods currently residing in the Serenity Cove area.
He rose from the desk, then waved a hand at the books at the table, sending them back to their homes among the shelves, to save the little old lady at the desk some work. He walked up to thank her, but kept his mouth shut when he heard her snore. He walked out to his bike, opened up his pannier and removed his map of the area. He spread it out on the seat of his bike, then bent down and scooped up some dirt from the ground. Holding his clenched fist over the map, he glanced at the first name on the list, murmured a quick location spell, and let the dirt fall out of his hand in a measured funnel. Within seconds he had the address, and within a minute he was riding out of the Serenity Cove library parking lot.