Dark Knights Ch. 01

"Did you tell them what happened?"

"Of course I told them, but like I said, it was my word against hers. She didn't tell them about the card being in my backpack, her dad found that on his own. When he found the card, I knew I was dead, but I pointed out that not only did I not protest him tossing my room and my stuff, I also reminded him that I warned him to change his passwords. It did absolutely no good. Everyone knew I was good with computers. Hell, I'd even helped him a few times with a problem. Couple that with the email having my name, and finding the credit card..." He glanced at me. "Who would you believe? I didn't have a good answer for why I helped Linda, or why I didn't tell him what she was doing. It also didn't help that one of her friend's mother was an assistant DA and the other's dad was on the city council."

"That sucks!"

"Yeah. I got slapped with charges and was placed on formal supervision for two years. I had to move again, and because I was a delinquent, the next few places weren't nearly as nice."

"And, of course, she denied everything."

"Of course. So, it's hard for me sometimes. I'm always afraid that someone is going to pull the rug out from under me again."

"Bryn, you know we wouldn't do that to you. We're a family. We need you," I said as we pulled into the parking lot of his apartment.

"Yeah. I could tell at breakfast that Kevin just loves me."

"Well, I wouldn't do that to you then," I said firmly.

"Thanks, Reagan. That mean a lot to... son-of-a-bitch!" he growled, stopping the car half in and half out of the parking space he was pulling into.

"What?"

"Look at the tires on your car."

I hitched myself up so I could look out of his side window. My car was two spaces farther down the row from his spot, in one of the unreserved parking places, but I could see the back half of the car. "Holy shit!" I snarled as I opened my door and leapt from the car.

My lips pressed tight in contained fury, I circled my car. Someone had cut all four tires. As I glared at the damage and glanced around, looking for that son-of-a-bitch Hayden, Bryn finished parking his car in the reserved space he shared with is motorcycle and then walked up beside me.

"That bastard," I snarled. "I hope you have your gun on you because if I see that son-of-a-bitch I'm going to kill him." He reached behind him. I thought he is going for his gun but pulled out his cell phone instead. "Who are you are you calling?"

"Unless you have four spares tires, you're going to need a tow."

"Good thing I just got paid," I muttered under my breath.

Forty minutes later the tow truck arrived, and as Bryn and I watched, the driver slowly winched my car backwards onto the flatbed. While we'd waited for the tow, I'd called the Firestone where I'd purchased my tires, told them what happened, and that we'd be there as soon as possible. Car secured, we followed the truck to the shop. As the driver worked my car off the back of his truck, Bryn followed me into the shop.

"They're going to work it in, but it's going to be at least a couple of hours before they get to it," I said, walking up to him as he hovered in the waiting area.

"Want lift home? There's no point in hanging out here."

"No, that's okay. I don't want to put you out any more than I already have. I'll just wait on it."

He looked at me with clear disapproval. "That's dumb. Let me take you home, then when the car's ready, I'll bring you back to get it." He smiled slyly. "Unless you enjoy hanging out in a tire shop." He paused and I could tell he was setting me up for a punch line. "I've heard that the sound of air wrenches turns some women on." He then did a fair imitation of the buzzing whir of an unloaded, air powered, impact wrench.

I snickered. "Okay, fine, let's go."

He escorted me to his car and surprised me when he opened the passenger door for me. As I settled into his car I tried to remember if anyone had ever opened a door for me before. By the time he was shutting his door, I decided I'd either forgotten, or nobody ever had. I wasn't much of a girly girl, but as his Subaru growled to life, I decided I kind of liked the gesture.

He followed my directions until he pulled into the narrow drive that led to my home's attached one car garage. My house was a thirteen hundred square foot, brown brick, rambling ranch from 1958, set well back from the street on a large corner lot. The previous owner was a landscaper, and my lot was beautiful, with several large Live Oaks dripping with Spanish moss, flowering shrubs, and lush grass.

The previous owners had also updated and renovated the house, adding a small workshop in the back, only to divorce a few years later, after they completed the makeover. Their loss had been my gain. I'd left the house as I bought it, with light hardwood and tile floors, granite countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. The only change I'd made in the five years I'd owned the home was to install a roll up door in the workshop and add a hidden, grass covered, drive to convert the workshop into a garage for my Iron 883 and tools.

"Stop here," I said. My car had a built-in garage door opener, so I couldn't open the garage door without my car or getting out and using the keypad. He eased to a stop in the drive by the curved walk leading to the front door. "Want to come in?" I asked as I opened the car's door.

"Would you mind? I have to use the restroom," his asked, his voice slightly sheepish.

I grinned at him. "Not at all."

He waited for me at the front of his car, leading me to my front door, before he stiffened slightly and placed his hand in my stomach, indicating I should stop.

"Wait here a minute," he said quietly before walking the last half-dozen steps up to my front door.

He didn't pull his gun, which I knew was in a hidden holster in the small of his back, but his tense posture made it seem like he wanted to. When he reached my door, he gave it a gentle push without touching the knob, causing the door to swing ajar. As the door opened, my heart leapt into my throat. He held a finger up, silently ordering me to wait where I was, before he pulled his weapon from its holster, held the gun in a low two-handed grip, and squeezed through the door.

I had trouble breathing until he appeared a long moment later, stepping out onto the small, covered porch, his gun once again out of sight. "The place is empty. It looks alright to me, but you need to come see what's missing."

I inspected the door as I entered the house, the damage to the lock and jamb obvious. I carefully looked the house over but couldn't find anything missing or out of place.

"They broke in but didn't steal anything?" I asked after I'd completed a circuit of the house, opening closets and drawers as I went.

"You're sure nothing's missing?"

I shrugged and then tugged on my ponytail. "No, but I don't see anything obvious," I said as I glanced around.

I didn't have a lot of expensive stuff, but the things I'd normally associate with a robbery, like my television and computer, were still there.

"Then I don't think this is a burglary. I think it's a warning."

What he was hinting immediately clicked. "Hayden," I breathed, instantly regretting I'd ever invited that asshole to my place.

"Yeah," Bryn said, glancing around the room like he expected the man to jump out of a hidden corner. "Get a bag and a few things. You need to come stay with me."

"I can't do that!"

"You're going to stay here tonight, with a broken lock on your front door, and someone stalking you?" he asked, his tone reasonable.

Well, when he put it like that... "Wait here a minute," I said before hurrying to my bedroom.

While Bryn relieved himself, I dragged my smaller suitcase out of the closet and threw some clothes into it, not bothering to fold or worry about neatness. The idea of Hayden breaking into my house was giving me the heebie-jeebies. Less than five minutes after I told Bryn to wait, I was zipping my suitcase closed.

"Ready," I announced as I carried my bag into the living room.

He took the suitcase from me and escorted me to the porch. He tried several times to shut the door, but all it took was a light push to spring it open again.

"We need to do something about that," he said after his third time opening the door. "You have a tape measure?"

"A tape measure?"

"To measure the door."

"Uh, yeah, a small one, in the kitchen."

"Get it."

I felt sick, out of sorts, and jumpy, but he was reassuringly calm, and that calmness helped prevent me from freaking out. I went back into the house, dug in the junk drawer that all kitchens seemed to have, and returned with my small, eight-foot, tape measure.

He quickly measured the door's width in two places, dropped the tape into his pocket, and then took my arm. He guided me to his car, tucked me inside, and then tossed my bag into the back.

"Didn't we drive past a Lowes or Home Depot over by the Firestone where we left your car?"

"Yeah, over on Harry Truman. There's a Lowes and Home Depot both, almost next door to each other," I said as I tugged my hair tight.

"That's what I thought. Let's go get this taken care of."

We rode in silence, my mind a whirling maelstrom of thoughts. We stopped at Home Depot first but ended up purchasing the replacement door at Lowes Home because they could install it a couple of days sooner, though it was still going to be four days. While there, he also picked up a large, heavy, hasp and padlock.

We returned to my house, and he spent nearly an hour installing the improvised lock. I had a nice collection of tools, but they were mechanics tools and weren't that useful or suitable for woodwork, which made the task more difficult and time consuming that it should have been.

"Done," he finally announced as he snapped the lock through the hasp and gave it a good rattle before using a finger to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Without the benefit of pilot holes, he'd had to work so hard driving the screws into the door and frame with my manual screwdriver that his shirt was sticking to him from his perspiration. "That's probably at least as secure as it was before."

I wondered if he was hinting that I should stay in my own home. Door secured or not, I was still slightly freaked out that Hayden may have been in my house, and I didn't want to stay there. At least not tonight. I decided to play dumb unless he hinted again. Even if he did drop another hint he didn't want me spending the night at his place, I was going to a motel.

"Thank you so much for all your help," I all but gushed, thankful almost beyond words. I couldn't think of another person, even my own brother, that'd have been so willing to help.

He slapped the handle of the screwdriver into my hand so I could put it away. "No problem. Ready to go get your car?"

I nodded. While he was working on my door, Firestone had called to inform me my car had been shod with four new tires. "Yes. Let me put this away and lock up the shop."

I spent the next three days at Bryn's apartment while waiting for my door to be repaired, and I was a wreck. He tried to calm me, but I was still jumping at shadows. Logically I knew I was reasonably safe at Bryn's apartment, probably safer than I had been at home because he had a gun, but that didn't prevent me from starting every time a neighbor's door slammed, and I had to force myself not to peek out of the window, sick with dread, each time I heard the heavy bass rumble of a Harley in the parking lot. Work was worse. If I had a customer waiting at the counter when I stepped out of the parts room, I invariably jumped with a gasp.

Through it all, Bryn was steady as a mighty oak in the storm my life had become. He'd given me a key since I arrived home before he did, and the thirty minutes I was alone in his apartment was the worst. I couldn't sit and tried to wear a circular hole in the living area carpet as I paced around his couch, waiting for him to arrive. The way he comported himself made me feel safe, I appreciated he didn't try to take advantage of me, and knowing he was sleeping in the living room with his weapon near at hand allowed me to sleep.

Wednesday morning I was pulling parts for one of the techs when my cell phone rang. I stared at the phone, not recognizing the number, and chewed my bottom lip. Stop being a wuss and answer the damned phone!

I pushed the button and brought the device to my ear. "Hello?" I asked, annoyed with myself at the tentativeness in my voice.

"Ms. McKenna? This is Carl Wagoner with Lowe's Home Improvement. How are you today?"

I almost sagged with relief. "I'm fine."

"Good, good. You have a one-thirty appointment to have your front door replaced?"

I nodded to myself. "That's right."

"Good, good. My guy will be there between one and one-thirty to install the door. Will you still be able to meet him?"

"Yes."

"Good, good. Okay, he will call you at this number when he's about thirty minutes away."

"Okay, thank you. How long will this take?"

"Hard to say. It says on the work order it's only an install. No painting, right?"

"That's correct."

"Good, good. I'd figure it taking two to three hours at least."

"Okay, that's fine."

"Good, good. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Nope," I replied, ready to get my life back to normal.

"Good, good. Thank you, Ms. McKenna."

"Thank you," I replied before I ended the call.

I glanced at the time on the phone. I needed to go see John, the service manager, and let him know I was leaving at lunch and wouldn't be back. I slid the phone into my back pocket. I had about two hours before I had to leave, and if I hustled, and didn't get too busy behind the parts counter, I could get all my parts ordered before I left.

I watched as the nail gun in Hank's hand popped. My door was installed and Hank was attaching the interior trim. Hank was an older guy, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. He was funny, cracking jokes and prattling about trivial matters as he ripped out the old door, muscled the new one into place, and fitted it into the opening.

As he cut and hammered, I was relieved that my life was getting back to normal, but now that the install was nearly complete, I began to fret again. The new door was steel, which should be stronger than the door it replaced, but was it strong enough?

I wrestled with the problem as Hank ran a bead of calk around the door to seal it against the elements, filled the nail holes with putty, and put away his tools. As I slipped him a pair of twenties for a tip, I decided that I couldn't stay in my house alone, at least not the first night. As Hank was backing his white work truck out of my drive, I dialed.

"This is Bryn," he said by way of answer.

"Bryn," I began, my facing heating. "My door is fixed but... would you mind staying with me this first night?" I asked sheepishly. Coward, my mind whispered. "I have an extra bedroom, so you won't have to sleep on the couch," I offered, trying to sweeten the deal.

"Why don't you stay at my place?"

"Because I need to get used to sleeping in my own house again, but... I'm nervous, that's all. I haven't seen Hayden in the last couple of days, but I can feel him watching me."

He was silent for a moment, so long that I thought he was going to tell me grow a spine. "Okay, sure. I'll see you there about six. I'll bring your stuff."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks Bryn."

"See you in a couple of hours," he said before hanging up the phone.

Instead of trying to pace a hole in Bryn's carpet, I was trying to wear a rut in my hardwoods as I waited the two hours for Bryn to arrive. If I wasn't in the kitchen preparing our meal, I paced, fretted, and tightened my ponytail. While waiting for him to arrive, I realized that Bryn's apartment was on the second floor, where with my single-story house, someone could easily crawl through the windows if they failed to get through the door. The realization only made my nervousness worse.

Jesus! Get a grip, woman! I kept telling myself I was overreacting, that I was at least as safe now as I was before the break-in, but despite my words of encouragement to myself, I felt slightly ill at the idea of sleeping alone. I was forcing myself to sit on my couch and not pace, but I was staring at the blank television as my mind whirled in ever tighter circles.

When I heard the distinctive growl of Bryn's Subaru, I leapt from the couch and hurried to the large front window, the tension flowing out of me like water from a broken dam as I watched him pull my suitcase, a hanger with pants and a shirt on it, and a plastic grocery bag from the trunk of his car. I smiled and opened the door as he approached.

"Thank you so much for doing this for me," I babbled as he entered.

He placed my suitcase and the bag on the floor and quickly glanced over the door, holding his hanger over his shoulder. "Looks good. A coat of paint and you'd never know anything had happened to it."

"Yeah. Project for this weekend."

"Want some help?"

"You're offering to help me paint my door?" I asked, fighting the smile that tried to appear on my lips.

He grinned. "Sure. I don't have anything else to do, and you're providing the pizza, right?"

"Pizza and Dew it is."

"Then I'll be here." He paused as he sniffed at the air. "What's that? It smells wonderful."

Now I did smile. "Blackened pork chops with bacon and blue cheese, cheese grits, and garlic mashed potatoes. I figured the least I could do was feed you after begging for you to come stay with me."

He inhaled deeply and grinned. "You didn't have to do that, but I'm glad you did. I can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal. Years maybe."

"You don't cook?" I asked.

"Not like that. I'll throw something in the oven or microwave, but that's about it."

After I dropped my suitcase on my bed, and Bryn tossed the bag of underwear and toiletries on the guest bed and hung his clothes on the doorknob, I returned the kitchen, Bryn trailing behind me.

"Do you like tea? Sorry, but I don't have any Mountain Dews."

He bobbed his head once as he propped against the counter. "Tea's fine."

"Sweetened, right?"

"This is Savannah isn't it?"

I snickered. "Right. Stupid question."

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked as I moved about the kitchen.

"You're doing it."

"What? Holding this cabinet up?"

"Being here. Talking to me."

"It's going to be okay, Reagan," he said slowly, his voice soft and comforting.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice as soft as his.

"Trust me. I've been dealing with Hayden's my entire life. They like to act tough, but they're nothing but cowards inside."

"I hope you're right."

He nodded. "I am. He probably did this because of me."

"You?" I asked, my voice lilting up with my surprise. "Why?"

"By telling him to back the fuck off or he'd regret it outside my apartment the other day. He couldn't let that slide, but he's too much of a chickenshit to come straight at me, so he slit of tires on your car and broke the door on your house. Now he thinks we're even." He shrugged.

"I hope you're right," I repeated.

"I am."

He didn't know Hayden like I did, though he had him pegged with reasonable accuracy. Hayden might be a coward on the inside, but on the outside he was a blowhard, a bully, and vindictive as hell. Worse, he nursed grudges. Even after three years he still hadn't gotten over Kevin becoming vice-president, and later, being chucked out of the Knights onto his ass.

The conversation moved on to more pleasant things. I felt better with Bryn staying the night with me, but in the back of my mind still lurked the dread. I wasn't ready to have Bryn move in with me, but I also wasn't looking forward to spending my first night alone either.