Knightshade

Paladin paused in the anteroom. There was something that Vermain wasn’t telling him — he just knew it. Nobody circumvented heavy security for a lark. Whoever had, wanted to make the honest businessman sweat, and that was personal.

The woman who’d been with Vermain when he’d gone in was sat at a desk, talking on the phone in a low voice. She had mousy-brown hair and wore thick spectacles, the tweed skirt suit far too old considering she was mid-forties. Or so he estimated.

“Hi,” he said, lathering on the charm. She looked up, blinked, and then flushed. “Name’s Paladin.”

A small smile flickered. “Yes, I know who you are. I’m Miss Wells, Mr Vermain’s personal… everything.”

“I saw you in his office.”

“I’m trying to find out if we have footage of the break-in. Probably not, but it’s what I’m paid to do.” She looked down. “I know what you’re paid for, as well.”

“You don’t approve?”

She shrugged. “The Met have been worse than useless. Our own resources haven’t turned up a damn thing. I guess we need a-a, um, consultant.”

Paladin barked a laugh. “Consultant. I’m putting that on my business card.”

Her gaze raked his body. “And just where do you keep those?”

Ooh, the little minx. He grinned, and she seemed to remember she was supposed to be a staid and proper lady. She coloured, coughed, and fumbled with the paperwork on her desk. Paladin knew a pretence when he saw one. She was more intelligent than she tended to let on, but why hide that? Maybe Vermain preferred his everything to be dull, in all senses of the word.

Paladin liked intelligent women. He liked mysterious ones more, and Miss Wells was definitely a mystery.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, if you wanted? Dinner, perhaps?”

“I’m busy.”

“All the time?”

Her glance was cool. “Yes.”

“Don’t date superheroes?”

She scoffed. “I can read, Paladin. I know what the newspapers say about you and the word ‘superhero’ isn’t mentioned.”

Ouch, burn. “I’m misunderstood.”

“I’m sure. Go and find Mr Vermain’s… whatever. It’d be nice to put an end to all this — he’s like a bear with a sore head lately and I’m tired of treading on egg shells.”

Paladin gave her a sloppy salute. She rolled her eyes. Still, when he looked back, just before leaving, there was a smile on her face. As if she’d enjoyed their little tête a tête. He grinned to himself and swung out onto the street and the grey day. At least the rain had stopped.

As he walked back to the hotel, he considered how to catch Vermain’s tormentor. There was so little information to go on. What would his next move be, if it was him haunting the man? The office had been struck twice, suggesting that to be the source of ire, so how to escalate that? Paladin supposed that it would be a visit to his home address. A place that Vermain undoubtedly felt safe. Where he would let his guard down.

Paladin got to his room and changed into civilian clothing. If there was to be a visitation, it would be tonight, which gave him the day to explore London. Do the whole tourist shebang on someone else’s dime.

When he walked the streets as Paladin, he got everyone’s attention. Without the suit, though, no one gave him a second look… and that was just how he liked it.

---

It was, Paladin decided, far too easy to learn where a multi-millionaire lived. He logged out of the computer and left the library. Dusk darkened London’s streets, though the rain had finally stopped and a crescent moon ghosted between the passing clouds.

He went to the hotel and ordered room service, just a light meal of chicken pasta with a side salad. The room’s mini fridge held mini bottles of alcohol, which was tempting, but he knew better than to drink before a job. They would be there later, when it came to toast his success… or mourn his failure.

Not that he’d fail if he came up against Vindicta — he called them that as he’d nothing better — it was more whether or not they showed up. He had thought of Vindicta as him a couple of times, but it could just as easily be a woman these days. While he was all for female empowerment, he’d rather not have to fight one. His momma had raised him better than that.

Paladin changed into his suit and checked his weapons. Everything was charged or locked and loaded. He didn’t kill unless he really needed to — if it was between his life or his opponent. Plus, he was very curious as to what Vindicta had against Vermain, and he wasn’t saying. There was something. A person did not break into an office, bypassing all manner of security, if they weren’t pissed off about something. Maybe Vermain had cheated at cards. Who knew? Only Vindicta, so he planned a non-lethal capture in order to find out.

The taxi dropped him off half a block from Vermain’s house. Strike that — Vermain’s mansion. Most of that block was taken up with the place’s expansive garden, just visible behind a shoulder-high wall topped with iron grating. The transient moonlight picked out weird looking marble sculptures and glittered in the spray of water from a fountain which featured three well-endowed mermaids. Paladin was fairly sure that, in this case, what glittered was very much gold.

There was gold on the driveway gates, as well. A stout stone pillar held an intercom which he assumed was for visitors — Vermain no doubt had a remote to open the gates. There were security cameras on either side, and he’d spotted them along the wall. The trouble was, their tracking was obvious once he’d observed them for just over five minutes. He had been able to walk the entire side of the garden undetected just by timing when he moved.

That was bad. Not even the dumbest criminal would miss that trick. Vermain might as well not have cameras at all. He eyed the mansion, Gothic-styled though built from materials that definitely weren’t, not that he knew much about architecture. How many guards did Vermain employ? Were they armed? It would be easy to leave those questions for him in the morning, but Paladin was a hands on, right now sort of man.

He moseyed over to the intercom. There was a keypad as well, with plastic buttons. Worn plastic buttons. Five digits meant over two thousand combinations if one included repetition. But people were forgetful and obvious, and the combination had probably been chosen for something important to Vermain. Not a birthday or anniversary — that would be six digits — so… what?

“I’ve been happily married for twenty years.”

Vermain’s address hadn’t been the only information that Paladin had gleaned off the internet. There had been a glossy article in the archives, covering the big society wedding. Noel Vermain and Lydia. He smirked as he pressed keys; 9, 5, 1, 9, 8, 2. Nothing. Oh, yeah – British. He swapped the month and date, then there was a click and the gates swung open. The security here was fucking dreadful. He might mention it to Vermain. Then again, he might not — he wasn’t being paid to evaluate the security measures.

Paladin’s boots made no noise on the tarmacked driveway. He paused by each ugly statue lining the road, counting off the seconds in his head before moving to the next. Maybe he would report this to Vermain — the ease with which at least the gardens could be infiltrated.

He was halfway down the drive when he caught a shadow in his peripheral vision. His pace hiccuped, but then he remembered the cameras and he stepped behind another statue. He slowed his breath and just listened. The brush of grass was slight enough to be caused by a breeze. He knew it wasn’t.

Yet, just because there was something else in the garden, that didn’t mean it was someone. Could be anything. He couldn’t move too soon and spook it.

Another soft sound. No, those were footsteps. He nodded to himself — he’d been right about Vindicta coming to the house. Lucky that it was tonight, perhaps, though he trusted his instincts. They’d got him out of trouble on more than one occasion.

Into it just as often.

Paladin listened as the footsteps came closer. Whoever it was knew how to move stealthily. Anyone else wouldn’t have heard it — he only did because he had the experience. As soon as they got close enough, he stepped out and tackled the intruder.

He was trained in several martial arts, but Vindicta held their own, even managing to slam a fist into his ribs with enough force to make his vision swim. He struck out, the swipe wild. Desperate. His fist connected with the underside of Vindicta’s helmet. It flew off their head and thumped into the grass a couple of metres away. They whirled to face him with a furious expression on their face.

A face that Paladin recognised. Shock brought him to a sudden stop.

“Miss Wells?”