Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (17 page)

“And he can send me to a rendezvous with a UFO, right?”

Sebastian’s comment cut deep and told her that there’d be no persuading him. “I can’t help you find my father, because I have no idea where he is. Just let us disappear. Please.”

“I can’t do that.” A pulse was visible, pumping at his temple. His eyes traced her cheekbones and hovered on her lips before finding her eyes again.

“Please let us leave,” she said, “Whoever sent those men won’t stop trying, and, if this morning doesn’t make you pause, I’m going to spell it out for you.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You can’t keep us safe.”

He looked at where her finger was pressing into his chest, arched an eyebrow, and chuckled, as he refocused his attention on her eyes.

She had to fight to keep herself from reaching down, slipping off the half boot, and pounding the wooden heel into his thick head. She’d do it, if she thought she could get away with it. There was no way, though. He was too fast. “I don’t care how good of a private investigator you are. You’re not good enough.”

“I’m not sure what your idea of safe is,” he frowned, “but in my world, this morning was pretty damn successful. You weren’t kidnapped, you’re not dead, and the bad guys are.”

“You live in one screwy world-”

“No, I live in the real one. Not the pretend world of pretty coffee shops and cakes with weird-as-shit icing.”

She drew a deep breath. “Are you always this much of a pig-headed jerk?”

“Always. Especially when someone is questioning my capabilities. Pretty soon you’ll be with the marshals. They’re experts at protecting people and they’re damn good at what they do. Under the circumstances, you need to talk to them, you’ll be safe with them, and once I get you to them, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Dumping us on the marshals sounds like a brilliant move on your part. In the SUV, on the way here, you accused them of having a leak. That doesn’t sound so safe to me,” she paused, realized that she wasn’t above begging, and went for it. “Please. Just let us leave.”

“The marshals know how to close the circle on people with knowledge of a safe house. My job is to find your father. That’s it. Now finding your father includes getting you and your sister safely to the marshals, and I’m not about to screw that up by letting you disappear, no matter how many times you say please.” He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out an old-fashioned flip phone, and handed it to her. It felt like gold in her hands. “If you don’t want to listen to me, listen to your lawyer. She’s called three senators on the Bureau of Prisons Committee, who have in turn leaned on the marshals, who are now insisting that she talk to you.” He touched a button on his watchband. “Ragno. Put Root through now. Give the conversation two minutes, max.”

The phone’s ring sent shivers through her. “Aunt Jen?”

“Skye,” Jen answered. Skye almost sobbed when she heard the familiar voice. “Thank God. Are you and Spring okay?”

Jen had been her mother and father’s best friend and, until she and Spring had changed identities, had been a constant, steadying presence in their world. After her mother’s death, Jen had been like a surrogate mother to both girls. Given her father’s absent-minded preoccupation with work, his typical, convoluted thought processes, and his paranoia, Jen had often been the only well-grounded, steadying force in their chaotic life.

Breaking contact with Jen had been one of the most difficult things that she’d done when she became Chloe Stewart. Her father had insisted it was necessary. Skye had no idea what Jen knew—if anything—regarding the cataclysm scenario.

“Yes,” she said, bringing her up to speed on Spring’s condition. Without pausing for a breath, she said, “What’s happening to Dad?”

“I don’t know. It looks like he just walked out of prison. With six others. There was a glitch in the security system, electricity went out, and they left,” she said. “As far as I can tell, no one has any idea where he is.”

Skye glanced at Sebastian. “Would you please tell this private investigator to let me leave? He has no authority to hold me against my—”

“Private investigator?”

“Yes. He’s acting like he’s got authority to detain—”

“Connelly’s not just a private investigator. His company is elite, with worldwide presence. Fortune 500 companies hire him. Government officials hire Black Raven, and, in this matter, he’s got the authority of the marshals behind him. Connelly is taking you to a safe house. You have to go, and you need to cooperate with the marshals when you get there. Tell them everything you know.”

“Dad never would have escaped. He wanted to serve his time and get out of there.”

“I know and if someone kidnapped him, the marshals and Connelly will figure that out as well. You’re not safe on your own. Do you understand? Cooperate with Connelly and the marshals. Connelly is the best at what he does. You’ll be safe.”

As she broke the connection, Sebastian plucked the phone out of her hand. “When we walk back in the room, ask your sister to take off her belt, and hand it to me.”

She thought about telling him no.

A hard, blue-eyed glance told her he easily read her mind. “I’ll do it myself, if you won’t.”

She couldn’t do that to Spring. They returned to the room, Skye plastered an easy, calm expression onto her face, and persuaded Spring to hand her the belt. When she did, Skye passed it to Sebastian.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said. He was a large, powerhouse of a man, with broad shoulders and long, muscular limbs, but he knew how to make his body less intimidating. He bent to one knee so he was eye level with Spring, who now had Candy on the couch and who was holding onto the dog for dear life. He touched her shoulder with his right hand, a touch that looked reassuring and gentle. “I’ll keep this safe for you. We need to make sure that everything you and your sister wear is new, OK?”

That made no damn sense without more of an explanation, but Spring fell for his easy, good-looking brand of sincerity. She gave him a nod and a half smile, and said, “Can we go home now?”

Skye thought his smile faltered, but, if it did, it was only a passing thing. “Not right away. I need to take you and your sister somewhere else first. There are men who need to ask your sister some questions. You two will be safe there for a couple of nights.” Skye’s heart pounded.
No way. No. Not going to happen.
“Is that ok with you?”

“You’ll be with us?”

He glanced at Skye. Dear God, the man had the most expressive eyes she’d ever seen, and now he wasn’t being a jerk or a hard-ass or anything but a nice guy, who Spring had managed to capture with her sweetness. Without a word, his eyes said he hated to disappoint Spring and he also wasn’t enjoying lying to her. “I’ll stay as long as I can. Once your sister talks to those men, and once we’re sure that you two will be safe, you and your sister can go home.”

He stood. Nice guy gone, replaced with cool, matter-of-fact efficiency. “Cavanaugh says if all goes well, we’ll be leaving around six. You and Spring will be at the safe house at least until we find your father, debrief him, and figure out who the kidnappers were. At this point, I have no idea how long that could take. Assume you’ll be there at least a few nights and days. Put together a list of things you guys need and hand it to Pete. We’ll make sure the things are there.”

As he opened the door to step out, she said, “You said you were just a private investigator.”

“No. You said that,” he gave her a half smile, “right after you called me a dumb ass. Labels don’t mean much in my world. Results matter more. Besides,” he shrugged, “I am a private investigator.”

When the door was almost shut, she mumbled, “And you’re way, way too cocky.”

He opened the door, leaning into the room. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes serious, “Just cocky enough to keep you alive, Miss Barrows.”

By nine p.m., they were a forty-minute drive from Atlanta and the private airport, where they had landed in Raven One. He’d sent the jet and crew away. He and Pete would drive to Jackson, once the sisters were in the safe house. At night, he estimated that the drive would take less than three hours, since they were already heading West, in the direction of Jackson, Mississippi. Sebastian was fielding phone calls, talking to Ragno, and assessing the sprawling neighborhood where 211 Orchid Street—the safe house—was located. Pete was driving an SUV that the Black Raven logistics division had sent to meet them. The sisters and the dog were in the back seat. At her request, he’d given Skye a couple of inches of a crack in her window.

The neighborhood resembled Anywhere, U.S.A. The village-style shopping and residential area had manicured green spaces. Some homes were townhouse-style, others were single-family homes, with five-story condominium buildings strategically placed throughout the neighborhood. The floor level of each taller building had coffee shops, restaurants, dry cleaners, and other businesses. The neighborhood was well-lit and filled with both pedestrians and vehicles. Nobody would notice or care what went on inside the safe house.

A vague sense of unease made Sebastian’s vision super-sharp, his senses heightened. Everything looked right. Adults. Kids. Traffic congestion. The safe house was a red-brick, two-story, single-family home with drawn drapes, an attached garage, and a driveway of pale pink pavers. It looked normal. “Drive around for ten minutes.”

Pete glanced his way, his eyes serious, then guided the vehicle past their destination. Safe-house deliveries were just part of the job of a private security contractor, something he and his agents had done more times than he could count. Before July, when the head injury had temporarily sidelined him from high intensity international work, he had frequently handled high-profile deliveries in war zones as a way of staying in touch with fieldwork and his agents. This was just a transport. Safely deposit the client to the delivery point and move on. Sniper fire and improvised explosive devices were typical concerns in the Middle East. These concerns didn’t seem relevant in this generic neighborhood.

After this morning’s kidnapping attempt, though, Sebastian was on guard. He and Pete weren’t alone. Two Black Raven agents were inside with two marshals. He’d noticed a tail vehicle, about a half-mile away, with two more Black Raven agents. They were following, but not obviously. He doubted that Skye had noticed them.

When his eyes weren’t trained on his iPad and information that Ragno sent to him, or scanning the neighborhood, he kept an eye on their passengers by glancing into the passenger sun visor mirror, which he’d angled so it was trained on Skye. Child security locks were engaged on the windows and doors. Spring leaned against Skye, her head on her sister’s shoulder, dozing on and off. His eyes locked on big sis’s serious eyes, which, in the incandescent glow from streetlights, matched her smoky-gray sweater.

She was alert, and, for the most part, watching him watching her. Wary. Scared. Fidgety. Irritated as hell, too. What got to him more than the anxious, trapped look she had when her sibling dozed, was the calm mask Skye managed to wear when Spring was awake. He admired the effort she made for her sister. He didn’t doubt Skye was listening to every word he said as he talked on the phone, but there was nothing to be done about that.

Damn.
It would have been easier to fight gravity than the pull of Skye’s eyes.

Over the course of the day, watching her had become a thing. She was decisive, even when her plan wasn’t well-thought-out.
Bribing the nurse?
Brilliant, but stupid. Another contradictory move on her part. It was never going to work. Not in Cavanaugh’s hospital. Cavanaugh had laughed, and so had Sebastian. Sebastian had only acted pissed with Skye. Over the course of his career, he’d had all kinds of clients. He never felt an emotional pull with the people who were in his protection, no matter how beautiful. Work was work. That’s all it was.

It was also hard to remember impartiality when Spring handed him three coconut-flavored jellybeans. She’d done that five times since leaving the hospital. Each time he’d asked for red, but she said ‘
no’
, with the prettiest, sweetest damn smile that had ever accompanied the word. Even more fun than interacting with Spring had been watching Skye get more and more irritated with the game he played with her sister.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Games for him normally involved guns and physical combat. Not jellybeans and innocent smiles. He blamed his weakness for Skye and Spring on his July head injury. Nothing had been the same since. He’d awakened from the two-week coma feeling…different. Everything that had once been right was wrong, and he’d yet to shake the changes. The constant headaches he could live with. The suck ass feeling that everything was wrong had to go. It was more than general dissatisfaction. More than a depression. His entire life felt off course, when before it was perfect.

Today was just another day when he didn’t feel right, and his inability to stop thinking about Skye’s high cheekbones, or the bare-breasted bikini shot he’d gotten a glimpse of more than twelve hours earlier, or the absolute wonder of innocence that was Spring, was now another problem on the shit-pile. Thankfully, this one was going away soon. Once he had them deposited in the safe house, he’d leave them in the rearview mirror.

Pete had driven a circuitous route for fifteen minutes without incident, but Sebastian still felt a persistent sense of something not quite right.

“We’re good?” Pete asked quietly.

“Yeah. Go back.” They couldn’t drive around all night because he had a ‘feeling’. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a power bar that he had no appetite for, opened the wrapping, and bit into the nuts and raisins. He’d eaten a sandwich on the plane and some pretzels, but that had been a couple of hours ago. Instinct told him the night was going to be long, and he needed fuel. He had places to go and other things to do, and the sisters needed to be settled. He needed to end his babysitting duties and keep looking for good old Daddy.

“Skye,” he met her misty eyes in the mirror. Immediately alert, she held his gaze. “We’re almost there. Follow my directions and don’t try anything stupid. Let these people do their job, which is protecting you guys. Understand?”

She nodded.

The lack of a smart retort caught his attention. He turned to glance into the back seat and took in the calm, serene expression on her face. He didn’t believe for one goddamn second that she had any intention of listening to any instructions he gave.

During the day, he’d lost track of the number of times she’d glanced at her watch. It was too often to be a nervous tick. She had demonstrated a tendency to lie, fight, and try to run, so he had to consider her a wild card in a delivery that was otherwise under control.

He’d learned all kinds of things in life and on the job. One guiding principle was that the demons within a person were sometimes as much of a security risk as the external forces the person was worried about. Black Raven could protect people from external sources. It was a damn hard job to protect people from the demons within, and sometimes it just couldn’t be done.

Fear was Skye’s demon and she had made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t revealing to him the source. Perhaps she was as crazy as her father. He didn’t give a damn. He was just a few minutes from being rid of her. Lucky for him, the sweet, blue-eyed baggage that was Spring was keeping the impulsive-chameleon that was Skye in check.

Everything else related to the prison break had spiraled into the basement of hell. Right before they left the hospital at 6 p.m., Sebastian had learned from Minero that the search for Biondo had uncovered a murder victim in Jackson, Mississippi. Unfortunately, the victim wasn’t Biondo himself. He’d heard from his agents that local media was clamoring for news, and national media outlets were arriving in Jackson. A press conference was scheduled for 9:30. Reports of the prison break were going to be plastered across the nightly news. Black Raven wasn’t likely to be given a spot at the podium, but, in case pigs flew, Sebastian sent a Raven media specialist there. The only likely thing his company could do was watch as fingers were pointed at them.

They were one house away from the safe house when Ragno said in his ear, “Minero’s calling in.”

“Pete. Do another loop around the neighborhood.” Pete accelerated. “Put him through.”

Minero had detoured to Jackson, and there was no telling when he’d be at the safe house. Two marshals–Philip Manckie and John Stamfield—were at the house with his agents. Sebastian had communicated with both teams on the premises. Once the sisters were safe inside, he’d head to Jackson.

“Where the hell are you?” Over the course of the day, Minero’s tone had become increasingly irritated. Whatever coolness the man had possessed in the beginning of the prison break was now gone. “You said you’d be at the safe house at 7.”

“Standard operation for safe house deliveries. I don’t know how marshals do it, but Black Raven doesn’t accurately give arrival time.”

“Not even to the agents who are in charge of the safe house? What kind of fucked up world do you operate in? Manckie and Stamfield have been waiting for you for two hours.”

“What the hell else are they supposed to be doing? Safe houses are all about waiting, for crapsake.”

Pete turned off of Orchid and onto Wisteria Street. Jesus. All the streets looked alike.

“Not the point,” Minero said, voice testy.

Instead of asking the marshal, ‘
What the fuck was the point?’
Sebastian exercised restraint. “What’s the news from Jackson?”

“The murder victim was a witness in Biondo’s trial.”

“Fuck me,” Sebastian muttered, as he focused on what he knew about Vincent Biondo. Convicted of tax evasion, wire fraud, and money laundering. Biondo had been the brains behind an illegal gambling ring that had operated out of Jackson, Mississippi, for years. Co-conspirators had testified against Biondo in exchange for lenient sentences. Biondo had a twelve-year sentence and had served seven. “Biondo was convicted of economic crimes. Not violent offenses.”

“I know,” Minero said. “He was considered low risk for violent offenses, but his organization was tied to violent offenders.”

As Pete turned back onto Orchid Street, Sebastian eyed a security camera on the entrance of a coffee shop, half a mile from the safe house. “Any evidence indicating that Biondo was the killer?”

“His prints are all over the place. Biondo developed a mean streak while in prison. He killed this guy by slicing his carotid. Left a note. A warning to the other witnesses. Written in this guy’s blood. Now I’m spreading resources and managing protection efforts. I have to assume that if Biondo went after one of his witnesses, he’s going to go after the others. Including today’s murder victim, eight witnesses provided significant testimony against Biondo. I’m sending agents to Jackson, New Orleans, Tampa, and points in between.”

With Biondo a bigger threat, fewer agents would be focused on Barrows and his girls, who had now dropped a notch on Minero’s priority list. Sebastian flashed back to the cold, calculating manner of the kidnapping he had foiled. Low priority status for Skye and Spring bugged the hell out of him. “The timing of the Biondo kill isn’t relevant only to Biondo’s escape. It’s relevant to whatever else has happened since the escape.”

“What do you mean?” Minero asked.

“Biondo’s been out for four days, and you just found the victim.”

“That’s right,” Minero said. “The murder happened sometime after twelve. That’s when the victim was last seen.”

“Why do you think it took Biondo four days to kill the guy?” Sebastian asked, as Pete stopped at a stop sign.

“Hell if I know,” Minero answered, “but it’s logical that it would. After all, Biondo had to get to Jackson, acquire a weapon, and strategize.”

“Right. But it happened today, after the kidnappers didn’t get Barrows’ daughters.”

“What’s your point?”

“The fact that the killing has made you focus more on Biondo and not Barrows could be damn convenient to someone.”

“Well it might be convenient to someone, but for now, that’s reality. When are you arriving in Jackson?”

“Heading there as soon as the sisters are safely inside.”

“Good,” Minero said. “Because your agents don’t always grasp the fact that I’m at the top of this hierarchy.”

“My people answer to me.”

“Yeah, but you answer to me,” Minero snapped.

Fuck
. “Nothing in my contract spelled that out.” That much was true, because the contract hadn’t contemplated such a colossal fuck-up. “I’m working with you, and so are my agents.”

No response.

Ragno said, “He hung up on you. Maturity level? I’d say questionable.”

“Great.” He drew a deep breath and shrugged off his frustration. Pete had driven in a one-mile loop. They were three blocks away from the safe house. He gave Pete a signal with his index finger and a nod. “It’s a go. Ragno. Put me through to the inside.”

“Here you go.”

In a second, the phone clicked. “Agent Lewis.”

“We’re about 200 yards from the driveway.”