Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (25 page)

She glanced at the other queen-size bed that was in the room, and, although the crisp white linens looked inviting, getting in the bed would be pointless. She needed fresh air so she could calm herself and try to think of what she should do next. She needed help, and there was only one person she trusted enough to ask for assistance. Problem was, she had no phone and she didn’t know if a phone would help her, because Jen was now on Sebastian’s suspect list and, according to Sebastian, missing.

Her heart pounded as she realized she had no hope. No one to call. No hope for help. Like Sebastian had snapped earlier, when they’d been in the driveway and she had wanted medical help for Daniel and Sarah, there was no help. He was all the help that was coming. Dear God. If he was it, there was really no way out.

Fresh air.

She needed, at the very least, fresh air, because she couldn’t breathe.

She tried a window in Spring’s bedroom. It didn’t open, even with the locks unlocked. She went into the adjoining bathroom, where there were no windows. Candy followed her, as though sensing her tension and trying to soothe it. The adjoining bedroom had two windows. They didn’t open either.

She went down the hallway to the living room. While agents had accompanied them into the second floor living space, it was now empty and quiet. Light linen drapes covered large plate-glass windows. The windows didn’t open, and as she stared out one of them, she paused. The other windows had looked out on darkness, and so did these. The bright, soft lights of the living room were reflected too cleanly.

As she got closer, she realized the windows were fake. She’d been thrown off because it was dark outside, but closer inspection told her that the windows didn’t look out on anything but a wall. Outside air was only a remote hope.

No.

Please. Not one more thing could go wrong today. All she wanted was an open window and a breath of fresh, sweet air.

The kitchen was on one side of the living room and, when facing the kitchen, to the left of it, there was a dining area with a sisal area rug and a long, rectangular dining table. The table was rustic, made of wide, distressed planks of wood, with the side closest to the kitchen having a backless bench instead of chairs. Behind the table, there was a row of six tall, narrow windows that were covered in white linen shades. She ran there, yanked on a cord to lift one of the shades, and tried to push up the window as she realized she was staring at a reflection not only of herself, but also of Sebastian. He had suddenly appeared and was standing just a foot or so behind her.

She spun around. Barefoot, he wore jeans and an untucked white t-shirt with a Black Raven logo on the left side of his chest. “None of the windows will open,” he said, “Actually, they’re not even windows. They’re just there to make the place seem like a house.”

His hair was damp and there was a fresh bandage on his arm. Clean skin glistened, but he hadn’t been able to wash away the bruise on his jaw or the serious look in his eyes that revealed just how crappy the day had been for him, too. Even the soapy-fresh scent that emanated from him was cloying. Overpowering. She preferred his natural woodsy smell, but now, even that would be too much. Anything but fresh, outside air was going to be too much.

“I need fresh air.”

“There’s plenty of it in here,” his eyes searched hers, “The filtration system is sophisticated. Where’s Spring?”

“Sleeping.”

“Good. Doctor Schilling said everything seems to be okay with her. You agree?”

Skye glanced at her watch. “Yes. I’ll wake her at four to check.” He was only an arms length from her, studying her. His eyes were probing and serious and concerned, as though he knew that she was at the end of her freaking rope. The very end. He was right.

“By morning the agents will have gathered everything that was on the grocery list that you gave me for the marshals’ safe house. It should all be here by the time Spring awakens,” he said. “I’m also going to be leaving, right after your interview with the marshals. I assume you won’t give the marshals any more than you’ve given me?”

She didn’t bother answering. She had more immediate things to worry about than an eight a.m. conference call.
Like trying to breathe and squelching the panic attack that is bubbling up from my toes.

“After I leave, Dr. Schilling and Agent Reiss will be your main contacts, while you and Spring are here, but any of the agents can help you with anything. If you change your mind about talking-”

She stared at him as his words trailed off.
Leave,
she thought.
Please leave now
. She needed to concentrate on breathing and not panicking, and with him standing there she was having a hard time focusing on either objective. He gave her a few seconds of arched-eyebrow silence.

“That’s what I figured,” he frowned. “You know, anything would be helpful at this point. We’ve got information overload, and none of it is adding up to helpful knowledge. It’s just me and you now.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not mic’d. Ragno’s sleeping for an hour or so. It occurred to me that part of the problem with you talking might have been the broadcast system I was using. Do you want to talk, my ears only?”

No. Stunning as it was to look at, she wasn’t falling for his blue-eyed brand of sincerity. If cataclysm was in play, it meant that she had to go straight to the top, and last she checked, the person at the top of the hierarchy was not a private security contractor named Sebastian Connelly.

“Well, if you change your mind after I leave in the morning, any of my agents can find me in just a few minutes, if there’s anything you want to tell me. You’ll be safe with us, until we can figure this out. Is there anything else you might need? Anything that wasn’t on that list?”

“Outside air. I need,” she paused, giving into weakness, and worse, letting him see her beg. “I need to know that I can get out. I feel trapped.”

He touched her shoulder. His light touch carried reassurance and strength. She could have fallen into his arms, because she felt like she was spinning out of control, and he was nothing if not a solid pillar of strength. But while his touch was giving, his eyes were hard. Security and reassurance were just his job, and he was doing his job well. Instead of getting closer to him, she reached down to pat the scruff of Candy’s neck, trying to find comfort there.

“You’re not trapped,” he said, as his hand fell away from her shoulder. “You’re in a safe house, and when I say safe house, I mean it. You’re here for protection, and we take that seriously. The house isn’t only bullet-proof, it’s air-sealed. Chemical agents in the ventilation system? Infiltration from the air? Helicopter invasion? We have weapons on site that will blow airborne invaders out of the sky. Fire flush out?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen. Run through a list of possible ways those sadistic fuckers could get to you, and make you step one foot out of here, and you’ll find that we’ve covered every contingency. After all that happened to you today,” he paused, “yesterday now, I’d think you’d be thrilled to be here. You’ve got to be exhausted. I’m surprised you’re not already asleep.”

She crossed the kitchen, went to the water bowl that had been set out for Candy, lifted it, and turned to the sink to fill it with water. Once it was full, she knelt on the ground with it, carefully setting it on the flagstone floor of the kitchen. She didn’t really care whether the water spilled, but she cared whether he was going to see that tears were filling her eyes. She turned from his matter-of-fact reality and closer to Candy and the soft, warm, canine comfort that she offered through the soulful brown eyes that were focused on her, as though the dog sensed her distress.

“But you don’t understand,” she managed to say without her voice breaking, “I’m claustrophobic. If I don’t have fresh air-”

“I do understand,” he interrupted. “I know that about you and I’ve watched you all day. You haven’t once gotten in a car without lowering a window. You crave fresh air. Claustrophobia sucks, and, your actions, and the medical records that we’ve accessed, tell me that you’ve got a dose of it,” he shook his head. “You were trapped in the car after your accident in the Keys, and it took them hours to cut you out of it. So you probably have a bit of post-traumatic stress on top of it. I’m sorry, Skye, but there are no windows here to open. You’re in a safe place. Spring’s here, and she’s safe.”

“I have to go for a walk,” she said, still on her knees, holding her breath, and trying like hell not to allow tears to spill. Anger seeped into her misery at his reminder that they had hacked into her medical records. Candy whimpered and gave a soft lick on her cheek, trying to make her feel better.

The canine empathy was Skye’s undoing. She sat down hard on the flagstone floor, not caring that he was watching. She’d been brave all day, but that was due, primarily, to wanting to keep Spring calm. Now, all the feelings she had repressed sizzled through her, reducing her to a heap of anger and fatigue and misery.

“Please. I just need to,” she pulled Candy close, and buried her head deep into Candy’s fur, barely managing to keep tears at bay. “I just need to go outside.” She never cried and she certainly didn’t want to do it in front of him. “I need to be outdoors.”

Sebastian was silent. She wished like hell he had walked away and she simply hadn’t heard his footsteps because he was barefoot. She looked up. No. Not one tiny bit of luck was headed her way. He stood just a few inches from her, towering over her, and there wasn’t any sympathy in his frown and hard gaze.

“I wish I had something better to tell you, but from my perspective, you just lived through the beginning, cause we have no idea where your father might be, or who these men are. You thought today sucked? You think this place is a nightmare, because it doesn’t have windows you can open?”

He shook his head. “Sweetheart, your nightmare has just started. Unless you can help me figure a way out of this mess, unless you start telling me everything you know about your father and his business, unless you tell me where you’re so hell-bent on running to, and why, this isn’t ending. Help your father and yourself by talking to me, because otherwise, welcome to lather, rinse, repeat, and get ready for the same fucked-up shit tomorrow.”

With his harsh words, anger won over pathetic tears. Driven by fury-filled adrenaline, she shot off the floor with her hands clenched into fists. Without hesitation she started punching his chest. “How.” Left jab. “Dare.” Right jab. “You!”

Each punch into his hard ribcage only brought the desire for another hit. He didn’t try to stop her. She didn’t care about anything, except right, left, right. She tried to imagine her fists going through his dense chest. He didn’t flinch, nor did he try to keep her from pummeling him. With his jaw clenched, concerned eyes looked at her. Skye kept going until her knuckles hurt, until her arms were tired, until she wasn’t an arm’s length from him but much, much closer. Her hits became less of a flat-knuckled punch and more of a hammer-fisted, soft futile blow.

She didn’t stop, until his arms were around her and he had pulled her so close there was barely room for her to move. His arms around her brought warm, reassuring comfort. Deep, deep gulps of air were only the prelude to harsh sobs, as she finally broke down and cried, without reservation, into the comforting cocoon between his arms and his chest. “I,” she gasped for air and sobbed harder, “never,” she managed to say, “cry. N-never.”

“I know that about you, too. It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

She slipped one arm over his shoulder and the right one around his waist. She held onto him for dear life, as she pressed her face against his chest and cried. Time stopped. Or maybe it raced. She didn’t really know or care.

“Let it go. You’re okay,” he mumbled, his lips touching the crown of her head.

After long, long minutes of uncontrollable sobs, her tears slowed to shaky breaths and annoying sniffs. She could inhale again, because in his arms, being stuck inside a fake house with no windows felt tolerable. With his strong arms holding her close, the weight of her father’s world seemed bearable.

As her misery dissipated, her body came up with a spark of an idea that had nothing to do with going outside and getting a breath of fresh air. Evidently, his body was thinking along the same lines, because there was now something between them that unmistakably spelled desire. She had no intention of letting Sebastian release her, and by the size of his erection, obvious through his jeans as it pressed into her belly, she’d bet that he didn’t want to let her go either.

“Better?” he asked, breath almost as ragged as her own as she turned her face up and gazed into his serious eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his lips drawn together. The only motion was their breathing.

She nodded. “Don’t let me go.”

He didn’t let her go, but his arms loosened. He shook his head. “Bad idea. Really bad.”

“I bet you’ve had worse,” she said. “Please hold me.” She hated to beg, but she’d been begging him all day to let her leave. What she was begging for now seemed minor in comparison, and the fact that she was pleading for it from him showed her just how upside down her world had become.

“Problem is, I don’t just want to hold you.”

She pressed her hips closer to his, almost panting as she felt the rock-solid shape of his penis against the soft flesh of her belly. He tightened his arms on her and drew a deep breath. “Not a newsflash. And if you think I’m only asking you to hold me,” she whispered, “I need to do a better job of communicating.”