Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (5 page)

Sebastian was actually looking forward to seeing the transcripts and, one day when he had time, if that ever happened, reading what the brilliant scientist had to say about the Fourth Amendment. The constitutional right protected by the amendment—freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures—was a concept that meant something far different in the digital age than when the country’s forefathers drafted the amendment. In law school, he’d found Fourth Amendment jurisprudence fascinating, and he continued to study it.

Minero added, “Paranoia does strange things to brilliance.”

Sebastian didn’t need or want Minero’s opinion. He wanted the data to form his own. “The transcripts are in electronic files, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The minute they’re released, send them to Ragno.”

“Will do.”

“We’ll see how quickly we get those transcripts,” Ragno said, her tone indicating she wasn’t expecting great speed, as Minero ended the call. “We’ve been asking, and no one is giving. Senator McCollum’s office called while you were on the line with Minero. He wants to talk to you ASAP.”

Robert McCollum, the senior senator from Texas, was the Chairman of the Bureau of Prisons Committee, a joint committee comprised of various senators and representatives. The committee had handled the bidding process through which Black Raven had been hired for the multi-million dollar contract for upgrading security systems at multiple federal prisons.

Pete, who was also mic’d to Sebastian, said, “Two local cops are walking in.”

“Thanks for the heads up. Ragno, call McCollum’s office back,” Sebastian said, glancing at his right hip and making sure his leather jacket was concealing his Glock. The two officers walked into the coffee shop. Early thirties. Fit. Uniform blues. Glocks holstered at their hips. Mace. Stun guns. Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses were on, and weren’t removed until they got to the counter. He didn’t need to worry about them noticing him, because their eyes were only for Skye. He didn’t blame them. If he were a local cop, she’d be on his radar every morning. She welcomed them with a slight smile, one that wasn’t anything like the radiant smile in the photographs he’d seen earlier.

As two more people walked in behind them, her not-quite-full smile faltered. Not exactly what he’d expect of an owner of a brand new business. Interesting. He could tell she wasn’t happy to see the line at the counter. He wasn’t either. He hadn’t flown across the fucking country so he could sit in a coffee shop, watch Skye Barrows pretend to be Chloe-the-barista, think about her in a topless bikini with her arms extended to a clear-blue sky, figure out nothing about where Barrows might be, and have telephone conversations that weren’t bringing him any closer to an answer for the goddamn question of the day.

Ragno said, “Senator McCollum is on the line.”

“Status?” McCollum asked. His curt question was a testament to the hard-ass truism that there was no need to say good morning when there was nothing good about it. Sebastian couldn’t agree more.

“Same as eleven last night when I last spoke to you.”

“Son of a bitch, Connelly. Find Barrows, get his ass back in jail, and do it ASAP. The others on the committee are pushing me to go public with the full circumstances of the jailbreak. I’m doing my best to keep the story under wraps, but it’s getting harder.”

“I’d appreciate a bit more time before this hits the media outlets,” Sebastian said. “Front page news will only turn this into a circus.”

“I’m trying. Embarrassment runs deep, though.” McCollum didn’t have to explain to Sebastian the reasons why, as the fuck-up had occurred under the largest outsourcing contract the Bureau of Prisons had ever executed for jail security. “I had a few allies on this outsourcing effort, but they’re now forgetting they were in my corner. The ones who weren’t in my corner from the beginning are gloating, chomping at the bit for a chance to throw egg in my face. It’s an election year. I have stiff competition. I can’t be tagged as the senator who allowed Richard Barrows to walk out of prison. I don’t want this blemish on my career. I also can’t afford to look like I’m covering up a story. I’m holding them off, but I don’t know how much longer I can give you. Understand?”

“Got it,” he said. He’d worked with McCollum before, on security missions for the man’s oil interests and also on governmental matters. The man was a lifelong, powerful politician, but he’d always shot straight with Sebastian. “Thanks for the warning. Senator, minor issue. I know you made a call the other day on Barrows’ debriefing transcripts.”

“Two days ago.”

“Can you make that call again? Seems like some clerk somewhere isn’t getting the message.”

“Goddamn bureaucracy. Will do.” McCollum ended the call.

Sebastian appreciated the heads up on the media, because no matter how the story was made public, all fingers would point at Black Raven. Even fingers belonging to many of Black Raven’s allies, like Senator McCollum. Until the jailbreak, Black Raven had held the lucrative contract to design and provide automated security systems at twenty federal prisons. No matter what happened, that contract was going to be yanked, and, depending on the political fall out, Black Raven could lose many other government contracts.

He watched Skye hand the cops their coffee. One of them looked at her, let his hand linger on hers as she passed the coffee to him, and then said, loud enough for Sebastian to hear, “Everything okay?”

She froze for a second, before her face transformed with the beautiful smile Sebastian had seen in the photographs. “Yes,” she said, “fine. Just busy, and trying to get Spring to let go of her first cake. I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning?”

He said, “Yes. Same time.”

As soon as the cops turned away, her smile faded. She was faking that smile, and Sebastian wanted to know why. He also wondered what the hell was going on between Skye and the cop. He almost choked with that thought. Damn. Her attractiveness was fucking with his head and that was…weird. He never let attractive women get to him in that way and made it a practice not to be distracted by beauty while on the job.

He stood and approached the counter, as the local cops left. Chloe Stewart was about to become Skye Barrows, and, if she knew anything at all about where her father might be, Sebastian was going to make damn sure she told him what she knew.

Cataclysm. Now. Run.

Skye now hoped to be out the door of the bakery at 7:45, which was fifteen minutes later than the departure time she had planned once she received the message, but given that their dog had almost gotten herself killed, a fifteen-minute deviation from the schedule wasn’t too bad.

Candy was snoozing on the dog bed in the upstairs office, Spring was making sure her cake was perfect, and Skye had guessed that the tall man with the serious, steady gaze wasn’t interested in coffee, muffins, or the ambiance of Creative Confections. The driver of the SUV hadn’t come in, even though she could see through the glass panes of the front door that the tire was changed. Mr. Blue Eyes had eaten two of the three muffins that Sarah had given him and taken a bite out of the third. He talked low. His gaze took in his surroundings, the customers, and her. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, and, although no cell phone was apparent, she guessed that he was on the phone, because he didn’t seem like the crazy type who would talk to himself.

Suddenly, his eyes were on her. His square jaw was set, and as the policemen left, he approached the counter with a steady stride.

“I need to talk to you.” His deep, rich voice was a fit for his large stature and broad shoulders.

Her heart skipped several beats as she absorbed his steady gaze and his somber, dead-serious tone.

No. Not today. She had to run.

When she glanced into his eyes, silently questioning why this man would need to talk to her, and wondering whether she misheard him, he smiled.

Skye had sworn off men two years earlier, just like she’d sworn off so many other things. At first, abstinence had been easy. Now it was damn hard, and she was finally going crazy from it, because this man’s smile was charming and unexpected and made her aware of exactly how long she’d gone without sex.

Even though his face was lean, with slight hollows beneath his high cheekbones, when he smiled deeply, really deeply, dimples appeared in both cheeks. Full lips, with a slight turn-up that made the left side slightly higher than the right, riveted her attention. Clean-shaven, his skin was vibrant, with olive undertones. He lifted his right hand and pressed his right temple, for just a second. His dark brown hair, with a little blonde, was clipped short along the sides and longer on top. He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her, as if his mere words should have galvanized her into action.

“We need to talk. Privately.”

He had the kind of hairstyle that could be smoothed back and look sophisticated, but this morning he hadn’t gone for the polished look. A few pieces fell over his forehead. He captured the wayward strands with his fingers and pushed them back as he returned her stare.

With his action, fear jolted her body. When he had lifted his arm to smooth his hair, his loose-fitting black leather jacket rose with it. After noticing that his close-fitting, simply tailored white button-down shirt revealed a broad chest and a tapered waist, her gaze screeched to a halt on the weapon that was holstered at his waist. Coinciding with his insistence that they talk privately, she realized that his preening was more about revealing the gun than an attempt to straighten his tousled hair.

He had inspired a deep ache for good sex, but that was something she was used to doing without. Danger was not something that she was interested in experiencing. She looked for a way to stall, forced a pleasant-yet-slightly-confused expression on her face, and said, “Excuse me?”

“You don’t want to have this conversation out here,” he said, as two yoga-clothed women made their way to the coffee counter. They waved at another woman, who had snared a seating area near the left fireplace. Skye nodded hello to the two friends, who, in day three of the business, like the cops who had just left, had become regulars. They didn’t seem to notice her. Instead, they were focused on the tall man, whose attention was focused on her.

No shit.
She didn’t want to have a conversation with him anywhere. And she certainly didn’t want to be alone with him. Even in broad daylight. Every instinct screamed at her to grab her sister and run like hell.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Skye said, keeping her tone cool. They hadn’t introduced themselves. She had wondered about his name after she had gotten Spring upstairs. If he had said it, she’d have remembered it. She remembered almost everything, even things she preferred to forget.

“Sebastian,” he said. “Sebastian Connelly.”

“I’m Chloe Stewart,” she said, “and we can talk right here.”

He frowned. He gave her a slight headshake. “Try again. This time with the name you were born with.”

Now he had her attention. His words, coupled with the weapon that was holstered at his hip, jolted her heart as her world shattered.

Run.

Was this why her father had sent the warning?
Him?
This Sebastian Connelly? Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he the reason the cataclysm scenario was in play? No matter what it was, Skye knew instinctually she shouldn’t hang around to find out. Oh God, she had to get away from there.

She drew a deep, deep breath. This couldn’t be happening now. She needed fresh air, so she could think. But there was no time to step outside as the walls started to close in on her. She drew another deep breath and slowed her thoughts, pushing aside her blossoming claustrophobia before it choked her. She focused on the three simple words her father had drilled into her, the reason why she and Spring were in hiding.

Trust no one. No one.

Trust no one.

No one with the government. No one with law enforcement. No one from your past, and no one from your future.

Trust no one
, and that included gorgeous men who carried runaway puppies across the street and were gentle and patient with Spring, when he was the type of guy who didn’t seem like he had the time to pause. Maybe Mr. Blue Eyes was guessing. When in doubt, she had taught herself, say nothing. She stared into his eyes without flinching, wondering,
why him? Why now?

“I’m here to talk about your father,” he added, despite her silence, “and I need to do it now.”

“My father died three years ago.” Skye said the words that she had practiced. The lie came easily, without thought.

Sebastian’s eyes hardened. As the remnants of his charming smile disappeared, her father’s words floated through time, and she could almost hear his voice, deep inside her brain.

Trust no one, and especially trust no one who knows you’re my daughter.

“We both know that isn’t true,” Sebastian said, “and I don’t have time for lies.” He leaned over the display case until he was just inches from her. When he whispered, “Skye. Skye Barrows.” His face was close enough that only she heard him. “You can talk to me in private right now or we can have this conversation in public right here.”

His breath warmed her cheek, but his words sent chills down her spine. She hadn’t heard her real name in over a year, and the fact that he was there within hours of activation of the cataclysm scenario couldn’t be a coincidence.

Figure it out.

Her father’s words, his voice, floated to her with the answer he’d given to every question she’d ever asked. Figure it out.

Her first instinct was to flee. She couldn’t just charge out the back door, though, because she couldn’t leave her sister behind. Her second instinct was to figure out exactly what he wanted and why. And if the answer wasn’t good, which it probably wasn’t, she was going to kill him. Then she was going to run like hell.

“Upstairs,” Skye said, reaching under the register and into the cubby where she kept her purse. With a practiced, quick twist of her fingers, she unsnapped the interior compartment that hid her revolver, before grabbing the purse by the handles. She glanced into the icing room, saw that Spring was absorbed in adding yet more icing to the cake, and nodded to Sarah as an indication for her to take over.

Skye climbed the steps with Sebastian at her heels. Once at the top, she opened the door to the office with her right hand. Candy slipped past her and ran down the stairs. “After you,” she said, dipping her left hand into her purse and gripping the revolver. As Connelly turned to her and folded his arms, she shut the door with her right hand.

Trust no one.

Especially not an armed man who knew that she was her father’s daughter. With her left hand she tightened her grip on the revolver and let her purse fall to the floor. Raising her weapon, she used her middle finger to press the button on the grip that triggered the laser sight and aimed the red light between his eyes.

Breathe. Just breathe
, she told herself, as she focused on the man, who had now become a target, because he was standing in the way of what she needed to do. She needed to run. “Raise your hands.”

Sebastian eyed the weapon, jaw clenched. “Lower it.”

She shook her head. “Not until I know who you are and what you want. Raise your hands.”

Eyes flat and tense, he raised his hands to his shoulders, palms facing her. His eyes bounced from the gun to her eyes.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. I’m looking for your father.”

“Whom do you work for?”

“Black Raven Private Security Contractors. I’m working with the United States Marshals Service. We’re looking for your father. Lower the damn gun.”

“Show me identification,” she said. Hell. She’d made a rookie mistake, because he couldn’t show her I.D. with his hands in the air.

“In the top pocket of my jacket.”

“I’m not falling for that,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t be the one to reach for his identification.

His eyes had moved away from the weapon. He was studying her hands, her stance, and her face. She used both hands to hold the revolver and aim, hoping that he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. The gun weighed just over fifteen ounces, but it felt heavier than it had in her practice sessions.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever pointed a gun at a person?”

“There’s a first for everything. It will be the first time I kill someone, but keep talking, and I’ll do it. Shut up and get your identification,” Skye said, willing her hands to stop shaking. “And keep your hands slow and steady while you do it.”
Oh dear God
, she thought. What if he had another gun in a shoulder holster? “D-Don’t reach for your weapon.”

Skye kept her eyes trained on Sebastian. He reached into the front of his jacket with his right hand. She drew a breath, as he pulled out a black leather case and held it out. In the instant that she let go of the revolver with her right hand to reach for the credentials, he moved with a lightning-blur of speed, simultaneously grabbing the weapon out of her hand, swipe-kicking her legs out from under her, and immobilizing her in a full-body bear-hug, from which she had no hope of breaking free. Down was the only direction she could go.

***

When Sebastian swiped at Skye’s knees with his left leg, she’d have fallen, hard, except he caught her on the way down. He fell with her to the floor, cushioned the impact with his body, and rolled over her. Impulsiveness was something Sebastian admired, but impulsiveness mixed with a handgun was just plain stupid.

The fall had stunned the breath from her body and gave him a few seconds where she was still. He took advantage of it by using his body weight to smash her to the floor, as he unloaded her weapon and pushed the rounds and gun out of arm’s reach. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and the soft mounds of her breasts pressing against his chest felt damn near perfect. When her stunned stillness wore off, her wriggling movement made him realize the sooner he got off of her, the better off he’d be.

Fuck.

He should have just used his gun on her. The cold muzzle of his Glock pressed against her forehead would have proven to her that she shouldn’t pull a weapon without planning to use it, especially when she was hesitant and standing in striking distance of a man who could so clearly overpower her. He didn’t point his weapon at anyone, though, unless he intended to use it.

Skye gasped for air beneath him and tried to knee him in the balls, but his knees were on her thighs, and his shins were pressing into hers. He didn’t give her the option of moving her legs. She tried to scratch at his eyes, but his elbows were pressing into her arms, pinning them down, while he covered her mouth with his right hand. He had at least eight inches of height on her and outweighed her by at least seventy pounds. He put every centimeter and most of his extra pounds to good use, thankful that he regarded his body as a weapon and treated it as such, and thankful that he was several months past July, when he had almost checked-out on life. He was leaner than ever, but damn glad that he was back to his fighting strength. His friend, Brandon Morrissey, whose ass he had kicked a week earlier in a Krav Maga fight, was six feet four. Sebastian could handle Skye Barrows with minimal exertion.

When Skye almost stopped struggling, Sebastian took his hand off of her mouth. “Get off of me,” she hissed.

“I’ll let you go,” he said, “if you promise to be calm.”

Skye tried to head-butt him with her forehead. “I said, get off of me.”

“Calm down first,” he said.