Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (50 page)

“I talked with the chief neurosurgeon, when I first arrived this morning,” Zeus said, surprising Sebastian. “You’re going to be fine. I’m confident.”

“You two know what to do if I’m not,” Sebastian said. He’d talked to both of them earlier, when he first learned that the surgery was looming. It was the biggest favor he’d ever asked of anyone. The windows of the room overlooked the Mississippi River and the gray, cloudy sky. A ship glided upriver, in the direction of River’s Bend, the town in which Brandon and Sebastian had grown up. The tanker gave him something to focus on, other than his friends and the heaviness in the room. “I’m not afraid of dying. Brandon has the medical power of attorney.” He gave his friend a hard look. “I’m trusting you with this. Do not hesitate. Do not leave me helpless.”

“Don’t worry,” Brandon said, “We’ll treat you exactly as we’d want to be treated.”

Sebastian turned from the window in time to see Zeus touch his hand to his ear, then press a button on his watch. “Ragno,” Zeus said, “what was that?”

Sebastian tuned in, his mind craving his connection with Ragno and the constant stream of information involving Black Raven operational issues. He couldn’t hear a damn thing from her side of the conversation, because Zeus didn’t put her on speaker. Sebastian and Ragno had said their goodbyes at midnight. He’d been finishing business in D.C. As always, she was at corporate headquarters in Denver. She’d told him to focus on getting himself well and refused to talk with him about business until after the surgery. Her tone had been strained, as though she’d been one step removed from crying. The thought of Ragno breaking down with worry over his surgery had rattled him so badly, he agreed not to talk to her until afterwards.

Zeus had taken over Sebastian’s role that morning. Zeus was now handling all business matters that would have normally been directed to Sebastian, until Sebastian was well enough to resume work. Whether it would be one week, two weeks, longer, or never, was an open question.

“Okay,” Zeus said, turning his back to Sebastian, “Put on Scott.”

Sebastian’s ears prickled at the mention of the agent in charge of Skye and Spring’s security detail. They’d returned to Covington three days earlier. Skye, the brave woman that she was, had decided not to live under an assumed identity. She was testing the waters, knowing that with Black Raven’s assistance, she and Spring could disappear again if needed.

Zeus frowned, glanced at Sebastian, then walked out of the room as he said, “Scott, we’ve been through-” The door shut and he couldn’t hear the rest of Zeus’ words.

Dammit.

Sebastian crossed the room, opened the door, and almost walked straight into Taylor and Michael. As always, Taylor looked beautiful, with her long, honey-golden hair free flowing in waves down to her waist. Her hazel-green eyes reflected her soft smile as she stepped back, avoiding Sebastian. He bent to kiss her cheek, and accepted the transfer of Michael into his arms. Michael was almost one year old, and a wriggling bundle of a heavy, blue-eyed, laughing baby. “Hello, Gorgeous.”

“Me, or Michael?”

“Both.”

Taylor gave him a soft smile and a concerned look. “Back at you. How are you?”

“Fine, and I will be. Don’t you jump on the worry train as well.” He pressed his lips against Michael’s forehead, and was rewarded with a string of gurgles and coos. “And how’s my favorite godchild?”

“Wonderful,” she said. “We’re looking forward to you recuperating at our house. I know you’ll be on your feet in no time, but I’m hoping you’ll be with us at least long enough to work on him saying Sebastian.”

With Michael’s plump, sticky hand on his cheek, he walked to where Zeus stood. Zeus glanced at him, and said, “Ragno, send two more agents to Scott.”

“What’s going on?”

Zeus glanced at Sebastian and walked back into Sebastian’s room. “You’re not supposed to be worrying about work.”

“I'll worry anyway. Just tell me,” he said, his eyes falling on Brandon, who had his arm casually draped around Taylor’s shoulder. He glanced back at Zeus, shifted Michael from one arm to the other, and said, “Well?”

“Media’s breaking the news of where Skye and Spring are. Reporters from national networks are in Covington. ”

“Dammit,” Sebastian said, moving the baby’s chubby index finger from his left eye. “Scott was supposed to be prepared for that.”

“She is.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Zeus studied him for a second. “There isn’t a problem.”

“Then why does she need two more agents? The team is six. That’s plenty enough, unless there’s a threat. So what the hell is happening?”

“A few of Barrows’ supporters got advance scoop. They’re on the street in front of Creative Confections. It’s peaceful,” Zeus shrugged, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. “We’re just getting prepared for larger numbers.”

“Wait. She’s not supposed to open the bakery until tomorrow.”

“Bakery’s not open. She and Spring are there, doing prep work. Don’t worry. We’re not talking Syria, Sebastian, and we’re not talking terrorists. We’re talking about peaceful demonstrators, who wear aluminum foil on their heads and who are likely arriving there to show support for Barrows.” Dark eyes held Sebastian’s for a long minute, studying him. “We have this. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” He paused with the automatic words, because he was worried about Skye and Spring and how they were going to cope with this new wrinkle. “It’s just-”

“Sounds like someone’s worried to me,” Brandon said. For a second, the only sound in the room was Michael’s gurgles. Taylor’s hazel-green eyes, Brandon’s jade-green eyes, and Zeus’ black eyes were all on him.

His friends knew exactly what he was thinking. He walked over to Taylor, handed her Michael, and said, “Give me your car keys, Brandon.”

“No,” Brandon said. “No way. She’ll be fine. If you want to talk to her, call her.”

Calling her wasn’t going to be good enough. “I’ll be back in time.”

Over his shoulder, he saw Zeus walk to the door, the only exit, and block it. Sebastian turned to him. “It’s going to take more than that to stop me.”

Zeus folded his arms. The man was huge. Sebastian had never won a physical fight with him. “We’ll only let you go if we drive you there,” Zeus said. “That way we’re sure you’ll come back.”

Skye was on a ladder writing the menu for the next week on the hanging chalkboard in fat, pink chalk. They were keeping it simple until they hired help. With Black Raven’s assistance in vetting applicants, finding the perfect couple who could fulfill the many roles that were needed was going to be relatively easy. Spring was in the kitchen with two of the agents, the younger ones on the team. Both had been selected by Scott based upon compatibility measures that indicated that they would be good with Spring’s needs. One had cooking experience, one had none. Both were taking directions from her on how to ice cupcakes. The other four agents were outside. Two were on the front porch, watching the ten demonstrators that had gathered on the sidewalk. Sunlight glinted off their foil-lined caps. So far, they hadn’t done anything but stand there.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Candy stand and wag her tail as she looked out of the glass windows of the French door. No one was supposed to enter the front yard, but someone was walking into the gate just as freely as if the place was open for business, which it wasn’t.

What the hell?

Black Raven was better than this. With the demonstrators on the sidewalk, no one was supposed to get in the gate. As she saw who was walking up the path, her heart paused.
No. Not him, not now
. There was no mistaking Sebastian with his long-legged, purposeful stride and broad shoulders. No wonder the agents hadn’t stopped him.

“No,” she muttered, dropping the chalk and climbing down the ladder so fast she slipped off the last two rungs. Her ankle rolled as her feet hit the ground, sending a shock of pain up her left leg and into her back.

“Damn.”

She glanced into the kitchen as she righted herself. Spring’s back was to the wide window that faced the public area of the bakery. She hadn’t seen him.

Skye had only one sudden, urgent goal.

Sebastian was going to turn around and leave before Spring saw him. Skye tested her ankle. It hurt, but the pain only gave her resolve. She made it to the French doors as he did, unlocking them so that she could tell him to leave. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

“Leave,” she said, “You’re not welcome here.”

His eyes were serious. There was no smile, and no dimples. As her body started reacting to the fact that the man who haunted her dreams was standing in front of her, she fought the urge to physically push him away.

“I’ve got to talk to you about us.”

Us.

The word hit her with such force it stole her breath, because ‘us’ was something she’d never been with a man. She shook her head.
Do not fall for this. He’s good, remember? He knows what you need to hear. Knows everything about you. Probably read all about how lonely you are in some report made by some psychologist, when you were feeling vulnerable.

“Us? Are you delusional? Doesn’t matter. Please leave before Spring sees you,” she said. He stood firm, without backing away. “There isn’t an ‘us’. Will never be an ‘us’. You made that perfectly clear. Go. Now.”

He gave her a half smile, but no light made it to his eyes. “That’s why I have to talk to you.”

He was a man who did nothing lightly. He spoke with purpose. Every action backed by deliberate intent. She knew that. While her heart screamed at her to listen, her protective instinct told her to get him the hell away from Spring. If anything, the man could turn his emotions off as easily as one flicked a light switch on their way out of a room. The onslaught of desire that came with seeing him didn’t make her forget that horrifying reality. He was emotionally unavailable. She wanted no part of him.

“Please,” he said, his tone serious and his eyes heavy with a message of sincerity. “Just listen to me for a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”

She inhaled, and that was her undoing. She smelled the outdoors and the fresh aroma of a wooded forest, every scent she associated with him. All she wanted to do was burrow into the warm comfort of his strong arms. She glanced through the kitchen window. Spring was leaning on the table, her back still to the window, talking to one of Sebastian’s agents.

“I’ll listen, on one condition.”

“Go.”

“When you’re done, you leave, and never return.”

“If you ask me that again,” he said. “Yes.”

“Upstairs. Go. Now. Don't let Spring see you.”

He glanced over her shoulder, into the kitchen, and nodded in understanding. He moved fast, disappearing up the circular stairway. Skye collected herself and walked into the kitchen, only slightly limping. “Honey, how are things going?”

“Great. We’re going to start decorating in a little bit. They’re going to look like a night sky with fireworks exploding.”

“Perfect.”

Both agents were mic’d to Agent Scott, and probably had advance warning from Scott that Sebastian was walking into the coffee house. She pulled one of the agents to the side and said, “Keep her occupied. I’ll be upstairs for a few minutes. Do not let her see him when he is on his way out.”

He gave her a nod.

She climbed the stairwell, taking the time with each step to breathe. She needed resolve. She needed to be strong. Being her father’s daughter had made her dig a deep inner well of resilient strength in handling difficult men and the problems they produced. She drew upon those resources now, and when she reached the door, she was confident that she wouldn’t falter.

He turned to her when she entered the office. He was standing in the middle of the office, in precisely the same position he’d been in when he had knocked her to the ground nine days earlier. A slight smile played at his lips. “At least this time you’re not pulling a gun out on me.”

She shut the office door. “You took mine. Which reminds me,” she paused, realizing he was only an arms length from her, remembering the feeling of being underneath him, and suddenly longing for his touch.
So much for being strong.
“I want them back.”

“I’ll mention it to Agent Scott. But you need some lessons.”

She folded her arms, and stood her ground. “Here’s a newsflash. You don’t get to tell me what I need.”

“I know. But I do get to talk about us,” he said.

Though her heart pounded, she shook her head, “Obviously, it bears repeating. There is no us.”

“I’m here to change that.”

“You can’t.”

He gave her a full, rare smile. The power of that smile shot straight to her foolish heart. “Then I’ll get to the point. I’m having brain surgery this afternoon. Odds are fifty-fifty that I’ll survive. I’m not afraid of dying, so the odds aren’t bothering me.”

She closed the distance between them, lifted both hands to his shoulders, and shoved him backwards. He moved maybe an inch. Barely. “God, Sebastian this is so freaking unfair! You walk in here, claim to want there to be an us, then tell me you're about to have brain surgery and could possibly die? In a few hours? What the hell is this?” Her heart fell to the floor with the horrifying reality of what he was saying and the calmness with which he delivered his message. “What the hell am I supposed to say? Please don’t die. Thanks for the damn head’s up?”
Hold me. Kiss me. Tell me that we have something.

He stood there, feet planted, eyes serious, his jaw set. “Even if everything goes well, I’ll be in a medically induced coma for a while. The length of time depends on how the cuts go. It could be a few days, or longer. None of that bothers me.” He shrugged, then stepped closer to her.

“Leave,” she said, furious. “Leave now.”

“I can’t,” he said, reaching for her.

She swatted his hand away. “I can’t believe you’ve come here to tell me that you could be dying this afternoon.”

“That’s not at all what I came here to tell you. I know it’s a lot to digest, but I needed to give you some context, because here’s where I get to the ‘us’ part.”

“Let me get this straight,” Skye wrapped her arms tightly around her waist so that she didn't hit him. “There’s an ‘us’ because there’s a chance you’ll die, therefore you have nothing to lose, and no commitments to make, because—Gee, you might be dead in a few hours? What do you want? A pity fuck before you go under the knife?”

“No. No fucking involved. What is scaring the living hell out of me right now, the reason I couldn’t wait to talk to you, is my fear that too much time will have passed between right now and when I’m well again." He drew a deep breath. "I’m afraid that I’ll wake up and be fine and you won’t be a part of my life. Or worse, I’m afraid that I’ll die and you won’t know how much you mean to me.”

He touched his fingers to his temple, then dropped them with an annoyed shake of his head. He was silent, staring at her. He broke eye contact with her, drew a deep breath and looked back. She’d seen him do all kinds of things. None of which had made him nervous. Now he was uncertain, and when she realized that, her anger evaporated. In its place, hope was born. “How much I mean to you? What does that mean?”

He frowned. “I’ll do better. What I’m trying to tell you is that I cannot imagine my life without you. Cannot imagine it, because even though I tried to turn off all the switches you turned on, all I’ve done for the last week is think about you and what we could be if I worked on us. And I had to come here now and tell you, because if the worst happens and I die today, you would never have known. You don’t realize how special you are, do you?”

She folded her arms, fighting back sudden tears, unsure what to say.

“I want us to be together for now and for the rest of my life. Whether it’s for the next few hours, or fifty years. However long I’ve got. I want there to be an us. Give me a chance, and I’ll make us so damn good that you…” he paused, searching for the right words, “…you won’t regret it. Us
.
Come on. Let me try. Let me start over.”

He lifted his hand to her cheek, and traced her cheekbone with his index finger. “I know what I did earlier this week was abrupt. You see, in the past, that’s what I always did the minute I started getting close to someone. The difference is this time it’s been killing me not to be with you. I know now that by walking away from you, I made the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. It won’t always be easy. My job will require me to leave. I’m not the kind of guy you’re going to wake up with every morning, not the kind of guy you’ll see every night. But I will always come back to you and I will always be loyal. I’m so,” he drew a deep breath, “scared that if I don’t tell you this now, you’ll never understand that one of the biggest regrets of my life has suddenly become that I didn’t kiss you. That I didn’t open the door that could lead to the infinite possibilities of what we can become, if I, if we, let there be an us.”

His eyes had a question. Though she suddenly knew her answer could be nothing but yes, he was taking his time asking it, his gaze on hers. He pulled her close, so that Skye could feel the hard wall of his chest against her soft breasts. It was good that he was strong enough to hold her up with just one arm, because as his warmth seeped through her, her knees suddenly felt weak. His right hand cradled her face in a soft caress, then, with his index finger he traced the outline of her lips. This man, who never kissed women because it signified too much, was making his intent perfectly clear, and she was barely able to breathe with the reality of it.

Her eyes fluttered closed as, with agonizing slowness, he brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. The whisper soft contact of his mouth instantly warmed her.

It has been worth the wait, and he is only beginning.

With agonizing slowness, their lips met and pressed together. He groaned, but still, he took his time. His lips drifted away from hers. He placed a path of tiny closed-mouth kisses, along her upper lip and then her lower lip. She stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck as he traced another trail of fire along her lips. Her breath caught as he nibbled, each touch of his lips and teeth followed by a soft caress of his tongue.

When he made it to the center of her lower lip, he pressed both lips against hers. Her mouth opened to his and her head fell back as his tongue glided over hers. Long minutes fell away, as they did nothing but kiss like two people who were starved for each other. Gentleness gave way to passion, and, when they were both breathing heavily, he kept going, holding her so tightly she knew that the kiss meant as much to him as it meant to her. She opened her eyes as he slowly pulled his lips from hers. He rested his forehead on hers, his eyes dark with desire.

“I was just going to kiss you,” he said, his voice husky.

Desire for more had overcome her need to breathe. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

He chuckled as he moved forward. His lips found hers again, but he only hovered against her lips. His eyes became serious. “What was that you said about me leaving and never returning? Still a request?” He punctuated his sentence with a deep kiss, then broke away for her response. “Well?”

“No,” she whispered. “I figure we have ten minutes before Spring comes up here.”

“We?”

She nodded.

“As in us,” his eyes held hers, “and everything that word entails?”

His intense look told her he meant ‘us’ in a manner that was much more than a fleeting thing.

“I want us to last forever,” he said.