Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (7 page)

She has no option but to cooperate, but I’ll let her figure that out.

He wondered how long it would take. Hours? A day? Two days? More? Damn. He hoped not. He didn’t have luxury of time, nor the patience to wait her out. The sooner he had what he needed from her, the sooner he’d be out of her hair, and she’d be out of his.

“Tell me about Barrows’ daughters,” Minero said. “They know anything?”

Sebastian eyed Skye, who had walked closer to him and was now only an arm’s length away.

“Nothing,” Sebastian answered, wishing she had kept her distance. “Didn’t even know that their father had escaped.”

Skye’s intense focus was all on him, as though she had collected her thoughts and come up with a plan. “Let me out of here.”

He stayed in place, and met her icy glare with one of his own as Minero said, “I have two marshals on their way to you. They should be there in an hour and a half, two hours tops. Keep the daughters where they are.”

He said, “Okay.” He broke the connection with a discreet touch on his watchband. He added, as though the phone call was ongoing, “You may be wasting your time. I was just about to leave.” Sebastian glanced at Skye as he lied. No point clueing her in that her day was going to get much, much worse when the marshals arrived. He had threatened her enough. Now he wanted to see what she did with his threats. It wasn’t time to let the canary fly, however. He leaned firmly against the door, so that she couldn’t open it, even though she tried to pull it open against his weight. He had one more thing to ask her, and he didn’t want to do it downstairs, with other ears around.

She looked at him and said, “You’re a giant jerk. Let me out of here.”

He folded his arms. “What are you so afraid of?”

She glared at him, her cheeks flushed, her arms at her sides, and her hands balled into tight fists. “Let. Me. Out. Of. Here.”

So. No answer. At least not yet.

He pressed a button on his watchband and called Pete. “Pete. Come into the coffee shop. Get a cup of coffee. To go. We’re moving on. Marshals will arrive later today to talk to them.”

His words were only a charade. Sebastian’s company was founded on protection. As a protector, he was also an observer. An observer of people, surroundings, of every minute happening that could present risk. His early survival had depended on understanding his abusive father’s difficult-to-read moods, and he had a rare aptitude for being in tune to undercurrents. In other circumstances, watching Skye would have been pure pleasure, with those luminous, flagstone-colored eyes, inky-dark long hair, curves that were perfectly accented by her wrap sweater, and snug, hip-hugging jeans, with the wide belt that called attention to the sexy space where her hips tapered up, to her tiny waist. This was work, though, not pleasure, and this was one hell of a fucked-up job. It didn’t matter how gorgeous she was. Something was just plain goddamn wrong.

Skye wasn’t glancing away from him, a look that he’d have taken to indicate deception, that she knew something about her father that she wasn’t telling him. No. She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t know where her father was. In Skye’s gray-green eyes, he saw wide-eyed fear that she was working hard to conceal. Her cheeks were flushed. Her forehead glowed with dewy perspiration. She was afraid. Terrified, actually.

As he watched her draw a deep breath, he could smell the musky, sweet aroma of fear, and it seemed like more than just concern for her father’s safety. Finally. He had a scent on something interesting, and it was her fear. Instinct told him to follow that trail. She had a blown cover, sizable assets at her disposal, and a tendency to be impulsive. If given the opportunity, she’d run and regroup. He was going to give her that opportunity.

Skye glanced into his eyes, folded her arms, and squared her shoulders. She was trying damn hard to look composed. Sebastian slowly stepped away from the door before opening it for her. “Go ahead.”

She passed, making sure that she didn’t touch him. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

You have no idea, lady.

Run.

Skye frowned as she jogged down the stairs. Stopping by the coffee shop before getting on the road had been a mistake. A bad mistake. Was Connelly telling the truth about her father? There was no reason for him to lie. What purpose would that serve? And if it wasn’t a lie, where was her father? A prison break was the last thing she’d have expected from him, a man already so paranoid that he didn’t trust a living soul other than his daughters. And sometimes, Skye wasn’t even sure about that. Because if her father had somehow pulled off a prison break, the first person he would’ve contacted was her.

Which he’d done.

C-A-T-A-C-L-Y-S-M-N-O-W-R-U-N.

Which she was trying like hell to do. All she had to do was get away from Connelly before the marshals showed up. Should be simple, but this was her life, and nothing was ever simple. She had to get her sister to hurry, without freaking her out, and walk away from their new lives with nothing but the clothes on their backs, a puppy, and a freaking cake that absolutely, positively had to be delivered, if Skye had any hope in hell of getting her sister out of town without a meltdown.

Please leave,
she thought, as she felt him following her down the stairs like a tall, dark, annoying shadow.
Just get the hell out of my coffee shop and my life
.

Once downstairs, Skye joined Sarah behind the counter. If Sebastian was leaving, he wasn’t going right away. Instead, his dark-haired partner entered the coffee house and talked to Sebastian for a few seconds.

Leave. Just go.

In a low voice, Sarah asked, “Chloe, is everything alright?”

Skye nodded as the two men approached the counter. The dark-haired guy gave her a slight smile and a nod. He introduced himself as Pete St. Paul, and ordered to go a cafe-au-lait and an apple peanut butter muffin. His words revealed a Southern accent and a nice-guy persona that working with Sebastian hadn’t yet snuffed.
Probably a recent hire
, Skye thought. Sebastian ordered a double espresso, with a splash of cream. In contrast to Pete, Sebastian had no accent that made him seem nice. He was just deadly serious and studying her in a way that put her on edge.

Run.

She had to get the heck out of there, but she sure as hell didn’t want him following her.
How long did she have before the marshals got there? Could she believe what he’d told the person on the phone, or was that bullshit? For all she knew the marshals were parked around the corner, waiting for these two to leave, and for her and Spring to make a run for it.

God. She was as paranoid as her father. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Where the hell are you, Dad?

When Pete tried to pay, Skye waved him away. “Thank you for helping with the dog.”
Now take your pushy friend and go
.

Out of the corner of her eye she observed Sebastian swallow the cupful of espresso. As he placed the small to-go cup into the trash, Skye exhaled.

Please. Please leave. Go.

Sebastian didn’t immediately follow Pete out the front door. Instead, he walked to the rear of the coffee house, to the icing room, where Skye could see Spring’s three-tier cake spotlighted on the worktable that was positioned in the center of the plate-glass observation window. The window was designed to provide customers with a view of Spring as she worked on her confectionary masterpieces. Skye could see her sister at the sink, methodically washing and drying her decorating tools, and putting each in its place in the travel box that she always carried with her.

Treating the
Do Not Disturb
that hung on the glass door of the icing room as a suggestion, and one that he wasn’t taking, Sebastian knocked on the door.

Spring turned, freezing before she even saw for certain who was at the door.

“No,” Skye called across the room as he reached for the doorknob, a surge of panic running through her veins. “Don’t open the door.”

Skye closed the distance between the counter and the icing room as fast as she could, mentally bracing for Spring’s yell as Sebastian opened the door. When Spring was absorbed in her work, she didn’t like to be disturbed by anyone but her big sister, and, in the world that Skye had created, where most of Spring’s odd rules were honored, the icing room was Spring’s domain. Customers could stand at the glass window and watch Spring decorate cakes. She liked to have an audience, as long as strangers from the audience didn’t talk to her. No one but Skye, though, could open the door of the icing room. It was one of Spring’s many compulsions, one that Skye indulged. The path of least resistance worked best for her sister, and Skye considered anything or anyone who threatened the hard-won peace the enemy. Currently, Sebastian was arch-enemy number one.

Braced for hysteria, Skye barreled into the room, hard on his heels, almost colliding into his back. There was no screech from Spring, nor was there a high-pitched yell of terror, or any other resistance to Sebastian’s uninvited presence. Spring was smiling at him.

Heart in her throat, with every pulse point in her body pounding, Skye stumbled to a stop.

Smiling. My God. Smiling.

Her sister
was looking at Sebastian in that beautiful, wide-eyed innocent and welcoming way that Spring showed to only a few people.

In a nice-guy voice, one that was upbeat and light and far different than the flat tone that had just accused Skye of knowing where her father was, Sebastian said, “Well, I tried the muffins.”

“Did you? Which one was your favorite? No. Don’t tell me.” Her sister shook her head as she dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Let me guess. I think.” She narrowed her eyes, cocked her head to the side, and studied him. A lump formed in Skye’s throat as she took in Spring’s sweet, trusting innocence. It was beautiful, and, in this case, totally misplaced. Normally Spring, with her highly tuned sense of empathy, had an instinctively accurate read on people and their motives. Not this time, Skye thought, as her sister beamed a welcoming and beautiful smile at the asshole that had just threatened to throw her in jail. “No, I know. The apple-peanut-butter-caramel was your favorite.”

“You’re correct. Not that I didn’t like the others. But I could eat fifty of those apple muffins.” His back was to Skye. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was positively charming.
The bastard
. “How’d you know that would be my favorite?”

Spring shook her head, pursed her lips, and arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes I just know things about some people,” she shrugged, “and I’m usually right.”

Sebastian chuckled as he jerked his chin to the bank’s cake. “Now that’s a work of art.”

Spring blushed. “Really? You’re not just being nice, are you? I had a hard time with the colors. If you look at the real flowers in the vase, you’ll see what I mean.”

Sebastian moved closer to the cake, turning in Skye’s direction as he did so. His eyes held Skye’s eyes for a brief second. There wasn’t a threat there. None at all. He looked different from the man who had delivered the bombshell news that her father had escaped. There was none of the impatience, none of the you-don’t-understand cockiness that he had exhibited while upstairs in her office. There was just an honest, slightly pained empathy, as though he realized the bittersweetness presented by Spring, who was physically a teenager, but mentally a sweet girl, many years younger than her age. Skye reminded herself that he was the same asshole who had tackled her and threatened her with jail time while upstairs in her office, and now he was stalling, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, while her heart was pounding and she could barely breathe.

Leave. Please leave.

Spring had a talent for making intricate beauty out of sugar and dye, but her creations were unusual. Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly as he bent to study the cake. He spent a few long seconds focusing on flowers in colors that didn’t resemble anything close to the hues intended by mother nature. People couldn’t get enough of Spring’s unusual creations, but at first sight, they were jarring. Watching Sebastian study a dense cluster of chartreuse rose buds with orange leaves and purple stems, Skye braced herself for a what-the-fuck comment. Instead, he turned to look at Spring, with a gentle smile. “You’re very, very good at what you do. It’s all perfect.”

Spring’s eyes shone with delight. “Thank you soooooo much. The bank is having a party this afternoon, but we want to set it up early so that all the customers can see it. Maybe they’ll place orders.” Her guileless blue eyes focused on Skye. “Isn’t that the plan? We were going to deliver it at nine, but they called and want it early. It’s ready.”

“I see that.” Skye forced a smile, though her heart twisted. “It’ll be the most beautiful cake they’ve ever seen. And once they taste it, we’ll have more orders than we can handle.”

Run.

There’d be no cake orders. At least none that they’d be there to fulfill. Maybe one day they’d return to Covington and Creative Confections, but not until her father was found and they were safe again, and that wouldn’t happen until the cataclysm scenario ended.

Run. Trust no one.

Skye could adapt easily, but this was going to be hard on Spring. To say that her sister didn’t handle change well was an understatement, and sudden change was the worst. She drew a deep breath. It was going to be one hell of a long day. And tomorrow? Skye’s stomach twisted. Until she received the next set of instructions from her father, she couldn’t think of tomorrow. She just had to have faith that once the cataclysm scenario, for better or worse, was over, she’d be able to make things right again for Spring. Faith in her abilities and courage to act.

Skye straightened her shoulders, gave Spring a nod, and said, “Why don’t you let Sarah and Daniel know that we’ll be leaving in just a minute. Daniel can help us get the boxes of pastries that the bank also ordered into the van.”

On her way out of the icing room, Spring gave Sebastian a shy smile and a hopeful glance. “You’ll be back soon, won’t you?”

He nodded. “As soon as I can.”

His smile faded as Spring shut the door. His deep dimples disappeared, as though they’d been a mirage. Blue eyes hardened as his gaze met Skye’s eyes.
Goodbye,
nice guy
, Skye thought, folding her arms,
hello, jerk
. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“What? Not fast enough for you?”

“I’ll give you fair warning,” Skye told him, a steely edge to her voice. “Mess with my sister, and no U.S. Marshal will be able to protect your ass from me. I won’t need a gun to hurt you, and I won’t rest until I do.”

He gave her a short nod, his gaze going over her head to the counter area beyond the window, where her sister was talking excitedly to Sarah. With a slight frown, his eyes returned to her. “Message received.”

“How did you find us?”

He shrugged. “It’s what we do. The only thing you need to know is no matter where you run, no matter what name you use, I’ll find you again if I need to.” His tone was flat, his words certain, and his eyes were like hard blue rocks. “On the other hand, once your father is back in custody, you and your sister will be free to enjoy your lives and be whoever in the hell you want to be. If living anonymously is so important to you, you have an interest in getting your father back in prison. Are you ready to talk to me?”

“When hell freezes over,” she mumbled, not intending for him to hear, and added, “you pretentious, self-important prick.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I have really good hearing, so when you feel the need to resort to childish name calling, don’t waste effort on whispering.”

As Sebastian turned to leave the small room, she said, “Wait. My revolver.”

He turned to look at her, shaking is head as he did. “Like I said, you’ll get your weapons back when I decide the time’s right.”

He left the small room, shutting the door as she said, “Cocky jerk.”

He turned, through the window gave her a half-smile and an eyebrow arch that indicated he heard her, and then continued on his way out of the coffee house. When the front door closed behind him, she exhaled in relief.

***

“You have GPS on their van?” Sebastian slammed the door of the Range Rover.

Pete nodded, pointing to the screen on the dashboard. “Their GPS system is merged with ours. They’re the blue dot. We’re red.”

“Drive away.”

Pete looked at Sebastian expectantly as he put the car in drive. “Where to?”

He’d seen enough to know that she was scared and ready to run. “Far enough to make her think we’re disappearing from her life. Not so far that we can’t be on her in a matter of minutes. How far’s their house?”

“A mile and a half.”

“Let’s go there for a minute,” Sebastian said, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his backpack. The northeast was expecting snow and in Denver, at headquarters, wintry precipitation had been falling steadily for the last twelve hours. But in the deep South, snow wasn’t likely in any given winter, and on this February day the clear blue sky and warm sun seemed to take the chill out of the air. “Keep an eye on that GPS. She’s going to run. I’m giving her a few minutes of freedom before we catch up and scare the truth out of her.”