Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (8 page)

“Why let her run at all?”

Sebastian liked Pete. While many of Black Raven’s agents had military or police backgrounds, Pete had neither. Brandon had recommended him, so Sebastian had personally facilitated the application process. Most of the skills their agents needed to operate effectively could be taught at their training facility, but some skills, like the deep-rooted instinct for danger possessed by exceptional agents, couldn’t be taught. The thorough background checks and psychological testing that field agents went through had revealed that Pete had a rough past that rivaled Sebastian’s own suck-ass years as a child and teenager. Pete, like Sebastian, was an observer. He was also tough, smart, didn’t trust anyone, and in early training sessions had proven that he could adapt fast. He’d thrive in Black Raven.

Pete glanced at Sebastian, waiting on an answer.

“Right now, she’s not desperate enough to talk. When she realizes there’s no escape, she might change her mind. I’m giving hope, some slack on the rope, before reeling her in and taking away her option to split.” And it was going to be damn ugly. He wasn’t looking forward to being the one who put fear back in her eyes. Hell. He didn’t want to be an ass in front of the younger sister either. He’d done a hell of a lot worse, certainly more brutal, in the name of work, but scaring the truth out of a beautiful woman while his body ached for her was a new one. Chalk it up to his post-July life. Everything was different now and, other than the fact that he was alive, most of it sucked.

“Ragno, any news?

“Barrows’ debriefing transcripts just arrived,” she told him, voice crisp. “We’re diving into them now, hoping we can come up with a clearer vision of his theories, which may lead to something. Amazing how much he talked about Shadow and LID Technology, which is something I picked up on the interviews that we already had. Anyway, aside from Barrows, Holt still knows nothing. They’re not any closer to Biondo, either.”

“Give me something to push Skye’s buttons.”

“Aside from knocking her to the floor and lying on top of her?” Ragno asked. “Really, Sebastian.”

“Give me a break.” Yeah. He’d been breathing heavy.
Hell.
He tried not to think of how perfectly toned yet soft she’d felt, when he was on top of her. “She pulled a gun on me. I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I disarmed her. No one got hurt.”

“Well, I suggest that you try reasoning instead of manhandling. She’s truly her father’s daughter, one of her MIT professors said. She’s off-the-charts intelligent. After MIT, reports from therapists, which her father insisted that she see, indicate that she consciously chose to turn her back on the more cerebral world her father lived in for a more people-oriented lifestyle. It was an act of rebellion on her part, and explains the serious pursuit of partying and meaningless relationships with friends and lovers. From her therapy reports, it seems that everything she’s done, she’s done consciously. When you’re dealing with her, don’t forget how smart she is.”

She might be smart, but that damn topless bikini photo sure as hell has a way of making people not think about her brains
. He kept that thought to himself. He was a professional. Black Raven’s workforce was mostly men, and most of them had more than a healthy dose of testosterone. He led by example, and one primary rule was that hormones were to be kept under control while on the job.

“While Skye was in college she wrote papers on elegance in computer algorithm design and provided theories on how to accomplish it,” Ragno paused, “at seventeen. Can you believe that?”

Sebastian knew about algorithm design, but it was enough to let him know that there was a reason he had people like Ragno on his payroll. The vehicle slowed, and Pete indicated the house as Sebastian half-listened to Ragno continue on about algorithm design. The two-story Victorian-style house was painted a crisp white with mint green shutters. An oversized white porch swing with pillows that matched the trim of the house hung on a wide front porch. A bay window overlooked a yard with flowering azalea and camellia bushes. Skye seemed to have a knack at making places seem both chic and homey. Her front porch looked like a great place to hang out, to settle into the porch swing, read a newspaper, and sip coffee on a long, lazy morning. That the home could inspire such a thought in him, a man who never had long lazy mornings, meant Skye was skilled at decorating.

Slowing the Range Rover to a crawl, Pete nodded in the direction of a black SUV that was parked in front of the neighboring house. “Something’s not right. Right before you walked out of the coffee house, that SUV and a black sedan passed in front,” Pete said. “What are the odds of it passing there and being here?”

The scene took on a surreal clarity, the kind that came when Sebastian knew bad shit was about to go down. Some people with a sixth sense for danger felt a prickle at the back of their neck when warning instincts kicked in. He usually didn’t feel that prickle. Instead, time slowed, his brain processed vision more clearly, touch receptors in his body became super-sensitized, and his sharp hearing became even more intense. Faint odors and aromas became overpowering. The neighborhood became too normal, as though 3-D photographed. When Sebastian got the feeling he was looking at a facade, that’s when he knew trouble was about to happen. It had been that way since he was a kid.

The dull whump-thud, whump-thud of his heartbeat was an undeniable warning. He glanced at the dashboard and the GPS screen. Skye hadn’t left the coffee house. Returning his attention to the SUV they were approaching, Sebastian absently noted the vehicle’s make, model, and license plate. He observed a young mother wearing exercise clothes, pushing a stroller as she jogged away from them, about one block away. In the opposite direction, a gardener’s truck was two blocks away, tailgate down, bags of mulch waiting to be placed. “What was it about the vehicles and the occupants that stood out?”

Pete shrugged. “There were two men in each car, which is a little different for this time of morning in this town. Covington doesn’t seem like a ride-sharing kind of place, unless people are headed into the city, and the coffee shop isn’t on the way to the commuter roads to New Orleans. Both cars braked in front of the coffee house. Neither stopped. All four men turned their heads, like they were looking at the coffee house. I looked at the plates. I committed them to memory. I’m positive that,” he gestured with his chin, “is the SUV from the coffee house. When they kept going, I dismissed them. You got in the car two minutes after, so the SUV hasn’t been here long.”

“Minero said two men would arrive from the marshals’ office in an hour or two,” Sebastian told him, his eyes scanning the quiet street. A man wearing khakis walked across a yard, towards the truck with the mulch, and reached forward as he gripped one of the bags. The scene was suburban normal, devoid of obvious threat. “These guys aren’t marshals. They’re here too soon, there’s two men too many, and the marshals would have just walked into the coffee house.” He shifted in the seat, stretching his legs as much as he could as he glanced at the dashboard. Skye’s blue dot was still at the coffee house.

“Ragno. There’s a security system with video at the coffee house. Do we have access?”

“Yes, but I’m not there. Give me a minute.”

They were slightly past Skye’s house and almost parallel to the suspect SUV now. It was empty. Even though he had to assume the occupants were in the house, Skye’s house revealed no life. Assuming that the SUV and black sedan together made up a surveillance team, as Pete’s observations suggested, Sebastian didn’t like that only half of the team was there. The other half of the team—the black sedan—wasn’t at Skye’s house and it wasn’t anywhere in sight. Instead of racing, his pulse slowed when he had to focus, and now, his blood was crawling through his veins.

People here in the burbs never expected anything bad to happen in their idyllic worlds. Sebastian knew, though, that crap happened everywhere. Every neuron in his body warned him that the shit was about to hit the fan. Where? Didn’t matter. He knew where he needed to be, with absolute certainty, because the blue dot still hadn’t moved.

“Coffee house. Now!”

***

Run.

The minute Connelly left, she was galvanized into action, but ten minutes later, she was still doing anything, it seemed, but running. In her ideal plan, she and Spring would be able to leave in a minute flat. But nothing was as ideal as her plans, especially not with Spring, because her sister couldn’t just be told to get moving. She’d have too many questions. So, delivering the cake was a good ploy, but getting the three-tier cake onto the floor-level platform in the rear of the van took precious time, even with Daniel’s help. Daniel offered to follow her to the bank and help them with the delivery, but she assured him she could handle it.

The van was in the rear parking area, behind the coffee shop. It was a small parking pad, with just enough room to turn a car around, an area that was intended for deliveries and a few parking spaces for employees. The long driveway that led to it was on a side street, and the parking area was not visible from the front of the coffee house. Adjoining businesses, a hairdresser and an art gallery, weren’t opening until ten. No one was around. Once she and Spring checked on the cake, Daniel shut the door to the van.

Skye smiled at Spring, and said, “Let’s take Candy with us.”

Spring gave her a puzzled glance. “To deliver the cake to the bank?”

“Sure, why not?” Skye said. “She loves car rides, right?”
And because we’re not returning here for a long time, if ever, and I know that you won’t make it through the next few days without her.

“I’ll bring her favorite leash and a chew toy, okay?”

“Great idea. Go upstairs and get whatever you think she might want. Hurry or we’ll be late for our first delivery.”

Spring beamed. “Come in and help me carry.”

Skye nodded. Spring didn’t travel light. She never went anywhere without her thoroughly bedazzled backpack, which fit not only her travel tote of cake decorating tools but also her iPad and whatever other items were needed for her current obsessions. Skye followed her sister back inside. She glanced into the kitchen. Daniel gave Skye a smile before opening an oven and pulling out a fully-loaded baking sheet. She paused in the center of the large public space that had materialized from her dreams. The shop was momentarily empty, except for Sarah, who was behind the counter, organizing muffins in the pastry cases. There was a lull between the early customers and later-morning customers. The same lull had happened the last two mornings.

The place was so pretty and peaceful it brought tears to her eyes. For the last nine months, she had worked hard to make it perfect, a comfortable place where people would sit for a moment of peace. It was a beautiful gathering place, one where many special moments could be made. The white-on-creamy-white decor was her vision, providing the perfect backdrop to the shocking mix of colors that Spring used to decorate her confections. Spring would have continued to thrive here, and Skye would have loved being at the coffee shop, and in their home, which she had made equally special. She shook her head, willing away the urge to sob at losing it. Spring couldn’t see her upset.

Sarah paused in her task of organizing the muffins. Kind brown eyes gave her a worried glance. “Is everything okay? You seem stressed.”

Skye would have loved to confide in her. But Sarah and Daniel knew nothing of their real lives and one rule was that she was never to tell anyone the truth. So Sarah and Daniel only knew them as Chloe and Colbie Stewart, and the cataclysm scenario in which she was now mired made no sense in that world. “Just a little tired.”

“Ready,” Spring said, as she ran down the stairs.

Finally. Skye had plenty of cash on her, tucked into her belt. Her back-up revolver was in her backpack, which she had locked in the van. Yes. Ready.

Run.

She drew a deep breath, turned her back on the coffee shop, and followed Spring and Candy out the back door. As usual, Spring’s rhinestone encrusted backpack, with its kaleidoscope of colors forming intricate flowers, was slung on one shoulder. Thank God for compulsions, Skye thought, shutting the door to the coffee shop behind her. Otherwise, she’d have to explain to Spring why she needed to take the backpack on what should have been a short, uneventful delivery.

Spring and Candy slipped into the passenger side of the van and shared the front passenger seat. As Skye walked around the back of the van to get to the driver’s side, a black, four-door sedan pulled up, blocking the van’s ability to back-up and exit. As soon as the car stopped, the driver and a front passenger stepped out before she could make it to the van’s driver side door and safely inside. A not-quite-conscious thought wondered why the trunk of their car popped open, but Skye was more concerned about them, who they were, and why they were in the back of the coffee shop. She didn’t have any scheduled deliveries, and customers usually went through the front. A sign that they’d driven by, and ignored, said ‘service drive only.’

“Skye Barrows,” the driver said. He was a large, dark-haired man. He walked towards her with a steady stride.

Skye’s heart raced. She hadn’t heard anyone say that name in over a year. Twice in one morning was twice too often. Her stomach twisted with the certainty that ten minutes had been too long to enact her plan to run.

“I’m U.S. Marshal Bill McClendon,” he said, without showing credentials. In his face, she saw thin, unsmiling lips. Something in his expression told her not to waste time asking for identification. Even if he was a marshal, it didn’t matter. “This is my partner, Dennis Snead. We have some questions for you about your father.”