Vengeance (A Samantha Tyler Thriller Book 1)

by Rachael Rawlings

  “You’re going to let me babble on, aren’t you?”

  “Whatever makes you the most comfortable.”

  “Hmm, fine. So, what is your full name?”

  “I go by Abraham Shepherd. Very biblical, I know.”

  I chuckled a little at that and was astonished to realize I hadn’t laughed in a long time.

  “Very. And what do you do?”

  “I am an investment banker.”

  I stared at him. Sure, I could see how a banker would be an appropriate choice for a career for our ruse, but it did make me wonder what his real position was.

  “And do people call you Abe?”

  “You, my dear, may call me Abe.” His lips quirked in a slight smile.

  “Okay, fine. And how long have we known each other?” I spent the afternoon thinking of my cover story and created some ideas on how to explain my lengthy absence. My new relationship with this man was the one loose thread I failed to nail down. After the stumbling explanations Alex and I doled out in Lockley’s office, I realized some preparation was necessary for my next attempt at undercover work. Of course, I wasn’t undercover tonight. Not even a little bit.

  “We have been dating for almost six weeks. We haven’t been able to see each other as much as we would like. I travel extensively for my job.” He slanted a look at me. I nodded. “We met at a mutual friend’s house when you were up in New York.”

  I frowned. I never visited New York, but it would fit in well enough with the rest of my cover. I had decided I would explain my prolonged absence with an overseas trip. A stopover in New York wouldn’t be out of the question.

  He continued, “We enjoyed one another’s company so thoroughly, we postponed our mutual departures for an extra week to take in the city sights.”

  I ran my hands over the smooth leather of my little purse, watching as the mile markers flew by. We were on interstate 64, heading into the heart of downtown Louisville.

  “Fair enough. And where are you from, Abe?” I asked. I wasn’t really asking for the truth, only a bit of information to weave into our mutual story.

  “I was born and raised in Ohio. I moved around most of my adult life.” He glanced at me. “And you?”

  “The same,” I replied blithely, “moving from place to place, school to school. I am settled down now. At least for the moment.”

  “Having a nest egg allows you to do that, doesn’t it,” he teased.

  I thought of the funds I stole from the Church of the Light reclaimed and allowed a modest smirk. “You could say that,” I conceded.

  We entered downtown, and I kept my eyes sharp for anyone following us. There was no one there. I was apprehensive about Abe picking me up at my home; I didn’t want to move after tonight if I could avoid it, though at some point I was resigned to the fact they were going to determine my presence anyway. I figured it was better to reintroduce myself into society the way I chose to, on my terms. I was on my own timeline now.

  Abe pulled the expensive luxury car up to the facade of the distinguished old building at 4th and Mohammed Ali and shut off the engine. The valet, eager to do his job and be tipped well for it, dashed to my side to open the car door as Abe stepped out. Abe handed over the keys along with some folded cash. I observed the discrete exchange. I wouldn’t have expected to have the car valet parked in case we needed to establish a hasty getaway. I frowned as I reached Abe’s side. He offered me a sidelong glance and a smile and gently took my free hand, tucking it in the crook of his elbow.

  “Shall we?” he suggested.

  I felt a flutter at the base of my throat. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I demanded in a low voice.

  “Immensely,” he replied, and led me up the stairs and through the entry doors.

  The Seelbach was established in 1903 by two Bavarian brothers who chose to build a monument to fit their style. They resolved to create a posh hotel in the Beaux Arts Baroque style. Over the years it was visited by many of the rich and famous, and was open to proms, wedding receptions, and other celebrations. Upon entering the fantastic lobby, I halted to marvel at the marble and gilded splendor of walls and floors, as well as the sweeping staircase which stretched from the center of the room and parted in two graceful curves to the upper floors. I came to the hotel as a child around Christmas time on a visit with my parents, viewing the elaborate Christmas trees and gingerbread houses displayed for the gratification of the guests. It remained one of the few golden memories of my mother, a time when I saw my father laugh with joy. A few grainy photos from the day still exist and I keep them, along with a few treasured gifts from my mother, in a wooden box I carry with me as I move from place to place. I seldom open it. It is simply too painful.

  I blinked to clear my mind. That wasn’t fair. It was hurting me to think of such a wonderful experience while at the same time considering how I would use my father’s death to promote my revenge.

  I felt Abe’s hand, gentle on mine, and he drew me from my reflections.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low in my ear.

  I blinked and tilted my chin up a notch. “Of course,” I replied with a brittle smile, and we walked in.

  The gala was being held in one of the Seelbach’s finest venues, the Grand Ballroom, which stretched out in creams and golds, lit by sparkling chandeliers guaranteed to make even the devil glitter. I kept my eyes on the cobalt and gold patterned carpet for a moment, before tilting my face up again. We strolled through the doors and I saw for the first time the effect of a shock upon the faces of the wealthy and influential.

  There were probably one hundred fifty odd guests and when we entered the opened double doors, a silence slithered through the crowd, stilling tongues and muting voices. I held my head high. I knew I looked good. Vic said I was pretty, and I retained enough of my vanity to know he was right. At least, he was correct then, before I died and was brought back to life. Now, in my sleek black gown, slit just right to allow movement, and my high heels, I looked the part of the daughter of a politician, the daughter of the late Speaker of the House.

  Abraham walked at my side, tall and serene. His wasn’t an assertive presence, but I knew he was there and felt a little better for it.

  Tom Carter, one of my father’s close associates within the Church of the Light Reclaimed, was the first to regain his composure. He started in our direction, his hands nervously plucking at the stiff cuffs of his tuxedo.

  “Samantha.” He exclaimed, his perfectly bleached and capped teeth showing behind an artificial smile. “My dear girl, how are you?”

  “Tom,” I answered, allowing him to take my hand in his slightly damp one. “I hope it’s okay I came.” I dropped my eyes demurely. “I heard you were honoring my father, and I felt I needed to be here.”

  “Oh, of course,” he gasped. “If I knew you would be available, I naturally would have put your name at the top of my list.”

  I dipped my eyes again, concerned he might catch a glint of skepticism in my expression. I knew very well he hoped to never set eyes on me again. I ran into him too many times in my father’s office to think he wasn’t involved in the church in some measure.

  Thankfully, Carter dropped my hand.

  “Let me introduce you to my date,” I added with tight polite speech. “This is Abraham Shepherd. Abraham was anxious to get to know some of my father’s colleagues,” I lied.

  “Oh?” Tom Carter seemed interested. “Are you in politics yourself?” He was eyeing Abe like a dog with a bone, and I suppressed the compulsion to slap him.

  “No,” Abe’s face was the picture of blandness. “Not at all. My area of expertise is in finances.” He smiled thinly. “But I am always interested in Samantha’s friends.”

  “Um, yes well,” Tom offered a forced smile and gestured us farther into the room. I saw eyes following us, some speculative, some shocked, while there were an equal number of new faces I did not recognize. I took special note of a few of them, wondering what they heard a
bout my father, what they believed about his death.

  “Samantha Tyler, let me introduce you to Dennis Connors,” Carter started pulling me through the crowd, the elegantly clad people parting as we passed. The buzz of conversation started up again, although I figured some of the talk would be about me. We stopped in front of an elderly man with a formidable mustache and beard, his mane a mixture of golden brown and steel grey.

  “Dennis, I think you moved here right after Samantha’s father passed away.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed and then widened with recognition as he processed Carter’s words.

  “Tyler, yes, I am so sorry for your loss.” When he put out his hand, I took it, feeling the softness of his skin. I wondered what he thought about my calluses, proof of my training.

  I bowed and breathed a quiet thank you. Carter turned to some others in the group, naming them as I took their hands in turn, my mind cataloging the familiar and unfamiliar names alike. I had kept politics at a distance since my recovery and it took a moment to match all the names to the faces. Obediently, I greeted them, turning repeatedly to introduce Abraham, gradually feeling more comfortable with our positions there. I did this before at my father’s side, greeted and smiled and struggled to maintain an artificial interest in these puffed and preened peacocks. It wasn’t difficult to maintain the charade now, after years of practice.

  Tom Carter seemed to have taken it upon himself to be my official tour guide, moving from one group to the next. If I thought I would be able to sit back and observe these people in their casual conversation, I was wrong. I rapidly become the center of attention, being watched as much as I was watching my father’s past supporters and colleagues, as well as a few enemies.

  I was almost relieved when the call to order came, and the guests were summoned to be seated. It was a mild scramble while we were shuffled into seats at Tom’s table, bumping a couple of lower level politicos from their comfortable seats. I knew how the dinner would proceed and watched with interest as people were introduced to tepid applause, speeches were delivered, and a lot of self-congratulations was spread liberally about.

  I was slightly nauseated by the time dinner came. During the speeches, Abe kept mostly silent, with only a sardonic rise of a dark eyebrow to indicate his views.

  The food was good, and I ate heartily. I wasn’t one of those women who picked over a meal, trying to appear delicate to their dates while their stomachs growled in protest. I ate well, especially when the meal was good, and didn’t worry about what anyone thought of my appetite. I worked to keep up my muscle mass. I wouldn’t let it bother me if anyone suggested it was indelicate.

  “The steak is delicious,” Abe said in an undertone.

  “It is,” I conceded, glancing at my mostly empty plate.

  “After the speeches, I wasn’t sure if I would still have an appetite,” he said, mirroring my own thoughts.

  I flashed him a grin.

  Tom Carter started a conversation with Abe then, talking about how the economy was manifested in politics, and I zoned out from their conversation. While the plates were being exchanged for a decadent dessert selection, I allowed myself to look around the room. I experienced twinges of knowledge all evening. I wasn’t surprised. They were here, the evil entities, and they gave off the aura of black death by the bucketful. With the sheer number of people present, I couldn’t weed out who exactly was making me feel the way I did. It was frustrating to study all the dull faces and not recognize who was emanating the demon impression.

  After dessert, the pattern began again, the mixing and mingling, hand shaking and fake smiling. In the swirl of black and white tuxedos and the glitter of gowns, I smiled and nodded, and pretended I cared what these people said and who they were. I didn’t. I was after the pillars of the Church of the Light Reclaimed, and only them. All the rest of the political game was no longer of interest to me. As long as the church didn’t regain the influence they wielded while my father had been in office, I didn’t care what policies and stances these people professed. Most were as unaware as children about the greater battle being fought right under their noses.

  The magnitude of it all took my breath, and I felt the impulse to get some air. It was such a classic thing to do, to flee the party and seek a secluded spot to regain my composure, but I needed it.

  I leaned over to Abraham and told him my intention. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  I studied him, tall and reliable in the tuxedo, his eyes sharply alert behind the glasses, and shook my head.

  “I’ll be out in the hallway.”

  He gave me a brief nod, and I knew from the way he was following my movements as I strolled away he would be looking out for me, even if he wasn’t by my side. I also felt the other eyes observing me and I was relieved to see no one followed me out.

  The air here outside the ballroom was cooler, the long hallway quiet with the carpet swallowing footfalls. There was a discrete couple of chairs sitting by one of the long windows, and I took a seat. A few long minutes went by, and I concentrated on my breathing, clearing my mind, preparing for whatever came next. I kept my eyes open, my senses alert. This wasn’t the abbey. I couldn’t let myself drop my guard even for a split second. A moment later, I saw a shape moving down the hall from the staircase, the form gradually resolving into one of an older woman. She wore an exquisite peach gown gathered in sleek pleats, a bit of glitter at her wrists and throat. Her hair was mostly blond with threads of sliver and pulled back into an intricate knot at the nape of her neck.

  I gave her a polite nod, and she slowed. I dropped my eyes. I needed a moment and didn’t want to talk with anyone just then.

  “May I?”

  The woman’s accent was slight, and I knew she was not a native of Kentucky. The note of Europe was in her inflection, even in those small words.

  “Of course,” I gestured to the chair next to mine. There were only the two in that section of the corridor, so there was no other place for her to rest. I supposed by her approach she must have been one of the other attendees of the party and wished she hadn’t come this way. My seclusion turned out to be very temporary, my senses were still clogged with evil.

  “Thank you,” she said, perching with a graceful movement. She exhibited none of the extra softness of frailty which came with maturing, and I speculated about how old she was. But it didn’t matter, and now that my isolation was spoiled, I prepared to get up. I had wasted enough time avoiding my duty and it was time for me to return. I came to the dinner for a reason, and it certainly wasn’t to cower in the hallway.

  “Please,” the woman reached out and her hand lightly brushed my arm.

  I forced myself not to withdraw from the touch, feeling the shock of nerves set off at her movement. I was on high alert, and I couldn’t suppress the immediate reaction. “Yes?”

  My inner sense, the one which warned me of the unnatural, the evil, was twinging all evening and now was at a sustained magnitude. I knew there were otherworldly guests mingling among the common people, but my knowledge wasn’t as keen as that of the Sisters at the abbey. I wished for a moment Sister Evangeline was there. She would, with little effort, pick out the demon in our midst.

  I almost smiled at the thought, her sweeping into the ornate chamber, swathed in her traditional habit and veil. If my entrance caused the room to stop, hers would have caused them major spasms among the party goers.

  My eyes roved the long hallway, watching for a threat, before settling back to the older woman as she studied me patiently.

  “You are Samantha, yes?”

  I inclined my head, looking into her fine lined face and pale blue eyes, tamping down my distrust. It was as likely she attended as the wife of major politician than as a member of the Church. “I am.”

  “I am Mrs. Ashwood,” she replied, her voice soft, musical but deep for a woman, “and I knew your father. I wished to convey my condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I answered, my
voice even. She removed her hand, but I still felt ill at ease. It had been so long since I was among normal people, people who thought of the world as an ordinary place, based on reality. Conforming to the standard niceties of society required an effort on my part.

  “How long have you been back in town?”

  Her question caught me off guard. “Pardon?”

  “I understand you have been traveling in Europe. At least, that is what your father’s friends and co-workers told me.” She gave a little chuckle, as though she was laughing at herself. “I’m sorry, maybe I should explain.” Her pale eyes were intent on my face, so I tried to keep my expression neutral. “I am the secretary for Mr. Temmans. He was a great fan of your father’s and spoke of him repeatedly and well.”

  I nodded. I knew the name, if not the man, since he took office three months ago after the current member of congress feel ill with an undiagnosed heart condition.

  “We hoped to meet you,” her smile was sincere. “When I asked where you had gone, all I heard was you were taking time off to travel. I can understand your father’s death was quite a shock.”

  “It was,” I agreed. I was feeling a little impatient with this woman. Her boss assumed office after my father’s death, and therefore was unlikely to possess any information I was seeking. I forced a slight smile. “But I’m home now. I was hoping to be able to have some,” here I dropped my eyes to add emphasis to my words, “closure since my father’s death.” I made up the excuse in advance, and it sounded good. “I have enjoyed coming, even if it was difficult to see all of this again,” I gestured to the closed doors of the ballroom. “But I’m afraid I am getting a little tired. Travel and all of that.” I paused a moment. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Ashwood,” I said politely.

  “Yes, of course,” she stood as well and again took my hand. I forced myself to remain still but couldn’t avoid the slight flinch at her touch. “It was lovely to meet you Samantha Tyler. I suspect we will see you again.”