Shadows (Black Raven Book 1)

by Barcelona, Stella

  Two right, one left, another right, one left, one right —

  He glanced back at her, frowned, and continued his telephone conversation.

  “What?” he asked, talking not to her, but on his communication system.

  He shifted in the seat, as though his tall, long-limbed body craved movement, and there just wasn’t enough room for him in the SUV.

  Dear God, would he just stop moving and shut up?

  “Is he crazy?” Sebastian asked. “See if you can get Minero on the line. I’ll tell him exactly what I think of that idea.”

  She needed to forget that he existed, because now she wasn’t certain if a left followed the last right that they’d taken, and she usually didn’t forgot things like that. Sequences were like codes, and she remembered most codes she had ever created or learned. But if he wasn’t talking, he was listening, and even when listening, a soft-spoken comment to Ragno was only going to be a few breaths away, and she found herself waiting for his next comments, caring about hearing the rich timbre of his low voice as much as what he was saying. Except when he was talking to Skye, he defaulted to a low, steady voice. When he talked to Skye, tightly-controlled irritation seemed to be his default, as though he knew she was concealing something from him.

  She didn’t blame him for being irritated with her.

  After all, he was dead right.

  Spring had finally nodded off, her head resting on Skye’s shoulder. Candy was snoozing, her head in her sister’s lap, the chewed-to-death, soggy rawhide half in her mouth, like a loose cigar, as she slept.

  Two right, one left, another right, one left, one right, one left.

  Maybe.

  “Well, when you do get Minero on the line, tell him no. He’s not interviewing Skye tonight. She’s had enough for one day. And he’s never interviewing Spring. Dispel that notion now. You can give him reasons why, but he should have the medical reports that we provided on the sisters, shouldn’t he? You provided that this morning, before the attempted kidnapping, right?”

  As Sebastian paused, Skye asked, “What medical reports?”

  He shot her a glance. “Anything my people managed to get.”

  His eyes back on the road, he asked, “Did Minero even read the material that we sent? No. Don’t bother answering. Tell him he’s not interviewing Spring. Not on my watch. She’s off limits. There’s no option on that.”

  Profound gratitude flowed through Skye at the dead-on protectiveness she heard in his voice, but the gratitude was mixed with hopeless exasperation. He was a hard man to dislike, yet he represented an insurmountable stumbling block in the most important task she had ever tried to accomplish. “Do you know everything about us?”

  “Only what others know,” he said, serious eyes on her, “and reduced to writing that is stored in databases.” He refocused his eyes forward, his attention refocused on the phone caller. “Schedule the interview between Skye and Minero for 8 a.m. We set it up. Secure lines. You know the drill. Schedule a chopper lift for me after the interview, which shouldn’t take long. Skye and Spring will stay at Last Resort two nights, then we move them to an isolated safe house, one not associated with any Black Raven assets. I’ll head to headquarters in the morning, after the interview, and run things from there.”

  The convoy finally turned off the two-lane highway onto a one-lane, black top road. About one hundred yards into the woods, they stopped at a tall brick wall that faded away in the darkness. An iron gate with pointy metal spears opened as the first SUV approached it.

  Jesus Christ.

  They were entering a guarded fortress. She’d be trapped on the inside as much as others were unable to enter.

  Cataclysm. Run. Now.

  When she finally caught up to her father—and there had to be a time when she would, because if she imagined otherwise she’d break down, and if she broke down Spring would freak out—she was going to give him one hell of a mouthful for coming up with this impossible task.

  Act first, worry later? Get to the lake house as fast as you can? Take care of your sister. Keep her safe. Take charge if the worse happens, if cataclysm happens. You can do this, Skye. Figure it out.

  All wonderful ideas for an idealist, one who’d never actually been in the cross hairs of an assault weapon, one who never had to get around a man as tenacious as Sebastian Connelly.

  At a guard station, two men and one woman wearing Black Raven logo jackets stood ramrod straight, arms at their sides, with serious expressions on their faces as Sebastian drove past. They wore assault rifles on their chests and pistols strapped to their thighs.

  “We’ve made it. You can breathe easier. Nothing will happen to you here.”

  Breathe easier? Right. She was suffocating, because she was trapped. Once through the guard station, Skye only saw dark woods. She lowered her window a few more inches. The extra-fresh air, though cool and crisp and scented with the sweet essence of pine, helped her fight the encroaching panic-driven anxiety attack. “Where’s here?”

  “Last Resort. A training facility.”

  A big training facility. After a mile of a drive on a wooded street, two of the guide SUVs turned left. The other two turned right with them. They reached a clearing with a large two-story house that looked like a country French chateaux, with symmetrical, arched windows, a double front door, and tall potted plants. All three SUVs stopped in the bricked courtyard that was flooded with light, where there were four other SUVs.

  A dozen men and women were outside, standing at attention. Pistols were strapped to their thighs. They wore cargo pants, and light windbreakers. All eyes were on Sebastian, yet he was oblivious to the attention. The driver put the car in park. As one agent opened the door for him, Sebastian glanced into the backseat and said, “This will be home for you and Spring tonight and tomorrow. After that, we’ll move you. We’ll keep moving you, until we figure out where your father is, and who is after you.” He paused. “Until your father is back in prison, and you and Spring are safe.”

  “Wait just a second,” she thought, feeling a glimmer of hope. “You’ve brought us to a safe house run by trainees?”

  He glanced at the line of men and women. “Those are instructors. If it makes you feel better, we train both new and existing agents here. New ones only get here if they’re coming in skilled.”

  “How skilled?” Hope came with the thought that maybe, just maybe, ‘skilled’ for Black Raven recruits meant training as security guards at Wal-Mart.

  “Training with Special Forces. Seals. Marines.”

  Hope faded. “Why is it called Last Resort?”

  “Due to the difficulty of the projects for which they’re receiving training. A lot of our clients have run-of-the-mill security problems, but some come to Black Raven with lives that are royally fucked-up. That percentage requires top talent and creativity. We’re their Last Resort.” He gave her a serious look as he stepped out of the SUV. “When we came up with a name, Last Resort sounded one hell of a lot better than Lost Causes.”

  The house only looked like a gracious country-French chateaux on the outside. In reality, it was a well-guarded fortress. The first floor wasn’t a house at all. It was a workspace, with concrete floors, stainless steel desks, and sleek metal light fixtures. Along three sides of the first floor, there were offices with glass walls, so operations on the wide-open center floor were visible. The center of the first floor had computer equipment, monitors, and a dozen or so work stations. The instructors who had stood guard as they pulled into the driveway entered the building, presumably resuming their work positions. After being in darkness for hours, the bright light of the workspace was blinding.

  The second floor, which they accessed by climbing sleek, stainless steel stairs and entering thick doors, was different. High ceilings, creamy-white walls, and coffee-colored wood floors filled a living room with soothing light and natural-colored linen furniture. Sebastian directed them down a hallway on the right, where there were two bedrooms and an adjoini
ng bathroom. He nodded to a female agent, who entered the living quarters with them. She had blonde short hair and big, almond-shaped brown eyes. He introduced her as Dr. Claudia Schilling and left the doctor with them before disappearing down a hallway on the left.

  That was an hour ago. She hadn’t seen him since, and the doctor had examined Spring, then introduced them to Agent Reiss, the agent in charge of the house and their needs—from cooking for them to walking Candy. Agent Reiss had a Superman tattoo on one substantial bicep, a Black Raven tattoo on the other, an easy smile, big green eyes, and short-cropped, auburn hair. Freckles made him seem young, and the Superman tattoo made him just plain adorable. When Reiss returned from walking Candy, the doctor left them.

  By 2:00 a.m., they’d had showers, and Spring had eaten a turkey sandwich. Skye had tried to eat, but couldn’t. Despite not having had a bite of food all day, her stomach was a tight ball of nerves and disappointment at failing to fulfill her father’s simple instructions.

  She’d blown the deadline.

  She couldn’t get to Tennessee by 5:45 in the morning, but she had to get there as fast as she could. Had. To.

  Candy had downed a bowl of kibbles like it was her last supper, and Reiss had walked her again. He had pointed to a phone on the bedside table and told her to call, if Candy needed a walk during the night. The phone was an inside line to central operations, downstairs.

  As soon as she was sure that Spring was asleep, with her earphones on and the audio dictionary on Q, Skye sat on the edge of Spring’s bed, and set the alarm on her watch for 4 a.m., because Dr. Cavanaugh had said to wake Spring every two hours. Claudia had also pointed to the phone, and told Skye that if anything seemed off, at any time, to pick up the phone and request her.

  She glanced at the other queen-size bed that was in the room, and, although the crisp white linens looked inviting, getting in the bed would be pointless. She needed fresh air so she could calm herself and try to think of what she should do next. She needed help, and there was only one person she trusted enough to ask for assistance. Problem was, she had no phone and she didn’t know if a phone would help her, because Jen was now on Sebastian’s suspect list and, according to Sebastian, missing.

  Her heart pounded as she realized she had no hope. No one to call. No hope for help. Like Sebastian had snapped earlier, when they’d been in the driveway and she had wanted medical help for Daniel and Sarah, there was no help. He was all the help that was coming. Dear God. If he was it, there was really no way out.

  Fresh air.

  She needed, at the very least, fresh air, because she couldn’t breathe.

  She tried a window in Spring’s bedroom. It didn’t open, even with the locks unlocked. She went into the adjoining bathroom, where there were no windows. Candy followed her, as though sensing her tension and trying to soothe it. The adjoining bedroom had two windows. They didn’t open either.

  She went down the hallway to the living room. While agents had accompanied them into the second floor living space, it was now empty and quiet. Light linen drapes covered large plate-glass windows. The windows didn’t open, and as she stared out one of them, she paused. The other windows had looked out on darkness, and so did these. The bright, soft lights of the living room were reflected too cleanly.

  As she got closer, she realized the windows were fake. She’d been thrown off because it was dark outside, but closer inspection told her that the windows didn’t look out on anything but a wall. Outside air was only a remote hope.

  No.

  Please. Not one more thing could go wrong today. All she wanted was an open window and a breath of fresh, sweet air.

  The kitchen was on one side of the living room and, when facing the kitchen, to the left of it, there was a dining area with a sisal area rug and a long, rectangular dining table. The table was rustic, made of wide, distressed planks of wood, with the side closest to the kitchen having a backless bench instead of chairs. Behind the table, there was a row of six tall, narrow windows that were covered in white linen shades. She ran there, yanked on a cord to lift one of the shades, and tried to push up the window as she realized she was staring at a reflection not only of herself, but also of Sebastian. He had suddenly appeared and was standing just a foot or so behind her.

  She spun around. Barefoot, he wore jeans and an untucked white t-shirt with a Black Raven logo on the left side of his chest. “None of the windows will open,” he said, “Actually, they’re not even windows. They’re just there to make the place seem like a house.”

  His hair was damp and there was a fresh bandage on his arm. Clean skin glistened, but he hadn’t been able to wash away the bruise on his jaw or the serious look in his eyes that revealed just how crappy the day had been for him, too. Even the soapy-fresh scent that emanated from him was cloying. Overpowering. She preferred his natural woodsy smell, but now, even that would be too much. Anything but fresh, outside air was going to be too much.

  “I need fresh air.”

  “There’s plenty of it in here,” his eyes searched hers, “The filtration system is sophisticated. Where’s Spring?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Good. Doctor Schilling said everything seems to be okay with her. You agree?”

  Skye glanced at her watch. “Yes. I’ll wake her at four to check.” He was only an arms length from her, studying her. His eyes were probing and serious and concerned, as though he knew that she was at the end of her freaking rope. The very end. He was right.

  “By morning the agents will have gathered everything that was on the grocery list that you gave me for the marshals’ safe house. It should all be here by the time Spring awakens,” he said. “I’m also going to be leaving, right after your interview with the marshals. I assume you won’t give the marshals any more than you’ve given me?”

  She didn’t bother answering. She had more immediate things to worry about than an eight a.m. conference call. Like trying to breathe and squelching the panic attack that is bubbling up from my toes.

  “After I leave, Dr. Schilling and Agent Reiss will be your main contacts, while you and Spring are here, but any of the agents can help you with anything. If you change your mind about talking-”

  She stared at him as his words trailed off. Leave, she thought. Please leave now. She needed to concentrate on breathing and not panicking, and with him standing there she was having a hard time focusing on either objective. He gave her a few seconds of arched-eyebrow silence.

  “That’s what I figured,” he frowned. “You know, anything would be helpful at this point. We’ve got information overload, and none of it is adding up to helpful knowledge. It’s just me and you now.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m not mic’d. Ragno’s sleeping for an hour or so. It occurred to me that part of the problem with you talking might have been the broadcast system I was using. Do you want to talk, my ears only?”

  No. Stunning as it was to look at, she wasn’t falling for his blue-eyed brand of sincerity. If cataclysm was in play, it meant that she had to go straight to the top, and last she checked, the person at the top of the hierarchy was not a private security contractor named Sebastian Connelly.

  “Well, if you change your mind after I leave in the morning, any of my agents can find me in just a few minutes, if there’s anything you want to tell me. You’ll be safe with us, until we can figure this out. Is there anything else you might need? Anything that wasn’t on that list?”

  “Outside air. I need,” she paused, giving into weakness, and worse, letting him see her beg. “I need to know that I can get out. I feel trapped.”

  He touched her shoulder. His light touch carried reassurance and strength. She could have fallen into his arms, because she felt like she was spinning out of control, and he was nothing if not a solid pillar of strength. But while his touch was giving, his eyes were hard. Security and reassurance were just his job, and he was doing his job well. Instead of getting closer to him, she reached down to pat the s
cruff of Candy’s neck, trying to find comfort there.

  “You’re not trapped,” he said, as his hand fell away from her shoulder. “You’re in a safe house, and when I say safe house, I mean it. You’re here for protection, and we take that seriously. The house isn’t only bullet-proof, it’s air-sealed. Chemical agents in the ventilation system? Infiltration from the air? Helicopter invasion? We have weapons on site that will blow airborne invaders out of the sky. Fire flush out?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen. Run through a list of possible ways those sadistic fuckers could get to you, and make you step one foot out of here, and you’ll find that we’ve covered every contingency. After all that happened to you today,” he paused, “yesterday now, I’d think you’d be thrilled to be here. You’ve got to be exhausted. I’m surprised you’re not already asleep.”

  She crossed the kitchen, went to the water bowl that had been set out for Candy, lifted it, and turned to the sink to fill it with water. Once it was full, she knelt on the ground with it, carefully setting it on the flagstone floor of the kitchen. She didn’t really care whether the water spilled, but she cared whether he was going to see that tears were filling her eyes. She turned from his matter-of-fact reality and closer to Candy and the soft, warm, canine comfort that she offered through the soulful brown eyes that were focused on her, as though the dog sensed her distress.

  “But you don’t understand,” she managed to say without her voice breaking, “I’m claustrophobic. If I don’t have fresh air-”

  “I do understand,” he interrupted. “I know that about you and I’ve watched you all day. You haven’t once gotten in a car without lowering a window. You crave fresh air. Claustrophobia sucks, and, your actions, and the medical records that we’ve accessed, tell me that you’ve got a dose of it,” he shook his head. “You were trapped in the car after your accident in the Keys, and it took them hours to cut you out of it. So you probably have a bit of post-traumatic stress on top of it. I’m sorry, Skye, but there are no windows here to open. You’re in a safe place. Spring’s here, and she’s safe.”