Shadow Warrior (The Shadow Series Book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  “We had nothing to do with those deaths, Emme. Nothing. Giuseppi would have come to tell you himself but Mom—Greta—has taken a turn for the worse. I’m heading there as soon as I’m done talking with you, but it was important for you to know, to believe us, that we aren’t starting a war. We don’t know who’s doing this any more than you do.”

  “I’m very sorry about Greta. I know she’s been a wonderful mother to you, Val,” Emmanuelle said sincerely. “As for the dead bodies turning up in our dumpsters, every one of them was a friend. Bruno? Bruno Vitale? His grandmother has no one now. He was a kid.”

  “My point, Emme. Giuseppi doesn’t order hits on kids. And they aren’t tortured and wrapped in carpets and put in dumpsters. I don’t know who is doing this, but someone wants a war between our two families.”

  “They were all working for your family,” she pointed out quietly. She gave another flick of her eyes over her shoulder to ensure her brothers were close. It was only at that moment that she seemed to be aware he hadn’t let her arm go. She took a step back. “Stefano gave your father the list and proof.”

  Val pulled her closer to him. “Stop that. Don’t piss me off any more than I already am. This is important. Yes, they maybe worked for my family. We have people on the inside, you have people on the inside, it’s an accepted practice, which is why, if they get caught, no one kills them. They don’t know anything. That’s the way it works. You know that, Emme.”

  She was silent a moment and she’d quit fighting his hold on her. Val had managed to pull her almost into his body. Vittorio took a step closer. His brothers followed his example. Dario stepped directly in front of Taviano, stopping him. Vittorio signaled Taviano, who had a notorious temper, to stand down.

  Val was right. The subject matter was too important to stop the talk before they could all hear what he had to say. He’d made a good point. Not one of the men employed by the Ferraros or working in the neighborhood taking money from the Saldis would be privy to any information on the Saldi crime empire. Not a single one. So why were they killed? And why be tortured? If it wasn’t the Saldis starting a war, who was it?

  “You have a valid point,” Emmanuelle conceded. “I know you have to get back to Giuseppi and Greta immediately. I’ll take what you said to Stefano and he’ll be in touch.”

  She turned as if to go, but Val tightened his fingers around her wrist. “I’m not finished, princess. You heard something you shouldn’t have, and you refuse to let me explain.”

  Emmanuelle turned white. “Let go of me right now, Valentino. Don’t count on the fact that I don’t like public scenes. I don’t want to be anywhere near you. You had your fun. You followed your orders and you were damn good at seduction. Of course, it probably wasn’t that difficult. I was sixteen. I should have let my family kill you.”

  “Do you feel better now? We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t listen. That man you were with isn’t going to do a thing for you and you know it. I want you to meet with me, just the two of us . . .”

  Emmanuelle looked over her shoulder, her eyes pleading with her brothers to save her. Vittorio would never forget that look as long as he lived. Emmanuelle was so in love with Valentino Saldi, she feared, even after everything she’d heard him say—that he didn’t love her, didn’t want her, that he’d seduced her following orders from his father—she wouldn’t be able to resist his demand.

  Vittorio moved instantly, mowing down the bodyguard who stepped in front of him. Nothing would stop him from getting to his sister.

  Grace entered the kitchen and found total chaos. Rene Bisset, the head chef, was yelling at two of the waiters at the top of his lungs, switching from English to French periodically. The two waiters clearly were denying that they were the ones who had smashed all the dishes. The windows were broken, and food and the broken pieces of hundreds of plates were everywhere. The counters, the walls and the floor weren’t spared.

  “Rene, calm down,” Grace said, keeping her voice quiet and low. “It looks like a war zone in here. I doubt that these two are to blame.”

  “There is no one else,” Rene insisted. “I was gone only a moment.” He threw his hands into the air and made several gestures impossible to read. “Perhaps five minutes. I had an important phone call. Five minutes and I come back to see this room destroyed and with it all of my dishes. Everything.” He toed a broken bowl and glared at the servers and then glared at her. “The music is so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think, let alone someone breaking everything.”

  Both servers put their hands up in surrender, but they weren’t looking at Rene or Grace, they were looking over her shoulder to Eloisa. Grace half turned and as she did, Eloisa cried out and hit the floor hard, blood matting her hair and pooling under her head. There were no bodyguards in sight. Had Emilio pulled them off to protect the riders, or had Haydon Phillips targeted them and hurt them already?

  “Haydon?” Grace stared at the face she was so familiar with, yet looked so different she barely recognized him. He was dressed in a suit and tie, a short well-trimmed beard and mustache almost making him unrecognizable. He fit into the very elite crowd of wealthy sponsors and benefactors of the Ferraro fund-raiser.

  “Not Haydon. It’s Emerson Caldwell. Eloisa Ferraro’s assistant put me on the guest list herself. Coming from California, I didn’t know many people out here and she was just the person to arrange for me to meet friends—which I did. Everyone seated at the table I was assigned to was very nice.”

  Casually, he aimed the gun at one of the waiters and pulled the trigger. He shot the other one in the same knee as he had the first. In spite of the silencer, the gun sounded like a one-two shot and she hoped one of the bodyguards was close enough to hear over the loud music and conversations taking place in the ballroom and on the outside patio. She was terrified for them.

  Both men went down screaming but when Haydon shook his head, they stopped, one with his hand over his mouth to prevent any more sound. Grace looked down at Eloisa. She moved slightly, but Grace didn’t want to call attention to her by crouching down to see how bad the head wound was. She shifted slightly to put her body between Haydon and the others.

  Haydon laughed harshly. “Always the heroine, aren’t you, Gracie? Come on, we’re blowing this place. I’ve got us a car. They’ll never find us.”

  Her worst fear. “I’m not going with you this time, Haydon. You tried to sell me.” She didn’t know what to say to stall him, but she had to give Vittorio time to come get her. She knew he would, and she had faith that he would be able to use his training to take control.

  Haydon, at her declaration, turned and shot Rene. This time, the bullet went into his chest and he dropped, gasping. Haydon smiled at her. “I didn’t kill anyone, Gracie. That should make you happy. Well, with the exception of Ferraro’s mama. She’s going to die. I hate that bastard. He can’t keep you away from me.”

  He stepped closer to get around her to get a better target on Eloisa. Grace could see her eyes were open and she was taking in everything Haydon said.

  “If you want me to go with you, the only way I’ll do it is if you don’t touch Eloisa. You leave her alive, right here. I mean it, Haydon. I’ll let you shoot me, but I won’t go.”

  “Rene there needs medical attention right now, Gracie. Do you want him dead? Because I can make that happen.”

  Grace folded her arms across her chest. Her engagement ring felt like a talisman on her finger. She pressed it close to her chest. She wasn’t trained the way Vittorio or the members of his family were, but she was stubborn. Haydon knew it, too.

  “You kill any of them, Haydon, and we’ll all stay right here. Me with them.” She knew in terms of time, although it felt like hours to her, only a few minutes had gone by, maybe at most three. She could hear the shouting outside growing louder and her heart sank. No one was going to hear the gun if Haydon shot them all.

  He cursed over and over, swearing at her, taking a step toward her and raising the weap
on as if he might strike her with it the way he had Eloisa.

  “Why don’t you just go on your own?” She risked taking a beating or getting shot to stall him. Vittorio would come. She knew he would. She had complete faith that he would. She repeated the mantra to herself over and over. Now she was convinced that Haydon had targeted the guards watching her and Eloisa. She just didn’t know how.

  Haydon looked genuinely puzzled. He indicated the door with the barrel of the gun. “We always go together. We’re a team. Get moving. Hurry, Gracie.”

  She went in the direction he told her, and Haydon turned to follow her. Eloisa was up and on him, reaching to twist his neck in the classic Ferraro manner. Haydon whipped around before she could make the kill. Rene’s eyes had gotten big and he held his breath when he’d been continuously moaning. Just that small difference had tipped Phillips off.

  He slammed the gun across Eloisa’s face and stepped back to pull the trigger. Grace leapt onto his back, her fingernails ripping across his eyes. He screamed, and the gun went off repeatedly, as if his finger was stuck in the trigger. He ran backward and slammed Grace into the wall. Her head hit a cabinet and pain exploded through her.

  Eloisa ran at Haydon as he reached back to punch Grace in her injured shoulder. She threw herself on the floor at the last second, sliding, trapping Haydon’s legs in hers and rolling to take him down. Haydon bent forward, throwing Grace on top of Eloisa as he stumbled. He recovered enough to kick Eloisa hard in the ribs. Aiming the gun at her, he pulled the trigger repeatedly, but nothing happened. Grace forced herself up to face him. Four minutes. Where were the bodyguards? Vittorio? His brothers?

  Haydon grabbed her by her hair and began dragging her toward the door. As he did, he took a small remote control from his pocket and hit the green button. Instantly a flurry of explosions went off in the kitchen, and flames crawled up the wall and over the cabinets.

  Using the intricate updo she was wearing to pull her, Haydon yanked until she had no choice but to stumble after him. Both hands went to her head to try to force his hand back down to her scalp, so he couldn’t pull, but he was moving so fast she tripped and went down. As she did so, Eloisa came out of nowhere, emerging from a shadow behind Haydon. Blood streamed down her face and into her eyes. It didn’t look like she could possibly see let alone stand.

  “Run, Grace!” Eloisa called as she launched herself at Haydon. “Get out of here.”

  Haydon still had the gun in his hand and as he turned toward her, he used it like a bat, swinging it blindly. He hit Eloisa almost in the same place as the first time. She went down hard, her body crumbling like a rag doll. She didn’t even attempt to break her fall, telling Grace she was unconscious or dead.

  Haydon turned his attention to Grace. She had already put several feet between them. Very slowly she crouched down and, watching him the entire time, unbuckled the straps to her heels. She stepped out of them.

  “You can chase me, Haydon, and you’ll probably catch me, but by now, everyone is in that kitchen putting out the fires.” Stall, stall, stall. Vittorio would come.

  “First they have to attend to the guards I left in the garden. Then they have to break down the door. After that, they’ll be trying to save the chef and the two idiots who work for him.” There was taunting laughter in his voice.

  “Grace!” It was Vittorio, and relief swept through her.

  “Out here. He’s out here and he’s hurt Eloisa.”

  Haydon punched her hard. Her cheek seemed to explode, and she went down, her legs wobbly. He caught her chin. “I’ll be back, and I will kill them all.” Then he was gone.

  The night itself seemed to swallow him, protect him, give him a way to hide when no one else could. Sirens sounded in the distance, but it was too late if the cops were coming. Haydon had once again gone free.

  Mi amore. Grace.” Vittorio crouched down beside her. Heart pounding, he wiped at the blood and tears running down her face. There had only been four men on Grace and Eloisa. All were unconscious or coming around. Not one was one of their primary guards. He was going to kill Emilio for sending their most experienced bodyguards to aid the riders. He should have known Emilio would have done so. His job above anything else was to protect the riders. Eloisa didn’t want that privilege any longer. She had taken the job of a greeter, relinquishing her job as a rider, unless there was a need, therefore, the bodyguards wouldn’t be as worried about her.

  “He got away.”

  His hands moved over her, noting every wince. “Not necessarily. I don’t want you to move. Don’t try to get up. I’m going to check out Eloisa.”

  “I need to know if she’s all right, Vittorio. She saved me more than once.”

  That would be just like his mother. She would bitch about their choices, but she would defend and fight for every one of them. She’d give her life if it was necessary. He crouched down beside her and gently examined the head wound. It was deep, and it was pouring blood. They’d already summoned ambulances for the wounded in the kitchen. He texted the others. He needed to go hunting and couldn’t do so until his brothers and sister were there for Grace and Eloisa.

  Taviano and Emmanuelle arrived almost instantly. Emmanuelle rushed to Eloisa with a little cry. Taviano stood back waiting for Vittorio to tell him what he wanted done, but his gaze was on his mother’s body.

  “Is she alive?”

  “Barely. She needs to get to the hospital. I’ve texted Stefano. He’ll meet you there. I want you with Grace at all times. I don’t care what crap they give you, don’t leave her side.”

  Taviano nodded. “Good hunting.”

  “I won’t miss.”

  He stood up and as he did so, he brushed a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “She’s strong, Emme. She’ll pull through.”

  Vittorio went to Grace and crouched down. “Taviano will be with you. I’m going after Haydon.”

  “He’s dangerous, Vittorio. He might turn back and hunt you. That’s the kind of thing he does.”

  Vittorio kissed her gently, cognizant of her injuries. When he rose, he glanced around, saw Emilio and Enzo closing in. He stepped into the nearest shadow. It swallowed him up, pulling apart his body brutally, tearing at him, but he controlled the ride and forced his eyes to watch for signs of passing.

  Haydon had to have gone straight out to the front gate. A fence surrounded the property. It was ornate, made of wrought iron, the spikes twisting high into the sky like braided spears. He could see faint streaks of light as if the man had left behind prints. They didn’t appear like footprints, there were mere faint bluish lights, more of a blob-line than a print, but every person left them behind and from shadows he could see them. He couldn’t spot the imaging once out of tube, but the shadows acted as if he was seeing through a thermal lens.

  Haydon’s prints, like every individual’s, were unique. Vittorio knew he would always be able to spot them. The heat images faded fast, so he had to ensure he was close on the killer’s heels. Sometimes, if they were lucky, a person left behind skin cells, evidence of their passing that could be used, but they were much harder to spot when riding the faster tubes.

  Vittorio stepped from one shadow to the next, following Haydon as he ran down the street leading to the main highway. Haydon had slowed his run, Vittorio could tell by the length of his strides. He went from one parked car along the street to the next, clearly looking for one to steal.

  Vittorio deliberately chose a smaller shadow. They were much faster and harder on the body, ripping him apart and hurtling toward the end of the street where the blue, blobbish streaks seemed to suddenly disappear. He could see faint imaging indicating a body moving around the corner in a vehicle. He followed, jumping from one shadow to the next, finding several that took him almost to pace alongside the car, so he could make sure he was following the right man.

  Haydon Phillips drove at a reckless speed, clearly furious, off his usual cool and deliberate game. He depended on Grace. She was, in essence, his family. He n
eeded her, and in his sick fantasy, she was part of his world. She supported him, just as they’d supported each other when they were children together. He might get angry at her, but in the end, in his mind, it was the two of them against the world.

  He drove too fast and carelessly, weaving in and out of traffic. Vittorio twice tried to find a shadow that would take him directly into the vehicle, but even going beneath the glaring streetlights, and using the fastest tubes, it was impossible. He couldn’t do anything but keep up with him.

  With a sinking heart, Vittorio knew the inevitable happened. The siren sounded faint at first, a strange, waffling noise heard as more of a muffled wap wap wap inside the fast shadow he rode. The red and blue lights cut through the dark of the night as the law enforcement vehicle cut through the cars on the road to settle behind Haydon’s stolen car.

  There was no way to warn the policemen that the man they were pulling over was a very desperate serial killer. Haydon glanced in his rearview mirror, cursed and spat, then hit the steering wheel several times. He slowed the car and began to pull to the side of the road. The police car behind him slowed as well and pulled to the slower lane in order to get directly behind Haydon’s car again.

  Haydon suddenly accelerated and took the first exit available to him. His car fishtailed and then raced around the long curve leading back to a heavier-trafficked area. Vittorio was forced to step out of the small shadow and catch another to reverse his direction. The police car followed, but now they were a distance behind.

  Haydon rounded the corner so that for a few seconds he was out of sight of the patrol car. He slammed on the brakes, opened the door and jumped onto a grassy section of the sloping embankment. The car continued forward at a rapid speed, gaining momentum as it rolled down the hill toward the traffic.

  He lay prone in the grass as the cop car swept around the curve, sirens blaring. As soon as the vehicle was past, Haydon was up and running toward the buildings on the outskirts of the suburb. The houses were smaller with neat yards and shared fences. Haydon managed to vault the low fences and not even break stride.