In the Shadow of Malice
Shadows and Light Book 3
Nancy C. Weeks
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
A Note From the Author
Books by Nancy C. Weeks
Excerpt from In the Shadow of Pride
Copyright Page
One
College Park, Maryland
Almost midnight, an empty parking lot, no prying eyes. Adam Blake hit the key fob, locking his sedan as he stepped out of the shadows. His senses picked up a hint of the wild honeysuckle that grew along the chain-linked fence lining the west side of Pete’s Diner. As a warm May breeze washed over him, he rolled the tension from his shoulders and scanned the perimeter. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
Frankly, the reason he kept coming back surprised the hell out of him. Even though the food was great, Adam craved the company the small diner provided. The regulars were all so damn normal. Adam needed normal.
His life had become a reflection of what he did for a living, and a drastic change was the plan, Pete’s Diner, his baby step in that direction. The occasional hour spent with familiar strangers chased away his lonely, harsh existence.
From his position, he could identify the two people who remained in the deserted restaurant. The wizened old trucker was there on his weekly run from Norfolk, Virginia to New Haven, Connecticut, and the woman sitting alone in a booth, the owner’s granddaughter. From what Adam could surmise, Calista Martin had no life outside the diner other than her music studies at the university a few miles down the road. The ever-present cello case propped on the bench next to her kept her company.
The double doors behind the counter opened and a sizeable man in a navy-blue double-breasted chef’s coat and sculled cap set a large silverware caddy on the counter. Pete Bradshaw was built like a guerrilla on steroids. Strands of blond-gray hair escaped the edges of his cap, and gray stubble covered his chin. But what stood out most was the enormous fried egg skull tattoo on his left arm, the yellow yolk resting right in the center of the left eye socket.
Calista approached Pete, her bright smile on her face sent an unusual feeling of warmth into the pit of Adam’s stomach. Taking the carafe, Pete poured coffee into a travel mug, replaced the carafe on the heating unit, and bellowed a cheer loud enough to rattle the windows. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug before turning to the trucker and hugging him.
The celebratory moment could only mean one thing: Calista Martin posted her last assignment for her master’s degree in music performance and secondary education. For reasons he was too tired to define, a sense of pride for her accomplishments raced through him. That took a deep strength and dedication to follow her dream. Adam had one dream: protect those he loved and to stay alive one more day.
Her beaming smile pulled at Adam like a magnet, forcing his feet to step closer to the entrance. Removing her arms from around the older man’s shoulder, she paused and turned toward the window. Their eyes held before she raised her hand and motioned for him to come inside. She moved toward the door and held it open for him.
“Am I too late for a quick burger?” Adam asked, closing the door behind him.
“The kitchen is still open. Pete will make you something.”
Calista lowered her eyes and eased away from him. A hint of pink came into her cheeks. She acted the same skittish way every time he got too close. Most people gave him a wide berth, and that usually was fine with him. Calista was so open and friendly to everyone who came through the door. For some reason, it hurt that she treated him with the same wariness that everyone else did. He wanted that normal semblance of kindness she gave to others too, at least here.
The trucker set his ticket and a twenty down by the register. “Calista. Heading out.”
She stepped out of the path of the doorway. “Thanks, Nate. Be careful on the road tonight.”
“Always. And you get out of this grease-hole. Celebrate.” He placed a Nationals baseball cap on his head. “Yo, Pete. Where’s my jitter juice?”
“Watch your mouth, or the owner of this grease-hole may just spit in your next meatloaf.”
Pete’s voice was low, menacing even, but his jovial expression gave away his genuine nature. He took the travel cup, waited a second for the last drip of fresh-brewed coffee to drop into the carafe, and topped off the oversized mug.
The scent of fresh coffee wafted across the room, masking the overpowering odor of greasy fries. Adam inhaled, hoping the scent of caffeine would revive him. Pete took a cup from beneath the counter, filled it to the brim, and set it in front of Adam.
“Same-old-same-old tonight?”
Adam took a deep sip of the hot brew. “That would be great, but make it to go. If I sit here for too long, I’ll be out for the night.”
“No problem. It will be right out,” he said before facing his granddaughter. Calista busied herself with wrapping silverware into napkins and then placing them in the caddy next to the menus. Pete took out another cup, filled it half full, and set it next to her.
“I can’t drink coffee this time of night,” she murmured at her grandfather, like he should know better than to tempt her.
“Half a cup will not kill you.” A smirk appeared on his face. “Neither would a good roll…”
“Pete! God, the things that come out of your mouth.” Calista picked up the mug and brought it to her nose, taking in the scent of the rich brew. “And you can’t joke about spitting in people’s food.” She took a sip and closed her eyes. A groan of pure pleasure rumbled in her throat.
Adam almost coughed out his coffee. Calista Martin was a walking, talking sensual magnet if ever there was one. From her shoulder-length strawberry blond curls that bounced when she moved to those warm cocoa, almond eyes that made a man feel noticed, Calista was a natural beauty with a body that would give a blind man wet dreams. Her groan sent blood rushing to dormant places better left alone.
To hide the growl that slipped through his lips, he chortled. Calista gave him a hard glare but again quickly lowered her eyes. Pete let out another window-rattling laugh, which sent Calista’s cheeks and neck into a deep crimson glow. Before he returned through the swinging doors to the kitchen, he nudged her and said, “Tell Adam your news.”
“What news, Calista?”
“I just turned in my last assignment for my master’s degree.”
Adam rose and, lifting his coffee mug, tapped her mug lightly on the rim. “Congratulations. That’s fantastic.” He eased back into the booth. “So, what’s next for you?”
“After six years and 166 college credits, the only thing in my near future is uninterrupted sleep.”
Adam let out a chuckle. “Will you teach or perform?”
“Both. I’ve sent several audition tapes to orchestras and applied to just as many teaching positions. Now I have to see who bites. The best scenario is I’m hired to perform where I can also teach.”
When she lifted her head, her mouth opened to say something, but all she produced was a noisy breath. She
darted off her stool and pointed to the corner of his right eye. “You’re bleeding.”
Adam yanked a couple napkins from the dispenser and blotted the area around the Band-Aid. A couple drops of blood must have pooled at the corner of the bandage and dripped down the side of his face. He gave the area a quick wipe, crumbled the napkin, and shoved it in his pocket.
“What happened?”
“Work accident. A protester didn’t like the guy I was protecting. Threw a bottle at him but hit me instead. I should have grabbed a larger bandage.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing.” She lifted his hair away from the area. “Have you seen it? The skin is turning a nasty shade of black and blue.”
Calista moved behind the counter and pulled out a first-aid kit. She approached the table, cupped his jaw in her hand, and gently peeled off the Band-Aid. The feel of her hand on his face sent an unexpected jolt through him. He shifted out of her reach. “It’s nothing.”
Ripping open the gauze package, she folded it in half and applied pressure as she laid it on the wound. Something sharp slid over the cut, making him cringe.
“Damn, that’s not helping, Calista.”
She removed the gauze. A small, brownish piece of glass was mixed in with the blood. “Pete said you run a security firm. Maybe you need to ask for combat pay.”
“Can’t ask for more pay if it’s your own company. I practically work for free so I can give my employees combat pay.” He then eased her hand away from his head, holding down the bandage himself. “Don’t fuss.”
“You could have a concussion, Adam.”
“I don’t.” He grabbed another swatch of gauze from the kit and ripped it open. He added a squeeze of antibiotic ointment and attached it with tape to his forehead. “See, all better.”
Calista gave him a hard stare before she closed the first-aid kit and replaced it behind the counter. She picked up a bottle of cleaner and sprayed down the counter. “It’s your noggin.”
Pete came through the kitchen door and set a to-go container down next to Adam before he addressed his granddaughter. “Put that rag down. You’re not closing tonight. Pack up and get out of here.”
“You let the other waitress go home. I’m all you’ve got. Besides, we shared a ride.”
“Believe it or not, I can manage without you. And the night my granddaughter earns her master’s degree, she doesn’t close this grease trap. Take the car. I’ll catch a bus or walk home.”
Calista placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not leaving you to close by yourself and walk home. How are you going to visit Mimi if you don’t have a car? I’ll take the bus.”
Adam stood. “I can give Calista a ride home.” He reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. Placing a twenty down next to the register like the last customer, he grabbed his to-go bag and leaned his shoulder against the door. “Calista, I’m ready whenever you are.”
Calista busied herself by stuffing her laptop into her canvas bag, her fingers fidgeting with the zipper. As Adam waited for some acknowledgment, he pushed down the irritation. Others could fear him, but not Calista.
“It’s just a ride home. I’m too scared of your grandfather to try anything.”
“You don’t have to do that. The bus stop is right there,” she said, pointing toward the parking lot.
“I know where the bus stop is.” Adam reached for her large case and paused by the door.
She stood still, studying him until he almost fidgeted. “I don’t accept rides from anyone unless I know their last name.”
“Blake. Adam Blake.”
Calista glanced at her grandfather. He gave her a nod. The room grew quiet while she made up her mind. She finally shrugged and said, “I would love a ride home. Lead the way.” She reached up and kissed Pete on his cheek. “Give Mimi my love.”
“Your grandmother will be so proud of you. I can’t wait to tell her…”
He stopped as if his words clogged his throat.
“It’s okay, Pete. Mimi’s heart knows, her soul knows, and you’re right. She’s very proud of me.” Calista wiped away the tear that threatened to spill down her grandfather’s cheek. After another quick hug, she walked out to the parking lot.
Adam moved ahead of her, positioning his body so it shielded her between him and the building. A soft crunch near the dumpster sounded behind him. He froze. With his arms tight against his body, the familiar rush of adrenaline filled his veins. He shifted his position toward the dark shadows. An enormous calico cat bounced off the structure and disappeared into the bushes.
“That’s Max. He and Pete have an understanding.”
“It’s a cat. How do you have an understanding with a cat?”
“He brings Pete dead mice and Pete makes sure Max eats like a king.”
Adam chuckled. Something he seemed to do a lot around Calista. With one final visual sweep, he relaxed his stance and opened the passenger door of his Acura. This time, she didn’t hesitate, dropping into the seat and drawing the seatbelt over her chest. He loaded the cello in the trunk and got behind the wheel.
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “I thought I heard your grandmother passed away a while back. Did I misunderstand?”
“No, you heard right.”
“But you just told Pete to…”
“He drives to the cemetery every night after he closes the diner, sits next to her gravestone, and tells her about his day. A fifty-year marriage isn’t something you get over.”
“And your parents?”
“Mom and Dad died in a car accident when I was eleven. Mimi and Pete raised me.” Calista twisted so she could face him. “What about you?”
“The same. Both parents gone.”
Adam didn’t have a clue why he brought the subject up. He had no business spending time with Calista outside the diner. That wasn’t a baby step into a normal existence, but a giant leap off a high cliff. His life made him hell on relationships.
But there was just something about Calista he couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was time to see if there was anything between them. If not, he could just walk away before he hurt her, too.
“I’m sorry about your parents.” She placed a hand over his arm. They faced each other for several heartbeats before she broke away and scanned the interior of his car. “I figured you would drive some sporty number or one of those black, mysterious SUVs.”
“What’s a black, mysterious SUV?”
“One of those cool bulletproof numbers with blacked-out windows.”
“Calista, just what do you think I do?”
“You’re like Batman.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she squirmed in her seat. “When you leave the diner, you return to your bat cave unless you’re out fighting bad guys.”
He grimaced. Now what, smartass? Lie to her, or tell her who you really are and what you do?
“Who knew music teachers had such active imaginations? I’m no superhero.”
He could never tell her what he did for a living. He didn’t choose his path, but he didn’t walk away when he had the chance, either.
“And I’m not a music teacher.”
“You will be hired so quickly, your head will spin.” He placed the key in the ignition and started the car. He backed out of the space and pulled onto the side street.
“Where are you going?” Her voice sounded normal.
Adam slowed and stopped at the light. “I’m taking you home.”
“But I didn’t tell you where I live.”
“Yeah, I guess I need that, don’t I? This is the way the Metro bus always turns.”
Calista grinned. “It’s not far. Take the second left. My neighborhood is a couple miles on the other side of the Beltway. Once you pass over I-495, I’ll direct you.”
The faded streetlights cast a fluorescent gloom over homes on either side of the street, but the lack of lighting didn’t distract from the well-cared for neighborhood. People took pride in their homes, much like the suburbs of Los Angeles
, where he grew up. There was a time when someone like Calista was exactly the type of woman he dreamed of settling down with and raising a bunch of little Blakes. She had a kindness to her he sorely missed. But with the twelve jaded, nightmarish years he had on her he could never erase, that dream ended years before they met. It couldn’t exist in his reality now.
“What’s wrong? You’re so tense.”
“Sorry, my mind was on something else.”
“If you get on the Beltway here, you can get off at the next exit, avoiding all the lights.”
Adam turned on his blinker and eased over a lane. Just as he entered the entrance ramp, a stabbing pain exploded in the back of his eyes, ricocheting across his frontal lobe. An involuntary, animalistic moan escaped through his clenched teeth and he squeezed his eyes shut against the searing pain. His hands shot up to cover his head as his foot slammed down on the accelerator. The car shot across the road, jumping the curb, and hurled up a slope. Adam hit the brake inches before the front bumper smashed into the trunk of an old oak tree. His forehead smashed into the horn, the blaring sound deafening.
“Adam?”
Calista slammed the gearshift in park and shut off the ignition. She pulled his head away from the steering wheel. “Adam, what’s wrong?” She tried to remove his hands from his head, but he held on tight.
He couldn’t think or reason. The blinding pain increased until he thought his head would burst. Then the sound of a child’s desperate cry filled his head. They’re hurting Mommy! Help her!
What the fuck was that? Every word of the child’s plea seemed to cut through his frontal lobe to the back of his head. A gripping panic slammed into him as he fumbled in his jacket pockets. “My cell. Find my cell.”
In the Shadow of Malice Book 3 Page 1