Angel in the Shadows

by Amy Deason

  Robert shoved away from the desk. “My Nikon?” He exclaimed, his finely trimmed eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding. You know how much that camera costs?”

  She did, in fact, know the price of the camera, one she had hoped to one day be able to afford for herself.

  “Just think of it this way,” she said with a slow smile, “you won’t have to cancel your date and you’ll still have a job.”

  Groaning loudly, Robert stared at her, a parody of on his face. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. If you do this for me tonight, you can borrow my camera for tonight and I will contribute to your own Nikon fund. I know you’ve been saving up for a while. But promise me you’ll guard it with your life.”

  “I’ll take care of it like it’s my own,” Madison swore, crossing her heart extravagantly.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Robert grumbled.

  “Oh, and if I’m going to do this for you, you will have to swing by and feed Milo for me. Tuna fish with mayo and pickle with a side of milk.”

  “You and that damn cat.” Robert grinned. “You take care of him better than you would a man.”

  “So what if I do?” Madison shrugged. “He’s soft and warm and he doesn’t ask for much. Just some food and water and a little rubbing now and then. It’s the perfect relationship.”

  Robert simply shook his head. “If you say so.”

  Madison smile sweetly up at him. “So how much time do I have to get ready?

  “About ten minutes. I already called a taxi and it should be here anytime,” he replied, crossing the room toward the door.

  Madison stood staring after him. “Ten minutes? How did you even know I would agree to do this for you?”

  Turning back at the doorway, Robert shot her an infuriating grin. “I told you, I know you. Anyway listen, just flash the doorman your ID and you’ll be fine.”

  “The Nikon . . .”

  “It’ll be on your desk before you leave. Try to have a little fun. It won’t kill you, I promise.” He pointed his finger at her in a mockery of sternness. “And take care of my camera,” he retorted before disappearing out the door.

  Grabbing the garment bag from her desk, Madison hurried down the hallway to the small bathroom. She smiled ruefully. Have fun, he’d said. Maybe she would. After all, a little fun never hurt anyone, right?

  Seth Reynolds sat in the silence of the library looking over the long list of names that lay before him, mentally double-checking his information. He read it slowly, carefully, and with total absorption, searching for any aberration from what he knew. There were none. He wanted no surprises that might compromise this mission, though he was more than capable of dealing with them should they arise. His actions were programmed in infinite detail and with split-second timing. He was organized, concise, and prepared for anything. So much depended on the smallest detail, no matter how insignificant it may appear to be. No one knew this more than him. His job depended on details. And most often, his life. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing had been left to chance.

  Satisfied, he stood, walking over to the pane glass window and contemplated the cold December sky. As he watched, snow-laden clouds churned slowly, pushed by whistling winter winds. The end of the year was drawing to a close along with his current mission. For nearly eight months he had been in place and now in less than three weeks, it would be over. Another distant memory among many that would be remembered only in a detached sort of way. Like a memory belonging to someone else. A page from someone else’s life, someone else’s past. It was something he was becoming more and more used to.

  Several years had passed since he had been in the States with his last two missions requiring him to be in far more remote areas of the world. And though he could become anyone with seemingly innate skill, he had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed being Seth Reynolds, personal assistant to one of the richest men in the country. This guise was decidedly more laid back than some of his previous roles in the past but that did not belie the significance.

  Though cold and impersonal, he had gotten used to this persona, finding it somewhat refreshing. He was going to miss it. All the more reason to finish this up and move on. He had no room for misguided sentiments in his life. When this objective was complete, he would bid the United States farewell without looking back. And without remorse. Something he was able to do quite easily, abandon one assumed name and life for the next. The result of a constant and incessant routine. All done with an automatic response and inhuman detachment. Which was just as well considering most of the time he didn’t feel human. In fact, he usually felt nothing at all.

  And that was just how he needed to be. You couldn’t survive in this business very long if you allowed emotions to control your actions. Emotions were completely useless and nothing more than a liability, a hard lesson he had learned long ago. He was well trained to be resilient and decisive. Unfeeling and impervious to pain, anger, love, tenderness. If need be, he could be gentle, even merciful. But if not, he delivered justice without a second thought. Or regret. Whatever the situation called for, he did it quickly and efficiently. Without question.

  Adjusting the wire rimmed glasses that were as much a part of the Seth Reynolds persona as the somber gray suits he wore, he stepped away from the window and the cloudy skies. In just a few short hours, this house would be filled with people, wine, and music. He had carefully planned the large charity event months ago. By overseeing each and every detail, he had the necessary control of the situation. Crossing the room as silently as a ghost, he opened the library door and stepped out into the hallway. With one last look around, he quickly pulled the door closed, leaving nothing behind, as if he had never been there at all.

  Chapter 2

  Madison had been on the Staten Island Ferry numerous times, a twenty-five minute ride she never grew tired of. The sharp sound of the waves slapping against the hull of the ferry and the crisp breeze blowing through her hair always gave her a sense of unbridled freedom. Out here, on this boat, watching the water and sky meet, the troubles and pressures of her day always slipped away as smoothly as silk over skin, leaving her refreshed and relaxed. That was definitely not how she was feeling now. Nervously, she reached up to smooth her windblown tresses only to remember her hasty attempt to finesse her impossibly straight hair.

  Unable to resist the urge to check her reflection once more, Madison pulled the silver compact from Robert’s camera case. She had tossed it into the black bag at the last minute, a momentary show of weakness on her part. Vanity had never been one of her faults but she was going to be surrounded by extremely prosperous people and she desperately needed some semblance of sophistication and poise.

  Despite her best efforts to achieve a polished look, in her eyes, her image fell far short of the intended mark. Brown eyes, the same ones she’d always had, were lightly lined and smudged but in no way remarkable. Eyes she desperately wished were blue. Who ever heard of a blond with brown eyes? Her thick blond mane, usually settling loosely below her shoulders, now lay close to her neck in a simple chignon. As she watched, rose-painted lips smirked back at her cynically. She was never going to be the envy of anyone at this party. Not even in the beautiful lace dress she wore. With its thin spaghetti straps and short hemline falling just above her knees, it was a little more revealing than something she would have chosen for herself. Although she had to admit that the dress, paired with the strappy heels she wore, did wonders for her legs, making them appear sleek and endless.

  She closed the compact with a definite snap as the ferry pulled into the harbor. Really, there was no reason for her to be worried about the way she looked. Certainly nobody else was going to be. She was here to be behind the camera, not in front of it.

  Vance’s estate was only a short ride from the ferry, lasting no more than ten minutes. But by the time the taxi arrived, the la
te-afternoon sunlight was quickly giving way to dusky shadows and ominous clouds. Stepping from the car, she paid the driver, shivering at the distinct chill in the air and drew her coat tighter around her.

  Well, here I go.

  She turned, getting her first real look at Vance Goldstons’ home. Poised high on the hill, it towered over everything below. A modern-day castle made of dark-gray stone, the mansion was striking, formidable, and in the fading light, it loomed tall against the cold December sky. Framed by dark, leaden clouds, heavy with unfallen snow, it was a light from top to bottom, welcoming her with the lure of warmth. Beautiful, dark, and powerful were the words that came to her mind as she climbed the wide front steps and rang the doorbell. The chime was an extravagant melody that resounded throughout the massive house.

  The door didn’t open immediately so she turned her back to the intricately carved door and admired the view of the Hudson River. Absolutely beautiful. Peaceful and serene as the lights from the surrounding buildings reflected on the rippling black water, making it appear to dance minutely.

  “Ahem,” a deep, gravelly voice said from behind her, causing her to jump in surprise.

  Spinning around quickly, Madison lost her balance and nearly fell.

  Damn high heels, she thought angrily, forgetting her earlier admiration of what they did for her legs. The rush of blood to her face made her cheeks burn. But the tall gray-haired man at the door appeared not to have noticed her clumsiness as his dull brown eyes slid over her blandly and without interest.

  “Hello. I’m Madison Sinclair, the photographer,” she stated.

  The solemn man continued to stare down at her expectantly and she realized she wasn’t wearing her identification badge.

  Double damn. Why in the hell hadn’t she put that on?

  She opened the side pocket of the camera bag, feeling around for it. Her fingers slid over the objects in the bag quickly. There was the compact, cell phone, her keys, but where was the badge? She was extremely aware of the doorman’s watchful gaze as she searched, almost frantically now, for her identification card. Finally her fingers grazed the smooth surface of the ID and she yanked it free by the black lanyard. With a sheepish grin that was entirely wasted on the man at the door, Madison showed him the white laminated card embossed with her name, photo, and M.P.I.’s logo on the front.

  The doorman glanced at the card, dismissing it quickly, and stepped back.

  Slipping the lanyard over her head, she stepped inside the spacious entryway.

  “Mr. Goldston will see you in the library. Right this way, Ms. Sinclair,” he said in a raspy voice, reminding her of the smokers’ voices on television ads. The ones advising you against the habit. She briefly wondered if he smoked, although there was no aroma surrounding him.

  The elongated hallway was brightly lit and extremely well decorated. Each frame on the cream colored walls held works from highly recognizable artists. Seurat, Gauguin, Greco, Cézanne. By no means an art connoisseur herself, Madison knew enough to realize that these were either excellent reproductions or Vance Goldston must be a man with extensive resources to have such artwork in his personal possession.

  The library was large and decorated as beautifully as the hallway but in more dark, subdued tones. Navy-blue carpet covered the entire length of the room, a perfect contrast to the cherry paneled walls. Tall bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling and were filled to the brim with books. An immense, ornately carved desk occupied the left corner of the room and to her right, a soft leather sofa sat before a crackling fireplace, the distinct smell of burning hickory filling the room.

  “Mr. Goldston will be with you shortly,” the doorman said, turning to leave then closing the door silently behind him.

  Removing her wool coat, she crossed the room, taking a seat on the leather sofa and placing the camera case beside her. Crossing her legs, she leaned back, enjoying the supple material against her bare shoulders. She could definitely get used to this, she thought as she watched the flickering flames of the fire as they danced and twirled on the burning wood to their own silent tune. Mesmerized by the grace and sinuous movement, she barely heard the door open behind her. She stood swiftly, preparing herself to meet one of the country’s richest men.

  Her immediate reaction was one of disbelief. Though she had never seen Vance Goldston before, the man coming toward her was not what she had expected a successful millionaire to look like. Tall and lean, he was somberly dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was combed back neatly and from behind the thin wire-rimmed glasses he wore, pale-brown eyes regarded her coldly. His face was clean-cut but bland and rather ordinary. Almost plain. In fact, he was someone she normally wouldn’t have given more than a passing glance.

  “Ms. Sinclair? I’m Seth Reynolds, Mr. Goldston’s personal assistant.” He extended his hand and Madison gripped it softly. His hand was cool and smooth and totally impersonal. “I’m sorry for your wait. Mr. Goldston is on the phone, something last minute. Can I offer you something while you wait, a drink perhaps?”

  Like his handshake, Seth’s voice was remote and insipid, devoid of any emotion. Perfectly distant. Although his English was excellent, there was a faint accent that she couldn’t immediately identify.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “As you wish. I’m sure it will only be a moment, but please, make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Madison watched as he turned and disappeared from the room, leaving her alone once more. She felt momentarily anxious but there was no basis for it. Maybe it was just nerves. She had never had a job of this scale before. So far, she had only been trusted with museum art, bridges, parks, and other tourist attractions. If she screwed this up, she was confident that she would be out on her ass by Monday.

  Walking over to a book-laden shelf, she skimmed the titles, forgetting them as soon as she read them. Her thoughts wondered to Vance and what kind of man he was. She didn’t know much about him, just a few minor details. Not yet forty, he was handsome, unmarried, and extremely wealthy. He appeared to be excessively generous, donating millions of dollars to various charities around the globe. She didn’t even know where his money came from exactly.

  She didn’t even bother to care. People like that were so far out of her hemisphere, it was almost like they didn’t really exist for her. And yet, here she was. In this house, his house. It was so unbelievable that she wished she had done some research on him.

  Her mind inadvertently turned back to Mr. Reynolds. What a strange man. Disapproval all but radiated from him, though that could just be her nerves. Still, she thought she felt a thread of foreboding slip along her spine, chilling her as the weather outside had not. There was no logical reasoning for this and she immediately chastened herself for it. If this is the way I’m going to act at important functions, maybe I am better off photographing bridges and monuments.

  Before she could follow that train of thought further, the library door opened once again and she turned to find Vance Goldston approaching. She quickly assessed him as he crossed the room. Now this man undeniably fit the bill for the role of a multi-millionaire. Impeccably dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, he was every bit as handsome as she had expected. Under a crop of short, black hair, his clear green eyes sparkled excitedly. An aristocratic nose and a charming smile rounded out his features, making it easy to see why he would capture a lot of people’s attention. The companion at his side was equally attractive, stunning actually. With the face of a goddess and a figure that any model would die for, she was easily one of the most beautiful women Madison had ever seen. Rich, chestnut hair cascaded down past creamy white shoulders, perfectly complemented by a soft sapphire colored dress. Her cornflower-blue eyes flitted over Madison, regarding her slowly and then at once, losing interest.

  Reaching her, Vance grabbed her hand, kissing the back
of it lightly. Madison, unprepared for the genteel greeting, was somewhat unsettled as his lips touched her skin. It seemed to be over the top to her, a slight pretentious even and the urge to pull away was immediate. She quelled her reaction, thinking it would be considered rude and this was not the man to offend.

  “Ms. Sinclair. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I had a very important phone call that just couldn’t wait. I’m sure you know how it is. Just when you think you have time to relax, something else comes up that has to be dealt with,” he said, smiling brightly. His voice was soft but it carried with it a subtlety of force, commanding her attention.

  “Yes, of course,” Madison replied lightly, desperately trying not to be overwhelmed by Vance’s presence.

  “Oh, forgive me. Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce Stacy Mears.”

  Although no verbal possession was made, Madison could only guess at their relationship. A girlfriend perhaps? Entirely possible. In the looks department, they were certainly well matched. Smiling politely, she turned to acknowledge the striking woman. Cold indifference painted Stacy’s features. She strolled to the large desk and settled gracefully on its glass-like surface, her long legs crossing perfectly. Taken aback, Madison would never have expected such ill manners from someone so beautiful. It seemed as though Stacy was a perfect example of beauty only being skin deep.

  “I wasn’t aware that such a lovely young woman was to be my photographer for the night or I would have arranged for my driver to meet you,” Vance replied, his overly courteous behavior clashing wildly with Stacy’s.

  Disregarding Stacy, Madison turned her focus back to the job at hand. “That’s quite all right, Mr. Goldston. Actually, I’m filling in for the original photographer who was unable to make it at the last minute. I trust that’s not a problem?”