“Two days ago.”
“Can you make that call again? Seems like some clerk somewhere isn’t getting the message.”
“Goddamn bureaucracy. Will do.” McCollum ended the call.
Sebastian appreciated the heads up on the media, because no matter how the story was made public, all fingers would point at Black Raven. Even fingers belonging to many of Black Raven’s allies, like Senator McCollum. Until the jailbreak, Black Raven had held the lucrative contract to design and provide automated security systems at twenty federal prisons. No matter what happened, that contract was going to be yanked, and, depending on the political fall out, Black Raven could lose many other government contracts.
He watched Skye hand the cops their coffee. One of them looked at her, let his hand linger on hers as she passed the coffee to him, and then said, loud enough for Sebastian to hear, “Everything okay?”
She froze for a second, before her face transformed with the beautiful smile Sebastian had seen in the photographs. “Yes,” she said, “fine. Just busy, and trying to get Spring to let go of her first cake. I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning?”
He said, “Yes. Same time.”
As soon as the cops turned away, her smile faded. She was faking that smile, and Sebastian wanted to know why. He also wondered what the hell was going on between Skye and the cop. He almost choked with that thought. Damn. Her attractiveness was fucking with his head and that was…weird. He never let attractive women get to him in that way and made it a practice not to be distracted by beauty while on the job.
He stood and approached the counter, as the local cops left. Chloe Stewart was about to become Skye Barrows, and, if she knew anything at all about where her father might be, Sebastian was going to make damn sure she told him what she knew.
Chapter Three
7:20 a.m., Monday
Cataclysm. Now. Run.
Skye now hoped to be out the door of the bakery at 7:45, which was fifteen minutes later than the departure time she had planned once she received the message, but given that their dog had almost gotten herself killed, a fifteen-minute deviation from the schedule wasn’t too bad.
Candy was snoozing on the dog bed in the upstairs office, Spring was making sure her cake was perfect, and Skye had guessed that the tall man with the serious, steady gaze wasn’t interested in coffee, muffins, or the ambiance of Creative Confections. The driver of the SUV hadn’t come in, even though she could see through the glass panes of the front door that the tire was changed. Mr. Blue Eyes had eaten two of the three muffins that Sarah had given him and taken a bite out of the third. He talked low. His gaze took in his surroundings, the customers, and her. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, and, although no cell phone was apparent, she guessed that he was on the phone, because he didn’t seem like the crazy type who would talk to himself.
Suddenly, his eyes were on her. His square jaw was set, and as the policemen left, he approached the counter with a steady stride.
“I need to talk to you.” His deep, rich voice was a fit for his large stature and broad shoulders.
Her heart skipped several beats as she absorbed his steady gaze and his somber, dead-serious tone.
No. Not today. She had to run.
When she glanced into his eyes, silently questioning why this man would need to talk to her, and wondering whether she misheard him, he smiled.
Skye had sworn off men two years earlier, just like she’d sworn off so many other things. At first, abstinence had been easy. Now it was damn hard, and she was finally going crazy from it, because this man’s smile was charming and unexpected and made her aware of exactly how long she’d gone without sex.
Even though his face was lean, with slight hollows beneath his high cheekbones, when he smiled deeply, really deeply, dimples appeared in both cheeks. Full lips, with a slight turn-up that made the left side slightly higher than the right, riveted her attention. Clean-shaven, his skin was vibrant, with olive undertones. He lifted his right hand and pressed his right temple, for just a second. His dark brown hair, with a little blonde, was clipped short along the sides and longer on top. He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her, as if his mere words should have galvanized her into action.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
He had the kind of hairstyle that could be smoothed back and look sophisticated, but this morning he hadn’t gone for the polished look. A few pieces fell over his forehead. He captured the wayward strands with his fingers and pushed them back as he returned her stare.
With his action, fear jolted her body. When he had lifted his arm to smooth his hair, his loose-fitting black leather jacket rose with it. After noticing that his close-fitting, simply tailored white button-down shirt revealed a broad chest and a tapered waist, her gaze screeched to a halt on the weapon that was holstered at his waist. Coinciding with his insistence that they talk privately, she realized that his preening was more about revealing the gun than an attempt to straighten his tousled hair.
He had inspired a deep ache for good sex, but that was something she was used to doing without. Danger was not something that she was interested in experiencing. She looked for a way to stall, forced a pleasant-yet-slightly-confused expression on her face, and said, “Excuse me?”
“You don’t want to have this conversation out here,” he said, as two yoga-clothed women made their way to the coffee counter. They waved at another woman, who had snared a seating area near the left fireplace. Skye nodded hello to the two friends, who, in day three of the business, like the cops who had just left, had become regulars. They didn’t seem to notice her. Instead, they were focused on the tall man, whose attention was focused on her.
No shit. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him anywhere. And she certainly didn’t want to be alone with him. Even in broad daylight. Every instinct screamed at her to grab her sister and run like hell.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Skye said, keeping her tone cool. They hadn’t introduced themselves. She had wondered about his name after she had gotten Spring upstairs. If he had said it, she’d have remembered it. She remembered almost everything, even things she preferred to forget.
“Sebastian,” he said. “Sebastian Connelly.”
“I’m Chloe Stewart,” she said, “and we can talk right here.”
He frowned. He gave her a slight headshake. “Try again. This time with the name you were born with.”
Now he had her attention. His words, coupled with the weapon that was holstered at his hip, jolted her heart as her world shattered.
Run.
Was this why her father had sent the warning? Him? This Sebastian Connelly? Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he the reason the cataclysm scenario was in play? No matter what it was, Skye knew instinctually she shouldn’t hang around to find out. Oh God, she had to get away from there.
She drew a deep, deep breath. This couldn’t be happening now. She needed fresh air, so she could think. But there was no time to step outside as the walls started to close in on her. She drew another deep breath and slowed her thoughts, pushing aside her blossoming claustrophobia before it choked her. She focused on the three simple words her father had drilled into her, the reason why she and Spring were in hiding.
Trust no one. No one.
Trust no one.
No one with the government. No one with law enforcement. No one from your past, and no one from your future.
Trust no one, and that included gorgeous men who carried runaway puppies across the street and were gentle and patient with Spring, when he was the type of guy who didn’t seem like he had the time to pause. Maybe Mr. Blue Eyes was guessing. When in doubt, she had taught herself, say nothing. She stared into his eyes without flinching, wondering, why him? Why now?
“I’m here to talk about your father,” he added, despite her silence, “and I need to do it now.”
“My father died three years ago.” Skye said the words that she had practiced. The lie ca
me easily, without thought.
Sebastian’s eyes hardened. As the remnants of his charming smile disappeared, her father’s words floated through time, and she could almost hear his voice, deep inside her brain.
Trust no one, and especially trust no one who knows you’re my daughter.
“We both know that isn’t true,” Sebastian said, “and I don’t have time for lies.” He leaned over the display case until he was just inches from her. When he whispered, “Skye. Skye Barrows.” His face was close enough that only she heard him. “You can talk to me in private right now or we can have this conversation in public right here.”
His breath warmed her cheek, but his words sent chills down her spine. She hadn’t heard her real name in over a year, and the fact that he was there within hours of activation of the cataclysm scenario couldn’t be a coincidence.
Figure it out.
Her father’s words, his voice, floated to her with the answer he’d given to every question she’d ever asked. Figure it out.
Her first instinct was to flee. She couldn’t just charge out the back door, though, because she couldn’t leave her sister behind. Her second instinct was to figure out exactly what he wanted and why. And if the answer wasn’t good, which it probably wasn’t, she was going to kill him. Then she was going to run like hell.
“Upstairs,” Skye said, reaching under the register and into the cubby where she kept her purse. With a practiced, quick twist of her fingers, she unsnapped the interior compartment that hid her revolver, before grabbing the purse by the handles. She glanced into the icing room, saw that Spring was absorbed in adding yet more icing to the cake, and nodded to Sarah as an indication for her to take over.
Skye climbed the steps with Sebastian at her heels. Once at the top, she opened the door to the office with her right hand. Candy slipped past her and ran down the stairs. “After you,” she said, dipping her left hand into her purse and gripping the revolver. As Connelly turned to her and folded his arms, she shut the door with her right hand.
Trust no one.
Especially not an armed man who knew that she was her father’s daughter. With her left hand she tightened her grip on the revolver and let her purse fall to the floor. Raising her weapon, she used her middle finger to press the button on the grip that triggered the laser sight and aimed the red light between his eyes.
Breathe. Just breathe, she told herself, as she focused on the man, who had now become a target, because he was standing in the way of what she needed to do. She needed to run. “Raise your hands.”
Sebastian eyed the weapon, jaw clenched. “Lower it.”
She shook her head. “Not until I know who you are and what you want. Raise your hands.”
Eyes flat and tense, he raised his hands to his shoulders, palms facing her. His eyes bounced from the gun to her eyes.
“Why are you here?”
“I told you. I’m looking for your father.”
“Whom do you work for?”
“Black Raven Private Security Contractors. I’m working with the United States Marshals Service. We’re looking for your father. Lower the damn gun.”
“Show me identification,” she said. Hell. She’d made a rookie mistake, because he couldn’t show her I.D. with his hands in the air.
“In the top pocket of my jacket.”
“I’m not falling for that,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t be the one to reach for his identification.
His eyes had moved away from the weapon. He was studying her hands, her stance, and her face. She used both hands to hold the revolver and aim, hoping that he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. The gun weighed just over fifteen ounces, but it felt heavier than it had in her practice sessions.
“Is this the first time you’ve ever pointed a gun at a person?”
“There’s a first for everything. It will be the first time I kill someone, but keep talking, and I’ll do it. Shut up and get your identification,” Skye said, willing her hands to stop shaking. “And keep your hands slow and steady while you do it.” Oh dear God, she thought. What if he had another gun in a shoulder holster? “D-Don’t reach for your weapon.”
Skye kept her eyes trained on Sebastian. He reached into the front of his jacket with his right hand. She drew a breath, as he pulled out a black leather case and held it out. In the instant that she let go of the revolver with her right hand to reach for the credentials, he moved with a lightning-blur of speed, simultaneously grabbing the weapon out of her hand, swipe-kicking her legs out from under her, and immobilizing her in a full-body bear-hug, from which she had no hope of breaking free. Down was the only direction she could go.
***
When Sebastian swiped at Skye’s knees with his left leg, she’d have fallen, hard, except he caught her on the way down. He fell with her to the floor, cushioned the impact with his body, and rolled over her. Impulsiveness was something Sebastian admired, but impulsiveness mixed with a handgun was just plain stupid.
The fall had stunned the breath from her body and gave him a few seconds where she was still. He took advantage of it by using his body weight to smash her to the floor, as he unloaded her weapon and pushed the rounds and gun out of arm’s reach. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and the soft mounds of her breasts pressing against his chest felt damn near perfect. When her stunned stillness wore off, her wriggling movement made him realize the sooner he got off of her, the better off he’d be.
Fuck.
He should have just used his gun on her. The cold muzzle of his Glock pressed against her forehead would have proven to her that she shouldn’t pull a weapon without planning to use it, especially when she was hesitant and standing in striking distance of a man who could so clearly overpower her. He didn’t point his weapon at anyone, though, unless he intended to use it.
Skye gasped for air beneath him and tried to knee him in the balls, but his knees were on her thighs, and his shins were pressing into hers. He didn’t give her the option of moving her legs. She tried to scratch at his eyes, but his elbows were pressing into her arms, pinning them down, while he covered her mouth with his right hand. He had at least eight inches of height on her and outweighed her by at least seventy pounds. He put every centimeter and most of his extra pounds to good use, thankful that he regarded his body as a weapon and treated it as such, and thankful that he was several months past July, when he had almost checked-out on life. He was leaner than ever, but damn glad that he was back to his fighting strength. His friend, Brandon Morrissey, whose ass he had kicked a week earlier in a Krav Maga fight, was six feet four. Sebastian could handle Skye Barrows with minimal exertion.
When Skye almost stopped struggling, Sebastian took his hand off of her mouth. “Get off of me,” she hissed.
“I’ll let you go,” he said, “if you promise to be calm.”
Skye tried to head-butt him with her forehead. “I said, get off of me.”
“Calm down first,” he said.
Sparks flew from her eyes. “I’m calm.”
“Like hell.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“That’s the point.” He ground his right elbow into the soft skin of her arm, and pressed more of his body weight into her. Hell. She was no longer a woman who had pointed a gun at him, no longer a person with information he needed. She was nothing but a gorgeous, fiery woman, and dammit, he was on top of her. His body reacted to her full, lush breasts and good God, she was a perfect fit under him. He grit his teeth, as his dormant-since-July libido returned with a mind-numbing rush.
“You should have thought that you might get hurt before you pointed your gun at me,” he gritted out, fighting to regain control of himself.
Skye wasn’t his type, he reminded himself, though the reasons why suddenly weren’t so important, because his body was reacting as though it had found the perfect match. One part of his brain, thank God, reminded him that he’d never been the kind of man who got turned on by manhandling a woman, who so clear
ly wasn’t enjoying it.
Fuck me to hell.
“I’ll scream.”
“Don’t care,” he said, “and screaming will only guarantee that anyone who comes to your rescue will know exactly who you are. Dammit. I said that I wanted to talk to you. I’m not here to hurt you, at least I wasn’t, until you pulled your weapon out.”
“You,” she gasped for air, “you made sure that I saw yours.”
“What?”
“Downstairs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He hadn’t shown his weapon to her. At least not intentionally, but he was used to working in situations where weapons were worn to be seen as a warning to stay the fuck away. Compared to some of the firepower that he typically strapped on himself, the Glock that he wore on this day was innocuous.
Dammit.
He never thought that he’d feel more comfortable in Middle Eastern war zones than in the United States, but there he fucking was, a foreigner in his own country and unintentionally scaring a woman with a weapon, when he needed her cooperation.
“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, “really.”
He could breathe, though, and it sucked, because he inhaled her light perfume, or maybe it was just vanilla from all of those damn muffins they were baking, and it didn’t matter what the scent was. It lit him up like a sixteen-year-old virgin, because she was long-limbed and lean, yet soft where it mattered, and thanks to that photo he even knew what her goddamn nipples looked like.
He could feel her heart beating beneath him. If he really liked a woman, and that hadn’t happened in a long time, Sebastian loved to feel a woman’s pulse points, loved to focus on her heartbeats as he made love to her. There was no focusing on the pulse of this heart, though, because Skye’s labored breathing reminded him that she wasn’t enjoying the moment, and her heart wasn’t just beating, it was racing. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, right at her hairline. To the extent that she was breathing, it was shallow and labored. Either she was putting on a damn good act, or he’d done enough to scare the hell out of her.
Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) Page 5