Shadows (Black Raven Book 1)

by Barcelona, Stella

  He lifted himself into plank position, with his weight on his forearms and toes. He kept her pinned, but stopped trying to press the breath out of her. The new position brought Sebastian some mental relief and allowed her to draw a few deep breaths. Plus, the space between them meant that he didn’t have to worry she’d feel his hard on. He was thrilled at his erection, because he hadn’t had one since July.

  He doubted she’d have the same reaction.

  “Now that I have your attention, Miss Barrows, like I said, I’m a private security contractor. I’m working with marshals who are looking for your father. And just so we’re crystal clear, I know without doubt you are Richard Barrows’ daughter and he didn’t die three years ago, so ditch the pretense. Now,” he said, his eyes locked on her, his face just three inches away from hers as he studied her, “where’s your father, and don’t waste time with bullshit.”

  “As far as I know, prison,” she said with a narrow-eyed glare. Yes. She was pissed. But her anger didn’t mask her fear. Follow that scent, he told himself, of vanilla-spiced sweet perspiration and scared-to-death fear. “Dumb-ass. You’re a private security contractor? What does that mean?”

  “My company is Black Raven. We’re investigating-”

  “Well, you need to do a bit more investigating-”

  “Don’t play stupid,” he said, admiring her ability to be cocky when he had the upper hand. “Where is he?”

  She gave him a puzzled, worried stare. “He’s been incarcerated for a year. He has another year on his term. You aren’t much of a private investigator if you don’t know that.”

  He gave her a slow headshake. He liked women with a stubborn streak, who wouldn’t cower when life hit hardballs at them, but this game had to end. “His remaining year grew to seven when he decided to escape four days ago.”

  She gasped. Wide, searching gray-green eyes studied him. He detected more than a little fear and a bucket load of surprise and, in that instant, he knew that she didn’t know about the escape. Hell.

  “Please,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Let me up. Please.”

  Sebastian used one hand to do a somewhat haphazard frisk of areas of her body that he hadn’t pressed against and bent to lift the left leg of her jeans. He thought he’d detected something there, and he was right. He pulled a retractable knife out of a shin holster, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He rolled off of her, snagged her revolver, and put the rounds and the weapon in his pocket with her knife. He extended a hand to her, and she let him pull her up off the floor. Once up, she immediately sat down, hard, on the small sofa facing her desk.

  “You can’t keep my weapons,” Skye said, drawing a deep breath. She looked worried, but not desperate. He wanted her desperate, so desperate that she’d tell him anything she knew. If she knew anything.

  “I’ll return them to you,” he paused, “when I decide to.”

  “Now,” she said. “I need my weapons-”

  “When I decide, Skye.”

  “You can’t-”

  “Try stopping me.”

  Anger flushed her cheeks. She gave him a steely-eyed glare. “My father never would have escaped.”

  Sebastian walked around and stood in front of the couch. He towered above her, arms folded. Her dark hair was tousled, and her wrap sweater had loosened, showing cleavage and upper mounds of full breasts, that were encased in a creamy, lacy bra. She swallowed as she noticed where he was gazing. She narrowed her eyes as she re-tied her sweater. He shrugged off her glare. “You don’t have to take my word for it,” he said. “Call the marshals who are working the manhunt. Ask for Deputy Marshal Minero. I’ll give you the number.”

  He saw more fear in her eyes. “The marshals know where I am?”

  He nodded. “I know, so they know. The marshals and I are working together, Skye. Your cover’s blown.”

  Her gaze flashed to a wall-mounted monitor that showed camera views of the front door, the cash register area, Spring’s room where she decorated cakes, and the rear parking pad. Spring was in the back room, just as she had been a few minutes earlier, absorbed in her cake. The other views looked like everything was normal in the coffee house, yet Skye’s hands shook.

  He watched her breathe in deep, and breathe in again, without exhaling in between. “What are you so afraid of?”

  Skye looked away from the monitor. Her eyes focused on him. Her shoulders and chest rose with another deep breath. She stood, squared her shoulders, and smoothed her hair. It was a great attempt at composure, and she found some, because when she spoke, her words were smooth. “My father pleaded guilty. He wanted to serve his time, and get out as soon as he could,” she shook her head, “but he would not have escaped.” She added, with conviction. “There’s absolutely no way he escaped.”

  “He could have easily wrecked the prison’s security system without leaving a trace.” The Black Raven system had only been in the testing phase, he reminded himself. Still, it had been blocked, and he had no idea how.

  “He wouldn’t have done that,” she said, with a solid head shake.

  Great, he thought, Skye Barrows would need to be persuaded about every damn thing. “Trust me. He did. I need you to tell me where he is, or where he might be.”

  “You’re not a very good listener,” she said. “I didn’t even know he escaped. How could I know where he is? ”

  “I’m listening,” he said, “But let me tell you a few things. One, the lengths to which you’ve gone to conceal your identity is a giant red flag. Your alias is damn good. So good I find it suspicious, and I’m wondering if your father also has an alias that he stepped into when he left prison. If he does, I’d bet my last dollar that you know what it is. Two, if your father self-surrenders, and I mean soon, there may be leniency. Every minute, every hour that he’s out, his term of imprisonment is growing longer. So if you want your father to have freedom again in this lifetime, it’s time to talk.”

  Her lips were pursed, her hands were shaking, and she was breathing deeply. She lifted her right hand to her upper chest, straddling her neck with her thumb and index finger, tapping at her collarbone with her index finger. Good, he thought, interpreting the tapping gesture as nervousness, and glad that he was getting through to her. “Three, aiding a felon on the run is a serious crime, one for which you will do time. Any knowledge you have. Anything at all. If he’s contacted you. Where he might be going. Now’s the time to cough it up.”

  When she saw that he was watching her collarbone tap, she dropped her hand and folded her arms. “I have nothing for you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She shrugged. “Do I look like I care what you believe?”

  “Spare me the smart ass comments. In case you’re not understanding your predicament, here’s where I do you a favor and spell out your new reality. You really need to care what I think, because I’m the nice guy. Got it? Cooperate with us-”

  “Us?” She shook her head and gave him an eyebrow-arched look of skepticism. “I only see you.”

  “I’m working with the marshals, but there’s quite a few differences between the marshals and me. For one, the marshals wouldn’t hesitate to arrest you for pulling out a weapon and pointing it at them. You’re lucky you got that out of your system on me. I don’t give a damn what you do. All I care about is finding your father and throwing his ass back in jail. Cooperate with me, and maybe, just maybe, the marshals won’t detain you for hours, or days, or however long it takes to find your father. Don’t lie to us, because if you do, your problems won’t end when we find him. I’m doing you a favor by explaining your biggest nightmare, which is if you’re withholding one goddamn shred of anything, you’re going to be charged with aiding an escaped federal prisoner and your ass is going to be sitting in a jail cell for years to come. With you and your father both sitting in prison, there’ll be no one to take care of your sister. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Take care of her?”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Pri
vate Investigator?” Skye’s words were laced with narrow-eyed distaste. She tried to walk around him, in the direction of the door. “Because if it is, you can just go to hell. You have no authority over me, and since I haven’t heard from my father in months, you’re wasting your time asking me anything.”

  He stepped in front of her, blocking her access to the door. “Well, you do have to talk to me.” Gorgeous, he thought, but she was working him as hard as he was working her. “I’m acting as an agent of the government in this instance and, by the way, I’m a private security contractor,” he said, “not a private investigator.”

  “Wow. Big man, big threats. I’ll let a real agent of the government ask the questions. If the marshals come, I’ll talk to them.”

  “There’s no if. They are coming,” he said.

  “Whatever. I’ll see when they get here.”

  “Dammit. Stop acting like talking is a choice and don’t ‘whatever’ me.”

  Ragno said, her voice filling his ear, “Minero’s on the line.”

  Sebastian was so absorbed in arguing with Skye he’d almost forgotten that he was basically tethered to Ragno. Holding Skye’s gaze, wishing she didn’t look so damn good with her hair loose and wild and her cheeks flushed with pink, he said, “Put him through.”

  Skye said, “Who? Through to where?”

  Sebastian pointed to his ear. “Phone call.”

  She lifted her hand and pushed at his shoulder. “Well, take your phone call in your car as you’re driving away. Jerk.”

  Ragno, privy to the entire conversation, chuckled, and said efficiently, “Here’s Minero.”

  He was tempted to stand his ground, to see if she’d try pushing him again. A push-fest with Skye, though, wasn’t something that would end well for either of them. He’d only end up getting aroused again, and she’d be even less likely to talk. He’d be no closer to an answer to the question of the day, and he’d have a hard-on that might never go away, unless he did something about it.

  Fuck.

  Suddenly feeling like a frustrated adolescent whose hormones made him ineffective at everything, Sebastian walked to the only exit from the small office. Turning his back to the closed door, he kept his eye on Skye as he effectively blocked her departure. For the moment she was still, standing between the couch and the desk. At least she was far enough away that he couldn’t be distracted by how damn good she smelled. Although her cheeks remained flushed and her eyes were still wide with fear, her gaze was introspective, as though she was thinking through options.

  She has no option but to cooperate, but I’ll let her figure that out.

  He wondered how long it would take. Hours? A day? Two days? More? Damn. He hoped not. He didn’t have luxury of time, nor the patience to wait her out. The sooner he had what he needed from her, the sooner he’d be out of her hair, and she’d be out of his.

  “Tell me about Barrows’ daughters,” Minero said. “They know anything?”

  Sebastian eyed Skye, who had walked closer to him and was now only an arm’s length away.

  “Nothing,” Sebastian answered, wishing she had kept her distance. “Didn’t even know that their father had escaped.”

  Skye’s intense focus was all on him, as though she had collected her thoughts and come up with a plan. “Let me out of here.”

  He stayed in place, and met her icy glare with one of his own as Minero said, “I have two marshals on their way to you. They should be there in an hour and a half, two hours tops. Keep the daughters where they are.”

  He said, “Okay.” He broke the connection with a discreet touch on his watchband. He added, as though the phone call was ongoing, “You may be wasting your time. I was just about to leave.” Sebastian glanced at Skye as he lied. No point clueing her in that her day was going to get much, much worse when the marshals arrived. He had threatened her enough. Now he wanted to see what she did with his threats. It wasn’t time to let the canary fly, however. He leaned firmly against the door, so that she couldn’t open it, even though she tried to pull it open against his weight. He had one more thing to ask her, and he didn’t want to do it downstairs, with other ears around.

  She looked at him and said, “You’re a giant jerk. Let me out of here.”

  He folded his arms. “What are you so afraid of?”

  She glared at him, her cheeks flushed, her arms at her sides, and her hands balled into tight fists. “Let. Me. Out. Of. Here.”

  So. No answer. At least not yet.

  He pressed a button on his watchband and called Pete. “Pete. Come into the coffee shop. Get a cup of coffee. To go. We’re moving on. Marshals will arrive later today to talk to them.”

  His words were only a charade. Sebastian’s company was founded on protection. As a protector, he was also an observer. An observer of people, surroundings, of every minute happening that could present risk. His early survival had depended on understanding his abusive father’s difficult-to-read moods, and he had a rare aptitude for being in tune to undercurrents. In other circumstances, watching Skye would have been pure pleasure, with those luminous, flagstone-colored eyes, inky-dark long hair, curves that were perfectly accented by her wrap sweater, and snug, hip-hugging jeans, with the wide belt that called attention to the sexy space where her hips tapered up, to her tiny waist. This was work, though, not pleasure, and this was one hell of a fucked-up job. It didn’t matter how gorgeous she was. Something was just plain goddamn wrong.

  Skye wasn’t glancing away from him, a look that he’d have taken to indicate deception, that she knew something about her father that she wasn’t telling him. No. She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t know where her father was. In Skye’s gray-green eyes, he saw wide-eyed fear that she was working hard to conceal. Her cheeks were flushed. Her forehead glowed with dewy perspiration. She was afraid. Terrified, actually.

  As he watched her draw a deep breath, he could smell the musky, sweet aroma of fear, and it seemed like more than just concern for her father’s safety. Finally. He had a scent on something interesting, and it was her fear. Instinct told him to follow that trail. She had a blown cover, sizable assets at her disposal, and a tendency to be impulsive. If given the opportunity, she’d run and regroup. He was going to give her that opportunity.

  Skye glanced into his eyes, folded her arms, and squared her shoulders. She was trying damn hard to look composed. Sebastian slowly stepped away from the door before opening it for her. “Go ahead.”

  She passed, making sure that she didn’t touch him. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

  You have no idea, lady.

  Chapter Four

  7:55 a.m., Monday

  Run.

  Skye frowned as she jogged down the stairs. Stopping by the coffee shop before getting on the road had been a mistake. A bad mistake. Was Connelly telling the truth about her father? There was no reason for him to lie. What purpose would that serve? And if it wasn’t a lie, where was her father? A prison break was the last thing she’d have expected from him, a man already so paranoid that he didn’t trust a living soul other than his daughters. And sometimes, Skye wasn’t even sure about that. Because if her father had somehow pulled off a prison break, the first person he would’ve contacted was her.

  Which he’d done.

  C-A-T-A-C-L-Y-S-M-N-O-W-R-U-N.

  Which she was trying like hell to do. All she had to do was get away from Connelly before the marshals showed up. Should be simple, but this was her life, and nothing was ever simple. She had to get her sister to hurry, without freaking her out, and walk away from their new lives with nothing but the clothes on their backs, a puppy, and a freaking cake that absolutely, positively had to be delivered, if Skye had any hope in hell of getting her sister out of town without a meltdown.

  Please leave, she thought, as she felt him following her down the stairs like a tall, dark, annoying shadow. Just get the hell out of my coffee shop and my life.

  Once downstairs, Skye joined Sarah behind th
e counter. If Sebastian was leaving, he wasn’t going right away. Instead, his dark-haired partner entered the coffee house and talked to Sebastian for a few seconds.

  Leave. Just go.

  In a low voice, Sarah asked, “Chloe, is everything alright?”

  Skye nodded as the two men approached the counter. The dark-haired guy gave her a slight smile and a nod. He introduced himself as Pete St. Paul, and ordered to go a cafe-au-lait and an apple peanut butter muffin. His words revealed a Southern accent and a nice-guy persona that working with Sebastian hadn’t yet snuffed. Probably a recent hire, Skye thought. Sebastian ordered a double espresso, with a splash of cream. In contrast to Pete, Sebastian had no accent that made him seem nice. He was just deadly serious and studying her in a way that put her on edge.

  Run.

  She had to get the heck out of there, but she sure as hell didn’t want him following her. How long did she have before the marshals got there? Could she believe what he’d told the person on the phone, or was that bullshit? For all she knew the marshals were parked around the corner, waiting for these two to leave, and for her and Spring to make a run for it.

  God. She was as paranoid as her father. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Where the hell are you, Dad?

  When Pete tried to pay, Skye waved him away. “Thank you for helping with the dog.” Now take your pushy friend and go.

  Out of the corner of her eye she observed Sebastian swallow the cupful of espresso. As he placed the small to-go cup into the trash, Skye exhaled.

  Please. Please leave. Go.

  Sebastian didn’t immediately follow Pete out the front door. Instead, he walked to the rear of the coffee house, to the icing room, where Skye could see Spring’s three-tier cake spotlighted on the worktable that was positioned in the center of the plate-glass observation window. The window was designed to provide customers with a view of Spring as she worked on her confectionary masterpieces. Skye could see her sister at the sink, methodically washing and drying her decorating tools, and putting each in its place in the travel box that she always carried with her.