Run.
The minute Connelly left, she was galvanized into action, but ten minutes later, she was still doing anything, it seemed, but running. In her ideal plan, she and Spring would be able to leave in a minute flat. But nothing was as ideal as her plans, especially not with Spring, because her sister couldn’t just be told to get moving. She’d have too many questions. So, delivering the cake was a good ploy, but getting the three-tier cake onto the floor-level platform in the rear of the van took precious time, even with Daniel’s help. Daniel offered to follow her to the bank and help them with the delivery, but she assured him she could handle it.
The van was in the rear parking area, behind the coffee shop. It was a small parking pad, with just enough room to turn a car around, an area that was intended for deliveries and a few parking spaces for employees. The long driveway that led to it was on a side street, and the parking area was not visible from the front of the coffee house. Adjoining businesses, a hairdresser and an art gallery, weren’t opening until ten. No one was around. Once she and Spring checked on the cake, Daniel shut the door to the van.
Skye smiled at Spring, and said, “Let’s take Candy with us.”
Spring gave her a puzzled glance. “To deliver the cake to the bank?”
“Sure, why not?” Skye said. “She loves car rides, right?” And because we’re not returning here for a long time, if ever, and I know that you won’t make it through the next few days without her.
“I’ll bring her favorite leash and a chew toy, okay?”
“Great idea. Go upstairs and get whatever you think she might want. Hurry or we’ll be late for our first delivery.”
Spring beamed. “Come in and help me carry.”
Skye nodded. Spring didn’t travel light. She never went anywhere without her thoroughly bedazzled backpack, which fit not only her travel tote of cake decorating tools but also her iPad and whatever other items were needed for her current obsessions. Skye followed her sister back inside. She glanced into the kitchen. Daniel gave Skye a smile before opening an oven and pulling out a fully-loaded baking sheet. She paused in the center of the large public space that had materialized from her dreams. The shop was momentarily empty, except for Sarah, who was behind the counter, organizing muffins in the pastry cases. There was a lull between the early customers and later-morning customers. The same lull had happened the last two mornings.
The place was so pretty and peaceful it brought tears to her eyes. For the last nine months, she had worked hard to make it perfect, a comfortable place where people would sit for a moment of peace. It was a beautiful gathering place, one where many special moments could be made. The white-on-creamy-white decor was her vision, providing the perfect backdrop to the shocking mix of colors that Spring used to decorate her confections. Spring would have continued to thrive here, and Skye would have loved being at the coffee shop, and in their home, which she had made equally special. She shook her head, willing away the urge to sob at losing it. Spring couldn’t see her upset.
Sarah paused in her task of organizing the muffins. Kind brown eyes gave her a worried glance. “Is everything okay? You seem stressed.”
Skye would have loved to confide in her. But Sarah and Daniel knew nothing of their real lives and one rule was that she was never to tell anyone the truth. So Sarah and Daniel only knew them as Chloe and Colbie Stewart, and the cataclysm scenario in which she was now mired made no sense in that world. “Just a little tired.”
“Ready,” Spring said, as she ran down the stairs.
Finally. Skye had plenty of cash on her, tucked into her belt. Her back-up revolver was in her backpack, which she had locked in the van. Yes. Ready.
Run.
She drew a deep breath, turned her back on the coffee shop, and followed Spring and Candy out the back door. As usual, Spring’s rhinestone encrusted backpack, with its kaleidoscope of colors forming intricate flowers, was slung on one shoulder. Thank God for compulsions, Skye thought, shutting the door to the coffee shop behind her. Otherwise, she’d have to explain to Spring why she needed to take the backpack on what should have been a short, uneventful delivery.
Spring and Candy slipped into the passenger side of the van and shared the front passenger seat. As Skye walked around the back of the van to get to the driver’s side, a black, four-door sedan pulled up, blocking the van’s ability to back-up and exit. As soon as the car stopped, the driver and a front passenger stepped out before she could make it to the van’s driver side door and safely inside. A not-quite-conscious thought wondered why the trunk of their car popped open, but Skye was more concerned about them, who they were, and why they were in the back of the coffee shop. She didn’t have any scheduled deliveries, and customers usually went through the front. A sign that they’d driven by, and ignored, said ‘service drive only.’
“Skye Barrows,” the driver said. He was a large, dark-haired man. He walked towards her with a steady stride.
Skye’s heart raced. She hadn’t heard anyone say that name in over a year. Twice in one morning was twice too often. Her stomach twisted with the certainty that ten minutes had been too long to enact her plan to run.
“I’m U.S. Marshal Bill McClendon,” he said, without showing credentials. In his face, she saw thin, unsmiling lips. Something in his expression told her not to waste time asking for identification. Even if he was a marshal, it didn’t matter. “This is my partner, Dennis Snead. We have some questions for you about your father.”
Run. Trust no one.
Dear God, I am trying.
Aviator sunglasses with mirrored lenses concealed his eyes. She saw her own reflection there and hated that she looked vulnerable, uncertain, and afraid. Snead, with sandy-blond hair and a receding hairline, had a smaller build. He stood next to McClendon. He wore the same kind of sunglasses as McClendon and the same somber expression.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk right now,” she said, trying not to panic, “and I don’t have any information about my father.”
From inside the van, Spring shot her a questioning glance, as Candy gave a loud bark. Skye drew a deep breath. Run. But she didn’t know how to escape from them. Stall, she thought. Think. “My sister and I are going on a delivery. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you go in, get a cup of coffee, and I can talk to you when I return.”
McClendon frowned, while Snead went around to the passenger side of the van.
Skye said, “Leave her alone. Please. We can talk now. Just let me get my sister situated inside the coffee shop.”
Spring screeched, a loud, high-pitched, incomprehensible screech that signified that she’d been startled by someone she didn’t know, and the person was too close to her body space. Loud barks from Candy accompanied the screeching. Skye would have run to Spring’s side of the van, but McClendon gripped her forearm with a hand that felt like a steel clamp. She hadn’t seen that McClendon had a weapon, or when he had unholstered it, but she felt cold metal against her temple and didn’t have to look at it to know what it was.
McClendon said, “Get in the car. Now.” He didn’t mean her van, either, as he pulled her in the direction of his car, while she tried to pull her arm away. She locked her legs so that she wouldn’t move with him. After a few seconds where he pulled at her but made no progress, his fingernails dug into her arms. “Stop resisting me, or your sister’s dead.”
With his threat, Skye stopped pulling away. She stumbled as he pulled and dragged her to his car, past the driver’s side, and past the back seat, and Oh God, he was dragging her to the rear of the car. Not the trunk. She’d die if he put her in there.
Spring yelled, “Chloe. Gun. Chloe. Gun. Chloe. Gun.”
Skye twisted to see Spring. All she could see, though, was the van, which blocked her view of Spring. She couldn’t see her, but she could hear Spring’s panicked screams, then sudden silence. Oh God. Another second of quiet went by. Her silence was worse than her screams. The man who had Spring yelled a string of garbled
words. Skye saw Daniel run to the back door, take in the scene with wide eyes, and run straight for Spring, who had again started wailing in the high-pitched, panicked way that signified a meltdown. There was a quiet pop, and Daniel fell to the ground, between the back door and the van.
“No,” Skye yelled. “No.”
Candy barked, then growled. A canine yelp of pain turned Skye’s blood cold. Skye looked for an opportunity to knock the gun out of McClendon’s hand. Sebastian had made it seem easy when he did it to her, but she couldn’t wriggle either arm out of McClendon’s steel-armed grasp on her. He dragged her the last few feet, to where the trunk of the sedan was open and the interior was a huge, dark void. He punched her upper back, pushing her towards the trunk. Skye stumbled forward and down, but caught herself on the rim before falling in. There was no way she was going in there alive. Claustrophobia wouldn’t let her. She wouldn’t be able to breathe. She’d die once he shut it. No way.
Snead, red-faced, came around with Spring. He was half carrying her, half dragging her. Spring was limp, with blood dripping from her nose. The left side of her face was bright red. Skye kicked at McClendon’s legs, trying to break away. Spring couldn’t get away from Snead because he was pulling her by the hair, but she wasn’t even trying.
Oh God. He had knocked her out.
“Fucking bitch bit the shit out of me,” Snead said.
Sarah came to the back door.
“Help,” Skye yelled, meaning go get help. Sarah gasped. Wide-eyed, she ran to Daniel.
As McClendon strong-armed her towards the trunk by pushing her lower back and her shoulders at the same time, Skye heard an engine. She heard car doors, but her attention was locked on Snead. He had thrown Spring into the trunk and, lifting his right arm, he pointed his weapon at Sarah.
Skye yelled, “No. Please no. We’ll go with you.”
From behind her, a deep, authoritative voice, yelled, “U.S. Marshals. Freeze.”
Chapter Five
Sebastian and Pete arrived back at the coffee shop in two minutes. The street in front of the coffee house was empty.
Ragno said, “I’m in the security system. Camera on the back parking pad reveals a partial glimpse of two men, weapons drawn. Skye is struggling. I can’t see Spring.”
“The back,” Sebastian said to Pete, slipping off his sunglasses, his hand on the door handle. “Block the drive.”
“Partial glimpses aren’t helpful. I can’t manipulate the view,” Ragno said, her tone calm. “Your eyes will be better than mine. I’ll be on stand by. Let me know if you need anything.”
Leaping out of the truck when he saw the black sedan, with every nerve in his body firing, Sebastian’s mind was in calm assessment mode. Snap-fire assessment while acting under pressure was something he had learned and practiced since he was a kid. Fear was good. Panic was bad. Controlled fear fueled positive reactions in life-threatening situations. Panic was a brain drain and stupidity meant death.
Breathing deeply as he ran up the long driveway, he took in Skye, hair loose and wild, resisting as an armed man tried to one-arm push her into the trunk. Spring, head down, hair falling around her face, was limp and still, as an armed man dragged her and pushed her into the trunk. Both men held semi-automatic pistols with silencers. Always a way out, Sebastian reminded himself. Lethal force was the last option. He scanned the scene.
Find. The. Other. Options.
The baker was lying in a growing pool of blood near the back door. Sarah was frozen, two steps out of the door that led to the driveway, in mouth-opened shock. Assessment time, over. Lethal force was his only option. Sebastian’s Glock was in his right hand, and he stopped at ten yards away, using his left hand to signal to Pete to hold steady. There was no way to have an easy or even moderately hard shot at these men, not when they were using the sisters as shields. Pete was good, but not sniper-quality good. Not yet. Sebastian almost had a shot at the asshole who had Spring. He didn’t have a shot at the one who had Skye, because he was holding her too close. The situation snowballed straight to hell when the asshole who had Spring simultaneously one-armed the limp Spring into the trunk and lifted his arm to fire at Sarah.
“No,” Skye yelled. “Please no. We’ll go with you.”
As he aimed, Sebastian yelled, “U.S. Marshals. Freeze.”
Not correct, but now was not the time to worry about technicalities. He aimed his weapon about one inch above where the arm of the man’s sunglasses met the frame, and fired as the man fired at the baker’s wife. Fuck me to hell. He hadn’t been fast enough, because the asshole managed to fire a shot before being hit with Sebastian’s bullet. The loud report of his own weapon barely registered as he saw the blood and brain spray from both of them. Sarah fell in the instant before the would-be kidnapper dropped to the ground. Dead. One down. One to go.
Sebastian ran, shaving a few more yards off the distance between himself and the black sedan. The second man pulled Skye closer, shut the trunk on Spring, pressed the pistol against Skye’s temple, and turned to face him. Skye was five feet eight inches of human shield, give or take an inch, and she wasn’t taking being held at gunpoint lightly. She was writhing, struggling, biting, scratching and using some creative curses at the top of her lungs. He admired her determination to break free, but her efforts weren’t helping him get a bead on the man holding onto her. The top of her head reached between the man’s jaw and his upper lip. Her height compared to the kidnappers gave Sebastian only a few inches for a kill shot, and the inches were unsteady, because he was walking backwards and dragging her closer and closer to the rear passenger door.
Sebastian aimed at the kidnapper’s forehead. He was holding Skye close with his left arm, pulling her in a bear hug around her neck so that her back was against his chest, edging step-by-backward-step to the side of the car. His right hand held his weapon and it was pressed into Skye’s forehead, but that wasn’t stopping her from trying to get away. The more Skye resisted with elbow jabs and shin kicks, the faster the guy moved, which made Sebastian’s percentages for success suck.
“Skye,” Sebastian said, his tone commanding. “Stop fucking moving.”
The kidnapper raised his voice. “Put your weapon down by the time I count to three or she’s dead.”
“If you want to stop me, point your weapon at me. Not her.”
The man’s weapon stayed trained on Skye. “One.”
Time crawled as Sebastian absorbed the horror in Skye’s eyes. She had no way of knowing that he wasn’t going to miss. She was wide-eyed, and, finally, he thought, as he drew a deep breath, she was still, so still she appeared to be holding her breath. Four inches separated Skye from the point where Sebastian’s bullet was going to enter the man’s head, right in the middle of the forehead, just a hair above the metal bridge of his sunglasses. Big, meaty arms, had a chokehold on Skye, but because she now was still, with each backwards step, the space between Sebastian’s target and Skye’s head remained the same, give or take an inch.
Four inches was plenty of distance. Plenty. He was damn good at hitting targets. Any target, especially human assholes who held a gun to a woman’s head and used her as a shield. When the man’s lips parted for the next count, Sebastian fired. A hole appeared directly above the guy’s right eyebrow, not quite at dead center between the eyes, but close enough.
Sebastian ran forward as the kidnapper slid against the car, releasing Skye as he fell. He kicked the guy’s pistol away as he grabbed for her. She was pale and silent, her eyes focused on the man who lay at her feet, with his blood pooling underneath him. Sebastian tucked his own pistol back in its holster. She was too quiet. Too calm. She was standing under her own power, but slowly reached back, for the car, and leaned back against it as her legs started to buckle. Sebastian reached out, trying to steady her by grabbing her shoulders. The strong woman who had enough moxie to point a revolver at him, who had fought back with the full weight of his body on top of hers, who had resisted a burly thug with a gun pr
essed to her head, was trembling from her hands to her shoulders, and her legs wouldn’t support her. Before she fell to the ground, he wrapped his right arm around her back, and his left arm lifted her up by tucking under her arm.
Skye smelled like vanilla-laced fear, her body was soft, and she trembled from deep inside, as though shivering in extreme cold. In her almost-passed-out state she was pliable and limp. As Sebastian held her upright, the hyper-kick that adrenaline from the gun battle had given to his senses wreaked havoc through his body, sensitizing every feeling, every smell. Sensitizing everything, dammit. Volumes of blood pumped into unintended places. Son of a bitch. Killing men normally didn’t give him an erection, so he knew his arousal was all about her.
As he held Skye upright, Ragno said, “Saw a partial view of the action. Nice work. Talk to me, Sebastian. Can’t see you now.”
“Two kidnappers, dead.” He watched Pete check for vitals on the baker and his wife. A headshake confirmed what he suspected. “Two collateral killings, compliments of the kidnappers. Pete. The trunk. We’re getting Barrows’ daughters out of here.”
He mentally switched from Ragno to the woman who was leaning into him, her face buried in his chest. She was silent and so still he wondered whether she had fainted. Her full chest hit at the bottom of his ribcage, her nose was pressed into the hollow of his neck, and if she was breathing, he couldn’t tell. But God, he could feel her heart beating. The pounding went straight through her chest, through the thin wrap sweater that she wore, and through his cotton shirt. “Hey. You’re okay. Skye?”
She didn’t respond.
“Breathe. Come on. Fight through it,” Sebastian said. “You’re going to be fine.”
Pete popped open the trunk. Over Skye’s shoulder, Sebastian saw Spring lying in the well, curled into a fetal position. Her eyes were open. She was quiet, but tears were flowing. Relief pulsed through him at the sign of life. A crimson smear of blood was on her cheek. More blood dripped from her nose. He set his jaw. Fucking bastards. They deserved bullets through their brains.
Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) Page 8