by CW Browning
Striding down the stairs, her lips curved involuntarily. He was probably in the trees now, watching Michael approach, ready to stop him if he dared get too close to the house without Alina’s permission. People were naturally reluctant to take on a bird of prey when he appeared with his claws and beak ready for business.
Alina reached the bottom of the stairs and went to the front door, throwing back the deadbolt and stepping onto the front porch just as the headlights from Michael’s truck pierced the darkness of the front yard. The dirt driveway that snaked through a quarter mile of pine forest from the road turned into gravel as it broke into the clearing, curving in front of the house before splitting into two. One half curved back towards the road, while the other turned left and ran along the house to the rear. Michael pulled up in front of the porch and rolled his window down.
“You’re a long way from home, gunny,” Alina greeted him, stepping off the porch and up to the truck.
“Depends on which way you look at it,” Michael answered with a grin. “I’m closer to Brooklyn here than in DC.”
“True enough.” Alina studied him through the open window for a long moment. “Is that where you’re heading?”
“Not yet.”
“I didn’t think so,” Alina said, smiling faintly. “Pull around. I’ll meet you back there.”
She turned to go back into the house as he rolled forward and took the left turn at the split. Viper frowned as she went down the hallway. First Angela, now Michael. All she wanted to do was get her armory restocked and loaded, ready for the war she knew was coming, and find the bastard responsible for killing John and putting a bullet in her and Hawk.
What she did not want to do was play happy neighbors with old friends who insisted on dropping in unexpectedly, and at the worst possible times.
Alina let out a heavy sigh as she crossed to the sliding doors leading to the deck. Unfortunately, the moment she decided to buy this house in her home state of New Jersey, she had opened herself up to this. There was no getting away from any of them now. They knew where she lived and clearly had no compunction about showing up unannounced. Viper had known this from the beginning, which was why all of their cars and electronics had been adjusted to leave no GPS evidence of their location. Once they crossed the three-mile perimeter around her property, they were effectively off-grid and untraceable. While that kept Viper’s location secure, it didn’t do much to prevent them from dropping in at all hours.
Stepping onto the deck, Alina watched as Michael climbed out of his truck and started across the lawn toward the house. Out of nowhere, a huge black shadow swooped down from the trees. Alina grinned as Michael let out a curse and ducked instinctively as deadly claws passed within inches of his head. After buzzing Michael in warning, Raven glided toward the deck, his black wings outstretched majestically and his eyes locked on Alina’s face. She held out her arm and he landed on it gently.
“Can’t you stop him from doing that?!” Michael demanded from the safety of the grass, straightening up and glaring at them. “He knows me!”
“That doesn’t mean he trusts you,” she retorted, smiling as Raven turned his head to stare coolly at Michael. “If it’s any consolation, he does the same thing to Damon. If he wanted to attack either of you, he wouldn’t miss.”
“At least I know it’s not just me,” Michael muttered, somewhat mollified. “Is it safe to come closer?”
“Yes.”
Raven watched as Michael moved cautiously toward the deck. After watching him intently for a moment, he turned on his mistresses’ arm and stepped onto the railing encircling the deck. As Michael set his foot onto the first step, Raven stretched his wings. Michael froze.
“Raven, stop teasing him,” Alina admonished with a laugh as the hawk finished stretching and settled down on the railing. He glanced at her innocently. “He won’t bother you,” she assured Michael, the grin still on her face.
He eyed the bird warily as he continued onto the deck, finally relaxing when Raven turned his attention to the trees beyond the lawn, effectively ignoring them.
“Why can’t you have a dog or a cat, like other people?” he demanded, following Alina to the sliding door.
“How boring,” she retorted. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She slid the door open and stood aside so he could enter the house before glancing swiftly around the dark yard. Raven was settled in, watchful on the banister, and Alina turned to follow Michael into the house, sliding the door closed behind her.
“So what brings you up from DC?” she asked, walking around him and heading past the black marble-topped bar into the large kitchen.
“Blake,” said Michael, walking to the bar and sliding onto a bar stool.
Alina glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Blake?”
“He’s staying with Stephanie. He’s working out of the Philly office for a few days while the dust settles at home. He thought it would be better if he left town while they figured out who planted the drugs in his closet and his boss agreed.”
Alina studied him silently for a moment, then turned to the fridge.
“Beer?”
“Thanks.”
Michael watched as she opened the stainless steel refrigerator, resisting the sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to cross himself. She didn’t believe him. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did she show even an ounce of disbelief, but Michael was getting to know her mask well. Viper didn’t have to show disbelief. The mask was proof of it.
He exhaled silently. Damon better be right. If she wasn’t willing to play along to find out what he was up to, he would be on his way back to DC within the hour, and how would he explain that to the SEAL?
“Angela said he was staying with Stephanie,” said Alina, closing the fridge and walking over to hand him a bottle of Yuengling Lager. “Are you going to play chaperone?”
Michael grinned, taking the beer.
“Hardly. He asked me to get some information for him, and given the currently unsecured state of my phone, I had no choice but to drive up to give it to him.”
Alina studied him impassively for a long moment before turning to get a wine glass out of the cabinet over the counter.
“It’s late to be driving back to DC,” she said over her shoulder. “Where are you staying?”
“Here?” Michael asked with a grin. “If you’re not comfortable with that, I can get a hotel room. I’d planned to go to Brooklyn tomorrow for Easter with my folks anyway, so I just came up early. But if you’d rather I didn’t stay here...”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Alina, setting the wine glass on the bar. “You know my spare room is always open to you.”
She circled the bar and went into the adjoining dining room to get a bottle of red wine from the wine rack. Michael breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was through the door, at least.
“I appreciate it,” he said. “Any word on John’s funeral?”
Alina carried a bottle and corkscrew back to the bar.
“The viewing is Monday night and funeral is on Tuesday,” she said shortly, cutting the foil off the wine bottle. “Stephanie was able to pull it together quickly once the Feds released his body.”
Michael watched as she uncorked the bottle and poured a glass of wine. No more information was forthcoming and he frowned.
“How are you holding up?” he finally asked.
Dark, emotionless brown eyes met his.
“I’m fine. Come into the living room. It’s more comfortable.”
Michael picked up his beer, following her into the living room. When she headed for the recliner, he settled himself on the sofa.
“Tell me something,” she said as she made herself comfortable. “What do you remember about Jordan Murphy?”
Michael stared at her.
“Jordan Murphy?”
“Yes. He was in your company when you and Dave were in Iraq.”
Michael thought for a moment, bringing to mind a
hazy image of an average guy with dark hair and possibly glasses.
“Did he have glasses?” he asked. “Dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Not much,” Michael said slowly, his brows creased in thought. “He acted as an interpreter on occasion, I remember that. I think his mother was an Iraqi immigrant. I never paid much attention to him, to be honest. Dave might have. I seem to remember they were hanging out a lot before...”
His voice trailed off and Alina raised an eyebrow.
“Before he took a bullet through his helmet?” she prompted.
Michael glanced at her.
“Well, yeah. Why do you ask? How do you know him?”
“I don’t.” Alina sipped her wine. “I came across his name recently. Do you know what he did after Iraq?”
“No clue,” Michael shrugged. “A lot of guys discharged after that deployment and I didn’t keep up with half of them.”
“He and Dave were close?”
Michael sipped his beer, leaning back on the couch and casting his mind back twelve years.
“Not especially,” he said slowly. “Dave only got friendly with him in the last couple weeks before he died. Jordan was kind of a loner, if I remember correctly. I think that’s why I don’t remember much about him. He tended to keep to himself.”
“Any idea why Dave suddenly got chummy with him?”
Michael shook his head.
“Not the faintest. Knowing your brother, he probably felt sorry for him. Or maybe they discovered something in common. Who knows.” Michael looked at her. “Why the interest?”
Alina was silent for a long moment, sipping her wine.
“Just curious,” she finally said, smiling sheepishly. “I came across the name and started to wonder about Dave and his buddies. That’s all.”
Michael crooked an eyebrow skeptically, but let it go.
“The viewing is Monday night?” he asked instead, turning the conversation back to John.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I come back after Easter dinner and pay my respects?”
Alina looked at him in surprise.
“Of course not.”
Michael nodded.
“I didn’t know him well, but I liked him,” he said. “How’s Stephanie?”
“I don’t know. I texted her earlier, but I haven’t seen her yet.”
“It’s got to be tough for her, losing her partner,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Especially one she knew most of her life. Is she back to work yet?”
“Not yet. At least, not officially.” Alina set her empty wine glass down on the coffee table. “If you’re staying for the viewing, you might as well stay for the funeral. Did you bring your laptop?”
Michael nodded.
“Good. You can work on Trasker while you’re here.” Alina stood up and her lips curved into that smile that never quite reached her eyes. “You won’t find a more secure place to work. You might as well make the most of it.”
Michael watched as she picked up her glass and carried it into the kitchen. He stood and followed with his empty bottle.
He was in.
Chapter Thirteen
Thunder rumbled, rolling in and disturbing the absolute silence present in the darkest hours of the night. Black clouds obscured the moon from view, cloaking the region below in shadows, the air heavy with the promise of a pending storm.
Angela’s eyes popped open. She sat up abruptly in bed, glancing around as beads of sweat formed on her forehead and she took a ragged gulp of air.
It must have been a dream that woke her so suddenly, but she was darned if she could remember it. Angela frowned and rubbed her eyes, looking at the clock. It was almost three in the morning. She groaned and fell back against the pillows. Thunder rumbled again, low and deep, and she yawned widely, snuggling down under her covers. If it wasn’t a dream, it must have been Annabelle that disturbed her sleep. Her eyes drifted closed.
Then promptly popped open again.
Annabelle!
Angela sat up again, looking around the dark bedroom. Where was her cat?
“Bella-Boo? Psss-psss-psss. Come on, girl.”
Angela waited for a moment, listening. Silence. Her brows drew together in a frown and she tossed the covers off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Where was she? The orange tabby always slept with her mistress. If she did wander off in the night, a single call was usually enough to elicit the welcome sound of a bell jingling down the hallway.
“Bella!” Angie called louder.
A loud thump and crash downstairs broke the silence, followed by a shrill yeeeoowwww. The cats’ cry ended abruptly and a deafeningly unnatural silence resumed. Angela’s feet hit the carpet as her heart thumped out of her chest.
She looked around frantically, the blood pounding in her ears, trying to think clearly. Someone was in the house! She was trapped upstairs with nothing but her phone and...what? There had to be something she could use to defend herself.
Angela’s breath came fast as she stood in the middle of her bedroom in the darkness, desperately trying not to panic. She listened to the overwhelming silence, almost paralyzed. Why, oh why, hadn’t she paid more attention when Stephanie tried to talk her into keeping a firearm in the house for protection? Her excuse was she didn’t know anything about guns. Now she wished to God she’d learned.
Thunder rumbled again outside and a white flash of lightning lit up the room. In the split second of illumination, Angela caught sight of her new pair of Jimmy Choo heels on the floor inside her open closet door. In an instant, the lightning was gone and the room plunged into darkness again.
Running to the closet, she reached down to grab one of the pastel pink shoes before spinning around and going to the bedroom door. Her heart was pounding and her throat was tight with fear as she stood inside the door, listening. Over the sound of her own terror in her ears, she heard the unmistakable creak of the middle step.
Someone was coming upstairs.
Angela clapped one hand over her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping as she looked around her room frantically. Terror gripped her, making her feel nauseous, but she forced herself to think. Her phone was on the other side of the room, charging next to the bed. She would never get to it and make the call in time. Her grip tightened on the stiletto heel in her hand and she moved behind the bedroom door. Her panic-stricken gaze fell on her vanity table a few feet away, zeroing in on the can of aerosol hairspray sitting next to her makeup case. She moved forward swiftly and grabbed it. Returning to her spot behind the open door, Angela gripped the high-heel in one hand and the hairspray in the other.
The floor creaked at the top of the stairs and she listened, holding her breath as blood pounded in her ears. There was a moment of deadly silence. Then, even though there was no sound to prove it, Angela knew the intruder had turned toward the master bedroom. She stared through the narrow crack between the door and the frame, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming as a tall, dark shadow fell across the floor outside the room.
Angela wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew she had no hope of winning a fight against an intruder. She wasn’t skilled in self-defense, or in fighting of any kind. Nor was she athletic enough to outrun them. Even if she had been, there was nowhere to run. The bedroom was one story up, and the only exit was the very door she cowered behind. Her only hope was to take him by surprise and hope for some luck.
Angela inhaled silently, moved her forefinger over the nozzle of the hairspray and tightened her other hand on the Jimmy Choo. The shadow moved into the doorway. It was now or never.
Bracing herself against the wall, Angela lifted her bare foot and kicked the door with all the strength her shaking leg could muster. The door flew closed with considerable force, slamming into a solid body. There was a low grunt and a loud, satisfying thud as the intruder was thrown sideways and his head cracked against the door jam.
Angela rounded the door to confront a tall ma
n dressed in a black jacket. She only had time to note his height before she aimed at his face and pressed the nozzle on the can, holding it down.
The man threw his hands up instinctively to protect his face, but his pained exclamation told her she’d hit him right in the eyes with the aerosol spray. Dropping the can, she swung her other arm with all her might, aiming for his head. The stiletto caught his forehead and he stumbled backwards. Angela followed him, swinging again. Fear and panic gave her strength she didn’t know she possessed and the stiletto found its mark again, catching the soft area where his shoulder met his neck.
This time, the heel stuck, impaled in the intruders’ neck.
Angela let go with a gasp of horror as the pastel pink Jimmy Choo struck a bright contrast against the black jacket. With about half of the stiletto embedded in the man’s neck, the shoe perched firmly on his collarbone, the peep-toe winking at Angela.
The man let out a strangled gasp and turned, stumbling down the hallway toward the stairs. Angela watched him go, holding her breath as he stopped at the top of the stairs. When he paused and half-turned toward her again, she panicked.
Without thinking, she ran forward and shoved. He went down the stairs head-first, but managed to grab the railing on his way, breaking his fall halfway down. He slid the rest of the way on his side, hitting the first floor with a crash a moment later. Angela backed up until she felt the wall pressing against her and covered her mouth with shaking hands, watching as the intruder laid still for a second. Then, slowly, he struggled to his feet and stumbled out of sight. A moment later, the back door slammed shut.