When the Shadows Fall by Elise Noble
CHAPTER 10 - SKY
WITH CARMEN IN Roanoke alongside Nate, Slater had taken over my sniping lessons. This sunny Tuesday morning found me lying in the grass behind Riverley Hall, focusing on a watermelon a thousand yards away. Until that point, we’d been shooting at paper targets, but Slater said watermelons were more fun. We had very different ideas of fun. Something was crawling under my T-shirt, and I was just waiting for it to bite me.
“See the nose?” Slater asked. He’d drawn a face on the watermelon with a Sharpie. “Aim right below it, at the philtrum. That way, the bullet’s gonna go straight through and hit the apricot. Carmen told you about the apricot?”
In my first lesson. The apricot was the sniper’s nickname for the medulla oblongata, the cone-shaped mass of neurons that connected the brain to the spinal cord. Sever that, and a person died instantly, and better still, they lost all motor function so there would be no residual twitches of a finger positioned over a trigger.
“Yeah, she told me about the apricot.”
“Good. And if a person’s side-on, aim for the bottom of the earlobe. Now take your shot.”
I peered through my scope, remembering what I’d been taught. Apart from the distance, I needed to consider the wind—not just where I lay but at the target too—the temperature, the humidity. When I began tackling even longer distances, I’d have to think about the surface I was shooting over, the direction, and the rotation of the earth too. There was a ton of maths involved. I kind of wished I’d spent more time in school.
Holding my breath so I didn’t accidentally move the barrel, I squeezed the trigger so, so slowly. The blast from the .50 calibre rifle hammered my eardrums, even with ear defenders on.
I missed.
Slater raised his head from his own scope. “Reload and try again.”
Sniping was definitely not my favourite thing. Okay, so there was a modicum of satisfaction when I blasted the watermelon into smithereens, but it was basically just calculations, squinting, and a lot of scraping around in the dirt. Give me up close and personal any day.
“What’s the longest shot you’ve made?” I asked Slater.
“Two thousand four hundred metres. It took me twenty-five minutes to set up for that one.”
Yawn.
“Are we done yet?”
Even criminals got time off for good behaviour.
Slater checked his posh watch, which matched his posh clothes and his posh haircut, and stood. If he’d been British rather than American, we’d have called him a toff.
“It’s about time we ate lunch.”
Thank goodness. My stomach had been grumbling for the last hour. I packed up my rifle and headed back to Riverley Hall, hoping there was pasta on offer. I needed carbs. Comfort food. It had been a long two weeks.
Tomorrow, I’d be heading to Roanoke too, with Rafael, and I wasn’t sure whether to be elated or terrified. Elated because I’d made the team for the actual job itself—Emmy had told me this morning. Terrified because firstly, I might screw something up, and secondly, I’d have to spend three days sharing a confined space with Rafael before the day of the dinner itself.
On the bright side, at least I might get a lie-in. Waking up at five a.m. would only arouse suspicions in a ritzy hotel, wouldn’t it? And maybe I could watch a movie? I missed movies. I never watched TV or listened to the radio just in case Brock Keaton came on, but movies, I liked, and I hadn’t seen so much as a trailer since that night at Rafael’s. And room service… There’d be room service, right? I’d never ordered room service before, not once, but if Blackwood was footing the bill, perhaps I could get dinner delivered on a cart instead of walking to the restaurant.
“Hey.” Hallie waved from her seat at the table when I walked into the kitchen. “How are you?”
“I thought you were in Roanoke?”
“Just got back this morning. You’re going tomorrow afternoon, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “What’s it like?”
“Busy. Everyone’s getting ready for the paintings to arrive in the morning. Otto and I snuck into the ballroom to take a look around, and they’re turning it into a fortress. Metal screens over the windows—for security and to control the light and heat—some of the doors sealed off, even a sniffer dog checking for explosives. The handler said it was just a precaution, but still… They’re taking the protection of the paintings seriously.”
“Terrified” was definitely winning. Did Emmy feel this way before a job? I couldn’t imagine her being scared, ever.
“What about the rest of the hotel?”
“Quieter. We had the pool to ourselves, and the gym was almost empty too. There were a bunch of people on the golf course, but neither of us had a clue how to play golf, so we stayed away from there. Did you see the map Cade made with all the camera positions?”
“Yes.” And I’d already memorised it.
“They added two more this week. One outside the ballroom and another above the first-floor fire exit. And if you need to sneak around, be careful—they’re fond of gravel.”
“Thanks.”
“I might see you there at the weekend—Nate’s hacked into the network so we can watch the camera feeds, and I’m meant to sneak back in and help to monitor things from the honeymoon suite. Bradley’s gonna give me a makeover so I look totally different.” Hallie gave a bright smile. “I love this job. What other career would give you free haircuts, a clothing allowance, and a gun?”
“I could live without the bruises that come with it. Is there any pasta for lunch?”
Hallie made a face. “Quinoa salad?”
Not quite what I’d had in mind, but it’d have to do. “Delicious.”
“If you eat in the restaurant at the Grove, try the vincisgrassi.”
“The what?”
“The pasta baked with Parma ham. It took me three tries to say the name, but the waiter helped me out.”
“Pasta with Parma ham. Got it.”
“If you like pasta, you should come to Il Tramonto with us when you come back. The lasagne’s to die for, and Emmy’s lawyer part-owns the restaurant so we get a discount.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me, Cora, Mercy, and Izzy. We made a pact to have a girls’ night out at least once a month.”
“I’d like that, but I don’t get much time off.”
“You’re training with Rafael, aren’t you? He goes into Richmond in the evenings, so he can hardly criticise if you sneak out for a few hours.”
“I can’t imagine Rafael chilling in a restaurant.”
Not when he could be doing something really exciting like tiling a shower stall.
“He goes to Black’s.”
“As in Black’s, the nightclub? There’s one in Richmond?”
Hallie nodded. “Emmy owns the chain. Can’t you guess from the name?”
I’d always intended to apply to waitress at the London branch when I turned eighteen—not before because I’d heard they did worryingly thorough background checks. In all honesty, I never thought I’d land a job there, but at least I could have said I’d tried. How ironic that I’d ended up working for the head honcho.
“I suppose I never thought about it.” Or my mentor’s social life. “Rafael dancing the night away? No, I can’t picture it.”
“He doesn’t dance. He arrives, picks out the girl he wants to take home with him, and leaves with her. Mercy calls him the panty-whisperer, and Cora sticks her fingers in her ears every time we discuss it.”
Hallie’s words left me cold inside, and I felt just a little bit sick. I’d thought it was a big deal that Rafael took me to his half-finished house. His home. He said he didn’t like getting personal, and yet he picked up random girls to do the horizontal tango? I realised it wasn’t any of my business what he got up to in his spare time, but still… It was the hypocrisy of it all.
So screw him. Metaphorically, of course.
“Then sure, I’d love to go out with you guys.”
“Great. We’ll arrange a date when we get back.”
If I’d pulled up outside the Grove three months ago, I’d have felt like royalty. Then I’d have stuffed every single complimentary toiletry from the bathroom into my suitcase along with all the free cookies and probably the coffee capsules too. But having spent time at Riverley, the five-star hotel felt rather…ordinary.
Rafael checked us in—as Rafael Sanchez and Sky Morley—and a uniformed bellhop wheeled our cases to the elevator. Rafael held my hand as we whooshed up to the second floor, which felt a bit odd considering that this morning, he’d had me in a headlock.
“First stay at the Grove, sir?” the bellhop asked.
“It is. But there are three of us in this elevator. My girlfriend hasn’t been here before either.”
The bellhop turned bright red. “Sorry, sir. I mean, ma’am. Both of you.”
Rafael didn’t say another word, although he did tip the man as he backed hurriedly out of our room.
“Was that really necessary?” I asked.
“Yes. Firstly, you deserve as much recognition as me, and secondly, I want the staff to give us a wide berth while we’re here. So I’ll be an asshole, but not too much of an asshole.”
“I guess I can understand that.”
“There are times when you want to get friendly with hotel employees, but this isn’t one of them.” He cracked open the door and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. “In this place, I don’t trust anyone but our own team.”
The room was nice enough—light, spacious, and with a view over the golf course. Tiny men in poncy trousers strolled from hole to hole while caddies lugged their stuff. Rafael stood behind me, looking over my shoulder.
“What kind of pussy doesn’t carry his own bag?” he asked.
“Don’t knock it. Students need summer jobs.”
“True.” Rafael’s breath tickled my skin. His closeness didn’t bother me anymore, not the way it used to. “I worked as a caddy once.”
“You did?”
“For a month. I needed to kill a politician. I injected him with potassium chloride right after he got a hole-in-one, and everyone thought he had the heart attack out of excitement.”
“Sometimes you scare me.”
“I’d never hurt you, Sky. Not on purpose.”
“I know. But… Fuck, I can’t believe I went from pouring drinks to this.”
“The thought of killing people bothers you?”
I’d spent plenty of nights considering precisely that question and come to the conclusion that no, it didn’t. The logistics made me nervous, but not the outcome. Some people were monsters, and they didn’t deserve the privilege of living. If a man—or a woman—spent their whole life hurting others, why should they get off scot-free? The punishment should fit the crime, and some people had no chance at redemption. They felt no remorse. I’d seen enough scrotes get away with shit on the streets of London to understand suffering, and once millionaires were involved, the amount of harm they could do went up by an order of magnitude. Somebody needed to police them, and there were times when the judicial system couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do its job.
“The thought of getting caught bothers me.”
“So don’t get caught.” Rafael broke his rule, just for a second, and ran a finger over the back of my neck. “I’d break you out of jail, Sunshine.”
“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
There he was, back to making me feel as if I mattered again. Rafael confused the hell out of me. I half wished Hallie hadn’t mentioned his other women, but at the same time, I was glad I knew what I was dealing with. Forewarned was forearmed.
He stepped back. “Enough distractions; we need to get to work. Find your gun, your body camera, and appropriate footwear for walking outside.”
“I need a gun? Here?”
“Unless you’re wearing a bikini or going through a metal detector, you should be carrying a weapon at all times. Let it become a part of you. That way, you won’t fidget and give the game away because it’s unfamiliar.”
I picked out a loose linen jacket that would cover the subcompact Glock 43 holstered at the small of my back and found a pair of sandals. Sandals. I’d never worn sandals before I came to America. All I’d ever owned was stilettos for work and trainers for everything else. But now I had jewelled leather sandals courtesy of Bradley, the kind of thing Maximus Decimus Meridius might have worn if his final battle had been at Hobby Lobby rather than the Colosseum. On the bright side, I could run in them if I needed to. And probably sword fight too.
Behind me, Rafael grimaced as he unrolled a camping mattress on the floor at the foot of the bed. I felt guilty about that, but Emmy said Black had managed perfectly well on it, so I figured Rafael could cope too. I pinned the brooch with the camera in it onto my pink silk dress, Rafael checked the gun in his ankle holster and draped a sweater over his shoulders, and we were ready to go.
“Time to act like two trust fund babies,” he said, offering me his arm.
“Don’t mind if I do.”