When the Shadows Fall by Elise Noble
CHAPTER 3 - SKY
PEOPLE WERE STARTING to take their seats when we walked into the ballroom, and Rafael must have known I wasn’t in the mood for small talk because he steered me straight to our allocated table. We’d be sharing with Mack and her husband Luke, plus six others from various Blackwood branches. Black had offered plane tickets, two nights in a hotel, and an extra day of vacation to anyone volunteering to make the trip.
Who wasn’t present? Emmy and Alaric. They were the only two people who’d come face to face with Marshall, and even though that had been eight years ago and Bradley offered to do full theatrical make-up, nobody wanted to take a chance on them being recognised. Sofia, my tutor in all things poisonous, had stepped in as Emmy’s replacement, and Emmy had even lent Sofia her wedding rings. Black’s face had clouded when he noticed her wearing them earlier, but he didn’t say anything. Sofia’s boyfriend was standing in as Hallie’s other half at a different table.
Sort of like a swingers’ party, Blackwood-style. All we needed was a pot to drop our car keys into.
Except for me, obviously. After the Brock incident, I’d embraced celibacy, and the only man at Riverley I’d even consider having a sleepover with was Bradley and that was solely because he was gay.
Ten minutes later, everybody was seated, and waiters began setting starters in front of us. Black hadn’t skimped on the catering, that was for sure. We had goat’s cheese soufflés with apple and walnut salad, complete with still-warm bread rolls and more non-alcoholic wine. Apparently, Killian Marshall would be getting the real deal.
Rafael chatted easily with the other guests, more talkative during tonight’s charade than he ever was on a normal day. Apart from Luke, who really did own a software company, everyone was bullshitting. Mack claimed to be a housewife, and one of the other “wives” pretended she was a real estate agent. Cue an in-depth discussion on the benefits of Pottery Barn versus Crate and Barrel. Yawn. I actually preferred it when Mack talked about computers.
“Okay?” Rafael asked quietly.
As okay as I could be under the circumstances. Even though my stomach was churning, I’d managed to eat most of the starter, and my anxiety had subsided to a tolerable level. But I still wanted the evening to be over. Was everyone else genuinely enjoying themselves? They certainly seemed to be, but it probably beat paperwork and meetings and surveillance duty. And being shot at.
“I’m okay.”
“Emmy’ll be here late once they’ve got Marshall, so I’ll walk you back to Little Riverley after dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that. This place is a fortress.”
“Yes, I do.”
The end.Trying to argue with a man like Rafael was basically impossible, and I knew it. Besides, I didn’t totally despise the thought of him seeing me home. It was oddly sweet, and I was feeling a bit fragile after what had happened earlier.
I snuck a glance over at the top table. As well as Black and Sofia, Georgia was there with her boyfriend Xavier, Verity had borrowed Knox for the evening, and Dan was sitting next to Marshall. The remaining two places? A brunette I didn’t recognise plus our secret weapon, Tripp Tolliver. Tripp had been selected for his undercover experience, his acting ability, and his physical appearance. While everyone ate dinner, he was studying Marshall, watching his mannerisms and memorising his voice because later, he’d become him for the journey back to Penngrove. Then he’d disappear.
And because he’d disappear from Marshall’s home rather than from Riverley, Emmy and Alaric could spend as much time with Marshall as they needed.
The main course arrived, and I ate as much of the cumin-crusted lamb as I could manage. Butterflies fluttered in my belly, and I wasn’t sure why. Worry about the panic attacks? Anticipation over what was to come? A general fear that I wasn’t good enough?
Oh, here we go.
Black rose and climbed the steps to the stage with Sofia at his side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for taking the time to join us tonight for the inaugural Blackwood Foundation Awards. We’ve always believed in supporting smaller charities, grassroots causes that might not get much attention on a national scale. These organisations can make a real difference at a local level, and we’re proud to offer not only financial assistance to three such causes this evening but recognition for their valuable work as well. Firstly, I’d like to invite Georgia Rutherford from Hope for Hounds onto the stage.”
Everyone applauded, and Georgia stepped forward to receive a giant cheque for fifty thousand bucks. As a senator’s daughter, she’d once been used to the limelight, although I gathered she’d chosen to live a quieter life now. She gushed suitably, thanked everyone, and then it was Marshall’s turn.
“Truthfully, it was a surprise to be asked here tonight,” he said. “So often, the arts find themselves at the bottom of the pile when it comes to funding. Creativity has been devalued. But can you imagine a world without it? No books, no movies, no music, no museums. Our walls would be bare, sporting events would be played in silence, and the sounds of the radio would be a mere memory. Yet school budgets have been cut to the bare minimum, artists are expected to work ‘for exposure,’ and often, the only opportunity children have to access specialist tuition comes from the generosity of strangers. Not only will this grant help to secure the future of the Penngrove summer art camp, but it means we’ll be able to expand the program by offering places to children from neighbouring towns as well. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for believing in what we’re trying to do in our community. Art in all of its many forms helps to make the world more beautiful.”
Listening to Marshall speak, I almost believed he was what he claimed to be—a caring old guy who just wanted to make the world a better place for generations to come. But Emmy and Alaric were both certain he was the asshole who’d ordered his henchmen to shoot at them plus a whole boatload of undercover agents. One man had been seriously injured. Could a leopard change its spots? We were about to find out.
The third award winner did her thing, and a few minutes later, Black quietly led a group from the room—Sofia, Xavier, Dan, and Marshall. A moment later, Emmy’s sister rose from her seat three tables away and headed in the same direction. Despite Marshall’s crimes, I couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit sorry for him.
“They’re going to the gallery,” Mack murmured. Like Rafael, she was wired for sound, her earpiece hidden under an elaborate sweep of red hair. “Marshall won’t be coming back. Anyone know what’s for dessert?”
And that was that. Our job was done. Days of planning, weeks of preparation, and the bad guy just disappeared quietly into the night.