When the Shadows Fall by Elise Noble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7 - SKY

I MADE IT out of the Windsor Room before anyone else, but Rafael was hot on my heels.

“Sky, wait.”

“I need to fetch my guns.”

“Right now, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

“Look, I get it, okay? We’re not friends. We work together, that’s all.”

“I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” Some fancy footwork meant he got in front of me and stopped, blocking the hallway. “Don’t do this, Sunshine.”

“Don’t you ‘Sunshine’ me.”

He reached out, then seemed to remember his promise not to touch me and dropped his arm to his side. I used the opportunity to dart past him.

“¡Carajo!”

“Everything okay?” Emmy asked from behind us.

“Sure,” I told her. “We’re just heading out back for some target practice.”

“Don’t forget your waterproofs. It’s pissing down.”

Oh, brilliant. Just when I thought life couldn’t possibly get any better.

“Sky could use more experience over shorter distances,” Rafael said, using the distraction to get ahead of me again. Asshole. “We’ll use the indoor range.”

What indoor range?

“Good plan. I’ve got to run into the office, and then apparently, I’m off to pack for a romantic getaway.” Emmy rolled her eyes. “I’ll walk out to the garage with you.”

The garage? Where were we driving to?

With more voices approaching from behind, I didn’t have much choice but to follow. Why couldn’t I just turn the clock back a few hours? Skydiving had been exhilarating—fun, even—once I’d got over my initial holy-fuck-I-just-jumped-out-of-a-plane shock. Rafael had let us free-fall for almost a minute before he deployed the chute, and then we’d spent another five minutes floating back to earth as he demonstrated how to swoop and turn. I was almost looking forward to doing it again.

But preferably not strapped to Mr. My-Private-Life-Is-None-Of-Your-Business this time.

“I don’t have a gun with me,” I said in a last-ditch attempt to escape.

But Rafael wasn’t having it. “I have plenty of guns.”

“It’s good for you to practise with unfamiliar weapons,” Emmy said. “Rafael, do you have any work scheduled for the next three weeks?”

“Besides training Sky and installing a bathroom? No.”

“Fancy a trip to Roanoke?”

“I knew that question was coming.”

“Well? Bradley can sort out the bathroom.”

“We’ll go. But Bradley is not allowed anywhere near my bathroom.”

“Fair enough.”

Hold on a second… We’ll go?

“Do I get any say in this?”

Emmy gave me a curious look. “It’s surveillance. Nothing too taxing. I thought you’d be glad for the respite.”

“Yeah, clearly I am, but I’ve only been doing this shit for two months and it’s an important job. What if I screw up?”

“Is she ready?” Emmy asked Rafael.

“Yes.”

“There you go. I’ll have Sloane send you an itinerary once she’s made the arrangements.”

By then, we were at the garage, which was in fact a row of converted coach houses beside the old stable yard, and my clothes were already soaked. Rafael bleeped open the doors of his Lincoln Navigator, and I had no option but to climb inside. I hoped his leather seats went wrinkly.

“So, where’s this range?” I asked once he’d started the engine.

“My place.”

“I’m sorry, for a moment I thought you said we were going to your place, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Personal?”

“We are. But first, we’re gonna swing by and visit my grandma. That personal enough for you?”

“Your grandma? Now you’re telling me you have a grandma?”

“Did you skip biology classes in school?”

“I skipped all of school, but you know perfectly well what I mean.”

Rafael sighed. What was with all the sighing today? Had Toby put something in the smoothies?

“In my world, trust doesn’t come easily. Too many people have spent too much time trying to kill me. Staying quiet about my family is a defence mechanism, and I do it out of habit now. I didn’t set out to keep secrets from you.”

“Is that meant to be an apology?”

“Sky, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Well, that was…unexpected. Never in my life had a man said he was sorry and sounded as if he meant it. That left me at a bit of a loss.

“Fine.” I folded my arms. “Go to your grandma’s.”

It turned out Nana da Silva lived in a palatial house on the edge of the Riverley estate. Rafael called it a cottage, but it was more like a mini-mansion, albeit laid out over one sprawling storey. The yard was still dotted with the telltale signs of building work—a stack of bricks, a dumpster, a pile of sand.

“Did she move in recently?” I asked, breaking my silence.

“Right before you arrived.”

“Renovations?”

“New build. Bradley organised it. I’ve never seen a house go up so fast.”

Rafael parked the Navigator haphazardly next to the front porch, then hopped out. Once or twice, he’d tried to open my car door for me, but that felt awkward so I’d told him I was perfectly capable of doing it myself. Now he left me to it.

I jogged to the porch and sheltered undercover while Rafael knocked on the front door.

“Does she live alone?” I whispered.

“No, with her boyfriend. That’s why I always knock.”

I gave an involuntary snort right before the door opened and I got my hundredth shock of the day. Given that this was Rafael’s grandma and presumably Black’s mother, and both men stood six and a half feet at least, I’d been expecting a tall Colombian lady because as Rafael had pointed out, genetics was a thing. I hadn’t been prepared for the dark-haired woman staring up at me from a wheelchair. Fuck. She didn’t even look Colombian.

Grandma gave Rafael a passing glance, and then her gaze locked onto me. Talk about intense.

“Who are you?”

Guess I knew now where Rafael’s bluntness came from.

“Uh, I’m Sky.”

Her expression softened. “Sky, sí. Rafael has told me about you.” He had? “Forgive me if I don’t get up.”

“Sky, meet Marisol.”

“Come in, come in. I’ve been baking achiras.”

“A-whats?” I whispered to Rafael as Marisol spun her chair around and set off along the hallway.

“Cheesy biscuits.”

The kitchen was quite spectacular. Bright, spacious, and clearly designed for Marisol because all the counters were at the perfect height. She picked up a saucepan, filled it with milk, and set it to boil on the stove.

“You like hot chocolate?” she asked me. Marisol spoke with a strange accent—mostly Spanish but with a hint of English underneath. “I can make something else if you’d prefer.”

“I love hot chocolate.”

“Bueno. Not so many people drink it here, at least, not the proper kind. But it’s very popular in Colombia.” Marisol wheeled herself to the table. “Sit, sit. So, you work with Rafael?”

“Yeah. Like, he helps me in the gym and stuff,” I added, just in case she wasn’t aware of her grandson’s extracurricular activities. I mean, she was related to two assassins, but apart from that weird moment at the start, she seemed incredibly sweet. Maybe they kept her in the dark?

“He always did enjoy that sort of thing. I hear you’re from London?”

“That’s right.”

“My parents were born in Salisbury. Do you know it?”

Marisol was English? Wow. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there.”

“Neither have I, but maybe I’ll visit someday.”

“Black would take you tomorrow if you wanted to go,” Rafael told her.

“Perhaps not tomorrow,” I blurted, and they both stared at me.

Shit. Think first, speak later, Sky.

“Uh, Emmy said they were going for a romantic break.”

“Excelente. He works too hard. And I want to get the house finished before I go anywhere. Bradley’s been maravilloso, but if I leave him alone, he can be a little…”

“Insane?” Rafael suggested. “Pig-headed?”

“A little renegade, but his heart’s in the right place. You’re here to help Vicente to move the wardrobe?”

“Sí.”

“He’s just taking a shower.”

“We’ll wait.”

The milk boiled, and Marisol made four mugs of hot chocolate with actual squares of chocolate and a whisk. Now that I’d tasted it, I’d never drink that overly sweet powdered stuff again. I also scoffed half a dozen achiras, and if I’d had a clue how to bake, I might have asked for the recipe. And also ended up really fat. Marisol asked me about life in London, and I tried not to make it sound too miserable.

Then Vicente appeared, and it was clear from his familiarity with Rafael that they were close. How long had he been dating Marisol? What had happened to Rafael’s grandfather? Those questions would have to wait, because I was soon holding doors open while the two men hefted a giant Victorian-style armoire through the house. For an old guy, Vicente was surprisingly strong. Fifteen minutes later, the antique monstrosity was safely installed in one of the spare bedrooms, and that meant it was time to leave. In all honesty, I’d rather have stayed. Chatting with Marisol and drinking cocoa beat standing on a shooting range, and there was still some residual awkwardness between me and Rafael.

But alas, it wasn’t to be. Rafael put our mugs into the dishwasher, and then he bent to kiss his grandma on the cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You have plans this afternoon?”

“I’m going shooting with Sky.”

“Close-range? Long-range?”

“Close-range.”

“What gun do you usually shoot at twenty yards, Sky?” Marisol asked.

“Uh, a Walther P22.”

“Borrowed from Emmy? She seems to favour Walthers.”

Well, this was a strange turn for the conversation to be taking.

“Yeah, but I don’t have it with me today, so I’m going to borrow one of Rafael’s.”

Marisol reached under her seat, and my eyes bugged out of my head when she retrieved a suppressed .22 and held it out to me, grip first.

“Try this instead. It’s a Smith & Wesson M&P22 Compact. With your smaller hands, you might find it more comfortable.”

“Uh…” Holy fuck. She even had a laser mounted on the rail underneath the barrel. Was she planning to shoot in the dark? “Uh…thanks?”

“Look at the time—I’d better start dinner. Cora’s coming over with Leander. Have a good afternoon.”

I was left holding the gun limply in one hand as she turned away. Bloody hell. Who exactly was Marisol da Silva?

“Don’t act so shocked, Sunshine,” Rafael whispered.

“You and me, we need to have a serious talk about your communication skills.”

“Later.”

When I didn’t move, his hand went to the nape of my neck again, and this time, I had so many thoughts churning through my mind that I barely flinched as he steered me out of the house.