Asier nodded and stood up. “Interpol could use someone with your skills.” He pulled a card from his wallet. “If you decide the answer is yes, call this number and ask for me. There’s a formal hiring process that has to be completed, but I can move it along faster.”
For some reason, the dread in her stomach worsened. She glanced at Leone as she followed Asier across the hardwood floor. Her soft-soled boots didn’t make any noise while the agent’s shoes sounded overly loud, matching the drumbeat of the rain splattering against the windows and pounding on the roof. Her heartbeat found an alarming counterpoint.
Asier moved toward the front door, his card in hand even as Leone came out of the alcove where the cabinet was located in front of the stairs. Brielle walked Asier politely to the door as he explained the process of hiring to her. She knew she wasn’t going to take the job, but she did find it fascinating that he had made the offer.
Asier turned to her as he opened the wide door made of thick, rough-hewn wood. To reinforce security, Elie had steel embedded down the middle of the thick, old-growth hardwood, a difficult task, but it was impossible to tell the wood had been tampered with. She loved the front door. The sound of the storm burst over them, as the wind sent a wild gust of rain at them. Fortunately, the porch was wide and the roof prevented them from getting soaked. The storm didn’t seem to deter Asier from continuing his conversation.
“I must make a confession. My wife has a particular love of gardening. I took a couple of pictures of these bushes right around the front of your home.” Asier indicated the hydrangeas growing on either side of the stairs. He bent down toward the purple-colored bush, which was very wide and a good three feet tall.
“Brielle,” Leone cautioned, coming up behind her.
The churning in her stomach exploded into a volcano of red flags everywhere. “Gun,” she yelled, not even seeing one, but knowing. Just knowing. The lie was there. She heard it in the agent’s voice. There was no wife, no gardening. The uneasiness she’d been feeling hadn’t been because Elie was in the air in a storm. It was because she’d allowed an assassin into her home.
She half turned, keeping Asier in sight, trying to push Leone back into the house with one hand on his chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw shadowy figures directing orange-red streaks at them from every direction.
Something hot hit her hard in her upper right arm, tearing through her muscle and spinning her sideways with amazing force. At the same time, she felt another fiery pain lance her right thigh. Leone went down hard, half in and half out of the doorway. She would have toppled over him but didn’t dare. Sheer will kept her on her feet. She leapt over him, landing on her good leg. Crouching, she reached down and caught at the back of his shirt and dragged with all her might, angling her body to try to take them both to the side of the door.
A bullet kissed her temple, streaking fire through her head and making her stomach lurch. For a moment her vision blurred. She kept dragging Leone. Then Raimondo was providing covering fire and pulling Leone inside as well. It was impossible to close the door, and a hysterical part of her made a note to tell Elie they needed an automatic door closer to smash that heavy door on intruders.
“Brielle, get to the safe room. They can’t get in there. I can hold them off long enough for you to lock yourself in.” Raimondo gave her the order in a steely voice.
She was assessing their situation the same as he was. They didn’t have a chance. They couldn’t get Leone into the safe room. Someone had to provide the covering fire in order for her to make it—if she could. That would leave both men outside alone, with one down. They would both be killed.
“I’m a shadow rider, Raimondo. I’m not losing either of you.”
She dove into the nearest shadow before he could point out she had three wounds. She wasn’t going to think about it, or how the shadows would tear apart her body even more, spraying blood in every direction. She refused to allow the wild churning in her stomach to disorient her. There were two men’s lives at stake, men she’d already grown fond of. She had to save them and she would.
The pull on her body was horrendous, as if all the flesh was being torn from her bones. Her eyes felt as if they’d been plucked from her skull. Her hair, although braided, seemed to be ripped from her head. She’d been scalped and there were only the bloodied remains of her open brain with the contents leaking out into those hideous tubes.
Normally, she prepared herself to go into the shadows. She meditated, breathed deeply, put herself in a state of being where her mind could accept the horrors and illusions of what happened to a rider during transport. The odd thing was, in spite of the disorienting sickness, the terrible fear and hallucination of sensations, she retained every map and grid of where she was and where she was going. She never lost sight of her mission and the determination to complete it. The danger came in after—when she was returning home. She no longer had that single important goal to get her through the horrors.