Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (2 page)

Barrows
. The tech-genius was famous for innovations that had revolutionized computer science and usage. At one time the man was regarded as one of the more brilliant minds of the computer age. He’d made a fortune off his inventions. But with his brilliance came passionate beliefs that were far-fetched and unsubstantiated. Before his conviction, implausible claims had outweighed the plausible. The same brain that had patented ingenious innovations in anti-viral software and spyware became a frequent target of late-night comedians for claiming that extra-terrestrial life had infiltrated the internet.

He’d been imprisoned one year earlier. Although he’d been paying taxes, he’d formulated a detailed personal tax code and, for years, had been paying in accordance with his own tax code. He not only formulated it, he published it, and encouraged others to use it. The running joke was that Barrows, with his considerable wealth and income, paid far more in taxes than required by the official tax code. Others, though, hundreds of thousands of Barrows’ fans, paid less when following his formula. He had pleaded guilty and, because he had paid more in taxes than legally required, had been given a lenient sentence of two years.

Once in prison, Barrows’ daughters, Skye and Spring, had seemingly disappeared. In truth, they’d done a world-class job of concealing their true identities and their connection to Barrows. They became Chloe and Colbie Stewart and lived in the small town of Covington, Louisiana, which was why Sebastian had flown there. His people were good at what they did and it still took them three full days post-prison break to find Skye and Spring. New identities—ones this good—cost big bucks, and only a few forgers were good enough to pull off such a seamless transition. Then again, they were the daughters of Richard Barrows, who could make computers do things others only dreamed about. Dad could have done it for them. Their fake names and assumed lives made Sebastian suspicious, but he didn’t give a damn what they called themselves or where they lived. All he cared about was whether the daughters knew where their father was.

Where the hell was Barrows?

It was the question of the day, and he sure as hell hoped his hunch about the daughters would lead him to the answer. Pete had been in Covington, Louisiana, for almost twenty-four hours, assigned to in-field surveillance on Skye and Spring Barrows the minute that Black Raven had figured out their fake names and where they were.

“What do you have for me?”

“Their coffee shop is a ten-minute drive from here. Should I fill you in here,” Pete said, “or on the way?”

“On the way.”

Ragno’s voice interrupted as Pete put the car in drive. “Conference call is ready.”

The vehicle, from Black Raven’s fleet, was equipped with customized telematics, internal and external cameras, a satellite navigation system, and tracking devices, all of which could be monitored at headquarters. The vehicle synced with his phone, as long as he activated the sync mechanism. He pressed a button, sending the call to the blue-tooth system, scanning the two-lane highway as Pete left the airport. Traffic was light. No one was behind them.

The agent whose team was with Holt said, “Good morning, sir. I just stepped into the transport. Can’t talk. Check text.”

Sebastian glanced at his watchband, and read the text as it scrolled through.
Holt has no info on Barrows. Didn’t know Barrows had escaped. At this point, it looks like he’s trying hard to tell the truth, because he’s facing some big prison time. Truthfulness would help shave years. He just hasn’t got anything. Will update if that changes
.

Another field agent said, “Morning, sir. I’m investigating a few leads on Biondo coming out of Jackson, Mississippi. At this point nothing is promising. It seems like the marshals were overly optimistic about how close we are to him, cause this lead isn’t solid.”

A deep breath didn’t break the disappointment that came with his agent’s words. Sebastian pushed the negative feeling aside. “Ragno. Have the analysts recheck everything we have on Biondo. Make no assumptions. Triple check any info coming from the marshals.” He paused for a moment, glancing at the scenery as he thought through the best way to use Black Raven manpower. Evergreen pine trees lined the two-lane road leading away from the airport to the small town of Covington. The early morning sky was lighter blue now and, because Sebastian had grown up in South Louisiana, he knew the crisp, cool weather was the type that locals loved. It was a break from the usual humid dampness of the area. “Once Holt gets back to the prison, keep one agent with the marshal team processing him, but move our remaining agents to the search for Biondo.”

He dropped the field agents, and kept Ragno on the line. To both Pete and Ragno, Sebastian said, “What will make his daughters tell me where their father is?”

“I’m not sure they can,” Ragno said, “because I don’t think they know.”

Sebastian glanced at Pete, who nodded in agreement. Ragno said, “We’ve detected no contact between Barrows and his daughters.”

“I’ve cloned their phones,” Pete said, slowing as a truck carrying pine logs entered the roadway in front of them. “Well, all the phones we could find. Chloe, previously Skye, had one registered to her, Colbie, previously Spring, had another. There’s one we haven’t managed to tap.”

“Yes,” Ragno said. “Skye wears a small, old-fashioned flip phone tucked inside her jeans, in the belt area. I’ve detected it from images on the security system, which we’ve hacked. Motorola Razr, circa 2008.”

Pete stopped at a red light. Sebastian glanced into the mirror that was on his sun visor. A blue Ford SUV was behind them. Two men were in it. “Pete. Have you seen that Explorer before?”

Pete glanced in the rearview mirror. “No.”

“We’re not monitoring the Razr,” Ragno continued. “On the devices I’ve managed to hack, I’ve followed data transmissions and internet activity, which is limited to their business. Pete bugged their house and business. They haven’t mentioned their father. Pete installed cameras at their house, one covering the downstairs, one covering the stairs and upstairs hallway. I’ve hacked into cameras at the coffee shop. Barrows isn’t at either place. Everything seems normal so far.”

“I don’t think they even know their father’s escaped,” Pete told him, glancing at Sebastian as he stopped at a traffic light. “It hasn’t been publicized. They haven’t had contact with any source that’s given them the information, because if they know, they haven’t said a word about it.”

Hell
.

“However, it’s…odd that Barrows hasn’t contacted his daughters,” Ragno said. “I don’t think he’d go very long without contacting them. If not to get their help with his efforts to disappear, then to tell them he’s all right. Before his imprisonment, they were a tight knit unit. Dad and his two girls. That’s it. No other relatives. He’d call them and say he’s fine,” she paused, “unless, of course, he’s not.”

As Sebastian realized Ragno and Pete really had nothing solid for him, the dull thud of a headache pulsed behind his eyes. “So if we don’t have any obvious link between the daughters and their father’s escape efforts,” he said, “give me details, something I can use to press their buttons and figure out where he might have gone.”

“I sent a condensed version of my notes, coupled with Pete’s observations, to you a few minutes ago,” Ragno said. “There are pictures.”

Sebastian reached into his backpack for his iPad and clicked on the file that Ragno had sent. “Got it.”

She continued, “Skye and Spring Barrows changed identities shortly before Richard Barrows pleaded guilty. Most of her twenties Skye, who became Chloe—”

“Stick with their real names.”

“Skye was an A-lister on the fast-track celebutante list.”

Sebastian knew the type. Celebrity-debutantes. Black Raven had a few multi-billionaire clients with twenty-something-year-old children, who became famous simply by being attractive and living fast, hard, and mostly without direction as they partied, shopped, and blew through fortunes.

“Drugs?” He glanced through the windshield. Outbound traffic was getting heavier as they headed into Covington. They were about forty-five minutes from downtown New Orleans, and on this Monday in February, commuters were headed to work. A quick glance in the visor’s mirror told him that the blue Explorer had disappeared. Good. As far as he could tell, no one was following them.

“Occasional marijuana reports. Social alcohol. Big parties, fast cars, yachts, high fashion,” Ragno paused. “Skye ran through men. Lots of them—several well-known. She even dated Justin Timberlake. There are plenty of photos of the two of them together. ”

On the iPad, Sebastian fast-gazed at paparazzi photos of Skye, who smiled at the camera like it was her best friend, while clubbing, bikini-tanning on yachts, and dining with other A-listers. Her smile was full and captivating and it was something she was rarely without. It set her apart from the others in the photos, because the current style for young heiresses in the fast lane was a perpetually bored, slightly annoyed, pouty look. Not Skye. She looked like she enjoyed the fun, and each time she was photographed in a group, more people looked at her than at the camera. He swiped backwards on the screen and started over, studying how she gave in to moments with reckless abandon, carrying everyone else along for the ride.

“Her partying pictures are all two years old or older. About a year before her father’s conviction,” Pete said, turning at a traffic light into the outskirts of the quaint town. “Skye had a serious car accident in the Florida Keys. She was driving and speeding. It was raining. She swerved to avoid a key deer. One passenger died. Her sister was injured. After that, she kept a relatively low profile. No more high-life partying pics, no reports of famous boyfriends. She and her sister disappeared from public view right before her father’s conviction and imprisonment. Chloe and Colbie Stewart have established a new life here in Covington.”

“And they’ve done a world class job of it,” Sebastian muttered. “Do we know why they’ve gone to such extreme measures to conceal their identity?”

“No,” Ragno answered, “other than to separate themselves from the Barrows name. Their father was constantly denigrated and mocked in the public eye before he went to prison. Or, maybe they’re just as paranoid as he is.”

As he scanned through the files, Sebastian’s gaze rested on a photograph of a long-legged, sun-tanned blonde tiptoeing on the top deck of a Westport mega-yacht, arms arched high overhead, as she readied herself for a dive. The next photo was zoomed closer. A white string bikini bottom was Skye’s only clothing. It was tied at the hips and only covered the barest essentials. Her small waist gently curved to full hips and a not-perfectly-flat tummy. Wet strands of platinum blond hair fell to her waist, partially concealing large breasts and pink nipples. “Wow.”

Pete chuckled. “Yeah. That’s two years ago, right before her car accident.”

If she had any tan lines, Sebastian didn’t see them. A flirty turn-up played at her lips, a gorgeous prelude to her stunning smile, and she was staring out, as though the only thing on her mind was the perfect dive, the sun, and the glistening, turquoise-blue water. A buff, dark-haired man in swim trunks reclined nearby, staring up at her with wide-eyed lust. Other suntanned women and men, all in skimpy bathing suits, were nearby, cheering her on.

“Did she dive?” Sebastian asked.

“Look at the next shots.”

The photographer caught her in mid jump. The next shot showed a sloppy, legs-bent entry as her head hit the water. “Holy hell. She’s not a diving pro, but she did it anyway.”

“You’re admiring her dive and not that body?” Pete asked.

Sebastian chuckled. “Her body’s incredible, but beautiful, rich young women with perfect figures aren’t rare. Moxie is. Hell.” He swiped back to the prior photo. He’d been on Westport yachts before. Rich people who paid Black Raven for protection needed security on all kinds of toys. “The yacht’s at least 150 feet. It was like she was diving off the roof of a three or four story building. She’s either got balls of steel or,” he paused, “she’s really stupid.”

“That assessment is overly simplistic for her,” Ragno said.

“Unfortunately for the man in the photo who is drooling over her,” Pete said, “balls are one thing she doesn’t have. His wife divorced him after those pictures made the tabloids. A few weeks later, Skye had the car accident in the Keys.”

Sebastian scanned reports of the car accident as Ragno continued, “As she and Spring were recovering from the accident, their father was indicted for the offense that led him to prison. In the year after the car accident, before disappearing into the life of Chloe Stewart, Skye kept a low profile. The remaining photographs, taken before she changed her ID, are tamer.”

In the next photo, Richard Barrows and his two daughters were walking across a rooftop helipad to a waiting helicopter, the Manhattan skyline visible in the background. Pete glanced at the iPad, then back at the road. “There, Skye is looking at the camera. There’s a strong resemblance between the sisters, except Spring has blue eyes, like her father, and looks, well,” he shrugged. “Girlish, almost. Skinnier. Not as curvy. Younger than her age. Their hair is black now.”

Skye had gray-green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. She was pretty. Gorgeous, even, with alluring planes and angles in her square jaw and high cheekbones. Her form-fitting slim skirt, wrap sweater, and high heels showcased a body too curvy for super-model status, but in the real world, it was hell-yes-perfect. Too bad she wasn’t his type, and that had nothing to do with her status as Barrows’ daughter, which made her doubly not his type, because Sebastian didn’t mix work with anything but work.