Page 48 of Wicked Shadows
It was easy to make the report say what was necessary to carry out orders when it was all orchestrated well in advance. Even the autopsy report with an official cause of death had already been completed, leaving only a few standard fill-in-the-blanks, and his death wouldn’t be questioned by anyone who could do anything about it.
With the device in hand, Shadow strode casually to the area where his target sat alone, reading a paper and occasionally looking out at the spectacular view. Just beyond the unfortunate target was another terrace overlooking the trees and ocean below. With his sights set on the vacant terrace, Shadow wound his way through the tables and chairs, passing the man as he returned his glass to the table.
Shadow waited a few seconds on the terrace behind his target before he continued moving down more stairs to other areas of the sprawling resort. Each step took him farther from the man who’d grabbed his chest in pain. His request for a table away from everyone else would aid in his demise. The resort staff was busy serving larger parties at busier clusters of tables, oblivious to his emergent situation and his inability to cry out for help.
In his peripheral vision, Shadow saw the man’s body go limp, and he knew the mission was complete. He kept moving down the side of the mountain, away from the commotion that would no doubt ensue within minutes. He planned to be as far away as possible when that happened.
* * *
“My appointment didn’t showup,” the lovely massage therapist grumbled.
“Was it for right now?” Elle asked, an idea already quickly forming.
“Yes. He was adamant about booking this time then didn’t even show up. Now I can’t find him on the guest roster at all.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s so odd.”
“Is there any chance I can grab his spot for my boyfriend? He won’t let a man touch him, but we could do a couple’s massage with two female therapists.” Elle’s excitement over the possibility was contagious.
“I’d be glad to do that for you. I’m Layla, by the way. Go grab your boyfriend, and I’ll get the room set up for two.”
Elle rushed out of the spa, thinking she’d find Devon just outside the door since he’d left her only minutes before. Another man stood at the rail instead. When he turned and met her gaze, Elle’s blood ran cold. He didn’t appear to belong in such an exclusive, high-end resort.
His hair was long and unkempt, even pulled back in the messy ponytail he wore. Faded black tattoos covered his arms, chest, and neck. Not the colorful, sexy tattoos that every man-candy with six-pack abs seemed to sport. These were decidedly prison tattoos—an ex-convict who’d been inked with a makeshift method while incarcerated. The letters across his fingers were distinguishable, even from where she stood.
E V I L O N E S
As if she were propelled by some invisible force, her feet moved on their own to carry her away from him. His horrifying smile slowly crept across his haggard face, revealing missing and rotten teeth, but deeper than that, his evil nature. She moved quicker, her eyes scanning the area for Devon and the safety his presence inherently provided. She spotted him walking with his casual swagger across one of the private terraces where a guest sat alone, reading the paper and sipping on his drink.
Devon passed behind him just as the man put his glass down. She opened her mouth to yell his name when she saw something that couldn’t have been. Even in the far reaches of her mind, she wouldn’t accept what her eyes insisted she’d seen.
Devon’s arm swung loosely at his side when he passed the guest, then made a quick stabbing motion before Devon had moved past the man. Elle’s feet halted at the action, her mouth hung open, and her heart raced at breakneck speed. Consciously willing her feet to move again, she dismissed it and assumed she’d misjudged the entire scene.
Then the man slumped in his chair, and Devon rapidly descended the stairs, disappearing from her sight. By the time she reached him, she knew he was dead and wouldn’t be revived by the time medical crews arrived. She wanted to help him, but she’d never learned CPR. The frothy spittle just inside his still open lips convinced her to alert the waiter so others who were more qualified could help him instead.
She ran back up the stairs, yelling for help as she ascended. She was met by two waiters, their faces panic-stricken as she described the man’s condition.
“Call an ambulance. I think he may already be dead.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and panic rose in her chest. “Do you know how to perform CPR?” she asked one of the men on their way back down the stairs.
“No,” he replied while staring blankly at the dead man. He finally snapped out of his trance and began instructing the other waiter. “I’ll go call the first responder team. You get an ambulance.” They hurried away from the scene, calling for others to help, and left Elle alone with the dead man again.
Was I seeing things?
She didn’t want an answer—but she needed one. She had to satisfy her overactive imagination. She hadnotjust seen Devon jab something into the back of the man’s neck moments before he slouched in his seat. Devon didnotpalm some sort of device before sliding his hand down into his pocket. Theonlylogical explanation was that she had hallucinated all of it.
With painfully slow steps, she moved toward the dead man’s back with her eyes glued to his neck and her breaths frozen in her chest. She didn’t know what she’d find there, and she didn’t know what she’d do with whatever she did find.
How can I report Devon?
How can I not report Devon?
Will I be implicated and investigated, too?
Will I go to prison for being his accomplice?
How can I believe he had any part to play in this stranger’s death?
She knew him—the best side of him he didn’t show anyone else. She felt she’d betrayed him for allowing her thoughts to stray as far as they had. He’d done nothing but love and care for her for the last several years.
Still.
