Guardian of the Night

He simply existed.

Noah ran through the night until he reached a place that no one else on St. Gabriel Island dared visit…even in the bright, unforgiving light of day.

The concerto of cicadas was very nearly deafening. He drew the thick, balmy air into his lungs, exhaled again and again until his respiration had slowed and his skin had ceased to tingle. A slick coat of sweat had dampened his flesh and he felt cleansed by it.

He moved closer to the looming structure that had once reigned proudly in the center of a clearing. That clearing had decades ago been reclaimed by the semi-tropical forest. Ivy shrouded the ancient chapel’s exterior, hiding the timeworn cracks in its sagging walls, disguising its proximity to inevitable collapse. Inside was cavernous and as dark as a tomb, which was fitting since the rumors on the island had pegged him as the walking dead, a distant cousin of Count Dracula, no doubt.

Some species of the local fauna scurried out through the wide door, open and partially unhinged on one side. Probably a raccoon, Noah decided, unafraid. He waded through knee-deep weeds that grew in the loamy soil as he moved past the chapel and to the cemetery beyond it. He had no fear of anything reptilian or otherwise, he was the walking dead, after all. What did Noah Drake have to fear?

Only the light.

And a past that had destroyed his future, and any semblance of a normal present.

Camouflaged by the creeping flora, primitive head-stones, crumbling with age, marked the final resting places of a few of St. Gabriel’s former residents. No one on the island ever came near the place anymore. Not since the ground had been tainted some thirty or so years ago by the burial of one of Savannah’s premier voodoo queens, or so went the gossip. Noah wondered if the woman had felt as alone in her beliefs as he did in his inescapable isolation.

But he was alone, not lonely, he reminded himself. He didn’t need anyone. And there was his work…his private expression of aloneness.

Minutes turned into hours as he wandered with no particular destination. He didn’t often leave the house for this long, or travel this far from its sanctuary. A simple mistake such as falling and injuring himself could mean certain death if he were unable to return before dawn. But he’d needed to escape the demons from his past and this was the only way he’d known how.

They were coming…for him.

All he could do was wait. It was the waiting that got to him, not the fear for his life. Just the waiting.

Acutely attuned to nature’s predawn signals, he eventually moved back toward safety. He slowed as he neared the house. Inside lay reality. Out here, he glanced toward the east and the pink and purple hues already creeping above the horizon, was freedom, hope, possibility.

But his time was up. Going back inside wasn’t a mere alternative, it was a necessity. If he remained outdoors and the sun came up, which it would inevitably do…he would die.

As he trudged through the sand, he studied the details of the prison he’d chosen. The three-story Victorian Gothic-style house had a long ways to go before she would be fully restored to her former glory, but she was impressive still, at once brooding and enchanting if one was predisposed to romance.

Hurricane shutters, now closed at all times, masked the floor-to-ceiling windows. More than a century after the house’s construction, that detail had become an important one for the new owner. Interior shutters and heavy drapes rendered the numerous massive windows—eyes to the outer world—completely sightless. No one saw in, no one saw out and not even so much as a glimmer of light penetrated his large, aboveground dungeon.

When he reached the screened porch that had been added sometime in the last half of the twentieth century, Noah turned around and looked out over the ocean one last time. That had actually been the deciding factor in his choosing this place. The sound of the surf, the immensity of its boundaries were breathtaking even without the aid of the sun.

It was all that kept him sane.

“Noah, you’ve been gone for hours.” The gently scolding voice greeted him the moment he opened the door into the kitchen.

Tamping down the instant irritation, Noah manufactured a smile for his relentless companion, Lowell Kline. Companion, what an odd designation for his mind to conjure, Noah considered abruptly. But it was true. Lowell was paid well to live here, had been for a year now. Did the shopping, the cooking, the laundry, even the cleaning. He fussed over Noah like a grandmother every chance he got. Most of the time Noah avoided him, but sometimes, as now, Lowell would catch Noah off guard and that annoyed him immensely. Lowell wanted to be a true companion in that he wanted to be Noah’s friend. But Noah didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone to be too close.

“I’m fine, Lowell.” He regarded his dedicated employee, wondering again what made him stay. It definitely wasn’t the pleasure of the company. Lowell Kline was certainly capable of earning a good wage elsewhere. His still-full head of hair was as white as the clouds Noah remembered from a clear summer’s day. Though not a large fellow, at fifty-five Lowell was quite fit. The older man was well-read and deemed himself the resident expert on the island folklore, including the still-secretly-practiced black voodoo and the long-ago days when pirates and smugglers had frequented the place.

“Have you been up all this time?” Noah inquired. He preferred his solitude. Lowell knew that.

Lowell looked flustered. He tried very hard not to let Noah catch him keeping too close tabs. “Well no, but when I awoke and realized you weren’t back I began to worry.”

Noah nodded, suddenly too tired to discuss the issue. This was his life—existence, he amended. “I apologize if I worried you. Your concern is unnecessary, I assure you. I’m heading for the shower.”

“Noah,” Lowell said, stalling his departure. “You’ve received another…letter.”

The last word hung in the air like the steamy July humidity outside, only heavy with an undercurrent of apprehension…of menace.

“Let me see.” It was only then that Noah noticed Lowell held a bundle of mail under one arm, his reading glasses dangling from his hand. He’d obviously been going through the stack Noah had ignored for the past four days. Noah preferred to do it himself, but whenever he got behind, by choice generally, Lowell took the initiative.

Noah looked at the envelope. As before it was nondescript, white in color, business-size with no return address. The postmark was Atlanta. He reached inside and pulled out the single sheet of paper. It was just like all the others. Letters of the alphabet in different fonts and sizes had been cut from magazines or newspapers and arranged into haphazard words then pasted onto the plain white page.

There’s no place to hide.

Noah sighed, crumpled the letter and tossed it across the room. Anger seethed inside him. The letters had been coming once a week for more than two months. The first few had been nothing more than hate mail. That hadn’t really bothered him since he’d been called worse by the locals on occasion. But the last three or four had grown threatening. Last week’s I’m coming for you had sent Lowell over the edge. He’d insisted on informing Edgar Rothman, the only man involved with the government whom Noah even remotely associated with.

Rothman had overreacted as usual.

“There was a call also,” Lowell said hesitantly, obviously weighing the merits of saying more but duty bound to do so.

Noah paused again, his fierce glare cut to Lowell, he flinched. “What call?”

“Mr. Rothman wanted you to know that he was sending someone down to…” Lowell cleared his throat. “To serve as a sort of bodyguard.”

Noah swore, long and loud, like a sailor fresh in from a long stretch at sea finding his wife in bed with one of the local riffraff. If his enemy wanted revenge, why didn’t he take it? These games weren’t his style. Either way, Noah wasn’t running.

“Call Rothman back and tell him to forget it. I don’t want anyone coming here. I will not allow it.”

“But, what if—”

Noah pinned him with a look that he felt certain conveyed the finality of his words. “If you would feel more comfortable taking a leave until this is over, I fully understand. But I do not want a damned bodyguard. Under any circumstances.”

BLUE CALLAHAN surged forward, gaining her second wind as she sprinted into the home stretch of her three-mile run. Her heart pumped hard and steady, forcing the adrenaline-charged blood through her veins and melting the last of the tension from her body.

She’d awakened this morning with a scream trapped in her throat and sweat dampening her skin, nightmares left over from Port Charlotte. The mission had gone smoothly right up until the end. But she’d survived. Vince Ferrelli and Katrina Moore had survived too. The bad guys had been defeated and all was right in the world once more.

Just twenty-four hours had passed and the incident that had shaken her to the core was still fresh in her memory. But it would pass. She knew from experience that it would. Focusing on more pleasant thoughts, she remembered that Lucas Camp had mentioned that he had scheduled a mission where she would be the primary. He’d also warned that there was a short fuse on this one, she should be ready ASAP.

She was ready.

As soon as she had shaken off the lingering effects of the nightmare, she’d started packing in preparation. She didn’t have to know where she was going or for how long; all Specialists were trained on the proper preparations for a mission. Her selections would cover most any situation or climate.

Then she’d pushed, stretching to her physical limits all morning in an effort to dispel the remnants of the nightmares. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was almost noon and she was starved.

If she hurried she could make it to Terry’s Pizza in time for lunch with the usual crew. Blue bounded away from the track, slowing her pace as she approached the gym. This training facility was for Specialists only. Every person here was assigned to the most highly covert organization belonging to the United States government. Blue’s unit, Special Operations, fell under Mission Recovery and was headed by Director Thomas Casey. Lucas Camp, one of her favorite people, served as Deputy Director.

This state-of-the-art training facility made the FBI’s Farm look like an elementary-school playground. Blue smiled at that thought. She’d considered a career at the Bureau first when she graduated from UCLA, but she’d chosen the Secret Service instead. Having hailed from a family of cops, third generation at that, she had definitely wanted to go into law enforcement. But being the only girl in her close-knit family of six siblings, Blue had learned hard and fast that if she didn’t keep one step ahead of the boys, she’d always be two steps behind. So she’d opted for federal service rather than local law enforcement. Being asked for by name by the president himself had made her a legend in the Callahan family as well as envied by her peers.

No one in her family could believe it when she had left the Secret Service for her current duty. Forward Research, the people whose sole responsibility was to scout out talent for Mission Recovery, had noticed her Secret Service exploits and, the moment the president for whom she worked had left office, they’d lured her away from the dark suits and designer sunglasses.

Mission Recovery’s whole cloak-and-dagger routine had seduced her. Now her brothers, all local cops in L.A., were permanently one-upped. Little sister was a secret agent. She always laughed and told them it was nothing nearly so James Bondish as all that. But the truth was, they were closer to the mark than they knew.

Mission Recovery had been created to serve the needs of all other government agencies, CIA, FBI, ATF, DEA. Whenever the usual channels failed, Mission Recovery was called in to “recover” the situation. Blue could vouch for the fact that all the members of this elite group, called Specialists, were highly trained in all areas of anti-terrorism, aggressive infiltration and such. Of course, she couldn’t share any of that with her brothers.

But that was okay with Blue. She didn’t do any of it for the notoriety, she did it because she loved the job. Most of the time anyway.