Shadow Warrior (Shadow Riders 4)

He lay prone in the grass as the cop car swept around the curve, sirens blaring. As soon as the vehicle was past, Haydon was up and running toward the buildings on the outskirts of the suburb. The houses were smaller with neat yards and shared fences. Haydon managed to vault the low fences and not even break stride.

Vittorio had to admire him. He clearly stayed in shape. He could assume the role of anyone he chose, and he played that person to the hilt. He’d sat through a dinner at the fund-raiser with many of the most astute businessmen on the planet, yet he hadn’t been caught out in his disguise. He’d approached four trained bodyguards, clearly believable in his role. One by one he had taken them out. He’d outsmarted the police and now he was clearly going for his usual hole—someone’s home.

Dogs barked throughout the neighborhood, desperately trying to alert their owners to the danger creeping up on them. Someone yelled from their back porch to shut the hell up. One dog’s bark was cut off abruptly. He squealed once and there was an abrupt silence.

Vittorio stepped into a shadow that took him to the edge of the fenced-in yard where the dog had ceased to bark. Haydon was bent over the animal and he suddenly dropped its body to the grass and straightened slowly, looking around. Light from the moon spilled across his face, leaving him a pale gray. In that moment, he looked pure evil. Satisfied that no one was around, he flipped off the cruiser that was now going up and down streets slowly and walked with confidence to the side of the house, clearly examining it for an entry point.

Vittorio could see the house had a very distinctive attic. The structure stood out because, although it was short and stubby, it was stacked higher than its neighbors, looking to be two and half stories. Haydon was patient, looking up at the vents, rather than around him. He was confident now, and he’d found a home, a place he could make his while the cops searched the area for him and never once thought to look in someone’s nice, safe home.

Vittorio allowed Haydon to climb halfway to the vent before he chose the shadow, thrown by the streetlight, that shot up the side of the house. Haydon thought himself safe, even with the shadows from the trees macabrely swaying, the branches appearing black as they reached out like stick arms searching for victims. One of those shadows had elongated fingers and those fingers touched Haydon as he climbed.

Vittorio rode the shadow thrown by the streetlight and at the last moment, before it abruptly ended, leapt for the one cast by the tree. The wind had risen, shrieking as it did so. The branches knocked together and sawed at the roof of the house. Haydon didn’t see death coming for him. It crept up behind him, swaying to the grim tune the branches played out against the house.

Vittorio had never in his life wanted to be a grim reaper, a man seeking the death of another. He had spent a lifetime pushing down his temper to replace it with balance. Now, unexpectedly, rage welled up. The sight of Grace’s bruised and bloody face with tears tracking down it settled like a cancer in his gut. His mother’s broken body, crumpled there on the ground, rose up to really push him over the edge.

He’d been taught not to make anything personal. How could it not be personal? But that wasn’t their way. That wasn’t his way. Haydon Phillips was an anomaly, a man either born or shaped into a killer and he was being served justice. It had to be that way or everything Vittorio was would be compromised.

Vittorio took a breath, pushing down all personal emotions. He couldn’t think about the havoc this man had created, how many people he had tortured and killed. He couldn’t think about how he had terrorized Grace.

Grace. His beloved woman. Vittorio loved her with everything in him. He pulled up that feeling, surrounding himself with her. The scent of her. The sound of her laughter, that unexpected gift that brought him happiness. He breathed away all anger, all emotions, cloaking himself with Grace, and everything in him settled, once more allowing complete control.

Hands came out of the shadows, reaching for Haydon Phillips in the way the branches reached across the side of the house. There was a heartbeat of time. Haydon reached for the next crack, settling his fingertips in it. The shadows moved all around him and with the branch came the shadow of a man—the reaper. Haydon shivered and paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve.

His head was caught in an unbreakable hold. It felt as if he’d suddenly been squeezed in an unrelenting vise. Instinctively, he threw himself backward, kicking out and away from the house. The vise tightened, the two arms like steel wrapped around his head. There was a terrible wrench, a flash of agony and then it was all gone.