Aimee Thurlo - The Shadow

Time was her enemy now. Her eyesight was becoming progressively weaker. A month ago she’d been diagnosed with a rare, genetic and progressive form of macular degeneration.

Learning that she was slowly going blind terrified her. A dark wall was descending around her, one that would keep her trapped behind it. Yet the diagnosis, though dire, still held out hope. Recent discoveries in gene therapy hinted that a cure would be found—someday.

After hearing of her condition, her father had encouraged her to quit her job at an Albuquerque area resort and come home. His belief in her had renewed her courage, and with his added financial support, they’d made plans to build a new future—for her and for him.

She missed her father. His passing, in an auto accident, had left a hole inside her. He’d been her only living relative. As she looked around the room, she felt achingly alone.

Suddenly aware that her isolation would make her an easy target if the burglars came back now, she stood. The fading light from one of the battery-powered lanterns was casting long shadows on the wall, and that increased her anxiety.

It was time to go back to the small trailer she’d brought in to serve as her temporary living quarters. Emily slipped out of the main house, locking the door with the knob button by feel. Using her small but powerful flashlight to light the path before her, she picked her way across the grounds.

She was halfway across the yard when she caught the unmistakable scent of gasoline. Shining the beam about, she spotted the vague outline of a person moving around the stack of two-by-sixes the construction crew had left there earlier. She aimed her flashlight at the figure, hoping it was her construction foreman, Ken. As the man turned, she saw that his face was covered with a ski mask.

Emily turned off the light instantly. Taking several quick steps back, she collided with the side of the shed and nearly fell.

The man came toward her with raised arms, holding a board over his head like a big club.

Emily moved to her right, but a second man, also wearing a mask, suddenly came around the other side of the shed, trapping her between them.

The first man lunged, swinging the board at her head.

Heart hammering in her chest, she ducked under its arc and chopped him on the wrist with her flashlight.

As he yelped and staggered back, she picked up the only close weapon she could find—a cottonwood branch about the length of a yardstick. It was too light to serve as a bludgeon, but it would give her some reach, and she could aim at their faces and target her assailants’ eyes.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, angling her flashlight at the closest man, hoping to blind and confuse him.

He remained silent, but continued to inch forward, shielding his eyes from the glare with a gloved hand.

Without warning, a figure in dark clothes dropped off the roof of the shed, landing beside her in a crouch, like a panther. “Stay put,” he whispered.

Turning, the newcomer positioned himself between her and her assailants, and rose to his full height.

Her rescuer’s face wasn’t masked, but he’d moved too fast for her to get a clear look at him. Grateful for any help, she continued to train the powerful beam of her flashlight on her first assailant, hoping to blind him. From what she could see, her ally’s only weapon was the small cylinder he held in his hand—even smaller than her flashlight. Fear pounded through her.

“Back off—while your head’s still attached to your shoulders,” her rescuer growled.

His voice made her skin prickle. Deadly intent dripped from every syllable.

The closest man automatically took half a step back in response, undoubtedly wondering, like Emily, why anyone holding such a small weapon would show such confidence.

“Walk away while you still can,” the first man responded, coming up. His voice was artificially low, clearly disguised. He didn’t have the board now, but his gloved fists were huge.

With a flick of her ally’s wrist, the stick in his hand clicked with a low, metallic ring and suddenly became three times as long.

What happened next was a blur. Emily saw her newfound friend rush her closest assailant, and in a heartbeat, that man crashed to the ground. The second one leaped into the fight, but was struck behind the knee and fell face forward.

“Run!” one yelled to his partner. Both men scrambled to their feet and raced away into the brush.

As her rescuer turned around to face her, Emily’s mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. Although her night vision was poor, her heart filled in all the small details her eyes were unable to pick up.

“Jonas,” she managed to gasp at last. “What are you…?”

He smiled. “Emily. After five years, you still remember?” His voice was smooth and caressing now.

“How could you think I’d ever forget? You saved my life—then, as well as now,” she declared, her heart lodged at the back of her throat.

“Get inside, quickly,” he urged, collapsing the metal baton and jamming it into his jacket pocket. “I want to take one last look around and make sure nothing here can catch fire. Then you and I need to talk. You’re still in danger.”

TEN MINUTES LATER, Jonas Slowman sat on a small bench—what was really a storage bin in the trailer—as Emily prepared them something hot to drink. Though it was mid-March and nearly spring, the temperature at night was still in the low forties.

Jonas gazed at her appreciatively. Emily was as beautiful as ever. He pushed back the thought quickly and forced himself to focus. As a member of the Navajo tribe’s elite Brotherhood of Warriors, he’d worked many missions, but this promised to be the toughest yet.

Seeing Emily again was more difficult than he’d originally thought. She’d been a part of his dreams since that night on the mountain years ago. He’d stayed away from her for that very reason. But his orders were clear—protect her at all costs—and there was no room for emotions on a mission.

“It’s decaf coffee. It’s all I’ve got,” she said, turning her head in his direction.

He saw her gaze drift down to his hands, and wondered if seeing his bruised knuckles bothered her. Then, noting the faraway look on her face and the ghost of a shiver that rippled through her, he knew she was remembering the pleasures of his touch. The knowledge bit into him hard.

Finished assembling the four-cup percolator, she came to join him. “Those men…” she began, then took a shaky breath and looked away.

“Are gone and can’t hurt you,” he said flatly.

“Nothing in my life makes sense anymore—even the fact that we’re sitting here face-to-face,” she whispered, taking a seat on the folding chair across from him. “I never thought I’d see you again. Over the years, I almost convinced myself that you were a dream.”

“I’m not a dream. What we had was real.”

He held her gaze, though it cost him. Everything about Emily was made to tempt a man. Dark brown hair spilled over her shoulders, and those soft hazel eyes spoke of gentleness—a quality sadly lacking in his life. But there was more to her than the sum of her parts. The stubborn set of her chin spoke of pride and an independent spirit. And that was the woman he remembered—the one who’d haunted his dreams.

“When the snowstorm ended and you took me back to the lodge, everyone was so excited I’d turned up alive they just closed in around me. I tried to push people back so I could find you again, but you were gone. And I didn’t even know your full name. I described you to everyone there, but no one remembered seeing you.”

He nodded. Disappearing into the shadows was his specialty. It was a skill he’d learned in the Rangers and had perfected after becoming a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors.