Shield And Protection

18 September, 2003.

Later, in moments of despair, Autumn Blake would close her eyes and remember the way her older sister Stella shoved her protectively behind her slightly taller body as they faced the gunman.

The move startled the masked man standing several feet away. Over Stella's shoulder, Autumn watched as he paused and then lowered the weapon.

For a millisecond, she thought that he would spare their lives, thought that there was a conscience somewhere inside the man who had just extinguished four lives with single bullets to the head with frightening speed and accuracy, thought that perhaps the memory of the happy times he had shared with her and her sister would stay his hand.

She was wrong.

His finger tightened on the trigger, and once again, she heard the frightening sound as the bullet left the silencer of his gun, a sound barely louder than a puff of air.

Her sister gave a soft sigh and tumbled back onto Autumn, taking her to the floor.

And though she'd had no experience of death until minutes ago when she'd seen her father, her mother, her grandmother, and step-grandfather executed, Autumn recognized it in the crushing weight of her sister's body and in the harsh coppery smell that filled her nostrils as Stella's life-force seeped hotly between them.

She closed her eyes tightly as she heard the man's heavy thread on the polished wooden floorboard and prayed that he was making a quick getaway.

Instead, there was a creak as the front door opened, and his voice hissed, "Get in here, Caleb! Shit hit the fan."

A moment later, she heard a strangled gasp and a shaky voice say, "You said no one was going to get hurt, Uncle Finn. You said you were only going to rob the safe."

"Someone changed the stupid combination. Plus, I don't know why they weren't in their fucking beds fast asleep!" The man retorted, sounding furious that the occupants had changed the security code of the safe and stayed up later in their own home than he'd expected and inconvenienced him. "Grab her chain and get their phones!" he commanded in a distinctive voice that Autumn would have recognized even if his nephew hadn't just called him by name.

She closed her eyes more tightly and held her breath as she waited for the man's sixteen-year-old nephew to comply.

"I can't, Uncle Finn," the young man made a retching sound.

It was immediately followed by the sharp retort of flesh on flesh.

"Pull yourself together, boy!"

Whimpering as he did so, the young man grabbed the 24-karat necklace with its diamond-encrusted locket that Stella had been given only the day before as a sweet sixteenth birthday present. The chain held valiantly for a few seconds, and Stella's head lifted off the floor and Autumn's shoulder where it had come to rest. As the clasp gave way and it fell back with a muffled thud, the young man gave another whimpering moan.

Autumn listened as they moved around the living room, identifying the young man's lighter sneakered thread as he collected her and Stella's iPhones and his uncle's firm step as he quickly divested the other bodies of valuables.

Her mind revolted as she imagined him pulling off the diamond choker and matching tennis bracelet her mother had worn for the party earlier, as well as her wedding band and engagement ring with its obscenely large diamond.

Perhaps he'd first gone for her father's Rolex and the only jewelry he wore, a heavy signet ring with the Latin: Fideles Ubique Utiles. Faithful and Useful Everywhere is the motto of Gotham's College, the secondary school he'd attended as a young man. The school Stella had also attended and the one which Autumn was due to start in less than a month.

Autumn's grandmother and her husband, on a visit from the UK to celebrate Stella's sixteenth birthday, only wore their wedding bands.

Autumn lay holding her breath until, seeming satisfied that he had taken everything of value, the man ordered, "Let's get out of here!"

She turned her head and watched them leave, her eyes daggers of rage that would have pierced them both through the heart if it depended on her will.

The older man's stocking mask disguise hadn't fooled her.

Or anyone else present in the house before the madness had begun.

Finn Maxwell, the burly, almost six-and-a-half-foot security guard her father had recently hired. His dead sister's son, Caleb Grayson, had been posted outside as a lookout before he had been called indoors to help loot the bodies.

Shy Caleb, who had earlier danced with Stella at her birthday party and, appeared a hopeless fool in love. As he was about to leave the room, he turned his head at the very last minute to cast one last sorrowful glance at his dead classmate.

Through the fine mesh of his stocking mask, his eyes connected with Autumn's.

She saw his slim body jerk in shock.

He froze, the look in her eyes seeming to hold him spellbound.

Then he broke the connection and pulled the door shut behind him.

18 September, 2010.

7 years later.

Just when Caleb Grayson had finally forgotten those rage-filled, accusing eyes, he was shaken out of his sleep to find them staring out at him from the holes of a black balaclava.

He shook his head, thinking that the young girl had once again come to him in a dream as she'd done countless times before.

But this was no nightmare.

This time, she was as real as she had been the night his uncle had massacred everyone else in the house.

And this time, she was older and stronger.

Strong enough to pin him effortlessly to the bed.

"Never spare someone's life when you've taken everything that mattered away from them." The words were softly, calmly spoken with a faint British accent. Other than the tip of the knife at his throat, it could have been a lover whispering into his ear. "It's crueler than killing them."

"Please don't kill me," he begged.

"Please don't kill me," he begged.

"I'm not here to kill you, though I could easily do that if I wanted to." The knife's edge pressed deeper into his flesh. "All I want is your uncle's address. I need to make sure that I have the right Finn Maxwell."

"27 Rue des Hibiscus, Cayenne" he stuttered. "His house got a green door."

"Who does he live with?" She stared down at him, the tip of the knife pressed firmly against his neck.

"He lives alone. His wife is in London. He ain't like the cold."

"Perfect. I need him alone."

"Please," he croaked. "Please don't kill me."

"Relax. I told you that I wasn't going to kill you," she soothed, like a mother to a child who had awakened from a nightmare. "You didn't know that he would kill my sister, my parents, and my grandparents."

"N-no," he stammered, shaking his head in emphasis. The tip of the knife pierced his skin, and he felt a trickle of blood run from the wound. "I didn't even know he brought a gun."

"But afterward, you could have told the police what happened though, couldn't you? You could have backed up my story."

"I was frightened," he admitted. "He would have killed me."

"I knew you were frightened. And I also suspected he wouldn't have hesitated to kill you too," she replied and pressed the tip of the knife deeper into his flesh, probably recalling, he suspected, the rage she'd felt at the time at not being believed by the police. "But if you'd corroborated my story, your uncle might have been thrown into jail where he belonged. He would be there now, rotting instead of living among decent people. Don't you agree?"

Caleb nodded twice, forgetting that the blade was still at his throat and unintentionally deepening the small puncture wound.

"He warned me that if I opened my mouth, I would be dead!"

Caleb would have been dead if he'd dared say anything. His uncle had killed five people to avoid jail; killing another, even his nephew, would have been easy.

"For the last seven years I lived the miserable life you condemned me to when you didn't tell your uncle I was still alive," she informed him.

" I couldn't let him kill you, too."

"If you'd willingly participated, you would be dead right now." She deftly moved off him and stepped back from the bed. "My beef isn't with you. It's your uncle I want. He is going to pay for what he did."

Caleb's eyes bulging, body trembling, laid flat against the bed as if he was still pinned there by her weight and watched as she stepped carefully over the clothes he'd discarded before going to bed. She turned when she reached the window of his ground-floor bedroom.

"If you call to warn him or tell anyone I've been here, I will come back and cut out your tongue before I gut you like a fish."

Not waiting for Caleb Grayson's response, Autumn lightly swung one leg over the wooden sill of the man's bedroom window and slipped back through the fly mesh she'd slashed to gain entry.

The resentment she felt towards him was not for the part he'd played that night, but for thinking that he was doing her a kindness by leaving her alive.

She owed her 'lucky' escape to him and one day she might be grateful to him.

That day was yet to come.

27 Rue des Hibiscus,Cayenne

It was one of the addresses she had found and memorized in her search for the whereabouts of Finn Maxwell.

She had staked several of the addresses out with no luck in the three days she'd been in the country. In desperation, she'd changed tactics as her time ran out. Since the man's nephew was the only Caleb Grayson living in the capital, she'd decided to get the information from him instead.

She hadn't come all this way to fail and didn't want to extend her stay. The less time she spent in the country, the less chance there would be of connecting her to the shit that was about to 'hit the fan' as Finn had once said.

As she blended into the darkness of the night, she pulled off the balaclava and checked that her hair was still pulled smoothly back into its severe chignon before hurrying to the rented vehicle she'd parked two corners away.

She was thankful that the night would conceal her closely-fitting black top and leggings. Women in Cayenne were slowly beginning to embrace black despite the heat, but it was more in the form of 'little black dresses'. Anyone catching sight of her in her current getup would know that she was up to no good and report her to the police.

Jumping quickly into the car when she reached it, she took a deep breath and pulled away from the curb.

It took a monumental effort to stay within the speed limit. All she wanted to do was press the accelerator to the floor and get to the address before Caleb got over his fright and called to warn his uncle.

She doubted that he would.

In his own way Caleb had also been a victim that night.

He had likely been coerced by his beloved uncle, the only person who had taken pity on him at the age of nine when his mother had died of AIDS.

All his relatives had shunned him for fear of becoming ill themselves, even though the doctors had confirmed that his mother had contracted the condition after Caleb's birth and that he was healthy.

Finn, his mother's younger brother and a bachelor at the time, had taken custody of his unwanted nephew. Perhaps because he had lived abroad and was sophisticated enough to base his decision on proven science, not unfounded fear. He had told Autumn and her sister that he'd gone to the UK at fifteen, the only one of his mother's children young enough to accompany her when she'd left Cayenne to work as a nurse there. He had trained at the prestigious Royal Military Academy Sandhurst and spent eight years as an officer. He'd left the army and the UK soon after a tour of Iraq, leaving the cold he hated for good, he'd told them when they'd asked why he'd given up what they considered a better standard of living.

Caleb had hero-worshipped his larger-than-life uncle and would have done anything asked of him, even helping to burgle the home of the parents of the girl who was his first love.

He couldn't have predicted things going so horrendously wrong.

No one could have.

Not even Finn Maxwell himself, Autumn suspected.

The house was larger than she'd expected and for a moment Autumn sat in the car, jaws clenched, wondering what percentage of it was bought with the blood Finn Maxwell had spilled seven years ago almost to the hour.

Slipping the balaclava back over her head, she left the car and sprinted to the front gate, hoping that there wasn't another woman warming his bed in his wife's absence.

Cayennes men weren't renowned for their faithfulness.

The gate was secured with a length of chain and a solid-looking padlock that would take several minutes to pick.

She didn't have time to tackle it and didn't want to use the small bolt cutter she'd brought along. She'd seen too many stories where the cutting edges of tools had linked perpetrators to the crimes they had committed.

Instead, placing her hand on the top of the concrete wall, she vaulted smoothly into the yard.

She didn't bother trying the front door. From the size of the lock on the gate, Finn appeared to take his security seriously. Back door locks were generally easier to access-people often spent money and effort securing the front of their property but left the rear exposed.

Finn was no exception and Autumn was in the house in less than a minute.

The man's nephew had slept with a nightlight, like a child keeping night terrors at bay. The glow had helped her easily navigate her way to his bed.

There were no lights on in Finn's house; he clearly had no fear of the dark.

But Autumn had come prepared.

Pulling out the newly purchased EyeClops night vision goggles from her backpack, she slipped them on over her head.

As she surveyed the kitchen, taking note of the placement of objects, the sound of heavy, even breathing from above reached her ears.

The snores led her up the stairs and to the largest-looking of the three bedrooms.

And there, thankfully alone, sprawled on his back and naked except for dark-colored briefs was the man who had irrevocably changed her life.

Autumn stood glaring down at him.

A slowly oscillating fan used either to keep him cool or keep mosquitoes at bay, swept over her as it passed and chilled the cold sweat that she realized now covered her body.

Even lying down, he was still the physically imposing monster she remembered, though his stomach now protruded like a woman in her first trimester. His once enviable, thick, jet-black head of hair had receded and was now speckled with gray.

He should be fucking banged up in jail, she thought, vulnerable and at the mercy of younger, stronger men who, if there was any justice in the world, would use and abuse him without mercy night and day.

Instead, he was laid out in the comfort of his bed, totally relaxed, sleeping the sleep of the dead.

She would make that a permanent state.

It's just a pity that he won't know what hit him, she thought as she reached backward for her knife.

He had boasted often about being bulletproof, saying that he'd returned from his tour of Iraq without a scratch.

Let's see if you're knife-proof, too.

She unsheathed the knife and took a steadying breath as she wrapped both hands securely around the handle.

Fuelled by seven years of rage, she brought it up and over his broad, lightly-furred chest, positioning the blade so that it would plunge straight into his heart.

Seconds ticked by as she stood frozen in place, not believing that now the moment had come...she...couldn't...do...it.

This was all she thought of doing for the last seven years.

This was what she'd carefully planned for months.

This was what he deserved.

But she couldn't do it.

She couldn't kill another human being in cold blood, no matter how vile he was.

She just couldn't do it.

Backing slowly away from the bed, she sheathed the knife, automatically securing the clasp so that it didn't fall out as she made her escape.

The bitter taste of bile filled her throat as a band of disappointment squeezed her chest, emptying the air from her lungs.

She knew that she had to get out, had to get to safety before the blackness at the edges of her vision completely enveloped her.

Taking a trembling breath, she reached out a hand to the nearby wall to steady herself.

The framed photo she hadn't noticed was dislodged and started to fall, its metal surround grating against the painted concrete wall.

She caught it before it hit the ground.

"What the fuck?"

Finn Maxwell sprung upright with shocking speed, his right hand delving beneath his pillow and unearthing a silver object in the same movement.

Stupid fool! She raged at herself as she grabbed for the knife, taking several hasty steps backward, giving herself room to throw it.

The man was not only a highly-trained military operative, he was a cold-blooded killer.

How could she have so grossly miscalculated his capabilities?

How could she have not anticipated him being armed in bed?

The knife's handle resisted the tug of her hand.

Damn!

She'd forgotten the thick leather safety strap.

She fumbled with it, bracing herself as Finn raised his arm and pointed the object in her direction.

This is the end, she thought dully.

But relief instantly replaced her fear.

She welcomed death.

It had cheated her seven years ago-Finn had intended a through shot that would have killed both her and Stella. Instead, the bullet had ricocheted off one of Stella's ribs and exited her older sister's side.

Just as Autumn recognized its shape, Finn switched on the torchlight and flashed its powerful beam straight into her eyes.

Most people would scream in terror to be awakened from a deep slumber by something that looked like a creature from another planet with three black protuberances on its face.

Finn Maxwell wasn't most people.

He swept the flashlight down the length of her body, visibly relaxed, and then laughed scornfully. "Who are you, bitch?"

"The bitch you should have also killed seven years ago!" she spat back at him, throwing caution to the wind, bristling with rage that with one glance he'd dismissed her as a potential threat because she was a woman.

"Is that you, little Bae, all grown up and sexy?"

She wanted to scream that he had no right to call her by the nickname her family had used.

The family he'd killed.