Kindred of the Fallen by Isis Rushdan Read Free Book Online Page A

Central Park, and again on her way to the art store. It was probably nothing more than coincidence, but every sixth sense instinct she had screamed: run .
    The man pressed on his ear, drawing her eyes to a wire that ran down his neck and into his shirt. She wheeled around in a one-eighty and walked away, trying to shake the eerie feeling crawling through her as an overreaction. He couldn’t possibly be following her. Could he?
    She glimpsed over her shoulder, and he stared at her.
    Her heart skittered as she looked straight ahead. A stinging ripple of energy scraped her core and her stomach ached as if a fist squeezed her intestines. She rushed down the street to the mega department store on the corner. So what if she looked like an idiot and felt like a coward running from the bogeyman. Caution before pride would keep her face off of the side of a milk carton. She yanked open the door to the store, glancing back.
    The man moved with a sense of purpose toward her. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, and two doors of the SUV creeping down the block opened. But she wasn’t sticking around to see who got out.
    Racing by a cosmetics counter, she darted into an accessories department and ducked behind a jewelry display. What was she doing, other than completely losing her slippery grip on reality? First her father materialized on a train, and now this. A stalker was the cherry on top of a nut sundae she didn’t need. And what was with the earpiece? Seeing that guy three times in one day was probably a fluke, but with her luck, the odds were against it.
    Secret agent man marched by, scanning the area. Her pulse spiked as she groped her satchel, checking for the bulge of her pepper spray. Staying crouched low, she scurried to the men’s department, winding through racks of slacks and displays of jeans. She bolted for a door letting her exit on a different block. With a small break in traffic, she dashed across the street.
    Tires screeched. A taxi slammed on the brakes less than a foot from hitting her, horn blaring. Sucking in a startled breath as she grabbed her chest, she noticed the medallion light at the top of the yellow cab was on.
    “Wait! Please!” She hit the hot hood of the car, ran around the side and hopped in.
    “You trying to get killed, lady! My insurance is high enough.”
    She slid down in the seat, blurted out an apology and rattled off her address.
    I’m not crazy. I am NOT crazy.
    “I beg to differ,” the cabbie said, scowling at her from the rearview mirror.
    Had she said that out loud?
    When the taxi pulled in front of her building, she gave him a generous tip, another mortified apology, and hurried up to the condo. Inside, she threw on the deadbolt and the chain. Pressing her back against the door, she caught her breath, letting the chaos in her mind settle.
    The doorbell rang and she whirled in fright. Her heart throbbed in her throat. She took a steady breath and looked through the peephole.
    A man wearing a jacket and white collared shirt stood on the other side. He pounded on the door. “Ms. Shaw, I need to speak with you about an urgent matter of National Security.”
    National Security? Were government agents following her? Why didn’t they approach her in a rational way, with a smile and a business card? And what did agents want with her?
    She slid off the deadbolt, keeping the chain on, and peeked through the crack. Two other men, who had been standing out of view, came into sight.
    The three muscular men sporting buzz cuts crowded in her doorway. Small buds connected to wires protruded from their right ears. The one with a gnarled scar running from his cheek to his chin flashed a badge and put it away before she had chance to see it clearly.
    “Ms. Shaw, I’m Russ Stone. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
    “Questions about what?” she stammered.
    He held up a picture of Cyrus. “Do you know this man?”
    She rocked back on her heels. “Cyrus?”
    “How do you know him?”
    An