Page 30 of Deadly Storms (Sunrise Lake #3)

Two IDs appeared on-screen. One man was Ellis Boucher the other Rhys Cormier, both claimed to be Interpol agents from Paris. Raine immediately took a screenshot of the men’s identifications and went to work on her computer.

“We’d like to speak with Shabina Foster,” Boucher said.

“She’s in the shower at the moment. Let me have our friend ask her if it would be all right for you to come up to the house. Give me a moment, please.” Raine was very good at stalling. She sounded sweet and reasonable.

Shabina managed to make it to her feet. Wrapping her arms around her churning stomach, she hurried to her bathroom, where she allowed the hot water to pour over her, hoping it would revive her.

By the time she emerged, dressed in fresh clothes, her hair wet but braided in a thick rope, she felt a little better.

She put the dogs on alert but sent them to their stations, three different corners of the room, where they would have the advantage should they have to attack. Daisy was crated for safety.

“Are you armed?” Raine asked Shabina.

Shabina wouldn’t have walked into the room without being armed. She nodded and put in the code to allow the gates to swing open.

“I want a weapon,” Zahra said. “Just in case.”

“In the kitchen, taped under the center island.” Shabina made her way to the front door. Each step felt like she was wading through quicksand. Why would Interpol want to talk to her? It was bad enough that the FBI and Rafferty were looking at her as a suspect, but now Interpol?

She took a deep breath and opened the door, steeling herself to handle the situation.

Both men had their IDs out to show her at the door. She waved them inside but indicated Raine. “You’ll have to show your identification to Raine. She can’t get up at the moment, but she works for the government and will be acting as my official counsel.”

The two men exchanged a look but entered, both looking around carefully to take in the position of furniture and windows and seeking the location of her protection dogs. It was no secret that she had them and that they were always with her.

Raine looked their IDs over carefully and nodded before Shabina invited them to take a seat.

“This certainly is a surprise.” She chose her chair, making certain to present the most difficult target and the angle that would not hinder Raine if she needed to take a shot. “What can I do for you?” She folded her hands in her lap.

Her revolver was tucked into the side of the cushion, only inches from her fingers.

She was extremely proud of her voice. Steady as a rock.

No trembling. She kept her gaze fixed on both men, noting every breath, every movement.

Having Raine and Zahra there gave her a measure of confidence. She wasn’t entirely alone.

“We know that you spent some very unpleasant months with a man referred to as Scorpion,” Boucher opened. “I’m sorry if this conversation is uncomfortable for you, but we’ve been attempting to gather evidence against him and one of his associates.”

Cormier took up the narrative. “Many people we’ve questioned believe Scorpion doesn’t act alone.”

She didn’t move, not even when her stomach knotted and churned.

These men were investigators from Paris trying to build a case against Scorpion, and yet warning alarms were shrieking at her.

She had no idea why. Both spoke in gentle tones.

Both were polite. She kept her hands still and her features composed.

So far, they hadn’t asked a question. She’d learned, when she was a teenager, never to speak unless she had to.

“Scorpion works with a master assassin. This man at first was thought to be a myth. When others spoke of him, they did so in whispers. He came to our attention, the stories building a picture of him. He’s been killing for Scorpion for at least ten years,” Boucher said.

Both men watched her closely. Shabina had been in Scorpion’s camps for over six months.

They moved constantly. He wasn’t always with them, but his orders were followed.

She had never once noticed that he had a special assassin he sent out.

He had his cabinet. They specialized in cruelty and murdered often, as did the mercenaries he left behind to run his camp when he was gone.

But an assassin? Scorpion preferred to do his own killing.

It was all she could do not to rub her left wrist, where the tattoo was branded into her skin. The hated scorpion. She kept it covered at all times.

“This man is very familiar with every terrain. He knows the desert and the hills. He knows the cities. He moves with the wind. If one ever catches a glimpse of him, they do so before they die,” Boucher added. “In all the time you were in those camps, did you see such a man? Could you identify him?”

Shabina forced the air to move through her lungs at an even rate.

She didn’t want to think about those days or remember any of the men other than the few who had been decent, risking their lives to try to aid her.

She remembered them. Their faces. Their names.

She kept them and their families in her heart.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about. All of the men who rode with Scorpion killed. I didn’t notice any one man standing out above the rest.”

Boucher frowned. It was the first time he appeared to be annoyed. “It is said he comes when the sandstorms come. That’s when he strikes, sometimes leaving behind many dead, not just one.”

She shook her head again, but this time she couldn’t keep her heart from racing.

She didn’t dare look at Raine. Could he be referring to Rainier?

No one knew Rainier was the master assassin Deadly Storms. Not even Blom.

Was Interpol looking for Rainier? Why weren’t they asking questions about Scorpion?

“They call him Deadly Storms,” Cormier added. “Had you ever heard this name in the camp?”

“No.” She hadn’t. That was strictly the truth.

“Around the time you were rescued, there was a sandstorm,” Boucher said. “Do you remember? It was one of the very worst in the region in a long while. It came in fast, and when it passed, every man in that camp was dead.”

Raine cleared her throat, drawing their attention away from Shabina. “Am I understanding your implication? Do you believe this assassin killed all the men in this camp?”

Boucher was silent a moment. “We have to investigate every possibility, and the men all died by his signature kill.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying. If this assassin works for Scorpion,” Raine continued, “why would he kill Scorpion’s men? Weren’t those men the ones he rode with on his raids?”

“Like I said, we’re just investigating every possibility.

Scorpion hires mercenaries, and he often disposes of them and their families once he no longer has a use for them.

” Cormier turned his full attention on Shabina.

Both men did. She could feel their gaze piercing her.

These men were used to interrogating others.

They hadn’t expected Raine there. “What happened that night? You had to have seen whoever killed those men.”

Shabina took another breath and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

“I’m sorry, this is really difficult to talk about.

I try not to look back on that time. I was in very bad shape.

Close to death. They had whipped the skin from my back.

I’d been raped multiple times. I had deep stab wounds in my thigh.

A raging infection. I was sliding in and out of consciousness most of the time.

Scorpion had demanded they keep me alive before he left, and someone set up an IV with antibiotics. I do remember that much.”

Shabina paused and stroked her fingers down her throat, appearing to struggle to bring up memories.

“I think they gave me some kind of painkiller. I vaguely remember someone coming and whispering to me to stay quiet; that’s hazy like a dream.

He just wrapped me up in a sheet and gave me a shot of something.

I woke up later in a safe house with a doctor attending me. ”

The two men exchanged a frustrated look.

They asked her several more questions, but she made it clear she had little memory of that night, and as far as she knew, everyone was alive when she was removed from the camp.

The man taking her out had whispered the need for silence.

To her that meant he feared they would be caught.

Shabina watched the gates swing close after their car exited her circular drive. She leaned against the door and looked helplessly at Raine.

“They said Scorpion often killed the men he hires to aid him when he’s massacring entire villages. That means some of the men who were good to me might be dead. They weren’t in the camp that night. Are they dead, Raine?”

Pressing one hand to her temple, she thought about the two guards who had risked their lives to try to aid her.

“I’m sorry, Shabina,” Raine said quietly.

Shabina turned away from her, not wanting to face her. Not wanting to see the compassion. Of course, Scorpion would have to kill the men aiding him. He wouldn’t want to pay them or risk any of them identifying him.

“I’ll have to do quite a bit of work to pull all the feed from the café,” Raine said.

“But I’ll get it done as soon as possible.

I’ll come to the café just before closing, and we can go over anything then.

I will tell you this though. Those two men aren’t Interpol agents,” Raine announced.

“I don’t know who they are, but those IDs are fake. Good fakes, but they’re fakes.”