Page 66 of Deadly Storms (Sunrise Lake #3)

Lefebre looked her up and down, his dark eyes filled with malice. She didn’t so much as flinch. She shot him back a look of utter contempt. The cameraman with them began to take video while the reporters held microphones out.

“The man you are attempting to bring into my café is not welcome. He isn’t an important diplomat, or at least he wouldn’t be if his country knew his real identity.”

Lefebre stepped closer to her, moving out of the circle of his bodyguards. “Be very careful what you accuse me of.”

“He goes by the name of Scorpion. He kidnapped me and held me for months. He raped and tortured me. I have scars to prove it. In fact, there are many photographs the government has of what I looked like at sixteen before I was rescued. That’s the man you’re so eager to do business with, Senator.”

The cameraman had centered his attention on Lefebre.

Lefebre shook his head. “She is mistaken. It is true that the men I traveled with were proven to be Scorpion and his accomplices. I feel terrible that these men were allowed into countries because they worked for me. If what she says is true, she would have been traumatized to such an extent that it is no wonder she is confused.” He sounded forgiving, sorrowful and benevolent at the same time.

“It would be impossible to be raped repeatedly by the same man and mistake him for someone else,” Shabina said. “I personally witnessed you murder men, women and children. Even infants. I have the right to refuse service to anyone, and I’m refusing service to you.”

Lefebre stepped even closer, and she caught the flash of a gleaming blade as the sun struck the curved knife he pulled from his sleeve and tried to conceal along his wrist as he glided straight at her.

Shabina turned slightly and stayed on the balls of her feet.

As Lefebre suddenly burst toward her in a show of speed, she slammed her fist against his arm, blocking the upward stab at her abdomen.

She swept his legs out from under him, catching his wrist and snapping his arm behind his body, forcing him to drop the knife.

“She attacked me,” Lefebre said. “I want her arrested.”

His bodyguards surged forward, but Larado and his team became a solid wall in front of her, preventing them from getting to her. She kicked the knife away and bent down to whisper in Lefebre’s ear.

“Deadly Storms knows you’re here. You made a big mistake, and now he’s locked on to you. You won’t escape death this time.” Stepping back quickly, she avoided Senator Frye and the reporters, backing up until she was once again in the doorway of her café.

Furious, Lefebre shouted to his men to come to his aid.

Her protection team stepped aside, moving to block the entrance and any access to Shabina.

Frye and his people hastily got Lefebre back into a vehicle, but not without Frye stating he would have her investigated.

That she was a disgrace for treating an important man from another country the way she had.

Shabina turned and fully entered the café. At first there was total silence, and then applause broke out.

She sent her customers a wry smile. “I’m really going to start charging extra for the show. It seems this is the place to come if you want to see drama.” She did her best to make light of the situation.

Her customers applauded again. She had the best customers, locals and tourists alike. Well—as long as Bale or Sean didn’t show up.

Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out to look at the screen.

Proud of you, Qadri. That takedown was classic.

He ended the sentence with three heart emojis.

Will see you after I finish the job.

She knew he wasn’t talking about inventory. She sent him several hearts.

—

Lefebre woke sweating. He was surrounded by bodyguards.

Two were on alert in the bedroom. One was over by the window, the other lying across the doorway, making it impossible for an intruder to enter.

Three others were outside his room. He was three stories up, and he’d made certain the room he was in was difficult to access.

Still, he woke sweating. Afraid. He was supposed to be the one to strike fear into every man or woman who came across him, yet he’d been humiliated in front of the world.

Those traveling with him looked at him differently now.

Even the ridiculous senator wanted to distance himself from him when he’d been fawning on him earlier, eager to do business.

Lefebre had taken a private plane to Washington, DC, and entered the Canadian embassy. No one would be able to get to him, not even Deadly Storms. There was no sandstorm for the assassin to hide in.

He admitted to himself he was in trouble.

With members of his cabinet exposed as aiding Scorpion, many people would believe Shabina.

The video images had been playing in the news for the last two days.

He had been commanded to get home. If the prime minister did believe Shabina, he was in deep trouble, yet he was certain there was no proof that he was the notorious Scorpion. He could recover from this.

Lefebre knew several governments had contracts out on Scorpion.

He had secretly laughed at the various governments.

He’d been right out in the open, the charming, benevolent ambassador who everyone loved.

Every single country he’d gone to, he’d managed to kill entire communities.

He kept track of those killed, wanting his numbers to be higher than Vlad the Impaler, his idol.

He especially found it delicious to choose a girl around the age of fifteen or sixteen that reminded him of Yasemin to hold for weeks.

He encouraged his men to be as brutal as possible with her. She deserved everything done to her.

He believed he was very clever blaming the men he worked with, naming Owen Pelletier the Scorpion. He had learned acting at an early age and was able to convince those around him that he had the best interests of the smaller farm communities at heart.

A slight breeze washed over him, chilling the sweat on his body.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as fingers of fear walked down his spine.

He threw back the covers and glared at his bodyguard, the one who had opened the window.

The man sat on the floor, back to the wall, clearly asleep.

Lefebre swore and stalked across the room.

“You’re useless to me,” he snapped. “I should slit your throat right here.” He held up his knife, his favorite, the one with the wicked curved blade that he showed to the men and women and even children before he sliced them into pieces.

His bodyguard moved fast, his hand slamming so hard into Lefebre’s elbow that he heard the bone snap.

Before he could shriek in pain, the knife was torn from his numb fist, the curved blade sinking into his left thigh muscle over and over.

He’d tortured Shabina with this exact move.

He opened his mouth to scream in protest, but a fist punched into his throat hard enough to break everything in its path and take away his voice.

The man was lightning fast and incredibly strong. This was no guard. The guard had to be dead. Both guards had to be dead. There was no fighting that knife or those strong hands. There was only pain. More pain. He pried his eyes open to see the hard, merciless features of Deadly Storms.

“You’ll go to your grave with my brand covering yours,” Deadly Storms informed him, never once flinching from inflicting cruel knife wounds.

Each deep cut followed a precise pattern, and the assassin reminded him of where he had placed those wounds on Shabina.

“The world will know you for the murderer you are.”

—

The news of Scorpion’s death was on every news channel.

He’d been killed on the premises of the Canadian embassy.

No one in the United States could be blamed, nor did the prime minister demand explanations.

The evidence of Scorpion’s guilt was left on his body for all to see with a message for the prime minister.

The note simply read, Guilty of unspeakable crimes .

Deadly Storms left his calling card, the artwork he left behind on the body of Scorpion was reproduced as a signature on the note.

There was speculation that someone had aided the assassin in entering the Canadian embassy, or perhaps that he was a high-ranking diplomat that had accompanied Lefebre on his journey to the United States.

In the meantime, Rainier simply took his private jet home, and his people removed all evidence of his flight.

—

Shabina unlocked the door to the café to allow Felicity and Eve entrance. The sun had set, and the cleaners had gone home, leaving the building empty. Deliberately, she looked around carefully before she stepped back inside and locked the door, still staring out into the gathering darkness.

“Thanks for coming.” She pitched her voice low—a conspirator’s whisper. “I need to talk to you about important information I found out about the murders but didn’t want to take a chance on anyone overhearing us.”

Felicity glanced around the café and then her gaze settled on Raine. She flashed a smile. “Oh, you’re here as well.”

Raine nodded, her expression solemn.

“The thing is, this is the best place I could think of where no one will be lurking around.” Shabina bit her lower lip. “I do have security cameras in here, quite a few of them. Lawyer installed cameras for me when I started getting harassed by Bale, Sean and their friends.”

Eve scowled. “Those men are so obnoxious to you. I was really happy when your fiancé threw Bale out.”

“I was too.” Once more, Shabina glanced up at one of the cameras. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t talk in here either. There’s audio. The cameras aren’t manned, meaning no one looks at the feed unless we have an incident.” More lip biting and indecision.

“What’s this about, Shabina?” Eve asked. “You’re very nervous.”