Page 107 of The Brigadier

And this one qualified.

Storms on the coast seemed to be even worse than on the mainland, the ocean creating a vacuum of moisture, the wind able to hit the buildings on the shoreline first. While this particular storm hadn’t been listed a hurricane, in my mind it was pretty damn close.

I was shaking, freezing to the bone and the fire was going. The temperature had also dropped to forty-five degrees. Frigid in my mind. For some reason, it had yet to affect Damien, for which I was grateful.

We’d enjoyed a little early dinner. We’d watched a movie. I’d read him a couple of stories and he’d fallen asleep just after dark.

And there was no sign, no call from Nikolay.

I stood over the little man’s bed, still thinking about how much the boy looked like his father. I couldn’t believe everything that had occurred, the days spent feeling as if weeks had passed. It was crazy.

I was about to leave the room when I remembered he had an entire collection of unused pencils, crayons, pads, markers, watercolors. You name it. I allowed a smile and opened the cabinet, selecting an oversized sketch pad and an actual artistic set of drawing pencils.

Nothing should shock me any longer. Only the best for the son of a powerful man.

With the door left partially open, I headed downstairs, now determined to at least send a text to ensure Nikolay was okay. But it was time for wine. Maybe a glass or two would calm my nerves.

I poured the heavenly beverage, ready to curl up by the fire and sketch out a few pictures. Maybe that would relax me finally. I’d been on pins and needles since he’d left, although the darkness had brought an entirely new set of concerns.

No longer able to see the soldiers outside, I was honestly hesitant to turn on an outside light and hadn’t been able to go outside in hours.

Not that I wanted to. The house was locked down tight. I’d checked every door and window on the bottom floor at least three times. It was overkill and ridiculous, the security system turned on.

I’d checked that too. Four times.

I tried to laugh it off as I pulled my phone from my back pocket, immediately flipping to Nikolay’s phone number and preparing a text.

Me: Just checking everything is okay. The storm is horrible. Be careful.

After hitting send, it took me a little while to realize it hadn’t gone through. In looking at the reception bars, I realized there weren’t any. I thought with the satellites, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I guess harsh gales trumped sophisticated and expensive communications equipment.

With no other options, I returned to the living room, taking a seat on the comfy couch directly in front of the fire. A couple of the guards had already locked the hurricane shades into place, which would keep out the raging storm. It also made the entire bottom floor a bit claustrophobic.

I had to remind myself that safety was key here.

The wine tasted fabulous, the fire warm and after succumbing to my fears for a few minutes, I settled in, selecting a pencil and flipping open the sketch pad. It took a few seconds before I wasback in gear to some degree, my imagination flowing as to what I wanted to draw.

I selected a boy and his dog by the river. The thought was comforting. There was something so freeing about being able to draw, the joy of creating a little world of my own. I could only imagine what authors felt like after finishing a story or book.

The wine was almost consumed by the time I finished the first picture. I held the pad into the light, marveling at the fact I’d finally drawn a picture after all this time, after all the years I’d wanted to but had been pushed away from my first love. I wasn’t professional by any means, but I was pretty damn good if I said so myself.

Quickly moving on to picture number two, I was happily using a few different colors, no longer caring about my need for libation.

Thump. Bump.

The two sounds were loud, so much so I jerked my head up, immediately listening. There weren’t any trees close enough to have a limb come crashing down on the roof. My heart in my throat, terror was climbing up from my toes and I stood on shaky legs. It took a few seconds to realize what the sound likely was.

One of the fasteners holding the shutters in place had slipped, the wood hitting the window frame. That was the most logical explanation and I could easily buy it.

I slowly eased back down, curling my legs under me. Another five minutes passed. Maybe ten. I was fabulously losing track of time.

Thump.

“Shit.” The sound was going to drive me nuts. Maybe if I found the source, I’d feel better. At least I’d breathe easier without the possibility of having a heart attack.

The fire felt good, so warm. I honestly didn’t want to leave my little place of peace.

Another thump brought a cry echoing slightly on the communications device in the living room.