Daylight David Baldacci Novels & Stories

I lace my fingers through hers, the golden mating mark on her neck catching the hallway light, and we head straight for Dax’s office. The door is wide open. Dax is practically wearing a trench into the expensive Persian rug. He is holding a tablet in one hand and running his other hand frantically through his hair. He looks entirely exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes speak of too many late-night border patrol reports and exactly zero hours of sleep. And sprawled out on the leather sofa, looking like a thoroughly unbothered queen, is Kael.

The dawn broke over the city in muted shades of gold and crimson, painting the skyline like a war-torn canvas. Fires from the previous night’s battles smoldered in distant alleys, their smoke rising and mixing with the morning haze. Silence, fragile and temporary, had finally returned. Damian stood at the top of the Moretti estate balcony, surveying the city that had been both battleground and prize. His jaw was set, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and yet a flicker of peace hovered beneath the surface—a fleeting reward for survival and endurance.

His cooking earlier in the day had been at Darien’s house, not at the apartment. “I don’t count frying an egg for breakfast as much cooking,” Emilia said with a snort. “You’re the cook so I don’t mind. I’m not going to judge you.” He breathed yet another silent sigh of relief. Emilia’s late shifts must have dulled her usually sharp senses. *** Darien called him the next day and Zach had finished reading his book by that point. The twist had been that the other male lead whose perspective was never shown until the very end was actually a serial killer. He had a bone to pick with Darien over it.

He felt that showing too much satisfaction would mean that they appreciated this and were not here just because they had to survive. “You have barely eaten your food,” Tim observed. Jason looked down at his plate of rice. The chicken lying on top of the food was enticing, but he had suddenly lost his appetite. He was thinking about Duke and what happened at his death. One moment, they were crying; the next, they were somewhere else. Shadowless and mostly felt than seen, the ascian would come around to drop food at the front door, then he would disappear. They had stayed here for a while, and Jason was already thinking of leaving again. The only problem was, he had no idea where they could go

David preferred darkness to light, and that was the reason why he figured it would be better to visit the house at night. After so much work, he and George had finally tracked down the location the texts and calls were coming from, and although David couldn't wait to get his hands on the bastard who had caused him so much stress, he figured it would be better to do it at night. He liked the shadows, the silence, and the fact that most people were asleep. Even those awake were on the low end of their energy cycle —although not him. He made sure of that.

His forehead was furrowed, as if someone didn't like what he saw. "You done?" He nodded once. He came closer to me and offered his hand. I immediately reached for you and stood up. "Who is he?" He was looking at David. Eyes were cold, nothing can be seen but indifference for the person in front. "Is he with you France?" David, now also standing. I nodded slowly. "Raxon Bermudez, right?" "Yes." "David Ardiente." It reached out its hand. But Raxon just glanced at it and then turned to me as if he had no intention of accepting it.

He's watching my face, and whatever he sees there makes him go very still. "It's starting," I say, and my voice comes out strange even to my own ears, too flat, too far away. "It's starting early." "How early." "I don't know. Weeks, at least. Maybe more." I look up from the phone, and the gray dawn light through the windshield suddenly feels like the wrong kind of light entirely, too thin, too fragile, over a city that has no idea what's coming for it a full month sooner than I ever accounted for. "Damian, I built everything on a date. I bought land on a date. I moved money on a date. If the timeline's already different—"

Amy greeted and stood up from her seat, acting like royalty was headed our way. “Hello, Amy,” the man smiled and I saw he had the same dimples as David, looking just as adorable and charming. “David is expecting me, I’m here to pick up some paperwork from him,” he informed her, then his eyes found me, “Oh, hello, I don’t believe we know each other,” he switched hands that his briefcase was in so that he could shake my hand and introduce himself, “Douglas Day.” I rose from my seat to shake his hand and smiled politely at him, “Emma Anderson.”

The scandal if I'm recognized would definitely destroy the last shred of my reputation. I dragged myself into the armchair in the corner of the room, as far from the bed as I could get. I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt David’s hand on my body. I watched the shadows crawl across the ceiling, counting the minutes until the sun would rise and I could escape this cage.

The collapse. David found me on the balcony, clutching the iron railing so tightly my knuckles looked bloodless in the moonlight. “You should be sleeping,” he said. “So should you,” I answered without turning. “I don’t sleep when the whole city is trying to turn you into a headline.” There was something in his voice—something rough, protective, almost jagged. I let go of the railing and turned to face him. He looked exhausted, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie gone, hair unruly from too many hours of dragging his hands through it. His eyes burned anyway.