Long Shadows David Baldacci Novels & Stories

Nik stated, "But what if we get caught?" "We don't." Moe scoffed, "They already were after me for sleeping with Vincelli's niece and late wife." "That's why they were after you?" I laughed and topped him. "Nice." “I’m staying here with Nadia." Daniel announced, "Get James and the folder and hurry back." "Maybe if you hadn't stolen it from me in the first place then we wouldn't be in this position." Sinister iced, "This is on your hands now.”

The door to Marcus Wayne’s private room creaked open, and I stepped inside hesitantly. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a sound that felt deafening in the suffocating silence. The dim light cast long shadows across the elegant yet eerie room, with its heavy drapes and dark leather furniture. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk out of this mess, but I couldn’t. My boss’s warning echoed in my mind. "A favor for a favor is how things are run," he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I staggered, blood soaking my shirt. This was a fight I could not possibly win. I had to escape. Growling, I turned and plunged into the shadows. I overheard Jackson curse behind me. "Coward." I paid him no mind. I had received what I had come for—information. And despite my injury, I still lived. The next time, I would not be alone. DAVID The candle flames danced upon the stone walls, causing shadows to leap like ghosts. The air reeked with the scent of old parchment, burning incense, and the bitter tang of ancient magic. I was seated in the high-backed chair, fingers steepled, my mind burdened.

**Into the Shadows** The cold air whipped through the open window as Claire drove toward the docks, her heart racing. She could feel the weight of the laptop beside her, the damning evidence it held burning like a ticking bomb ready to explode. The developers had set a trap with the fake documents, but now she had the real ones. The stakes had never been higher, and every passing minute brought her closer to either exposing the truth or falling into another deadly ambush.

I hurried into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the panic. “It’s just for the night,” I told myself, staring at my reflection in the mirror. In the morning, we would go home separately, and this will be over. I turned off the bathroom light and stepped back into the main room. The room was dark. Only light came from the moon, casting long, silver shadows across the room The bed was empty. My breath hitched. "David?" I turned, searching the shadows, when I felt a sudden shift in the air behind me. He was behind me, his scent filling my nose, making my heart race. Before I could move, he wrapped his arm around me from behind, pulling me tight against his chest

He pointed toward the edge of the woods, where the light of the setting sun cast long, distorted shadows. "Mama," Cian said, his voice trembling. "One of the shadows... it's not following the sun." I looked. Near a cluster of pine trees, a shadow was walking toward us. It was the shadow of a man in a crown, my father. But he wasn't alone. Attached to his shadow’s hand was another, smaller shadow. It was a shadow with three arms. The Librarian's failed creation. The shadow of my father didn't speak. It simply pointed toward the "New North" we had just printed. And in its other hand, it held a New Ledger.

Lucas broke down completely, crawling toward the files on the locker tray as if paper could save him from the abyss. Just as Sophia prepared to pull the trigger and end the cycle once and for all, a cold, slender hand pressed down on her wrist. It was the Shadow. She had reappeared behind Sophia, the red mole at the corner of her eye glowing eerily in the dim, flickering light.

The private investigator arrives at dawn. The sky is grey, the clouds low, the rain finally stopped after three days of falling. His name is David Cross. He is tall, thin, with grey hair and tired eyes that have seen too much over thirty years of hunting people who do not want to be found. He carries a leather satchel worn smooth from years of use and a metal detector that looks older than he is. He does not smile. He does not shake hands. He stands in the doorway and waits, his eyes scanning the hallway, the stairs, the shadows.