Aubrey checked the time. Nine a.m. Darcy liked to sleep in. That was emphasized as one of the most important aspects of the day. After spending a few hours getting to know her a little better, Aubrey discovered a couple interesting things. One, Darcy really was a pretty awesome lady, and two, she was a total night owl, staying up to near dawn with Raven. Odd, perhaps, certainly not the kind of schedule Aubrey was used to but it worked for her. She was an early riser, her body in tune with the sun. In the hours before Darcy would wake, Aubrey figured she would have enough time to sort the logistics of whatever was planned for the day, debrief the rest of her team once she hired them, and get a workout and some training done.
It would be a bit of an effort to remember she was getting paid for the job. She’d already toed the line of professionalism with Jaylon and now, spending time with the vivacious Darcy, she was in danger of growing too comfortable. Darcy was the kind of woman she’d want to have as a friend in the real world: strong, confident, intelligent and so very welcoming. It was like Darcy wanted her to join the little band-family, treated her like she belonged—something Aubrey desperately missed with her own family so out of reach. Scheduling her mornings with work-related activities would help to keep her mind straight about her role, her duty and her responsibilities. When all was said and done, it was a job, and the job would end as soon as the tour was over. She needed to remember that.
With her to-do list fully stocked, Aubrey worked the morning away, knocking item after item off and feeling good about the progress she was making. By the time Darcy woke up, Aubrey would be ready to join her in whatever plans she had for the day. A pleasant thought that had Aubrey checking the time on her phone. Eleven. That meant an hour left to herself. She closed her laptop and glanced at her bow. It had been two weeks since she’d had an opportunity for target practice and her fingers were itching to get a few shots out.
Jaylon had said the west lawn was safe for practice and the property was surrounded by trees—not the most ideal method of training, but she could make do. She put on a pair of runners and grabbed her bow, eager to get outside and shoot a few arrows.
The mansion was huge with rooms of exquisite art and sculpture, a maze of wonders that she could get lost in. In fact, she did get lost, sort of, following a series of paintings that were so beautifully crafted, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. And then there were the sculptures. Unreal artistry. Like the one Aubrey stood admiring now, a veiled woman—weeping it seemed—as she cradled the head of a giant wolf. Beautiful and haunting, it actually sent shivers down her spine, prickling her in a way that made her feel like she was missing something, her instincts knocking at her awareness but just out of reach. It was maddening and yet as suddenly as it came upon her, the feeling skittered away, leaving her even more confused.
What was it about this place that she couldn’t hold onto her thoughts properly? There seemed to be this constant nagging feeling that became increasingly irritating with each passing hour. She stared at the sculpture, reaching to trace the cold, smooth surface of the woman’s face. Such sadness captured, such loss, very much depicting the way Aubrey felt. She’d lost and she was lost, it seemed.
The weight of her bow, the shoulder strap slipping slightly, nudged her out of her reverie, and she shrugged. There would be time to admire the art later. She needed to get outdoors.
Aubrey backtracked and found a hall that led outside. She greeted the sun with a sigh of satisfaction, and the fog that seemed to be a constant lately faded. For the first time since she’d arrived at the mansion, she felt a little more like herself. She stood there, face tilted up, soaking in the rays, letting the clouds fall away until she suddenly felt weightless—not happy, but burden free. She stretched her arms up, felt the bones aligning in her spine, everything righting itself. It was utterly amazing how much fresh air and a little bit of sunshine could improve one’s mood.
As she scanned the perimeter of the property, assessing the best place to shoot, her gaze caught on something red. She shielded her eyes as she walked toward what looked like a series of targets of varying sizes, shapes and colors—some actually moving, rigged up in the trees on ropes that swayed in the slight breeze. It was brilliant. She pulled her bow from the case, nocked an arrow and let it fly. Her fingers tingled, her heart thundered. This was what she needed. Her bow, the extension of herself, the only weapon that made her feel right, whole, satisfied.
She missed the first shot and laughed.
Okay, so a couple of weeks away from training and her skills lapsed a bit. Fair enough. She took her time on the second shot, tracking the moving target, holding her fingers steady until exactly the right moment and—bam—hit it home.
Yes!
It took her almost the whole hour to realize that Jaylon must have been behind setting up the targets, or at least arranging for someone else to. She’d been so consumed with getting her skill back to normal, working the kinks out of her coordination, that it didn’t occur to her until she started collecting her arrows and her thoughts turned to the actual set up. What were the odds of a perfectly staged target practice area existing at the mansion of a famous rock band? And who had been the one to inform her of the location in the first place?