Helios (Paragon Operations #3)

Prologue

“Ferrah, Ferrah!”

“Did you take my picture? Can I see? Can I see?” A tiny little arm wrapped around my neck, and the child leaned her head on my shoulder as wisps of red curls blew in our faces.

“Amelie O’Brien, don’t be crowdin’ her!” her mother scolded. “It’s barely sunup. Give the poor woman some space.”

Quickly showing Amelie her picture, I glanced up at the single mother I took promo shots for in exchange for the sweetest berries in Miami.

“Good morning, Rigan. And it’s okay. Amelie’s good.

” She knew not to touch my beloved Sony Alpha that had been my birthday gift last year, given as an upgrade for a camera previously gifted eight years prior.

“She’s bold is what she is,” Rigan replied with her lovely Irish accent. “And mornin’, yourself.”

“Oh look, Mommy! Ferrah’s camera took my buckies out of the picture.” The child made a funny face like a horse. “When are those tooths coming back?”

“Don’t be telling tales, Amelie. You didn’t have buck teeth, and the new ones will come when they come.” Rigan glanced at me. “I have coffee. You lookin’ for a cup?”

“No, thank you.” I gave Amelie a quick one-arm hug, then stood.

“I just came to take a few shots before it got crowded.” In half an hour, the farmer’s market would be packed.

An hour after that, Rigan’s Berries would be sold out of fresh fruit, and there’d only be her homemade jam left.

Before that happened, I wanted to capture some images for the seasonal campaign Rigan was running on her socials.

“Grand time to do it, then. I’m just settin’ up.” Rigan held out her hand for her daughter. “Come, my child. Let’s get the rest of the strawberries out.”

In purple rain boots, a pink tank top, and green shorts, Amelie skipped to her mother. “Can I eat the ones I drop?”

Rigan shook her head in mock exasperation but threw me a wink. “Don’t be thinkin’ I can’t see you drop them on purpose.”

Amelie’s wide-eyed expression of innocence, followed by an animated shake of her head, sent her curls into a dance. “I don’t drop any on purpose, Mommy.”

I snapped another picture of the child. Then I moved on to the pints and quarts of berries stacked like perfectly imperfect red pyramids in green cardboard boxes. A dozen shots later, right as the first customers of the day approached, I had what I needed.

Stepping back, I gave Rigan a quick wave. “I’ll edit these at home and email them to you this afternoon.”

“A million thanks, Ferrah.” Grabbing a brown paper bag, Rigan reached for one of the quarts. “Don’t be leavin’ without some berries.”

“Next time.” I nodded at my camera. “I have more clients to shoot this morning.”

“Of course. Best of luck to ya, and thanks again.”

“My pleasure.” Glancing at the little girl with dirt on her clothes and a strawberry in her hand, I wondered what it would’ve been like to have had a loving parent. “Goodbye, Amelie.”

Smiling wide, she waved how an excited puppy waged its tail—fast and frantic. “Bye, Ferrah!”

With my camera strap secure around my neck and my Alpha 7R V protectively in hand, I turned left and headed for one of the citrus farmers I took promotional shots for.

But then I stopped dead in my tracks.

Three paces ahead, standing in the middle of the aisle, was pure evil.

A slow smile twisted his scarred face, and he hooked two fingers into the V of his shirt as he pulled the material aside.

Sunlight landed on the tattoo covering his chest.

My vision tunneled.

The clamor of the farmer’s market disappeared, and a dead man took a step toward me.

I turned and ran.

Halfway to my truck, I realized my finger was depressing the shutter button.