Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls) Page 3

  Partner.

  Devlyn stared at Smithers—who had quickly become the next man on her hit list—and felt the blood drain from her face. The scenery swam slightly, the pulse in her head thrumming loudly. She tried to inhale, but nothing made it past the way her throat had clenched shut, dimming her vision at the edges. Warmth spread up from her core, and for a moment, she actually feared she’d pass out.

  Fingers snapped in front of her face, the irritating sound pulling her back to her senses. She blinked, finally sucking in a quick breath as Crow leaned in close, a frown marring the asshole’s handsome face. God, how many times had she stared at him, knowing she could spend the rest of her life studying the fine lines around his mouth or the unique shade of blue of his eyes? Wanting to tell him that somewhere between shadowing his ass and saving it, she’d fallen in love with him? That she’d willingly leave her old life behind if he’d agree to run away with her? Find a way to have just a hint of a normal life.

  But that had all ended when they’d had to split up on their last mission together. He’d escaped with Slader and their asset while she and the rest of the team had run interference. But they’d gotten waylaid on the train platform—where she’d paid the price with half a dozen rounds to her shoulder and torso. If she hadn’t gotten insanely lucky and had three of the bullets ricochet off her ribs instead of continuing through…

  And that was the last she’d seen of Crow. She still didn’t know what had happened. Why he hadn’t been there—had her back like he was supposed to do—or at least visited her in the hospital. She’d been in the same damn room for two weeks. But it wasn’t just the mission he’d disappeared from. It was everything. His job, their life together. Almost as if he’d simply stopped existing.

  She’d called in every marker she’d had in an effort to find him, but all she’d unearthed were endless warnings to stop searching. That he was alive and well—but gone. Buggered off to another branch of the CIA. A unit that apparently made her little undercover squad look like a bunch of kindergarteners out for recess.

  And, now, after an additional few months of working to put the pieces of her life back together—salvaging just a sliver of her heart from the shattered remnants he’d left along with his damn sweaters—the guy had walked back into her life with the full support of her boss.

  Devlyn stood as she pushed a hand through her hair, again, grunting when the motion tugged against the strips holding her ragged flesh together. Just one more reason to be pissed. She had another injury courtesy of that bastard, Ian Slader. She hadn’t realized he’d gone rogue until he’d shown up at the rendezvous, killed her colleagues then shot her point-blank. And she’d sworn she’d take the creep down the next time she saw him. Kick his traitorous ass so hard there wouldn’t be enough of him left to identify. But, instead of celebrating her victory, she’d been lucky to make it out of the hotel alive. Even now, her head throbbed in protest as every scrape and bruise seemed to come to life at the same time. Stealing her breath nearly as much as Crow had.

  She groaned. This had to be the most fucked-up situation she’d encountered in a long time. And, if what Smithers had said was right, the circumstances weren’t getting any better for the foreseeable future.

  She huffed, motioning to Crow. “Excuse me, but did you say partners? As in work with the one man I want dead more than Slader?”

  Smithers sighed. “Sorry, Devlyn, but this is out of my hands. Ward has a letter from the damn Secretary Chief, himself, instructing me to partner him with any agent who makes contact with ex-CIA Officer Ian Slader and lives to report back. I honestly thought it was a damn prank until you told me about your run-in. Looks like you drew the short straw on this one.”

  “Short straw? This asshole leaves me for dead, and you think working with him, again, is going to be a matter of simple inconvenience?”

  Crow cursed under his breath, rising then stepping into her personal space. “Afraid it’s not so black and white, sweetheart.”

  “And I already told you to save it. There was a time I would have listened to what you had to say, but that ended about four months ago.” She waved off his attempted reply. “I don’t care what happened. If you got abducted by aliens... You could have contacted me. Hell, sent me a damn text with a cliché lie attached to it. After everything we’d shared, you owed me far more than that.”

  Smithers gave her a light pat on the shoulder. “While I’m sympathetic to your feelings, I’m afraid they aren’t part of the equation. Which means, one way or another, you’ll have to suck it up and go the distance.”

  She glared at the man. Going the distance normally involved doing things that were either hard or dangerous, and at the moment, she wasn’t really in the mood for either. Not if they involved Crow.

  She gave them both a smile as she took a few steps then turned. “Fine. Then, I quit.” She headed for the door only to be stopped with a firm grip on her elbow.

  Crow spun her around, preventing her from falling with a hand around her hip. “You can’t quit.”

  “Really? Pretty damn sure I just did.”

  “That wasn’t you quitting. That was you throwing a tantrum.”

  “A tantrum? You vanish from my life, and you think this is a tantrum?” She leaned in close. “Trust me, baby…you haven’t seen anything close to that, yet. But if you’d like to have me kick your ass as compensation, just say the word.”

  “Will that ass kicking happen before or after you pass out? Because I’d say you’re about two minutes away from kissing the floor.” He narrowed his gaze. “Just how badly did you get hurt?”

  “Not nearly as badly as the last time I was in your company.”

  His expression fell, and he released her on a soft sigh. “If you think I wanted this…”

  “Then, find someone else. Anyone else.”

  “I would if I could, but… Now that Slader knows you’re still alive and that you’re on to him—that you’re part of this and might have the information he’s looking for—you’ll be a target.”

  “Knows I’m on to what? What information? Everything on that drive was encrypted. I don’t know squat.” She threw up one hand, nearly tripping onto her ass before catching her balance on Crow’s arm. “Would someone please just tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Crow glanced at where she touched him then released a weary breath. “The short answer? Armageddon. If our hunch is right, that thumb drive you brought back has absolutely nothing to do with weapons’ blueprints. All that intel is just a cover for a ghost drive with encrypted files underneath.”

  “Files regarding what, exactly?”

  “What Slader’s been after all along. The reason he tried to kill you—left you for dead on our last mission together. It’s another copy of that list we got a glimpse of at Bains’ hideout, complete with every hidden stronghold, safehouse—undercover operative there is—domestic and abroad, including military, NSA, CIA, MI6, Interpol… Everything and everyone, all served up with a bow. We’ve known for a while there were more copies, but trying to find them amidst all the archived assets is daunting, at best. We’d just narrowed down one of the possible locations when the military base’s storage warehouse got hit. And, if we’re right about what’s on that drive, Slader will do anything to get his hands on it. Even if it means killing you, me, and anyone else who stands in his way.”

  Chapter Three

  “This has got to be some kind of cosmic joke. One I don’t find at all funny.”

  Crow sighed as he watched Devlyn stumble her way across the room, finally bracing her weight against the far wall. He hadn’t missed the pain laced through her voice, he just wasn’t sure if it was because of her injuries or his presence.

  Probably both. Though, if he was honest, of all the outcomes he’d considered when he’d finally retired from the CIA, getting reinstated in order to hunt down a new lead involving Ian Slader hadn’t crossed his mind. “Out” was supposed to be out.

  Apparently, that clau
se those CIA assholes had mentioned at the bar allowed for his former superiors to recall him into active duty for a limited amount of time if the case directly involved his previous JSOG work. A caveat he was certain the CIA heads had included specifically because of McCormick and Slader.

  And Crow had been dragged back in after only a month of freedom. Of finally feeling as if he was on the right path. That he had a future. And, while he’d still been secretly mourning Devlyn—how he could have saved their relationship if he’d had the balls to do it five months, ago, instead of using honor as an excuse to hide the fact he’d been soul-deep scared of her rejection—he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that was remotely an option, now. Sure, he still harbored feelings for her that bordered dangerously on love, but based on the way she was looking at him, he doubted she’d miss any opportunity to take a shot at him. And maybe not just figuratively. Which made this new partnership more than a bit awkward.

  He’d been worried something like this would happen—though on a much smaller scale. More that he’d run into her when he’d been instructed to meet with Smithers—brief the man on the new developments since the NSA had agents actively investigating the recent robberies of three military bases in Washington state. That it was possible the thieves had gotten their hands on far more than just top-secret intel or blueprints. And Crow had checked, damn it—waited until she’d been sent off on some lame-ass babysitting detail for the night, if not the next twenty-four hours, before even attempting to take a step inside the facility. Eliminate any chance of stumbling across her like he nearly had when he’d infiltrated the building with Six and his wife, Kameron, two months ago.

  Everything had been going according to plan.

  Except for the part where she’d run into Slader and almost gotten herself killed—again—before making a hasty retreat. The fucking stars had aligned, and she’d ended up assigned to his case. His damn partner. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Karma was finally bitch slapping him.

  A tight feeling squeezed his chest when she swayed, connecting hard with the wall before drawing herself up. A new patch of blood stained her shirt, the red color roiling his stomach.

  Smithers sighed. “I’ll leave you two to duke it out.” The man ambled over to the doorway, glancing back at them. “And, Officer Ward, I expect to get Agent Adams back in the same condition, this time.” He looked at her side. “Better, actually.”

  Crow groaned inwardly. Seems Devlyn wasn’t the only one who had his name on the top of their shit list. “You have my word, sir.”

  Smithers arched a brow then walked out the door, leaving an eerie void in the room. Crow focused on Devlyn, noting the smudges beneath her eyes and the pale cast of her skin. She was hurt. Bad.

  He marched over to her, stopping an arm’s length away. “You’re going to give yourself a damn concussion if you don’t sit your ass down. Unless, of course, you already have one.”

  She gave him a mocking smile. “Don’t worry, even seeing double, I’ll be sure not to miss.”

  “How comforting.” He nodded at her ribs. “You’re bleeding through.”

  “Were you listening when I told Smithers I had to dive through the window to stop Slader from popping poor Ms. Brown in the head? Or did you just forget? Because even cracking it, first, with a few shots, broken glass has a way of leaving a mark.” She grimaced, leaning her back against the wall. “The few rounds I went with Slader didn’t help much, either. Bastard hits hard.”

  Crow arched a brow, doing his best to ignore the tumbling sensation in his gut at the thought of the mother fucker touching his girl. At all the ways he’d see the man pay for hurting her. Not that she was Crow’s anymore, but that didn’t matter. She’d been his, once—a part of her always would be—and he’d make sure Slader discovered the price of hurting someone Crow loved.

  Used to love.

  Shit.

  He palmed the wall beside her, leaning in slightly. “You let Slader land some punches? Sounds like you’re slipping, sweetheart.”

  The glare she flashed him made him smile. There was something inherently hot about sparring with her. Hell, a good part of their relationship had involved one form of confrontation or another. Though, it had also usually ended with one of them pinned to the wall, the loser using every trick to make the other climax. And god knew, the woman could get him off faster than any other lover he’d ever had.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, nearly tumbling sideways in the process. “My attention was somewhat divided, seeing as Ms. Scaredy Pants kept trying to hit me with a damn frying pan from the kitchenette.” She locked her gaze on his. “And, I assure you, Slader didn’t get out of there without leaving a fair amount of his DNA at the scene, too. Clipped him in shoulder…twice. Though, I still owe him a few more rounds before I’ll consider things even.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go for the head shot, once he was injured.”

  “I wanted to, but the damn chick wouldn’t stop trying to cold-cock me. By the time I knocked her out, the situation had worsened, and I chose to get her and that thumb drive out of there, while I still had a chance. Didn’t stop Slader from emptying a mag into my car as I drove off.” She grinned at him. “I’m expensing the repairs, by the way.”

  Crow tipped back his head, praying for divine intervention. Christ, the girl was more reckless than ever. “I’d hoped you’d gained a bit of…restraint after your last encounter with the man. You should have laid down some cover fire, grabbed the woman, and hightailed it out of there without engaging him, at all. How much blood did you lose?”

  “I’m still standing, aren’t I? And, if I hadn’t gone after the creep, he would have gotten the thumb drive and Ms. Brown would be dead.”

  “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

  “Didn’t think that mattered to you.”

  He huffed. “Are we going to keep dancing around this, or are you going to let me explain?”

  “I can two-step all night.” She tried to push past him but only succeeded in tripping onto one knee.

  Crow lunged for her, catching her before she continued all the way to the floor.

  She sagged against him, hissing out her next breath when he tried to help her up. “Don’t. Just…give me a minute.”

  “I doubt three-hundred and twenty minutes would be enough.” He shuffled her, gently lifting her in his arms.

  She stiffened, blinking a few times as she tried to scramble out of his hold. “Damn it, Crow, put me down. I’m fine.”

  Damn. She’d called him Crow, again. Not that it should surprise him. Calling him Ryker had been her way of showing they were connected beyond the job. And he suspected that connection had long since frayed.

  More like he’d cut the fucker, burned the rope, then buried the ashes—under six feet of concrete. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting. That he didn’t miss the way his name flowed off of her tongue. The slight rasp she’d always added to it.

  He sighed. “No, Dev, you’re not fine.” He tightened his grip. “Would you stop fighting me for one second? I promise you can ignore me all you want once you get some rest. Hell, I’ll even wear my Kevlar vest, in case you want to take a few shots at me, but, for now…relax. You look like shit, and the last thing we need is a trip to the hospital. Slader would be certain to capitalize on that, and I don’t need a damn shootout over at Mercy General when the man sends a wet squad your way.”

  “How inconsiderate of me to bleed at a time like this.”

  “Devlyn.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them away, finally settling. “Fine. Give me twelve hours. And I can walk.”

  “Forty-eight, minimum, and you won’t make it two feet down the hallway before you pass out for good, this time.” He cut her off with a shake of his head as he made for the door. “My car’s waiting. I’m taking you to a secure location until you don’t look like fucking Casper. Once you’re up to par, we’ll figure out how to stop this before every
damn operative has a bullseye on their head, and there aren’t any more safe havens.”

  “Don’t think this changes anything. I’m gone the second this joint venture is over.”

  He sighed, ignoring the stab of pain that followed her vow. Not that he’d expected a warm welcome, but hearing her voice the inevitable still hurt. “Whatever you say. But, for now, we’re partners. Which means you don’t shoot me in the back the first chance you get.”

  She flashed him a devilish smile. “Oh, baby, I’ve decided shooting you is too easy. Too quick. I’m going to use a knife and look you in the eyes when I stick it through your cold, withered heart.”

  “Now, that’s the old Devlyn.”

  He headed down the hallway, not surprised when she passed out before he’d even reached the elevators. He pulled her closer as he exited the sliding doors, then headed for his vehicle, careful not to jostle her when he popped open the door, then placed her on the seat, reclining it slightly. He reached over, mindful not to touch her side with the seatbelt as he buckled her in.

  He glanced at her shirt. The bloody spot had gotten larger since Smithers’ office. He cursed, taking a quick look at her side. Her ragged flesh peeked out between a line of crooked Sterie Strips, blood still oozing down her skin.

  “Fuck!”

  The woman never had taken the time to properly bandage a wound. Damn lucky she hadn’t simply bled out on one of her assignments. He rounded the car, opening the trunk. He rummaged through his first aid kit, snagging some QuickClot, wrap and gauze. She flinched when he gently removed the half-curled strips then poured the powder along the laceration, mumbling something he couldn’t make out before drifting off, again. He shook his head, watching as the powder clumped the length of the wound, stopping the worst of the bleeding. Then, he plastered on some gauze pads, wrapping them in place before taping the whole thing together. He stepped back, judging his handiwork before closing her door and sliding in the driver’s side. At least, she wouldn’t lose any more blood before he got her home.