Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls) Read online

  A safehouse. Not home.

  He didn’t really have one of those, anymore. Hell, he’d been bunking with his buddies for the past month while searching for a place to rent. Somewhere close to the office that suited his needs. But he hadn’t found anything that had felt right, yet. And god knew he didn’t share anything with Devlyn, anymore, other than a fucked-up ending. He’d definitely burned that bridge—blown the whole damn structure up, if he were being more accurate. And he knew, firsthand, that resurrecting relationships rarely ended well.

  Well, Colt and Ellis had seemed to make it work. Rubbed it in Crow’s face every damn day. Not on purpose, but seeing them happy gnawed at his resolve a bit. At all the choices he’d made to land him right back where he’d started—alone. Unhappy. Looking for a new purpose.

  Conflicting emotions warred in his head as he started the car then headed steadily south. He flicked on the radio, huffing at the soft strum of the guitar as the singer’s voice echoed through the cabin. Great, just what he needed. A “leaving” song. As if he needed a vocal reminder of how he’d screwed up. All the things he should have done differently.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, checking for lights. He wasn’t about to compromise Devlyn’s safety, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to let her get hurt, again. Not on his watch. She groaned in the seat beside him, frowning before she settled. He reached for her, brushing a mass of her auburn hair back from her face. Skimming his knuckles across creamy, soft skin as he tucked the locks behind her ear, giving him a view of her face. Christ, she was beautiful—looked exactly like she had that day a couple of months ago, when he’d gotten a glimpse of her in the facility. When he and Six and Kam were retrieving some intel. He’d managed to avoid her, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since. Not that he’d really ever stopped, but those few seconds had imprinted heavily on his mind. And he’d spent the past two months wishing for one more chance to see her. To admire her high cheekbones and even features. Her killer blue eyes and full, pink lips. Though, tonight, her eyes had looked more green than he remembered.

  He drew his hand back, shifting gears as he hopped on the interstate. Beautiful or not, there was no mistaking the toll her previous injuries had taken on her. On how her left shoulder didn’t move quite as smoothly as it had before she’d been shot. Or the obvious weight she’d lost… She’d been training. Hard.

  Memories played in his head, all the reasons he’d decided not to see her once he’d finally been rescued from McCormick’s black op site fading into the soft sound of her snuffling beside him. He’d known she’d be angry, but this… Looked as if he wasn’t the only one who had paid a heavy price that night. And it all circled back to Ian Slader. The man needed to be put down, and Crow was more than happy to do the job, personally.

  He sighed as the miles ticked by, the steady patter of rain and the drone of the tires against the pavement blending in with the music. He’d gotten halfway to the safehouse when Devlyn groaned, again, rolling her head across the back of the seat. He glanced over at her, frowning at the way she blinked a few times, her eyelids finally lifting enough she seemed to focus on him.

  A grimace shaped her lips as she tried to sit up, eventually collapsing against the seat. She tilted her head to the side, the creases along her forehead deepening. “Ryker?”

  Christ, the way she said his name. It took him back. Had him wishing he could play that night over—only save her, this time.

  He shook his head at the way she continued to blink, staring at him as if he was a figment of her imagination. Apparently, he’d misjudged her injuries. He changed lanes, glancing over at her. “So, that’s a positive on the concussion. Might have to make that trip to Mercy General, after all.”

  “What…” She inhaled, lifting one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Damn. I’d kinda hoped it had all been a dream.” She glared at him. “Or, should I say, nightmare.”

  “Guess this wasn’t your lucky night. Is that patch job I did holding?”

  “Patch job?”

  Crow snorted. “Mercy General, it is.”

  “No.” She grunted against an obvious jolt of pain as she reached for his arm, using it to lever herself up. Then, she lifted her shirt, staring at the taped-up bandages. “You did this?”

  “You never were that great at the medic side of things, Dev. Those Sterie Strips you’d plastered on your skin hadn’t come close to closing the wound. Half were peeling back, already.”

  “It was the best I could do with Smithers breathing down my neck. I was going to fix it.”

  “When?” He arched a brow. “Because you passed out before we cleared the damn building.”

  “If you hadn’t distracted me, I would have been out in half the time.”

  “Or, you would have bled to death in your car, assuming you made it that far.” He sighed, focusing purposely on the road. “I’ll freeze and stitch it once we get to the safehouse. Where you’ll keep your ass planted on the couch until some of the color returns to your cheeks. You look worse than a ghost, now.”

  Her lips quirked, the glassy cast of her eyes telling him everything he needed to know before she exhaled, twisting to look out the window.

  Her shoulders drooped. “Don’t worry, you’re still the resident spook where I’m concerned.”

  He stared at her reflection in the glass, unsure if the drops of water glistening on her cheeks were tears or just the rain streaking along the window. “I’d explain, despite your protests, but something tells me you’re not going to remember any of this once you finally get coherent.”

  “I’m plenty coherent.”

  “Right, which is why you were surprised to see me when you woke up.” He turned to gaze at her, cursing the moisture clinging to her skin. Shit, it hadn’t been the rain. He forced himself to swallow the guilt burning the back of his throat as he clenched his jaw. “Just…go back to sleep. We’re still a ways out. I’ll wake you once we get there.”

  Devlyn muttered something under her breath, collapsing against the seat, again. He could tell by the way her mouth pinched tight, the short, choppy breaths that filled the car, she was in pain—a lot of pain. But he also knew she was just too damn stubborn to give in—close her eyes and get the sleep she obviously needed. Or, maybe, she simply didn’t trust him to keep her safe, not that he blamed her. But…

  Damn it. It wasn’t as if he’d willingly walked away. Left her there to die. She wasn’t the only one who’d gotten waylaid that night—only he’d been shot and abducted along with their asset. Taken to a black ops site where he’d been left to rot for over a month. Hell, he hadn’t even known she’d gotten hurt until he’d finally been released, his new director assuring him she’d made it back in one piece. Of course, the man had left out the part where she’d nearly died and had spent two weeks in the damn hospital, fighting for her life. After that…

  Crow hadn’t been able to face her, knowing he’d let her down, even if it had been unavoidable. So, he’d accepted the job the assholes had offered him, and just stayed gone. He’d told himself it was for the greater good. A necessary sacrifice to track down the thumb drives that were still floating around, waiting to be found. That would do irreparable damage to not only the States, but her allies.

  But it had been a lie. One designed to hide his less-than-honorable reason—that he didn’t know how to move forward without her in his life. That working with the CIA allowed him to tread water—stay where it was safe. Which was odd considering he’d spent a dozen years in Delta Force. Going on missions that were as far from safe as he could get.

  Helping his buddy, Six, out, along with the rest of his former squad had made Crow examine his choices. And he’d finally started moving forward. Had kicked his agent status to the curb and become a contributing member of Wayward Souls, a security company run by his old boss, Rick Sloan—aka Cannon—that did everything from bounty hunting to consulting. Cannon had also gotten approval for his crew to have Special Deputy Marshal status in
order to aid with court security. It was only an occasional gig, but it was interesting. A way to stay connected to the law without working full time for any one organization. And Crow had finally seen the hint of a light at the end of a very long tunnel.

  Of course, that light had ended up being another runaway train, and he’d gotten shuffled right back into the thick of covert assignments. The kind where trust was a lost concept and pretty much everyone was out to kill him.

  Including his new partner.

  A muted groan drew his attention. He looked over at her, cursing the way she clenched her jaw as she tried to breathe through the pain.

  He reached for her thigh, giving it a squeeze when she jerked her gaze toward him. “I know how pissed off you are about…well, everything. But, just for tonight, trust me to keep you safe. And yeah, I know how hypocritical you probably think that is, too, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m the only backup you have.”

  She released a weary breath, the muscles in her legs easing beneath his touch. “Who knew accepting a lame-ass larceny assignment would end like this? Of all the ways I’d pictured it finishing, this didn’t even make the list.”

  He chuckled.

  She slapped at his shoulder. “I don’t know what you find funny. Pretty sure I’m the last person you want guarding your ass, considering I’m just as liable to kick it as save it.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll admit. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I walked through the doors to Smithers’ office, tonight. But it’s a bit too late to worry about how it turned out. And I’d be lying if I said this was all bad.”

  “Then, you’re delusional because this is pretty much rock bottom.”

  “Might be best if you didn’t jinx us, yet, sweetheart, because things can always get worse.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “Fine. We’ll play it your way, for now. But don’t think this changes anything. You’re still at the top of my shit list, and I’m still out the moment this assignment is over.”

  Chapter Four

  “Dev.”

  Devlyn blinked, startling awake to the gentle shift of her shoulder. She twisted to gaze at the hand cupped around her arm, the fuzzy feeling in her head making it hard to focus. The scenery faded, then cleared, Ryker’s lips pursing into a scowl.

  Crow...she needed to remember he was Crow, now. Not Ryker. Not the man she’d shared her life with—had fallen in love with. That man had vanished. In fact, she wasn’t sure he’d ever been real. Just a hazy version of who she’d wanted him to be. Someone she’d created before discovering he’d been playing her. That it had been all about the mission, and anything they’d shared had been him scratching an itch. Making the most of the situation until it hadn’t served his needs any longer.

  He shook his head. “Seeing double? Or is it all just one big blur?”

  She glared at him, cursing the decision when the small movement ignited another round of pain. It started in her head then throbbed into her ribs, stealing any retort other than a strangled groan.

  “Shit.” Crow rounded the car, opening her door. He leaned forward, scooping his hands under her thighs and around her back. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

  “What?” She grunted as he levered back, lifting her against his chest. “Damn it, Crow, I can walk. A fact I told you back in Smithers’ office.”

  “The same office you barely made it out of before passing out? How could I forget.”

  She sighed, reluctantly threading her fingers together behind his neck when he started walking. Despite how their last encounter had ended, Crow had always been the preverbal white knight. And, bastard or not, he was just as stubborn and coddling as ever. Even if his rescue was several months too late. Coupled with the fact she doubted she’d be able to support her own weight made it annoyingly apparent that the jerk was right.

  He chuckled. “Damn, you haven’t lightened up at all, have you? I can practically hear you cursing my name. And, yeah, you’re not strong enough to walk, so stop looking at me as if I’m the reason you’re barely coherent. This one wasn’t on me.”

  “If it weren’t for this joint case, I’d be sitting on my couch, sipping Smithwicks right about now.”

  “No, you’d either be dead in the hallway or on a gurney at Mercy General.” He laughed, again. “Or, maybe, Smithers would have gotten Dr. Holloway to treat you at the facility. You know how much he loves stitching up agents.”

  “Must you make this more of a train wreck than it already is? And I’d rather die than have that creep treat me. He’s barely human enough to deal with corpses. Anything with a pulse is way out of his league.”

  “So, shut up, and let me fix your side. Then, you can settle in and get some sleep.”

  “Is that before or after I kick your ass?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’d love to see you try. Right up until you bled out.”

  “Buzzkill.”

  Crow snorted, shuffling her closer as he continued along a darkened walkway, stopping at a red door. He shifted her weight then swiped a card over a keypad on the doorframe, turning the handle after the light flashed green. The door swung inward, the streetlights revealing only a wedge of wooden floor, the rest of the interior still shrouded in shadows. Crow pulled her tight to his chest then twisted them sideways through the opening, kicking the door shut behind them.

  “Lights.”

  His voice echoed through the room, followed by a sudden flash as three lamps switched on. He smiled down at her, carrying her through the main area and into a darkened room beyond. Though, she didn’t need any added glow to know he’d taken her into his bedroom, then onto the bathroom, the lingering scent of his cologne a dead giveaway.

  He placed her on her feet, waiting until she gave him a shove before moving back. He turned to the door, flicking on the light then rummaging through a closet against the far wall. He emerged carrying a large red bag, a white cross stamped on the front.

  “You think you can stand long enough for me to freeze that wound? We can move to the bed once I’m ready to stitch it.”

  “I’m not dead, yet, asshole. And I can stitch my own damn wound.”

  He tsked when she tried to reach for the bag, nearly tripping onto her ass. “Are you determined to have me take you to the hospital? Or are you really that stubborn you’d sacrifice your safety just to attempt to piss me off? Prove to me you’ve got bigger balls?”

  “Don’t have to prove what we both already know. And I don’t recall saying I’d play nice.”

  “You said you’d play it my way.”

  “I also said you were still at the top of my shit list. That hasn’t changed.”

  His perfectly sculpted lips curled into a smile. “Then, you’ll let me stitch your side so you’ll be alive to get your revenge.”

  She sighed, wishing she had the strength to back up her challenge, but just focusing on staying awake and not tumbling to the floor took what energy she had left. Fatigue made her muscles feel heavy as she stared at Crow, finally shaking her head. “Damn it.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Don’t be an ass. Yes, it’s a ‘yes’. But only because I plan on being around to stab you in the heart, later.”

  “Good to know you’ve found your motivation.” He grabbed the edge of her shirt. “Nice and easy.”

  Devlyn scowled but lifted her arms, hissing out her next breath when the fabric pulled against her skin, the dried blood sticking for several moments before finally popping free. Another strong jolt of pain throbbed through her ribs, and she closed her eyes against the burning sensation behind her lids.

  Strong arms folded around her, drawing her against Crow’s chest. Her palms landed on his pecs, the steady strum of his heart vibrating across her skin. God, how many times had she dreamed about him holding her this way? Knowing he held far more than her body in his hands—that he held her heart. Her damn soul. And based on the telltale kick of her pulse, the heat warming her cheeks, the jerk st
ill did.

  His slow exhalation ruffled the hairs around her head. “I know how much you hate this. Just…can we not fight for five minutes?”

  She relaxed against him, wishing it didn’t feel as good as it did. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes.”

  “You always were a giver, Dev.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him, regretting it the moment the tip brushed across his jaw as he shifted his grip. He arched one brow, his smug smile fueling her anger. She thought about smacking him when he eased back, his gaze falling to her side.

  He frowned. “Shit. It’s bleeding through the gauze, again. This might be more than I should attempt to fix. Wound looked deep when I bandaged it. Christ, you’re lucky you didn’t bleed out at the damn motel.” He rummaged through the kit. “I do have a buddy I could call. Guy’s a crazy good medic—could have you back in action in no time—but… We’re supposed to be running silent, here. Safehouse and the like.”

  “If you’re going to get squeamish, just give me the damn needle, already.”

  “Seriously, Dev? You can barely stay on your feet, let alone stitch your own wound.”

  He helped her lean against the counter before darting out, returning with a chair. He didn’t ask her to sit, just placed it behind her, then waited until her legs gave out. She glared at him, but he was already removing the layers he’d wrapped around her. Working to expose the cut.

  She inhaled against the fiery sensation each tug of her skin ignited along her ribs, making the room dim at the edges. It wasn’t until he’d fully bared the laceration that she believed she might actually make it through the procedure without blacking out.

  Crow mumbled under his breath, readying a few supplies before holding up a syringe. He tapped the clear liquid inside, removing any air bubbles as a bit of the fluid shot out from the tip. “We’ll give it a try. See how you hold up while I’m stitching it. Ready?”