pdf - Eye of the Storm.PDF (15 page)

"Shit, Keely," her brother's voice held concern, "why didn't you say something? Ren will have my ass if he comes home and you're down sick again."

"Just tell him I forced you."

Tweetie snorted. "Yeah, like that makes a difference. He'll still blame me." He reached for her lines and turned her so he could see her eyes through her yellow-tinged snow goggles. He frowned. "When we get back, skip the bar and grill tonight. Get Scotty to pack you some food to carry back to Ren's place so you can turn in early. Scotty can mix his own damn Mojitos and crap."

"Nope, the bar is fun—and a way for me to unwind." She grinned behind the hood protecting her from the biting wind. "Quinn challenged me to a game of darts. He can't believe I keep beating him. Lacey loves that I can put his Marine ass in place. Plus, if I win tonight's match, he's promised to teach me how to play poker."

"Quinn cheats, sis. I can teach you how to play poker," Tweetie said in his big-brother-knows-best tone as he pulled them both up the face of the rock wall with ease.

"Once I have the fundamentals down, you know he won't have a chance. It's mostly probabilities." Thinking of the bar, a frisson of unease skittered down her spine.

Something had happened at breakfast. Something she'd pushed to the back of her mind in her need to get the wiring down and the security system operational. "What would Ren do if one of his men was, um, bothering me?"

"Who's bothering you? And when, for chrissakes? I'm with you all the fucking time."

"Stop it with the f-word, Stuart Allen Walsh. I'll collect for Mama in absentia." She braced a hand to assist over a jagged area so the ropes would not fray. "Besides, it happened at breakfast when you're still sacked out, slug-a-bed."

"You get up too damn early. Now fess up—who is the fucker?" His snarl was almost the equal of Ren's and dared her to chastise him for his use of the f-word.

She wasn't really afraid of the man bothering her, more like wary and suspicious at his all-of-a-sudden lechery. Oh, heck, who was she kidding? She was more than wary and suspicious. The man's actions reminded her of the four who'd kidnapped her in Boston.

Two of those were dead and she’d created computer sketches for the two still at large and had a program running to check them against law enforcement data bases. This guy wasn't one of them. He’d been at Sanctuary while she was held prisoner in Boston, but he was of the same breed of low-life predators—a jackal. She could handle most assholes, and had proven so time after time. But she wasn't at her best now and this particular guy was huge—and had more training than she. She wasn't stupid enough to think she could take him
mano a mano
and win; the bastard had the habit of sneaking up on her. Only Scotty's presence had stopped the man from touching her, taking what he said he wanted.

Why were some men such animals?

Tweetie climbed up over the edge of the cliff and hauled her up the last several feet.

When she was on terra firma, he took her shoulders and shook gently. "Stop avoiding my question? Who was the asshole?"

Anger and worry were in his eyes. God, he was so sweet. He was the best big brother and had sacrificed so much of his life for her. She hated being a burden once more.

Maybe she was overreacting to the man. God knew, she was tired and still recuperating.

Plus, she had another reason to keep an eye on the guy and didn't want Tweetie or Quinn kicking him off Sanctuary just yet. She should have kept her mouth shut.

She shrugged. "It's not important. I'll just make sure other people are around. He hasn't done anything, just talked about it."

"He who?" Tweetie tipped her chin up with a heavily gloved hand. "We're not leaving here until you tell me. They'll find us next spring, frozen to this very spot if you don't cough it up soon."

The wind was swirling the snow around them, causing periods of mini-whiteouts.

Visibility was maybe ten feet and getting worse. The trip back to the Lodge would be extremely tricky, but doable. Even without a final testing, she knew they could follow the new system's transmitter signals all the way back. The system was fully functional, but she wasn't ready to reveal it to the other SSI personnel until Ren gave her the okay. Only she, her brother and Ren knew what they'd been doing for the last week.

She lowered her lashes; the snow was stinging what part of her face was exposed by the loose balaclava. Her goggles were fogging; she flipped on the battery-powered heater built into the high-tech eyewear to keep the lenses clear.

Tweetie all but growled. "I'm waiting, sis."

Okay, so they really needed to leave. They couldn't get lost, but they could get caught out here. There was always the chance of hitting a hidden rock or driving off the edge of a cliff in the limited visibility. Some of the trails were very narrow and hugged the edge of cliff walls.

She sighed. Stalling could get them killed. She'd have to tell him her suspicions. Her brother didn't make threats idly. "It's one of the new SSI recruits here for training." She peeked at his eyes; they were filled with fiery, blue sparks. "He's hitting on me. I've told him no."

He hissed a nasty word. "The bastard should know to stay away from you. You're living in Ren's house—that means you're off limits." He shoved her toward the snowmobile; its protective tarp was covered with a foot of snow at least.

"Am I off limits?" Keely was intrigued. She knew Ren was overprotective and had decided she was under his care—the last week's worth of nightly phone calls had proven that point—but other than that, he hadn't said word one about his future intentions toward her. Heck, her brother had been the one to tell her she had a job at SSI if she wanted it.

Now, she wasn't stupid, just young. Ren's constant hard-on when he was around her and other body language indicated he wanted her—a lot. Her mama had noticed the attraction and lectured her in very explicit terms about safe sex and intimate relations with large men. Keely still blushed whenever she thought about her mama's detailed talk and the personal experience that necessarily preceded all that knowledge.

Personally, she had no issues with Ren's lust. She'd been in lust with him since she'd first met him. She admired and respected his alpha qualities and had been half-way in love with him from reading his files. She knew she could handle him as easily as her mama had handled her equally macho dad. And that relationship had been loving and hot for over thirty-five years and six children.

"Keely, are you listening to me? Ren will go apeshit over any man who even sneezes in your direction." He turned her into his body, sheltering her from the brunt of the vicious wind gusts.

"This particular jerk mentioned a lack of a ring. He doesn't think I'm off limits."

"Ren needs to get his fucking ass home." Her brother snagged her arm and helped her fight the headwind that seemed to want to blow them back over the edge of the cliff they'd just scaled. Together they made their way slowly to their transportation.

"Well, the jerk bothering me has been rather explicit as to why he thinks Ren isn't the man for me—and that he is. I think he's full of bull hooey and just feeling me out to see what I'd say or do. I think he's the spy inside SSI."

Tweetie's hand on her arm tightened at her words. He pulled her to a halt next to the snowmobile. She continued with her conclusions. "He seems too foolish to be the brains.

I mean why hit on me? If he's supposed to kidnap or kill me or even just observe and send back intel to his boss, then it's stupid to call that kind of attention to himself. He'd have to assume I'd tell you or Ren about him."

Tweeter growled. "Which one is it?"

"Un-unh." She shook her head. "I'm handling it for now. I don't have enough evidence to prove he's leaking info to the big bad guy in D.C. The deep background checks are in the works. I don't want to scare him off—or get him tossed off Sanctuary—

until we know for sure whether he's working alone or with a group."

"So, it's one of the terrible trio?" Tweeter's eyes narrowed.

She didn't bother denying it. The terrible trio—as they'd named the three recruits—

had triggered her internal alarm from her first day on Sanctuary. They made her neck itch like crazy. Heck, even her mama had commented on them, said they were smarmy. The fact they were recent hires just solidified her suspicions. They'd all hired on about the time she'd reported her initial findings to the NSA on the patterns in the failed NCS

missions. NSA had told her not to worry her little golden-red curls about it. Cretins.

Upon meeting the three men, she'd told her brother about her spider sense. SSI's initial-hire background checks hadn't gone much past the trio's military records. In her opinion the background checks hadn't gone deep enough and she’d shared her conclusions with her brother and Quinn. She offered to create a better program for SSI and did so, then immediately set about piercing the lies built upon lies in the threesome's backgrounds. Proving her itchy neck was once again one hundred percent spot on. Once Quinn knew the three had been less than honest, he made sure their trainers kept them away from sensitive security information vital to SSI’s operations.

Every evening for the last week, she dug even deeper to find out who the three really were by happily hacking into secure computer systems all over the world. Last evening, she'd finally hit pay dirt. She found proof that the guy hitting on her, Rod Bannon, was a soldier of fortune who hired himself out to the wrong side more often than not as did his constant sidekick, Tripp Jordan, one of the suspect trio. The jury was still out on the third guy, Jose Vences; he'd lied about his experience and credentials, but so far she hadn't found any evidence of bad acts in his background.

She now had a double-check running on all the information she'd found to verify its veracity. She didn't want to accuse anyone wrongly and wanted an iron-clad case to present to Homeland Security and the FBI. She was also interested in seeing if she could backtrack from Bannon and Jordan to anyone in the DoD. She wanted the S.O.B. who'd tried to kill her, her brother, Vanko and Ren. No one messed with a Walsh.

"We need to get the intel on those three to Ren sooner, rather than later. Plus, if one of them has set his sights on you, Ren will kick his ass off for that alone."

"And we can't let him do that—yet. If Bannon and Jordan are spies, we have to prove it and try to turn them to get to who hired them." She climbed onto the passenger seat after Tweeter ripped off the tarp and put it away. "The program should've finished the verification process by the time we get back."

Tweeter patted her arm. "Arms tight around my waist, sis. We'll be running full out.

The storm is getting worse."

She circled his waist with her arms and leaned her forehead on his back. "Maybe Ren will have returned." God, she sounded like some lovelorn teenager. She'd missed Ren and his warmth and scent surrounding her in bed. She hadn't slept well since she'd left South America. Recurring nightmares about the Boston incident kept her tossing and turning. In them, this time, she did not escape. Ren's nearness kept the night terrors away and replaced them with erotic dreams. She wanted to belong to Ren Maddox, and only him, in every carnal way she'd ever read about. Unfortunately, she got the impression he planned to move slowly. She'd have to speed him up some. She knew what she wanted—Ren in her bed, making love to her every night.

Tweetie switched on the snowmobile. "Quinn said Ren called earlier. I forgot to tell you. They're going to try to beat the blizzard. Although if they haven't landed by now, they might not be able to."

"Let's go. I need some of Scotty's five-alarm chili to warm me up." And she needed to see if Ren was home. Maybe tonight she could sleep soundly—in his arms.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Tweeter gave the powerful snowmobile gas, accelerating quickly through the white wall of snow and ice crystals.

* * * *

"They're fine." Quinn Jones, the third in command at SSI behind him and Trey, sat in a leather club chair in front of the huge stone fireplace, nursing a pre-dinner scotch.

"Each and every time I sounded the alarm on them in the past week, we found them safe and sound. They just forget the time while they're working. By the way, what are they working on? Is it a secret?" The older man took a sip of his scotch, his narrowed gaze fixed accusingly on Ren.

Ren winced. He'd kept Quinn out of the loop. Keely's talk of spies had him being extra-cautious. Not that he suspected Quinn, but the less the older man or anyone knew about what Keely and Tweeter were doing to upgrade the early warning security for Sanctuary, the better. Ren didn't want the spy coming across the information and then trailing after Keely and Tweeter and ambushing them. A sniper's bullet could travel a long way and could not be defended against.

He moved to sit in the chair next to his long-time friend. "It's a secret for now. Not even Trey knows." Quinn relaxed his affronted posture at that admission. "I'm concerned about the other problem I told you about." He'd spoken at length to Quinn from South America about the potential of a mole on Sanctuary—and the need to know where Keely was at all times in order to protect her.

"The little gal has been burning the candle at both ends." Quinn eyed him over his glass. "She's doing deep background checks on the new recruits—three of them in particular. I have to say, she has good instincts. The same three she's suspicious of smelled hinky when I first met them. They look good on paper, but if they are ex-US

Special Forces, I'll eat my saddle." Quinn was an old cowboy from Texas, even the Marines couldn't train the country boy out of him.

Ren leaned in closer. His voice low, he asked, "Which three? And what do you think they are?"

Quinn glanced around the room. His gaze zeroed in on a spot in a side room open to the great room where the billiard and game tables were located. Most of the Lodge's activity was centered there at this time of the day since Scotty didn't serve food until six o'clock on the dot.