Riding the Storm (20 page)

"Yeah,
a few overheated hormones." She rolled her eyes with as much nonchalance
as she could muster, when what she wanted to do was melt into a pool of nerves
and lust. "I think we can handle it. We'll be home in a couple of days,
you can find some biker chick in a local bar and get laid, I'll screw Dev and
everything will be back to normal."

Except
now nothing would ever be normal. She'd always wonder if Creed might be
the
one
. The one who wouldn't end up in an ICU after messing around with her.
Dev had spent days covering up that particular incident. But she wasn't seventeen
anymore, and maybe…

She
shook her head, because this line of thinking could only end in frustration.
Her own. Creed's. Dev's when he had to contain the damage she caused or listen
to her cry over something else.

Maybe
she should call Haley. Annika had no friends, and while she couldn't call Haley
one, the parameteorologist was one of the few people at ACRO who wasn't nervous
around her, and she was a woman. Surely she'd had man trouble. Then again, she
probably treated men like everything else, like they were mysteries to be
solved. Weather to be predicted. She probably had charts and graphs that mapped
out the male brain. That poor SEAL she'd been set upon was no doubt wondering
from what planet Haley hailed. And that SEAL was also the reason Annika couldn't
call Haley. They were both on missions, and personal problems needed to be put
aside.

She
looked at Creed, who watched her with a dark hunger in his eyes, and she nearly
groaned, because putting him aside wasn't going to be easy.

And
she wasn't sure she even wanted to.

Now
they were going to get down to it. Remy watched Haley's face carefully, because
he'd finally started to get some answers, some real answers. Not just the
I-like-ball-lightning-and-come-work-for-my-secret-superpower-bullshit-agency
explanations she'd been feeding him over the past fifteen hours while she
stroked him and Mother Nature simultaneously fucked him.

He'd
like nothing better than to show her what exactly that entailed, but more than
ever, he needed to remain calm. In control. He'd been trained to do so by the
Navy, and he did not plan on giving up any more without shaking Haley Holmes
down for some intel. Because whatever the agency she worked for was all about,
he wanted to know.

This
parameteorologist might be able to handle him in bed, but he was sure she
wouldn't be prepared for his methods of interrogation.

And
she didn't look prepared, at least not for the unveiling of his tattoo. She
just sat there, stared at his hip and then his face and then back down to the
ink again. And then she stood and took a small step to close the distance
between them, not seeming to notice the way the slip of a boat rocked.

She
touched the slightly raised brand, tentatively at first, and then she traced a
finger around the reddened edge, just like he'd been doing to hers. Remy forced
his breathing to remain even as last night's events came roaring back into his
consciousness.

First
he'd tried to control the storm, and then it had grabbed him by the throat and
rolled him worse than a hungry gator. He'd lost that battle and obviously his
fucking mind as well, since he'd showed off his weather shit like he was a
circus sideshow freak. And now he knew the partial truth about what Haley
wanted from him.

"Where
did that come from?" she whispered, as if anyone but the gators could hear
them this far out into the swamps.

"I'm
waiting for you to tell me that."

"I
don't… I mean… Holy shit." She looked up at him, seemed to realize that
she was standing in the middle of the boat—on very shaky ground in many senses
of the word. She reached out and grabbed him hard, her fingers digging into the
skin on his bare biceps, and he steadied her by placing his hands on her hips.

"If
you keep rocking like that, we're both going into the water," he said, and
although it wasn't a bad master plan as plans went, he'd end up having to
rescue her eventually.

"Remy,
you have to believe me when I tell you, I had nothing to do with that tattoo.
Nothing."

"I
don't have to do anything you tell me,
bebe
. And for the record, I don't
believe you either."

She
pushed back from him, and the pirogue rocked again. He was used to a sway much
larger than this, and even though Haley wasn't, she stood her ground. She
started unbuttoning her shorts and he went hard at the sight of her exposed
hip.

"They
look the same," she was saying.

"Yeah,
I noticed," he started, but stopped abruptly. It was his turn to stare at
Haley's once-smooth tattoo, which was now raw and scabbed. Just like his.
"Jesus, what happened? Did I do that?"

"No,
you didn't. You didn't hurt me. Not once." She looked at him earnestly,
and he remembered the way she'd looked last night, illuminated by the lightning,
coming over and over in his arms. He remembered losing control and not worrying
that this time there was no one there to catch him.

"There's
got to be more you're not telling me, dammit." His voice came out louder
than he'd intended. He wanted to grab her and shake her by the shoulders to get
her to spill, but a bigger part of him wondered if maybe it was better that he
didn't know everything.

"Lie
down," she said suddenly.

"I
don't think this is the best place to—"

"Lie.
Down," she repeated, and there was a fire in her eyes that told him he
shouldn't bother to argue.

He
shoved the pole deep into the murky water and tied the anchoring line around it
to keep them from floating off too far. Then he removed the seat from one end
of the boat in order to make room for his body, and eased himself to the deck.

She'd
been sitting again while he maneuvered himself, was gripping the sides of the
boat hard until he was flat on his back. Then she got onto her knees and half
crawled to him. She began to spread herself out over him, placing her palms
down right above his shoulders and leveraged herself above him until his
arousal was pressed right between her legs.

For a
long moment, they just stared at each other, and Remy wasn't sure if he was
ever going to be able to trust anything that came out of her mouth again. Not
that it would make her much different from anyone else in his life, but he'd
wanted her to be different, although he hadn't realized it until this moment.

"Look
at this," she was saying. She'd eased off him slightly, putting more of
her weight onto her right side. He propped up on one elbow and looked down. She
pointed toward her tattoo and then at his. "Watch," she said softly,
lowering herself down.

Remy
watched as the two tattoos headed toward each other, a perfectly matched pair
when they were in this very familiar position. He waited until she lowered
herself onto him all the way and neither of them could see the tattoos anymore.

"I
have no idea how this happened. You have to believe me about that. There's no
way I could've done this to you while you were sleeping," she said.

"Maybe
your supersecret agency did it while I slept," he said, and she furrowed
her brow and shook her head, although it didn't look like she was all that
convinced it couldn't have happened. And if it had, what the hell kind of place
was he being asked to work for anyway?

"I'll
ask one more time, Haley, and I want an answer," he said. "Tell me
what's really going on here."

"I
told you what I know. I work for an agency—"

"Of
freaks. Yeah, I got that. Where is it? Who runs it? What's its purpose?"

"They're
not freaks. You're not a freak."

"Christ,
you're not going to try to turn this into a therapy session, are you? Because I
don't usually fuck people who try to mind-fuck me. It's too complicated, and I
don't need any more complications in my life than I already have." He
tried to move her off of him, but she didn't budge easily. "I'll roll you
right into the water if I have to."

"Go
ahead. But if I drown, you'll never get the answers you want," she said.

"Oh,
I'll make sure you don't drown,
bebe
. You'll just get waterlogged, and
then you'll beg me—"

"The
way you begged me last night, Remy?" she asked. He noticed her breathing
had become quicker, as had his. He was pushing his arousal up into her as she
continued. "Last night, out in the rain, you didn't even realize what you
were saying. Begging me to hold you and make you come."

"And
you did that."

"I
did. And now I'm telling you what you need to know. I can't tell you the name
and location of the agency until you agree to give it a chance. Then, you'll be
taken to a secure location to meet with the agency's head, where you can ask
all the questions you want."

"How
many freaks are there?"

"We
currently employ about five hundred
people
. Not all of them are Special
Operatives. And so far, none of them can do what you do."

"So,
what, I'm a freak among freaks?" he asked, and then held up a hand.
"You know what? Don't answer that."

He
put his head back, closed his eyes and let the gentle rock of the pirogue
soothe him.

When
he was younger, eight or so, he used to sneak into the swamp at night, take
this old pirogue and push her through the muddy waters until his arms ached and
sweat ran down his back and he was far enough from shore that anything seemed
possible.

Most
times, he wished he'd just get picked up by a group of pirates or bandits and
taken away to places that could give him the action and adventure he craved, away
from people who knew him.

He
hadn't found it until he entered the SEALs, and even that hadn't lasted nearly
as long as he'd hoped. This agency Haley talked about was just another team
setting, and there was no way in hell it was going to work. Besides, he'd
already gotten messages from two firms looking for meres. Looking for him.

We
heard you were one of the best… We need men who can

think
on their feet… function independently.

Of
course, if he couldn't function in a team setting, he had no hope for the most
intimate kind of team there was. But he'd always known that anyway.

He
had nothing left to lose, except he didn't plan on acquiring anything else
to
lose. Ever.

"The
agency… there are people there who can teach you things. I can teach you
things," she said.

He
shifted slightly under the weight of her body, which made the pirogue rock. She
grabbed his shoulders and he pushed up on both elbows, forcing her into a
straddling position.

"Like
what? What the hell can you do to make anything different?" he asked.

"Did
you ever stop to think that maybe there's a way you can keep it from
controlling you? A way you can learn to actually use it more effectively?"
she asked, and he let out a long, bitter laugh.

"Control
it? I don't want it at all, Haley. Don't want to harness it, encourage it, or
think about it," he said.

"That's
not true. You have harnessed it. I've seen you doit."

"Trick
of the trade," he muttered. "Can I get up now? We really do need to
get gas before dark hits this place."

"Remy…

"I
don't want to talk about this. Not now. We got a long way to ride,
bebe
,
and somehow I don't think you want to do that in the dark."

She
pushed off him reluctantly, zipping up her shorts, and disappointment settled
in his stomach. And other places. He followed suit, but not before staring down
at the tattoo, much in the same way he had when he'd discovered it. Then he
began to push-pole through the water.

Last
night, he'd been asleep less than an hour when the soreness woke him, and in
the lamplight he'd brought into the bathroom with him, he saw what he'd thought
was a bruise.

When
he'd realized that he'd been tattooed without his consent, he'd barely
contained his fury. But he did, mainly because he didn't want to wake up Haley with
a storm caused by his rage. No, he'd had other plans. He'd stalked out to
Haley's equipment and tried to gain some much-needed intel. He'd been
unsuccessful in breaking into the heavily passcoded and secure machines, mainly
because his diverted anger channeled itself into an electric impulse that
shorted out the wiring and killed the long-life battery.

First
thing you do to the enemy is you cut off comms, then supplies, and finally the
escape route
. Now that all three had
been taken care of and he had some answers, he still wasn't sure what to do.

"You
planned this, me coming here?" he asked, not bothering to turn around to
her. He eased them through the murky swamp under some low cypress tree branches
and just concentrated on forward motion.

"Yes.
This was planned. I needed to meet you."

"Where's
my old man, then?" he asked.