Riding the Storm (32 page)

Dev
had always promised the utmost privacy for his operatives. Something was going
wrong at ACRO, and that thought made her head ache residually.

"Whoever
it was knew things he shouldn't have known—about ACRO, about me," she
admitted, and Remy moved toward her. He sat next to her on the bed, reached out
to massage her neck with a strong hand while Wyatt looked at her with concern.

"Dev
will want to talk with you when you get back, to figure out how Itor could have
gotten the type of info they needed," Wyatt said quietly.

She
nodded, because Dev had already told her as much. For now, though, her eyelids
had grown heavy, and it was all she could do to listen to the guys plan. She
put aside the med kit and stretched out on the bed, just to rest her eyes.

It
seemed like five minutes later when Remy shook her shoulder gently, but a glance
at the cheap bedside clock showed that she'd been asleep for three hours.

"We
have food,
chere
."

The
smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes brought her out of her fuzzy, groggy state,
and she gratefully sat up and took a Styrofoam plate of food.

"Did
you guys figure out where Itor might be hiding?"

Remy
nodded and sat next to her, close enough that his heat wrapped around her like
a comforting blanket. "There's a trailer near that intersection we
discussed. It's well hidden and was rented out just three days ago."

He'd
showered and wore clothing identical to hers, though his BDU pants were
camouflage-patterned. Worry lines creased his forehead, and she reached for
him, took his hand.

"We'll
get your dad."

"I
know. I just keep thinking about how I want to rip those bastards apart for
what they did to you. Once we disperse from the vehicle, all I'll care about is
getting my hands on them."

Ender
made a gun with his forefinger and thumb. "All I care about is shot
geometry, wind and distance."

"Snipers."
Wyatt rolled his eyes. "But speaking of wind, we could use a weather
briefing if you're up for it. We're going to hit them an hour earlier than they
said. Two o'clock."

She
nodded, glad to have something to do. Part of the ACRO weather station's duties
included weather briefs for every mission and flight, and giving the reports
had always been one of her favorite aspects of the job.

She
ate while she used Ender's laptop to download current model analyses, radar
images and observations.

"Well,
boys, it looks like prime bad-guy hunting weather. Partly cloudy, eighty
degrees, seventy percent humidity. Ender, winds will be from the southwest at
around seven knots. There's also a narrow band of light showers to the west,
but it shouldn't pose a problem. Remy might be able to draw on it for a little
extra power."

Ender
took a break from shoveling bacon and sausage into his mouth to crumple his
coffee cup and toss it into the trash. She'd never seen anyone eat so much
meat. His cholesterol must be through the roof. "What, exactly, can you
do, SEAL? "

Remy
froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and shot Haley a look of uncertainty.

"It's
okay, man," Wyatt said. "You don't have to hide it anymore."

The
way Remy shifted, just slightly, on the bed told her he wasn't ready to open up
to complete strangers about something he'd kept buried for his entire life.

She
cleared her throat. "He can rapidly alter the local atmospheric conditions
to create fog, wind, rain, hail… and he even spun up a tornado in the
bayou."

Wyatt
grinned. "Cool."

Ender
snorted. "What's the catch? There's always a catch."

"Strong
emotions can spawn weather I can't command," Remy muttered.

"That's
a control issue. ACRO can train that out of you." Ender's hawklike gaze
lit on Remy with predatory intensity. "I'm talking about the kryptonite.
What is it?"

Remy
bared his teeth. "Do you tell everyone what yours is? You want people to
know about your kill switch?"

The
testosterone in the room built like a summer storm, but before it reached
critical mass, Wyatt tossed a pen at Ender. "He's right. Unless we need to
know… He glanced at Haley. "Do we need to know? Will he compromise the
mission if he snags kryptonite?"

"I
never have before," Remy said tightly, and Haley shook her head.

"He'll
be okay." There was no severe weather on the way to mess with his libido,
and besides, if worse came to worse, she'd be there with him. "So when do
we go in?"

"Not
we," Remy said. "Us. You're staying here."

"The
hell I am."

Wyatt
swallowed whatever he'd been chewing. "Annika is on the way, and if Remy
can do what you said, we should be more than fine."

Ender
merely pointed his plastic fork at her. "You're a liability. You
stay."

She
huffed. "I realize I'm not a field operative. But I'm possibly your only communication
connection with Itor." None of them appeared to be convinced, so she
played the danger card. "What if they decide to mind-fuck me again while
you're gone?"

"She's
got a point," Wyatt said, and Remy shook his head.

"I
don't like it."

"That's
because you're thinking with your dick," Ender drawled.

Remy
turned to her. "Do I still have to be nice?"

Ender
tossed his empty plate into the trash. "I hate to agree with Wyatt on
anything, but he's right, Haley has a point. If they invade her mind again,
they might cause some serious damage before we could get her help. She can go,
but she stays back."

For
some reason, she felt like she'd been accepted by the popular kids for the
first time in her life. And for the first time she'd be on the front lines, in
the action instead of supporting the mission with weather reports from behind
the scenes.

"You
stay way back." Remy's eyes were fierce, his voice deep and low. "I
don't want them coming near you."

Before
she could bristle at his order, Wyatt cleared his throat. "Remy, man,
speaking of coming near…

Bracing
one lean hip against the table, Ender shot Remy a look of warning that shot
chills down her spine. "Don't let them take you." When Remy opened
his mouth to argue, Ender held up his hand. "I know you think you're such
a bad motherfucker that they can't force you to work for them, but they have
ways. And in their hands, you're a walking WMD."

"Yeah?
And what about in ACRO's hands?"

Wyatt
shook his head. "We don't work like that. Itor sells services to the highest
bidder. Everything we do is for the good of the United States and its allies.
Which means we won't force you to work for us. But you've seen how they
operate. We want you to join us of your own free will."

Haley
held her breath, hoping Remy wouldn't ask what would happen if he refused, and
fortunately, he didn't.

"We'll
see what happens after this is over." He pierced her with a heated stare.
"There are a lot of things that need to be settled."

Dev's
family mansion was still full of company, but much lonelier since Annika took
off. Creed stood in the kitchen, staring at the abandoned bag of chips on the
floor and her soda, while he took a gulp of his own.

She'd
looked a little worried when she'd left him, which was cool. She'd never seen
him when he went into one of his so-called ghost-talk trances, probably freaked
a little when he seemed to lose consciousness.

Which
meant she cared.

And
although he wished she were still here, for many different reasons, helping to
bring in a new operative safely was something good for Annika to be a part of.
Dangerous, but good.

He
wondered if the psychics who followed most of the members of the ACRO
team—three psychics per operative, all on duty for eight-hour shifts so each
operative had emergency coverage twenty-four seven—might sense the way he felt
about Annika. He thought he had enough self-control to keep it under wraps.

But
this being Annika's first time, her mind would be more vulnerable. Confused. He
hoped that the psychics' code of honor and silence held true, because he didn't
want such delicate information getting back to Dev. Not that way.

He
checked his watch, saw that it had been nine hours since he'd been alone here.
Hours of Kat arguing with the spirit, of physically and emotionally draining
work, and they hadn't gotten any further than discovering that whoever was
locked inside this house wanted access to Dev.

Which
Creed had figured out from the second he'd stepped over the threshold, so he
hoped it wouldn't take nine more hours to extract additional information.

He
massaged the back of his neck, before Kat took over that job for him, easing
some of the tension that had started his temples throbbing. Of course, part of
the tension was her fault in the first place.

"Are
you ever going to let me have my own life?" he asked her. He got no
response beyond a light touch to his forehead and a slight throb along his
right side.

No,
neither Kat nor Annika seemed the type to share him with anyone else. Then
again, Annika hadn't promised him shit.

A
loud slam brought him firmly back into the job, as his attention was being
demanded.

The
doors on the second floor opened and shut, and he slugged the rest of his soda,
tossed the can and stripped off his shirt again.

He
lay down on the bare marble floor at the bottom of the staircase. The spirit
wanted him closer to the portal, but there was no way that was going to happen.

He
closed his eyes, concentrated on drawing in the spirit's power and finally got
a vision.

A
young boy, maybe fourteen. Brown hair. Lanky, like he hadn't yet grown into
himself.

Dev.
Walking through this house, down the main staircase.

"You
know Dev," he said, and Kat said yes, the spirit knew Dev very, very well.

"I
have questions—from Dev," he said.

"I
want to talk to Devlin directly," it said, and Creed's eyes opened. It was
rare that a spirit spoke directly to him, instead of going through Kat. A
strong spirit.

"You
can't talk to Dev," he said out loud. "You're going to have to deal
with me first."

"Devlin
sent you."

"Yes."

"He
wants to know about the kidnapping," the spirit said. "And something
more. Something about an infiltration."

"Yes."
Dev had mentioned kidnapping, but Creed had no idea what the spirit meant by
the infiltration. Still, he'd run with it. "Dev wants to know about
both."

"You'll
have to let me out to get that information," it said.

"You'll
have to take that up with whatever put you here. I don't have that power,"
he said, and the house roared with anger, with pain, and the emotion pierced
through him. He turned on his side, curled up to protect himself as the shrill
sounds continued to batter their way through him.

He
wasn't sure how long it went on, and then he became aware of a touch against
the back of his neck, urging him to lie flat again. A touch that wasn't Kat's,
but still, he uncurled his body, kept his eyes closed and did what was being
asked of him.

Another
touch, this time on his chest—soft at first, and then more insistent. Again,
not Kat's, Then the caress moved down toward his abs, and he froze.

No,
this ghost was giving off vibes for a direction he didn't swing.

Kat
knew that, and he knew her overprotectiveness would kick in shortly, but she
was going to let the spirit push it a little, because they both needed answers.

"Who
are you?" he asked, even as what felt like fingers tickled his sides.

"Dev
knows," it said, and Creed felt his shoulders and hips press to the floor.

It
was going to try to hold him down. Kat caressed his shoulders, her way of
telling him not to worry, to just listen.

Yeah,
easy for her to say. Because this spirit couldn't be trusted. Not that any
spirit could, really. They were all tricky.

A
thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, his right side pulsed with excess energy
and he could smell the electricity floating in the air that always accompanied
a true haunting.

People
liked to think that hauntings were nothing more than urban legends, scary
stories to tell around the campfire and laugh about later.

Oz
always used to say that ghost stories were not for little kids, and nothing at
all to joke about—ever.

"Tell
Devlin I'll be waiting for him, that I want him back," the spirit said,
and with one final touch to Creed's cheek, it was gone.

Creed
was well aware of his own breathing, ragged and harsh, and when Kat attempted
to help him, he jerked away.