Fated To The Soldier Fox (Special Ops Shifters: Dallas Force Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  Jack let out a long, low breath, not quite a sigh. There wasn’t a whole lot to consider. Someone was out there making threats, potentially planning to harm innocent people, and Jack might be able to stop him. “I’ve got a few arrangements I’ll have to make. I need to get back to you. How much time do I have?”

  Winston frowned. “As little as possible, as always. The faster we get this figured out and taken care of, the sooner we can move on to more threats. You know there are always more, man.”

  “I’m not looking for a full-time gig,” Jack reminded him. “If I wanted to dive back into the game like that, I wouldn’t have left the Army.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just saying you never need to be bored.” He gave Jack a smile and a wink.

  “Is this your regular side job now, slinging beer to the dregs of society? Or will I need to go talk to the head chef at a French restaurant when I need to reach you again?” Jack teased. He knew Winston loved his disguises, and not simply because he’d been able to make a living with them.

  “Oui, monsieur,” Winston replied in a perfect Parisian accent. “Or perhaps you’ll head to the docks to talk to a lowly barge worker about a new position.”

  “Right.” Jack’s face split in a grin. “I’ll see you around.”

  * * *

  Jack was the first to arrive in the conference room. He eased into the comfortable leather chair and ran his hand along the grain of the mahogany table. The TV and other equipment the SOS Dallas Force used to communicate with their D.C. unit as well as Ash Cunningham, one of their consultants in Alaska, was all top-of-the-line, provided by Taylor Communications. The conference room was part of the lavish and very secret headquarters that had been remodeled specifically for their needs. While some of the members chose to continue living in their own homes, Jack had opted for the rather nice apartments that had been made a part of the complex as well. Everything he could have possibly needed was there.

  It was an opulent lifestyle compared to how he’d lived when he was working overseas. Jack had slept inside tents that were so constantly battered by the wind, they might have blown away at any second. He’d huddled in dark corners to catch a few moments of shuteye before jumping back to his feet to fight the enemy or help a prisoner escape. Even on the rare occasion when he’d managed a night in one of the reinforced tents on a base, he still had to worry about scorpions and other unwelcome critters wriggling into his bed. He’d eaten more MREs than he cared to remember, and he’d sampled some very questionable foreign food that he’d rather not know the actual ingredients of. All in all, he’d left a rough, seat-of-his-pants type of life that was hard to imagine going back to.

  “You all right?” asked a low, twangy voice that jerked Jack out of his reverie and back into the present moment. “You look like you found a hole in your pasture fence.” Vance was a rancher outside of his work with the Dallas Force, and if Jack hadn’t already known, he’d have been able to tell by the dirt around the hems of his black Levi’s and the scuffs on his Ariats.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  “Must be some heavy stuff.” Vance stepped over to a side table and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Need a little something to give your brain a boost?” he asked, gesturing to the pot.

  “No, thanks. I’ve had enough for the day.” And he truly had. He’d slowly sipped a cup as he got ready that morning, and he’d had several more while he brooded over his options. By the time he’d gotten into the conference room, he could already feel the caffeine thrumming through his veins, and it hadn’t done a thing to help him with this decision.

  Max strode in just then, holding out his travel mug. “I’ll gladly take a fill-up,” he said with a grin. “It’s been one hell of a night. Did you hear about that traffic accident out on 114? I was working it.”

  Vance shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone so happy about a car wreck.”

  “You’re just pissed that no one uses horses for transportation anymore,” Max teased. “And it’s not that I’m happy about the fact that people were hurt. It’s just that working on the air ambulance team has been so much more satisfying. I’m actually doing something rewarding with my life. Luxury Air Tours and all those rich assholes can suck it.” Indeed, Max looked much happier than Jack could ever remember seeing him. There was always that grim determination he saw in any shifter’s eyes when they were working a mission, but it was like Max’s overall life had completely changed in the last few months since he’d reconnected with his mate and found a new civilian job.

  “Right,” Jack said slowly. “It’s all about the job. It doesn’t have anything to do with going home and getting to play doctor with Sabrina at the end of the night.”

  Max swiped a fist in his direction, missing purposely. The gesture carried with it the swift and smooth movements of the tiger Max was inside, and the satisfaction in his eyes brought the same reminder. “You can make fun all you want. You’re just jealous, and I’m not going to let that ruin my good time.” He grinned again as he moved around the table to his seat. “Better than sitting at home in front of a computer every night while beating off to PornHub like you.”

  Jack laughed. “Whatever you say, man.”

  “What should either of us be jealous for, anyway?” Vance asked. “I’m as free as a tumbleweed, with only my ranch and this job to tie me down every now and then. I don’t need a woman bossing me around.”

  “You say that, but I’ve seen you with the ladies,” Max remarked. “You want to pretend you’re some rough cowboy, but as soon as you see a pretty face, you’re running after them. Don’t kid a kidder, Vance.”

  Jack pursed his lips, quickly sinking back into deep thoughts again. He wasn’t old by any means, but he wasn’t getting any younger, either. His lifestyle had stopped him from really ever settling down, not just in the sense of finding his mate, but in the sense of getting to know himself and other people. His work in the Army had kept him isolated and on the move, and the Dallas Force wasn’t much different.

  The meeting started as they checked in with the D.C. unit and discussed what missions they had coming up. Jack took mental notes, trying to decide when he should broach the subject. After all, he couldn’t just ditch the Force. The Specials Ops shifters were the closest thing he had to a family those days, and disappearing for a while without explanation wasn’t going to sit well with them.

  “I think that about wraps it up,” Max finally announced, tossing back the last of his coffee and standing.

  “Actually, there’s something else.” Jack briefly explained Winston’s request for assistance. “It sounds like a pretty big deal, and I think I’ve got to go.”

  “Government work,” Vance mused. “Sounds risky.”

  “I know it. But if Winston’s right and this little terrorist cult is made up of shifters, then we’ve got a lot more to worry about than just someone blowing up a federal building. We’re talking about recruitment, exposure, all sorts of disasters that we may not be able to handle if we don’t get it under control right now.” That had been bothering him ever since Winston had mentioned it. How many shifters were being preyed upon by this man? How many of them were willing to follow him because they were desperate for that pack mentality that was a natural inclination for their animal sides?

  Max bit his lip. “And it’s here in the States?”

  Jack nodded. “Right now, the mission’s base is in Kentucky. Winston wouldn’t give me the actual location of where we’ll be headed afterward until I come on board.”

  Vance glanced at the pilot and back at Jack. “We’ve got a few things on the list for the week, but it’s nothing the two of us can’t handle. And Ash did say he might be coming down for a bit, so we know we’ll have some backup in the area. I say you do what you feel is right, and we’ll find a way to make it work.”

  The tiger nodded his agreement.

  “All right,” Jack replied. A heavy feeling had settled in his stomach, but the weight of the d
ecision had been taken off his shoulders. “I guess that’s it, then.”

  2

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as we prepare to land, please turn off all electronic devices, stow your items, and buckle your seat belts. The weather in Washington, D.C. is bright and sunny today, and we expect a nice, smooth landing. Thank you.”

  Erica Brewer closed her book with a sigh and tucked it into the pocket of the seat in front of her. She reached for her seatbelt, only to realize she hadn’t bothered unhitching it during the flight in the first place. She’d been too absorbed in her reading to bother, and she flew often enough that peering out the airplane window no longer enthralled her as much as it had before she’d started working for the Department of Homeland Security.

  The man next to her rubbed his thighs and bobbed back and forth in his seat. A sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. “So, where you from?” he asked with a shaking voice.

  His fear inundated her brain. Instantly, Erica could feel the sensation of adrenaline in her veins and tightness in her chest. Her own body wasn’t actually reacting that way, but her empathic mind was a powerful tool. She sucked in a deep, meditative breath, a defensive tactic she’d learned a long time ago. “I’ve moved around a lot. I’m not really from anywhere.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The man ran a hand through his hair and left it standing on end. “I’m from Chicago, originally. The nice thing about that town is there’s so much there, you never really have to leave. No need to fly anywhere. Want to go to a museum? Got plenty of ‘em. In the mood for a football game? Got a nice big stadium. Of course, you have to be a Bears fan to enjoy that part.” He let out a forceful laugh.

  “Right.” She gave him a smile. The poor guy was clearly terrified of flying. Why did she always get seated next to people like that? She understood that everyone had their fears, but it made her wonder if the universe had put her in the position of comforting strangers. “So, what puts you in the air today?”

  “I’m supposed to get a promotion, but that means I have to come out here for training. I wanted to just drive, but there wasn’t enough time. I know they say it’s a lot safer to fly, with traffic accidents, carjackings, and whatnot.” He sucked in a gasping breath. His own attempts to convince himself weren’t working well. “I used to think flying was neat. But not after September 11th. I just can’t help but look around at everyone else on the plane and wonder why they’re here and what they’re up to.”

  “An incident like that isn’t very likely,” Erica said in her most soothing voice. “That was really unusual. Besides, the government has put a lot of measures in place to keep us all safe. They know what to look for now.” She was heavily involved in that part of the government herself, although her work all happened on the ground.

  “Sure, they say that.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt violently, as if it’d been choking him. “But then I saw this show that said the TSA is all just a front. They don’t really keep us safe; they just make us think we’re safe while they’re taking away our liberties and our shoes.”

  Erica pressed her lips together. She’d heard every argument in the book, but she still believed the Department of Homeland Security was doing everything in its power to keep the U.S. citizens as safe as possible. Nothing was perfect, but she’d certainly worked her own ass off and had taken down quite a few threats. “You know, maybe the best thing is to just distract yourself. I like to bring along a book when I fly and just lose myself in it.” She gestured toward the volume she’d just tucked away.

  The poor man glanced at the title and then back at her, and now the sweat was dripping down his temples. “Iran?” he asked shakily. “You’re reading about Iran? Aren’t they one of our sworn enemies? Don’t they threaten this country all the time? I read something the other day about how they have a whole army of computer hackers, and they could take us down with one vicious cyberattack.”

  He was getting hysterical, beyond the normal fear of takeoff and landing that she usually witnessed. Erica glanced out the window at the swiftly approaching ground. The last thing she needed was for this guy to completely freak out next to her. She was already tired from the mission she’d just finished, and she was getting ready to dive straight into another one with almost no recovery time. No one realized just how hard it was on her to deal with a situation like this. She wasn’t like most folks, who could just sit back and ignore it.

  Instead, she moved her hand ever so slightly so that it rested on the back of his forearm. With the crowded confines of the airplane, it wasn’t all that unusual to touch your neighbor accidentally, so the intentional move wasn’t such a stretch. She sent peaceful, happy energy down her arm, through her hand, and into the man’s body. In Erica’s mind, it was a beautiful blue light with threads of white and gold running through it. This light was something she’d come to use as a tool over the years, and she knew it was a very effective one. “What did you say your name was?”

  He hadn’t said, but he was too scared to remember that. “Scott.” The plane jumped with turbulence, and his body tensed under her hand.

  “Scott, that’s right. My name is Erica.” She fought back the negative energy that tried so hard to work its way into her own body. Though her eyes were open and she could clearly see the interior of the plane around her, she could see his own flashing thoughts overlaid on the image. He was wondering if she was one of them, a terrorist, and he could almost envision her whipping out a tiny knife and taking over the entire aircraft with it. It was beyond probability and even possibility, since there was likely an air marshal on board. But her book about Iran had got him worrying about that on top of his concerns about crashing. Over and over again, he’d imagined the plane crashing into the asphalt, the fuselage ripping to pieces around them, his body being found mixed in with the wreckage. His anxiety was exhausting.

  “Everything is going to be all right,” she said, forcing his worries aside and pushing her own positive vibes toward him. This didn’t always work, depending on how accepting the other person was. Erica didn’t even like manipulating people’s thoughts this way if she could help it. The process wore her out, and it felt morally wrong. Still, this man needed her. “I can promise you that we’re going to touch down on the runway with little more than the bump of the wheels, and the next thing you know, you’ll be walking into the airport to buy overpriced souvenirs.”

  “You think so?” The tension was slowly leaching out of his muscles, but she didn’t quite have him yet.

  “I know so.” Did she really know that? This was something she’d questioned herself many times over. There had been no visions of anything untoward happening. The only images of fire and chaos in her mind had come from the man next to her. Erica sometimes took comfort in knowing she hadn’t had any foresight of disaster, but she also knew this was no actual guarantee. For all the power of her mind, she couldn’t see everything. Still, it was better to convince this man that everything would be all right.

  “Yeah.” He nodded, smiling a little at his own foolishness. “You’re right. I mean, people fly all the time. They wouldn’t keep doing it if it wasn’t at least somewhat safe. And hey, the ride is almost over.”

  Her blue light and the affirmative energy in it had won. She patted Scott’s arm right as the plane banked, swooped down toward the runway, and lifted her stomach slightly. She kept her hand in place just in case he needed her again. “That’s right. Isn’t it funny how our imaginations can run away with us?”

  The plane landed with the bump she’d predicted, and the pilot’s braking sent them scooting slightly forward in their seats, but they soon taxied to the terminal. The only chaos came from the passengers as they bumped and pushed around each other to retrieve their items from the overhead bins and make their way down the narrow aisles.

  * * *

  “I know you’ll be putting an official writeup on my desk by tomorrow morning, but initial reports make it sound like everything went well.” Randall Holt leaned against her offi
ce doorway, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  Her eyes hurt from missing sleep, and traveling back to D.C. had made her muscles sore. Yet there she was at her office, first thing in the morning as required. “Of course. I had it all handled without a problem.”

  “Mmm.” Mr. Holt looked down into his mug. “I hope you give a few more details than you did in the last report. I have the distinct impression you’re skimming over some important information.”

  She consciously kept herself guarded as she looked at him. Erica couldn’t afford to give anything away, especially not to someone like Mr. Holt. He was her boss, but only because he’d been promoted after Mr. Mitchell had retired. Mitchell had hired her readily and liked her work, and he’d never questioned her as long as she got the results the department wanted. Randall Holt was only looking out for himself, and he didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t completely in his control. “Why would you say that?”

  Randall sneered. “Don’t play innocent with me. You think just because you’re a woman, you can get away with that kind of shit around here. It’s the same in the field for you, too. Mitchell might’ve bought your ‘feminine intuition’ crap that always saved the day, but I don’t. I want cold, hard facts.”

  Erica straightened in her desk chair. She’d dealt with her share of sexist jerks in this field, and it was clear to her that things weren’t going to get better anytime soon. “Cold, hard facts are fine when it comes to who went where and when. But if you want to know why someone acts the way they do, you can’t always rely on such things. People are just wild animals inside, really.”

  Holt’s eyes narrowed. He was a short man, and he could never find suits that fit him quite right, nor did he bother to have the pants hemmed. It always made Erica think of a little boy who’d put on his father’s Sunday best while he pretended to be an adult. “That’s more bullshit. Cold, hard, frigid facts are all I need, and that’s what you’re going to have to give me if you want to keep working in this field.”