Storm Rising

by Ronie Kendig

  Leif grunted and moved into the open. He went to one of the stumps and ran his hand over it. Rubbed his fingers together. “The culling is recent. The wood hasn’t even discolored.”

  They walked the shredded hillside to the far end where the trees began again and looked back. “Why would they do this?” It grieved her to see the trees and greenness gone, but she smiled at the heights. “I did not realize we were this high up.”

  Leif joined her, standing slightly behind her as he took in the view. “Incredible,” he said quietly.

  “Explains why someone built their hut here. It’s perfect.”

  “Agreed.”

  Iskra smiled up at him, and his gaze lowered to hers.

  Something altered in the planes of his face. The anger seemed to step aside, allowing civility a turn around their rocky relationship. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

  She was used to men saying this, but to have him say it, to see in his eyes that his words implied more than something superficial . . . it made her feel a little giddy and queasy. Earlier, he’d said her beauty was about more than looks, that he liked the way she thought. Why was he saying these things? To make her feel worse about using him for Veratti?

  “You been here before?”

  Somehow she knew he didn’t mean Burma but the tenuous, shifting sand of trusting a man who used people and situations as easily as she did. Either way, her answer was the same. “No.”

  The corners of his lips pulled up, not into his usual smirk but a partial smile. Then he shifted. Stepped around her. “Let’s keep moving. The storm is.”

  Curse him—he was adept at tying her mind in knots. With the things at stake in her life, she had to step up her game. Clear your debt, then see what’s left of you afterward.

  She took a step, but her boot stuck, then slid sideways. With a yelp, she flung out her hand for balance.

  A vise tightened around her wrist. Jerked her up straight. She looked at Leif, who’d achored himself to steady her. “Careful. It’s getting slick.”

  She slipped and swished up to where he stood on a rock. “The ground changed so suddenly.”

  When he reached toward her cheek, Iskra froze. His touch was feather-soft and quick against her cheek. “Mud on your face.”

  “Not the first time,” she rued.

  “Another thing we have in common, then.” He indicated behind her. “I think there was a rockslide recently. Probably from the tree harvesting.” He motioned in the direction she’d nearly fallen. A mound of rocks lay partially buried.

  “Think it’s safe?”

  “Probably not. Area’s saturated, unstable.” He glanced at the sky. “I think we’re about out of time, Meteoroi or not.”

  As if to echo this thought, a great thunderclap rattled the air and hurt her ears. She wobbled but caught his shoulder and shot him a nervous smile. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not sure we’d find anything here, even if we knew where to look. Or what we were looking for. It could be under all the muck. Let’s head back.”

  She warily considered the sky. “We’ll get drenched.”

  “Like rats.” He stepped from the boulder, and his legs whooshed out from under him. Lightning-fast, he snagged a branch and caught himself. With a grunt, forearms straining and bulging, he struggled not to slide away.

  She hooked an arm around a thin sapling and leaned toward him. “Leif, here!”

  Once steadied, he stretched out a hand. Not close enough. Mustering her courage in the ultimate game of trust, Iskra eased from the rock. Mud sluiced around her ankle and gripped it, refusing her stability. She strained toward him—still not close enough. She took another step. He gripped her hand, and together they hauled him off the edge.

  As if someone had opened the floodgates of heaven, rain dumped from the sky. Blinking through the blanket of water, she felt the ground loosening. Iskra sucked in a breath and snapped her gaze to his. Understanding lit his silvery eyes just as the earth shoved her at him.

  “Oof!” Leif clasped arms with her, then tightened his hold as he considered their route. He nodded toward the trees below. “Quick and safe.”

  Together, they stepped and slipped. Hurried down the hillside, their steps sliding as they put distance between them and that boulder. The deluge made it hard to see where to step. Her vision was blurred by hair and mud. She wiped her face and fought her way down.

  When they reached the clearing of stumps, the ground was softer without trees to thwart some of the rain. But with the deluge right over them and not moving out, the hillside didn’t have a chance. Neither did they.

  “Not going to make it,” Leif shouted over the elements.

  She sidestepped, descending the sloping spine. Booming thunder chased her. Lightning dodging her steps. Wind whipped and punched. Sight blurred, she picked her way down. Her boot struck something, and she pitched forward. Her hands sloughed across the slick surface, and her face nearly kissed the mud. Arching her head and neck backward, she slid. A long thin root brushed her fingers. She grabbed it, bark biting into her palms, but she didn’t care. She held on. Muck and rain splashed her mouth. Dirt gritted against her teeth. She spit but couldn’t erase the taste.

  Hands pulled her up. The root came with her.

  “The hut,” Leif shouted, his words reaching her ears like a distant roar. “The hut!”

  She nodded, and together they negotiated the churning terrain, slick and precarious. They had to descend a few feet to where the hut was embedded in the side of the hill. Leif slipped, flailing for purchase. Iskra caught his shirt and held on tight. He flipped around, then somehow snagged the edge of the hut, startling her—she hadn’t realized they were that close already. With a growl, he found the strength to drag her closer.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  She climbed up the plank ramp, and he shoved her over the edge. She swung around and grasped his arms as he clambered inside. She scrabbled to the back, where the elements did not invade. Most of the interior was wet from the lashing rain. Covered in mud, she huddled against the rear wall, hugging herself. Shaken. Trembling. It was cold, and the storm was far more powerful than she could’ve imagined.

  “You okay?” Leif’s words were hot and still distant against her ear.

  Muddy, chilled, sodden. But safe. She nodded. “This book”—she gulped air but tasted mud and swiped it away—“has put me in salt mines and mud baths. I should be the picture of health, but I’m like an art project gone wrong.”

  He snorted as he settled next to her. He sagged, his head tipped back against the wood slats. But her mind whirred—how long should they stay here? If the rains continued, what would happen to the already shifting hills? Could the hut break loose? The thought was too terrible to consider.

  * * *

  “See it?” Mercy glanced at Baddar, who stood behind her. “The rain has started. It’s like a gray blanket.”

  “Runt is there.” His brow furrowed with concern as he set the final crate of fruit on the stack. Villagers gathered what they needed into baskets.

  “I’m sure he’s okay.” This was why Dru had never allowed her to be a covert operative—she was a terrible liar, and her first and only op in Russia had proven that. Never again. But she had skills on the keyboard, which she wanted to use to find Andrew. Such an innocuous name. “I need to get on my laptop and locate that guy. I bet if we do that, we also get answers.”

  “You will find him,” Baddar said without an ounce of fakeness.

  “You almost sound convinced.”

  “I am,” he said. “You are the best. Leif say so.” He keyed his comms. “Six, come in. This is Four.”

  Static crinkled through the connection.

  Baddar repeated his message. He wiped his hands, eyeing the western ridge. Tried again. Same.

  “This is Five,” came Lawe’s voice. “What’s the situation?”

  “Heavy rains and concern for Six,” Baddar replied calmly, but there was nothing calm about the shad
ow in his face.

  “Copy that,” Lawe said. “Six will do his job. Let’s do ours and regroup.”

  Baddar’s lips pressed into a straight line. “Roger.”

  Mercy touched his arm. “Leif really is one of the best.”

  His brown eyes fell on her. Kindness and gentlessness oozed from him like a soothing balm. “I know. But he is also my friend.”

  Thus the reason for his concern. It was beautiful. “You two are like Bucky and the Captain. Well, except that Bucky had some serious things wrong with him after the experiments.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “So not a very good analogy.”

  She appreciated his playfulness. “No. But you are a very good man, Baddar Amir Nawabi.”

  “That is high praise from you.”

  “Just the truth.” She nodded to the truck, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw— Her heart jolted. “Him!”

  Baddar’s expression darkened as he turned.

  Mercy darted around the supply truck to the front end. Nobody. Around the other side. Nobody. She spun a circle, searching, heart racing.

  “What is it?”

  “That man I told you about—Andrew. I just saw him!”

  * * *

  “Got that Leupold on you?”

  “Oh. You wanted me to bring that?”

  Adam pivoted, scowling at the smirk he wanted to kiss off Peyton’s face. “Can I see it for a sec?” Though a beast of a scope, the Tracker’s thermal sensor had a range of 750 yards. That should get him close enough to maybe see what was happening.

  Waiting for her to pass it over, he eyed the ridge south of their location where a thick cloud shelf loomed. Chief wouldn’t be able to answer—too much interference. He was probably fine. He had more lives than a cat on crack.

  “You seriously want me to hand over my $1,300 brand-new Tracker HD scope?”

  Adam glared at her. “I just—”

  “Only because you bought it for me.” She slapped it into his hand.

  Man, she was holding a wicked grudge. He’d win her back eventually. Or die trying.

  He put the scope to his eye and scanned.

  “Anything?” Peyton shouldered in.

  “Negative,” he said, searching. “Rain’s like a freakin’ blanket.”

  A soft pressure on the scope opened his eyes to find her long fingers easing from a button—the thermals. He slid her a glance. “Aren’t you supposed to be scanning the area, Miss Sniper?”

  “Someone has my scope, Mr. Genius.”

  “I liked it better when you called me Sexy.”

  “I liked it better when you were.”

  He grunted a laugh but fell quiet as his brain registered a heat signature. Then another close by. “I fou—” Then another. Two more.

  What the . . . ? And another. The pattern . . . converging.

  Choosing not to panic—yet—he keyed his comms. “Six, this is Five. Come in. Over.” He waited, hoping for a break in the storm’s interference. “Six, come in.”

  Nothing. His pulse jacked.

  “What’s wrong?” Peyton asked.

  He checked the count again with the thermals. A flurry of panicked curses flew from his mouth.

  “Lawe,” Peyton said, “answer or give me the scope.”

  “Here.” He tugged her in front of him so she faced the same direction, and set the device before her. “Our one o’clock. Tell me you can hit that.”

  It took a second, but he heard her suck in a breath. Then, shifting and settling behind her rifle, Peyton did what she did best. Lined up the shot while he made calculations for her.

  She shook her head. “He’s too far.”

  Adam cursed again.

  She glared.

  “Don’t look at me like that. We have to move.”

  “What—”

  Adam keyed his comms. “Runt’s got six unfriendlies converging on him!”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  NEAR FALAM, CHIN STATE, BURMA

  “We’ll have to wait out the rain.”

  Leif and Iskra huddled close, the driving winds and rain chilling them to their bones. Body heat was precious, so they had to conserve and trap it. Wrapping his arm around her, their backs to the wall, was most effective, and he liked it. That was the betrayal. He wanted to be mad. Wanted to hold a grudge.

  Which had zero effectiveness except to breed more anger. And that would massacre the mission.

  Besides, he’d told her to stay close, and this was close. It also might work on her the same way, and maybe she’d open up. Fill in that middle circle on the diagram.

  She peered over her shoulder at him, concern in those eyes that were now hazel-gold, as if reflecting their wood shelter and its thatched roof. “Do we have time to hide out for long?”

  “If we want to stay alive, yeah.” He smirked. “We could end up in the sea with the way it’s coming down.” Fleeting warmth seeped between his right shoulder and her left, which jitterbugged from the dampness of her clothes.

  She leaned her head back, her ear and chin angled away from him, baring that long neck. Elegant. Tempting. He couldn’t deny the thoughts taunting him. But they had a mission.

  “If the Meteoroi created this,” he said slowly, “can we predict how long it’ll last?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Hristoff had his men operating it. The storm covered me a couple of times as I went in, but once I left, I have no idea how long it lasted or how the device even worked.”

  He nodded. “Well, as soon as the rain lets up enough, we’ll run for the bikes.”

  “Bikes in mud?”

  “Some handle it better than others, but we’ll try.” He hiked up a leg and propped his arm over it. “So, Peych uses the storms against you?”

  “Against me, for me.” She shrugged. “He uses anything and anyone to get what he wants.”

  Rolling his gaze toward her, he noted the curl in her lips that matched her tone. “Is that what the yacht was about?”

  Pain spirited through her expression. “Killing Vasily was personal.”

  Something on the wood floor caught his attention. “Personal how?” He toed it closer. Lifted it. A cable of some kind. He searched the walls and ceiling. No outlets or switches. Weird.

  “Vasily’s brother also worked for Hristoff.” She seemed to struggle against some thought. “Betrayed him.”

  “So Peych goes after the family members of everyone who betrays him?”

  “Not usually, but Vasily was helping me. I didn’t report in about the book right away but instead took it to Vasily first to have him give me a heads-up on what I’d secured. I knew if Veratti wanted it, then it was important. I needed leverage,” she said, then fell quiet before adding, “So that was another betrayal.”

  “How . . .” It felt wrong to ask how she’d become such a prize to Peychinovich. But it bugged him. Maybe because there was a question in that quagmire that he really didn’t want the answer to, and yet he did. “You’re important to him . . .”

  “He’s invested a lot of money in me.”

  Invested money. That sounded . . . disturbing. Ideas and implications exploded and left him nauseated, especially the more intimate implication. “He pays you?”

  “No, not really. I have an account with an allowance. Just enough to keep me from bugging him for money when I need a dress for an event he insists I attend. Or for me to secure necessary items while on a mission—though that’s another account. But it’s also so he can track me and my movements.”

  Leif shook his head. “He controls you.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she looked down.

  “I want to understand you . . . and him.”

  She shifted, her shoulder slipping beneath his as she raised her head. “There is no me and him.”

  He stared into eyes so like an abyss, luring him in, closer. “Then why do you go back?”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?” he asked, frustrated. What was in that middle circle? “Please—he
lp me understand what makes you so loyal to him, when I see a very different message in your face when you look at me.”

  Her mouth parted slightly. “Why I go back has nothing to do with him.”

  “And yet there is no conviction behind your words.”

  A scowl touched her brow but then vanished. She ducked.

  “What did you do that’s so terrible? What is he holding over you?”

  “Why would you ask those things?”

  “Because for the life of me, I can’t make sense of this. You’re an amazing woman. Fierce. A fighter. You find ways out—you escaped an impenetrable facility, outdid me—twice.”

  “And nearly died, but a man saved me.”

  He cupped her face. “What is it, Iskra? Let me in. Tell me. Let me help.”

  Her chin quivered. She shook her head. “I wish you could. I really do.”

  He tugged her to his chest and held her, enlivened when her hand rested on his abs. He sighed and leaned his head back. What was he supposed to do? How did he draw her out? God always threw the life preserver that messed-up, selfish humans desperately needed, right when they needed it. Right at the point of breaking, when they’d actually grab on.

  Help me be that for her, God.

  You are that, a whispered reply assured.

  Yeah, that made zero sense.

  “Why aren’t you mad at me?” she asked.

  Leif drew his chin back to peer down at her. “What?”

  She pushed more firmly against him, as if she was hiding. “I betrayed you. Used you. You have every right to hate me.” Finally, she lifted her head. “Why don’t you?”

  You are that.

  She really was beautiful. His words earlier had slipped past his guard. But her eyes were round and bright. A sprinkle of freckles on her olive complexion leant her a mischeivious look—which was partially hidden beneath mud splatters. Stringy, mud-caked strands of hair plastered her cheek.

  “We are more than the sum total of our actions.” He brushed the hair from her face, tracing her jawline. He swiped his thumb around her chin, her lower lip. He saw what he wanted, ached to test those lips. Test this electricity between them. What would she do? Her eyelids were hooded with the same ache, the same curiosity roiling through him.