Storm Rising

by Ronie Kendig

  He wasn’t willing to let go. Not yet. And it seemed she wasn’t either.

  Though he had an instinct to pull her close again, he knew she’d resist.

  “She’s what you wanted to trade,” he managed. “The girl—your daughter for the book.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  NORTH BASE CAMP, EL GORAH, EGYPT

  “You want freedom.” Leif’s ominously quiet voice was tinged with an edge, “for you and your daughter.”

  “No,” she said with more vehemence than she’d intended. Then she laughed. “Not for me.” Nobody could understand. Not even the noble Leif Metcalfe with his perfect manners and heroic character. Though he’d try.

  When only silence hung in the air, when he didn’t ask her to clarify, she glanced at him. Something in his pale eyes tore at her, tugged on loose threads attached to her control, her entire life. One more tug and . . .

  She shoved off the wall, moving away from him and the vulnerability he seemed to siphon from deep within her soul.

  “Why not for you?” he asked. “Your daughter needs you.”

  “She doesn’t need me.” She wiped her nose.

  “How can you say that? Look what he did—”

  “He wasn’t supposed to—” She bit off the words. “Hristoff protects what’s his.” You sound idiotic. Iskra shrugged, trying to avoid the images that played havoc in her mind. But all she could see was Bisera’s terrified, tear-stained face. The cuts. Bruises. All she could hear were those pitiful cries and heartrending shrieks. What nightmare had she been experiencing because Iskra was gone?

  That question pushed Iskra onto the vinyl mattress, and she covered her mouth. As if she could stifle the grief. As if she could keep it in. She’d been keeping it in for so long.

  Leif knelt before her. “Iskra, help me understand.”

  “Help you understand? How—when I don’t understand?” She shook her head, looking down again. “He wasn’t supposed to—it’s worked. It’s worked all this time.”

  “What’s worked?”

  “Hristoff protects what he sees as his.” She hugged herself tightly. “I shouldn’t have run with you in Turkey.” She’d made a fatal decision there. She’d been weak. Desperate. “If I had gone back with him, she would be okay.”

  “But for how long? Iskra, this isn’t going away. You have to do something. For you and your daughter.”

  “Bisera has a chance,” she conceded. “If I can get back there with the USB—”

  Leif screwed up his face. “You seriously think handing him that corrupted USB will buy freedom for you two? He’s not the type of man to let things go, especially not—”

  “Don’t think you know anything about him or me.”

  “I know his kind, Iskra. I’ve fought them.”

  She gave a morbid laugh. “Not Hristoff—you haven’t faced him. Trust me, you’ll lose. Every time.” She’d blamed Leif, but she needed to blame herself. How could she have thought anyone would make a difference? Mean a different outcome? “I need to go back.”

  “I thought you intended to work with Veratti.”

  “There is no time—going to Veratti uses up whatever time Bisera has left. The corrupted scans will appease Hristoff, buy me a chance to get her out.” Yes, this could work. She touched her forehead, planning. Hristoff would see it. He’d understand she hadn’t betrayed him. See that she’d brought him something priceless. “Then, once I get the book back, I’ll find Veratti. Somehow. Get Bisera to safety.” She nodded, convincing herself. “It’s the only way.”

  “You’re not that stupid.”

  His words seared like a hot dagger, running through her armor and straight into her thundering heart. “Obviously I am,” she growled, “because I’m here with you instead of back there where I can do something. Keep Hristoff distracted. Happy.”

  Revulsion washed through Leif’s face, and he drew back, shaking his head. “How long? How long have you been living like that?”

  “When haven’t I?” She laughed, but it was empty. “And it never changes.” She could feel venom heating her words. “Every man wants the same thing, and when he’s done, when he’s gotten what he wants, he’s gone. Finds a new adventure.”

  “Is that what I am now?”

  She lifted her chin. Shrugged.

  “So I’ve gone from the one man who tempted you to hope, to being relegated to ‘every man’?”

  “You are every man, because Hristoff will kill you like the others.”

  “Others.” His eyebrows rose. “Wow. How many have you—”

  She slapped him.

  He surged closer. “That—that wasn’t the slap of someone who just sees me as ‘every man.’”

  She swallowed. Rose and stepped away, too startled that he’d again homed in on her true feelings. That line of conversation wasn’t doing anyone—especially her—any good. “I . . . I must go back. It’s the only way Bisera will be safe.”

  “Safe?” His eyes flared. “Listen to yourself. How does this even make sense to you?”

  “It is the only sense that exists,” she hissed. “What would you tell me to do? Escape? Run with her?”

  “Yes!”

  “I tried.” She tugged aside her shirt, revealing the scar along her shoulder. “He taught me a lesson. Is this”—she stabbed a finger at the discolored flesh—“what you want for a child? Is that what I’m supposed to give Bisera? Tell me, Leif. You’ve already called me stupid. You’ve already said I’m not making sense. Tell me what I’m supposed to do!” Her screams bounced off the walls, smacking back to her and loosing tears. “Because I’ll do it. I’ve tried! Tried everything!” In the silence after her railing, she sagged. Saw the disgust on his face. “You think me a demon to leave a child with him.”

  “I don’t,” Leif said, frowning.

  She didn’t want his sympathy. Or his chastisement. “Just . . .” She drew in a shaky breath, her throat raw. “I . . . I have a plan. So I have to go back.”

  “Peychinovich just beat the crap out of your daughter, and you think he’s going to listen to anything you say?” Leif shoved a hand through his hair.

  “I know how to placate him.” She disembodied herself from the words. From the repulsive truth.

  “No,” he said definitively. “No more of that.”

  “I appreciate your testosterone-laden heroism, but I will do what I have to so Bisera has a chance for a good life. I have a plan. It’ll . . . work.” She hated her own uncertainty.

  “For how long?” he challenged.

  “I don’t need long.” She tried to convince herself that she could do anything for a while. “I have a friend,” she finally explained. “She’ll take the child. Hide her.”

  “I’ll help.”

  Iskra started. Toed the edges of that dangerous line again.

  “Just one thing.” His tone was soft. His gaze was soft. His touch was soft as he traced her face and jaw, vibrating jitters through every nerve in her body. “Tell me why you don’t call her your daughter.”

  She sniffed.

  “You call her ‘Bisera,’ ‘child,’ and ‘little girl,’ but I’ve never heard you say ‘my daughter.’”

  “I’ve spoken of her, what, two, three times?” she scoffed. “And you’re making a judgment—”

  “Maybe she’s not really your daughter.”

  Fury erupted through her. “Of—”

  “But you’ve perfected the art of not feeling, so I think she is your daughter.” He thumbed his jaw. “Owning her like that, using the words ‘my daughter,’ makes it personal. Affirms that connection. But you keep everyone at bay. You refuse help from people because they’ll fail you one way or another. Deny attachments because they only mean one of two things: a threat against your person, or that you present danger to them.”

  She should not be surprised—he had read her soul since they first met. But this was insanely accurate. “So not only heroic but a psychologist, too?”

  “I know what it looks li
ke because I’ve lived it, too.”

  And another surprise. He was racking them up today. What did he mean, he’d lived it? “I really doubt that.”

  He stepped closer. “Why do you think I know you so well?”

  “You have my dossier.”

  “Ancillary details not connected to your character.” Inching forward, he smirked. “Let me help, Iskra. Let me do that for you.”

  It was hard to think with his nearness. He’d erased all proper distance, making her acutely aware of his presence. His eyes and their earnestness. His lips and the promises they spoke. His hands and the way he’d saved her in the ocean, held her in Burma. Brought that child to safety in Egypt. The memory staggered through her resistance. His gaze bounced around her face, probing the depths of her soul.

  “Why?” she asked, swallowing. Wishing—despite the gravity of their conversation—to kiss him again.

  He angled in, and she realized they were having the same thoughts, the same difficulty with those thoughts. “Because.” His breath whispered at the edge of her mouth. “We make a good team. We’re on the same wavelength.”

  Could he hear the unsteady cadence of her breathing? Of her heart? Her defiant heart that said she couldn’t trust him. Was he like every other man who’d wanted this from her, then vanished?

  Therein lies your out. Distraction was easy. Effective. He wanted to help. Wanted to believe he could do what no man had done before.

  “How?” she asked.

  The tension in his brow surrendered, like storm clouds giving way to sunshine. “I promise you,” he said, words taut with conviction and—oh mercy!—attraction as his hand landed on her waist, “we’ll figure it out. Together. Get you out. Both of you, Iskra.” He leaned forward, their noses touching. “Both.”

  Curse her body and its reaction—mouth opening as he spoke. Tasting his words. She berated herself. He would only repeat the words if he didn’t believe them. Or if he thought she didn’t believe him. “Not fair,” she whispered, “using my weakness against me.”

  His hand slid around her waist. “Am I your weakness?”

  He was. Had been from the start. It was a side of her—the weaker, less side—that felt a stirring of giddiness at the way he looked at her now, his longing obvious. But also at the words he’d spoken. The injection of that accursed hope. At the ridiculous notion she could actually be free. That Leif was different.

  He’s not. Distract and desert, Delilah.

  The tingle of his whiskers against the edge of her lip made her pull in a breath. And she hated herself for it. He was distracting her, his touch hot against her waist. His lips searching for a landing.

  But she already had her own plan. Deviating meant risking all she’d worked for. That couldn’t happen. Bisera had to be free.

  Trust him, Iskra. He’s better than the others.

  Maybe. But if she was wrong? If it was merely attraction to the man who had her nearly pinned to the wall, was it worth Bisera’s freedom?

  “I saw you rescue that little girl,” she said.

  He searched her eyes.

  “I wanted so badly for that to be Bisera you were rescuing.”

  A hesitant frown flicked through his handsome features.

  “So . . . yeah.” She cupped his face. Rose on her tiptoes. And kissed him.

  He tensed. But Iskra lingered, surprised at the magnetism that shocked her system, syncing them. His mouth captured hers, and she arched into him, circling her arms around his shoulders. He caved. His hands spread to the small of her back, tugging her closer as he deepened the kiss. He was electric. Different, beautiful. Strong. Intense—but also kind. Honest. Funny.

  He moaned, but then it turned to a growl. He jerked back. Fingers locked behind his head, he turned away.

  Bereft of his touch, Iskra swallowed. What are you doing? You were just supposed to distract him. Not offer him what Valery took. Her cheeks heated, stunned by herself.

  “I won’t—” His voice cracked, and he faced her. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I think we both had an ulterior motive that just backfired on us.”

  The truth startled her. She lowered her head. “Guess it wasn’t good enough. You jerked away pretty hard.”

  He rumbled a laugh. “That was because—first, kissing you is like falling into the ocean—almost no chance of getting out alive.”

  Wow. That was some compliment.

  “Second, I want you to believe that when we kiss, it’s not because I want to sleep with you. I mean—yes, that’s where that act starts, but . . .” He shoved a hand over his shorn hair. “I’m screwing this up.”

  “If that’s not what you want, what do you want, Leif?”

  Sincerity tugged at his features. “To reach you, Iskra. The real you. Not Viorica.” He shrugged. “When you look at me, I see the wounds that keep her at the forefront. I see the frightened girl who thinks she only has one way to get what she wants.” He pointed to the mattress. “The woman crying after seeing her daughter beaten? That’s Iskra Todorova. I want her.”

  They’d only known each other for a short time. And he expected a person she barely recognized anymore to show up in his arms?

  “I know the entire basis of what we have has been embroiled in opposition and confrontation, but”—he let out a sigh and shook his head—“I want you to trust me.”

  “Trust is overrated.” She hated the acid in her words, but it kept her alive.

  “Trust is vital,” he countered, “especially if we’re going to get you and your daughter to safety. Or are you too selfish to try?”

  “For her—everything I do is for Bisera.”

  After another smirk, she realized his point: she still hadn’t called Bisera her daughter.

  “Runt.” Mercy appeared at the door. “They’ve got something. We need you in the briefing room. I think they’re going to send us out.”

  * * *

  “The orb,” Braun said from the live feed as the team gathered, “is sophisticated. We’ve never seen anything like it. What we can decipher is that it has a receiver and a transponder.”

  Leif groaned, his thoughts echoed by Lawe. Admittedly, it was hard to yank his mind out of the conversation—and that kiss!—with Iskra. But if they were going to defeat ArC and its psychos, he had to get his head in the game.

  “That means, as you’re already guessing, that it can receive and send information, but it’s not the origination device. That’s what we need to find. Where is the device communicating with it, the one delivering the silver iodide? And who’s controlling it? Who came up with it?” Braun looked to Iskra, eyebrows raised.

  “That I do not know. I only heard the conversation once,” Iskra said. “Hristoff had a piece—an orb, I guess, though I never saw it myself.”

  “Is it possible there are other orbs?”

  “I suppose it’s possible and would also make sense. If they gave him the orb but refused him the mechanism—that would anger him.”

  She’d seen a lot of anger from him, hadn’t she? That was probably how she’d become so skilled at working people.

  “You have no idea what I’ve had to do to survive.”

  That pig was sick. He’d bought her. Raped her. Fathered a child on her.

  Anger corkscrewed through Leif, thinking of Iskra’s daughter, whom the perv had held to the camera. Displayed her bruises. Proud of the injuries. Proud he had a way to tighten the shackle around Iskra’s neck.

  Because of men like him, God had made warriors like Leif. To do violence on behalf of the innocent.

  “I’ve had Cell monitoring activity and unusual patterns,” Iliescu said. “Unsurprisingly, more locations around Africa are getting hit.”

  “Any word from ArC or any hint as to their end game?” Leif asked. “Why are they altering the weather in these areas? I mean, so far we’ve seen Burma, Egypt, and now you’re saying more in Africa?” He didn’t like being on this continent. It was too close to his missing answer
s.

  “No word, and trust me, we’re digging deep and hard,” Iliescu growled. “Assets on the ground are pushing and probing. We’ve put out word that we’re willing to pay big for intel about these artificial storms. Hopefully, applying that heat will force them to rush their timeline and make mistakes we can seize upon. I want to get in front of this thing before they destroy the world.”

  “Bit dramatic, ain’t it?” Culver asked.

  “That’s the point, I think,” Iliescu said. “If ArC can show people they control the weather, they’ll put the fear of God in them. People, governments, and countries will do whatever ArC wants to stop the destruction. And I think that’s what they’re after. Bringing down these locations, seizing the land. I doubt they even care about the people.”

  “I still cannot believe we’re battling someone who wants to make Armageddon happen, rather than stop it.” Lawe scratched his beard as he tipped back his chair.

  “The places you’re sending us—what’re you seeing out there?” Saito asked.

  “Purcell?”

  “We all know about the unusual weather patterns, so I refined the search parameters to add the strange smell,” Cell explained. “A few hot spots came up, but the biggest concerns right now are the Angolan coast and Botswana. There are increased storms there, a rapid escalation of tornadic activity, and general chaos because it’s Carnival in Angola.”

  “Carnival?” Saito asked.

  “Shrove Tuesday,” Leif said.

  “Right,” Cell continued with a nod. “Shrove Tuesday is the last day before the long fast for Lent. It has many names, including Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, the Tuesday of Carnival, and Pancake Day. Huge celebration. The bigger the better. The shinier the better. Parades and parties galore.”

  Saito shifted. “A big storm with tornados could produce hail. Injure or kill all those partying people.”

  “Exactly the problem, not to mention whatever nefarious purpose ArC has for hitting the coast.” Again, Cell nodded. “The other possibilities were either too late or didn’t have enough intel to confirm. So for now we focus on Angola and Botswana. See what we can find.”