Delta Force: Six: Wayward Souls

by Norris, Kris

  “Pretty sure we’ve already consummated them.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her nose. “Multiple times.”

  “Fine, then it won’t get you that answer you wanted.”

  Six furrowed his brow, an adorable pout shaping his lips. “Answer? What answer?”

  “To what you asked me in the hotel room. It’s yes, by the way.” She smiled when he continued to stare at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I’m definitely planning on taking your last name.”

  She winked at his open-mouthed stare. At the sudden silence around them, again. “Kameron O’Reilly. I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”

  It took him a few tries of attempting to answer—opening and closing his mouth so many times Kam was tempted to kiss him, if for no other reason than to break him free from the shock. Then, he smiled. Not sweetly. It was pure sin, and sex, and love like she’d never seen before. And all for her.

  Six leaned in, brushing his mouth across hers without really kissing her. “It sounds perfect. Just like you. But, I want to hear you say it, again.”

  He motioned to their friends gathered around them. “With the entire team standing around us. Not even a hint of contraband in your system. So, how about we watch the video, make love, then rally the troops. Bet we can make Vegas and find a chapel by tomorrow night.”

  “Another trip to Vegas, huh? Let’s just hope you don’t need any more Hail Marys because I think all the good ones are gone.”

  “Definitely. I got the last, best one, Mrs. O’Reilly.”

  Excerpt ~ Delta Force: Crow

  “Why am I not surprised to discover it’s your asset who’s passed out in one of our detention cells, Devlyn? Why it’s always one of your assets.”

  Devlyn Adams ignored the biting tone sounding behind her, glancing at the director in the mirror as she finished taping the laceration across her lower ribs. Blood still oozed from the jagged wound, the surrounding flesh already starting to bruise. Great, now her right side would be crisscrossed with scars, too.

  She shrugged one shoulder, wincing as the strips pulled tight against her skin. “The situation got dynamic, and I had to improvise.”

  “I have upwards of twenty agents working covert operations in this facility, yet it’s only you that ever has to improvise to this extreme.” NSA Director Tom Smithers speared his fingers through his hair, destroying the perfectly combed style. The man looked more than a bit flustered, his usual calm demeanor long since faded. “As it stands, I had to send in two clean-up crews just to get the damn motel room put back together before someone called the cops. What part of ‘observe and report back,’ didn’t you understand? Because I’m pretty damn sure it means you’re not supposed to engage. And how the hell did a tech mule like her get the jump on you?”

  Devlyn tamped down the rush of heat sizzling beneath her skin, hoping any slashes of red across her cheeks would be dismissed as the aftermath from her injury. Because after the night she’d just had, the last thing she needed was to have her competence questioned. Not when she’d been questioning it enough for both of them since her last major assignment—a joint venture with the CIA—had blown up in her face. Several months and she still hadn’t lived it down. Atoned. So, having Smithers glare at her in the mirror wasn’t helping her claw back her confidence.

  She turned, exhaling slowly as she stared at the man standing no more than a couple feet away. “You know, I’m not sure what I find more insulting—that you’re pissed I did my job, or…” She waved at the wound. “You think that glorified secretary actually did this.”

  The man’s lips twitched as his gaze dropped to her side then back up. He crossed his arms over his chest, still glaring at her. “What, exactly, are you trying to say, Agent Adams? That you didn’t just fuck up two month’s worth of covert operations? That clocking your asset over the head and dragging her ass back to our facility—our undisclosed facility—was somehow for the greater good? Because not only will Ms. Brown know we’ve been spying on her, her damn superiors will know, too. Which means the chance of following this larceny ring back to the organization arranging the hits is a big fucking zero.”

  “I guess that depends on your definition of greater good.” She grabbed her top, clenching her teeth against the stabbing pain as she tugged it over her head. Thank god she always kept spare clothing at the office. Though, she wasn’t sure if needing it as often as she did made her dedicated or reckless. “And I was under the impression the main objective was to keep Ms. Brown alive so there’d be a trail to follow.”

  “Devlyn. My patience is waning.”

  “I had to improvise because Slader showed up.”

  Smithers narrowed his eyes. “Ian Slader?”

  “The one and only. And I’m pretty damn sure he wasn’t there to sell Ms. Brown cookies.” She reached into her pocket, handing over a small USB drive. “Luckily, I was able to grab this before I had to bug out. If what I heard through the wiretap is correct, the drive contains the location of whatever intel she was selling. It’s got some pretty impressive encryption—might take Penelope a bit to hack through it.”

  “Damn it.” Smithers pointed down the hallway. “My office. Now.”

  “Can I grab a drink, first? I hate taking Motrin without something.”

  Devlyn bit back a smile when Smithers mumbled a string of obscenities, heading off in front of her. She detoured to the kitchen, grabbing a pop before making her way to his door. He’d left it wedged open at a forty-five, the telltale murmur of voices drawing her to a halt. She listened for a few moments, trying to place the familiar tone when the room went silent.

  She cursed inwardly, drawing herself up before stepping into the office. Smithers stood behind his desk on the opposite wall, two chairs positioned on her side. Shaggy brown hair and a leather jacket occupied the seat on the right, the width of the man’s shoulders making her trip a step. She’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

  Christ, was it really him? Ryker Ward—aka Crow. Her ex-teammate. Ex-lover. Ex-everything. Were her hands shaking? Was her chest tight? Had Smithers turned the heat up? Blasted a vent directly at her because she was finding it hard to breathe. To freaking stand without crumbling to her knees, and not because of her injuries. It was all Ryker—Crow. And based on how crappy she felt—how much blood she’d lost, despite trying to hide it—now wasn’t the time for a reunion. Not if it involved him.

  Smithers motioned to the chair, raising a brow when she merely stood there, taking a few swigs from her drink, her gaze sliding to the other man then back to her boss. No way she could sit beside Crow. Not without wanting to kill the bastard. That, or shift onto him and ride him like a damn pony.

  Smithers snorted. “Just sit the hell down, Devlyn, before you fall down from loss of blood. Don’t think I missed how much was on that towel, or that you’d probably left a bunch more at the scene…and in your car…and…”

  Damn it. Busted.

  She waved for him to stop, motioning to the back of Ryker’s head. “I’ll sit just as soon as you tell my why the hell Crow’s occupying the other chair? Last time I checked, he’d bought a one-way ticket to ‘fuck you’.”

  Crow winced at the sound of his nickname. Since they’d fallen into bed together shortly after being assigned to the same JSOG unit, she’d always called him Ryker—a testament to their intimate connection. But using his former callsign helped her disconnect from the traitorous thump of her heart. The involuntary surge of excitement at simply seeing him, again. And she had a bad feeling she’d need every advantage she could muster if she wanted to face him without showing any weakness. Give him any kind of indication that she still harbored feelings for him, however unwanted they were.

  Crow chuckled, gaining his feet before twisting to face her. Her chest tightened painfully as her lungs froze. Just stopped working because, damn, the man’s features were stunning. Tousled hair that brushed his collar. The perfect amount of scruff shadowing his chin, and his eyes—she’d never seen any othe
r man with that shade of blue. Like neon-infused robin’s egg with a dark teal rim around the edge.

  She did a quick sweep of his body, praying he’d somehow lost his appeal. That the months away had left him haggard and scarred. Maybe taken the strength out of his muscles or added some kind of biblical curse of warts and oozing sores to his skin. But just her dumb luck he looked as handsome as the first day she’d met him. Maybe more so with the added bit of length to his hair. The obvious bulges hidden beneath the leather and denim. Had he gotten larger? Stronger? Spent the past several months at the gym moving as much iron as he could get his hands on? She didn’t know. Wished she didn’t care—hadn’t noticed—but she’d always been a sucker for a guy with an impressive physique, and Crow had it in spades. Add to the fact she knew every inch of that physique intimately, and she had little chance of stepping back behind the curtain. Of pretending she’d successfully buried her feelings for the man.

  Burned them? Sure. But the ashes were still smoldering. Still warming her skin, despite all she’d done to stamp them out.

  He smirked when her gaze finally landed on his face. “I told the director you’d be happy to see me. Glad you didn’t disappoint, Dev.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to see you as long as I can use my gun to say hello.” She took a calculated step forward. “As I recall, I still owe you a bullet—or six.”

  His expression sobered as he broke eye contact, scanning the room before settling on her, again. “If I’d known you’d been hurt—could have made it to the platform—”

  “Save it. Any explanation you might have offered is six months too late.” She looked at Smithers. “You’re obviously busy. I’ll come back when you’re ready to discuss Slader.” She spun when the floor creaked behind her.

  “That’s far enough, Agent Adams.” Smithers’ voice boomed through the small space, making the hairs on her nape prickle, and she was surprised his glass shelves didn’t shatter from the resulting sound wave. “I know you and Agent Ward have history, but…” He waved at the chair when she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Sit.”

  She pursed her lips, wondering if she’d make it down the hallway before either of the men caught her when the room dimmed a bit. She took a stumbling step forward, nearly tripping against the open door when a hand snagged her arm, tugging her against a wall of solid muscle. She blinked, giving her head a slight shake as some of the dizziness lifted, leaving her staring into a stunning sea of blue.

  How had he moved that fast? Covered the several feet separating them in the space of a heartbeat? Or had she lost track of time? Blacked out on her feet for a few moments before stumbling? Either way, standing there, staring up at him shouldn’t have her inhaling. Make her want to push onto her toes and taste that scowl. Brush her thumb along the furrows in his brow. Smooth them out.

  Crow tsked, grabbing her drink and placing it on Smithers’ desk before forcefully maneuvering her over to the chair. “Sit, or you’ll need more than a row of Sterie Strips to keep the blood on the inside of you.” He cocked his brow in that annoying way that made her want to smack the backside of his head. “I assume that’s what you used to patch whatever’s hiding beneath your shirt, because god forbid you’d actually have a doctor stitch something closed.”

  She pulled against his hold when he crowded her, his face an inch from hers. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need a doctor.”

  “No, you need to stop being so damn reckless.”

  “Ditched you as my teammate, didn’t I? I’d say that was a huge step in the right direction.”

  He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he stared at her before sighing. “Dev. Just…sit. Please.”

  Was that pain in his voice? Regret? Whatever the tone, it caught her off-guard, and she all but fell into the seat when her legs buckled. Christ, she hurt. While the long, jagged cut along her ribs was the worst of her wounds, the multitude of bruises she knew were starting to purple across her torso weren’t much better.

  Crow waited to see if she’d push back to her feet before nodding and moving over to his chair. He kept half his attention focused on her as he slid onto the hard wood, motioning to the director.

  Smithers shook his head, silently measuring her up. And it didn’t take any special powers to see that he found her lacking—she just wasn’t sure in what respect. “Stubborn, as usual.”

  She glared at Crow, shifting her gaze to her boss. “I’d say I’m being more than polite under the circumstances. And what the hell has Crow got to do with my case?”

  Smithers sighed, stepping over to his desk then palming the surface. “You said Slader showed up? Tried to kill your asset?”

  “Rang the damn doorbell like she was expecting him. I barely had enough time to charge the room. Had to dive through the window just to stop the bastard from putting a few rounds in her head. Her screaming and trying to run off didn’t help matters any.”

  “I’m sure nearly dying then watching a couple of trained agents try to kill each other was upsetting for the poor woman.”

  “Wasn’t much of a party for me, either. And if she didn’t want to become a target, maybe she shouldn’t have been trying to sell stolen intel.” Devlyn pushed a hand through her hair, wincing when she brushed across a few more cuts. “So…are you going to tell me why I’m sitting beside the one man I’d like to stab through the heart? Or are we playing twenty questions?”

  Crow chuckled, again. “Like I’m the only man you want to do that to. I know you better, sweetheart. There’s a list.”

  She looked at him, giving him a sweet smile. “Yeah. One with your name written over and over and over—”

  “Enough!” Smithers shook his head. “Damn, you two are like fire and gasoline. Never know when everything is going to simply explode.” He leaned toward her. “And Ward’s here because there’s been a new development.”

  She arched a brow. “Other than having a rogue CIA asshole gunning for me, now?”

  Crow shrugged. “Trust me. That’s nothing compared to what you’re really up against.”

  Smithers sank into his seat. “Afraid the man’s right. Slader’s involvement confirms it. Though, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped Ward was wrong. Exaggerating the situation.”

  She took a deep breath, wondering if she’d hit her head harder than she’d thought. “Am I supposed to know what the hell you’re both talking about? Because I don’t.”

  Smithers smiled. “Don’t worry. Your partner will fill you in.”

  Her stomach dropped as a loud ringing sounded in her ears. “Partner?”

  Smithers motioned to Crow. “Afraid so, Devlyn. Until this case is closed, you’re, once again, on loan to the CIA.” He snorted. “Which means Agent Ward’s your new partner. Or maybe old partner. I suppose it’s how you look at it.”

  Partner.

  Devlyn stared at Smithers—who had quickly become the next man on her hit list—and felt the blood drain from her face. The scenery swam slightly, the pulse in her head thrumming loudly. She tried to inhale, but nothing made it past the way her throat had clenched shut, dimming her vision at the edges. Warmth spread up from her core, and for a moment, she actually feared she’d pass out.

  Fingers snapped in front of her face, the irritating sound pulling her back to her senses. She blinked, finally sucking in a quick breath as Crow leaned in close, a frown marring the bastard's handsome face. God, how many times had she stared at him, knowing she could spend the rest of her life studying the fine lines around his mouth or the unique shade of blue of his eyes? Wanting to tell him that somewhere between shadowing his ass and saving it, she’d fallen in love with him? That she’d willingly leave her old life behind if he’d agree to run away with her? Find a way to have just a hint of a normal life.

  But that had all ended when they’d had to split up on their last mission together. He’d escaped with Slader and their asset while she and the rest of the team had run interference. But they’d gotten waylaid on the train platform—w
here she’d paid the price with half a dozen rounds to her shoulder and torso. If she hadn’t gotten insanely lucky and had three of the bullets ricochet off her ribs instead of continuing through…

  And that’s the last she’d seen of Crow. She still didn’t know what had happened. Why he hadn’t been there—had her back like he was supposed to do—or at least visited her in the hospital. She’d been in the same damn room for two weeks. But it wasn’t just the mission he’d disappeared from. It was everything. His job, their life together. Almost as if he’d simply stopped existing.

  She’d called in every marker she’d had in an effort to find him, but all she’d unearthed were endless warnings to stop searching. That he was alive and well—but gone. Buggered off to another branch of the CIA. A unit that apparently made her little undercover squad look like a bunch of kindergarteners out for recess.

  And now, after an additional few months of working to put the pieces of her life back together—salvaging just a sliver of her heart from the shattered remnants he’d left along with his damn sweaters—the bastard had walked back into her life with the full support of her boss.

  Devlyn stood as she pushed a hand through her hair, again, grunting when the motion tugged against the strips holding her ragged flesh together. Just one more reason to be pissed. She had another injury courtesy of that bastard, Ian Slader. She hadn’t realized he’d gone rogue until he’d shown up at the rendezvous, killed her colleagues then shot her point-blank. And she’d sworn she’d take the creep down the next time she saw him. Kick his traitorous ass so hard there wouldn’t be enough of him left to identify. But instead of celebrating her victory, she’d been lucky to make it out of the hotel alive. Even now, her head throbbed in protest as every scrape and bruise seemed to come to life at the same time. Stealing her breath nearly as much as Crow had.

  She groaned. This had to be the most fucked-up situation she’d encountered in a long time. And if what Smithers had said was right, the circumstances weren’t getting any better for the foreseeable future.