Eye of the Storm
Page 3
She didn't get "put" easily.
"Keely." Tweeter's voice had gone low and soft. Too soft. He was pissed—and really, really scared. "How did you get here?"
When in doubt about handling men getting on their protective high-horses, her mom told her to answer their questions literally, in great detail and at length. Such responses had a way of distracting the overprotective male.
"I flew commercial until Puerto Iguazu—and let me tell you there are no straight-through flights anywhere in this part of the world."
Someone snorted. She turned. Had the sound, much like stifled laughter, come from Maddox? Nah, his face was stone cold, the expression of a man who ate nails for breakfast. She must have imagined the sound. He caught her look and raised an arrogant dark brow. She glared at him, then turned back to her brother.
"Then I rented a chopper—”
"The Kamov," Petriv offered. He winked at her. Again. A trained assassin with a sense of the ridiculous. How fun. "A good bird."
She shot him a sunny smile. "Yes—you were listening. Good, 'cause we need to get out of here." She chased the granola with the second Coke, then stepped over the wiggling bartender and headed around the bar.
None of the three men moved. She stood, hands on her hips. "Did y'all hear me? Bad guys. Twenty of them or maybe more—well, come to think of it, seventeen or maybe more…I'm not counting the bartender—are coming to kill you."
Her brother grabbed her arms and shook her. She winced. "Tweets, you don't know your strength. You're hurting me."
He hovered over her, attempting to use his foot or so advantage in height to intimidate her. He should have learned by now it didn't work on her, but he always tried.
"Don't give me that crap," he said, exasperation in his voice. "I'm hardly touching you. Are you sure none of this is your blood?" His forehead creased with concern as his gaze traveled her torso and a finger traced the blood spatter down the front of her shirt.
She slapped his hand away, then leaned her forehead on his chest and sighed. Unwanted tears welled in her eyes. She refused to let them fall. That was a wussy-assed thing to do, and there was no time to be weak. She was safe and her brother was safe. She'd made it in time.
He held her more tightly against him. "I hate to ask—but why are there now only seventeen or so mercs left?" He took her hat off and leaned his chin on top of her disheveled, sweaty curls, his fingers soothing her scalp as he untangled the mess now falling to the center of her back.
One of the other two men gasped. Typical male response to her hair. She hated her hair. Most days, it was a nuisance. It was thick and heavy, and in hot humid weather, it curled and frizzed like crazy. But all her brothers, her dad and, most importantly, her mama begged her not to cut it.
"Why seventeen, Keely Ann Walsh?" He rocked her within the circle of his arms as he used to do when she skinned her knees as a little girl.
"Because I had to, um, disable two on the way here and then kill the guy out back. I was on a short clock, like Dad always says. I couldn't let anyone or anything stop me from getting here. Okay?" She wasn't happy that her last word had ended on a shrill note. She took a breath and let it out slowly. If she had a mantra, she'd be chanting it.
"Okay, calm down, Imp." He smoothed her hair, a losing battle since it always did what it wanted to anyway. "Did you see any of the other mercs?"
"Nope, but I think the guy who I killed out back was coming to let the bartender know the attack was imminent. The two guys on the trail said something about waiting on someone. I figured Trujo wanted to be in on the kill."
Maddox grunted, drawing her attention. As he opened his mouth to say something, probably something macho and sexist, several rounds of automatic gunfire hit the front of the building, burning through the flimsy wood like a knife through butter. The mirror behind the bar shattered under the barrage, showering her and Tweeter with glass.
She shoved out of Tweeter's arms then pulled him to the floor. Satisfied he hadn't been hit, she belly-crawled from behind the bar, ignoring everything but the need to get to the back room to retrieve the H&Ks she'd left there along with her backpack and all the ammo.
"Keely," Tweeter yelled, his hand just slipping off her booted foot.
"I've got her," Maddox shouted. "Start laying down some fire out the front and block the fucking door!"
Continuing her fast crawl, she threw a frowning glance over her shoulder. "Has my mom met you?" He shook his head, confusion evident in his eyes. "Don't ever use the f-bomb around her. She'll make you pay."
Maddox snorted. Same sound she'd heard earlier. He'd been—still was—laughing at her. Ass.
"You think that's funny? Just wait until you owe her a small fortune," Keely muttered.
He put a large hand on her hips, shoving gently. "Move it. What have you got in the back room? An arsenal?"
"How'd you guess?" She ignored his sarcastic tone and threw a glare over her shoulder. "Move the hand. Tweetie is looking—and he won't like it."
He slowly pulled his hand away, caressing her rear end. "Tweetie?"
They were in the middle of a fight for their lives and he wanted to share personal family info? Fine. She could multi-task. "I couldn't say Tweeter when I was little. Want to know when my brothers first short-sheeted my bed?"
He grinned and shook his head. "Maybe later."
He choked back another laugh at her muttered, "Ass." She dragged the backpack to her and pulled out ammo, tossing him a couple of magazines and then one of the H&Ks.
His mouth quirked. "Hand me the extra H&K for the guys. They’ll need the extra firepower." He stuck his hand out.
She shoved the weapon at him, which he took and crawled into the other room. He'd left his weapon so he was obviously coming back. Lucky her.
Out of habit, she checked it over for him. Say what you would about hired guns, they did take care of their weapons. The H&K was clean and good to go.
After shoving some boxes of canned foods around, she built a place for them to hide behind. She put bags of flour in front of the boxes. Might stop some bullets from getting through. Then she dropped behind the makeshift barricade and checked her weapon again. Maddox crawled back into the room and gave her preparations a surprised and approving look. She answered the unasked question in his eyes. "Too many years of following my brothers around and playing war games." She shoved his gun toward him. "I checked it. Thirty-round mags and I set it for bursts."
"Trained by a Marine, I see." He checked over the weapon himself.
She wasn't insulted. He'd be dumb if he hadn't. "My dad—and a couple of SEALs. My oldest two brothers are Navy." She wished they were here now. It sounded like WWIII in the front. She anticipated an attack on the back any time.
Before Maddox could make a comment, something thudded against the back door. Two more thuds and the bad guys figured they couldn't knock it down, so they shot at it. Splinters flew as the door was riddled with bullets.
Keely lay on her stomach and poked the muzzle of her weapon through a firing hole she'd created. Maddox was next to her, his body heat and male scent engulfing her. She felt more threatened by his closeness than by the murderous goons attempting to breach the back door. She wiggled away, opening up her personal space, but he followed, his body now touched her from hip to ankle. Damn. He was ready to cover her body with his to protect her. He'd learn eventually—she always carried her weight. She didn't need a man to cover her ass.
He looked at her. "Short bursts. Go for the head. They might have body armor." He followed his words with an example, aiming head high through the door. A body fell through the decimated door. A perfect head shot.
She shouted to be heard over the return fire. "I know. Don't baby me. I can hit what I aim for. You could ask my brother, but he and Petriv sound busy."
The merc force had thrown the main firepower to the front. Maybe they thought the SSI men would be distracted and forget there was a back door.
Keely touched Maddox's muscled, hairy forearm. His arm tensed under her fingers. His eyes burned blue like the heart of a gas flame as he turned to look at her. She frowned—distracted by the flames in his eyes. He wasn't angry, but she wasn't sure what he was feeling. She shook off the effect of his intent look. "Um, FYI, the three I took out had no armor. It's too frick-fracking hot for Kevlar."
Maddox laughed, a full-out sound that reached into her gut and turned her insides to mush. O-o-kay, the guy could lighten up—though now might not be the right time.
While the battle raged at the front of the building, the gunfire had temporarily halted at their position. The enemy had to reassess their strategy. Two of theirs were down and they hadn't even fully breached the rear of the cantina. The lull would not last forever. Already, Keely's neck itched like crazy. It would be soon.
"Way too hot." He lifted her chin with a calloused finger. This time she was the one to tense. She had the little-prey-feeling again. She licked suddenly dry lips, wishing for another Coke. His gaze turned frigid, the color of Arctic ice. "No one gets through."
In other words, don't be a girl about killing. If he only knew—"Gotcha." She attempted to smile, but failed. "Don't worry, Mr. Maddox."
"It's Ren." He tweaked her chin. "Say it."
The cessation of fire at their position still held, but it couldn't much longer before someone tested the door again. Humor the man, Keely. "Ren."
His eyes warmed. She licked her lips again. His eyes darkened to the deep grey-blue color peculiarly his before he turned away to concentrate on the rear entrance. Yet, she sensed he knew every breath she took, every movement she made, even if it was minor.
"Uh, I won't let y'all down." She bit her lower lip. "I just wish I could've warned you before you left Idaho. Some guy named Quinn said I just missed Tweetie."
"You made good time. We just got here two hours ago."
She fixed her gaze on the door and away from him. He was a distraction—and she was usually hard to distract. She focused on her weapon, her finger ready to pull the trigger. "You had to sneak in. I came direct. Makes a difference." She took a deep breath. "They're regrouping—it shouldn't be long now."
"Yeah. Nervous?"
She caught his sideways glance. He was concerned. He probably wished her anywhere but here. His type would always protect the little helpless woman. She wished she could convince him she could handle her end of the fight. Well, he'd learn soon enough. "A little. I hate killing. But I'll do what I have to do."
"But you shouldn't the fuck have to." His tone was angry tinged with regret.
"I tried to get some of my brothers freed up, but they would have been too late."
His look told her she should've tried harder. She was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but just then his head whipped around to face forward as two men burst into the room through the decimated wood door. Their guns blazed amidst the crash of bottles as the cases spilled open. The two were immediately followed by others. Guess the strategy was to hit them all at once.
In her shooting zone, Keely was barely aware of anything around her. She shot in short bursts, aiming for heads and legs. When it became evident that they did not, in fact, have body armor, she adjusted and went for heart shots, even if she missed the heart, torso shots at this caliber had stopping power. Her mathematical mind figured angles and trajectories, anticipated movements and coordinated with her muscle movement and eye-to-hand coordination. Her sniper training courtesy of one of her dad's buddies stood her well. She wasted no ammunition. Each man she aimed at, she hit. When they went down, they stayed down.
She emptied a magazine and swiftly and efficiently ejected it and inserted another.
Ren's muttered "goddamn—a warrior sprite" had her glancing his way. But he was concentrating on shooting and not her. She must have imagined his words.
They fell into a rhythm, each taking out every other man through the narrow door. When one reloaded, the other took up the slack. It was as if they could read each other's minds.
Finally, the attackers stopped coming. Bodies lay strewn across the floor of the small back room. Smoke hung in the air. Silence fell over the bullet-riddled building. Tweeter and Petriv spoke in low rumbles in the other room. But Keely's tension increased rather than decreased with the cessation of the attack.
"Fudge ripple, that's not good. It was too easy." She looked at Ren. His eyes were narrowed as he examined her. "I don't like this. Maybe my intel wasn't complete. There were too many of them—so there could be a lot more out there."
"They could've changed the plan after you set out." Ren's tone was low, rumbling, meant to soothe her. "Don't worry about it, sprite."
She hadn’t imagined him calling her that earlier. Before she could call him on the carpet—"Something's coming."
"What?" Ren turned toward her, crowding into her personal space even more. "What do you…”
A grenade thrown through the doorway tumbled into the room.
Ren's "fuck" barely registered. Keely was closer. Tossing her weapon to the side, she went for the explosive. As she rolled across the floor toward another set of boxes, she grabbed the live grenade, then lobbed it side-handed out the rear door. She kept rolling and made it behind some boxes of frijoles before the explosion rocked the back of the building.
She rolled onto her stomach and pulled her Bren from the holster at her back. She flicked off the safety and held it two-handed just in case someone was alive to follow through.
"Keely, what the fuck was that?" Her brother's frightened bellow was loud and cut through the ringing in her ears. She could make out Petriv swearing in some highly colorful Russian.
A quick glance told her Ren was okay—but visibly furious. "Don't you ever fucking do that again!" He glared at her instead of paying attention to the new hole in the wall.
She shrugged and fired over his head at a man attempting to come through the smoldering opening. The dead man drooped over the jagged remnants of the wall, half in and half out of the room.
After another furious glance at her, Ren double-tapped the intruder to make sure he was dead.
Why the heck was he mad at her? She'd kept them from being blown into hamburger and then saved his life? She deserved an "atta-girl."
Silence reigned once more over the small, battered building. Her itchy feeling was gone, thank the Lord. She laid her weary head on her forearms, but kept her handgun in her right hand, just in case her spider sense was wrong.
"Keely!" Tweeter's worried voice came from the front room once more.
"I'm fine, Tweetie. How many did you get on your side?"
"Vanko and I got us a confirmed ten motherfuckers."
She ignored her brother’s profanity, allowing for the situation. "My three on the way here plus your ten plus we have eleven, no, make that twelve on the floor and hanging over the hole in the wall. That's twenty-five. We might have taken out one or two with the grenade out the back door…"
"What fucking grenade?" Tweeter yelled. "Where did you get a fucking grenade?'
"The live grenade your fool sister picked up and threw out the back door." Ren's jaw clenched and unclenched. He belly crawled toward her.
"Tattletale." She stuck out her tongue.
His eyes narrowed as he moved toward her. "Brat."
Ignoring him, she turned and crawled into the bar area with Ren so close behind her she could feel his hot breath on the bare skin of her legs above her hiking boots. She met her brother just inside the doorway as he crab-walked toward her. He looked her over, then sighed.
"I think that's the same blood you already had." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Imp, don't do that shit. Let us do it."
"It" being the throwing of live grenades, she supposed. "It was closer to me—and I know how to handle a live grenade, ya know." And why was she getting defensive?
"Yeah, Mom never let Dad live that training session down, did she?" He grinned at her. A shaky finger stroked her cheek.
"Nope, she didn't." She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, her arms hanging loosely over her bent knees, her gun still in her right hand. "There could be more mercs waiting in the jungle—or the survivors of this team could be regrouping. I say we get out of here before they can come at us with bigger guns or something. Plus, we have the belly guns on the helo and all that armor-plating Russians love to layer on their aircraft. I'll feel better once we're up and can shoot down on them."
Petriv's shout of laughter had her smiling. Someone appreciated her. She grinned at the Ukrainian.
Knee-walking, Ren came up against her back. His knee nudged her bottom and his body almost covered hers from behind. He grabbed her arms, keeping her from moving away from his heat and scent. What was his problem now? She was just sitting here.
"Ren?" Tweeter frowned. "You're crowding my baby sister. Back off."
Chapter 2
REN'S jaw tensed as he glared at Keely's brother. Tweeter had the good sense to back off.
Was everyone nuts but him? Keely Walsh was a small, delicately built female. Hell, a stiff breeze could probably knock her over. She had adequate shooting abilities—okay, more than adequate—and had handled the bartender very neatly. And she'd warned them about the trap and brought extra weapons and ammo. But she was not in charge. This was his op and he would take control now, which included protecting the woman from herself if he had to. It was obvious her brother couldn't handle her.
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