"Well, the jerk bothering me has been rather explicit as to why he thinks Ren isn't the man for me—and that he is. I think he's full of bull hooey and just feeling me out to see what I'd say or do. I think he's the spy inside SSI."
Tweetie's hand on her arm tightened at her words. He pulled her to a halt next to the snowmobile. She continued with her conclusions. "He seems too foolish to be the brains. I mean why hit on me? If he's supposed to kidnap or kill me or even just observe and send back intel to his boss, then it's stupid to call that kind of attention to himself. He'd have to assume I'd tell you or Ren about him."
Tweeter growled. "Which one is it?"
"Un-unh." She shook her head. "I'm handling it for now. I don't have enough evidence to prove he's leaking info to the big bad guy in D.C. The deep background checks are in the works. I don't want to scare him off—or get him tossed off Sanctuary—until we know for sure whether he's working alone or with a group."
"So, it's one of the terrible trio?" Tweeter's eyes narrowed.
She didn't bother denying it. The terrible trio—as they'd named the three recruits—had triggered her internal alarm from her first day on Sanctuary. They made her neck itch like crazy. Heck, even her mama had commented on them, said they were smarmy. The fact they were recent hires just solidified her suspicions. They'd all hired on about the time she'd reported her initial findings to the NSA on the patterns in the failed NCS missions. NSA had told her not to worry her little golden-red curls about it. Cretins.
Upon meeting the three men, she'd told her brother about her spider sense. SSI's initial-hire background checks hadn't gone much past the trio's military records. In her opinion the background checks hadn't gone deep enough and she’d shared her conclusions with her brother and Quinn. She offered to create a better program for SSI and did so, then immediately set about piercing the lies built upon lies in the threesome's backgrounds. Proving her itchy neck was once again one hundred percent spot on. Once Quinn knew the three had been less than honest, he made sure their trainers kept them away from sensitive security information vital to SSI’s operations.
Every evening for the last week, she dug even deeper to find out who the three really were by happily hacking into secure computer systems all over the world. Last evening, she'd finally hit pay dirt. She found proof that the guy hitting on her, Rod Bannon, was a soldier of fortune who hired himself out to the wrong side more often than not as did his constant sidekick, Tripp Jordan, one of the suspect trio. The jury was still out on the third guy, Jose Vences; he'd lied about his experience and credentials, but so far she hadn't found any evidence of bad acts in his background.
She now had a double-check running on all the information she'd found to verify its veracity. She didn't want to accuse anyone wrongly and wanted an iron-clad case to present to Homeland Security and the FBI. She was also interested in seeing if she could backtrack from Bannon and Jordan to anyone in the DoD. She wanted the S.O.B. who'd tried to kill her, her brother, Vanko and Ren. No one messed with a Walsh.
"We need to get the intel on those three to Ren sooner, rather than later. Plus, if one of them has set his sights on you, Ren will kick his ass off for that alone."
"And we can't let him do that—yet. If Bannon and Jordan are spies, we have to prove it and try to turn them to get to who hired them." She climbed onto the passenger seat after Tweeter ripped off the tarp and put it away. "The program should've finished the verification process by the time we get back."
Tweeter patted her arm. "Arms tight around my waist, sis. We'll be running full out. The storm is getting worse."
She circled his waist with her arms and leaned her forehead on his back. "Maybe Ren will have returned." God, she sounded like some lovelorn teenager. She'd missed Ren and his warmth and scent surrounding her in bed. She hadn't slept well since she'd left South America. Recurring nightmares about the Boston incident kept her tossing and turning. In them, this time, she did not escape. Ren's nearness kept the night terrors away and replaced them with erotic dreams. She wanted to belong to Ren Maddox, and only him, in every carnal way she'd ever read about. Unfortunately, she got the impression he planned to move slowly. She'd have to speed him up some. She knew what she wanted—Ren in her bed, making love to her every night.
Tweetie switched on the snowmobile. "Quinn said Ren called earlier. I forgot to tell you. They're going to try to beat the blizzard. Although if they haven't landed by now, they might not be able to."
"Let's go. I need some of Scotty's five-alarm chili to warm me up." And she needed to see if Ren was home. Maybe tonight she could sleep soundly—in his arms.
"Sounds like a plan to me." Tweeter gave the powerful snowmobile gas, accelerating quickly through the white wall of snow and ice crystals.
* * * *
"Where in the hell are they?" Ren paced the main room of the Lodge. He'd been back in Sanctuary for two hours and the weather had deteriorated measurably. He hadn't flown through one of the worst storms in Idaho history to arrive and find Keely out in it, risking her sweet neck.
"They're fine." Quinn Jones, the third in command at SSI behind him and Trey, sat in a leather club chair in front of the huge stone fireplace, nursing a pre-dinner scotch. "Each and every time I sounded the alarm on them in the past week, we found them safe and sound. They just forget the time while they're working. By the way, what are they working on? Is it a secret?" The older man took a sip of his scotch, his narrowed gaze fixed accusingly on Ren.
Ren winced. He'd kept Quinn out of the loop. Keely's talk of spies had him being extra-cautious. Not that he suspected Quinn, but the less the older man or anyone knew about what Keely and Tweeter were doing to upgrade the early warning security for Sanctuary, the better. Ren didn't want the spy coming across the information and then trailing after Keely and Tweeter and ambushing them. A sniper's bullet could travel a long way and could not be defended against.
He moved to sit in the chair next to his long-time friend. "It's a secret for now. Not even Trey knows." Quinn relaxed his affronted posture at that admission. "I'm concerned about the other problem I told you about." He'd spoken at length to Quinn from South America about the potential of a mole on Sanctuary—and the need to know where Keely was at all times in order to protect her.
"The little gal has been burning the candle at both ends." Quinn eyed him over his glass. "She's doing deep background checks on the new recruits—three of them in particular. I have to say, she has good instincts. The same three she's suspicious of smelled hinky when I first met them. They look good on paper, but if they are ex-US Special Forces, I'll eat my saddle." Quinn was an old cowboy from Texas, even the Marines couldn't train the country boy out of him.
Ren leaned in closer. His voice low, he asked, "Which three? And what do you think they are?"
Quinn glanced around the room. His gaze zeroed in on a spot in a side room open to the great room where the billiard and game tables were located. Most of the Lodge's activity was centered there at this time of the day since Scotty didn't serve food until six o'clock on the dot.
Ren turned casually following the line of Quinn's stare. He found six men hanging around the pool table. A boisterous game of eight-ball was in progress. Trey and Vanko were there along with four new men. "Which of them is Keely looking at?"
"Rod Bannon, he's next to Trey. Jose Vences, the guy taking a shot. Tripp Jordan, standing behind Vences. The other guy, Risto Smith, is a good man and came highly recommended by people we both know and trust. Bannon and Jordan are definitely trouble. Smell like washouts who went merc. Vences just doesn't have the chops of ex-military and not sure where he's coming from, but he ain't what he advertised on his application." Quinn turned, a smile lurking in his eyes. "Keely said their backgrounds are as fake as a stripper's tits."
"She didn't put it that way, did she?" Ren's lips quirked at the thought of the little innocent saying such a thing.
"Nah, she called them asswipes." Ren choke
d back a laugh. Quinn grinned and continued. "She seems to have picked up some colorful terms from her Marine daddy. Shocked the shit out of me hearing such a crude term coming from such sweet lips. Just goes to show you how upset she was, I guess."
Ren shook his head, turning once more to observe the three. He murmured, "Are they spies? What do you think, Quinn?"
The older man said nothing for a while, studying the men just as Ren had. "Bannon would get my vote. Maybe Jordan. Vences, my gut says no. Yeah, he lied, but he's too eager, too helpful. The other two think they're hot shit. Uh…noticed Bannon hanging around Keely at breakfast a couple of times—didn't like the smell of that, either."
Ren turned to look at his friend. If Quinn said it didn't smell right, then it really stank. Every muscle tightened at the thought of Bannon near Keely. "What did the fucker do? Did he touch her?" He gripped the arms of his chair, forcing himself not to leap up and tear the bastard's face off.
Quinn's calm, dark gaze fixed on Ren's hands. "Might want to let up on the chair. You'll leave dents."
"Fuck the chair. What did Bannon do to Keely?"
"Nothing yet as far as I could glean. Mostly talk and coming on to her. Scotty was there and kept an eye on the situation. Said Keely handled it well." Quinn chuckled. "Scotty said the little gal is one cool customer. I suspect she wants to get the goods on the three so you can toss their asses off the property—so she kept it cool."
"Where the fuck was her fucking brother when all this fucking happened?" He let go of the chair and stretched his all-of-sudden cramped fingers, wishing they were around Bannon's thick, ugly neck.
"Tweeter and Keely have been out every damn day in the worst weather I've seen in these parts in years, working on whatever they've been working on—so to answer your question, at five o'clock in the morning when said approaches occurred, Tweeter was sleeping."
"Fuck that. Keely was there, he should have been. I'll kick his ass," muttered Ren.
"Back off, boss man." Quinn laid his hand on Ren's shoulder, forcing him to sit all the way down. Ren hadn't even realized he was half out of his chair. "She handled it. Scotty was there. She knew it and made sure Bannon knew it."
Ren rotated his head and shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the tension. He'd let it go—for now. He'd keep an eye on the situation, and if Bannon so much as breathed on Keely, all bets were off. He'd tear the asshole's head off and stuff it down his bloody stump of a neck. The image made him smile. "What have they told everyone about their daily trips into the wild?"
"At first, they told everyone they were snowboarding." Quinn snorted. "They took out boards the first few days, but the weather got treacherous. So then they changed their story to snowmobiling."
Ren nodded. "Sounds plausible."
"Yeah, except it has been colder than a witch's tit here for a week and the wind could blow your ass down. Everyone knows the two geniuses are doing something, but no one can imagine what. There's been quite a bit of speculation. I suspect that's why Bannon put the moves on Keely two days ago, prior to that time he kept his distance. He wants to shake something loose for his boss in DoD, maybe?"
"Maybe." Ren growled. Instead of chasing Trujo's ass all over South America, unsuccessfully, he should have been here protecting his sprite. Keely had needed him and he hadn't been here. Well, he was here now, and her little ass was never going to be out of his sight, if he could help it. "Where the fuck are they? There are fucking blizzard warnings out."
Shouts from the game room indicated the pool game was over. Trey ambled toward them, Vanko trailing him. The two men joined them.
Ren angled his head toward the pool table where the three suspects cued up another game with the other new guy, Smith. "What's your take on Bannon, Vences, and Jordan?"
Trey frowned. "Bannon and Jordan are blowhards, more show than go. Vences is young and naive. Can't believe the kid was an Army Ranger. Noticed you didn't ask about Smith, but Risto is solid gold, served in Afghanistan with a friend of mine. A fucking hero many times over."
"Keely's okay with Risto, the other three, not so much." Ren turned from his brother. "Vanko, what's your gut telling you?"
"Same as Trey's. So, Keelulya's neck is itching again?" Vanko grunted. "Her itchy neck is better than most intel."
Ren smiled. "Yeah, it is. She's doing deep backgrounds on them according to Quinn."
"Where are Keely and Tweeter?" Trey looked around as if he expected to see them in the Lodge with the other Sanctuary inhabitants getting ready for the evening meal. Many chose to eat in the main dining room rather than fix something in their lodgings.
"Outside." Ren's smile left his face as his experienced gaze took in the white-out conditions through the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountainous terrain in which Sanctuary was nestled. He'd landed the SSI jet at the small airport outside of Elk City in conditions he normally wouldn't attempt. He'd been driven by the need to see Keely, so he'd chanced it.
"Well, shit." Trey looked toward the window. "Should we go out and look for them?"
"How? Where?" Ren pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. "Sanctuary is over a hundred square miles. Where are we supposed to look?"
Price joined them. "I couldn't help but overhear. I just came from the Bat Cave and I think I know where they are. They're heading in."
"How do you know that?" Quinn sat up in his chair.
Price grinned and sat on the arm of Vanko's chair. "Whatever in the hell those two have been doing while we chased Trujo's ass all over the Triple Frontier has produced a holographic image map of all of Sanctuary. I saw a blip moving from the north and heading on a straight line for us—well, as straight as you can get in this area. They look to be about twenty miles out."
"This the secret?" Quinn looked at Ren.
"Yeah." Ren stood up. "Show us, Price."
The others stood and joined Price as he led the way to the Bat Cave entrance, which only the inner core of SSI could access. Some of the other SSI employees might work in the Bat Cave under Tweeter's supervision, but none of those employees had clearance to be there without one of the directors.
Price used his hand imprint and retinal scan to open the elevator and the five of them entered the elevator and rode to the sub-basement. When the doors opened on the lower level, the men all gasped at once. Ren could understand why. There, on a large table in the center of the room was a holographic representation of the whole of Sanctuary, from border to border and ground to sky.
They moved to the table as one.
Ren followed the path of the small blipping signal coded with a set of letters and numbers that had to be Tweeter and Keely as they made their way back to the main compound.
"Fucking amazing," breathed Trey. "My God, Ren, this is brilliant. I've only seen the likes in sci-fi movies."
Ren frowned. "What are these blips coming in from the east? They don't have a code." Twenty or more blips edged into the hologram and moved steadily on a heading that would bring them to the Lodge.
"Shit. Someone is coming into our territory from the National Forest lands," Price said. "Unplanned guests?"
Ren quickly plotted speed and trajectories, then swore. "Fuck, just fuck. Keely and Tweeter will intersect the bogies before they make it back to safety." He looked to Quinn. "Try to raise them on the two-way." To the others, he said, "Gear up. We're going to intercept the uninvited visitors."
Chapter 8
"TWEETIE." With the howling wind and the loud thrum of the powerful snowmobile engine, Keely shouted to make herself heard over the headset. "We've got company according to the readings on the laptop. Bogies coming in from the east just to the south of us. They'll cut across our path before we make it home."
"Shit." Tweeter swore some more and she didn't even think to chide him for all the f-bombs he dropped. "Switch to the alternating emergency frequencies, sis. We need to warn the others."
Keely, keeping one arm securely around her
brother's lean waist, balanced the small laptop between their bodies as she keyed in the new set of alternating frequencies on her headset. Thank God for digital technology. She heard Quinn's welcome voice hailing them, issuing a warning about the unknown visitors to Sanctuary.
"Hey, Quinn. We see them on our portable comp," she told the older man.
"Keely, are you okay?" Ren's welcome voice warmed her more than Scotty's five-alarm chili would've.
"We're fine, big guy." She leaned harder into her brother's body as he took a corner on one skid. She shoved the laptop into the front pouch of her parka so it wouldn’t fly off on another such turn. "How did you see the intruders? Is the table working?"
"Yeah, baby, your table's working. Now you and Tweeter find a hole and hide in it. The guys and I are coming out to see who's visiting in this kind of weather."
"Can't be anyone friendly, that's for sure," Tweeter said. "We're going to Cave A5. I'll weapon up and meet you."
"Keely?"
"Yes, Ren?"
"Stay where Tweeter puts you—please?"
She sighed. "No one ever wants me to have any fun."
"I want you safe. And Quinn told me you haven't been resting. We'll discuss making false reports to me on your welfare later. For now I want you to rest and stay put until I come for you. Hear me?"
"I hear you." She rubbed her forehead on her brother's back. "I'm glad you're home, Ren. I missed you."
Silence on the connection seemed to last forever when Ren said, "Missed you, too, baby. Stay safe for me."
Tweeter chuckled and a beep told her he'd switched off the outside chatter so it was just the two of them on the headsets. "You lied to Ren about your health? You are in so much trouble."
"We'll see." She squeezed her brother's waist. "This Cave A5? Does it have a sniper rifle or two?"
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