Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13)

by Irish Winters

  As usual, Tate didn’t let him down. The genius of a man raised in the tough Alaskan wilderness by his outdoorsman father always amazed Ky. There wasn’t much to the tent he set up but telescoping fiberglass poles and enough nylon for a domed-ceiling over four guys. Once a person’s body heat warmed the interior, it would still be cold, but semi-comfortable. A couple of bodies crammed in during a snowstorm could keep it livable for a short time. A good layer of snow around and over the top of it would add insulation, and the MREs that Ky and Tate both carried would keep a guy alive during remote ops like this one. Wishing he didn’t have to choke them down, maybe, but alive.

  “Check the plane. Bring over whatever’s usable,” Ky suggested as he climbed into their home-away-from-home, still cradling Agent Stark. She had yet to stir, and he wasn’t uncaring enough to risk her body temp dropping by setting her on the cold ground. No. He could stand holding her a little while longer. It actually felt—good. Really good.

  “I’ll hunt at daybreak if the weather holds. Need meat.” Yeah, that was Tate for you. Half-caveman. Half-ex-Army Ranger.

  “Water first. Let’s get some snow melted. She may just be dehydrated.”

  Another grunt, and Ky stopped worrying. Tate was on the job. He’d make certain the necessities were taken care of.

  Soon, the soft glow of a crackling fire lit the outside walls of the tent. With his companion agent rummaging through the wreck and setting up camp, Ky settled down to phone home. It’d be good to hear one of the guys again. Maybe Lee. If he worshipped anyone or anything, it was Lee Hart, the Marine who’d single-handedly rescued him from that hellhole outside of Kabul. Imagine Ky’s surprise when he’d met Lee the second time at the hospital and got to look into his green eyes. If that wasn’t unsettling after all the snuggling Ky had done with his green-eyed angel, nothing was.

  It gave a man pause was what it did. Ky wondered who he’d imagined that night he was rescued, but he knew better. Lee might have the same eye color, but he was not the same angel. The hue was completely different. Ky’s green-eyed angel’s eyes were different, more the clear green of a mountain stream running over moss on a wintery morning. Lee’s voice wasn’t the same, either, and there’d been no hint of mentholatum when Lee had introduced himself. Only cinnamon, thank God.

  Lee had come to the hospital for a long visit with Ky and a job offer from one, Alex Stewart, another of Ky’s heroes. The man he hadn’t even known had reached out to him, a stranger, and based solely on Lee’s recommendation, Alex gave Ky a good job despite his debilitating PTSD, and the fact he was still in the hospital and had months of therapy ahead of him.

  Nizari had done his damnedest to break Ky, but Alex was a natural at cutting through the bullshit in a guy’s screwed up head. He had a way, a gruff way, mind you, but a definite way of inspiring and leading. What the Veteran’s Hospital failed at, Alex provided in the guise of high expectations and a boatload of profanity.

  He honed in on what a guy could do instead of what he couldn’t. He’d taken a broken, confused piece-of-shit Marine, and made Ky feel like a man again. Gave him a tough job. Told him to do it right, and expected he’d get it done. Demanded that deadlines be adhered to. Chewed his ass when things went wrong. Brooked no excuses. Rarely praised. Made Ky toe the line. Made him nearly normal again, too.

  But mostly, the tough-as-nails guy cared. Alex might never admit it, but he should’ve gone into psychology or some related field. After all the anti-depressants, the well-intended group therapy, and a near miss at alcohol poisoning, thank you very much, Wild Turkey, Alex had cornered Ky in the emergency room one especially dark and dreary night. It wouldn’t have been hard for the older man, not with Ky flat on his back with an IV hooked into his right arm and feeling like ten layers of shit. He’d asked the nurse-on-duty to call his emergency contact, Lee, but Alex had shown up instead. Not good.

  Ky’d been fighting the darkest depression. Felt useless. Powerless against what Nizari had done to him. He’d truly wanted to end himself when he’d started slugging the booze out of sheer self-pity early that day. Couldn’t remember how he’d got himself to the ER. Couldn’t have walked. But he sure as hell remembered Alex showing up, all full of piss and vinegar and mad as a wolverine with one leg in a steel trap.

  “Why the hell are you in here?” Alex had all but spat in Ky’s face, leaned over the hospital bed rail like he was. “This is the last time you do this shit, you hear me, Winchester? I hired a damned good sniper, not a clown.”

  Ky had had no answer. He’d turned away, not able to meet this blue-eyed bastard come to rip him a new one. He was not that damned good sniper Alex thought he’d hired. He was nobody, a screwed up wreck, and Alex should’ve been a helluva lot smarter than to hire a mess like him. Whose fault was that, huh?

  But Alex had never let up. Never backed down. Just kept chewing Ky’s ass like he hadn’t been tortured for days and nights over in dog-shit Afghanistan, like he didn’t deserve special treatment for his special situation. Like he wasn’t a victim, damn it.

  Alex let him have it. “You think you’re scared, Winchester? You think you’re a loser? Guess again. I don’t hire losers! Pull your head out of your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Nizari was the bastard—not you. He’s the one who’s dead, isn’t he? Lee ended him, didn’t he? Knock off the world’s-shit-all-over-me routine. Grow a pair!”

  Now that you put it like that...

  All Ky had been able to offer at that very astute observation was an embarrassed nod. Alex had a way of clearing a man’s head, the same way he probably cleaned his rifle—with a good reaming.

  The light dawned. Ky turned a corner that night. He’d rolled off the bed and peeled the IV out of his arm, mostly to get the hell away from Alex. But then he’d spent the rest of the night under the benevolent duress of his hard-charging boss at a Denny’s Restaurant across the Potomac in Crystal City, Virginia. Some of what Alex said got stuck in Ky’s head.

  Stop thinking about what went down yesterday.

  Keep on moving, damn it.

  Leave it in the past.

  Live, for Christ’s sake. Most guys don’t get a second chance. You did. Do something with it.

  Man up!

  By the time Alex was through with him, Ky was a survivor, not a victim. The way seemed clearer. He wised up. He committed himself to cleaner living. Meditation. Working his guts out for his belligerent boss and the guys and gals on The TEAM. He decided surviving wasn’t enough. He wanted to live every last second he had left. Hadn’t had a drink since. Still smoked Marlboro Reds, but hey—a guy needed one good vice.

  Chapter Five

  Fast forward to frozen Kenora, Ontario Province.

  Ky slipped his goggles to the top of his head. Alex didn’t need to see that he’d kept Agent Stark on his lap, only to keep her warm, mind you, while he activated TEAMhome and told it to “phone home.”

  “Dialing Mr. Stewart,” TEAMhome’s pleasant female voice responded in his ear. “Please hold.”

  “It’s about damned time,” Alex muttered at the first ring, despite the late hour. It had to have been well after midnight.

  “Morning, Boss,” Ky spoke quietly. “As you know, we’ve made contact with Agent Stark. Also neutralized two assailants intent on killing her.”

  “Saw that. Who the hell were they?” Alex barked, always the proverbial mad dog when his agents encountered trouble.

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” Ky whispered, his head low and his mouth close enough to kiss the sleeping beauty in his arms. He moistened his lips. She looked temptingly delicious and the seam of her lips was still close enough to taste. “They’re both FBI. Agent Stark believes they were under some kind of mind control, though. You know anything about a Dr. Zaroyin who worked for the CIA? Has some kind of experimental cybernetic program he’s trying to get congressional funding for?”

  “No, but I’m damned sure going to find out. Hold on.”

  Ky gave his boss suffic
ient time to bark an order for more info at Mother, another TEAM member who spent far too much time working late. Whether she was just that smart or had a network of friends in all the right places, she could put her manicured fingernails on the darnedest trivia about any federal investigation on the planet.

  It also gave Ky the opportunity to appreciate the warmth emanating from the feminine body curled into his body like she belonged there. Agent Stark pressed her face into his chest, and it didn’t feel all that bad knowing that a good-looking woman had turned toward him. So what if she was unconscious? She almost looked willing, as if she wanted to be there. He didn’t mind holding her. She smelled good in a refreshing, menthol kind of way, too. Oddly refreshing. Totally comforting. Like something he’d walked away from in a distant life and had rediscovered.

  Was it in any way possible this FBI Agent could be his angel? He took another deep breath, wishing she’d open her eyes and that those pretty eyes would be green. The right green.

  Tate pushed through the tent flap with a sleeping bag, a fur wrap, and a battery-operated lantern in his arms. “You good?” he asked as he stuffed the bag into one corner and lit the tent interior with the soft glow of the portable light in another.

  Ky pulled the small fur wrap out of his arms and drifted it over Stark’s body. “Yeah. I’m on hold. Take a load off.”

  “Can’t. Plane’s full of canned foods. Fishing gear. Household stuff. I’m scavenging what I can before it’s frozen solid.”

  “Any medical supplies? Stark might need more first-aid than what we brought,” Ky whispered, not wanting to wake his sleeping beauty.

  “Not that I found,” Tate replied, keeping his voice low. “I’m only grabbing what we need to make it through the rest of the night. You want stew or chili? This guy was hauling cases of it.”

  “Stew,” Ky answered quickly. Not chili. He’d bivouacked with enough guys before. Chili beans in an enclosed tent full of men did not make for a decent night’s rest. “I’ll help haul as soon as I can get away.”

  Tate’s gaze zeroed in on Stark’s limp body. “Looks to me like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “I couldn’t just drop her on the ground and let her freeze, could I?” Ky wanted to slap himself for the way he’d worded that peculiar question. It made him sound defensive or something, and he wasn’t. Not really. So what if she’d snuggled farther into his jacket and breathed more evenly? So what if he cradled her extra carefully, or that she had his jacket clenched in her curled fingers? So what if she clutched his jacket like she needed someone to hold onto? It didn’t mean a damned thing.

  Tate backed out of the tent with his signature grunt.

  “Stark might be right. Zaroyin’s on the run,” Alex returned with the latest. “The FBI wants to question him further about his experiment. He’s got strong congressional backing, but the bastard’s also implicated in the disappearance of several agents.”

  “Like Mika Koenig and Arthur Shields? Those are the guys we took out.”

  Alex growled to himself. Papers ruffled. “Yes. Koenig and...” More rustling. “Son-of-a-bitch. They’re both on the list. Twenty others, too. Damn it. What does she think Zaroyin wants her for?”

  Why indeed. Ky hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her since Tate left. He relayed what he knew. “She’s got some kind of psychic abilities. Zaroyin wants to exploit her, turn her into one of his six-million-dollar soldiers. He may already have. She’s got an implant behind her ear the size of a three-volt lithium battery. As soon as she comes to—”

  “She’s unconscious? When were you going to tell me that?”

  It was hard to be impatient with a man who hid his emotions behind a mask of fake gruffness. Ky smiled it off. He should’ve replaced his tell-all goggles instead of just his earpiece. The continual transmission would’ve kept Alex visually informed, and he wouldn’t be having this showdown, but honestly? His boss didn’t need to know everything, and besides, all this micro-managing was not like Alex. He preferred to bark orders and let a guy handle his own operation. This latest gamble into high-tech Never Never Land had to be Mother’s doing.

  “Sorry, Boss. She fainted. That’s the thing. She thinks Zaroyin’s been one step behind her since she left the East Coast. That might be what’s under her skin—some kind of miniature tracking device. I’ll keep you advised.”

  “Do,” Alex snapped. “And Ky?”

  Here it comes. “Yes, Boss?”

  “Do whatever you have to, but keep her safe. Understood?”

  Ky smiled into drowsy green eyes, not sure how long Stark had been awake and peering up at him. Same green eyes. Same strange menthol perfume. Same everything. Stark had to be his angel.

  “Don’t worry. I intend to,” he said smoothly, despite the extra beat in his heart.

  “And Ky?”

  Ky sighed. Alex never let anything slide. “Yeah, Boss?”

  “Keep your damned goggles on.” Alex disconnected the call.

  We’ll see about that.

  The pink tip of Agent Stark’s tongue flicked out to moisten her chapped lips. “You intend to what?”

  Ky could’ve jumped for joy, but he didn’t want to scare Stark. “I intend to get you something to drink. Tate’s been melting snow while you’ve been sleeping. You thirsty?”

  Her head bobbed, but she didn’t make any effort to move, just sighed and snuggled in closer, her gloved hand in the middle of his chest. He looked down at her hand. It shouldn’t have meant anything, not with all the layers of TEAMwear in the way, but it did. Agent Stark was not some savvy FBI agent with a self-righteous stick up her butt. She seemed to trust him. It didn’t hurt that she was a luscious armful, either. But oddest of all, he liked the warm sensation of her gloved hand on his chest. He placed his bare hand over hers, so damned glad to come face to face with the woman who, along with Lee Hart, had saved his life.

  “My bottle of water froze, and then you guys showed up and then...” she gulped. “Yes, please. I am thirsty.”

  “I’ll bet you’re hungry, too. Tate’s heating a couple cans of stew. Our midnight snack should be ready soon.” God, he wanted to ask if she really was the woman in that cell with him, and how did she do it, how did she come to him? How did she know where he was, who he was? That he needed someone like her to help him hold on? How was he able to see her even though his eyes were pretty much too swollen and cut to see anything? It all seemed far-fetched, crazy. How did one begin to ask so many bizarre questions of a woman he’d never met before?

  Slowly, she eased out of Ky’s arms and settled alongside him, but he wished she hadn’t. Two bodies mashed together like they’d been produced an incredible amount of heat. Especially with her backside against his lap. Oh hell, all of her. A definite chill replaced her warmth and he wanted her back.

  “Br-r-r. Did I pass out?” she asked, her hand at the back of her head. “Now I remember. Can you tell me what this is? Can you see it?” She tilted forward on her knees, one palm to the floor of the tent, the other hand lifting her hair out of her hood and over one shoulder. “Look. Is this a knot or something? It feels like—”

  Ky could no longer hear a word she said. Blood rushed out of his brain at the tempting sight. She might have been wearing a quilted winter jacket, and more than likely, she had a thick pair of long woolen underwear under those denim jeans, but hot damn. She’d just assumed one helluva Playboy pose. On her knees. Her tempting butt turned to him. All that hair spilled over her shoulder like a silky waterfall, and that ass...

  His eyeballs fell instinctively to her nicely stretched jeans before the thought registered to stop acting like a complete jerk. He swallowed hard, raised the lantern, and leaned forward to view the implant under her scalp, and only the implant. Not like getting in closer to her helped his overheated and all-male body settle down.

  What was it about the nape of a woman’s neck, especially when exposed like Stark’s was? Ivory white. Tender. A delicate column of femininity that any ma
n in his right mind wanted to run his tongue over. Or bury his nose against and sniff. Or sink his teeth into and nibble while his hands roamed the rest of her soft body. The tent had suddenly gotten smaller and grown warmer. A helluva lot warmer.

  Running just the tip of his bare index finger over the device nestled under her scalp—and just the device, mind you—he forced himself to concentrate on anything but the skin she’d willingly exposed. Or the flowery scent drifting up from all that hair. Or the jut of her plump but taut rear end. The seam of those jeans delineated two perfect butt cheeks and the way to heaven.

  “It’s an implant,” he said hoarsely, struggling for the first time in forever to keep his hands to himself. He hadn’t wanted to touch a woman in a long time, but this woman was already his. He just needed to be careful how he revealed that really weird news—that he remembered her from his torture chamber. He didn’t want to make it sound any crazier than it was. “It’s got to come out. After you eat, we’ll do a little minor surgery. I’ve got a good hunting knife. Shouldn’t be too hard to pop—”

  She cocked her head and glanced back at him, a bemused glint in her eyes, and her hair still the sleekest come-on he’d ever not been offered. “Do all guys like to play with their knives?”

  Ky shrugged, avoiding her sultry question as much as the blatant innuendo. Play nothing. The vibes rolling off this woman had created one helluva stranglehold beneath his zipper. He couldn’t help that his gaze flickered to the pleasant curve of her denim-covered rump again.

  He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. He’d actually thought that part of his body had died in Hasim Nizari’s chamber of horrors along with parts of his mind. Until now.

  Turned out that part was very much alive. It might not have been all that it used to be, but it was damned happy to see Agent Stark’s ass, too. Or maybe it was just that this woman was—her. His angel.