Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13)

by Irish Winters

  Eden rolled to her back and cupped both hands to her mouth. “Tucker Chase. Is that you?”

  “Might be,” a gruff voice replied. “Who’s up there with you, Eden? Anyone I need to kill?”

  “No. These guys work for Alex Stewart,” she answered. “Ky Winch—”

  “Shit, don’t give ’em our names,” Tate barked. “God, woman. How stupid are you?”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” the same man spoke below. “Stewart’s men? Are you sure?”

  Eden turned to face Ky when she answered. “I’m sure. Come on up. They’re safe.”

  “Hell, I don’t know if I want to now. How many did you say?” that Tucker guy asked. “You got names?”

  She told Ky, “That’s Agent Tucker Chase. He’s worked with Alex before. Should I tell him there’s just two of you?”

  “Two,” Ky called out for her. “How many with you, Agent Chase?”

  “Just me and my good friend, Sam Becker. Lower that piece-of-shit machine gun of yours. Then I’ll come in.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re FBI. You’ll come in first, then we’ll lower our weapons,” Tate threw back at him. “Now get your asses out in the open where we can see you.”

  Ky adjusted his thermal imaging, still trying to detect either of Eden’s friends. Whoever they were, they were good at keeping out of sight, and the last thing he needed to deal with. The Bureau hadn’t helped her much so far. Why should he trust them now?

  At last, a dark shadow drifted from behind a truck-high, snow-covered slab of rocks. A stocky guy stood, decked out in tactical winter gear from head to foot. He lifted his knees high as he climbed out of the drift circling the rocks, his hand gripping the barrel shroud of the assault weapon over his head. “Don’t shoot, you assholes. I’m coming out.”

  Ky grunted. Not a smart move, calling the guy who could end you an ignorant name. “Drop your other gun,” he ordered.

  Agent Chase came to a dead stop. He shoved his goggles under his chin and pulled a long-barreled rifle out from the holster strapped to his back. If he were smart, he would’ve dropped it. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not tossing my weapons in the snow,” he yelled. “It ain’t good for them and you know it.”

  “Drop it or I’ll wing you, I swear,” Ky ordered. Who’s the asshole now, Chase?

  Chase hesitated, his lip lifted into a sneer. He stomped the snow at his feet into a compressed pad before he laid his rifles down. “You happy now? My top-of-the-line, and very expensive, weaponry is getting wet for no reason other than you’re too stupid to know a good guy from an asshole.”

  “I haven’t seen a good guy yet. The pistols, too. Drop ’em.”

  “Shit,” Chase hissed, but unloaded his thigh holsters, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out another pistol. Nothing special. Regular FBI-issue piece-of-crap.

  This guy had a lot of nerve. Ky knew the type. Over-inflated opinion of himself and loaded with every kind of concealable weapon ever made. Probably thought he was God’s gift to women, too. Must have been a Navy SEAL. He’d followed instructions like one. “I said all of them, Agent Chase. You’re not coming into my camp with that belly gun up your sleeve.”

  Chase glared uphill for a long minute before he divested himself of not one, but two revolvers, one tucked up each sleeve. He dropped both to the growing arsenal at his feet and planted his hands to his hips, a definite sneer on his ugly face. “There, you son-of-a-bitch. Now I’m pissed off and damned near naked. Ice is pouring out of the sky. My weapons are turning to rust. Is that good enough, or do you need to see the cheeks of my lily-white ass, too?”

  Eden clapped her hand over her mouth, giggling. “He’ll freeze to death if he you make him drop his pants.”

  “Let him freeze his balls off,” Tate growled. “Serves the prick right.”

  Ky lifted to his knees, his sights still set on Agent Chase. “The knife, too, Chase,” he deadpanned, but whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Tate, “Where’s the other guy? You got him in your sights yet?”

  “He’s lying face-up in the snow to my right. He thinks I don’t see him, but I do. Want me to blow one of his pinkie fingers off? I could do it.”

  Ky chuckled. Tate wasn’t kidding. Disarming these guys went a long way toward them proving they were who they said they were. When Chase pulled one damned long blade out of his right boot sheath and dropped it to join his arsenal in the snow, Ky lifted his rifle barrel skyward and stood down. “I’d make you strip to your skivvies, Chase, just so you could pull the weapon out of your ass, but that’ll do for now. Tate, ease off Becker. Let him come in, too.”

  Damned if Eden’s other friend didn’t sit straight up out of the snow and look around, his rifle lifted over his head. “You knew I was here?” he asked as he peeled his fancy goggles off.

  “It ain’t hard to smell horseshit when it’s blowing upwind,” Tate responded easily.

  Becker scrambled to his feet. “Funny. That’s what led us to you guys only it was blowing downwind then.”

  “What? Followed the stench of your FBI drone buddies?”

  Becker chuckled. “Can we dispense with the name-calling while I join the party, or do you want to see my hairy ass, too? You know I’m just gonna pick up every weapon I lay down. It doesn’t seem too smart to disarm the only help you’ve got within miles.”

  “Then get your candy ass up here. Move slow so I don’t have to kill you,” Tate growled. He lifted to his feet, his scope still on their newest arrival.

  Ky felt Eden’s hand the moment she’d rested it between his shoulder blades. He calmed, knowing she’d chosen his protection over these supposed friends, but wasn’t that interesting? She knew these guys, but didn’t seem to trust them.

  The men collected their gear and trudged uphill. One Secret Service Agent Sam Becker. Tall. Shaggy, dark hair. Coffee brown eyes, black, no cream. Moustache and a definite five o’clock shadow. Older than Ky, maybe by five years. Maybe more.

  One badass FBI agent, Tucker Chase. Same approximate age as Sam. Same height as Ky. Beefy build. Muscular. Clean-shaven. Dark hair under a black beanie. Ornery blue eyes. Same tactical gear as Becker. Standard FBI issue. Lowest bidder crap, the kind the Feds bought. Nothing like the state-of-the-art gear Alex invested in for his people.

  Chase veered to Becker’s right. Both men moved with tactical practice, Ky had to give them that, not the robotic gait of the guys that would soon be hanging by their boots in the trees. That was another point in these guys’ favor. But if they were so damned good, where were they yesterday when Eden could’ve used their help the most?

  “Cut her loose. She’s going with us, asshole,” Agent Chase growled between huffing and puffing from the uphill climb. “Come on, Stark. Get your stuff. Move out.”

  Eden made no effort to greet these guys, and Ky’s calmness evaporated. He trusted her more than he did them. “She goes nowhere.”

  “And I said—”

  Ky snapped his piece back into action. “And I said no! Look around, Chase. You just killed six of your own men. Why the hell would I let her go with anyone wearing an FBI badge? Just because you and your secret agent friend said so? Take a hike.”

  Chase’s weapon zeroed in on Ky, a stupid shot since Eden stood right behind him. True, he’d aimed at Ky’s head, high enough he wouldn’t hit Eden. Like that made any difference. Eden was going nowhere, not with some jerk who had more guts than brains. “Back off, or so help me I’ll—”

  Wrong move, Chase. Ky snapped his rifle into his shoulder, sure as hell going to blow this asshole out of his boots if that was what it took.

  Tate bumped elbows with Ky, forming a wall that blocked Eden from Chase’s view. Her head thudded between Ky’s shoulder blades. She snaked her arms around his waist. Something was wrong. He twisted over his shoulder to risk a quick glimpse. Eden had gone white. Perspiration beaded above her top lip.

  “Help me, Ky,” she whispered, sliding down his thigh to her knees in the snow.

/>   “You son-of-a-bitch!” Chase roared. “So help me God, if you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

  Tate fired a warning shot over Tucker’s hard head.

  Ky barely had time to catch Eden before she fainted.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Why’s she keep doing that?” The annoyed question came from Tate, but the warm, bare fingers checking her pulse at her neck belonged to Ky. So did the breath in her face. Eden inhaled, pulling more of him into her soul.

  “Because something’s wrong,” Ky murmured, “and she just had surgery.”

  “She may have another implant.” That worried baritone belonged to Tucker Chase. “Did you smart boys ever think of that?”

  Eden opened her eyes to four very worried men, all bent over her and in her face. Heat and way too much testosterone filled the crowded tent. Its designer surely didn’t have these massive guys in mind when he designed this tent.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, her elbow cocked behind her to lift herself up, like that was possible in this confined space. “I don’t know why I keep doing that.”

  “Lie still,” Ky ordered, his hand to her shoulder pushing her flat to her back. “You’ve got to be seriously injured or you wouldn’t keep fainting every time you turn around.”

  “But I’m not hurt,” she argued. “It’s like vertigo. All of a sudden the world goes wonky on me, and I’m on the Titanic, and it’s sinking, and I’m...” The sensation buzzed inside her head. Sinking didn’t begin to describe the vicious cold that swept over her this time. Two dark holes bore down on her as if they were—eyes? No way. They couldn’t be. But they were. Black eyes. Sinister black eyes.

  “Wonky?” Ky teased gently.

  The vision cleared. Sam elbowed forward. “We need to check you, honey. Winchester’s right. Something’s got to be going on inside that pretty head of yours for you to keep passing out like he says you’ve been doing.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Eden looked past Ky to Sam Becker, sure the bizarre fainting spells explained her second sight’s failure to engage properly.

  Sam looked as good as ever. He’d resigned from the Bureau to join the Secret Service some time back. A twinkle glistened in his chocolate brown eyes. Sexy in an older man kind of a way, Sam always had considered himself a lady’s man. The everlasting alpha. Taking charge. Over-confident to a fault. He ought to be. The ex-Navy SEAL had certainly survived enough harrowing deployments to make him believe he was bulletproof. Just not her type.

  Eden shot him down. “Zaroyin’s two devices are out of me. Ky made sure.”

  Two sets of bushy brows lifted in surprise. “He did?” Sam asked. “When the hell did he have time to do that?”

  “You operated on her, you bastard?” Tucker hissed. “You cut her open?”

  Another alpha. Also ex-SEAL. Also tall, dark, and handsome, but close-cut. Tough as they came. Thirty-something. A definite potty mouth that got him into trouble on the job as much as off. The man seemed to live for bar fights and backtalk. His take-all-comers attitude attracted trouble. He had a chip on his shoulders the size of Texas. Yeah. Both shoulders.

  “I’m fine,” she assured the men now crammed into her life. Tate seemed to be the only one who believed her. He backed out of the tent and slapped the flap closed without argument.

  “We have to check you again, sweetheart,” Sam said smoothly. “At least one of us will. We need to make sure there aren’t any more implants.”

  “Go check yourself,” she replied quickly. “Look for a wire strapped to your chest, why don’t you? That’s where mine was, and I didn’t know it was there. You could have one, too.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay. Sure. You might be right.” With a cocky, lopsided grin, he unzipped his jacket and jerked a couple of layers of shirts up to reveal his very muscular and nicely tanned chest. He passed one big hand over the barest dusting of curly chest hairs, then lifted his shaggy head and winked at her, the big flirt. “You see any wires on me, darlin’? Any implants? Anything that doesn’t look like it belongs there? I sure don’t. It’s not me Zaroyin wants. It’s you. Now be a good girl and—”

  “I’m not your good, little girl,” she snapped, then turned on Tucker, “and I’m not your sweetheart, either. Shut up, Becker, and put your shirt down. Did you guys come up from Thunder Bay?”

  Sam tucked his shirt back in his pants. “We did. Why?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to understand what went wrong with her second sight. It had never been more unreliable. “Because I should’ve seen you coming, but I couldn’t. All I saw was shadows.”

  Ky took hold of her hand. “But you did see the other six. That’s what’s important.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t see these two guys clearly, and I don’t feel good,” she said as emotionlessly as possible, not easy when you really did feel like a little girl with three hulking brutes hovering over you, all of them alpha wolves who were ready and willing to jump into her life and fix her problems. “My head hurts all the time, Ky. And I’m dizzy.” She shot a look at Tucker, surprised he hadn’t made a smart alec comment like she expected. “Dizzier.”

  Instantly, Ky’s bare fingers tunneled into her hair and against her scalp, smoothing over her skull. “Let me take another look. It could be the after-effects of that mind-control device I removed. It did have long roots. I might have hurt you when I pulled it out like I did.”

  Tucker growled, his arms over his chest. His over-protective posture and his glare wasn’t helpful. She ignored him and closed her eyes, gripping Ky’s biceps as he carefully searched her scalp, parting chunk by chunk of her hair and letting it fall over her face as he went. Maybe she did need a thorough examination. Maybe she’d missed another implant. How many could there be? Nausea lifted up her throat at the very real molestation inflicted upon her. She’d never felt more helpless. “You guys have got to get out,” she told Sam and Tucker wearily. “I don’t need an audience.”

  Tucker jerked his big chin toward the tent flap. “You heard her, Winchester. Get your ass out in the cold. Move it.”

  “Not Ky,” Eden corrected, a whip of frustration in her tone. “He stays. Just you two. Get out. Please. I can’t breathe with all of you in this tent. You’re too big. There’s no air.”

  Tucker shot Ky a dirty look, his head lowered. “If you hurt her, I’ll—”

  “God, Tucker, will you stop? He isn’t hurting me. He’s helping, He’s saved my life three times now, which is more than I can say for you.”

  Poor Tucker’s lower lip puckered. “We would’ve been here sooner, but our pilot refused to fly any farther north in this weather.”

  “I know. Please go,” she insisted. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sharp, but if I do have another implant, Ky will find it. He’ll take it out. I’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

  A gentle smile tweaked Ky’s lips as he smoothed the last chunk of her hair over her ear. “Nothing up here but silk,” he murmured, winking, his back to her FBI behemoth friends, and his warm breath on her face. That small, intimate comment soothed her ragged edge. Yes, he was the man she wanted checking her body out, not two agents she’d have to work with the rest of her career. Ky might not like that she’d selected him, but with his touching fetish, but that should actually make Tucker happy. Ky would be done with this examination in no time.

  “Fine,” Tucker muttered, his feelings obviously hurt and his dander up, “but we’ll be right outside if you need anything. Call me. Do you hear?”

  She shook her head at his perpetual obstinance. Honestly. The man could make the Pope swear. “I will, now out.”

  “I’m coming back in ten minutes if—”

  “Tucker! Get out!”

  “Fine,” he growled, mumbling under his breath. Sam nodded once at her, his bushy brows narrowed before he followed Tucker’s surly butt into the wintry weather.

  “Finally,” Eden blew out between pursed lips, exasperated with the world of bossy men. She glared at Ky. “Now you. Do your thing before
I change my mind and ask Tate to search me. Get every last device out and off me, darn it. I can’t work like this.”

  “Are you sure you want me doing this?” he asked. “I mean, before, when I... When we...”

  “Ky. I get it. You can’t tolerate human touch. It was wrong of me to push you before. Forget it. Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ky muttered, a definite hint of worry in his tone.

  Sudden tears brimmed at his about-face. One minute, he seemed playful—the next, all too serious. She got it. He was obviously struggling with that darned phobia, but God, what a day. Eden stiffened her emotions. She’d never felt more rejected in her life, and now she’d turned into a hormonal mess. Darn Zaroyin. This was all his fault.

  Carefully, and probably reluctantly, Ky rolled back to his knees and began. He wasn’t using gloves, though. Eden would’ve found that encouraging before their kiss. Not now. He’d made his intentions clear, and she meant to hold him to them. Get over it, Winchester. This isn’t touching, remember? It’s just one agent searching another agent for implants. That’s all.

  Feeling sorry for herself, she sat stiffly while his fingers probed every inch of her neck, twisting her head gently from side to side as he combed her hair out of his way. He peered inside her ears, then commenced examining her throat, smoothing his fingertips from collarbone to jaw, his thumbs sliding over her trachea. He made her open her mouth in case one of her teeth was false. He smoothed both of this thumbs down her trachea to her collarbones, and her angst evaporated. His touch was light and easy. Warm.

  “Find anything yet?” she asked at the gentle massage. He did have a light touch. Warm. Careful.

  He nodded, that same lazy smile back on his lips. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I mean anything that shouldn’t be there?” she snapped. He needed to know she wouldn’t be trifled with. Stop smiling, Ky. I can’t bear another letdown. I’ve had enough.