Omega Force 01- Storm Force

by Susannah Sandlin

  “Probably not.”

  If the storm had taken a last-minute curve to the north and weakened offshore, which had been his prediction (and he trusted his own forecasts more than the so-called professionals), the maelstrom raging outside was probably Geneva’s leading half.

  “We should have a lull when the eye goes over, then the second half will be the worst of it.” Just to be safe, he reminded her where the life jackets were. “If we end up going in the water, best thing to do out here is find a cypress knee and hold on — those things are indestructible. Find a tall one, because the water levels will go way up.”

  Kell could tell from Mori’s expression that she had more on her mind than hurricane survival. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her bent knees, her gaze distant, her jaw tight.

  The wide neck of her T-shirt had slid down in the back, and the edge of the “B” between her shoulder blades stood out, a shiny, pink new scar that looked as if it had been applied to her smooth skin with a single brushstroke. Another day and it would be healed, while Kell kept adding injury upon injury: jaguarundi scratches, broken fingers, wolf bites, and the ever-present back pain that two encounters with unfriendly shifters had worsened.

  “I have to go after Michael.”

  He barely heard Mori’s soft, determined words over the wind and rain beating on the south side of the cabin.

  “We both do. This isn’t your fight to do alone.” It never had been, really. Not after Benedict had ordered that first bomb to be planted.

  Mori twisted to look at him. “I’m the only one who can fight him, Kell. I know you don’t like to hear that, but—”

  He held up a hand. “Wait. You’re wrong.” Well, she was right; he didn’t like to hear it, but he realized it was true. “I agree. You’re the only one with the physical strength to take him on.”

  Mori raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what did you do with Jack Kellison?”

  Yeah, he probably deserved that. “I’ve had to re-evaluate some of my former statements in light of recent events.”

  The eyebrow rose farther.

  Kell chuckled. “OK, after Michael beat the crap out of me without breaking a sweat and you pretty much tore his face off, I’m eating my words. Happy?”

  “Yep.” She leaned back again. “So you agree that, as soon as the storm blows through, I’m going back to Houston to end this, one way or another.”

  “Absolutely not. I said we will be going after Benedict, and I meant it. You have the physical strength, but I have the experience planning operations. What were you going to do — knock on his front door and bite him?”

  She looked sheepish. “Well, I hadn’t gotten that far, but I hope I’d be a little more subtle than that. Although…” She paused, wrinkling her brow and tilting her head in a way that sent too much blood rushing south again, forcing him to have another conversation with his balls. He jammed his left pinkie against his thigh, which took care of the problem. Hard to focus on sex when it felt like a gator was gnawing its way up his arm from fingertip to elbow.

  “But what?”

  Mori glanced at him with a frown. “Your voice sounds funny. What’s wrong?” Nothing. He’d just put himself in agonizing pain to teach his cock a lesson. Probably not his sharpest move. “I’m fine. What were you saying?”

  “I hate to admit it, too, but I think you’re right. It’s going to take both of us.” She frowned at his left hand, which he was holding aloft in the hope that all the blood would drain to his elbow and lead to numbness.

  “I mean, what you guys did in getting me out of Michael’s house was amazing — all the planning and coordination that went into it.” Mori shook her head. “If we put your strategic skills and my physical strength together, I really think we can beat him. For the first time, I believe it.”

  Her excitement was contagious, and he couldn’t help but smile. Sure, he’d like to be the big bad Ranger and go charging in to neutralize the enemy and save the damsel in distress. But that wasn’t even in the same zip code as reality.

  “But I do need to be able to back you up, which means I need to know Benedict’s weaknesses. If we can’t figure a way out of this peacefully…” He trailed off, remembering his vow last night to see Benedict dead.

  “You and I both know that won’t happen.” Mori’s voice was hard and determined. “I’ve pretended he was a reasonable man for long enough, and look where that got us. So let’s not even waste time saying we’re going in there to negotiate with him. Do you honestly think there’s any way to end this other than killing him?”

  Kell thumped his head against the rough wood of the headboard he’d never quite gotten around to finishing and polishing. It went against everything he believed in to go into a mission like this, with not even an option for a peaceful resolution, but he’d already tried going that route, hadn’t he?

  “No, I came to the same conclusion last night.” Besides, even if they went in trying to talk to Benedict, the man had already proven he’d gravitate toward violence in the end. “And we need to hit him as soon as we can get back to Houston, before he can make the next move himself.”

  Mori walked to the desk and picked up his cell phone, punching the power button and shaking her head. “No service. I wish we knew what was going on in Houston, but Robin probably can’t get back to watching him until the storm passes. Her arm’s probably healed, but with the winds this high, no way she could fly.”

  She set the phone back down and started pacing at the foot of the bed. Even with a case of bedhead from sleeping with wet hair, she was distracting enough for Kell to raise his left hand in front of his face as a reminder to stay focused.

  A loud thump from the front of the house stopped her, and they both looked at the door.

  “Probably a tree branch,” Kell said. Loose and dead tree limbs became projectiles during hurricanes. “Or Trey’s boat bumping the dock. With this wind, the water has to be rough. The storm got bad earlier than I expected. I’ve waited too late to move it.”

  No further sounds followed other than wind and rain, so Mori resumed pacing.

  “Dire Wolves are hard to kill but not impossible.” She crossed her arms as she walked. “A close-range shot directly to the heart would usually do it, but to be sure, the heart needs to be cut out.”

  Kell nodded. Gruesome, but effective. He couldn’t imagine what kind of Dire laws she was breaking by telling a human how to kill one of them, especially their alpha. “What about a head shot?”

  “Only if it’s within close enough range to take off the whole top of the head. Otherwise, you just end up with a brain-damaged Dire, and Michael’s already crazy enough. Beheading would work, too.” Mori scrubbed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this.”

  Another loud thump came from out front, but this one definitely sounded like Trey’s boat hitting the dock. Kell had a feeling he was going to owe his cousin some serious boat repairs.

  He opened his mouth to comfort Mori, to tell her they were just talking theoretically. But what could he say, really? This was information he needed, and she knew it. “What about silver bullets?”

  She stopped pacing and smiled at him. “No, that’s werewolves.”

  He started to ask if werewolves were real, too, but decided he didn’t want to know the answer. There were limits to how much weirdness a man could accept in any given year — or lifetime.

  “Most shifters do have something they react violently to, though,” Mori said, coming back to sit on the bed. “Ours is mercury, which is why, back in my grandparents’ day, Dires couldn’t get their cavities filled. There were lots of toothless old wolves. These days, we can’t eat wild-caught fish or seafood, especially tuna.”

  Not that helpful. “Great, you can hold Benedict down while I pour cans of tuna down his throat.”

  Kell didn’t know what kind of connections the colonel had, but he could probably get his hands on mercury without too much trouble. Except, then Kell
would have to tell him what he planned to do with it. The colonel probably wasn’t ready to sanction murder, because however much he and Mori wanted to think of their plans in terms of the greater good, what they were plotting was plain old homicide.

  Which is why he didn’t want Nik and Robin and Archer in on it. It was one thing to flush his own career, but another to let them flush theirs out of loyalty to him. And they’d do it, every one of them.

  “Tomorrow, then, or maybe even tonight, we can—”

  Mori hesitated at another noise from outside. It was more of a crash than a thud, although Kell couldn’t think of anything he’d left on the porch that would make such a sound.

  “I’m going to see if I can tell what’s going on with Trey’s boat.” Kell got up and walked to the door, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his right hip and the back of his leg. As long as he was lying relatively still, he’d been able to ignore it.

  Mori sat on the edge of the bed. “If you decide to go out on the dock, let me tie a line around you so you don’t get blown into the bayou without a way for me to pull you back.”

  Kell looked over his shoulder at her and laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought of it, but it’s a good idea. You can reel me in like a fish if I go flying off the dock.”

  He opened the front door, taking an instinctive step back as the slashing rain hit his face and chest. At least the combat pants were water-repellent.

  “Can you see anything?” Mori walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “The boat looks OK.”

  It did, but the water level had gone up at least a foot. If it rose too far before the storm’s eye passed over, they’d have water in the house by the time the second swell of the storm moved inland.

  There was no point in worrying about that yet, but they’d need to get perishables off the floor.

  “Might as well wait an—”

  Kell froze as he turned back, seeing the outside of the door for the first time.

  “What’s wrong?” Mori walked around him and gasped.

  The bar of soap they’d dropped on the dock last night had been skewered to the door with a long, serrated knife. Kell grabbed the handle with his right hand and worked the knife out of the wood.

  “It’s him.” Mori pulled Kell back into the room and slammed the door, looking around frantically. “How could he be here?” Kell didn’t know how, but that bar of soap told him one thing. Benedict had been watching them last night. He’d either followed them or else made a lucky guess as to where they were headed and found a boat more easily than Kell had.

  “Where do you think he is now?” Mori’s face had turned the color of milk.

  Kell didn’t have time to answer. He didn’t have time to theorize that maybe Benedict had left his calling card and was waiting until the storm passed to make his next move. He didn’t have to time to think how enraged Benedict would be if he’d seen them on the dock last night.

  He barely had time to register the front door being kicked in, or Mori’s screams, or the bear of a man barreling toward him with a bellow of rage and arms as strong as a Louisiana cypress.

  CHAPTER 34

  Before the splintered door swung all the way open, half of it crashing to the floor, Michael had come straight at Kell with the power of a locomotive. Mori didn’t wait to see whether Kell was conscious after his head had cracked into the footboard of the bed. She focused on calling her wolf, and the wolf came with a painful, violent shudder.

  Her shoulder hit the desk chair as she dropped to knees, which were rapidly replaced by paws. Her fastest shift yet.

  She raised her head, watching for a split second as Michael, screaming in rage, spittle flying from his mouth, beat Kell’s head against the wooden footboard a second time.

  Before he could crush Kell’s skull, Mori gathered the power in her wolf’s back legs and launched, landing on Michael’s back. She dug into the nape of his neck with her teeth, biting hard, shaking her head. She tasted blood, and she wanted more.

  But not yet. She leapt to the side when Michael reacted as she’d expected, releasing Kell and grabbing for her.

  When he caught only empty air, he too shifted — but not as fast as she had. They stared at each other, wolf to wolf. She waited for him to come after her, but instead, he backed up. What was he doing?

  Mori’s wolf didn’t react fast enough when Michael spun and sank his teeth into Kell’s calf. Kell was unconscious, so he couldn’t fight back. And that was the second bite.

  There couldn’t be a third, or Kell would be a hybrid if he survived, compelled to do whatever Michael dictated. Mori couldn’t let that happen.

  She threw the full weight of her wolf into a shoulder tackle, and they tumbled away from Kell, crashing into the desk. One of the fluorescent lanterns fell on Michael’s head, and he responded with a snarl, his gaze again coming to rest on the unconscious man.

  Mori had to draw him away from the cabin. Kell hadn’t even been willing to undergo back surgery because it carried the risk that he’d lose control over part of his life. He’d rather die than become Michael’s property and become no more than a puppet. She had to protect him, and she had to win.

  With a soft growl, she backed toward the door, willing him to follow her. He looked at her, glanced over his bleeding shoulder at Kell, then stared at her again. With a heavy thud of paws and a low growl, Michael followed her.

  The rain fell in hard, heavy drops, and the wind blew it in horizontal sheets. Visibility was all but nonexistent. The water seemed to be rising fast, which had to mean the storm had gotten to shore and was pushing in the sea ahead of it.

  Wolves were powerful on land, but not on water — at least not for distances or in this kind of weather — and certainly not steering a boat. Mori needed her hands.

  While Michael’s wolf watched from the porch of the cabin, she turned and raced toward the end of the dock, leaping into the Belle Teche. She landed on a middle seat, her paws scrabbling against the wet fiberglass until she found purchase. Then she ran toward the back of the boat, willing herself to shift.

  By the time she reached the motor and ripped off the cover, she had hands.

  Again, Michael’s reaction was slower, which told Mori she’d hurt him with her bite to the neck today — and, with any luck, he had remaining pain from the fight yesterday in Galveston. He’d lost a lot of blood from Kell’s knife wound.

  He shifted as he loped along the dock, but before he reached the end, she’d managed to propel the boat away from the cabin, using her hands to try and bail the standing water out of the boat’s bottom.

  Michael glanced back at the far side of the porch, where a second boat had been tied up, not visible from the front door. So that’s how he’d gotten here. All those bumps and thuds hadn’t been Trey’s boat, but Michael’s. How had they let him slip up on them? How had he managed to follow them?

  A chill stole across Mori’s scalp when she took another look at the boat. She recognized the distinctive blue markings on the side — she’d seen that vessel last night in the boathouse alongside the Belle Teche.

  The only way Michael could have found them out here was through someone who both knew they were here and knew the area well enough to give directions. Which meant Trey Kellison, who didn’t seem the type to have given up that information easily. If Michael had hurt Trey or one of his family members, Kell would never forgive himself.

  But before forgiveness, they had to survive.

  Mori steered the Teche farther along the bayou, forced to go slowly so she could squint through the rain that blended water and shore into one gray blur. Finally, she reached the bend that would take her out of sight of the cabin. She looked back and tamped the motor down, scanning the dock for Michael. She wasn’t even sure she could see the dock anymore. The water was rising fast, and the normally smooth water of the bayou roiled and rolled.

  The roar of a second motor finally reached her, and she strained to see, scrubbing the rain out of her eyes and
putting the Teche back in motion. By the time she saw Michael, his boat had rounded the corner and headed straight for her.

  The smaller boat was lighter and faster, and Mori had little experience in boating — not like Michael, who took his yacht on the regattas that ran from Galveston to South Padre. He was outmaneuvering her, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it, except to keep going.

  Michael tried to pull the small boat alongside the Teche and got close enough for Mori to read Belle Bleu on the hull before she jerked the tiller to the side. The bump caused Michael to lose his balance.

  She sped up, weaving the Teche from side to side to make it harder for Michael to pull alongside again. But he tracked her movement and compensated for it. When she next cut left, the prows of the boats collided with a crack of fiberglass, crunch of glass, and roar of motors with no place left to go. Both motors died, and their sudden silence made the roar of the rain and wind seem even louder.

  Mori found herself on her ass in the bottom of the boat, sitting in several inches of water. She scrambled up to see Michael climbing aboard the Teche.

  “Time to go home, Mori!” Michael shouted with enough force for the cords to stand out in his neck, but Mori could barely hear him over the storm. Behind him, the tops of bald cypress and water tupelos bent horizontally with the wind, and Mori had to grasp the side of the Teche to stay upright.

  Michael used the side benches to pull himself toward her, while Mori backed up as far as she could. Panic threatened to overtake her, and she shifted without meaning to, her wolf’s feet underwater to the first joint. But with the lower center of gravity, she handled the wind better on all fours.

  Michael laughed and shifted as well, pacing through the water toward her.

  Damn it, she would not go out whimpering and waiting for him to kill her. She ran toward him, propelling herself out of the water and pushing him backward with her momentum.

  Water was in her ears, her eyes, her mouth — but also fur and blood.

  A massive paw caught her on the muzzle and pushed her head under the water in the bottom of the boat. Mori stilled, unable to breathe, and felt the sharp bite of Michael’s teeth on her throat.