Searing Need

by Tracey Devlyn

  Most were unoccupied. Those that weren’t, he turned into morgues. It wasn’t until he’d reached the outer edge of the camp that the smell hit him. Even the rain couldn’t wash away the scent of death.

  The odor led him to a small clearing. In the center, three shovels stuck out of a large pit filling with water, as if the diggers had put the task off until the rain ended.

  Lining the rim of the pit were bodies, two deep. Guards he’d killed in a blinding rage upon seeing Kendra dead, at her captors’ feet. He waited for the remorse to come. It didn’t.

  Keeping to the tree line, he maneuvered his way over to the pile, bracing himself for the sight of a familiar pair of dark eyes. But he found no sign of Kendra. Rain sluiced over his face and crept into his eyes. He swiped at the water to clear his vision.

  Had they taken her body someplace else? Were they holding it for ransom? Propaganda?

  Bile roiled into his throat.

  “Goddammit!” He made to kick a rock teetering on the edge of the pit, when he noticed something odd about it. Bending, he pried it out of the mud and—

  “What the fuck?” He dropped the hand and scrambled away, nearly falling on his ass in his haste to get some distance.

  Wiping the rain from his eyes again, he stared hard at the hand, then glanced at the corpses. He stepped closer and used the barrel of his AR to flip the hand over, fingers up.

  Female.

  Recognition punched him in the gut.

  Kendra was here.

  His gaze slashed from the body part to the corpses to point after point after point in the clearing, searching. When his scan moved over the waterlogged pit, a prickle of unease raced down his spine.

  Rain beat against the surface, sending thousands of tiny ripples colliding into each other. In the midst of the melee, something bobbed. Something the size of a bowling ball. Something caught in a curtain of long, black strands.

  Kendra.

  * * *

  Landry’s goading voice pulled him back to the present. “What? You don’t want your lover to be sliced and diced like poor Kendra?” He pulled Riley’s head back at an unnatural angle and teased his knife along the tight flesh of her neck.

  “How do you know about Kendra?”

  “Hathaway’s influence is vast. A few donations in the right pockets, and he learned all about your time in Ecuador.” A cold smile spread across Landry’s face. “Tell me, what was it like when you realized Kendra’s head and hands and feet weren’t attached to her body?”

  Coen stared at the blood trickling down Riley’s throat. His pulse roared in his ears, and it hurt to breathe.

  “How does it feel to fail your entire team so completely? You give new meaning to Last Man Standing.”

  “D-don’t listen. To this psycho b-bastard,” Riley squeezed out through her distended throat. “You. Failed. No one.”

  “Let her go.” He forced his attention away from the shallow cut on her throat. “Riley will take you to the journal.”

  “I think”—Landry nuzzled her cheek while keeping his eye on Coen—“our quarrel has gone beyond the journal, don’t you?”

  Riley peered at him out of the corner of her eye, and Coen gave her a short nod.

  “Stop drooling,” she wheezed though her tight throat. “Over me. And you’ll. Find out.”

  Landry released Riley’s hair with such force that her head snapped forward. Then he plowed a boot between Riley’s shoulder blades and sent her sprawling across the floor.

  Bad decision.

  Coen swung his shovel. The sickening crunch of shattering bone echoed through the air.

  Landry’s knees buckled, and he landed on top of Riley.

  Her curses echoed through the greenhouse.

  54

  Ten minutes later, the flickering lights of two police cars and an ambulance reflected off the rain-drenched greenhouse.

  “Riley!” Sheriff Maggie Kingston rushed inside with Deputy Blaine on her heels.

  “Back here.”

  Boots pounded across the concrete floor. When Maggie reached Riley’s office, her eyebrow lifted at the sight that greeted her.

  Coen sat in the middle of the couch with one arm around Riley and the other around Camilla. Both she and Camilla were covered head to heel by space blankets Coen had retrieved from the first-aid kit.

  “Are you okay?” Maggie asked.

  Having participated in several tactical medical drills with Cash and Emmy, Riley had known what information to convey to the 911 dispatcher so that a full-on tactical response hadn’t shown up at the greenhouse.

  Nodding, she said, “I’m fine. A few scrapes and a little shaken, is all.”

  “They both need medical attention,” Coen said.

  “You do too, from the looks of it.”

  Deputy Blaine appeared. “He’s dead.”

  Maggie hooked a thumb in the direction where Nick’s body lay. “Was he alone?”

  “Yes,” she and Coen said in unison.

  “Blaine, give the paramedics the all clear.”

  “Will do.”

  “Nick Landry, I assume?” Maggie asked.

  A soaked, out-of-breath Britt stormed inside. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m figuring that out now.” Maggie cast her best sheriff look at Britt. “You shouldn’t be here. This is a crime scene.”

  “You can file a complaint with the sheriff later.”

  Accustomed to the Steele boys’ bullheadedness, Maggie brushed off his reply. When the greenhouse door banged open again, her sister glanced over her shoulder and sighed. “Might as well wait another ten seconds before explaining.”

  Cash ran inside, carrying his med bag. He took in the situation in one swift glance, giving Britt a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here dark look before dropping down at Riley’s side. “Hey, little sis. Playing for reals this time?”

  The gentle, teasing tone in her big brother’s voice made her throat close and tears fill her eyes. “G-gotta keep your skills sharp.”

  “Emmy will appreciate your dedication to my professional development.” He pulled on his nitrile gloves. “Let’s see where you’re hurt.”

  “Check Camilla first. She may have a concussion.”

  “No, señor,” Camilla protested. “My injuries are nothing. See to the others.”

  “She’s nauseous,” Coen said.

  Cash motioned to the other paramedic to have a look at Camilla.

  After inspecting the shallow cut on Riley’s throat, Cash folded back the reflective blanket and removed the thick pads of gauze. He froze at the sight of the gash across her chest.

  Britt cursed.

  Maggie steamed in silence.

  “It looks worse than it feels,” she said with a wry grin.

  “I bet it does.” Cash directed his next question to Coen. “Did you dress her wound?”

  The body beneath her went taut. “Yes.”

  “Good technique.”

  At her brother’s compliment, Coen’s hold on her softened.

  “Who’s the dead guy?” Britt asked, his patience at an end.

  “Nick Landry,” Riley said. “I worked with him in Costa Rica.”

  “Audi Guy,” Coen added. “You’ll likely find a silver A4 hidden nearby.”

  “I’ll have my deputies search the area,” Maggie said.

  “He’s also the one responsible for killing Riley’s colleagues.”

  Britt slammed a hard gaze in Riley’s direction. “What dead colleagues?”

  “He murdered several of the researchers I worked with in Costa Rica.” She peered around Coen to give her friend a grateful smile. “Camilla came here to warn me.”

  Britt began to prowl the greenhouse like a caged wolf. “Warn you about what? Am I the only one in the dark here?”

  “I’ll explain everything later,” Maggie said. “It’s a long, complicated story.”

  “Now works for me,” Britt said. “Start at the beginning.”

  “Riley’s had e
nough—” Coen started.

  She put her hand on his chest. “It’s okay. An explanation is the least I can do.”

  As succinctly as she could, Riley told them about Camilla’s packages and texts, of the imprint on her bedspread and greenhouse ransacking, of Nick’s involvement and his infatuation with her, and of Hathaway’s wish to legitimize his business.

  When she finished, Maggie studied her for a long, uncomfortable minute. Then she said, “Did you know this Nick had been in your bedroom?”

  “I suspected—later.”

  “I must have missed your call,” Maggie said pointedly. “How connected is this Hathaway?”

  “The trail leads all the way to DC.”

  “You know,” Maggie said with a sigh, “Steele Ridge used to be a peaceful town.”

  “No, Canyon Ridge was a peaceful town,” she said. “Steele Ridge hasn’t known a moment of serenity since its christening.”

  “Touché.”

  “What happens next?” she asked.

  “I go hunting and you go home.”

  “Hathaway’s too smart not to have covered his tracks.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Intelligent, slightly psychotic men, who have way too much money, tend to have weak spines and flappy jaws.” She smiled. “Plus I’ll tap into the Steeles’ secret weapon—Cameron Blackwell.”

  Riley grinned. “It’s so handy to have an FBI agent and a sheriff in the family. I suggest someone pay a visit to Dr. Young. He’s involved, but I don’t know to what extent.”

  The other paramedic finished examining Camilla. “Whatever he hit you with left a large bump.” He gave Camilla an encouraging smile. “Let me take you to the emergency room so they can do some testing and give you something for the nausea.”

  Camilla looked to Riley.

  “They’ll take good care of you.”

  The paramedic assisted Camilla to her feet.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Riley said.

  Cash rose, removing his gloves. “Luckily, none of your wounds are deep enough to require sutures.” He handed her some gauze and other first-aid supplies. “Change your dressings daily for the next week. Let me know if the area becomes bright red or feverish.” His mouth kicked up in a brotherly smile. “Pus is bad too.”

  “Go save someone else.”

  He laughed and strode away.

  “Cash?” she called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked and left.

  Britt held out a hand to Riley. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  She glanced back at Coen. “Ready?”

  “More than ready.”

  Once she was on her feet, Britt pulled her into his big body for a gentle hug and kiss to the top of her head. “Go on. I’ll take care of this place.”

  Lifting up on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not letting you off the hook about why you kept all this from me. Just postponing the inquisition.”

  “Get in line, Steele,” Coen said, threading his fingers with hers. “Miss Indy has a problem asking for help.”

  Britt held out his hand to Coen. “Need anything. You call me.”

  Coen nodded.

  “The rain has stopped,” Maggie said from the door. “This would be a good time to make a break for it.”

  “See you later,” Britt said with a wave.

  Shoveling the spilled contents of her pack back inside, Riley tried to keep her brow smooth and her hands steady. She glanced around the greenhouse, careful not to look at Nick’s bashed-in head, and wondered if she’d ever be comfortable working here alone again.

  A large, warm hand slid across her back. “Leave the rest,” Coen said. “I’ll come back tomorrow and retrieve anything you need.”

  “Let me check on the Timbroma.” She picked up the tray from the floor and set it on a nearby worktable, still amazed they had survived the fall. Using the tip of her finger, she checked to make sure each seedling still retained good footing in the soil.

  “How do they look?”

  “Remarkably well, considering.”

  “Then let’s get you out into the fresh air.”

  She let him guide her outside. A deep numbness had taken root throughout her entire body. She pulled in a long, moist breath of Carolina air. The familiar July humidity helped center her and remind her of who she was and where she stood.

  All the events of the past hours seemed so surreal, so fantastical. Had she really faced down a killer? With nothing but her mind and body for weapons?

  She rubbed her hands over the gooseflesh that popped up on her arms and turned toward the parking lot.

  “Where are you going?” Maggie and Coen asked at the same time.

  “To the hospital. I want to make sure Camilla is okay.”

  “I’ll check in on her when I’m done here and let you know how she’s doing.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Maggie laid a hand over her cheek. “Go with Coen. I’ll catch up with you later to get the details. For now, do what you can to forget.” Against Riley’s forehead, she whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

  Tears pricked the backs of Riley’s eyes. She was so exhausted that she couldn’t even bring herself to argue. “Thank you.”

  Maggie held out a hand to Coen. When he took it, she swallowed hard and embraced him. “Thank you for watching over her. I won’t ever forget.” She broke off and marched back to the greenhouse, surreptitiously swiping a hand across her cheek.

  Love for her family squeezed at Riley’s chest.

  Coen’s hand trailed over her forearm until his fingers laced with hers again. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my campsite.”

  She swallowed back a lump of gratitude. The thought of going home and sleeping in the bed where Nick had reclined made her stomach queasy. Still… “I won’t be great company, Coen. Maybe I should—”

  In answer, he gave her arm a firm tug and headed for the tree line. She glanced back at her sister, expecting to see concern carved into her brow. Instead, a soft smile touched her mouth before she grasped her shoulder mic and reentered the greenhouse.

  Staring at the muscles rippling in Coen’s back, she wondered where they went from here. He had invited her to Fort Bragg, but that offer seemed a lifetime ago. Soon he would be returning to duty, and she would—hell, she didn’t know what she’d be doing.

  Before year’s end, she would be done surveying the conservation area. And she had no other employment prospects lined up. Lord only knew how much of Hathaway’s crud would rub off on her. The ethnobotanical community was small. Very small. Who would want to hire her after word got out?

  The project that was supposed to set her career on fire might have killed it without a single spark.

  Coen’s thumb caressed her hand as if he sensed her turmoil. Guilt elbow-socked her in the stomach. Here she was worrying about finding a job when he must be roiling in emotional hell.

  How many god-awful memories had Nick’s taunts forced him to relive? How does a person overcome picking up pieces of his teammate?

  She closed her eyes and allowed her feet to find their own footing while she fought off a bone-deep weariness. Somehow she had to find the strength to say goodbye to Coen. Send him off to God-knew-where with a convincing smile and…

  She didn’t know what came after and.

  55

  By the time Coen reached his campsite, the adrenaline that had been commanding his every action and reaction had disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself. Only his concern for Riley had kept him focused on the next step and the next and the next.

  He raked shaking fingers through his hair and listened for any extreme variances in Riley’s breathing.

  Silence. Not even the sound of a hiker’s labored breathing breached the air.

  She hadn’t uttered a word since leaving the greenhouse, just held on to his hand with the tenacity of a
baby chimp clinging to its mama. What did she make of Landry’s revelations about Kendra’s brutal death? About his failure to keep her—all his team—safe?

  Frowning, he rubbed the left side of his chest. Something felt… wrong.

  As he entered the outer rim of his campsite, his head snapped up and he froze. Riley’s nose bounced off his shoulder.

  “What—?”

  He held up a hand, scanning, sensing something foreign, something deadly in their midst.

  Drawing her into a crouching position, he whispered, “We’re not alone.” He pointed to a dense grouping of rhododendrons. “Wedge yourself inside there until I come for you.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Please.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go.”

  The expression on her beautiful face shifted from confusion and fear to determination and command. “Do not make me wait long, Monroe.”

  Despite the gravity of their situation, he sent her a brief smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Keeping his head low, he ran toward a large oak tree and used its massive girth as cover. Surveying the ground around him, he spotted a large rock and palmed it. The weapon wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, he peered around the tree—and came face-to-face with the business end of a gun.

  “If I were you,” a hard female voice warned from behind him, “I’d set down that rock. Nice and slow.”

  The sharp command engaged his brain’s autopilot, and he immediately obeyed. Lifting his arms into the air, he wove his fingers together behind his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “On your feet, Sergeant First Class.”

  He rose, scrutinizing the armed man in front of him before slowly turning to face the last person he ever wanted to see.

  56

  Sharp, obsidian eyes framed by equally dark winged brows met his with a boldness that came from decades of leading warriors with more testosterone than they knew what to do with. Even though the woman’s one star was nowhere in sight, her absolute authority wasn’t in doubt.