At the Merest Glance: a military paranormal romance (Shadowforce: Psi Book 3)

by M. L. Buchman

  When had she last stopped? Making a go of her tracking business didn’t exactly rain down the money. The BBC Springwatch had been nice.

  For weeks every year, the BBC set up cameras and recorded the local birds, mammals, even fish. She’d helped them scout the area and embed their cameras. Some were easy, along a badger trail or in a stoat den. Some tricky, inside a flicker’s nest or monitoring a caterpillar’s cocoon.

  But that was over. Autumnwatch was months off, and other than odd jobs like the charming Chas Thorstad, she wasn’t exactly thriving. Wouldn’t even be much afloat doing that without Anton. She had plenty of family money, but she’d cut off an arm before she’d touch the account her parents dumped more money into whenever they felt guilty about how they’d raised their only daughter.

  While she still didn’t know how she felt about Anton, she appreciated him stepping in to shake down Chas. She’d needed that fee. And Anton hadn’t applied any payback pressure afterward. Most guys would have acted as if they’d suddenly been entitled to take her to bed. But Anton had done the exact opposite, scooting away to his friends like a very, very tall spooked puppy dog.

  Had he really just cared about justice?

  Maybe so.

  Was it before or after he shook down Chas that he’d recognized her—if that’s what he’d done?

  After. He tossed Chas out the door, turned to her, then sworn to her face in surprise.

  No way to fake that reaction.

  So, check the box that inside the mountain of a man was a decent guy. A fact that seemed to be confirmed by the quality of his friends.

  But the only way Anton could he have seen her was if he was in on some scam with Chas. Yet he’d thrown Chas through the door like a rag doll, so that wasn’t the answer either.

  That must mean that he could do what he said he could. Which made even less sense. Weird magical psi powers were fairy tales, not real world.

  And that same cycle of logic leading nowhere had cost her most of a night’s sleep with no brilliant insights.

  She’d learned long ago about living in the real world. Her parents had made sure of that. They’d as good as thrown her away. And Tom had taught her that the only thing that mattered was detailed observation of the world around her.

  No. She wasn’t some mythic freak who…

  Katie almost didn’t hear her when Hannah finally spoke. Had almost forgotten she was there beside her on the bench because she’d gone so quiet.

  “I was just thinking about Isobel…” And Hannah’s voice trailed away.

  Isobel. Of course, a Hollywood type would be into magic and crystals and whatnot. Except Isobel seemed more grounded in reality than any other person Katie had ever met.

  They’d chatted briefly about places in town that Isobel had explored yesterday evening before they’d met in the Ship Inn’s pub. Katie had made some suggestions of cute things that Isobel might have missed.

  The glass porthole in the side of Cregyn Cottage that showed the entrance to an old smugglers’ tunnel used by 18th century tobacco runners trying to avoid the revenue man.

  The most recent yarn-bombing, a line of knit cats prowling along a second-story balcony. In the early 2010s, the Graffiti Grannies had yarn-bombed many places in town, most in the cat-mouse theme. Katie rather hoped this was a rebirth. It was enough to make her take up knitting again.

  Katie could easily imagine Isobel wandering out of Ship Inn south to Cregyn. Then winding back along Mill Pool and North Street to see the cats and one of Katie’s favorite gardens. Finally wandering down Commercial Road and up Parade Hill to come back to the harbor along the north leg of the South West Coast Trail, which led up right behind their bench.

  Katie glanced back, then would have fallen off the bench if Hannah hadn’t grabbed her arm.

  “How long have you been there?” But she could see that Isobel was just walking up to them…from exactly the direction Katie had just been daydreaming.

  Daydreaming?

  “She’s got it,” Hannah said to Isobel.

  “Got what? The hiccups? You spooked the crap out of me. They’re so far gone that they’re never coming back now. And dammit, I liked my hiccups.”

  Isobel smiled at the joke, then circled around to sit on Hannah’s other side. “But I wouldn’t have spooked you if you’d just accepted that I’d be where you already knew I was.”

  “Not happening. So not happening.” Katie turned to stare back out at the small harbor.

  Even as she watched, three men came into view where the South West Coast Trail disappeared beyond the harbor.

  “Is that them?” She was sorry she’d spoken. But the trio had broken the pattern of motion drawing her eye. And once she’d spotted them, there was no question who they were. At least that was her tracking skill of noticing details and not…whatever these women were talking about.

  The three men started to run along the street, but then the smallest of the trio turned sharply. The other two followed and they ran down the boat ramp. In moments they were racing across the sand and rock toward their bench.

  The smallest of the three, Ricardo, ran as if he was floating along, barely in contact with anything so mundane as the ground. There was a perfect conservation of movement.

  “How did they know we were here?” Because they were making a straight beeline toward their bench as they raced across the dry harbor.

  “Oh, I told my man. Isn’t he just so pretty?” Michelle had come up behind them.

  Then Katie realized that Michelle had probably told him using telepathy, which would explain their abrupt course change.

  It also made Katie feel a little nauseous.

  Hannah’s agreeing sigh was all for the tall blond man, wearing his black cowboy hat even on a run.

  And using his massive power and long legs to advantage, Anton overtook them and came first to the harbor’s north stairs. He sprinted to the top, three steps at a time.

  At the very top, he halted and grabbed both railings, clearly set to let the others bounce off his back.

  Then he spotted her.

  “Katie!”

  He let go his grip and made it half a step before the other two reached the head of the stairs and flattened him against the railing.

  Anton had kind of assumed that Katie would be gone. Or at least wouldn’t want anything to do with them. Or him.

  After revealing what they were—and her insisting what she wasn’t—she’d left as soon as British politeness allowed.

  Yet here she was.

  And here he was, nearly blasted over the steel railing and back down into the harbor below. The top rail, chest high on most folks, had caught him square in the solar plexus.

  He’d already been out of wind before he’d decided it was time to outrun Ricardo and Jesse. He still wasn’t sure how, but he’d done it.

  And now he had no air at all and let himself simply slide down to his knees and wheeze like a helo turboshaft engine robbed of fuel.

  “That was great!” Katie was helping him ease into a sitting position on the sidewalk with his back against the traitorous railing. “How far did you run?”

  Anton flapped a hand in Ricardo’s direction.

  “Nothing much. Just a 10K.”

  Anton glared at him. The man was sweating, but he didn’t look tapped at all. At least Jesse had the decency to look hammered.

  “Maybe fifteen,” Ricardo’s evil smile said it might have been twenty.

  Anton made wavy motions with his hand for Katie, because he still didn’t have the air to speak, only getting tiny gulps past the pain in his chest. Not the sort of manly man moment he’d like Katie to be witnessing.

  “Up and down the hills of Cornwall,” she understood right away. “Be glad you weren’t in northern Cornwall. Brown Willy is four hundred meters.”

  “Brown Willy?” He managed to grunt out in surprise. A willy was British slang for a man’s—

  Katie rolled her eyes at his tone. “That’s the name o
f the highest point in the county, not a pickup line for a big black man. It comes from the Cornish Bronn Ewhella, meaning highest hill.”

  “Damn, and I had such hopes.” He went for a joke to cover up any awkwardness. And that’s when Anton finally figured out what Ricardo was talking about. He actually did have some hopes.

  “This isn’t the Stone Age.”

  “No, but—” he managed before he ran out of air again.

  “This is England,” Katie continued. “Not the backward puritanical hole that sits across the pond. Here you’re just another bloke. Sorry if you find that disappointing.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her. She would be…already was an easy woman to get to like.

  He also liked that Katie wasn’t a screen beauty like Isobel, or the in-your-face kind like his stepsister. She was like Hannah; just so completely herself. No bullshit show or teasing displays.

  Katie had a quiet steadiness that pervaded her being even when she was upset. And instead of gorgeous, she wore pretty with an ease few women could pull off with absolutely no affectation. She wore comfortable shorts and a blouse that had seen some hard wear, but was quality material so it still looked good. Practical sneakers had replaced the soft leather moccasins she’d been wearing last night.

  “What was with the moccasins?”

  “That’s what you ask me after comparing your privates to a mountain?” Katie looked at him askance.

  “Well, first, I don’t see how four hundred meters makes a mountain as long as I don’t have to run up it. And second…yeah, I guess it is.”

  She rose and helped him to his feet. “Moccasins leave less impression on the ground. They let me feel a twig before I snap it, and I have better control for balance. Unless I’m tracking on very rough terrain, it’s what I wear.”

  Anton nodded. It was interesting, but she was right: it was the wrong question.

  “You’re still here?” That was the right one.

  Until he saw her face.

  Maybe not so much.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head in a flurry of hair that she then had to scoop back over her shoulder.

  He wanted to reach out and brush it back into place, but resisted.

  Then she shrugged as if maybe she should talk about it even if she didn’t want to.

  He was about to lead her toward the long pier of the northern half of the seawall when Isobel raised her voice.

  “You have twenty minutes to clean up and grab breakfast, boys. Then we’re on the move.”

  Crap! No way to duck out. They hadn’t been sent to England as a vacation. But now he’d risk losing track of Katie again and he didn’t like that idea at all.

  “Where are you all going?”

  Isobel just smiled at Katie. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 6

  Anton had picked up Katie’s trail just here last night.

  Land’s End Airport lay behind them. The heat signature of her footsteps had faded, then been erased by the morning sunlight, but he could walk the path blindfolded. Could still picture her lying prone at the edge of the wood in front of the badger holes. The fine promise of the exceptional view from behind had definitely delivered on the woman from the front.

  “What was that guy photographing?”

  “What guy?” Jesse asked him.

  “The one I tossed through the pub door.”

  “Dang. I missed that?” Then like the sap the cowboy was, he grinned at Hannah. “Still totally worth it,” making very clear exactly what they’d been doing before coming down for a drink last night.

  And despite being Delta Force-trained like Ricardo, Hannah returned his mushy smile.

  “Are they always like that?” Katie whispered to him.

  “Hard to say. Definitely since the day we met them. But they’d been together a while by then. Like twenty-four hours anyway.”

  She smiled along with his low chuckle.

  “Forty-eight,” Hannah corrected. “And we weren’t like that…this…that fast.”

  “Forty-two hours and twenty minutes,” Jesse added. “And I was already as gone on Hannah as a steak on a hot grill by then.”

  “You see why I keep him?” Hannah asked Katie matter-of-factly before tapping her matching white cowboy hat up by the brim and pulling Jesse down for a steamy kiss.

  Michelle made some pithy comment that Anton didn’t quite catch because he was suddenly picturing what it might be like to kiss Katie Whitfield. That thought hadn’t really crossed his mind before this moment and he liked that thought…a lot.

  “Chas,” Katie cleared her throat but gave him no clue what she was thinking, “was photographing an erythristic badger. It’s a very rare coloring mutation that makes it red-and-white rather than black-and-white.”

  “No. I mean I saw that cute little guy. But that’s not what he was photographing.”

  Katie opened her mouth with a question when Isobel doubled back to the place the four of them had stopped.

  “Somewhere here is the assignment. Our challenge is to find it and infiltrate the installation to test their security.”

  “Here?” Anton looked around.

  They stood halfway between the airport and a long beach that stretched a kilometer south to a small hamlet. Between the two was all sheep pastures and rock walls dotted with quaint farmhouses.

  “Aren’t we being a little obvious tramping across their property?”

  It was Katie who shook her head in response, “Ever hear of The Ramblers?”

  Anton shrugged a no.

  She smiled up at him. “Anton, you just haven’t lived in the right places. All of the UK is a network of walking trails. A few are broad and paved, but most are little more than this track we’ve been on.”

  Below the airport, there was the copse of trees where he’d found Katie and Chas last night off to their right. A kilometer ahead lay a long beach and the sea caught between a pair of rocky headlands.

  From where they stood down to the beach and all along to the south lay a patchwork of fields crisscrossed by stone walls. Anton had assumed they were on a sheep path in one of those fields, but now he noticed that it crossed through field after field in a roughly straight line. There were gates he hadn’t noticed where the track crossed fence lines.

  “By ancient law, these paths belong to the people, not the landowners. Some of them cut through the heart of major estates. There are many American rock and roll stars who tried to buy luxury estates here, only to discover that, by law, their adoring fans could walk through their property, sometimes within ten meters of the back door because that’s where an old trail lay. Right now, as far as anyone else is concerned, we’re just a group of ramblers out for a tramp.”

  Anton looked. The men were a scruffy lot. Jeans and t-shirts for the most part. Hannah was dressed much the same. Michelle had been a fashion gal before she became a paramedic and then fell in love with Ricardo, and it showed. Slacks, a flowered blouse, and a cheery sunhat. Isobel wore a happy sundress that made her look like poured gold.

  Katie was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. A nice blouse and jeans that looked wonderfully real.

  “Okay, so we’re ramblers.”

  “Uh-huh,” then Katie turned to inspect the fields herself. “So what are we looking for?”

  “You know those undersea cable things?” Anton couldn’t resist the tease.

  “Yes...” she agreed carefully.

  “We’re looking for those.”

  Katie studied him as if he’d lost his mind.

  He couldn’t help grinning down at her.

  “But we’re on land,” Katie said it carefully.

  She could almost half believe that these people had some sort of powers, though she didn’t know when part of her thinking had changed. Phrases like “helicopter pilots” and “former Delta Force” had passed by without her really connecting the pieces.

  There was a lot of US Military in this group.


  Which gave her no clue to what they were actually doing in her country.

  “Who are you people?”

  Michelle slipped an arm through hers like they were lifetime girlfriends. “We call ourselves Shadow Force: Psi. Psi like in special parapsychological abilities. We’re…uh…” Words seemed to fail Michelle at that point which, by Isobel’s smile, was a very uncommon occurrence.

  “Think of us as specialized troubleshooters,” Isobel explained easily. “And what we’re interested in this morning is where the undersea cables come to land.”

  “That’s easy,” Katie pointed down toward the beach. “Just read the signs facing the sea that say, ‘Don’t anchor here’.”

  There was a brief silence, then Anton snorted with laughter. “Okay, who else missed that one?”

  There were many chagrined looks.

  “Not a sailor in the lot of them,” Isobel remarked dryly. “I learned about those signs when I was filming Where Dreams Sail.”

  It was like a snap of Hannah’s disembodied fingers just in front of Katie’s nose. For a moment she’d forgotten who Isobel Manella was in real life. It had been a lovely romantic comedy set in and around Seattle, Washington. Katie remembered the pretty fifty-foot sailboat that had been the hero’s home. And a steamy sex scene aboard…that suddenly had Katie struggling not to blush.

  Again, Isobel’s understanding smile. Somehow, she brought all of her credibility to the team and made everything they were claiming seem almost possible.

  Isobel was kind enough to change the subject. “It’s easy enough to see roughly where they come ashore, though they’re well buried. But where do they go from there is our first challenge. There are seven undersea cables that come ashore along Sennen Cove. Four local cables come in from Ireland, France, and the Scilly Islands. Two more come across from the Americas. And the twenty-eight-thousand-kilometer FLAG Europe-Asia that connects eighteen countries from here through the Mediterranean, Suez, Indian Ocean, and up to China, Korea, and Japan. That’s the one we were tasked with testing the security on. The first step is finding it.”