Sentinels: Wolf Hunt

by Doranna Durgin

  It had been easier to misdirect the mail going out to Joe Ryan—the reminders that his reports were late, warning of Core activity in the area. Because if he had been doing his job, his reports would have been in on time. If he’d been doing his job, he would already have known about that Core activity. He had deserved to bear the consequences of his arrogance, his willingness to mess with the power of the San Francisco Peaks.

  Although somehow he seemed not only to have avoided that, but to have gotten under the skin of Lyn Maines, the one woman Marlee thought she could trust to ferret out problems like Joe Ryan in the first place.

  Compared to her past favors—messages gone astray, information lost or delayed, inconsequential tidbits passed along to Gausto…

  This thing with Nick Carter suddenly seemed big.

  Especially when she walked into the community room—ostensibly to use the very nice espresso machine there, but in truth to assess just this—and instantly saw from their expressions that he was still missing.

  That palpable discontent in Dolan Treviño—black jaguar clothed in attitude, startling blue eyes in black Irish coloring, startlingly handsome lines in his features and body—didn’t mean anything. Standard Treviño. To find it in Meghan Lawrence…that meant something. Faint freckles, the tough, lean figure of a working ranch hand, dark brown hair slipping from its ponytail and eyes worried in sharp features. Meghan was nice; Meghan got along with just about everyone. She didn’t brood.

  Generally.

  Nor did Joe Ryan, whatever else Marlee thought of him. A big man, standing by the window and looking out as though he hoped to see something other than the city on the other side. Rugged in body, casual in dress—nothing like Lyn Maines, who stood beside him all neatly tucked together, her worry just as tucked away.

  Maks sat on the couch—built like Ryan, his green eyes more intense, his hair a dark gleaming chestnut with streaks of white that the unwitting might take for gray and not signs of the tiger within.

  As one, they looked at her in the doorway. No doubt they’d used their superpower hearing to detect her footsteps on approach. Their murmur of conversation cut short; their expressions were neither welcoming or hostile.

  Marlee tightened her hand around the thumbnail drive. Now. Now was the time to tell them. To hand over this thumbnail drive and the files it contained. She didn’t have to confess to everything. She could tell them she’d had trouble sleeping, that she’d been keeping an eye on things. That in the wake of its malfunctions the day before, the system had been floundering and she’d just barely saved these files before it had gone down.

  But they would smell her lies. They’d pursue and dig. They’d never believe her denials, and they’d be right.

  And yet…Nick Carter was out there. In the cold. Exposed because of her actions, and with Gausto after him. Marlee was sure of it by now. She could put the pieces together as well as any field Sentinel—and at the moment, she was the only one who had all the pieces. Marlee closed her eyes, trying to think past the sudden panic that closed off her throat, tightening down her chest.

  “Marlee?” Maks said, and his concern sounded genuine. Of course it would be Maks. Caring, for all his hands could do to a person. The one who might just have noticed Marlee’s reaction to him if he considered her anything other than not-Sentinel.

  And that was the whole point, wasn’t it? The Sentinels had forgotten they were indeed human. Not entitled, not God-gifted with the power to use others, all unknowing, as playing pieces.

  Marlee knew what it was like to be one of those playing pieces. She’d known since childhood. She’d known their hubris…she’d known they needed to be controlled.

  And so Marlee slipped the thumbnail drive smoothly into her pocket. “Hi, Maks,” she said, suddenly calm. “Any news?”

  As if she didn’t already know.

  But as she reached for the tiny cup that would hold the espresso, their attention went elsewhere altogether—to the doorway, where, in short order, Annorah staggered in.

  “Annorah!” Maks sprang to his feet—and instantly faltered, which was the reason he was still here. Strong, robust, and recovered from the incident that had nearly killed his team in Flagstaff—except for those inexplicable moments during which he wasn’t. Ryan put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him; Lyn and Meghan moved quickly to Annorah as she reeled into the doorway.

  Marlee just stood there in shock. This wasn’t her doing—but it was someone’s.

  “What the fu—?” Treviño, of course. Easily the most raw of them, the most outspoken. And in this case, clearly voicing the thoughts of the other men.

  “Drugged,” Annorah said thickly, as they guided her to a chair. “Last night…”

  “Marlee.” Maks looked over at her—directly at her. A rarity. “The coffee.”

  Practically a speech for Maks. After a startled hesitation, she popped the espresso serving pod into place and pressed the start button, and less than a minute later she handed the foamy beverage to Meghan, who took it to Annorah and steadied her hands as she brought the little cup to her mouth.

  Marlee made another for herself, and by that time Annorah’s expression was starting to clear. She looked down at the short-sleeved pajama top and a pair of boy boxers over her rounded shape and womanly hips. “Crap,” she said. “Where’s my bathrobe? And what happened? Isn’t there any security in this building at all?”

  Marlee had a sudden image of Berger’s executive assistant. Barely blooded at all—but damned good at his job and apparently good at what he was doing for Gausto as well. Security wouldn’t be any use against one such as him.

  Security, she imagined, hadn’t been any use against him.

  What the hell was Gausto thinking, to interfere with Sentinels here within brevis? Did he really think it would go unnoticed? Did he really think the Sentinels wouldn’t respond?

  And then she had a scarier thought.

  What if he didn’t care, because he knew it would be too late by the time anyone did?

  And there was Maks, peeling off his flannel shirt to drape over Annorah’s shoulders, tight black T-shirt beneath. Annorah clutched the shirt with a nod of thanks, and almost instantly cried, “Whoa! Whoa! Shut up! Everyone shut up!”

  Treviño swore for them all—knowing, as did even Marlee, what had happened. Communications. Supplicants inside Annorah’s mind, crying for attention. Internalized switchboard operator, hailing frequencies suddenly open. Her eyes went distant as her expression shifted into dismay, and alarm, and fear. And then a gasp, and she clutched Mak’s shirt close around herself, crying, “Stop, stop! I have to—” and shook her head, emerging from her inner world back to the community room.

  “What’s going on?” Lyn asked. Lyn, who’d been there when Annorah screwed up in Flagstaff, hurting Ryan so badly; Lyn had less patience for her now, but at the same time…more understanding.

  “Everything,” Annorah said, her voice barely making it above a whisper and yet somehow sounding like a shout. “They’ve been trying to get through…all night. Adveho vigilia…gone unheard. Monitio, not passed along. I can’t begin to untangle…” Tears filled her eyes. “They’re hurt out there, Lyn. I know you don’t think much of me after…” She risked a glance at Ryan, who seemed to withhold comment with effort. “But I would never leave them out there alone like this…”

  The room broke into a sudden babble of conversation. Annorah choked, “This is no coincidence! Not when I was drugged…when I couldn’t help…”

  Several dead, it sounded like. They got that much out of her. Several more wounded, with remote backup needed—out on the rim of the Grand Canyon, up by the Four Corners, south near the Mexican border at Los Cruces. Sentinels led away from safety, Sentinels ambushed with amulet workings they’d had no sense of until far, far too late.

  “Stealth workings?” Lyn said, coming to complete, alert attention. “Are these people who should have detected Core trace?”

  Annorah nodded, but she hel
d up a hand, forestalling further discussion while she quickly attended some other message, shuttling information around. “What do I do?” she asked when she emerged again, despair in her voice. “Someone needs to authorize rescue, now. I can’t reach the consul—I can never reach him, that’s why Nick has taken over so much of operations in the first place. I don’t know, maybe I can reach his exec—”

  “No!” Marlee cried—and snapped her mouth closed in horror. What have I done?

  But if they all snapped to focus on her, it didn’t last any longer than a moment. For that’s when Annorah cried, “Nick!” and her face blossomed with relief. “I have Nick!”

  Nick!

  Annorah’s shout in his mind sent Nick ducking away, sending back an instant wordless snarl of reprimand.

  Sorry, she returned, her inner voice practically sobbing with relief. We’re just so happy to hear from you—

  We? Nick kept an eye on Jet as she prowled his great room—high ceilings, tile accents, a couple of skylights—and plenty of room for a restless wolf to pace among the sparse furniture in premorning light. Restless and barely here at all. I do what is good for my pack.

  Your primaries, Annorah said, and then added, Not counting Michael and Shea and Ruger and—

  Those still in the brevis clinic.

  Ryan and Lyn, he said. Treviño?

  Yes, she told him. Good. He’d need Treviño in on this, hard and dark and ready to act. He needed them all. And maybe he let his relief leak out, for Annorah said, Nick, are you all right? You don’t feel—

  I got ambushed, Nick told her shortly. He didn’t mention Jet. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He hadn’t decided if it was because he didn’t want to muddy the waters or if he wanted to protect her or if he simply wanted to keep her all to himself. Trust no one, he told her. No one outside my primaries. There are new workings in play—undetectable amulets—perfected—

  Yes! she responded, with enough enthusiasm to alert him. It wasn’t a new concept to her, and that wasn’t good—although he’d seen hints of them for months, he’d kept them under wraps. After a moment she returned with, Stealth amulets, Lyn calls them. She’s been trying to pin them down since you sent her to Flagstaff—but she doesn’t have anything yet.

  Nick held a moment’s silence, eyeing Jet. If anyone knew…

  Then again, Jet could be surrounded by them and not have any idea of the significance. There was nothing to gain by revealing her. Not yet.

  Nick?

  Here.

  Whatever’s going down, it’s big. You weren ‘t the only one to go down yesterday. We…More hesitation. We lost field agents last night. We might lose more. We need—

  Lyn is there, he interrupted her, trying to hide the sick impact of her words. She’s my second, as of right now. This was far beyond what his exec could handle—a fine man, but not field status and not even in the office yet. I should have done that a month ago.

  But…Her thoughts stuttered to a halt, faltered onward. Aren’t you…aren’t you coming in?

  He couldn’t quite say it—that in spite of the obvious crisis, the obvious need…that in fact, he wasn’t.

  If he was at brevis, he was predictable. He was responding to pattern. He was in a mode that Gausto knew well and for which he had no doubt prepared.

  Those were all reasons…if not the determining factor.

  For if he was at brevis, then Jet would also be on her own. If he was at brevis, he’d have to answer questions. He’d get tied up in meetings and brevis politicking and procedures.

  If he was at brevis, Jet would be alone.

  And he knew she wouldn’t stay. Not when she’d barely come in from the desert in the first place.

  He gathered his mental composure, replacing barriers around those things that he didn’t want Annorah to see. He told her again, Trust no one.

  “Trust no one.”

  Annorah said it out loud, with a blink of surprise—with despair in her voice and fear in her eyes. “He’s not coming in. And he’s hiding something from me.”

  “He knows something,” Treviño said simply—sharp blue eyes catching them all up in his gaze. “He’s learning it the hard way—sometimes you just have to do things yourself.”

  “Trust no one,” Meghan repeated, her open features gone somber. “It’s as big as we thought, then.”

  Trust no one, Marlee thought, and set aside the half-empty espresso cup with trembling hands.

  She wondered when they’d figure out that Carter meant her.

  Nick was back.

  Jet saw it immediately; she stopped her prowling, her toes pressed against the cool saltillo tile and the strong desert sage and sand scent of Nick all around her, imbued in this oversized t-shirt he’d given her. Her back prickled with the cactus spines he’d pulled from her skin; her flank ached with what Gausto’s embedded amulet had wrought.

  Take it out, and lose the wolf forever.

  He’d been gone, somehow, in his head—pale green eyes distant, expression reflecting the difficult nature of the conversation he’d warned her he was about to have.

  Leave it in, and lose her freedom forever.

  So much depended on this man. He who would now leave for the city. For his brevis.

  “I wish—” she said suddenly, and then hesitated.

  Those didn’t seem to be the words he’d expected. He, too, had pulled on quick clothing—cutoff jeans. They left his legs free, feet as bare as hers, muscle raising highlight and shadow in the single light he’d bothered to turn on. She’d run and romped beside him as a magnificent wolf, assessing him with her wolf’s eyes. Now these human eyes saw him very differently—long lines, lean muscle, sparse, crisp body hair as hoarfrost as that on his head. As with the wolf, straight, strong features.

  She ran a hand over her nose. Her wolf nose wasn’t quite level in plane—just the slightest of elegant curves. She found the same on her human face. And now, when she looked at him, she found the tension easing from his body and a hint of a smile on a face too easily prone to fierce. She dropped her hand. “I wish we could just be wolf,” she said, finishing those words. Not thinking about them, just saying them. “I wish we were back together in the desert where we met. None of this. I…you…”

  And then, apparently, she’d run out of words. Maybe Gausto had never given her those words in the first place, or maybe such words simply didn’t exist. How could she say the joy she’d felt at his presence, the instant awareness of what two unique beings—both wolf, both human—could mean to one another?

  Instant trust, because she knew how to read him.

  Instant respect, because she saw what he was as both man and wolf.

  Instant want, because her body could see these things too.

  Instant longing, because she’d become just human enough to comprehend what it would mean to be with this man.

  No wolf was meant to be alone.

  Not Jet. Not Nick Carter.

  The wistful expression crossed his face so quickly she almost missed it. And then he looked away. “Gausto’s been busy.”

  Jet frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  He got to his feet—and now, while she stood quiet and still, he was the one who moved restlessly around the room. Resting his hand on the back of a chair; touching the couch. Hesitating to scent the air—or so it seemed. Jet thought he was looking deeper.

  This was the Nick she’d first met on the fairgrounds. Strong again. Powerful. So much of him hidden from her, and so much revealed at the same time. She had no idea what he was thinking…but she could see what he was. She took a step closer, stopped herself.

  He noticed, of course—because this was the Nick who would notice everything. “Yesterday. Last night. He went after my people.”

  Jet felt the dread of that. “Because you…”

  He interrupted her with a sharp lift of his head, a direct glance. “Because I was out of it. He’d planned to have me, but…out of it must have been good enough. He jammed up com
munications, and he—” His jaw tightened on the words; he looked away from her.

  Jet took a careful breath. Careful, because it was hard to breathe at all. “You have to help them.”

  Because that’s what he was. A leader. Not like Gausto, with strutting and threats and power plays, but a leader who cared for his people. She’d seen it out there in the desert, sparring with his wolf. She’d seen it in the way he responded to her even this evening.

  And because Jet, too, knew that responsibility, she knew he had no choice. And so the words meant even more, came even harder, when she said fiercely, “I wish—”

  He met her gaze. Looked at her a long, strong moment—looked at her in a way that managed to suck all the breath from her body.

  “There is,” she said steadily, “so very much I don’t understand. I just know what is.”

  “Better than almost anyone else,” he agreed. He hesitated, and seemed to struggle with…she wasn’t sure. Circumstances. Himself. He took a deep breath, jaw working. “You see very clearly. Uncluttered.” He took a step closer to her, conflict evident in the hand that closed too tightly over the chair currently between them. “I need that.”

  “You—” She stopped on that startling thought. She would not have said this man needed anything. “Me?”

  “You,” he said, a single rough-edged word.

  The shirt moved against her bare skin; air stirred across her bare bottom. “You talked to your people,” she said, reminding them both. “They need your help.”

  He didn’t look away from her. Steady, that gaze. Her skin tightened down; she felt the pull of him. The impulse to move closer came strongly—but not stronger than the future rushing down.