Eric (In the Company of Snipers Book 15)

by Irish Winters

  The three attackers backed away until the mist swallowed them.

  “Assholes,” Eric muttered, his weapon still drawn and ready. “Sure glad you showed up.”

  The other man holstered his pistol. “Can’t explain it. I had a crazy feeling I needed to follow you. What’d you do? Start a war all by yourself?”

  Eric blew out a long deliberate breath. “It’s been that kind of a day.” He finally turned on her as he tucked his pistol under his left arm. A two-pistol holster if she remembered correctly. His weapons were always loaded, always prepared to stand up to evil. Like him.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be Finn Powers, would you?” he asked, his brows narrowed to an angry V. “I sure hope so because I’ve been up all night waiting for you.”

  She dropped her head and pulled her jacket collar up to hide her neck and face, sure he’d recognize her the minute he looked into her eyes. Those facial appliances had better stand the crucial test of his scrutiny. She coughed, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. Brushing the back of her right hand across both eyes to dispel her tears, she froze. Oh, crap. My glasses.

  Muttering in as deep a voice as she could muster, she offered him nothing but the top of her head. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I’m Finn.”

  Gah! No gruff voice came out of her mouth. She’d squeaked like a frightened woman. He’d never believe she was a bumbling male at this rate. Wiping her tear-dampened hand on her baggy pants, she stuck it out for a handshake. “Glad you got my message,” she mumbled, striving for baritone. At least alto.

  She’d never had a problem deceiving Phoenix and Gordie. Why was it so hard fooling Eric? “Been a…” She cuffed a fist to her mouth and coughed. “…a helluva long day.”

  He gave her hand a quick shake, his focus on the direction her would-be assailants had gone. “Who were those guys? Do you know them?”

  “Sure don’t,” she admitted hoarsely, stealing a quick glance in his direction. Short black hair. Soft. Sexy. The kind of hair women liked to run their fingers through. Her nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of his shaving lotion.

  Standing close to him worked magic on her body. Heat pooled between her legs. Her stomach churned along with everything else inside of her trembling body. Even her fake jowls quivered against her neck. Frazzled, she took a step back and tripped on her over-sized feet.

  He caught her elbow and pulled her upright. “Don’t go falling—”

  Whatever else he meant to say got caught in his throat. The man had the kindest, darkest brown eyes in the world. Bedroom eyes that could melt a woman’s panties as quickly as they’d light up her world.

  He licked his lips, soft lips she remembered nipping and tasting. Kissing like there was no tomorrow. She’d never needed alcohol with him. She could get drunk on Eric for days.

  A distinct shadow graced the hard angle of his jaw, giving him a definite bad boy look. That was so unlike him. Whether in the Navy or the Corp, he’d always strived for the clean-shaven look.

  His chest expanded, drawing her gaze to his open collar. His neck. The hollow under his chin where she used to snuggle in peace and love.

  He blinked then, staring down at their joined hands, her small fingers caught in his much larger grip. She knew well the comfort of that hand, but he’d also just latched onto Finn’s greatest weakness. A face was simple to disguise with make-up and appliances, but hands and fingers were a sure giveaway.

  Pulling back, she stuffed her fingers inside her long shirtsleeves. “I gotta go.”

  Eric’s brows furrowed and that was the last straw. She headed back to Rosie’s before he had time to recognize her. She’d be safe there in her private room. Maybe in the morning, she’d come up with a way to tell him who she was.

  Even Sasha didn’t know she was Eric’s ex-wife, the crazy woman who’d left him at the worst moment in his life.

  Shea stepped up her pace only to find Eric at her right, her other savior at her left. She focused on him, the guy she didn’t know. “W-who are you?”

  “Junior Agent Jordan Hannigan. Why didn’t you wait for us in England, Finn? I’ve got to tell you, we’ve been running after you all day. You’re a royal pain in the ass.”

  She lifted her sleeved arm to her mouth and faked a cough. “Had to leave. No choice.”

  “Come on. We need a better answer than that,” Eric said. “You’re on the run. Why come here?”

  “Had to get to Professor Grover,” she offered hoarsely, still not meeting his eyes. “Might be too late.”

  “What are you saying?” he asked. “Is he dead, too?”

  Damn. I hope not. Shea stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Grover’s cottage. A frisson of fear lanced her foolish attempt at confidence. “Not sure. I, umm, I saw those guys inside his place, and I just... ran.” Like I always do.

  Both men stopped with her. “Take Powers back to Rosie’s. Make sure he’s safe,” Eric ordered, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  “No,” flew out of her mouth before she had time to think. “God, no. I mean…” She strove for baritone. “…they’ll kill you.”

  Eric peered at her in that inquisitive way he had, his head cocked, his gaze incredibly sharp. As a scalpel. “Why would you care?” He stabbed his finger eastward. “You had no problem watching your buddy die in that lab.”

  He couldn’t have hurt her worse if he’d struck her face with his fist. “I—”

  “And what about Mikkelson?” An angry gaze fell to her boots. “You were there too, weren’t you? What’d you do, step in his blood on your way out the door?”

  She shook her head even as her heart screamed. It’s me, Eric. It’s finally me! “N-n-no! I hid in the lab because—”

  “You know what?” Eric bit out, his hand raking over his scalp, tossing his hair. “I don’t care. Jesus Christ, this has been a godawful day and…” He huffed, his signal that he’d reached the end of his patience. “We’re going back to the States first thing in the morning.”

  Shea couldn’t leave well enough alone. “I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me. Call the police. Let them take care of it.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I freakin’ traveled all the way to Ireland, to call the police to do my job.” Eric shifted a cynical gaze over her head to his friend. “Like I said, I’ll be back. Don’t let anyone get close to our friend here. Not even Rosie. And you…” He stabbed his index finger in Shea’s face. “Stay put. I have no problem leaving your sorry ass behind if you take off on me again.”

  All she could do was nod at that scathing order.

  “Hurry back,” Jordan answered.

  “But you shouldn’t go by yourself,” Shea shot at the back of Eric’s stubborn head as he walked away. This was so like him to take matters into his own hands, to go hunting for trouble. Those three guys had to be waiting for him. He could be walking into an ambush. Because of me.

  Eric didn’t respond or look back, just kept walking until the fog swallowed him up, too.

  Jordan cupped her elbow, tugging her to walk with him toward Rosie’s. “You picked a good one.”

  I know…

  “The ‘Edge of O’Banner’ serves some fine food. Let’s go see if there’s any of that apple dessert left.”

  Oh. Rosie’s place. “Yes, ah, O’Banner’s is the best.” Or so, Professor Grover had said.

  He made more small talk, but her heart was on the moor behind her and the man who always thought he was tough enough to take on the world by himself. She cast a glance over her shoulder just as an orange glow pierced the mist. The professor’s lovely cottage was burning.

  “Fire! We have to go back! He’ll be killed!” She would have run, but Jordan intercepted her.

  He spun her back around, his grip tight on her elbow. “Enough! Who the hell are you?”

  She pointed at the glowing sky behind her, knowing full well she’d spoken out of panic, and that she’d used Shea’s voice instead of Finn’s. She
used it again. Now wasn’t the time for deceit. Not with two lives in danger. “Don’t just stand there. We have to save him!”

  Jordan yanked the wig off her head and tossed it to the ground. “You’re no guy. Answer me. Who are you?”

  She grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him as real fear poured out. “Why don’t you listen to me? Eric needs your help. Go to him! Help him!”

  Jordan glanced over her shoulder, his dark eyes shining with reflected orange glow. “You care more about Eric Reynolds than your professor? You want to explain that?”

  “No, I... Yes, but...” She gulped her subterfuge away. He’d caught her, and she didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter. They both need our help. Please! We need to go.”

  Jordan snagged both of her wrists and pulled her into his face, his sharp gaze raking over her features. He took in everything, from her gummed-on eyebrows to her high cheekbone appliances to her flabby double chin. “I’m not worried about that man, ma’am, and you shouldn’t be either. Eric’s a straight operator, and he’s good as hell. He’ll get your professor out of that fire if he can. That’s why you’re scared, isn’t it? You already know him. You mind telling me how?”

  She faced the glow, her heart in her throat for what Eric might be walking into. The entire western sky had turned so orange and bright that the blaze could’ve passed for the morning sunrise. All out panic climbed up her throat. “I can’t just stay here and wait. Please. He’s my… my ex-husband,” she admitted, a catch in her throat. And God help me, I still love him.

  “Holy shit,” Jordan hissed. “You’re Shea? Then I’m getting you back to Rosie’s before anything else happens. Come on. Stop looking over your shoulder. I know Eric and so do you. He’ll be okay.”

  It felt good to finally tell someone who she was. Shea swallowed. The charade was over and Jordan was right. One Eric was worth a hundred other men. A siren sprang through the distance. Still… she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the yellow-orange smoke filling the western sky.

  “Trust him, Shea,” Jordan urged. “He knows how to take care of himself.”

  “I know but…” She knew too well the cost of running away.

  Jordan tugged her to go with him, and reluctantly, Shea retrieved her wig and allowed him to steer her eastward. Eric didn’t take unnecessary risks and chances. Always methodical and focused, he’d never come home wounded from any deployment. He was the lifesaver. The one everyone else relied on to rescue them, and if possible, he’d rescue the professor tonight. Maybe Mittens, too.

  “I can’t believe this. You’re the guy we’ve been looking for. You’re Finn, only you’re not. Shea, you’ve got to tell him who you are,” Jordan stated the obvious.

  Her words stuck in her throat. “I... can’t.”

  “Bet me. He’s no dummy. Once he sees you in the light of day, he’ll see right through that clown suit. Tell him. Go on. Rip the scab off and get it over with.”

  She shook her head as the hollow life she’d lived caught up with her. “You don’t understand.” It’s not that easy.

  “Then make me. I’ve got time.”

  Time wasn’t the problem. Forgiveness was.

  “Let me tell him in my own time,” she said with a conviction she didn’t feel. And when I do, he’ll never want to see me again.

  “Make it quick. That man’s no dummy.”

  I know. And therein lay the real problem. Eric was the kind of man who ran into burning houses while others ran out. Only the burning ‘House of Finn’ had the potential to destroy him.

  Sir Walter Scott’s words whispered through the foggy mist: Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What the hell’s going on?

  Eric hopped the stone fence to his right, intent on saving the professor if at all possible. The three guys who’d run him down were definitely not Abdul-Mutaal’s men. Not with that French accent, but what the hell had they done? Set fire to the place as a parting gesture?

  Eric crouched behind the low hedge surrounding what he guessed was Grover’s property. The sky ahead glowed with all the colors of fire, an eerie sight in the thickening fog. Damn. I’m too late.

  He dropped one knee to the soggy moss and watched, needing to be sure. The front door stood wide open. White smoke billowed upward from the door and the thatched roof. Out every window. There was no one around except for a black cat skulking in his direction. When the roof caved with a hissing groan, the cat jumped high in panic and landed sideways, it’s back arched, and its tail twitching like a whip. It hissed at the scene on its heels, then walked straight up to Eric.

  He stroked its silky fur from its skull to the tip of its question mark tail. “Is that your home going up like a torch?”

  It rubbed against his fingers, purring as it marked him with its whiskers.

  He scratched behind its ears, sick at heart that he’d arrived too late to help. If Finn’s professor was in that conflagration, there was no getting to him. The place was unapproachable. Any evidence of his murder, if that was what had taken place tonight, was already lost.

  “This just isn’t our day,” he told the cat, his gaze on the fire. Burning to death was a damned hard way to die.

  A siren sounded in the distance. Emergency response vehicles were en-route, and before long, the crime scene would be overrun with firemen and the local Garda. It was time to go.

  The only thing he’d saved was this black cat, the ultimate sign of bad luck. Scooping the friendly feline up, he tucked it inside his jacket. Maybe Rosie would keep it.

  “Where is he?” Eric whispered as he entered Rosie’s and dropped the cat to the floor. If she was still asleep after all the comings and goings of the night, more power to her.

  Seated at the wooden bench just inside the entry, Jordan pointed upstairs. “Taking a shower. Who’s your friend?”

  The crazy cat wound itself through Eric’s boots like a long-lost friend. “Found him at the professor’s place, what’s left of it. Couldn’t leave it. Hope Rosie won’t mind that I brought home a pet.”

  “Was that his place that burned? Grover’s?”

  Eric nodded. “Thatched roofs burn fast. The whole place was fully engulfed by the time I got there. No sign of anyone but this cat.”

  “I thought we were going after Abdul-Mutaal. Those French jokers weren’t Mideastern.”

  “Could’ve been ex-Berets Verts, you know, France’s version of our Green Berets. I’ve worked with them before overseas. They’re bad-ass operators.”

  “But why were they after Finn?”

  Eric shrugged. “Damned if I know. They might be contractors like us, working for someone without Alex’s ethics. He talk much on the way back?”

  Jordan pursed his lips. “No, but he’s an odd duck. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was worried for you. Did you notice his hands?”

  There was no way Eric could’ve missed Finn’s little hands. Delicate was what they were. Dainty. Weirder still, along with that limp handshake, came a sizzling jolt of energy that raised the hair up the back of his neck. Felt like an electric shot of déjà vu. Things got weird then. He’d nearly thrown that little hand back at Finn.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Do you mean Virginia time or Greenwich mean?”

  “I don’t care, smart ass. Local time, I guess.” Eric ran a quick hand through his hair, his temper rising, another odd response for the man he knew he was. Ever since ‘Operation Find Finn’ had commenced, he’d been antsy and out of sorts, not himself at all. Downright edgy. What was up with that?

  “Zero three hundred. Hit the sack. I’ll take the rest of the watch tonight.”

  “Good enough. I’ll spell you in two.” Eric shot a quick glance up the stairs. “Which room is he in?”

  “The one next to yours.”

  Finn was on the other side of Eric’s bedroom wall, which for some peculiar reason felt a little too close for comfort, but E
ric was damned if he knew why. A yawn overtook his answer. He scrubbed a hand over his face, waved Jordan off, and headed upstairs.

  “He’s not a bad guy. You oughta try talking to him, you know, be nicer.”

  Eric paused halfway up the staircase at that out of the blue comment. “When haven’t I been?”

  Jordan lifted one shoulder. “Just saying. You were pretty rough on him tonight, but you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. Eric turned his back on his suddenly verbose buddy and aimed for his room. Sleep was calling, and for once, it wasn’t asking for Jordan.

  Back in her room with the door locked, Shea couldn’t settle down. She’d wanted Eric to save her because he was the only one who could, but now that he’d arrived and done just that, she didn’t want to deal with her deceit. Her failures. The truth. They’d all caught up with her.

  With all of her heart, she wanted nothing more than to run downstairs and ask after Professor Grover. Did Eric get to him in time? Was he hurt? Burned? Heaven forbid, was he even alive? But she couldn’t. Eric would see through her. He’d detect the Shea in Finn’s voice and he’d know. She stalled the inevitable.

  After two days of running, the padded suit of Finn smelled of sweat, and, well, it just plain stunk. If she could detect the body odor emanating off the layers of foam and cloth, Eric and Jordan surely could. She and Finn needed a bath.

  Easing out of her extra-large clothing, she commenced the arduous process of reverting to Shea. Constructed of lightweight foam sewn inside a flesh-colored adult-sized suit, her Finn disguise was similar to a baby’s onesie. It snapped at the crotch, and vented mesh panels down the sides allowed ventilation. Plain and simple, her alter ego was a fat suit. Finn zipped up the back and he was easy to care for, but he was still mostly stuffing. Heavy. Sweaty. Stuffing.

  By the time she’d laid Finn on the bed, she was down to bra and panties, and shivering. After she finished with her bath, he’d get his, then she’d hang him on a hanger over the tub to drip dry until morning. Shea shivered at the loss of all those layers. She’d been Finn too long this time. The inside of her legs were chafed. Her armpits, too.