Unleashing the Storm

by Sydney Croft

  There were very few people at the agency he could actually trust without fail, and one of them was gone, in the field, probably fucking his goddamned brains out as per orders.

  Dev wasn’t ready to share his suspicions with his assistant, although he knew Marlena would do whatever she could to help him get to the bottom of things. If nothing else, she’d go out of her way to help take his mind off the intrusion, if only for a few minutes.

  He smiled briefly and buzzed her in without another thought. Coming might not focus him, but it never hurt.

  TUESDAY 7 P.M. MST

  Kira stepped out of the shower, glad to have washed the day’s farm grime from her body, not so glad to wash away Tom’s scent. She loved how he smelled, loved the way he’d looked at her, touched her. She’d taken a lot of lovers in her life, most of them during the weeks of desperate need that made her life a living hell, but while all had served their purpose, none had excited her as much as Tom had.

  She couldn’t wait to do it with him again—not because she’d needed to, but because she wanted to. These weeks might be hell, but they allowed her to spend a brief amount of time in a man’s arms, to take joy in human contact most people took for granted. When strong hands stroked her skin and warm lips caressed hers, her loneliness dissolved, if only for a few precious moments.

  Her bedroom door squeaked open, and Babs, a Weimaraner who’d been at the refuge since before Kira arrived almost two years ago, trotted inside and jumped on her bed.

  “Hey, girl.” She ruffled Babs’s ears. “You didn’t happen to notice if Tom and Derek finished their chores?”

  One of the men must have come inside the house, because Babs had been near the barn when Kira had come in for her shower. A mix of images flickered through her head…Babs, digging at a gopher hole, then jumping into the back of Kira’s pickup, then Derek opening the upstairs door and letting the dog through. Derek had apparently finished with the fence repairs.

  She dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, not bothering to do anything with her wet hair but put it up into a high ponytail. She padded into the orange and gold kitchen that was all but a shrine to the seventies, and turned on the radio on the windowsill. Bouncing to the oldies, she pawed through the cupboards. Neither Tom nor Derek had taken her truck today to go to the store, so she’d prepare a big dinner, and if they wanted to share, they’d be welcome.

  She scrounged up enough tofu and fresh veggies for a decent dish that would feed three, and with practiced hands, she sliced, diced and tossed the ingredients into a wok.

  The animals migrated to the kitchen to beg—asparagus was always a favorite with the dogs—and soon over two dozen pairs of eyes surrounded her. Rafi jumped up on the old stand-alone dishwasher at the end of the counter and swatted playfully every time Kira walked past him.

  She sang out loud about gypsies, tramps and thieves as she set the table with mismatched thrift store dishes. When she finished, she dug through the fridge for the pitcher of lemonade, and then turned to the crowd. “Will one of you go get the boys?”

  It was unnecessary to speak; the animals understood her in other ways, but talking kept her sane when sometimes she felt anything but. She formed an image in her head of the upstairs bedrooms, and Babs, ever the responsible helper, ran off, her nails clacking on the wooden stairs behind the kitchen. Tom might not recognize the message, but Derek, after just a couple of days, had figured out that when a dog scratched on his door, Kira wanted him.

  No one came. Grumbling to herself, she turned down the heat on the tofu, asparagus and tomatoes, and headed upstairs. Babs sat between the doors, her ears droopy, her expression dejected, like she’d failed a mission.

  “It’s okay, little Babby-Sue. Go back downstairs.”

  She knocked on Tom’s door. No response. She tried Derek’s. The door squeaked open. He stood in the middle of the room, talking on a cell phone, his voice hushed and harsh. His frustration filled the room with a bitter odor. Feeling like an intruder, she turned away.

  “Kira. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  She turned back to see Derek stuff his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “I thought you might want some dinner.”

  “Is Tom invited?”

  Odd question, but then, her spring fever affected more than just her. Men picked up on her body’s signals, reacted to them, if only subconsciously, and she’d expected some tension between the two eventually. “He’s still working, but he can eat when he comes in.” She paused. “Why?”

  Derek grimaced. Silence stretched.

  “Derek? What is it?”

  “It’s just…” He sighed. “You need to keep an eye on him.”

  She let out a slow breath and stepped into the room. “There’s more to the farm thing, isn’t there?”

  He nodded. “We were in the Army together. That’s how we really know each other.”

  Interesting, but not surprising, given the military vibes she’d gotten off both of them. “Why the secrecy?”

  “I was trying to protect him.” He looked down, scuffed his boot on the hardwood floor. “But then I realized you’re the one I should protect. He’s not…stable.”

  “Yeah, well, most people don’t think I’m very stable, so you need to be a little more specific.”

  Derek scrubbed a hand over his face, which was rough with dark stubble. “I don’t want to get the guy in trouble, so I can’t say much, but don’t get too close. And don’t believe anything he tells you. Anyone with a dishonorable discharge…well, be careful.”

  Great. Her first mate of the season, and he was probably a homicidal maniac. “I appreciate the warning, but I can take care of myself.”

  Derek’s mouth eased into a friendly smile. The one that had taken away her breath before she met Tom, whose rare smiles made all her erogenous zones scream for attention.

  “I’m sure you can.” He studied her with keen eyes that always seemed to take her measure, as though he liked to stay one step ahead of everything. “Do you have any kind of self-defense training?”

  “A little.” A lot, actually. Back in the days when she trained police and military dogs, the handlers had been nice enough to give her private lessons.

  “That’s good,” he said, but his displeasure wafted to her on a raft of scent. Maybe he’d wanted to give her lessons himself. “Show me what you can do.”

  He threw his arm out toward her, his fingers stretching for her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate, seized his hand and twisted hard. Heart pounding, she thrust down in a wrist manipulation technique she’d practiced with a cop named Wayne. Swiveling quickly, she enveloped his elbow with her other hand and jammed it downward. He grunted, and she smiled as she restrained him, his body bent at the waist, his arm twisted awkwardly behind his back.

  “Nice,” he murmured, the admiration in his voice mixed with surprise.

  And then it was her turn to be surprised, because before she had time to get cocky, he jerked her forward. His fingers snared her wrist, and he stepped behind her, wrenching her arm up her back hard enough to make her wince, but not enough to be painful. Much.

  Damn, he was strong. But then, she’d seen him lift the back end of her truck up and out of the mud in which it had become mired. Well, she’d seen it through Cheech’s eyes, but still…

  Derek held her immobile with one hand, wrapped his other muscular arm around her neck and pressed his chest to her back. Cramps tweaked her biceps, and her throat felt a little tight as it funneled her rapid breaths through it.

  “There’s always a countermove,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ear in a rich, seductive tone that struck her as sounding practiced. He rocked his pelvis against her, driving his erection into her hip. Dropping his arm from her throat, he let his hand drift down her chest, over her breast, to her waist.

  Message received.

  He wanted her, would be willing and able should she want—or need—him soon. Warmth oozed across her skin, and when he released her, she spu
n away before her body could react further to his arousal. She didn’t require sex for a couple more hours, but she came equipped with a self-preservation switch that activated her libido in the presence of an aroused male, effectively forcing her to accept all mating opportunities that presented themselves.

  Had she been in the room with Tom, she’d welcome the chance to take him down to the floor, but sleeping with Derek now would only intensify the tension between him and Tom, something she didn’t want to deal with yet.

  “Wow.” She wiped her palms on her shorts simply because she needed to do something with them. “That was impressive.”

  Extra-impressive, given that Wayne assured her the hold she’d used was difficult to break. Wayne, who had held her often enough. Who had definitely done his civic duty to protect and serve her several times during one of her spring fevers. Who had been the one to warn her when the warrants for her arrest had suddenly been reinstated.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You know your stuff.” Folding his arms across his broad chest, Derek watched her with dark eyes that had gone nearly black with desire. “Can you break out of restraints?”

  Heart still doing double-time, she jammed her hands on her hips. “I’ve been asked a lot of strange questions in my life, but Derek, you’re going to some new places here.”

  He grinned. “I could go to more new places, if you’d like.”

  “Men,” she huffed, but her drama lacked conviction. At this time of year, she was receptive to all flirtations.

  “I’m only looking out for you.” He moved to his dresser, took a pair of handcuffs from the top drawer. “Let me show you something.”

  “Ooh! Cool! I’ve been cuffed before.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you have handcuffs?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  “Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

  “Hold out your hands.” In two fluid strides, he closed the distance between them. “Why have you been cuffed? Or do I want to know?”

  “Personal reasons.” She winked, hoping he’d buy the lie. The truth, that she’d been arrested more than once, was something she liked to keep to herself.

  “Hold your hands like this”—he turned her wrists—“it’ll make the cuffs looser once they’re on.” He snapped them into place.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Tom’s voice, calm and cool, floated into the room. Kira grinned and looked over her shoulder at him. “Derek was just giving me some tips on how to make cuffs more comfortable.”

  “I’ll bet.” His mouth curved, but if his smile was genuine, she’d eat a burger. Raw.

  “I came to see if you two wanted dinner—Oh, crap! Dinner! It’s burning.” She shoved her wrists at Derek. “Take them off.” His smile didn’t fade, but his gaze never left Tom’s.

  Men. Morons.

  Once free, she darted out of the room. “Come on, boys. Dinner’s ready. You’ll love it. Sautéed asparagus with curried tofu and tomatoes.” She rolled her eyes at the two men who stood there watching each other like rival roosters.

  Babs, who hadn’t gone downstairs, gave her a look that said it all.

  Males are dumb.

  CHAPTER

  Four

  Ender ignored Derek’s smirk, patted Babs on the head and turned to follow Kira. The whole never-turn-your-back-on-the-enemy thing was overrated. So was Derek. And sometimes, turning your back gave the enemy enough time to screw up, or to show them that you didn’t give a fuck.

  But Ender did give a fuck, and it looked like Derek was planning something for tonight. And with the way Kira acted this afternoon, and again in Derek’s handcuffs, he ran a real risk of getting the rug pulled out from under him.

  He could almost guarantee that Derek had called in backup. Almost. But this was the delicate balance involved in an Operator who acted as Convincer and killer.

  On one hand, he needed to keep Kira safe and out of the enemy’s grasp. But she’d already lost two farmhands, and killing Derek right now, which would be his first, most natural instinct, would cause too much suspicion on her part. Then again, it could bring them closer together, force her to turn to him for protection.

  Part of his plan also involved discovering just what uses Itor had for her. He’d get that out of Derek later. And then he’d kill him. Because killing him too soon would bring out the dogs, literally. I-Agents had a virtual worm implanted in their brain that transmitted back to the home compound, let them know that after twenty-four hours of no brain activity an agent had died.

  Ender needed a little bit longer than twenty-four hours, and he had a plan to buy him that time.

  The kitchen was hot as hell even though the sun had already started to go down, the heat from cooking raising the temperature enough so that Ender wished he could strip down to his shorts and take a long swim in the lake that ran along the back of the property.

  He moved close to Kira, close enough so she needed to touch him to move past him, the bare skin of her arm brushing his, and he waited to see if he got the same vertigo-like sensation he had earlier out in the barn. When he led with the wrong head. There had been nothing in the files about a latex allergy, or any other, and she hadn’t even bothered to check to see that the condom was lambskin. Although with her militant animal rights stance, that wouldn’t have gone over well anyway.

  He inhaled, taking in the freshness of her skin, the honey-cloves mix that drove him up a wall, and his dick stirred, but that was a normal response.

  Babs wouldn’t leave his side, a gray, Velcroed, touch-seeking bundle of energy. “Bet she’s a beauty when she runs,” he said.

  “Feel free to take her anytime you want. She can always do with more exercise,” Kira said. Derek sidled to the counter and took the hot dish out of her hands and brought it to the table.

  “Tommy, can you grab the lemonade, please?” Kira asked.

  Tommy. Fuck me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Putting the sedative in the drink took all of three seconds in between giving the lemonade a final mix and pouring it into the glasses. Ender took a sip first, then drank about half his glass because Derek watched him suspiciously. Finally, the guy followed suit.

  Ender took the seat on the far end of the large, antiqued farmhouse table, back to the wall. Derek sat diagonally across the table from him and smirked when Kira slid into the seat next to him, leaving Ender alone. Like Ender was supposed to give a shit. This wasn’t the dating game, but if it was, he would’ve already been far in the lead.

  He sat back in his chair, stretched his legs out under the table so they locked around the legs of Kira’s chair possessively. Even pulled it enough toward the table so that both Kira and Derek noticed.

  He sent a good ole boy smile Kira’s way, and yeah, her eyes lit. Then she flushed slightly and started dishing out heaping helpings of something that was supposed to resemble food.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s asparagus, tomatoes and curried tofu. You’ll love it.”

  He looked at the pile of tofu and vegetables in front of him, knew nothing in there was going to satisfy him well enough—he was going to need some red meat, and soon.

  Maybe Deb would be good for something, after all.

  “Kira, this is amazing. Makes me think about coming over to your side,” Derek said as he dug in enthusiastically.

  Ender snorted and Kira looked over at him.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Tofu’s not really my thing,” he said. He grabbed a piece of bread from the plate in the middle of the table and loaded it up with margarine.

  “Most people usually try it, just to be polite,” she said.

  “I’m not most people,” he said, took a bite of bread and washed it down with lemonade.

  But Kira wasn’t going to give up. She just looked at him with those wide amber eyes that reminded him of a contented panther lying in the afternoon sun and then she looked back down to his plate.

  “I went to
an awful lot of trouble,” she said.

  “Didn’t ask you to. Ma’am.”

  “I’ll take his share,” Derek said, as he continued to shovel in the tofu-curry crap.

  “You’re not welcome to anything of mine,” Ender told him, then let one bare foot linger against Kira’s calf under the table even as Derek turned to her and dabbed at some tofu-shit that had spilled onto her chin.

  “Let me get that,” Derek said. Ender upped his foot action against her calf, satisfied when he got a response from her.

  Kira seemed to be enjoying the whole two-men-vying-for-her-attention routine. Which meant it was time to rotate the game right back on her.

  Easy enough. He didn’t have to pretend to play hard to get because he was hard to get. His longest relationship of note was forty-eight hours in Fiji on a private beach with a married twenty-four-year-old heiress who didn’t mind the fact that he fucked her brains out and didn’t remember her name half the time.

  “So, where does Deb stay?” he asked, figuring two birds with one stone and all that, then reminded himself he probably couldn’t say shit like that out loud around Miss Militant Vegan. Kira’s eyes widened slightly. Derek just shook his head. “What? Did you want a piece of her?” he asked Derek.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, Tom?”

  “I think Deb will get in touch with you if she’s interested,” Kira told him.

  “I think she’s interested.” He stabbed his fork into the tofu and took a few reluctant bites as per his plan, ignoring Kira and Derek as they chatted about the day’s work and the refuge and chores to be done the next day.

  He looked up when he heard a small crash, saw Derek’s lemonade spilled across the table. One of the cats leaped to investigate, but Ender grabbed the animal and mopped up the mess fast. That’s all he needed was to hurt her babies.

  “Derek, you look kind of pale,” Kira was saying as she leaned to touch Derek’s arm. Derek groaned in response and looked at Ender, his eyes fuzzy. He mumbled, “Ender,” but it came out more like “under.”