Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  He cursed softly.

  It was his beeper, vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans. Disappointment swirled through Kit’s eyes. Without a word she wiggled free, stood up and reached for his pants, then tossed him the beeper that was still vibrating loudly.

  After that she walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  No questions, no anger, no protests. She was one hell of a woman. She didn’t like it by half, but she knew it came with the job.

  Wolfe pressed a button on the encrypted pager. A terse message ordered him outside to the gravel road in front of Kit’s house. A chopper would be there to pick him up shortly.

  Wolfe glanced at his watch and cursed. He had less than five minutes to dress and say his goodbyes.

  Join the Navy, see the world.

  KIT WAS DOWNSTAIRS, fully dressed, her face calm. Baby pressed against her right leg, nuzzling her hand while her three other puppies watched the stairs.

  When Wolfe came down, they shot toward him, then sat down abruptly. For a moment, Wolfe wondered if Kit might have been crying, since her head was turned away.

  She pressed his duffel bag into his hands. “Be careful.” There was no mistaking the raw emotion in her voice or the telltale shimmer of her tears. “I hate this part,” she whispered. “I hate not knowing where you are or what you’re doing. So—damn it, just be careful.”

  Wolfe closed his eyes, dragging in the faint citrus scent of her shampoo, pulling her warm body against his. “Count on it, honey. You’re not getting rid of me ever again.” Down the hill he heard the drone of motors, moving fast.

  “They sent a chopper for you, didn’t they?”

  Wolfe nodded, scratching Baby’s head with one hand and Diesel’s back with the other. All the dogs were huddled close now, pressing Wolfe and Kit between their warm bodies. “I have to go, Kit.”

  Kit looked down at Baby and took a deep breath. “I know you do. You’ve got the world to save and I’ve got puppies to train.”

  Something bumped Wolfe’s leg. Baby was shoving something against his hand, and Wolfe realized it was the red training leash that Kit always used to mark the transition from play to focused work time.

  Baby was telling him that she wanted to go along, that playtime was over and she wanted to work, too.

  Something burned at the back of his eyes. There seemed to be no limit to these dogs’ intelligence. Any soldier would be lucky to have their help.

  But Baby wasn’t going anywhere. The puppies were far too valuable, and it would be months before they were experienced enough to be tested on their first field assignment. Ryker wasn’t going to risk another attack from Cruz.

  A black speck appeared on the horizon and the motors drummed closer. Kit made a small sound, slid her arms around Wolfe’s neck and kissed him, locking her body against his. A shiver ran through her. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered. “He’s out there, Wolfe.”

  Cruz. Only one person could make Kit feel this kind of panic.

  Abruptly she stepped away, staring out at the black helicopter sweeping over the mountains. She looked angry. “Do you think he’ll come back here?”

  “Not likely. Cruz is a fast learner. He’s looking for different prey now. But I’ll have two men watching the ranch just in case,” he said grimly. He traced her cheek, committing her face to memory, aware that it could be months before he saw her again.

  A sense of loss hung between them, so bitter he could taste it. But Wolfe had made a promise when he joined Foxfire, and duty wasn’t a responsibility you could toss away when your life changed.

  Even if you’d found the love you’d never believed was possible.

  He swung his duffel bag over one shoulder and scratched Baby’s head, bending down to take her red training leash. “You guys stay close. Keep an eye on the boss here, okay? Work hard and don’t give her any guff.” Baby gave a small growl and shot forward, licking his face thoroughly, while the other three dogs pushed closer.

  The helicopter roared along the gravel road toward the house, and the dogs turned sharply, running to the front door, bodies tense. In full protection mode, Wolfe realized.

  He felt Kit’s hand touch his shoulder, just for a second.

  “Get moving, Navy. We’ll be fine. Just…don’t get yourself shot.”

  The emotion behind her words slid into the dark places of Wolfe’s heart.

  He gripped her hands for a second, his touch saying all the things that words couldn’t while the blades of the helicopter churned and hammered, sending up a vortex of dust and sage twigs. Then he opened the door and walked across the front yard.

  He didn’t look back.

  KIT STOOD IN THE QUIET house, her heart pounding.

  Damn it, she wasn’t going to pieces. He was tough and smart. He’d come back. When he did, she’d make him crazy and they’d get around to that wedding.

  Something bumped her hand.

  When she looked down, Baby had a box of tissues in her mouth, holding it up to Kit. She gave a watery laugh. Around these dogs, there were absolutely no secrets.

  The helicopter lifted off, banked sharply, and headed west. Kit’s eyes followed it every foot of the way.

  WHEN WOLFE SLID INTO his seat, Lloyd Ryker’s aide was holding out a file. “Teague just sent us an update. He’s received an encrypted short-burst message in code. Probable weapon sighting at the island.”

  Wolfe stared at the horizon as the chopper thundered west toward a military cargo plane less than half an hour away. In less than five hours, he’d be back with the rest of the team in the Pacific, and he’d be carrying new hardware to deactivate the stolen guidance system.

  “Any news on that storm?”

  “It’s holding right on course. Teague says it’s going to be nasty.”

  Wolfe pictured the sky over the island, methodically running through the details of his last briefing. Max Preston was a fine solider, highly decorated before he was selected to join Foxfire. Thanks to his bio-enhancements, he had become even more formidable. He knew what Cruz was capable of and his new sensory skills would take him as close to the weapon system as humanly possible. Ryker had planned every detail of the mission carefully.

  But once you dropped out of a plane and hit the ground, Wolfe knew, plans usually went awry.

  He patted his front pocket, which held documents from the current investigation of Cruz’s actions in Santa Fe. Ryker wanted Wolfe’s scrutiny in the hope that some detail might have escaped their notice. Now, thanks to Miki Fortune’s detailed description of the man who had spilled coffee on her, they had a possible target under surveillance.

  The net was closing, Wolfe thought, as the chopper headed west. The only question was whether it was closing fast enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MAX TIGHTENED HIS CARABINER and squinted through the rain. He was hanging from a wall of sheer granite with rain whipping his face and visibility next to nil. The sea was two hundred feet below him. It would have been nice to be doing this on a dry, sunny day, he thought, instead of during the final hours before a hurricane. Grimly he rechecked the placement of his carabiners, leaned away from the rock face and pulled himself up to the next handhold, fighting the cold wind that drove in from the ocean.

  He’d told Miki that this was going to be a rough ascent. That had been a serious understatement.

  A bird soared past, brushing his shoulder, and Max locked his fingers into a crack in the cliff face, swaying.

  Stupid birds.

  He took a deep breath and stretched his shoulders. He had one hundred feet more to climb and it was thirty minutes before dawn, which put him exactly within the time frame Miki had suggested.

  Max’s hands tightened. He wasn’t going to think about her cool announcement of upcoming marriage, since killing the groom probably wasn’t an option. The force of his emotions continued to surprise him, but Miki was right. Best if he forgot her.

  He was going to start right now.

  H
e paused, recalculating his route. With one stretch, hand over hand, he pulled up slowly and then clipped his safety rope into a new carabiner anchored on the cliff face. And thought about Miki’s hair sliding over his fingers.

  Damn her and damn the memories.

  Max felt a slight burn at his calf muscles. He was starting to sweat despite the cool air. One of his new chips allowed long-distance monitoring of his body and he could picture the Foxfire scientists huddled over a computer screen, muttering about the spike in Max’s vital signs. Thanks to Miki’s transmission they would soon know that he was closing in on the stolen weapon system.

  Max tested his rope and took another fluid step, swinging his body out into space to wedge his foot into a crack. Each new position demanded complete focus and perfect footwork, a kind of Zen meditation in mass and movement while the wind gusted, driving rain into his face.

  When his view cleared, he saw the top of the cliff a foot away. He had been shielding his presence using standard Foxfire techniques. They wouldn’t fool Cruz completely, but they should delay any detection—unless Cruz had developed new skills.

  Squinting into the rain, he gripped a rock and pulled himself up until he was staring down at the center of the island. In that first second, he was hit by a wave of energy that seemed to coil along the highest ridge. Through the rain Max scanned the pre-dawn darkness and tracked the energy source to a ledge thirty feet down the far slope. He unclipped his climbing rope and dropped flat behind a row of boulders. Working quickly, he stripped off his right glove and pressed his fingers to the ground.

  As he shoved his bare fingers into the dirt he picked up the layers of Cruz’s bio marker. Either he was in the area now or he had been here recently.

  Max’s eyes hardened. He had to bring the rogue operative down before more lives were lost, and every instinct told him that he wouldn’t have much time to do it.

  To the east, a faint line of gray tinged the horizon. He had thirty, maybe forty minutes before dawn, and the rain would offer him additional concealment after first light. As he pulled a high-tech silk and nylon rope out of his tactical vest, he was barely aware of being soaked and cold.

  So much for paradise.

  He was about to take a closer look at the ledge below when he heard the faint crunch of gravel nearby. Silently, he crouched behind the boulders, reaching warily for Cruz’s energy signature.

  But nothing clicked. Whoever was on the narrow trail wasn’t Cruz. Slowing his breath, Max closed down his thoughts, making himself fade into the landscape as the footsteps came closer. A heavy man with an Australian bush hat appeared above the rocks, an Uzi slung over one shoulder. Slow and methodical, he checked every corner of the trail, stopping at the top of the ridge where Max had tied off and discarded his climbing rope only minutes before.

  As rain continued to sheet down, the man leaned forward, peered down at the ocean, then crouched to examine the dirt along the ridgeline. Max waited uneasily, certain he had swept all his prints clean, but the man at the ridge continued to study the ground. He rocked back slightly, looking east, his hand on the stock of the Uzi.

  Max made his energy as smooth and still as a pond at dawn.

  No danger.

  No movement.

  No one here.

  Slowly, the man reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie, but for long moments he didn’t move, staring down at the water, squinting against the rain. Had Max missed some small detail?

  Static hissed in a sudden burst. The man fingered a button, hunched over against the rain. “Malovich here.” When he released the transmit button, more static crackled.

  “Where are the hell are you, Malovich? The plane’s due in thirty minutes and we have a shitload of cargo to finish unpacking before he gets here.”

  The man on the ridge crossed his arms, unmoving at the edge of the cliff. Max saw him frown as he picked up a handful of gravel, tossing it up and down in one hand.

  Rain drummed and hissed on the granite slope. The man still didn’t move, his shoulders tense. Max drew his energy even tighter, making a hole and pulling it in around him.

  “Malovich?”

  “What?” The man on the cliff pulled off his hat and scratched his head, then stood up. “I’m here. Checkpoint twenty-six. Situation stable.”

  “What the hell is taking you so long up there?”

  “I’m not sure. There was something…” He shoved his hat back on his head and turned away from the wind, his words muffled. “Forget it. I’ll take the short way back. I’ll be at base in ten minutes.”

  “Move it.” Static crackled like grease hitting a hot frying pan. “You know he’ll be expecting a report.”

  “Copy that. On my way. Malovich out.”

  As the man disappeared down the slope, Max slowly let out his breath, then shouldered his pack, swept away his footprints and stood up.

  Rain slammed into his face from a nearly horizontal wind. Izzy’s hurricane was moving in right on schedule. That was the good news.

  Of course, it was also the bad news.

  THE LEDGE WAS FAR DEEPER than Max had suspected.

  As he followed the trail down from the cliffs, he saw that the recess in the rock went back for at least ten feet, and it had been used recently, judging by the smudged footprints in a dry area protected by an overhang.

  He pulled a pair of thermal imaging goggles out of his backpack and scanned the area. There were no hot spots or cold zones near the ledge. No anomalies near the trail, either.

  When he turned a corner, Max saw the palm tree Miki had warned him about. With his goggles in place, there was no mistaking the heat disparity she had seen in the photos.

  The stolen weapon guidance system had to stay cool to retain its effectiveness, so Max searched for signs of electricity and air-conditioning units. Now that he had a location, it was time to rely on his special tactile skills. He ran his bare palm along the rocky trail.

  Fallen tobacco ash. Traces of melted rubber.

  A tiny piece of waxed paper impregnated with soybean oil and spices.

  Max sniffed the fallen piece of paper and frowned. A torn wrapper from an MRE, he thought. Fallen food items meant this was a popular route, part of regularly patrolled terrain. The guidance system should be fairly close. The more important an area was, the more closely it was watched.

  He left the trail and circled across a row of boulders for a closer look. Within five steps he found what he had expected to see.

  Trip wires dotted the edge of the slope. Two motion sensors were hidden beneath a flowering hibiscus bush. Touching the ground gently, Max picked up layers of human sweat, with markedly high level of stress hormones. As he rubbed the dirt between his fingers, the chemical layers filtered through his senses. Alcohol residues mixed with sizeable steroid and amphetamine markers. Was Cruz keeping his force wired on drugs?

  Silently he continued his scan. In an open space beside two trails he saw Miki’s false orchid. Just as they had expected, a wireless sensing device was hidden beneath the fragile pink leaves.

  Hail hail, the gang’s all here.

  Max squatted in the rain, every sense alert. The location made perfect sense. There could be an underground entrance or a trap door hidden in the scattered boulders. Yet something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had found this spot too easily.

  Small, unformed details continued to bother him as he backed away from the tripwires and climbed out of sight above the trail. There was something wrong about his bunker, something different. As the impression grew stronger, he realized he had made a fatal mistake.

  The mistake of trust.

  Huddled in the rain, he stared at the horizon as the truth hit him like a blow. When he’d opened his medical kit to give Miki the scalpels, there had been three sets of pills inside.

  But two hours ago one of those sets of pills had been gone.

  The answer hit him with brutal force. It had been there in front of h
im all along, while Cruz had played them perfectly. Max’s emotions had clouded his judgment, making him miss a clue that normally would have triggered his suspicions. The damage was done.

  With steady hands, he pulled a waterproof bag of explosives and a detonation cord from his backpack. There was no more time for subtlety. Time to blow and go.

  MIKI PACED THE UNDERGROUND tunnels, listening to the muted drum of rain above her head and trying not to think about Max. She had wanted adventure, excitement and a complete change in her life.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  In an effort at distraction, she folded a blanket on the ground and emptied out the contents of her camera bag, which Max had returned to her before leaving. It was a relief that he didn’t suspect her of being some kind of hostile agent anymore. If he’d known the details of her screw-up past, he would have seen how laughable that idea was.

  Miki’s past was very much with her as she stared down at the sad remains of her life scattered over the cot. Waterlogged tube of lipstick. Dental floss. Old library card for books she never had time to read. Chewing gum and breath mints for Saturday night dates that had become nearly nonexistent. Knitting needles—rosewood double points. Okay, those weren’t depressing. But the beef jerky, moldy after being soaked in seawater for hours, was definitely a downer.

  Eww.

  Depressed, Miki picked up the items one by one. She had finally turned over a new leaf, gotten serious about her career and grabbed her first chance to show her skill, and where had it gotten her? Ditched from a seaplane in the middle of the ocean, caught in the middle of something that had top-secret military security written all over it. How could her luck possibly get any worse?

  Bad question. She heard a small movement from somewhere in the nearby tunnel and froze. Low, skittering sounds filled the darkness.

  Rats. The sooner she got out of this place the better. At least Max’s first bunker on the beach had been clean and relatively spacious, unlike this place.

  Restless, she listened to a dull scuffing sound above the shriek of the wind. When the sound came again, she climbed the narrow steps and listened intently and realized it was the scrape of paws on rock.