Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls)

by Kris Norris

  Three strikes, and the gun clattered to the floor. Skidded across the old wood and against the wall. Two more, and blood was pouring out of his nose. Had splattered across the office door on the opposite side. One final kick, and he was out. Sprawled on the floor next to his partner. That guy looked up at Crow, still grabbing his knee, and sneered, then fell back with Crow’s heel notched into his jaw. His head cracked against the floor—silenced him.

  Crow looked up, somewhat surprised to find the hallway empty. He’d thought those other men in the black jackets would have been on him, by now. That they would have charged the corridor, guns drawn. Maybe taken a few shots while he was dealing with the bodyguards. And Crow had been ready. Had the scenario all planned out in his head, so not having to face them made his skin crawl. Sent off warning bells in his head.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  He dragged the two men over into the shadows lining the hallway then made his way to the rear entrance. Both Six and Colt had their marks slung over their shoulders fireman-style. Blood slowly dripping down the unconscious men’s faces.

  Six looked at him then glanced at the corner. “Problem?”

  “Not anymore. Though…” Crow shrugged. “I have a feeling this isn’t where it gets easy.”

  Colt snorted. “Just another Thursday afternoon, bro. You ready?”

  “I’m not the one standing with his hand on the doorknob but not turning it.”

  “Good to have you back, Crow. We missed your constant criticism.”

  “Jackass.”

  Colt grinned, opened the door, and stepped out, Six on his heels. They scoured the area, then headed for Colt’s truck. They’d just reached the corner when Six grabbed Colt’s arm and yanked him back, dumping Rocko’s limp body on the gravel before pressing his back into the wall. Six didn’t draw his weapon, just stood there, motioning them to follow suit.

  Crow took up his position next to Six, with Colt bringing up the rear. Six showed the count on his hand, hitting one when a silhouette rounded the corner of the building.

  Six caught the man’s wrist—sent him tumbling to the ground. Crow grabbed the next guy, blocking the man’s punches, then landing one to his throat. Dumping him on his ass with nothing more than a grunt. By the time Crow looked behind him, Colt had the third guy pinned to the wall—arm wrenched up into his shoulder blades.

  “Enough.” The man Six had tossed held up a hand, a black billfold clasped between his fingers.

  Crow motioned for Six to back up, stepping forward to take the ID. Dread settled in his gut as he stared at the emblem embossed on the card—no shiny badge, just the words Central Intelligence Agency scrawled across the top. The guy’s photo and more info on the bottom.

  Crow glared at the guy. “You’re CIA?” When the man merely arched a brow, Crow tossed the wallet back at him. “Want to explain why you’re following us?”

  The officer grunted then stood, dusting off his pants before meeting Crow’s gaze. “Officer Ryker Ward?”

  “Ex-officer. And everyone calls me Crow.”

  “Not today. Today, you’re Officer Ward. Seems there’s a clause in your contract that allows the powers-at-be to recall you. I’m sure they’ll explain everything. All I know is that there’s a situation that requires your expertise, and the clock is ticking.” The guy stepped into Crow’s personal space, grinning. “Welcome back to the CIA, Ward. Must be your lucky day.”

  Chapter Two

  “Why am I not surprised to discover it’s your asset who’s passed out in one of our detention cells, Devlyn? Why it’s always one of your assets.”

  Devlyn Adams ignored the sound of the biting tone behind her, glancing at the director in the mirror as she finished taping the laceration across her lower ribs. Blood still oozed from the jagged wound, the surrounding flesh already starting to bruise. Great, now her right side would be crisscrossed with scars, too.

  She shrugged one shoulder, wincing when the strips pulled tight against her skin. “The situation got dynamic, and I had to improvise.”

  “I have upwards of twenty agents working covert operations in this facility, yet, it’s only you that ever has to improvise to this extreme.” NSA Director Tom Smithers speared his fingers through his hair, destroying the perfectly combed style. The man looked more than a bit flustered, his usual calm demeanor long since faded. “As it stands, I had to send in two clean-up crews just to get the damn motel room put back together before the manager called the cops. What part of ‘observe and report back,’ didn’t you understand? Because I’m pretty damn sure it means you’re not supposed to engage. And how the hell did a tech mule like her get the jump on you?”

  Devlyn tamped down the rush of heat sizzling beneath her skin, hoping any slashes of red across her cheeks would be dismissed as the aftermath from her injury. Because, after the night she’d just had, the last thing she needed was to have her competence questioned. Not when she’d been questioning it enough for both of them since her last major assignment—a joint venture with the CIA—had blown up in her face. Several months, and she still hadn’t lived it down. Atoned. So, having Smithers glare at her in the mirror wasn’t helping her claw back her confidence.

  She turned, exhaling slowly as she stared at the man standing no more than a couple feet away. “You know, I’m not sure what I find more insulting—that you’re pissed I did my job, or…” She waved at the wound. “You think that glorified secretary actually did this.”

  Though, Devlyn had to admit, her asset had been more skilled than she’d anticipated. Had actually deflected a few of Slader’s punches and wielded the damn frying pan with an easy precision that spoke of advanced training. But, with all the MMA workout videos out there, the woman had probably just gotten lucky. Or maybe she had studied some form of martial arts. It didn’t change the fact that she’d be dead if Devlyn hadn’t charged the room. Intervened.

  Smithers’ lips twitched as his gaze dropped to her side then back up. He crossed his arms over his chest, still glaring at her. “What, exactly, are you trying to say, Agent Adams? That you didn’t just fuck up two months’ worth of covert operations? That clocking your asset over the head and dragging her ass back to our facility—our undisclosed facility—was somehow for the greater good? Because not only will Ms. Brown know we’ve been spying on her, her damn superiors will know, too. Which means the chance of following this larceny ring back to the organization arranging all these military hits is a big fucking zero.”

  “I guess that depends on your definition of ‘greater good’.” She grabbed her top, clenching her teeth against the stabbing pain as she tugged it over her head. Thank god she always kept spare clothing at the office. Though, she wasn’t sure if needing it as often as she did made her dedicated or reckless. “And I was under the impression the main objective was to keep Ms. Brown alive so there’d be a trail to follow.”

  “Devlyn. My patience is waning.”

  “I had to improvise because Slader showed up.”

  Smithers narrowed his eyes. “Ian Slader?”

  “Guess my birthday wish of seeing him burn in Hell didn’t come true. And I’m pretty damn sure he wasn’t there to sell Ms. Brown cookies.” She reached into her pocket, handing over a small USB drive. “Luckily, I was able to grab this before I had to bug out. If what I heard through the wiretap is correct, the drive contains whatever intel she was selling. I took a quick look, but it’s got some pretty impressive encryption—might take Becca a bit to hack through it.”

  “Damn it.” Smithers pointed down the hallway. “My office. Now.”

  “Just give me five to get the jackhammer in my head under control, and I’ll be right there.”

  Devlyn bit back a smile when Smithers mumbled a string of obscenities, heading off in front of her. Good. She didn’t want to be the only one frustrated about tonight’s events. Or the only one upset about the reemergence of Ian Slader. She’d been secretly hoping the bastard had met an untimely end, or had at least been
incarcerated. Discovering neither was true only added to the sting of her injuries.

  Not that she had time to dwell on that, now. Not with Smithers chomping at the bit for one of his “discussions”. Another chance to outline all the ways she didn’t quite measure up, she guessed.

  Devlyn detoured to the kitchen, grabbed a pop and a few painkillers, then made her way to his door. He’d left it wedged open at a forty-five, the telltale murmur of voices drawing her to a halt. She listened for a few moments, trying to place the familiar tone when the room went silent.

  She cursed inwardly, drawing herself up before stepping into the office. Smithers stood behind his desk on the opposite wall, two chairs positioned on her side. Stylish brown hair and a black wool jacket occupied the seat on the right, the width of the man’s shoulders making her trip a step. She’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

  Christ, was it really him? Ryker Ward—aka Crow. Her ex-teammate. Ex-lover. Ex-everything. Were her hands shaking? Was her chest tight? Had Smithers turned up the heat? Blasted a vent directly at her because she was finding it hard to breathe. To freaking stand there without crumpling to her knees, and not because of her injuries. It was all Ryker—Crow. And based on how crappy she felt—how much blood she’d lost, despite trying to hide it—now wasn’t the time for a reunion. Not if it involved him.

  Smithers motioned to the chair, raising a brow when she merely stood there, taking a few swigs from her drink, her gaze sliding to the other man then back to her boss. No way she could sit beside Crow. Not without wanting to kill the man. That, or shift onto him and ride him like a damn pony.

  Smithers snorted. “Just sit the hell down, Devlyn, before you fall down from loss of blood. Don’t think I missed how much was on that towel, or that you’d probably left a bunch more at the scene…and in your car…and…”

  Damn it. Busted.

  She waved for him to stop, motioning to the back of Ryker’s head. “I’ll sit just as soon as you tell me why the hell Crow’s occupying the other chair? Last time I checked, he’d bought a one-way ticket to ‘fuck you’.”

  Crow’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his nickname. Since they’d fallen into bed together shortly after being assigned to the same JSOG unit, she’d always called him Ryker—a testament to their intimate connection. But using his former callsign helped her disconnect from the traitorous thump of her heart. The involuntary surge of excitement at simply seeing him, again. And she had a bad feeling she’d need every advantage she could muster if she wanted to face him without showing any weakness. Give him any kind of indication that she still harbored feelings for him, however unwanted they were.

  Crow chuckled, gaining his feet before twisting to face her. Her chest tightened painfully as her lungs froze. Just stopped working because, damn, the man’s features were stunning. Close-cropped hair that was longer on top. Just enough to wrap around her fingers—anchor them in as she claimed his mouth. The perfect amount of scruff shadowing his chin, taking away any hint of boyish good looks, and his eyes—she’d never seen any other man with that shade of blue. Like neon-infused robin’s egg with a dark teal rim around the edge.

  She did a quick sweep of his body, praying he’d somehow lost his appeal. That the months away had left him haggard and scarred. Maybe taken the strength out of his muscles or inflicted some kind of biblical curse of warts and oozing sores on his skin. But, just her dumb luck, he looked as handsome as the first day she’d met him. Maybe more so with the added bit of length to the top of his hair. The obvious bulges hidden beneath the wool and denim. Had he gotten larger? Stronger? Spent the past several months at the gym moving as much iron as he could get his hands on? She didn’t know. Wished she didn’t care—hadn’t noticed—but she’d always been a sucker for a guy with an impressive physique, and Crow had it in spades. Add to the fact she knew every inch of that physique intimately, and she had little chance of pretending she’d successfully buried her feelings for the man.

  Burned them? Sure. But the ashes were still smoldering. Still warming her skin, despite all she’d done to stamp them out.

  He smirked when her gaze finally landed on his face. “I told the director you’d be happy to see me. Glad you didn’t disappoint, Dev.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to see you as long as I can use my gun to say hello.” She took a calculated step forward. “As I recall, I still owe you a bullet—or six.”

  His expression sobered as he broke eye contact, scanning the room before settling on her, again. “If I’d known you’d been hurt—could have met you at the platform—”

  “Save it. Any explanation you might have offered is six months too late.” She looked at Smithers. “You’re obviously busy. I’ll come back when you’re ready to discuss Slader.” She spun when the floor creaked behind her.

  “That’s far enough, Agent Adams.” Smithers’ voice boomed through the small space, making the hairs on her nape prickle, and she was surprised his glass shelves didn’t shatter from the resulting sound wave. Damn, the man could shout. “I know you and Officer Ward have history, but…” He waved at the chair when she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Sit.”

  She pursed her lips, wondering if she’d make it down the hallway before either of the men caught her when the room dimmed a bit. She took a stumbling step forward, nearly tripping against the open door when a hand snagged her arm, tugging her against a wall of solid muscle. She blinked, giving her head a slight shake as some of the dizziness lifted, leaving her staring into a stunning sea of blue.

  How had he moved that fast? Covered the several feet separating them in the space of a heartbeat? Or had she lost track of time? Blacked out on her feet for a few moments before stumbling? Either way, standing there, staring up at him shouldn’t have her inhaling. Make her want to push onto her toes and taste that scowl. Brush her thumb along the furrows in his brow. Smooth them out.

  Crow tsked, slipping her drink out of her hand before forcefully maneuvering her over to the chair. He set the can on the desk then pointed to the chair closest to her. “Sit, or you’ll need more than a row of Sterie Strips to keep the blood on the inside of you.” He cocked his brow in that annoying way that made her want to smack the backside of his head. “I assume that’s what you used to patch whatever’s hiding beneath your shirt, because god forbid you’d actually have a doctor stitch something closed.”

  She pulled against his hold when he crowded her, his face an inch from hers. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need a doctor.”

  “No, you need to stop being so damn reckless.”

  “Ditched you as my teammate, didn’t I? I’d say that was a huge step in the right direction.”

  He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he stared at her before sighing. “Dev. Just…sit. Please.”

  Was that pain in his voice? Regret? Whatever it was, it caught her off-guard, and she all but fell into the seat when her legs buckled. Christ, she hurt. While the long, jagged cut along her ribs was the worst of her wounds, the multitude of bruises she knew were starting to purple across her torso weren’t much better.

  Crow waited to see if she’d push back to her feet before nodding and moving over to his chair. He kept half his attention focused on her as he slid onto the hard wood, motioning to the director.

  Smithers shook his head, silently measuring her up. And, it didn’t take any special powers to see that he found her lacking—she just wasn’t sure in what respect. “Stubborn, as usual.”

  She glared at Crow, shifting her gaze to her boss. “I’d say I’m being more than polite under the circumstances. And what the hell has Crow got to do with my case?”

  Smithers sighed, stepping over to his desk then palming the surface. “You said Slader showed up? Tried to kill your asset?”

  “Rang the damn doorbell like she was expecting him. I barely had enough time to charge the room. Had to dive through the window just to stop the bastard from putting a few rounds in her head. Her screaming and trying to run off didn’t hel
p matters any.”

  “I’m sure nearly dying, then watching a couple of trained agents try to kill each other was upsetting for the poor woman.”

  “Wasn’t much of a party for me, either. And, if she didn’t want to become a target, maybe she shouldn’t have been trying to sell stolen intel.” Devlyn pushed a hand through her hair, wincing when she brushed across a few more cuts. “So…are you going to tell me why I’m sitting beside the one man I’d like to stab through the heart? Or are we playing twenty questions?”

  Crow chuckled, again. “Like I’m the only man you want to do that to. I know you better than that, sweetheart. There’s a list.”

  She looked at him, giving him a sweet smile. “Yeah. One with your name written over and over and over—”

  “Enough!” Smithers shook his head. “Damn, you two are like fire and gasoline. Never know when everything is going to simply explode.” He leaned toward her. “And Ward’s here because there’s been a new development.”

  She arched a brow. “A development other than having a rogue CIA asshole gunning for me, now?”

  Crow shrugged. “Trust me. That’s nothing compared to what you’re really up against.”

  Smithers sank into his seat. “Afraid the man’s right. Slader’s involvement confirms it. Though, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped Ward was wrong. Exaggerating the situation.”

  She took a deep breath, wondering if she’d hit her head harder than she’d thought. “Am I supposed to know what the hell you’re both talking about? Because I don’t.”

  Smithers smiled. “Don’t worry. Your partner will fill you in.”

  Her stomach dropped as a loud ringing sounded in her ears. “Partner?”

  Smithers motioned to Crow. “Afraid so, Devlyn. Until this case is closed, you’re, once again, on loan to the CIA—and before you start yelling, it’s a sanctioned unit, this time. I triple checked.” He snorted. “Which means Officer Ward’s your new partner. Or maybe old partner. I suppose it’s how you look at it.”