Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls)

by Kris Norris

  She clenched her jaw, answering him with nothing more than a curt nod as she raised her arm—gave him better access to the wound. He focused on her side, slipping the tip beneath her skin. More pain sparked to life, and she blinked to find herself gathered in his arms, again, as he placed her on the bed.

  She glanced around, squinting at the bright lights shining beyond his shoulder as a wave of dizziness spun the room. “What happened? I thought you were going to stitch my side?”

  Crow sighed. “Had to be satisfied with just doing a new row of Sterie Strips and some skin adhesive, seeing as you passed out before I could fully freeze it.”

  She squinted to try to bring him into focus. “I did what?”

  “Just sleep, Dev. Please.”

  She collapsed against the mattress, groaning when the room circled. “What about Slader? Seeing what’s on that thumb drive I grabbed?”

  “It can all wait.”

  “Since when are you willing to put an assignment on hold?”

  “Since I thought you were going to die on me, ten minutes ago. I should have taken you to Mercy General, risks or not. Or, at least, called Ice from the get-go. Maybe asked if Brady was in town. But… We’ll see how the wound’s doing tomorrow. For now, the bleeding’s stopped. With a bit of time, you should be fine.” He cupped her jaw, stroking his thumb along her cheek. “So, please sleep. I’ll get you something to eat once you wake up.”

  Devlyn watched as he straightened, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  His smile ignited a round of butterflies in her stomach. “Beside you. Afraid there’s only one bed, and someone has to wake you up every few hours. Ensure that concussion of yours doesn’t get any worse.”

  “Isn’t there a couch out there with your name on it?”

  “The bed’s a king, which means there’s more than enough room for both of us without there being any unwanted touching. And I’d rather not spend the next few days unable to move my neck because I spent the night on the couch. Despite its appearance, it’s not really that comfortable.” He winked at her. “Besides, I figure one of us should be up to par to see that Slader doesn’t get the drop on us.”

  “I’m more than par.”

  He laughed. “I love that you’re still so damn feisty.” He shushed her with a finger over her lips. “Sleep.”

  She frowned when he backed away, watching him walk across the room until he reached the doorway. “Remember in the car when I said we’d hit rock bottom, but you said things could always get worse?”

  Crow paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Yeah. So?”

  “Apparently, rock bottom has a basement.”

  He smiled. “Then, welcome to our brand new low. I suggest you get comfortable. I doubt we’ll be climbing out of this hell any time soon. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  He continued out, flicking off the lights as he went. Shadows filled the room, only the glow from the moon easing the darkness. She relaxed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the night played in her head. But, even going over them, again, she couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had all fallen apart. The one moment she could have changed that would have kept her out of Smithers’ office—given her the illusion of peace instead of being flung headlong into chaos. Again.

  She glanced at the door. As much as it hurt seeing him—knowing he’d purposely not contacted her once over the past several months—she couldn’t deny the sense of relief warming her chest. The hint of hope that had blossomed inside her heart before she’d had the good sense to crush it. She’d already been burned once by following her feelings, and she’d be damned to make the same mistake, again. Especially with a man who obviously saw her as expendable—a burden he seemed more than happy to be free of.

  The truth settled unforgivingly in her gut, and she closed her eyes to stem the violent roil that threatened to empty her stomach across the floor. Sounds prickled at her consciousness as memories filled her mind—the night everything had changed.

  She’d only just stepped onto the platform, thankful Slader was already waiting for her, when the first shot hit her shoulder, knocking her back. She hadn’t even had a chance to return fire before four more clipped her side, taking her to the pavement. Rain pelted against her face, the cold sting keeping her from fading as Slader loomed over of her, his toothy grin white amidst the darkness.

  He laughed, thumbing the silencer twisted onto the end of his gun. “Looks like I’m the better agent, after all, Adams. You never suspected a thing.”

  She felt the next bullet lodge in her shoulder as he fired at her, laughing, again, before walking off, nothing but the lingering scent of propellant and the pain pulsing through her body as proof he was ever there.

  She stared at the sky—wondering why the traitorous bastard hadn’t gone for the head shot—all the while knowing if she didn’t get up, she’d die. Become another ten-digit number on a file tucked away in the bowels of the facility. Numbness crept along her limbs as she managed to roll onto her stomach, then push onto her hands and knees, each movement dripping more blood onto the wet surface. Each drop formed a perfect circle, then slowly washed away, the red color fading into gray. Just like she was fading.

  Devlyn fought against the icy cold, stumbling to her feet. She managed to fish her phone out of her pocket and press the emergency contact icon before turning and searching for any sign of Ryker. He should have been there, by now. Should have been waiting with Slader. Fuck…what if Slader had killed Ryker? Left him for dead? What if she’d failed the only man she’d ever love?

  “Devlyn.”

  She took a few more stumbling steps—breath labored, limbs heavy. He had to be there. Somewhere. She called his name, coughing up blood as she fell against a wall. The cold returned, sliding over her as she slipped down the brick, connecting firmly with the concrete.

  “Devlyn.”

  She wouldn’t die this way. Not without seeing Slader pay. Before knowing Ryker was okay.

  “Sweetheart, wake up.”

  Devlyn blinked open her eyes, groaning against the hands gripped around her shoulders. Pain splintered through her body, spinning the room a few times before finally settling. Blue eyes gazed down at her, his brow furrowed.

  Ryker lifted one hand to her chin, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You were dreaming. Thrashing all over the place. I was afraid you’d reopen that wound, and you can’t afford to lose any more blood.” He tucked some hair behind her ear. “Heard you call Slader’s name. Mine, too. You okay?”

  Fuzziness clouded her mind, the images still lingering in the background. “I thought you were dead. That he’d killed you. You should have been there.”

  Ryker’s lips pursed tight. “You’re right. I should have been.”

  She groaned as her head lolled to one side, then back. Christ, she hurt. “Didn’t you leave?”

  He leaned in close, his breath washing over her cheek. “You need to rest.”

  She didn’t resist as he checked her side then tucked the blankets around her. “I searched for you. Called everyone I knew, but you were just…gone.”

  “Sleep, sweetheart. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.”

  The room grayed over, nothing but the brush of his hands across her shoulders registering. Her tongue felt overly large inside her mouth, a jumble of words clogging it down. “I loved you.”

  Lips pressed against her forehead, the soft brush of skin drawing her further under. “I loved you more. Never stopped. Now, sleep.”

  The room faded, again, the painful memories washing into a numbing black. Warm skin pressed against her cheek, a steady beat strumming beneath her palm. She hummed, smiling when a hand trailed along her arm, lulling her back to sleep until the pain bled through the haze, and she opened her eyes.

  Light streamed in through a window on the opposite wall, giving the room a golden glow. Sleep caked her eyes, but just thinking about lifting her arm sent a st
abbing pain through her ribs. A soft chuckle sounded above her, and she shifted her head enough to gaze at the face staring down at her.

  Ryker—Crow’s mouth curved into a stunning smile. “Morning, sweetheart.”

  She blinked, finally taking in the bigger picture. She was lying against his side, her head nestled on his shoulder, her right arm splayed across his bare chest. Firm muscles twitched beneath her fingers, every flutter of his heart answered by a shaky beat of hers.

  She panicked, rolling away only to stop as a fierce burning sensation billowed up from her ribs, stealing her breath. More pain ricocheted through her temples, making her wish she’d stayed asleep.

  “Seriously, Devlyn? Did you forget you tore your side open twelve hours ago?”

  His voice curled over her, the sleepy, gravelly tone flip-flopping her stomach. How many times had she woken to that same voice? Allowed it to draw her under as he’d claimed her mouth, using the distraction to roll on top of her—love her until they barely had enough time to make it to work? Another ache tightened her chest—one that had nothing to do with the raw wound on her side.

  She released a slow breath, careful not to move too much. “Just my luck. Turns out there’s a sub-basement.”

  He laughed, his face looming over her when he rolled toward her, his weight braced on one elbow. His hair hung off to one side, the thick locks begging to be fisted. “Relax. You were dreaming, again, and holding you seemed to be the only way to stop you from trying to fight off invisible attackers. I know you still want to kick my ass, so…”

  He grinned, but it didn’t hold the smugness she’d been expecting. In fact, he looked more sad than anything.

  She raked her left hand through her hair, wishing she’d never even gone into work yesterday. “Do you have any Motrin? I could use a couple—or ten.”

  “You’re going to need more than ibuprofen to touch the pain if it’s half as bad as I suspect it is.”

  She focused on him. “It’s worse. Unfortunately, I left my prescription meds in my other pants.”

  He frowned, glancing at her side. “I can call the office—”

  “I don’t need any favors. Just something to take the edge off. It’s not like I haven’t been in pain before and had to muscle through.”

  His expression tightened. “I’m not sure how much you remember from last night, but I mentioned a friend.”

  “Parts are fuzzy. Is he the medic? I think you said Brady?”

  “The medic’s name is Ice. Brady was an Army doc for twenty years. Special Forces, to boot. I gave him a ring last night when it looked as if you were gearing up to take a ride down the river Styx. He’s not in town, or I would have had him make a house call—protocol be damned—but I’m sure he can phone in a prescription. And I’ll have Six fill it and drop it by so it stays removed from us.”

  “Who?”

  “Another friend.”

  “Ice. Six. Don’t you have any friends who aren’t ex-military? Because there’s no way someone named their baby, Six.”

  He chuckled. “It’s easier to be yourself around people you trust.”

  Was he implying he didn’t trust her? Sure, she’d threatened to shoot him—stab a knife through his heart. But, that was personal. And she’d never compromise his safety on the job. A paradox, but it was as good as it got.

  Crow smiled. “Just…relax until we can get you fixed up.”

  He rolled off the other side, striding across the room in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. And damn if her heart didn’t race at the sight of his ass and legs flexing with every stride, fluttering her stomach, again.

  “Crow.”

  He paused at the doorway to the bathroom, arching a brow in response.

  She shook her head. “Thank you. For bandaging me up. Watching over me.”

  This time, his smile seemed genuine. “You’re welcome. Stay put. I’ll call Brady and get Six to grab the drugs and drop them by, then help you into the other room once the meds kick in.”

  She nodded, closing her eyes after he’d disappeared behind the door. If this was a preview of how this case was going to progress, she might not live through it. And Slader had nothing to do with it.

  Chapter Five

  Crow stared at Devlyn over the rim of his coffee mug, wondering if she should even be out of bed this long because, damn, he’d severely underestimated how badly she’d been hurt. Not the laceration, itself, but the amount of blood she’d lost. Apparently, she’d left far more in that crappy motel room and in her car—on the towel in the facility—than he’d assumed. A fact his buddy, Ice, had pointed out to him, repeatedly, when he’d shown up with Six to deliver Devlyn’s pain meds.

  Ice had been less than pleased Crow hadn’t contacted him, directly, the previous night. That Crow had chosen to treat the wound on his own. And he hated to admit that Ice was right. The man had been an Air Force PJ—pararescue—medic for years. Had single-handedly saved more Spec Op soldiers than Crow could remember. Had earned Crow’s trust. His support. And, yet, he’d shut the man out.

  Disrespected and dishonored him. Something he’d sworn he’d never do.

  He’d tried to justify his decision by reminding Ice—Russel Foster to his non-military friends, though, only his wife, Harlequin, ever called him Russel—that they were on lockdown. That this was a top-secret op courtesy of the CIA, and this wasn’t Crow’s home but a damn safehouse. That if Slader got even an inkling of where they were, they’d all be at risk. Ice and Six, included. Not to mention the fact, Slader already knew about Cannon’s crew through his involvement with McCormick. About Crow’s connection to his former teammates. That he’d helped Six and Kam gain access to the intel McCormick and Slader had wanted, ultimately resulting in McCormick’s death. And Crow knew Slader would use that connection to track Crow down via his buddies if given the chance.

  Ice hadn’t even nodded, just shuffled Devlyn off to the bedroom where he’d “fixed” Crow’s patch job. Ice’s phrasing, not Crow’s. Then, the other man had sat there until Devlyn had managed to eat a few spoonfuls of soup and half a piece of bread before tucking her back in bed. Of course, they’d grilled him on the details—had promised to rally the rest of Cannon’s crew if Crow needed it—then settled in. After Crow had apologized to Ice. Basically begged for forgiveness.

  Six and Ice had stayed the next few days, taking turns keeping watch, while Crow had been digging up intel on the larceny group Devlyn had been surveilling. Trying to figure out if they’d purposely gone after Bains’ thumb drive or just blindly grabbed it during their robbery, before actually getting a few hours of quality sleep each night. Not that sleeping beside Devlyn had been easy, especially when he wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, again, like he had that first time. But he’d managed. Had held true to the creed that the only easy day was yesterday. And, damn it, today was looking ten times worse. At least, Devlyn had managed some civil conversation while his buddies had been over. Once they’d left…

  The term ice queen didn’t come close to describing her. Even now, a hint of color back in her cheeks, the dark smudges beneath her eyes starting to lighten, she hadn’t spoken a word. Just death glares across the table at him whenever she actually looked his way. Which wasn’t often. Crow wasn’t proud to say he’d been watching. More than he wanted to admit.

  She obviously didn’t remember what she’d mumbled that first night. When she confessed that she’d been in love with him. Or that he’d told her he’d loved her more. That he’d never stopped loving her. Words they’d never shared during their time together. Sure, he’d thought the sentiment a thousand times, but he hadn’t managed to get it out. Tell her how he really felt. Maybe he’d thought he’d have more time. That there were endless opportunities for him to confess his love. Or, maybe, he’d just been scared. The kind of fear that was bone deep. Not like he’d faced on the battlefield. Infiltrating enemy strongholds. Taking a bullet for a brother. But the kind that messed with his head. Made his tong
ue feel overly thick. His brain cease to send the right signals.

  Or, maybe, she’d been hoping he’d forget the brief conversation. That he’d let it slide into the past like he’d done with their relationship. Regardless, sitting there, wondering if she was thinking about it—if she wanted to discuss it the way he did—was slowly driving him insane.

  “So, you gonna give me the background on this clusterfuck of a mission, or is everything you haven’t said strictly need-to-know?”

  Crow did his best not to wince at the cold tone as he met her gaze. How was she able to inject that much disdain into the simple tilt of her brow? The subtle slant of her eyes? And when the hell had she perfected this new ability? Because she hadn’t been like this, before.

  Of course, he hadn’t betrayed her before—in her eyes. Not his. Not that she’d listened to any attempt he’d made to explain things over the past few days, always finding an excuse to shut him down. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. True, he’d been waylaid, too, but he’d also chosen not to contact her, after. A choice he not only regretted, now, but realized had been his greatest mistake. One he’d be paying for over the next fifty years.

  That was if Devlyn didn’t kill him, first.

  He eased back against the chair. “I thought you weren’t interested in explanations?”

  “I asked for background. Not excuses.”

  “Afraid they’re all tied in together, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the endearment. Damn, she was cute when she was angry.

  She gave him a sweet smile. “Leave out the parts where you’re apparently not a bastard and just tell me about this list. As far as I knew, Adam Bains was a rogue CIA agent who wanted to sell that list of operatives and safehouses we uncovered. But he destroyed it before we split up in an effort to get his ass safely back to base. Then, I showed up at the train platform, as planned, and Slader killed everyone. Left me for dead. I’ve heard snippets about McCormick being arrested, about our entire JSOG unit being unsanctioned, but… The CIA wasn’t talking, and the NSA was more than happy to sweep it all under the rug. At least, where I was concerned.”