Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls)

by Kris Norris

  Christ, if he hadn’t stopped, that damn Suburban would have smashed right into them. Probably crushed her in the process. And she hadn’t seen it until it was fishtailing in front of them.

  Crow took the next left, cutting off a truck then jumping a curb and driving up the off ramp.

  “Jesus, Crow, you’re going the wrong way.”

  He snorted, dodging a couple of oncoming cars before hitting the interstate. He reefed on the wheel, pulling the hand brake and executing another full one-eighty until he was heading with traffic. Narrowly missing the asshole who’d followed them up the ramp. Bastard didn’t fare as well, getting T-boned by a semi when he tried to mimic Crow’s move.

  The crash sounded behind them, horns blaring, brakes squealing. But Crow kept going, jumping off at the next exit only to turn, again, and get on the adjoining ramp going in the opposite direction. Another car trailed behind them, weaving in and out of traffic as it gained on their position.

  “Crow…”

  “I know. I’m on it.”

  Devlyn zoomed in on the map. “There’s a low overpass up ahead. Let him get beside us then hit the brakes when I tell you.”

  Crow spared her a glance. “Please tell me you’re not considering what I think you are?”

  “If you’ve got a better idea on how to lose this guy and not take out every damn car on the interstate, now’s the time to speak up.”

  “I hate it when you’re right.” He veered into the right lane. “Say, when.”

  Devlyn nodded, watching the rearview and the upcoming bridge at the same time. Counting it down in her head. “Steady…steady…now.”

  The car shimmied, fishtailing in each direction as Crow stomped on the brakes and veered onto the shoulder. More smoke poured off the tires, the resounding screech echoing around them. The SUV whizzed past, nearly tipping over as the driver attempted to stop. Crow spun the wheel, popped the gears then hit the gas. The car barreled through the flimsy guardrail, leaving chunks of the bumper behind as he gunned it up the embankment. There was a moment of uncertainty, the tires spinning on the slick grass, before they dug in—propelled them up the side. Crow busted through the next rail, slid across the lanes then hit the gas. The car protested, more pieces flinging off, but finally shot forward, quickly gaining speed. Another few seconds, and the interstate was gone, nothing but a dull shadow in their rearview.

  “I think you lost them. At least, I hope you did because I’m not sure your car can take much more.”

  “Guess this is why all the guys drive trucks or, at least, a Jeep. Four-wheel drive would have come in handy back there.” He motioned to his pocket. “I’ve got a burner cell. We need to call Cannon. Get one of the guys to pick us up at the airport so we can dump the car. Pray to god Slader doesn’t have a damn predator drone tracking us.”

  “We’d probably already be dead if he did.” God, she hoped that was true. Because Crow was right. A drone opened up a whole new series of possibilities, each of which had serious consequences. “I gotta wonder how Slader found a secure CIA safehouse if he doesn’t already have that list. Assuming it was him behind the attack.”

  “If he had the list, I doubt he’d waste time tracking us down. But that means there’re still some moles in the Agency. People who were loyal to McCormick and, now, Slader.”

  “That’s gonna make it hard to know who to trust, especially when it was your boss on the phone.”

  “Which is why we’re going off-grid. At least as far as the CIA is concerned. But we can figure that out after we get someplace safe. Somewhere the CIA isn’t privy to. You ready for the number?”

  Devlyn nodded then dialed, putting the call on speaker. Two rings then a deep voice on the other end.

  “I don’t know who this is, but you’d better impress me.”

  “The safehouse was compromised. Just left a trail of tangoes on the interstate. We’re heading for the airport. We need a pickup and a safe haven. One that can’t be tracked by domestic forces.”

  “Crow? Fuck, on it. Go to delta, five, gamma.”

  The line went dead.

  Devlyn huffed. “He hung up on us?”

  “Can’t chance they’ve got the lines bugged. Pretty damn remote since this is a burner and that’s Cannon’s private line. The one only his ex-Delta team knows about. And Jericho, but someone could be staking out the office. Listening from a distance. And he told us all we need to know. He wants us to go to departures, level five, section G.”

  “You guys already have a code worked out? Sounds as if this kind of incident happens a lot.”

  “You have no idea.” He glanced in the mirrors, then over to her. “And, to answer your previous question, before everything went crazy, there aren’t any flavors of the month, the week, or the day. Haven’t been, since…” He cleared his throat. “Not that you care.”

  “I don’t.” And the hard kick of her heart wasn’t excitement or relief. And it sure as hell wasn’t hope.

  “Didn’t I just say you wouldn’t? But, while we’re at it, is there anyone you need to contact in case this case drags on? I’d hate to accidentally shoot some NSA guy if he’s just tailing us because he’s checking up on you.” He arched a brow. “That wasn’t one of your mystery men back at the safehouse, was it? Trying to eliminate any possible competition?”

  “I don’t have any mystery men. Sheesh, Crow, do you really think I’d date an NSA agent? Not to mention that was the worst excuse I’ve ever heard of as a way of asking me if I’m dating someone new.”

  “Wouldn’t have had to ask if you’d just offered the information like I did.”

  “You didn’t offer it, and I don’t see how it’s relevant to us working together. But because I know you’ll just keep asking… No. I’m not dating anyone. Still got the scars from the last time, thanks, anyways.”

  Had he just flinched? Were his fists white-knuckled around the steering wheel because she’d hurt his feelings, or was there someone following them?

  Devlyn looked in the mirrors but didn’t notice anything suspicious. A few cars going in their direction, but most had already been part of traffic when Crow had busted through the railing and onto the road.

  Had Crow just hissed out a breath? Glanced at her with that same look he’d flashed her in Smithers’ office when she’d brushed off his attempts to explain?

  He rolled his shoulders then grunted, that luscious mouth of his pursing into a grimace. Devlyn frowned, wondering what the hell was wrong, when she saw the blood. The large patch on the back of his shoulder and down his sleeve. The stain on the seat. The smear across the stick shift.

  Her stomach roiled slightly as she drew her gaze up to his face. “You’re hit.”

  He shoved off her attempt to see the wound. “Just a graze. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine, and it’s not a fucking graze. There’s blood everywhere. Shit, Ryker, why the hell didn’t you tell me straight off?”

  Damn, she’d called him Ryker without thinking. To his credit, he merely arched a brow before brushing her fingers away, again.

  “We were a bit busy, not dying.”

  “I could have driven. Pull over. I can take the wheel.”

  “And risk some asshole sneaking up on us while we’re playing a version of the stoplight game? I don’t think so. It’s not that far. I’m fine.”

  “And you call me stubborn. At least, let me put some pressure on it. Or is driving into a pillar part of your rescue plan?”

  “I won’t drive us into a pillar. Christ, you act as if I’ve never been shot before. Compared to Somalia, this is nothing.”

  She winced. She’d seen the scars from that mission—felt them. Hell, had tried to kiss them all better. And she doubted much could compare to that and result in him still breathing. Much like the scars on her left side. Lucky breaks. Or maybe Fate just hadn’t finished screwing them both over, yet. Wanted to draw their suffering out a bit longer.

  Either way, she wasn’t sure how to respond. I
nstead, she slipped off her jacket, removed her shirt, then balled it up. Used it to press against the area. Crow grunted, again, glancing at her as if he was trying to figure out her motive—maybe see if she was enjoying his pain—before focusing solely on the road. Either he realized she needed to stem the bleeding or he’d read her expression. The one that no doubt broadcast exactly how she felt—that seeing him hurt didn’t bring her the satisfaction she might have claimed it would. That it left her empty. Dangerously close to letting her true feelings slip.

  Which made the twenty-minute drive to the airport oppressively awkward. Nothing but the hum of the tires, and her own pulse thrumming through her head to fill the silence. They made it to the parking lot just as his old jalopy started smoking—the gauges inside pegging into the red.

  Crow maneuvered the vehicle into a spot that hid the worst of the damage then turned to face her. “There’s a bag in the back. Put the bloody shirt in there in case anyone comes looking. We’ll do a quick wipe down—”

  “I’ll do the wipe down. You just…stay still and try not to bleed out before your buddy gets here.”

  Devlyn ignored Crow’s protests as she did her best to wipe off the surfaces, not that she’d be able to get rid of the blood soaked into the seat. But, at least it didn’t look that bad from a distance. And it’s not as if Slader needed DNA to know who he was hunting. To recognize Crow’s car, but it would hopefully keep the locals at bay until Crow could arrange some kind of cleanup crew.

  She’d just finished wiping the dash when a white Toyota pulled in beside them. Devlyn palmed her pistol, but Crow waved her off, quickly exiting the car. A tall man with a square jaw and rugged good looks met Crow at the back of the vehicle, frowning when his gaze drifted to Crow’s arm.

  Crow mumbled something she couldn’t hear, motioning her to join them. A quick introduction and they were off, back onto the interstate. And, while she didn’t have to make small talk, sitting in the back, listening to him talk to his buddy—some Brit named Gibson who looked as if he could have caught all those bullets with his damn teeth—wasn’t any less awkward. In fact, it made her acutely aware that she was the preverbal odd-man out. That the feeling would likely increase once they’d reached their destination. That the place would probably be overflowing with ex-military friends who all took loyalty to a new level. The kind she’d one thought she’d found with Ryker.

  Damn, why was it so hard to remember to call him Crow? She’d already slipped up a few times. And she had a vague recollection of a conversation that first night—one in which she’d confessed some deep, dark secret. A game changer. But Crow hadn’t mentioned anything, and Devlyn wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. Had a feeling it would only make matters worse—increase the already suffocating tension between them.

  Which was also her fault. For not listening, but… That would have to wait until she was done pouting. Brooding. Childish, maybe. But that part of her she’d lost on the platform didn’t seem to care.

  However, she might have to cave soon, because walking into the new safehouse only made her intimately aware of the tension she’d been choking on. That it had taken on a life of its own—filling up every room she entered until she wondered if there would be any air left to breathe. Though, it didn’t appear as if Crow was suffering from the same affliction. Not that he managed to do more than trip over the threshold before tanking against the wall. She was able to grab him—brace his weight enough to prevent him from continuing down to the floor—before Ice was there. Bodily lifting the man up then carrying him to a chair. All but holding him down while he decided if he could treat the wound onsite. And, once again, she was on the outside looking in.

  Ice looked over at her as he cut away Crow’s shirt. “Hey, honey. Is any of that blood on your sweater yours?”

  She glanced down, hating the involuntary shiver that shook through her when she realized it was Crow’s blood, before she shook her head. “Not this time.”

  Ice frowned, and she knew he’d seen her wince. Heard the slight waver in her voice. “Cannon? Do me a favor and get Agent Adams a drink. While she’d never admit it, she’s still recovering from her injuries, too. Seems she and Crow are quite the pair.”

  Devlyn groaned inwardly. “I’m fine. Crow’s the stubborn one. Wouldn’t pull over to let me drive.”

  Ice snorted. “Sounds about right.”

  One of the men walked over—offered her a drink. She stared at the glass, wondering how he didn’t break the damn thing because his hands were massive, nearly double hers with scars on the back. And she bet her ass he could crush her fingers simply by shaking them.

  She smiled her thanks, not sure what to say when the guy chuckled.

  “Just once, I’d love to meet a lady who had smaller balls than all of us. The name’s Rick Sloan, though as you heard, my friends all call me Cannon.”

  So, this was the infamous Cannon. “Devlyn Adams.”

  “NSA, right?”

  “I was until I got dragged back into this two-man JSOG unit with the CIA. I have to say, Crow mentioned you were large, but, damn… I can see why your squad was so successful.”

  He laughed, waving at the collection of men. “I had a pretty good team backing me up. When they weren’t driving me crazy. Speaking of which, you’ve already met Gibson, Ice and Six. The guy who looks like a damn magazine model is Colt. And he’s flanked by Ellis and Kameron. The rest of the crew are out on assignments, but we’ll be rallying them as soon as they’re done, because based on what Crow said on the phone, and the fact he’s bleeding all over Gib’s place, this assignment of yours is shaping up to be another massive shit show. The kind that ends bloody.”

  He stared pointedly at Crow. “Correction. Bloodier. So… Screw the need-to-know bullshit and spill.”

  Chapter Seven

  Three days since they’d stumbled into Gibson’s safehouse, and they still didn’t have any leads on Bains’ list. Though, that was largely Crow’s fault. He’d underestimated how much blood he’d lost from that one hit—like a damn retake of the night Slader had downed him with a single shot to his other shoulder—and he’d barely made it inside, before the room had faded at the edges, and he’d pitched toward the wall.

  Devlyn must have been watching him—probably fantasizing that she’d been the one to clip him—and had shouldered his weight until Ice had darted across the room. Had actually hoisted Crow up and carried him to one of the nearby chairs. A fact he’d never live down. Ice had said something to Devlyn, gotten Cannon talking, but that was as much as Crow remembered before he’d essentially blacked out. And, as a result, he’d spent the past two days lying on his ass before regaining enough strength to shove Ice out of the way—get back in the game.

  He hadn’t told Devlyn that he’d made a copy of the drive. It was against protocol, but more importantly, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Had assumed the CIA techies would crack the code. Now, he was left wondering if they’d even been given the original drive. If his boss had set him up or was just another pawn.

  Regardless, that one lapse in judgement had cost them more time they didn’t have. If Dev had known about the copy, she could have given it to Kam or Ellis to decrypt. Hell, he wouldn’t have cared if she’d gotten it to her friend, Becca, to work on it, just as long as someone broke the dame encryption. Instead, they’d been sitting around doing nothing while he’d been healing.

  Failing, as he saw it.

  At least, they were back on track. Ellis had been working on the drive since he’d all but decked Ice to leave the room, and the lady should have something, soon. He just didn’t know if she’d have good news or another dead end.

  While he’d told Devlyn that Slader wouldn’t show his face unless he had something to gain from it, namely that list, there was another possibility he’d kept to himself. That the man had discovered he’d left someone other than Crow alive and had tracked Devlyn down—had shown up at that motel to kill her, and this had nothing to do with Bains or h
is list.

  Cold day in hell Crow would let the bastard near her, again. Though, preventing one bullet from finding her head had only been the start of his redemption. He owed her a lifetime more. He just prayed he’d get the chance.

  Crow glanced over at her, and damn if she wasn’t staring right back. That same look she’d had during the chase—the one that had stopped him cold. As if seeing him hurt had hurt her. Sure, he’d felt that way when she’d been the one bleeding out but hadn’t expected to see the same emotion in her eyes. And, if he hadn’t witnessed it, again, just now, he would have convinced himself he’d been hallucinating. The blood loss making him see what he’d wanted, instead of the truth.

  Devlyn narrowed her eyes, and just like that, the bloodlust was back. Deepening those beautiful blue eyes into more of a stormy gray. Highlighting the copper strands in her hair. Making it look as if it was on fire. Damn, the woman changed faster than the weather. Sunshine one minute, hurricane force winds the next. And he hated that he couldn’t get enough of every side of her.

  Devlyn broke away from where Gibson and Colt were talking with Ellis, maintaining eye contact as she walked over to him. She came closer than he’d thought she would, and he couldn’t stop from breathing in—inhaling whatever fruity fragrance she was wearing. Or, maybe it was just soap. Whatever, it made him feel lightheaded, again, only without the blood loss.

  Devlyn stared up at him, her eyes searching his, before she sighed and glanced over her shoulder at where his friends were huddled behind a computer screen. “I have to admit. Cannon has quite the crew working for him. Might have more resources here than some of the missions I’ve done with the NSA.” She cocked her head to one side. “And this definitely beats the CIA.”

  He chuckled, wincing at the pull on his stitches. “You know it hurts when I laugh.”

  She merely raised a brow.

  “You did that on purpose. For not telling you about the copy I made sooner.”

  “Now, Crow. That makes me sound…vindictive.”