Delta Force: Crow (Wayward Souls)

by Kris Norris

  Another chuckle. “I’ll have to take your word on that one. Not really my thing.” He glanced at her. “Ladies, that is.”

  She grinned. “Should have known. The perfect ones are never available.”

  “Can’t say anyone has ever used that word to describe me.”

  “Good to know men are just as blind as women are, then.” She inhaled. “This looks promising.”

  Gibson stopped searching, watching as she removed a fake bottom from the drawer, revealing several thumb drives.

  Devlyn scooped them out and placed them on the desk. “You think one of these might have Bains’ list?”

  Gib moved some aside, picking up the only micro drive. “This resembles the one Six found, but we’ll take them all. Never know what else might be on here that we’d rather not have land in the wrong hands. Looks like this joint venture with Crow might come to an end fairly quickly. Not that you’d be upset about that.”

  She opened her mouth to say, no. Not for a second. That she’d been wishing for that moment since she’d stumbled into Smithers’ office. But the lie wouldn’t quite form on her tongue. Having Gibson’s phone beep saved her from standing there while Gib waited for an answer. No doubt questioning her sanity.

  His resulting scowl blew whatever thoughts she’d had right out of her mind because the way he looked—narrowed eyes, tight lips with a few creases around the corners, more on his forehead—she knew that look. Had witnessed Crow do the same thing when a plan got derailed.

  She cursed, stuffing the other drives in her pocket. “It’s bad, isn’t it.”

  She hadn’t asked, and all he did was shove the chip in his pants, flick off the light then grab her hand and make for the door. They were out of the office, down the stairs and running for the exit when his phone lit up. Beeps and chirps, and Devlyn knew Slader had done exactly what Crow had feared—set a trap. Or maybe the creep had just gotten insanely lucky and sussed out their location. Gotten a tip from another member of that gang. Either way, she recognized a full-scale attack when she heard it. And, by the sound of Gibson’s phone, they were ridiculously outnumbered.

  They’d gotten halfway across the warehouse when the door they’d entered through flew open, two men dressed in black barreling through. Assault rifles notched into their shoulders. Night vision goggles and body armor giving them an insect-like appearance.

  The goggles weren’t going to give them a huge advantage since it was still more dusk than dark, but the armor—that was a game changer. Far tougher than the Kevlar vests she, Crow and Gibson were wearing. Which meant the men could take half a dozen rounds and keep going. And not in the way Crow and his buddies would. With steel-hard grit and determination. Blood trailing along the floor. Barely breathing. She knew they’d all done it. Would do it, again. But these guys...

  They’d barely feel a round from her Beretta.

  The men zeroed in on them, muzzle tips visible against the gray of a nearby window, then there was a hushed whoosh, and their feet were flying forward. Their bodies lurching backwards before hitting the floor. Hard. Blood arced across the linoleum behind them, pools already forming beneath them.

  Devlyn looked at Gibson, but he didn’t slow. Didn’t stop, just veered her toward the front door, avoiding the entrance where they’d accessed the warehouse. Where more men were likely waiting outside. He stopped at the exit, pulling his cell from his pocket, again.

  Devlyn tapped his arm. “What the hell was that back there? I didn’t hear you fire. And how did you get past their armor?”

  A hint of a grin. “Didn’t use a gun. And I always aim for the throat unless there’s a reason to keep the bloke alive.”

  She glanced at the two black silhouettes on the floor, then back at him. “You used knives? But… You didn’t even slow down? Let go of my hand. How…”

  A shrug.

  Christ. He’d hit both men in the throat while sprinting across the warehouse using only one hand? His left freaking hand? She didn’t think he was left-handed, but apparently, it didn’t matter, either way.

  Devlyn made a mental note never to piss the man off then motioned to his phone. “Please tell me you’re looking at a satellite image of this place.”

  “That was the plan, but the signal’s being jammed. And I’ll bet my arse Slader has men fanning out. Surrounding us. Thinking we should head to the rear—”

  “Hey, Adams.”

  Slader. Devlyn would recognize the bastard’s voice anywhere. The same smug tone he’d had when he’d been standing over her, rain dripping off his weapon as he’d pointed it toward her. Only this time, she doubted he’d miss any opportunity to take the head shot.

  A pause, then his voice carrying through the door. “Glad you figured out my invitation. You and Crow definitely don’t disappoint. And, yeah, I know he’s in there with you. Got a Range-R pegged to the wall. A little something I picked up from McCormick before you guys killed him. It means I can see two targets as clear as day. I think it’s time we talked. So, open the door and let’s do this face-to-face.”

  Chapter Ten

  Just once, Crow wished he’d been wrong about a hunch. That an op would go as scheduled. No surprises. No sliding sideways into chaos, with bullets flying and blood splattering. Too damn bad this wasn’t the day.

  Ten men. Make that fifteen. Another truck pulling up off to his right, filled with the same black-clad assholes surrounding Slader—fanning out on every side. All heavily armed. Ear pieces. Body armor. And they were jamming the cell signal. Eliminating any chance of calling for backup.

  Crow had just finished a recon of the north side of the building when Gibson had texted him—thermal signal slightly outside their safe zone. Unlikely it was anything to worry about at that distance, but assumptions got people killed, which meant checking it out. Ensuring they had a safe escape route. Crow had woven his way to the edge of the area—avoiding any pockets that would present enough of a target a sniper could get off a shot—when he’d heard the trucks.

  Two of them. Moving in quickly. Barreling down on the warehouse. Windows had been too tinted to count numbers, but he’d known they were loaded. A tingling sensation up his spine, or maybe just years of humping missions through hell. Whatever it was, he hadn’t been surprised when the men had poured out of the vehicles.

  His only saving grace had been his location. Hiding in the shadows off to one side, he’d been too far removed for Slader to notice him. And Crow was determined to capitalize on that. Make the creep pay for hurting Devlyn.

  Easier said than done when he was outnumbered. Outgunned. Not that he’d back down, but Slader’s men were carrying assault rifles—AKs. Looked like a few M4s tossed in for good measure. Not to mention pistols in holsters on their thighs, and vests packing all the usual hardware. Frag grenades. Flash bangs. Smoke bombs. More clips than they’d ever go through up against three men. Slader had obviously come prepared to fight Crow’s old squad, and taking out the other man’s crew wasn’t going to be simple.

  Good. Because Crow didn’t do simple. Excelled at messy, complicated strategies. Part of the reason he’d earned the nickname crow. His penchant for working out puzzles, not to mention his single-minded determination that could irritate the crap out of others. That had his enemies seeing him as the bad omen most people associated with his bird namesake.

  Which meant he was actually looking forward to beating Slader using the skills he’d honed while in Delta. That his old life would be what brought Slader down.

  Except, it wasn’t his life being threatened. It was Devlyn’s. Gibson’s. Just Crow’s dumb luck he’d chosen to stand watch. He’d thought that he was taking the bigger risk. That, if this was a setup, he’d intercept Slader before the man ever got a shot off toward Devlyn. And, if he hadn’t been following up on the thermal anomaly that Gibson had noticed, he would have been standing toe-to-toe with Slader, right now. A concrete barrier between Slader and any bullet getting to Devlyn.

  Instead, Crow was left play
ing catch up. Trying to sneak his way back toward the gathering of men without being seen. Pray he could take out enough of them—quietly—to get close to Slader. It was unlikely he’d live, but if it gave Gibson enough time to get Devlyn clear, that was all that mattered. Dying had been an ever-present possibility in Delta. For Devlyn, he’d die a thousand times over.

  A voice.

  Slader.

  Calling Devlyn out. Trying to engage her in a face-to-face confrontation. And, damn, that tingling sensation on the back of Crow’s neck only got worse, because he knew—knew that Devlyn would choose to face Slader. That she’d sacrifice herself if it meant her teammates would live. That she’d find a way to take Slader with her, or at least give Crow or Gibson an opening to either escape with whatever they’d found or cap Slader’s ass.

  Not happening. Not on his watch. Crow would take Slader out, protect his team. If he managed to get out the other side alive, that was a bonus. But he would not stand there and watch the woman he loved die.

  Devlyn answering Slader had Crow moving. There wasn’t much cover, but he made use of the odd vehicle. Was careful to stay on the fringes. Ducked into shadows, dove behind curbs and hydrants, only staying long enough to clear his next target. Knowing how Slader operated didn’t hurt. Let Crow anticipate how the man would spread out his forces.

  He’d keep his best men close. The other half would secure the perimeter. Spaced out enough to prevent Devlyn from escaping, and the perfect distance to eliminate individually without raising too much suspicion, especially, since Gibson had given him the silencer. Not standard-fare for Crow—lawmen didn’t need to hunt in silence—but a damn welcomed addition. Having Slader mistake Gibson for him with the thermal signals from the Range-R was another small plus. Meant they’d all be watching the door.

  Crow headed for the guy near the west corner, first. Asshole wasn’t even watching his six. As predicted, he assumed the only threat was from inside the warehouse. He didn’t know Crow was there before he was on the pavement. Head shot. Nothing but a streak of blood as Crow dragged him behind a small car.

  The man off to his left turned. Fell a second later. The dull pop barely registering above Slader yelling back at Devlyn. Laying out her options. Talk or die. Which didn’t leave Crow much time. Not when he was stuck darting between the limited cover.

  He had maybe a minute before Devlyn opened the door. Even with Gibson backing her up, his buddy couldn’t eliminate a dozen men. Not and live. Slader was good. Better than good, and he wouldn’t go down easily.

  Which meant Crow needed to change tactics. Trade in stealth for speed. If he picked the right path, he could take out five more guys before they got off a shot. His vest would stop two or three bullets. They’d bruise and hurt like hell, but nothing he hadn’t muscled through before. Adrenaline would keep him moving through an additional two or three hits before he went down or bled out. Would give him a chance to cap at least two more men. The resulting chaos should scatter the remaining crew, Slader included, if Crow couldn’t get off a clean shot at the bastard.

  Either way, Gibson could capitalize on the distraction and get Devlyn clear. Not Crow’s best plan, but adapting was a bitch.

  It only took him a few seconds to double check his vest, then he was off. Up and moving. Staying low. Praying the thermal anomaly had been just that—an anomaly because he couldn’t eliminate Slader’s forces and avoid a sniper shot. Not with speed being his utmost concern.

  Three steps in, and Devlyn was already opening the door—setting herself up as a target. Crow knew Gibson would have some kind of plan, but Crow couldn’t take the chance that Devlyn wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

  Instead, he adjusted his line of attack. Started dropping the guys Gibson wouldn’t be able to eliminate. Three fell before the first shots whizzed past him. Made him dodge in the hopes of staying upright a bit longer. He downed another before two slugs caught him in the chest—knocked him sideways. He hit the ground hard, skidding a few feet then rolling behind a car a second before the pavement exploded where his head had been. Bits of asphalt bounced off him, followed by rounds impacting the side of the vehicle.

  Pain spread along his ribs and through his chest, making it hard to breathe. Damn bullets had definitely left a mark, but nothing fatal. Yet.

  Another shot punching a hole beside his head had him pushing up and laying down some cover fire, then booking it toward Devlyn. As he’d hoped, Slader’s men had scattered, a handful heaped on the ground. Blood pooling.

  Gibson. Crow would bet his ass on it. Seeing Devlyn lining up men as she pressed against the doorframe damn near stopped him cold. As if she had no concern for her own life. Was focused on the men aiming toward Crow. Threatening him.

  Not that he didn’t love her for it, but seeing her jerk back from a round impacting her vest narrowed his vision. Shaded it in red. He capped the bastard who had hit her, seeing the one already targeting him a bit too late. He felt the bullet go through his arm a moment before the guy lurched forward, blade sticking out of his throat.

  Crow tumbled against the last car between him and his teammates, leaving a bloody smear across the paint. Red on black. More droplets on the ground. Perfect circles against the pavement. He took a couple deep breaths, changing mags, only to spin when a tango dove to his feet behind him.

  Damn. The guy was already zeroed in. Head shot. No doubt in Crow’s mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done enough. If he’d eliminated enough of the threat that Devlyn would live. Would escape with Gibson.

  Crow raised his arm, regardless. Might get off a shot before he dropped, only to inhale when the asshole fell, a red mist spraying out across the trunk.

  No loud bang just the faint echo of a shot.

  Crow scanned the area. Had Gibson gotten behind him? Or had Cannon followed them, against Crow’s orders? Another one of Slader’s men appeared off to his right, only to drop with another hushed report.

  Shit. Sniper. Had to be but…

  “You’ll pay for this, Crow. Personally.”

  Slader’s voice reverberating around him. He was off to Crow’s left. Had most likely taken cover at the edge of the building.

  Crow peeked over the top of the car, saw the man crouching beside a dumpster. He aimed, but Slader disappeared down an alleyway when another round bored a hole into the metal beside the man’s head. An inch to the left, and Slader would have been dead.

  Crow didn’t know who the sniper was, but he could worry about that later. Especially, when it seemed the guy was concentrating on Slader’s men. Was helping Crow, even if that wasn’t the guy’s objective, because if the gunman wanted Crow dead, he’d be lying on the ground beside the other men. And, with Devlyn’s life on the line, he’d have to chance it.

  He levered up and raced toward her, downing another guy who darted out from the far side of the building. He must have been ready to throw a frag, because everything exploded. Heat and smoke fanning out in an ever-increasing wave. It burned a line down Crow’s lungs, as pieces of metal slashed his exposed skin—a couple of fragments embedding in his thigh. He managed to stumble his way to the entrance just as Gibson pulled Devlyn inside the doorway, blocking her from any other shots. Blood marred the man’s shirt—looked as if he’d caught a bullet in the shoulder just shy of his vest. Had more blood on his face—a long gouge down one side. Just a line, but damn, it had been close. Not that Gibson seemed fazed.

  He yanked Crow inside, cursing when a frag went off far too close. “I can see why you’re a couple, you’re both bloody nuts. Now, skip the reunion, and get your arses out of here. I saw a motorbike down the alley. Hotwire it, and bugger off. I’ll keep Slader busy for a bit then flank around and grab the truck.”

  “Fuck that, Gib. We’ll go together.”

  “No time to argue. I heard on one of the bloke’s radios that Slader’s got a drone inbound, and I’m betting he’ll take out whoever’s behind that scope then level this building. Might be best if you�
�re not still standing in here, arguing with me.” He handed Crow a micro drive then gave him a shove. “Trust me, mate. I’ve done a thousand missions far worse than this. But I can’t be at my best if I’m worrying about the two of you being collateral damage. My methods can be a bit…unconventional. So, bugger off. And don’t go back to the safehouse. I’ll text your burner once things settle. Just find a hole, and stay put until then.”

  “Gibson. I won’t leave you—”

  But the jerk just shoved him, again, then darted out the door, somehow dodging the barrage of bullets without getting hit. He vaulted over the trunk of a car then disappeared. Just vanished in the smoke from the last grenade. And damn if it didn’t boil Crow’s blood. Teammates stuck together. Not to mention the fact he hated the thought of getting Gibson killed on his assignment. He was definitely going to have a talk with the Brit once this was done because…the guy was nuts.

  “Crow?”

  Devlyn’s voice had Crow moving. A quick body scan to check she wasn’t seriously hurt—no blood leaking out from beneath her vest—then they were up and moving. Running toward the back of the warehouse—stumbling really, but they made it work. No way they could risk leaving out of the side door, not when it was likely crawling with whoever was left of Slader’s crew. Maybe a viable target for the sniper because Crow doubted the extra few yards would make a difference to the guy. Their best chance was a rear window. One close to this motorcycle Gibson had mentioned. Shit, Crow hoped he remembered how to hot-wire one. He hadn’t needed that particular skill in years.

  Devlyn followed as he wove them through a couple of rooms, finally stopping at the back of the building. She glanced around, brow furrowed. “Where’s Gibson?”

  Great. She probably had another damn concussion or top of everything else. Ice was gonna tear a strip off of Crow’s ass. “He’s doing some MI6 ninja bullshit. Damned if I know.”

  She inhaled, staring back the way they’d come. “You let him go off alone?”