Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming

by Glenna Sinclair

  She didn't want to know if the person who abandoned her that day forgot about her the moment she was out of his or her life. She didn't want to know if they were drug addicts or career criminals who were too unhappy to raise a child, but too stupid to get an abortion before it was too late. She wanted to believe she was wanted, she was a source of joy as her daughter had been to her. She wanted to believe it was all just a mistake.

  Sutherland would never go looking for her biological parents. That would be too much like opening Pandora's Box.

  ***

  Sutherland couldn't sleep. She took a long, hot bath and lay with her eyes closed, but sleep never came. She finally just packed her gear—all brand-new gear provided by Gray Wolf—and headed out as the others loaded up unmarked SUVs—also provided by Gray Wolf—that were parked in the lane, waiting for the drive to Casper.

  Becky was standing off to one side, wringing her hands as she watched Lance stow his gear in the back of one SUV. He hadn't originally been a part of the task force, just the logistical support, but Ash, Kirkland, and Sutherland decided it would be invaluable to have him along in the event that something went wrong. Sutherland was glad for his support, but she could see the fear dancing in Becky's eyes. It'd been too long since she'd had to send her man off to battle.

  "Elizabeth and Cassidy are still sound asleep," Becky said as Sutherland approached her. "They don't have any idea what's happening."

  "I know." Sutherland took her hands and pulled her friend close to her. "I trust you completely. Now I'm asking you to trust me. Nothing is going to happen to Lance."

  Becky's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. "I know I'm being stupid. This is what he does for a living!"

  "It's dangerous. But Gray Wolf hasn’t lost an operative in all their years of service. I won't allow one of my men to be the first."

  Becky nodded. Sutherland hugged her tight, grateful for good friends. Then she stepped aside as Lance came to say his goodbyes.

  "It's hard, the first couple of times," Mabel said as she came to stand beside Sutherland. "I'll stay close, make sure she gets through it okay."

  "Does it get easier?"

  Mabel smiled, her gaze moving to her husband as he worked with David to load the electronic equipment.

  "Not at all."

  Sutherland hugged her friend and walked over to the lead SUV where Ash was calling everyone together for his normal pep talk. It was always the same, always short and sweet.

  "Do your job. Be safe. Don't get dead."

  As Sutherland settled back in the front seat of the SUV Kipling was driving past Circle B Ranch, she thought she saw a man on horseback, watching the caravan closely. It was still fairly dark, the sun only just beginning to peek into the morning sky. But she was sure he was there, sitting stiff and tall in the saddle.

  It couldn't have been him, but a part of her hoped it was.

  See you soon, Bodhi.

  Chapter 4

  Ryan

  I stood against a brick building, dressed simply in a short dress and tennis shoes. It was some FBI agent's brilliant idea that a few of us should dress like pedestrians and simply keep everyone informed of the comings and goings of the people inside the building. I was annoyed I was chosen because it seemed like I was always chosen for these lame assignments. Just because I was short and barely weighed over a hundred pounds didn't mean I couldn't hold my own against some drug dealing asshole.

  But try to convince this male dominated profession of that.

  We sat around, twiddling our thumbs for more than three hours before the local police department finally decided that they were okay with going forward with what they'd helped us plan these past few days. We had to drive over in dozens of different, unmarked cars to keep from alerting the target to our presence. I somehow got stuck in a car with that unpleasant detective who couldn't keep his eyes off my legs. Asshole! Calls me a slut and then openly checks me out. What kind of guy does that?

  If I never saw him again after this bullshit, it wouldn't be soon enough.

  I had on a pair of sunglasses, so I could survey the street openly. I knew Sutherland was in a truck a few yards up the road with Lance and David Grayson, monitoring things on the computers they'd brought along with us. I could see Grainger in jeans and a t-shirt—a hot look on him if there was one—was positioned near a pawn shop down the block. Ash Grayson was at the back of the building, waiting to go in with the FBI. I'd heard he'd had to argue quite a while to get permission for that. Kipling McKay and Donovan Pritchard were also at the back of the building, the rest of our people positioned all around the sides of the building.

  We were ready. I had no idea what they were waiting for.

  I reached behind my back, my fingers brushing the hilt of my gun as a couple of guys walked by, whistling, and making rude noises in my direction.

  "Move on, boys," I said with a bright smile.

  They laughed, but they kept going.

  "Team four in place," the countdown began in my ear.

  About fucking time!

  "Team three in place."

  "Team two in place."

  "Team one..."

  Before the last announcement, I could hear footsteps over the open mic, pounding on the basement stairs as the agents went down into the depths of the building. If I closed my eyes, I could see exactly what was happening, could see the FBI and Ash's team descend into the basement, see the cops going up to the second and third floors to pull the innocent out. It was beautifully planned, and I imagined it was being perfectly executed. But I was stuck outside.

  I pressed a button on the com, lowering the noise without turning it off completely. I wanted to be in there. I wanted to be a part of the bust. I hated having to stay outside and play babysitter.

  I pushed away from the building and walked a little, pretending to check out the windows of the shops on this side of the street. I was supposed to look like a morning shopper. Not a lot of shopping to be done over here, though. It was mostly pawn shops and liquor stores. Unless I wanted a new gold watch and a bottle of cheap whiskey, there was really nothing to look at.

  I hit the corner and was about to turn and head across the street to join Grainger when I heard the squeal of tires behind me. I turned just in time to watch a pile of men in jeans and leather jackets jump out of a white panel van.

  "We have a problem," I said into my com.

  "We got it, Babcock," a deep voice barked in my ear. "Get back into position."

  Before I could, an explosion shook the buildings all around me. I hit the ground, skinning my elbow on the damn sidewalk. I grunted, rolling immediately onto my side, and pressed my hand to the wound. When the burning stopped, I sat up and looked around, appearing like a normal pedestrian, but taking in the smoke that was coming from the back of the building.

  "I'm closest. Let me go check it out."

  "Stand down, Babcock," the voice in my ear said.

  I looked down the street, but Grainger was nowhere to be seen. And there was chaos erupting further down the street, people screaming and running out of the way of something I couldn't quite see. The alley behind the target building erupted with gunfire. I could see someone coming toward me in the smoke, but he went down, clearly shot. I couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

  I slipped my gun out from the pouch at the waist of my skirt and ran, the gun held at my side. Voices yelled at me to get back into position in my ear, but I ignored them, turning the com down even more. I approached the body I'd seen go down, a man in an FBI flak jacket. I touched his throat, but he had no pulse.

  I pressed back against the side of the building, thinking through my options. I could continue down the alley and potentially run into whoever had killed this man. Or I could turn around and risk being shot in the back—and potentially fired for disobeying orders. I was fucked either way, so I decided to go forward.

  Wishing I had my gear, that I had my flak jacket at the very least, I slowly began to make my way down
the alley. Kipling and Donovan were here somewhere. Hank, too. I was just as likely to run into someone friendly than someone not so friendly.

  I made it to the end of the alley and turned, sliding around the brick edge of the building. The back door was standing open, smoke billowing out of it. I pressed myself up against the building as voices floated to me.

  "No one comes out of this building alive, you understand?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  My heart sank. What the hell was going on here?

  And then someone touched my ankle. I nearly screamed, but caught myself just in time. Lying on his back in the alley, blood on his throat, his face, even his hands, was Mr. Detective. I dropped into a squat and touched his throat to search for a pulse, but he batted my hand away.

  "Get out of here!"

  "What happened?"

  He glanced toward the door where the voices had come from, but I couldn't hear anything else. Whoever had been speaking must have walked away, but we couldn't be completely sure. I grabbed the detective's arm and pulled him around the side of the building and fell into a sitting position beside him.

  "It was an ambush," he mumbled.

  "Did anyone else get out?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know."

  My thoughts moved over Ash and Sutherland, the looks they exchanged. I had trouble respecting Sutherland, but that didn't mean I didn't like her. I wouldn't wish the pain of losing someone she cared about on her. And Ash... he was too smart for this. How could he have walked into an ambush?

  I touched my finger to the com, trying to figure out what I was going to say. Things didn't look good from my point of view. I knew things couldn't be looking that great from the front of the building, either. And I thought I could hear sirens in the distance, suggesting the neighbors had gotten wise and called 911. We'd be inundated with paramedics and beat cops who had no clue as to what was happening in moments.

  The detective grabbed the edge of the com and snatched it out of my ear, pain slicing through me as he did.

  "What the hell!"

  "They knew we were coming. They have people listening to our communication devices. If you say a single word, they'll know where we are."

  I nodded, realizing that was something I should have known, or at least suspected. I climbed to my feet and smashed the device under the heel of my shoe.

  "I have to get you out of here."

  I grabbed his arm, tugged him up off the ground. He towered over me by a foot or so, but he was strong enough that he was able to follow along with me without dragging me down too much. I headed down the opposite alley, away from the target building, to a side street where there were several Gray Wolf SUVs parked. The keys were kept in a console pocket, the doors secured with a keyless entry that was the same code for them all. I picked the closest and helped the detective inside just as someone took a shot at us.

  I spun on my heel, my gun at the ready faster than the drug dealing asshole clearly expected. I took him out with a shot to the center of his forehead.

  "Impressive," the detective said as I climbed behind the wheel.

  "Top of my class in both basic training and the police academy."

  He glanced at me, but he had no comment for that.

  We took off in a squeal of tires, moving away from the target building, taking an escape route that was planned with the understanding that there would be continuous communication. No one saw us go but pedestrians running toward the chaos, trying to find out what was happening. I had two choices once I got out of the heart of the city. Go north on the I25, head south, or avoid the interstate at all cost.

  I voted north.

  "What are you doing?" Detective demanded the moment he realized what I was doing, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, a groan of pain escaping his pale lips. "We can't go north."

  "Why not?"

  "Because someone obviously told them we were coming. The only people who knew were the FBI, my people, and yours. You really want to go back to your offices without knowing who the snitch is?"

  I glanced at him, at the way he slouched weakly in his seat.

  "You're shot?"

  There was defiance in his eyes when he glanced at me, but he didn't have a snide comment. He just nodded.

  "We need to get somewhere where we can stop the bleeding."

  "No hospitals."

  "I'm not that stupid, asshole."

  I expected anger. Or another of his mean comments – he just smiled.

  I got off at the first exit and did the turn around, headed south again on the interstate, but I didn't stay on it long. I didn't know the area, but I knew how to read a map. It was a game my brother and I used to play when we were kids. He'd make me study a map and then he'd drive out into the middle of nowhere and make me navigate our way back to familiar territory. It created a skill that came in handy when I joined the Marines, one that I couldn't resist indulging still to this day. I'd studied Google Maps of the entire county, including Casper.

  I got off on an exit a mile outside of the city and headed west, taking us into the countryside where I knew we'd eventually come to a small town that had a Walmart and a cheap motel. The detective was out cold when I stopped in the massive Walmart parking lot. I took a chance and left him alone while I ran inside and bought the supplies I knew we needed and a few things we might want later. He was still unconscious when I came back and no one seemed to have noticed him, thank goodness. But he woke when I pulled up to the motel.

  "We can't. They'll want identification," he mumbled.

  I threw the transmission into park, glancing at him. He was so pale I was beginning to wonder if the wound was more than I could deal with.

  "Gray Wolf provides their agents with fake IDs for situations just like this."

  "You probably shouldn't tell me that."

  "Pretend I didn't."

  I got out, tugging at my dress, glancing down to make sure there was nothing on me that might make the clerk suspicious besides the fact that we were checking in this early in the morning. But he was bored with his life, clearly unconcerned with whatever I might be up to. I don't think he even really looked at me until I asked for a room at the back of the property. And then it was just to smile as his eyes dragged heavily over the length of me.

  "We're very discreet here," he said.

  "I'm sure you are."

  He handed me the key card for the room and took his sweet time explaining how far around the building I'd have to drive to find my room. I thought he'd never shut the hell up.

  The detective was in and out of consciousness. I carried my purchases into the room first, digging through the bags and taking what I would need right away into the bathroom. Then I went back for him, worried that he wouldn't be awake enough to help me get him inside. But he was sitting up a little straighter when I opened the door, coughing and wincing all that the same time, clearly in a lot of pain. We hobbled slowly, his arm draped over my shoulder, his body leaning on mine more than he'd done before. Once inside, I kicked the door closed with my foot and started across the room.

  "The bed's good," he mumbled.

  "No. We'd leave too much blood there and that might raise questions."

  I continued to the bathroom and he came along, but he moved as slowly as he could. It seemed to take an excruciatingly long time to get there.

  He sat heavy on the toilet and leaned his arm on the sink. I knelt in front of him and began unfastening his flak jacket.

  "Not now, sweetheart," he said, brushing her hands away. "Not in the mood."

  "I need to see the wound."

  He grunted, but he moved his hands out of the way.

  I undressed him as quickly as I could, forcing him to his feet when it was time to remove his trousers. He didn't make a comment then, but I could feel his eyes watching closely everything I did.

  "You have to get into the bathtub."

  "Why?"

  "There's a lot of blood. It's the easiest place to catch it and allow us
to clean up without leaving too much evidence."

  He stared at me for a moment, but he did what I said. I kept my arm around his waist, but he managed to get in mostly on his own. Once he was lying down, I could see better. There was blood everywhere on his belly, his chest, even leaking down the front and side of his boxer briefs. It was hard to see the wound when he was sitting up, but I finally located it just above his right hip. I got a cup, one of the plastic things the motel provided, and filled it with cold water from the sink. I carefully poured it over his hip, washing the worst of the blood away so I could see better. He hissed, reaching for my wrist before I could pour more water.

  "You could have warmed it a little."

  "I need to see this wound before you bleed to death. You really want me to stop to wait for the water to heat up?"

  "It would be nice."

  I poured more of the cold water across his belly than I intended to, wiping the blood away with paper towel I'd bought at the Walmart.

  "How do I even know you know what the fuck you're doing?' he asked, grinding his teeth against the cold that was beginning to make him shiver. "How do I know you aren't about to make this worse?"

  "I guess you don't," I said, continuing my work. "But if it makes you feel better, I worked with the medic in Afghanistan while I was in the Marines. I saw him do this, a million times."

  There was only one wound, just below where the bottom of his flak jacket would have been. It was still oozing blood, dark blood. I pressed my fingers around it, feeling for the bullet. I felt a hard edge, but I couldn't be sure... I reached under his body, looking for an exit wound. There was another wound there, wider than the first. I closed my eyes, relieved.

  It was a through and through. The bullet had gone right through him, which meant I wouldn't have to dig around for a bullet. And it was unlikely it had grazed any vital organs since he was still awake and talking. The biggest concern at this point was that it might have hit the bowel, but I wasn't seeing any evidence of that. Not yet, anyway.