“You tell me. I was out cold in the tent.”
“We didn’t lie. Higgins is the one in league with Zaroyin, not us. He’s the one cashing in on this cybernetic nightmare. Trust me. That much I do know. Unless...” He glanced sharply over his shoulder to the diminishing glow in the east.
“Unless what?” She wanted to know.
He blew out a ragged breath of misty gray vapor. “First, you didn’t see Sam or me, then you didn’t see Zaroyin or his army of men. Why not? What’s different between the drones and everyone else?”
Eden stared into the face of the man she thought she knew. Stripped of her second sight, she had no choice but to trust Tucker Chase. “I honestly don’t know, but you’re right. I’ve had no trouble seeing any of Zaroyin’s drones.”
He kept his eyes to the east. “What made them stand out? You said you couldn’t detect Sam or me before we arrived, either. How the hell does your second sight work, anyway?”
“You know as well as I do that no one knows precisely what triggers it. Sometimes it’s a personal belonging, but not always. There’s no one-size-fits-all rule to being a psychic, and no, I didn’t see Tate either. I did see Ky, but I didn’t know it was him when I—”
“Wait. You saw Ky?”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, but not the same way I saw the drones. Ky’s different. The drones were like clumps of ash with a faint red glow beating inside. Ky’s always blue when I see him. Crystal blue. I can usually make out his entire, umm, body.” And his caramel-colored eyes. That sexy smile.
Tucker stared at her like she had two heads. “When you see him? How often have you been seeing him?”
Eden stared past Tucker, recalling that first time. “I already told you. The first time he was a prisoner of war in—”
“Yeah, but what’s with the crystal blue shit?”
“It’s his aura. Every person emits one. It’s your energy, that’s all.”
“What’s blue mean, that he’s some kind of superman? A hero?”
“No, Tuck.” She gentled her tone. “Blue usually means compassion. It’s Ky’s greatest strength and his worst weakness. Sometimes it gets him into trouble.”
Tucker’s brow spiked. “What’s my color?”
Ah, Tuck. It was so like him to need to compete over something as harmless as personal auras. Eden allowed a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth. “Are you serious? You really want to know if yours is bigger and better? Snap, Tucker. It’s like comparing one person’s soul to another’s.”
“So? Are you gonna tell me or not?”
Eden blew out a measured breath between her pursed lips and dutifully acquiesced. “It’s no big deal. Most of the time your aura is on the darker shade of blue, just like Ky’s. There, are you happy?”
“Most of the time? What’s that mean, that I’m more compassionate?” The big jock sounded hopeful.
“Not necessarily. I’ve seen your aura go so dark its nearly black,” she admitted, needing to get off the topic he obviously couldn’t grasp, not with his male ego sucking up center stage like it was. “Are you thinking these new guys may not be Zaroyin’s drones?”
“Maybe. You didn’t see Sam or me coming at you, did you? The guys with Zaroyin, neither. Yet you did see Ky when he was in prison halfway around the world, and you saw all of Zaroyin’s drones. Can you only sense people in pain? Is that maybe how your second sight works—it hones in on physical torment?”
She gulped, not sure of anything at the moment. Psychic powers were an unreliable science at best. He could be onto something. Tucker kept staring east. She kept going over the facts she thought she knew while the slimy tendrils of self-doubt invaded her mind. He actually made sense. Her gift did tend to zero in on people undergoing severe stress. Abducted children. Hostages. A man in the throes of torture. Men who didn’t want to be drones...
Drones...
The light dawned. “Tucker! That’s why I keep passing out. My second sight isn’t impaired. It’s overwhelmed. Think about it. Every sanctioned operation I’ve been on only dealt with one victim, but now, I’m bombarded with the feedback from all those drones...” She blinked at the horrible implication. “Tuck, it’s Zaroyin’s implant—that’s what’s reaching out to me. That’s why I keep fainting. Oh, my God, he’s created a way for all those poor men to—”
“So you’re saying that crazy doctor’s spider thing is what links you to the drones?”
“No. Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t really know the precise mechanics of how it works yet, but something he’s done to the drones is killing my second sight. It’s too much, kind of like a lightning strike blowing a fuse. His plan won’t work, Tuck. If he wants one psychic to be his master controller, he’s got it all wrong. I’m a level ten, but I can’t handle the surge of all those conflicted emotions pouring into me.”
Tucker still stared east, half listening. “Those guys hit us fast and hard. They weren’t carrying the same rifles as the other drones. No Omni 9000s. Did you see a single smart gun?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “Yeah. Me, neither. I didn’t see any high-tech weaponry come to think of it, not on these new guys. Only the old—”
She caught the logic in his drift. “Twelve-gauge shotguns. Short pumps and—”
He turned to face her, his tone clipped and confident. “Those were Remington sniper rifles, Eden. Standard FBI-issue. Shotguns, too. Shit. You didn’t see these guys coming because they aren’t Zaroyin’s drones. They’re black operators. They’re—”
“Us-s-s...” she hissed. “They’re FBI, Tucker, the real FBI. How can they be here in Canada? Who’s really behind this? Do you know?”
He nodded, his gaze still distant. “But why would he run over the top of us like this? Why not make contact and advise us that he was in transit? Why come in with guns blazing?” His breath poured out in a plume of heated vapor. “Shit, Eden. This smacks of Zaroyin, but it’s not. I’m almost certain it’s—”
SNAP! Eden’s world exploded in a kaleidoscope of splintering pain, razor-sharp images, and the coppery taste of blood. His blood. Not Tucker’s. That other guy’s. He was back. The guy with black holes for eyes, with rivulets of bloody tears dripping out of those holes.
Black eyes.
Her ribs clenched tight against the pain. Her throat closed tighter, as if he’d reached across space and time and squeezed her trachea with all five fingers. The sound of her larynx cracking filled her head. The simple act of drawing air into her lungs hurt. She dropped to her knees, afraid to breathe. Afraid to move.
But he wasn’t trying to kill her. His grasp was the desperate, reflexive act of a drowning man, fighting to hold on to anything that would keep him afloat. Panicked. Frenzied. His mind clenched hers tighter. She raked a hand under her cap and through her hair, spilling the cold over her neck, needing him to release his death grip.
Let me go, she ordered mentally. You’re killing me!
A masculine vibration of disbelief rippled through her mind. Eden? Eden Stark? You’re... you’re real?
Shadows closed in. Blackness danced everywhere. “Talk to me, darlin’,” Tucker pleaded from somewhere far away. “God, not you, too.” His voice faded into twilight.
She couldn’t answer. Could barely catch... one. Cold. Breath.
Just fell...
Chapter Twenty-One
Tate never got the chance to say where the high-tech rifles were—not with Zaroyin’s men too close for comfort. Ky backed away from the camp, sliding on his belly, descending into the foggy shadow with Tate and Becker alongside him.
Searchlights at the crest of the hill probed the uneven landscape in all directions, but in the midst of their impressive takeover, Zaroyin’s army had created confusion. They had to be Feds. They didn’t smell of sweat and fatigue like the drones had, and these guys moved with clipped precision. All in uniforms, jackets, helmets, and tactical gear. Muted gray and winter cammies. Heavy-footed and heavier-handed. Maybe fifty. Maybe more.
&n
bsp; Ky kept his focus on the short guy nearest the flattened tent. The one barking with a definite Eastern Bloc accent at the broad-shouldered, thick-necked Pit Bull to his right. “Then where are they, McCluskey? You said they were all here.”
The Pit Bull, McCluskey, obviously ex-military, obviously a dick, said, “Gone, sir. We nearly apprehended Special Agent Becker, but he—”
“You lost him?” Short Stuff shrieked.
Ky strained to pinpoint the man’s country of origin. Not Russian. Czechoslovakian, maybe? Polish?
“Where’s Zaroyin from?” he asked Becker out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eye on Short Stuff. “What country?”
“He’s Armenian, but he’s from Chechnya. You’re looking at him.”
So you’re him… Ky’s fingers clenched with what he wanted to do with this arrogant doctor.
“He won’t get far,” McCluskey maintained. “We’ll track him, sir. Don’t worry. Shouldn’t take long.”
“He doesn’t want Becker, you fool. He wants Stark and so do I,” Zaroyin snarled. “You know what this woman means to his plans for the future. You know what she means to me.”
That over-the-top rant perked Ky’s ears up. This woman? Eden? What future?
“Let’s go,” Tate hissed, tugging Ky’s boot.
“Not yet.”
McCluskey rolled one shoulder, like he had an extreme pain in his neck. “She can’t have gotten far. She’s just a female, sir. I’ll put everyone on it. We’ll get her.”
“Do,” Zaroyin spat, “and tell your men not to believe everything they see. She’s good. Shoot her if you have to, but don’t kill her.”
“Yes, sir.” McCluskey didn’t salute, but he might as well have. He bobbed his head plenty before he pivoted and snapped at the unfortunate lackey behind him. “Gather the men. Now!”
Ky’d heard enough. He stopped listening to the drama uphill and rolled alongside Tate. They were at the edge of the tree line, but he’d never left a guy behind, much less a woman. He wouldn’t start now. He’d have to cross the clearing, and it might put him in harm’s way, but he meant to find her. Pushing up off the ground, he hunkered low and headed west.
“No, Ky. We go east,” Becker ordered, already on his feet and slapping the snow off his jacket and pants. “If we’re lucky—”
“Go where you want,” Ky growled without turning around, keeping out of the reach of those spotlights.
“Trust me. Tucker will keep her safe.”
Ky whirled on Becker. “Then head east. Tate and I are going west!”
Becker groused. “You trust him more than me?”
Tate caught the jibe. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because he thinks you’re working with Zaroyin,” Ky spat. The truth needed telling. “He doesn’t believe you secured the six drones in the trees, either.”
Becker squared his shoulders, facing Tate. “Admit it. You’ve been on the take for months. I’ve got video proof.”
“Like hell you do.” A shaggy line of thunderclouds descended over Tate’s eyes.
“One-point-five ring a bell, Higgins? That’s what’s in your bank account,” Becker pressed, “and I’m damned sure Stewart doesn’t pay you that well. Want to explain where you stashed those six Omni 9000s from the guys Tucker and I killed while you’re at it? You didn’t leave them rusting in the snow, did you?”
Lightning crackled between Becker and Tate, but the big guy only jerked his head toward the trees behind him. “Go see for yourself.”
Becker’s jaw stuck out. “By hell, I will. You coming?” he barked at Ky. “Let’s get this out in the open, once and for all. Then you can decide who to believe, him or me.”
Ky stomped after him, wanting this argument over so he could go after Eden. “Make it quick.”
Tate’s upper lip lifted. “You don’t believe me, either?”
“Course I do.” Ky set that record straight. He might have wondered there for a second. Not anymore. “You heard me order you to head out with me, didn’t you? Now move it. Prove you’re square to this asshole, so we can get back to work, damn it.”
A snort through both nostrils clouded Tate’s already dark expression with a double shot of frosty attitude. He turned his back on Ky and trudged into the cover of pine trees. Zaroyin’s searchlight still pierced the foggy landscape, but the big guy seemed to know his way around without getting lit up or shot at.
Ky followed his buddy, needing this evidentiary hearing to be short and sweet. He’d always trusted Tate with his life, not Becker and Tucker.
They hadn’t gone far when Becker pulled his pistol and aimed it at Tate’s back. “Stop right there, Higgins. Slow and steady. Let me see your hands. Both of them. I’ll take it from here.”
Tate raised his hands, but Ky’d had enough. He leveled his rifle at Becker. “Don’t even think about it, Becker. He’s clean. I goddamned know it.”
Tate cast a dark glance over his shoulder, catching Ky’s eye before he raked Becker. “You’d shoot me in the back?”
“I would if I had to,” Becker hissed, his weapon aimed skyward and both hands raised.
Tate pointed up without taking another step. There in the trees, right where he’d said they were, in typical Tate Higgins’ style, hung six male bodies, their heads down and their arms bound to their sides.
Ky sucked in a deep breath of relief and holstered his piece. “There. Do you believe him now?”
“What the hell is going on? And the guns, Higgins?” Becker asked. “Where are they? You didn’t leave them behind, did you?”
Tate growled something unintelligible back at Becker, but stalked to another bundle strung between two other trees. Deftly, he jerked the line he’d tied off at shoulder level on the nearest pine, and the bundle dropped.
If it had been any other night, Ky would’ve laughed at the dumbfounded look on Becker’s face when Tate peeled open the cavernous stomach cavity of the butchered moose. There lay all six Omni 9000s and their powerful, four-barrel scopes. Wrapped in plastic. Safe. Protected. Where no one in their right mind would’ve looked for them.
But not tonight. “Guys, we don’t have time for this. Didn’t you hear Zaroyin? He gave orders for his men to shoot Eden, to injure her if they have to. Let’s go.”
Becker blew out a deep breath, his hand outstretched to Tate. “I’m sorry. Ky was right. I had no business accusing you. But the money and the video? How do you explain them? I saw you shake the doctor’s hand myself. I know it was you.”
Tate ignored Becker’s offer of reconciliation. A sneer lifted at one corner of his lip. “What are you talking about?”
Becker retrieved his hand and ran it over his thick hair. “Shit. If you’re right... If this is a set-up...” He let the words hang.
“Someone’s toying with us,” Ky said. “Someone deliberately planted that evidence against Tate, then dragged Sweets body out in the open. He wants us to fight each other. We’re nothing but game pieces on his chess board, and the bastard’s winning.”
“That’s not as farfetched as you might think,” Becker mulled. “I’ve known Eden to do some mighty strange things in order to save lives. Could be Zaroyin’s got a psychic on his side who’s a helluva lot stronger than she is.”
Ky nodded. The drift of Vicks. A few carefully spoken words in a dying man’s ear. Positive reinforcement. Yeah. Eden was good at her job. His gut pitched at the distress she had to be in. “Or Zaroyin knew Director Strong would contact Alex to bring Eden home. Maybe he’s got an informant inside the Bureau. Maybe inside The TEAM.” Anything seemed possible.
“But how would Zaroyin have known when he planted the evidence against me that Alex would assign me to this mission?” Tate cast an evil eye at Becker. “And those guys in our camp are Feds. I smelled the drones a mile away. They stank to high heaven, but not these guys. Why the hell are they after us?”
“And why drag Charlie Sweets’ dead body up here and plant it where we’d find it?” Becker asked.
“What?” both Tate and Becker asked at the same time.
Ky stilled as their real dilemma hit home. “These are all misdirects manufactured to throw us off the track. God, why didn’t I see this before? Remember what Bick said when we touched down in Spain?”
Tate stepped closer. “Yeah, I remember. He said he’d finally found what he wanted. He kept yammering that he’d found heaven. Dumbass was talking out of his butt.”
“Only he didn’t say what that heaven was, did he?”
Tate shook his head, his face stoically expressionless. “Could’ve been diamonds.”
Ky stilled as he sorted through what had happened during the last forty-eight hours and back to Morocco. A helo had got him out of that country and a helo had dropped him into Canada. His client then was an errant and supposedly cheating husband. His client now, the purest woman Ky had ever met, a psychic with little worldly sophistication, yet filled with an almost motherly need to help others. Somehow, the two were connected. He felt it in his gut.
Ky rolled one shoulder as that creepy ride with Bick in the helo flickered to mind. The overweight bastard was suave down to his expensive, croc-skinned loafers. Dressed to kill. His hair was slicked back over a wide, sweaty forehead. The man was barely breathing hard after all the ruckus he’d caused, but not so smart that he didn’t need his dumbass saved when his plans went awry. Or was he? Was there ever really a jilted husband in the mix? What intelligent woman in her right mind would want a slimy, two-timing blimp of a man like Bick? And there at the end of the trip, he kept tapping his greasy fingers on his knee, a smarmy smile on his face and jabbering about, ‘Heaven. I’m in heaven...’
Then there was Eden. What the hell connected the two?
The scent of her favorite mentholated rub drifted into Ky’s thoughts like a ghostly finger, more vapor than substance. More tease than solid clue. He pulled the coolness of it in and let it work its soothing magic. Bick had something to do with Eden. She was the connection. Hadn’t she said she’d been in Morocco once, too? When? Suddenly, Ky wanted to know exactly why Bick had been there. He slid his goggles over his head and ordered TEAMshield to, “Call home.”
Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13) Page 21
