Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13)

by Irish Winters

  Tate ran to the building and kicked the door in, but he didn’t have to verbally confirm what Eden already knew. Apparently, Ky knew it, too. “This is nothing but a revenge killing, baby. I’ll back you whichever way you decide to take this, but you need to think about what you’re doing before you pull that trigger. Think about what this says about you.” He kept appealing to her higher reasoning. Her compassion. It just wasn’t getting past that red haze in her mind.

  “But a head shot would be merciful,” big mouth Tucker offered from Eden’s left. “Maybe a double tap. Just to be sure. That’s how us SEALs do it.”

  “Or a tranq. Maybe two,” Tate offered just as unemotionally, back from the portable medical building. “She’s right. There’s a guy in there. He’s in rough shape. Someone’s been cutting on him. Has to be her.”

  Eden snorted. “Couldn’t you make him mind meld with me, Cassie?” she bit out. “What? Isn’t he a strong enough level-ten for you?”

  The witch on her knees had the gall to sneer.

  “This is not about Cassandra Bick, guys. It’s about Eden,” Ky breathed.

  Darn. Until that point in time, Eden hadn’t truly understood how deep Ky’s ingrained sense of honor went. He was making this snap decision harder than it had to be. Worse, he’d given her time for that red haze to fade. He’d made her think, and Eden didn’t want to think. She drew in a deep breath of what the fuck should I do? (Tucker’s words. Not hers.) But they certainly fit the quandary in her head. The scale of justice tipped in Cassandra’s favor, until...

  “Look at you, Stark. You’re still a weak little girl. A nobody.” The woman didn’t know when to quit. “You won’t kill me. You don’t have what it takes to do something right for a change. You’re just like your father.”

  Eden calmed. “You know, you’re right. I am like my dad, and I’m like my mom, too. They were both good people who did the best they could with what life threw at them.” Eden licked her dry lips and swallowed hard. “Did you hear what I said, Mrs. Almighty Bick? They were a couple of nobodies, but they chose to do good in the world. Tucker and Tate are right. You deserve to die for all the men you’ve put in harm’s way without a second thought. You deserve to be dead for the people you got killed, and for all the children you meant to use to your evil end. But Ky’s right, too. I don’t deserve a stain like you on my conscience, so guess what? You win. You get to live.”

  Cassandra growled. Even if by some miracle she got life-flighted to the nearest medical facility, her chance of survival was slim. Eden lowered her pistol into her holster, her work done. She might have to come to grips with her conscience, but for now, she turned her back on the evil queen. Surrounded by wealth and the best life had to offer, Cassandra Bick was still the poorest woman on earth.

  Ky’s arm snaked around Eden’s waist, and that should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

  Eden’s second sight kicked up a red flag. She twisted just in time to catch the glint of sunlight off the tiny silver gun in Cassandra’s shaky hand. She’d raised it to the back of Ky’s head and—

  BLAM! Eden whirled and fired. One shot and one shot only. Ky grabbed her against his rock-solid body in a reflexive protective hold.

  Tucker jumped, his rifle on target and a gruff, “Holy shit!”

  Tate just grunted, but Mrs. Bick? Her scrawny ass folded backward onto her cream-colored safari get-up with a hole between those pointy brows, her two merciless, unseeing eyes staring at the hot African sun.

  The chess game was finally over.

  Eden offered one last puff of false bravado. FBI training, you understand. Lifting her weapon to her lips, she blew across the blistering-hot barrel and grunted. Tate would’ve been proud. “Ain’t nothing holy about it, Tuck. Shit’s just shit.”

  Epilogue

  Nine months to the day

  “Faster,” Ky urged Tate.

  The TEAM vehicle flew through D.C. traffic. Tate banked a hard right at Constitution then headed northwest on Pennsylvania to Georgetown University Hospital on Twenty-Third.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have taken that escort assignment,” Ky grumbled. “Not this close to Eden’s due date.”

  “You’ll get there in time,” Tate replied stoically, still maneuvering the SUV like a professional racer through the crowded traffic.

  “Did you see her? That obnoxious brat had her hands all over me.”

  “Hollywood’s children tend to think they always get what they want,” Tate offered.

  He’d been on as many escort assignments as Ky. Most of the time they were an easy day’s work, but this wannabe starlet had had definite nympho tendencies. No fifteen-year-old should dress so provocatively—or be that horny. Miss Glam—not her real name—had earned a meeting with the President, but when she’d shown up at the hotel lobby in skintight spandex, most of which did not cover what had to be silicone knockers, Ky was embarrassed for her—at first. Then he was worried for the President. The girl was fast. She had more moves than a pickpocket at the Saint Patrick’s Day parade.

  “She probably gets off on guys in black suits and dark glasses. You know, the whole bodyguard thing.”

  “I’m not so sure. She was in D.C. all by herself. Her parents were too busy filming their latest and greatest to accompany her. I think she’s starved for attention.”

  Tate grunted. “Must be why she kept calling you Daddy.”

  Ky shot a sideways glance at Tate. The truth was a little scarier. Ky wasn’t exactly cured of that sneaky haphephobia, his aversion to human touch, but the weirdest thing had happened since he and Eden married the day after they’d come home from Sierra Leone. Somehow, he’d gotten more... sensitive. Yeah, that was the word for it. He could shake most people’s hands and nothing would happen, but every once in a while—he’d see things.

  Like the frantic loneliness in Little Miss Hollywood’s purple-tinted eyes. That young lady was headed for trouble, but the people she needed most in her life seemed oblivious. Not good.

  Or the desperation in Javier’s eyes, Ky’s waiter-buddy down at the best Mexican Cantina in Crystal City. That one was easy to fix. Ky had a guy-to-guy chat with Javier, confronted him about the bank robbery he’d been planning, then hooked him up with an interview for a better-paying job, and Javier stopped worrying about his wife’s medical bills that, until then, were eating him alive.

  Yeah. This gift of seeing through people, if that was what it was, was damned scary. Eden had beamed when he’d discussed it with her. That was the first time she’d blurted out, “I told you so.” Not the last. She thought he had psychic talent with animals, too. She wanted him to take some psychological achievement test. He’d laughed it off, but damn. She might have been right about that other thing, too. Maybe he had been the one who’d reached around the world from Kabul for her that fateful day. Maybe he was—psychic.

  Okay. No. No, as in no way in hell. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he was going to be late if Tate didn’t step on the gas. “Can’t this bucket go faster?”

  Tate made that SUV fly, and he knew where to park at GW, too. Ky led the way in, all but running up to labor and delivery where the Bureau’s one and only psychic had better still be waiting for him. He lost track of Tate, his heart pumping at this—the second greatest moment in his life. The one night of unprotected sex with Eden in his sleeping bag would always stand as the first. It had led him to this day.

  Ky couldn’t hurry fast enough. Time meant everything to a covert operator. Everything! What was it that Alex preached? Never late? Never wrong? Never miss? Well, today was that day, and Ky would not miss it.

  “My wife,” he barked at the first nurse in the hall. “Where is she?”

  “And that would be...?” the nurse prompted.

  “Sorry. Eden Winchester.” He stifled the need to run and look room-by-room for her himself.

  “Ah, so you’re Ky?” She nodded to the door at her right. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester. She’s been asking for you. Ar
e you ready?”

  If that meant that a guy’s heart was climbing out of his throat, then yes, Ky was friggin’ ready already. He followed the nurse into the pleasantly lighted birthing room where Libby Houston, Kelsey Stewart, Judy Mortimer, and Shelby Cartwright attended Eden.

  “You made it,” Eden exclaimed, her poor face flushed and her brow sweaty. “Did you see my dad?”

  “She’s dilated to an eight,” Judy advised. “You timed that close.”

  “Your dad? No. Is he here? An eight? Is that good or...” Ky’s head was spinning, but he took his place at Eden’s side and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “An eight means you won’t have long to wait. She’s been bearing down. You know what that means.”

  I do?

  “Oh God, God... God, Ky!” Eden told him between gritted teeth as another contraction tightened her poor belly.

  “I’m here,” he said helplessly while the woman he lived for clutched his fingers like a friggin’ vice. Libby shoved a chair behind him and whispered, “sit,” but Ky could no more sit than tap dance with his fingers being dismantled like they were.

  “It’s coming,” Eden’s obstetrician declared calmly, and honestly, Ky hadn’t seen Dr. Logan at the end of the bed until then. Guess he couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes.

  Dr. Logan peered over horn-rimmed glasses. “Today’s the day, huh? Here we go. Push down, Eden. Ky, help her. You two know what to do.”

  Ky tugged his fingers away from his murderous wife and cradled her while she grabbed the side rails. They tilted forward together and—

  “Bah!” the tiniest little brown-haired baby bellowed.

  Dr. Logan beamed as he lifted the little guy up for Eden to see. “That was easy. Congratulations. It’s a boy.”

  “It’s a boy,” Ky repeated in awe, and his world, his life, every good and bad thing he’d ever lived through, imploded into—Eden. He cupped her face between his palms, hardly able to see through the tears he let fall all over her. “You’re a mother,” he whispered, as if she hadn’t known all along what that baby bump meant.

  She smiled through her own tears, her chin tilted up. Ky closed the distance, craving the taste of eternity on her lips. A man didn’t get any luckier.

  “Is he healthy? Ten fingers? Ten toes? All the right equipment?”

  Ky shot a questioning look at Dr. Logan for the answer to Eden’s question. “He’s perfect.” The doctor laid the newest member of The TEAM on Eden’s flatter belly. “Time to cut the umbilical, Dad. Are you ready?”

  Dad. Wow, that’s me. Hell yeah. Ky did the honors, so damned proud of his beautiful wife and his newborn son. The ladies oooh’d and ahhh’d before they stepped out of the room. Dr. Logan wrapped things up and left, and once the little guy was documented and wiped clean, Ky got to hold his pride and joy. He held his son, too.

  There were no words for the tender storm swelling up in his heart. Sitting beside Eden, he pressed what would be the first of many kisses to the top of that tired little guy’s head. When his newborn son opened his eyes and looked into his father’s face, the vision came to Ky slowly. Like starlight. Like grace. The most pure outpouring of love. Ky choked on the tender connection between father and son. This was no ordinary little boy. This baby was—perfect.

  “Have you decided on your son’s name?” He had to ask his wife before he bawled his eyes out.

  “I like Kyler Lee after you and Lee Hart,” Eden said quietly, her hand tucked inside of his, “but I’m open to suggestions.”

  Ky breathed in the heavenly scent of his firstborn, touched beyond words at Eden’s choice. She’d done it again. She’d read his mind. “Hmmm. I like that, too. We’ll talk more after you get some sleep. Can I get you anything? A juice? Some water?”

  Eden shook her head, her eyes drowsy. “I already have everything. I have you.”

  Somehow it felt more like the other way around.

  Ky Winchester had come full circle. His once austere little starter home now sheltered a comfy king-sized bed and other furniture he and Eden had selected. She tended to lean toward buying family-friendly, but his purchases were made purely from a full-blooded male’s perspective. His tastes were simple and direct. Whatever he could picture her sexy naked body draped over, bent over, or lying on top of, he’d bought. She’d insisted on a china hutch to go with that solid oak dining table, but honestly? He’d just wanted the table. Clothes on the floor. Eden on her back on top of it.

  He now knew why she’d been pushed from the East Coast and ultimately, to Alaska. It was Matt Hartigen’s idea to use her as the runner, and Isaiah as the tracker. Matt and Cassie said it was to beta test their control over a level ten psychic, but Isaiah knew different. Matt and Cassie were just mean.

  Mother and Ember had untangled why Cassandra Bick hated Eden, why she wanted Eden’s unborn children for herself. Why no other level ten would do. Cassie didn’t just want a baby, she wanted revenge for a wrong done to her that Eden had no way of knowing she’d committed. Of all Eden’s FBI rescue operations, the only hostage she’d ever lost was an elderly drunk named Churchill.

  It was nobody’s fault. The steel locking carabiners on the rescue chopper’s ladder broke while he and his rescuer, a twenty-four-year old Navy SEAL with a wife and two children, dangled over the Everglades after escaping the burning barn where Churchill had been kept for days. They both plummeted to their deaths. Hollywood never knew that hostage was Cassie’s father because she’d never told them the truth, that she’d disowned him on her climb to the top, that he made her look bad with his foppish, alcoholic ways. In a bizarre twist to the story, Cassandra Bick suffered a miscarriage within days of her father’s death. According to the gossip rags, the poor thing never tried to get pregnant again. Life was just so, so hard. It was no wonder she was crazy.

  When Find Eden ended, the creepy hold of Ky’s other nightmares ended, too. Nizari’s death grip. The Bicks’ narcissistic concept of world domination. And smoking. Ky still missed the nicotine rush on occasion, but Eden convinced him that life with her was enough of a stimulant. He didn’t keep that pair of panties in his pocket any more. Didn’t need to, not when he could strip a new pair off of her delicious derriere anytime he wanted, and come up smiling.

  He’d repainted the baby’s room, then the utility room for her three-legged poodle, a cuddly bundle of apricot energy called, of all things, Spike. The poor thing came from one of those pet adopt-a-thons. Spike looked like he could’ve and should’ve won an Ugliest Dog contest, he was that kind of strange. He’d been born with a deformed jaw that resembled a bulldog’s, and a canine tooth that hung over his bottom lip like a vampire. His fur came in patches, leaving him bald in places. He was blind in one eye, and he drooled, but Eden loved him, so Ky did, too.

  Spike guy tended to ping when he’d sat too long in his kennel on long workdays. Ky knew how he felt. He hated small spaces, too, so the cute little ugly guy now accompanied Ky on his nightly jog. It hadn’t changed Spike’s looks any, but spending time with the poodle’s big heart smoothed the wrinkles out of more than a few bad days for Ky. The furry friend was inclined to snuggle with him more than it did Eden, and you know what? Ky didn’t mind.

  “I’m touching you,” Eden whispered, fading fast, her eyes still closed.

  Ky planted a lingering kiss on each of her knuckles, planning for the moment they could start making another baby. “Dr. Logan said I can do more than touch you in thirty days.”

  Eden sighed. “Plan on it.”

  He looked down at his wife’s slender fingers now snug in his hand, his son’s tiny fingers wrapped around his little finger. Ky’s heart swelled. His eyes brimmed. His tenderized spirit quivered with revelation. He’d come so damned far from the wreck he once was, and all because an angel with green eyes had reached into the universe and had taken a chance to hold on and hang tight. To believe in him.

  All Ky needed was Spike climbing onto his lap to sit with his newborn son, and he’d be hold
ing his whole world. He didn’t understand it and he’d never deserve it, but life couldn’t get any better than it was right then.

  Ky drew in a long, sweet pull of the best God had to offer, and he knew to the deepest depths of his being...

  A man with hope could do—anything.

  The End

  Sneak Preview of Hunter

  Book 14

  In the Company of Snipers

  “Oh, man. I’m hit.”

  Junior Agent Ky Winchester fell to his knees with a pain-filled groan. Tilting forward with both hands clasped to his red-stained crotch, his weapon hit the dirt seconds before his face did. He was dead. Killed by an unseen and relentless team of assassins.

  Revenge flamed to life in Hunter Christian’s heart. Ky didn’t deserve to die like that. Shooting a man’s family jewels was just plain dirty. Could a female shooter be in the enemy’s ranks? A sicko with a vendetta against men? Hunter faded into the mesh of jungle foliage behind him. Assuming firing position, one knee to the hard jungle soil, he meant to find the answers to those questions.

  This ambush had quickly escalated into one helluva tough battle he hadn’t expected and was barely prepared for. It was no wonder Ky had fallen so quickly. Barely geared up and boots to the ground after they’d fast-roped into the jungle, the four TEAM agents were immediately overwhelmed with a swarm of near misses. The enemy’s steady onslaught continued. How could it not? The enemy was invisible, the four men from The TEAM weren’t. Who the hell called this a fair fight?

  Hunter bit his tongue instead of cursing out loud. Junior Agent Eric Reynolds didn’t seem to follow that same line of combat reasoning. “Shit,” he hissed not twenty feet away, right before he fell. Eric should’ve known better than to have opened his big mouth. He was agent in charge, for God’s sake! He was leading this bungled op!