Delta Force: Colt: Brotherhood Protectors World/Wayward Souls Crossover

by Kris Norris

  Cannon. His nickname was Cannon, though, she couldn’t recall his real name. Did it start with an R?

  Cannon’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursing into a thin line. He said something. Her name, maybe. But the sound got hijacked. Lost in the echo of her slowing heartbeat in her head. The peel of tires across the road.

  The guy holding her gave her a shake. It took a few moments to move her head—lift it to meet his gaze. Those eyes. Deep blue with flecks of gold around the pupils. A mass of blond hair framing an oval face. The man’s features nothing short of beautiful.

  Brett Sievers. The only man she’d ever loved, and her one true regret.

  A laugh bubbled free.

  She was dying. That was the only explanation. She hadn’t stumbled upon the one guy she longed to see. To touch and hold. This was her brain slowly shutting down. Playing out her deepest desires as the wiring crossed—sent signals out in every direction.

  But damn, what a way to go. Staring up into Brett’s eyes. Feeling his fingers gripping her arms—holding her tight. She managed to lift one hand—place a bloody palm on his cheek. It was warm. Stubbled. Utterly perfect.

  “Ellis?”

  It even sounded like him. Like heaven.

  She smiled, no longer fighting the pull of darkness around her. “Brett.”

  Chapter 3

  He was dreaming. That had to be it. Somehow, he’d fallen asleep in Cannon’s living room. Beer in one hand. His feet kicked up on the recliner. It was the only explanation that made sense, because if this was real…

  Colt had been watching the hockey game he’d bet fifty bucks on, urging his damn team to pull themselves together and score a freaking goal, when pounding had sounded downstairs. Cannon had frowned then gone over to the window. He’d opened it enough to yell out that they were closed, but the knocking hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had gotten louder. More urgent.

  Colt had pushed to his feet—offered to see who was determined to break the damn door down—then had headed for the stairs. He’d barely rounded the corner when he’d caught sight of the black Suburban through the window. A guy hanging out of the passenger side. Gun drawn. Aimed their way.

  Colt hadn’t really taken stock of the woman still hitting the glass. Just enough to see the blood. To know she was the target, before he’d reacted. Yelled for Cannon as he’d raced to the door. Two seconds and Colt had it open—catching the woman as she pitched forward. Body limp. Eyes squeezed shut. Another two seconds, and she was braced in his arms, nothing but a dead weight as he twisted them out of the line of fire.

  Bullets had started flying, then. Ricocheting off the walls. The door. A couple hitting the desk behind him. He’d gotten off a couple of rounds when Cannon had appeared. His M9 already aimed as he’d fired back—clipped the asshole shooting at them then landing a few in the radiator. Steam had poured out of the hood before the driver had veered away—limped the damn vehicle around the next corner and out of sight.

  Cannon had stayed poised at the ready—his body braced against the wall. His gun nestled at his shoulder. He’d glanced at them, frowned, then said the one name Colt had never expected to hear, again.

  Baker.

  Of course, it could have been someone Cannon knew outside the Teams. Another Baker. But the name had all but stopped Colt’s heart cold. Had made him look down—give the woman in his arms a shake in order to get her to tilt her head up at him—open her eyes. She’d barely managed it, but it wouldn’t have mattered if her eyes had remained closed. Once her hair had fallen away from her face, he’d gotten a clear view of her. The shape of her jaw, the line of her brow. The pert little nose and full lips. Despite the bruising, he would have recognized her anywhere, even if he hadn’t stared into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The ones that still haunted his dreams.

  He hadn’t realized he’d said her name—had been able to get his tongue to work enough to form the two syllables—until she’d palmed his cheek with one sticky, bloody hand. Her fingers had pressed against his jaw as she’d laughed and said his name in return.

  Then, she’d gone limp, and she hadn’t moved in the few seconds he’d been shaking her, since.

  Jericho appeared beside him, with Six standing behind her. She glanced at Ellis, cursed, then had her phone in her hand. “Is this a 911 call or…”

  The woman was smart. Had spent the past six months getting intimately familiar with their work. Their team. And she knew not all emergencies could go through the normal channels. She’d been one of those exceptions, when her prison transfer had gone sideways.

  Cannon knelt beside Colt, brushing back Ellis’ blood-streaked hair. “I… Shit. I don’t even know what to say. What this is. Is it really her?”

  It seemed insane. Hell, impossible. But it was Ellis Baker. Colt’s former lover, and the woman who’d crushed his heart. Left it shattered on the floor with little hope of ever being reassembled. The only person he’d broken his cardinal rule for, and the reason he’d never crossed that line, again, since.

  “It’s really her.” He did a quick body scan, wincing at the obvious injuries. It didn’t take a doctor to know she’d been beaten. Shot. And the way she was dressed…

  He shook his head. “She’s got marks on her wrists and ankles. A gunshot wound to her right side and multiple bruises and lacerations. The woman’s been held. Interrogated. She needs a fucking doctor, several units of blood, but if we take her to the hospital—”

  “They’ll notify the cops. Probably the feds. And seeing as armed men just tried to kill her—kill us for opening the door… Six, get the first aid kit. We’ll do what we can. Slow the bleeding.” Cannon nudged Jericho. “Call Ice. We can’t risk taking her anywhere until we have a better understanding of what’s going on. How deep she’s in. I just hope he can treat her.”

  Jericho nodded, hit a button, then handed the cell to Cannon. The other man’s voice sounded after only two rings.

  “I’m starting to think I might regret agreeing to move back to Seattle. That working for you is going to be way more involved than it was for Hank.”

  “That’s because you’re paranoid. But in this case… I need you to grab your kit. All of them. And I need you here five minutes, ago. Bring that O neg you have stashed in your fridge, too. And call Rigs and Midnight on your way over. This is big.”

  “Harlequin’s already warming up my truck. I’ll be there in a flash.”

  Cannon disconnected the call. “Considering the circumstances, we need to have a few contingency plans in place. Obviously, it all depends on whether Ice can treat her. But if he can, we should make it appear as if we took her to the hospital, regardless. In case whoever chased her is watching. We don’t want them to think we have any connection to her.”

  Cannon smiled at Jericho, and Colt swore the man beamed. Actually beamed looking at the woman. “Think you can use your badge to get the hospital to do us a favor? Even without an actual body? Maybe put a Jane Doe in their books to buy us some time?”

  Jericho shook her head in mock frustration. “And here I thought you’d stopped underestimating my abilities? You can carry me out once Ice gets here and doesn’t insist we haul her off to Harborview. Let them think I’m your vic. Either way, I’ll make sure there’s a Jane Doe registered. I can’t promise you more than a few days, but that should be enough to track down some intel, right?”

  “It’s like you know me.” Cannon handed the phone back to Jericho, then palmed Colt’s shoulder. “Let’s get Ellis someplace more suited for Ice to treat her. Let him determine our next course of action.”

  Colt gathered her against his chest, then stood. Damn she was light—light and limp and too fucking right against him, her breath caressing his neck. Her hair soft against his skin. Even out cold, she was stunning, not that this was the time to notice.

  Thankfully, Cannon had expanded the upper section of the warehouse—incorporated two more loft apartments. Colt had commandeered one, Six the other. It made sense when they seemed to
spend twenty hours a day working. The other four keeping an eye out for anyone who might come looking for them, or Jericho. Being a Deputy U.S. Marshal, the lady had more than her fair share of threats, and there wasn’t a chance they’d let anything happen to Cannon’s girl.

  Cannon hadn’t actually phrased it that way. Not when Jericho would likely kick his ass. But that didn’t alter the fact that they belonged to each other—had the kind of relationship Colt had thought he’d found with Ellis.

  He’d been wrong, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want Cannon to get his happy ending. That his buddy didn’t deserve to have the kind of life Colt had envisioned.

  So, taking Ellis to his quarters seemed logical. Seemed fitting. Of course, Six had already anticipated Colt would head for his place, not Cannon’s—had already cleared off the table. Laid down some sheets. Had the first aid kit open. Some of the items placed to one side beside a bowl of water.

  Colt eased her onto the surface, careful not to jostle her, then went to work. Blood loss seemed the most pressing issue, not that being shot wasn’t a concern. But after over a decade in Delta—experiencing a lifetime’s worth of violence—he’d gotten good at judging a fatal wound from a non-fatal one. The angle of the twin punctures suggested the bullet had ricocheted—exited her side. It was gaping and definitely needed stitching, but it wasn’t life threatening. If it had been, she never would have made it this far.

  Christ, how long had she been running? He glanced at her feet—at the ragged strips wrapped around them. They were bruised, but the shirt sleeves she’d used to protect them had done the job. Saved her from getting any serious lacerations.

  He frowned. He didn’t remember learning that in the Teams—might not have taken the time to cover his feet. He’d been trained to fight through pain. Ignore it. There was always time to worry about how much it hurt after reaching safety. When anything short of death could be fixed. And seeing as she hadn’t been Special Forces… Made him wonder where she’d undergone the additional training. The kind that screamed she was no longer a soldier. That she’d been recruited by a different kind of organization.

  Jericho stood across from him, gently cleaning some of the more superficial wounds as Colt stemmed the bleeding on her side. “I realize this isn’t the time to ask who this woman is or how you know her, but… Do you know which agency she’s with?”

  Colt snapped his head up. “You think she’s CIA?”

  “CIA. MI6. Interpol. Maybe Secret Service. I don’t know which one, but she’s definitely an operative. Not sure what kind. If she’s just an analyst or a field officer. But… See those marks behind her ear.”

  Colt slid his glance sideways. Noted the series of lines barely visible along her hairline. “Yeah. Some kind of weird tattoo?” It was new. He’d memorized every inch of her, and she hadn’t had so much as a birthmark marring her smooth skin.

  “It’s just speculation, but I’ve heard that some operatives have a sort of barcode put on them. A way of accessing key information in an emergency. I’m not exactly sure how it works—how she’d access it. And I doubt it’s anything worth getting killed over. Most likely a secure place she’s keeping passports. Money. A couple of choice weapons. Just enough to get her to safety. Keep her alive for a while.”

  “That sounds like something out of a damn movie.”

  “There’s a bit of truth in all those spy films. Trust me.” She tilted her head, giving Ellis the once over. “I’m assuming since you guys know her, she’s on our side, right?”

  “Ellis is a lot of things, but she isn’t a traitor.” At least, he didn’t think she was. Ditching him because he was the son of a serial killer was one thing. Understandable, even if she had been cold in how she’d ended it. Changing her loyalties… That was an entirely different beast. And not something Colt would have thought she was capable of.

  Jericho winced at his harsh tone. “I didn’t mean to imply… Like I said. This isn’t the time. I just thought her company might want to know she’s okay. It looks like she’s been missing a few days, based on how deep the marks are on her wrists and ankles.”

  Cannon wrapped his arm around her. “We can worry about that after Ice lets us know how bad this is. If he can treat her, here.”

  “As I’ve informed you all before, the hospital is always the best choice. But you damn fools keep getting yourselves involved in dangerous shit that makes that impossible.”

  Colt looked up as Ice walked into the room, one huge black bag slung over his left shoulder. Another smaller one in his other hand. His wife, Harlequin, followed behind him, carrying a cooler. Most likely the blood Cannon had asked the guy to bring. Which Ellis needed before she was beyond any kind of help.

  Fuck, Colt couldn’t think that way. Sure, he hadn’t seen her in five years. Hadn’t gotten so much as a text or message from her since the letter. Had spent most of that time cursing her, torn between wanting to strangle her and kiss her. And in reality, he hadn’t really known if she was alive or dead, but…

  He knew, now, and damn it, he wasn’t about to just stand there and let her die. Because he’d thought about her constantly. Had woken more nights than he wanted to admit longing for her—the remembered feel of her in his arms driving him crazy. She might have walked away, but her memories had stayed—had planted freaking roots and flourished in her absence. So, seeing her lying there, bleeding. Her chest barely rising with each labored rasp… It messed with his head. Tightened his chest until it was all he could do to draw in air then push it out.

  A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned as Ice moved in beside him. The man nodded, then calmly took over. Hanging some blood. Starting an IV, then taking her vitals. Fuck, he didn’t even look as if he was worried. As if his heart was racing or his hands were shaking.

  Colt’s were. Not a lot. Maybe not even noticeable to his buddies, but Colt felt it. The icy slide of fear down his spine. The cold beads of sweat along his skin. How his heart pounded against his ribs, making his pulse throb inside his head. All his years in the service, and he hadn’t ever felt this…

  Christ, he didn’t even know what this was. Fear? Dread? Love? A deadly combination of all three? None of which made sense. Fear had been beaten out of him long before he’d made Delta Force. And the only thing he’d ever dreaded was making a life beyond the Teams. Cannon had helped with that. Sent Colt a Hail Mary when he’d realized he’d have to keep going after his buddies had called it quits. That his unit wasn’t really his anymore. Wasn’t home. As for love…

  He’d fancied himself in love once. With Ellis. But, it hadn’t been real. Hadn’t stuck. And she’d jumped ship the moment she’d learned he had a checkered past. How had Cannon phrased it? That she hadn’t truly cared if she’d let it deter her without so much as a conversation? So, Colt wasn’t sure if he even knew what love was, other than a giant pain in his ass.

  Ice grunted, taking a moment to focus on each of them as he ran a portable ultrasound along her side. “I’m sure you noticed the bullet wound. I thought it might have something to do with those holes in your wall, but this one’s been bleeding for a while. Thankfully, it ricocheted off a rib. She’ll hurt like a son of a bitch, but it won’t kill her. Most of the other wounds are minimal. Except…”

  Colt froze. Fucking froze because “except” usually meant bad news. “Except what? What the hell aren’t you telling us?”

  Ice snorted. “Easy, there Colt. Christ, you’re touchy today. Haven’t seen you this worked up since…”

  His voice trailed off as he glanced at Ellis’ face. True, he’d met Ellis a few times, but… That had been years, ago. And only on a couple of furloughs. Or maybe when they’d been at the same compound. At a briefing for one of their joint ops. Surely, the man didn’t remember…

  Ice narrowed his eyes, focusing back on her wounds as he continued to work. “Something you should know about PJs. We never forget a face. Names don’t matter as much as faces. Knowing if you’ve accounted for everyone in a pho
to you were shown once before leaving is crucial—ensures no one gets left behind. And I’ve seen this girl before. With you, in fact. So, remind me how close you were. What she means to you.”

  “Why? Will it change things?”

  “Seriously, man? Cannon called me. That’s all I need to know. I’ll do everything within my power to keep her alive. Make her well. But I might be a bit more gentle with details if she’s more than just a stranger knocking on the damn door.”

  Shit. Gentle with details? That didn’t sound good.

  Cannon moved in on the other side, holding Jericho’s hand. “Her name’s Ellis Baker. She was Military Intelligence. Had a knack for codes. For obtaining information and delivering it—going the extra mile and uncovering the kind of intel people thought they’d erased. A hacker. Rumor had it she’d been transferred to some joint unit with DoD. But we’re thinking it might not have been the Department of Defense she ended up at.”

  “Understood. She’s a fellow soldier. And her relationship with Colt?”

  Cannon glanced at Colt, sighing. “They were…involved.”

  Colt huffed. “What Cannon’s trying to say is, the woman ripped out my heart and left it to rot in the desert sun.”

  Ice winced. “Ouch. Though, it sounds as if you might have some unresolved feelings for her. Like I said. You never get this worked up unless your heart’s involved.”

  “I’ll deal. So, out with it. What aren’t you telling us?”

  Ice grabbed a needle, threaded it. “Most of her injuries are pretty standard fare. I’m guessing she got shot when she made her escape. The bruises and cuts aren’t serious. But those spots on her ribs…”

  Colt frowned. He hadn’t noticed any marks on her ribs. He leaned in. They weren’t all that obvious. A few raised blisters. “What about them?”

  Ice looked at Cannon, exhaled, then turned to Colt. “Looks like they used some form of shock treatment on her. Not sure what from, but those are electrical burns. Thankfully, they aren’t serious,” he added. “The ultrasound isn’t showing any necrotic tissue. Good news, since we’d definitely be heading for Harborview if they were any worse. If it had caused extensive trauma beneath the skin. But… I don’t need to be a genius to deduce she’s been tortured. Someone wanted information. And they weren’t going to stop until they’d either gotten it or killed her.”