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

by Kris Norris

  Someone had shocked her? Put fucking probes on her? Or used tasers? Possibly stun batons?

  He’d kill them. Simple as that. Shove those damn probes up their asses. Then, he’d get serious. It didn’t matter that he and Ellis weren’t together. That she’d left him. He’d loved her—was pretty damn sure a part of him always would. That she was seared into his DNA. So, it was only natural he’d want to see justice served, no matter the personal cost. It didn’t mean anything other than they obvious—that you couldn’t take the military out of the man.

  “Easy, Colt.” Cannon’s hand on his shoulder. Squeezing. “We’ll figure this out, but getting worked up—”

  “I’m not worked up. I’m motivated.”

  “Either way, we need to get some answers before we go off hunting. Seeing how Ice didn’t haul her ass out of here the moment he saw her means she’s going to be fine. Out of it for a while, but fine. Which in turn means, we’ll be able to ask her questions once she wakes up. Until then, we’ll implement our other strategies. I’ll take Jericho. Make it look as if we opted to take Ellis to the hospital. Hopefully buy ourselves some time.”

  He turned to Six. “Six, based on how badly she was bleeding, I’m betting there’s a trail. Wait for Midnight, then the two of you follow it as best you can. In fact, take Rigs, too. And if Addison’s not out with Blade on a call, have Rigs bring him. That mutt could be extremely useful. Chances are, whoever was after her will be executing a full-scale cleanup. It’d be nice to know where they were holding her before all the evidence is gone. But don’t engage unless challenged. This is strictly information gathering, for now.”

  He turned back, once again, focusing on Colt. “We’ll call in reinforcements. Whatever it takes to keep her safe until we know what we’re up against. I’m just asking for a bit of time. Okay?”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” He stared directly into Cannon’s eyes. “Just understand this. Once we know who they are, I am going hunting. And I don’t plan on coming back until I’ve evened the score.”

  Chapter 4

  Ellis…

  Ellis blinked, groaned, then let the world slide into darkness, again. Trying to focus wasn’t worth the pain. The burn through her ribs when she tried to breathe. Breathing wasn’t worth that much. But… She thought she’d heard someone call her name. And not just anyone.

  Him.

  Brett.

  But, that wasn’t possible, was it? She hadn’t seen him since her world had gone sideways. Since she’d been abducted by the Agency and spirited away. Kept locked up until she’d agreed to work for them. To abandon her life. The man she’d been crazy in love with for two years. Until she’d become a ghost.

  Still, the sound of his voice echoed in her head, rousing her, again. She forced her eyelids to stay open, this time. Take in her surroundings as best she could with only the dim glow beneath the adjoining door as a light source. She was in a bedroom, that much was obvious. King-sized bed. Dresser. A few photos on the wall. Too far away to make out, just the shadowed outline of the frames. A couple of chairs were angled toward her. A lone mug sitting on the floor.

  It was dark. Not just the room because the lights were out. Outside the large windows off to her right. The skylight on her left. Nothing but inky blackness. No moonlight. No stars. Was it raining? She heard it, now. The steady ping against the glass. It was soothing. Like a lullaby.

  She faded for a moment, barely clawing her way back up through the foggy feeling in her head. The crushing pain pulsing with every beat of her heart.

  She was alive. It was an odd realization. To be surprised to still be breathing. But there it was, the tingling sensation in her gut that spread across her skin, leaving goosebumps behind. She hadn’t thought she’d wake up, not after losing so much blood—

  Shit.

  It came back. Not slowly, like watching a film. Frame by frame gradually filling in the gaps. It hit her hard. All at once. Harsh images that made her gasp—had her reaching for her head before she realized moving hurt, too. Just lifting her hands sent throbs coursing through her side. Her chest. Trying to roll over…

  She nearly blacked out. Only held on through sheer power of will. The years of training that had her trying to shift the covers—swing her feet to the edge of the bed. Took her several attempts, including the one where she shoved her face in the pillow in the hopes of getting some momentum behind her legs.

  That smell. She recognized it. Sandalwood with a hint of pine. The combination had been burned into her psyche. Conjured memories she’d long since buried. Memories of him. Of happiness.

  Those were gone. Obliterated. Why her damn brain was choosing to hear his voice, smell his scent—hell, see his face—was uncertain. Brett was history. Nothing but dust in her rearview. A lingering mirage that promised salvation but only brought more despair. And the sooner she accepted that, the quicker she could make peace with how the rest of her life would play out.

  Empty. Loveless. Inevitably short.

  Assuming she could get out of wherever she was. While she didn’t think she was in danger—no ropes or cuffs binding her hands or feet. No armed men pointing Sigs at her, or stun guns—she couldn’t risk staying anywhere longer than necessary. And since she really couldn’t remember what had happened after the door had swung open, she needed to move. Get to one of her safehouses. Take a day to build up enough strength to muscle through, then go to the bank—access her contingency supplies.

  She had three different passports. Eighty grand in a variety of currencies, and two Berettas. Enough to take her anywhere in the world. Or to hole up while she figured out what kind of shit she’d gotten herself into.

  But to do that, she needed to get out of the damn bed, which was proving incredibly difficult. Had they drugged her? Put some kind of adhesive on the blankets so she couldn’t lift them off? Because it felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. Her legs, too. Each one so damn heavy it took another three tries to get them over the edge—place them on the floor.

  Her head throbbed at being upright, her rib cage making it impossible to take a deep breath. And as she stumbled to her feet…

  Pain. Up through her arches. Across her heels. As if she’d walked across nails or broken glass. She hadn’t, but they hurt.

  Embrace the suck.

  It wasn’t her motto, but it fit because it was her only option. The only way she’d make it across the room and out the door. Or out a window. Whatever opportunity presented itself.

  Ellis took a tentative step, damn near fell, then tripped another foot forward. What she could make out through the windows suggested she was on the second floor. Definitely not her first choice as an exit strategy. She wasn’t in any condition to jump, or climb. Hell, if she didn’t pass out before reaching the door, she’d consider it a freaking miracle. One worthy of some kind of medal. Maybe a trophy, too, because the world was already shifting beneath her. The view getting eaten up by those black dots she remembered from before. When she was outside trying to escape the Suburban.

  Had they caught her?

  She didn’t think so, but she vaguely remembered gunshots. Bullets ricocheting off the walls. Had they killed the poor guy who’d opened the door—the one she’d imagined had been Brett—then taken her somewhere more remote than the warehouse district? Was she even still in Seattle?

  Impossible to know. To source out from a dark room on a rainy night. Even the shirt she’d stolen—commandeered—was gone, replaced by an insanely large tee. Blue, she thought. Or maybe green. Army green?

  She groaned. Who cared what color the damn shirt was? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting to a safehouse. Finding a way to disappear for a while until she got a grasp of what she’d stumbled upon. Why her own damn organization wanted her dead.

  Because she remembered that part. How the guys who’d grabbed her had been operatives—men she was pretty damn sure she’d seen in secure files at headquarters. The kind she’d unearthed before her entire world had been
shattered. Men she could have worked with. And they’d been sent to kill her. Ask her some stupid, unanswerable questions, then blow her brains out. Dump her body someplace it wouldn’t be found until it was nothing more than weathered bones no one would give a damn about.

  Not that she had anyone who would give a damn, now.

  Get your fucking head in the game, girl.

  Right. Evade and escape. That was her focus. Which meant she needed a weapon. Anything would do. A shoe. A pen. That belt lying in a misshapen circle on the floor.

  Ellis bent over, nearly puked, then managed to grab the long length. She snapped it out, then wrapped the ends around her hands, tugging on it to test its strength. Assuming she didn’t face plant, she could counter anything with that simple stretch of leather but a bullet. But, if they had guns and were willing to use them, it was already over. She’d try to avoid confrontation. Sneak out. But, at least she had something on her side.

  Her feet ached as she attempted to limp her way across the floor, bracing her hip on the chair to give herself a few seconds to catch her breath. Push down the fiery sensation spreading up her torso—eating away more of her vision. It wasn’t just dots, now. Streaks slid in from the sides, the top. Cutting out sections of the room.

  Had she really only traveled a few feet? It felt as if she’d crossed the damn room ten times over. Walked half a marathon, yet, when she looked over her shoulder, the bed was right there. Kitty-corner to her. Close enough that if she fell backwards, her upper body would land on it.

  This was bad. Epically bad. All those thoughts in her head—of getting free. Fighting her way out. Being the operative she’d trained so hard to become—were mere illusions. Wishful thinking because the reality was, she could barely stand. Thinking about moving was about as close as she was going to get to making it happen.

  Were those footsteps? Outside the door? Voices? Hushed, but definitely low. Deep. Male voices. Like the ones she’d left behind in the warehouse.

  She needed to disappear. And in her mind, she was already moving. Darting beside the door—readying herself to wrap the belt around whoever ventured in first. She’d use that guy as an anchor—a way to swing her body around. Catch the second guy with her feet. Send the asshole flying. Hopefully they had a weapon. A gun she could confiscate.

  The door opened. Just opened while she was standing there, belt in her hands, the bed still a couple of feet behind her. Her side felt sticky. Wet. But it barely registered above the punch of fear in her gut. The inklings of panic she thought had been trained out of her. Left behind with her old life. The Ellis Baker who’d had dreams.

  But the panic was there. Cooling her skin, spiking her heart rate. She had a moment of sheer terror. Of being frozen in place, before her body finally responded. Allowed the signals to flow from her brain to her legs.

  She managed three steps back and to the side. To put the chairs between her and the two men standing in the doorway, staring at her, before she’d used up whatever reserves she had. It was crazy. She hadn’t gone a total of more than five feet, and she knew she was going to fall. Maybe hit one of the chairs on the way down. And that would be it. Game over. Completely at their mercy.

  Hands. On her arms, tugging her against a chest. A thick, heavily muscled one that smelled like the pillow. Sandalwood and pine. She didn’t remember seeing the guy move—get from the door to standing in front of her. Hadn’t heard a sound, a breath, a damn creak of the floor before he was just there. Holding her.

  Ellis tried to lift her arms—wrap that belt around the guy’s neck—but nothing was getting through. The leather hanging limp against her waist.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Ellis, are you trying to kill yourself? And why the hell are you holding my belt? Shit, you’re bleeding, again. Ice! Man, I think she pulled out some stitches.”

  Her name. He’d called her by name. And not formally. As if he knew her. Intimately.

  She managed to finally look up when he lifted her in his arms—placed her back on the bed. Familiar blue eyes. All that blond hair.

  She touched his cheek, smiling at the rough stubble beneath her fingertips. “Brett? But…”

  No, it couldn’t be. He was…gone.

  A chuckle. The one she sometimes heard in her dreams. “Trust me. No one was more surprised than me when you stumbled through the door. But yeah, El, it’s me. So, stop trying to bust out of here, okay? You’re safe.”

  “Safe?” She shook her head. He was wrong. They’d come looking for her. They’d hurt him, they’d…

  A gentle finger over her lips. “Stop. No one is going to get to you, here. And we’re not going to get killed before you’re strong enough to talk. Promise.”

  He moved aside when an even larger guy appeared beside him. Strong. Unyielding.

  The guy smiled. “Hey, Ellis. Russel. Russel Foster, but you might remember me as Ice. We met a few times back in the day. Have to say, you’re not being a very good patient, honey. Pulling out some stitches. Trying to walk out of here. And were you planning on strangling us with that belt? Sheesh, girl, you’ve changed. Now, do me a favor, and stay still until your body has healed a bit. I’ll tape and glue your wound for now, since the last thing you need is me jabbing a needle in your side, but… You gotta promise me you’ll rest, okay?”

  She must have nodded because Ice’s gaze softened, and he grunted as if she’d pleased him on some primal level. There was some tugging on her ribs. Not overly harsh, but enough she inhaled—closed her eyes. Ice was gone when she managed to open them, again. Focus on the chairs beside the bed.

  Brett was sitting in one. Cannon the other. They were talking. Low. Quiet voices that didn’t travel—nothing more than hushed murmurs. Had she spoken? Groaned? Because they just stopped and looked at her. Wary gazes taking her in.

  Were they angry that she’d crash-landed on their doorstep? They should be. Men had fired at them. Tried to kill them. Though, she’d been right. It had been a normal occurrence for them back when they were with Delta. Elite soldiers who didn’t blink at gunfire. At bombs exploding next to them. Bullets ricocheting off walls beside their heads. So, a couple of armed CIA spooks shooting from a damn Suburban probably hadn’t fazed them.

  Still, she hadn’t exactly left on good terms. At least, she assumed she hadn’t. Her boss had sent Brett some kind of letter. Ellis could only imagine what it had said. What reason the guy had given Brett for her sudden change of heart. What had been so convincing, so scathing, that he hadn’t questioned it? Hadn’t once tried to contact her. God, she must have hurt him.

  Because it had hurt her. Gutted her, in fact. If she’d thought, for one second, he’d have taken her back, she might have fought the reassignment. But…she’d screwed up. Gotten herself in too deep to back out without landing in some secret black ops jail site. A far worse fate than how her life had played out over the past few years. And if she’d tried to involve Brett, his friends, they would have disappeared right alongside her.

  Brett tsked, leaning forward. “I’m sure this is all confusing. You probably don’t even remember how you got here. What happened. Just…trust us enough to keep you safe. At least for a few days, okay? Then…we’ll talk.”

  That tone. When he’d said “they’d talk”. Had she only imagined the underlying tension? That he meant they’d talk about more than just the current situation? That he had unresolved questions about them?

  It was too much. The pain. The exhaustion. The weight of his stare. His and Cannon’s. It pushed down on her. Drew her under until the room faded, and she drifted off to the press of his hand in hers. The echoed murmur of her name.

  Chapter 5

  Damn, she looked so…still. So, pale. Like death. And yet, she’d managed to get out of the bed—head for the door. And Ice had been right. She’d grabbed the belt as a means of defense. A weapon.

  Colt sighed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she’d planned on doing with it. If she really had thought about strangling them, or had simpl
y been hoping to disarm anyone she encountered. If she even remembered where she was. Who had come to her aid. Not that she would have been able to inflict much damage in her condition. But the fact she’d thought it through—had taken steps to guard her safety. Arm herself… Ice had been right about that, too. She’d changed.

  Of course, if she didn’t allow her body to heal, she’d end up in the hospital. Exactly where Colt didn’t want her because he couldn’t guarantee her safety, there. Couldn’t vet every doctor, nurse or orderly who ventured into the room. Couldn’t be confident she wouldn’t be drugged or taken hostage, again.

  No, Ellis Baker was going to stay right where she was—with him and his team. He would have loved to have said in his bed, but… He wasn’t a dreamer. Prided himself in having his feet firmly in reality. And Ellis in his life in any capacity other than as an unlikely visitor—possibly a security case—didn’t exist. Which was for the best. He’d made a vow to keep his life simple, and Ellis was the exact opposite of that.

  Not that his heart hadn’t freaking jumped for joy at the sight of her. And once he’d realized she wasn’t going to outright die in his arms, that same heart had started racing—making plans until he’d crushed them. Re-read the letter—the few scarce lines—she’d left just to keep himself grounded. To remind himself of his rule. Why he should remain distant—that she’d dumped his ass. He’d see to her safety, sure. But anything else…

  He sighed. He didn’t know why he still had the damn note. Had kept it all these years. A symbol, he supposed. Of why he didn’t get emotionally involved. Why he didn’t let his heart do exactly what it wanted to do with Ellis—hope. He’d excelled at focusing on the mission. So, he’d just treat this like any other he’d had.