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

by Kris Norris

  Ellis cleared her throat. “My eyes are up here, soldier.”

  Colt lingered a moment longer then dragged his focus up to her face. “I know. I wasn’t looking at those.”

  Red slashed across her cheeks as she glared at him. “You’d better start if you like your balls attached.”

  “Are you going to kick my ass before or after you pass out? Because you’re shaking like a junkie.”

  “It only takes one strike.”

  “One you have to land.”

  She pursed her lips, took a step, then stopped. She grabbed the sink, nearly toppled, until he caught her, again. He managed to slip the shirt over her head before picking her up—rolling her against his body.

  He sighed. “You always were a firecracker. Seems that part hasn’t changed.”

  “But I have.”

  The words were mumbled against his sweater. So quiet he nearly missed them.

  He nodded, heading for the kitchen. He’d promised Ice he’d bring her out, and she could definitely use a once over. Colt wasn’t sure if she’d stay conscious long enough to eat, but he’d try.

  He glanced at her as he reached the doorway. “I know you have. And soon, you’re going to have to tell us just how much because this isn’t over until we’ve unearthed the truth. And like it or not, you’re at the center.”

  Chapter 8

  Well, crap.

  He was alone. Standing at the counter making coffee. Muscles straining beneath a black tee as he moved. It was like watching a symphony. Perfectly orchestrated. Everything in sync. The man was breathtaking.

  And Ellis was in deep shit. Her own people hunting her aside, just looking at Brett stole her breath. Made it hard to think clearly. Focus. And she really needed to focus. To figure out why she’d been targeted. How to dig herself out, because if she didn’t come up with a solution, it wasn’t just her life on the line. All of them. Brett’s team—men she’d once vowed to protect. And now, she might be the reason they died.

  “Hey.”

  She startled, reeling backwards—nearly tumbling onto her ass as her balance shifted. Brett lunged for her and somehow managed to cover the several feet between them before she hit the floor. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there she was. Wrapped in his arms, her legs trembling.

  Not from falling. It was him. Holding her. His scent filling her senses, his heartbeat thrumming in time with hers. Faster than usual but strong. Like him.

  She was in too deep, already. Four days. That’s all it had taken to strip her of her resolve. The defenses she’d built over the past five years. The ones that had closed her off emotionally—the only way she’d been able to function with all the losses.

  His loss.

  Friends she could live without. Brett…

  She swallowed then eased back. He stared down at her, blue eyes searching hers. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he gave her a fairly convincing fake smile then let her go, turning back toward the counter.

  “You should be resting. The others won’t be back for a while. We can discuss the situation, then. But if you keep pushing, you’re going to give yourself that concussion I mentioned yesterday.”

  “I’ve done nothing but sleep since I got here.”

  “Getting shot tends to take it out of you.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Being tortured, even more so.”

  There it was. The dig at her profession. The one she hadn’t talked about, yet. But, she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she was getting around telling him at least some of what he wanted to know.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Obviously, there’s stuff we need to discuss beyond my sudden reappearance, so…” She took a deep breath. Prayed this wasn’t a colossal mistake. “If there’s something you want to say, Brett, maybe without everyone else listening, just say it.”

  He clenched his jaw then nodded, spinning to face her. “Are you CIA?” He snorted. “Of course, you are. It’s the only answer that makes sense, but… I want to hear you say it.”

  That look. Cold. Hard. Lethal. He wasn’t hiding his emotions, now, and she couldn’t stop the involuntary step backwards. The instinct to run.

  Brett arched a brow.

  She forced herself to stand her ground. Meet his gaze. She’d thought he’d wait until his buddies were back to bring this up, but apparently everything was interconnected. Not that it should surprise her. It always came back to this. To the Agency. “I work for the State Department—”

  “I don’t want the fucking programmed answer, El. I want the truth. After all we shared, I think you owe me that much.”

  Another attempt at swallowing, this one no better than the last. Christ, he looked pissed. Pissed and lost and so damn beautiful it made her chest hurt. Right over where she’d locked away her heart. Where it had shriveled and died then turned to dust.

  Guilt gnawed at her. She still didn’t know what her boss had told Brett—how the man had ended the relationship, but looking at Brett, rerunning his choice of words, she knew he wasn’t just asking about her vocation. He wanted it all.

  “Okay. Yes.”

  His mouth quirked. “Yes. What.”

  “I work for the CIA.”

  “Analyst or field operative?”

  “If I tell you that, your life—”

  “Is already at risk. We burned that damn bridge the moment I opened the door. So stop tiptoeing around the questions and just answer me.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice, but the tone. The expression on his face. For a moment, he’d looked like Cannon always had. A man with nothing to lose.

  “Fine. I’m a field operative, though, my official title is protective agent.”

  “Field…” He couldn’t seem to get the rest out, swallowing so hard she heard it still standing a few feet away. He shook his head, glancing down at the counter as he braced his elbows on the surface. “Christ.”

  Ellis looked at the floor, studied the wooden planks until the silence threatened to undo her. She walked over to the counter, sliding into the barstool beside him. “Brett…”

  “Was any of it real?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Us. The service. You being MI.” He turned, gaze centered on hers. Eyes fierce. “Was it all a lie? Part of your cover? Was I a convenient way to gather intel?”

  He exhaled then straightened, slowly walking over to the gas fireplace on the other side of the room. Back stiff. Hands fisted at his side. Even when he placed one against the mantle, he didn’t unclench his fingers, using his fist to absently tap the brick.

  Seeing him like that…

  She wrapped her arms around her stomach, silently vowing not to puke. Not to react. But the harder she tried to stay calm, the less controlled she felt.

  She rose, closing half the distance between them. “Brett.”

  “I told Cannon there wasn’t any way you could have hidden that from me. That I knew you too well. That we were too much in love. Too connected. But, seeing you, now…” He looked back at her. “I’ll still help you. Regardless. That’s who I am. What my team’s about, but…I need to know. Not for Cannon or this mission. For me. No more lies.”

  “You think I was CIA? This whole time? That I played you?”

  “Please. We all worked with spooks. We knew the score. What they were capable of.”

  “So, that’s what I am to you, now? Just another spook?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I shouldn’t have to. But since you obviously never really knew me, I will.” Anger replaced some of the hurt, boiling the pain into red-hot rage. She stalked her way closer, getting right up into his face. “No, Brett. I wasn’t CIA back then. I wasn’t lying, and I didn’t fucking gather intel.”

  “Then why? Why leave for this?”

  “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Everyone has a choice, sweetheart.”

  “Not when you uncover an unsanctioned CIA unit because you hacked a portion of the Natio
nal Clandestine Service’s Special Activities Division. Got a list of several deep cover operatives and what they were doing. When you do that, you get a one-way ticket to hell.”

  She spun, but he snagged her elbow, turning her back to face him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She jerked her arm free. “What does it matter? You’ve already got your version of the truth locked away inside your head. Anything I say is just going to be more of this elaborate lie I’m supposedly part of. Some grand scheme to fuck you over.” She stepped into his space, again, jabbing one finger against his chest. “Well, guess what, baby? You weren’t the only one who got screwed. And, at least, you didn’t lose everything. You still had your life. Your team. Your precious brotherhood. So, if you’re looking for pity, cry to someone who has any sympathy left to give.”

  She marched away, getting to the doorway to his room before he was on her. Spinning her and trapping her between him and the wall. Pressing his body hard against hers. She felt every inch. Every rough breath, every clench of his muscles as he stared down at her. Nostrils flaring. Skin taut and slashed with red.

  “I’m done playing games. I want to know why you left with nothing more than that fucking note. Why you didn’t have the guts to tell me to fuck off to my face. And I want to know, now.”

  God, being held like that, his deadly expression focused on her, shouldn’t make her breathless. Wish he’d take both her arms and lock them over her head then claim her mouth with his. But denying it aroused the hell out of her was pointless. He was pressed hard against her. He was bound to feel her nipples poking him in the chest. How her heart had kicked up the moment he’d cornered her. See how her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her skin.

  She swallowed, damn near came when his gaze dropped to her throat then back up. “And if you don’t like what I have to say?”

  “At least, I’ll know.” He inhaled, held it, then slowly let it out, grimacing as if what he was about to say would cost him. Cause physical pain. “It’s not like you’re the first person to ditch me because of my father. I just thought I deserved to hear you say it to my face.”

  She blinked. Had she blacked out for a moment and missed half of the conversation? Because she didn’t have a clue what Brett meant. “Your…father?”

  His lips twitched, looked like a damn wolf baring its teeth, before he pounded the wall on either side of her head then stalked off, turning to face her a few feet away. “I get it. He’s a monster. I’m his son, but damn it, El, I’m nothing like him. Never will be. I thought…” Another deep breath. Another rough exhalation. “I thought you knew that. Knew me.”

  “What are you talking about? Why would I care who your father is?”

  “Because you obviously think I’m gonna turn out just like him.”

  Ellis leaned more of her weight against the wall, praying she didn’t just collapse into a heap on the floor. She pressed her head into the firm surface, hoping it would steady her. God she was tired. Tired of fighting to stay strong. To pretend she hadn’t died that night five years ago. That she wasn’t just going through the motions because she was too stubborn to give up. To just end it. He wasn’t going to like this part—might not believe her.

  She released a weary breath, glancing over at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any note because the truth is, I didn’t write one.”

  A grunt, then he was back. Full body against hers, again. Every muscle hard. Unyielding. He jammed his hand into his pocket, then held up his fist, shaking a crumpled piece of paper at her. “Stop lying to me. I still have the fucking thing. Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. A reminder never to fall like that, again.”

  He shoved it at her, stepping back enough she could smooth it out. Read it. It was smudged, the edges frayed, with some of the writing nothing more than faded strokes. But she could still make out the words.

  God, Brett, I just learned that your father’s Daniel Sievers! How could you keep that from me all this time? Didn’t you think I needed to know? That I’d want to hear it from you and not have it tossed in my face during a briefing? I can’t be with a man who built our relationship on lies. Who obviously doesn’t trust me. Who’s got the same blood as that monster.

  It’s over. We’re done.

  Ellis

  Each word hit her hard until it took every ounce of strength, all her damn training, to raise her gaze to his—look him in the eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. That’s what stared back at her.

  She tried to take a shaky breath—failed. “Shit.”

  “Shit? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “I didn’t write this.”

  Narrowed eyes. Firm mouth. Muscles primed for a fight. “It’s your handwriting.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Ellis—”

  “It’s a close match. I’ll grant you that. Pretty freaking spectacular. But it’s not my handwriting because I didn’t write it. McCormick did.”

  “Who?”

  “My boss. Roger McCormick. He’s one of the unit directors for the CIA’s Special Activities Division. He wrote the note or had someone do it for him. This wasn’t me.”

  “You said you’d stop lying.”

  “I’m not lying. Let me guess? You got this, what, a week or so after we talked last? Around the time we were going to meet in Paris? About a month after that clusterfuck of a mission your unit went on in Somalia? The last one I gathered intel for? Where some of those NCS bastards nearly got you and all of Alpha squad killed?”

  A twitch of his left eye. She’d nailed it. “And that matters, why?”

  “Because the day I supposedly sent this to you, I was a few thousand miles away in a rat-infested cell in some CIA black ops site being told I could either join up or spend the rest of my very short life right there.”

  His breathing increased, but he didn’t talk. Just stared at her.

  “Damn it, Brett, it’s signed Ellis. I always signed everything to you with El. You were the only one who ever called me that. It was special.”

  “You were ripping out my heart. Crushing every dream we’d ever made together. Our future. I thought the lack of my nickname was apropos.”

  “Or maybe, the asshole who wrote this didn’t know about it. Because he didn’t have access to the personal letters I’d sent you. So, he signed it the way I did for any other form of correspondence. But while we’re at it… Thanks so damn much for questioning it. For even a moment’s pause to consider that maybe, just maybe, something was seriously wrong. That maybe you should come looking for me.”

  More than a twitch, now, though it probably had to do with the fact she was yelling. A few tears leaking out of her eyes as she shook that damn note right back at him.

  He took a step. Just one. As if he couldn’t get any other signal through to his legs. “You told me to fuck off. What was I supposed to think?”

  “That I’d never do that to you? That I didn’t give a shit who your father was?”

  “Ellis—”

  “I already knew!”

  He froze. Breath held, gaze locked on her. Some of the color drained from his face as his expression fell. “What did you say?”

  “About your father. I already knew who he was. What he’d done. I knew from the start.”

  His mouth gaped opened, closed, then opened, again. He looked as if he wanted to talk but couldn’t get any of the words out.

  “Seriously, Brett? I was Military Intelligence. It was my job to gather covert information. To vet every damn soldier in the units I worked with to ensure they had the appropriate security clearance for every mission. Conduct the necessary interviews and searches if they needed a higher one. Of course, I knew who your father was. I just never cared.”

  He swallowed. Hard. Several times before exhaling. “But…you never said anything. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s called tact. I’d heard some of the men had been bastards about it. Kept asking if you if t
hat’s why you’d joined. So you could murder people just like your old man. I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. When you’d dealt with whatever demons were still riding you. It’s not like I had any kind of benchmark to meet with respect to family. My father left us, and my mother was a crack addict who died when I was ten. If my grandparents hadn’t taken me in, I would have ended up on the streets.”

  He was shaking his head, muttering something she couldn’t make out before he clenched everything. His mouth. His fists. His muscles. “No, that note said—”

  “All that talk about brotherhood. About never leaving a man behind. Who would have guessed it didn’t extend beyond your team. That I didn’t deserve the same courtesy. Kind of makes it poetic that you’re all so eager to help out, now. Five years too late.”

  She was shaking. Barely staying on her feet, but after all this time, she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t manage to seal it up, like before. “I held out for nearly a month in that hellhole. Chained to the wall. Stripped of any form of dignity. Waiting for someone, anyone, to challenge him. To demand to know where the hell I was. Why I’d suddenly vanished. But no one did. McCormick made up some bullshit joint operations unit assignment. Got me transferred. Sent out some texts. A few emails. That note. And that was it. All it took to erase my existence. To sever every tie I’d ever made. That’s when I knew—no one was ever going to come looking for me. That I either agreed to their terms, or I was dead.”

  She matched his single step forward. “You’d promised me you’d always have my back. So, maybe you should be the one answering the question… Where the hell were you?”

  Chapter 9

  Dead. That’s how Colt felt. As if the life had been sucked out of him, and he’d been left a hollowed-out shell of the man he’d once been.