Wind Storm (The Gathering Storm Book 3)

by Marlow Kelly

  “Move this to the kitchen,” Special Agent Morris barked, her patience obviously spent.

  The three of them scrambled out of the way but still stood in the hallway.

  “Could he have escaped into the forest?” Sinclair wanted to examine all the possibilities before exposing Michael’s family to any danger.

  Michael paced to the entrance and then turned to face Finn. “There’s ten acres of land back there with forests, a small lake, and fields—”

  Plaster splintered beside his head. He ducked and slammed into her, forcing her down and away from the shooter.

  More wood splintered. This time along the floor.

  He put his arms around her waist and rolled, taking her with him into the relative safety of the Kitchen.

  Several loud cracks sounded, and then there was silence.

  They lay there listening, waiting.

  Special Agent Morris moved to the entrance, followed by Finn. Both had their weapons aimed and were focused on their target.

  Sinclair heard a clattering sound, which she imagined was a gun being kicked out of the third guy’s hand.

  “Clear,” Finn called.

  Michael lay on top of her. Somehow, they’d landed so he was nestled between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat. He covered her with his body. His weight pressing down on her made her feel as if they’d been thrown back in time. The urge to rotate her pelvis was overwhelming. As though reacting to him was the most natural thing in the world. She shook away the notion. It was just muscle memory from their weekend together all those years ago, when she was young and stupid enough to believe in happy endings.

  His gaze connected with hers. He inhaled sharply and said, “I think I should move.”

  He pushed to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. Then he turned on his heel and sprinted downstairs, presumably to free his family from the basement.

  She sat on an oak chair in the large open kitchen and watched as Finn and Special Agent Morris talked on their phones. She assumed there were people who had to be called into a crime scene but, at the moment, she didn’t care who they were or what they did.

  Her legs felt wobbly. The swelling on her eye, lip, and hip hurt. She missed the loss of Michael’s touch, but she was also angry with herself for being so weak. Some arbitrary chemical reaction had determined she should be attracted to him. It wasn’t fair. They’d been friends for nearly twenty years, but there was nothing in their history that suggested they could make a relationship work. She was too independent, which meant she tended to shut people out. Whereas he was obsessive when it came to his work, to the point he was closed off. The fact that both she and his family had been attacked was a case in point. He should have told them months ago they were in danger, but he hadn’t thought of it because he’d been focused on what he was doing to the exclusion of everything else. There was no way two people who were so isolated could form a lasting bond.

  For her peace of mind, she needed to get out of here and put some distance between her and…everyone. Most of all, she had to get away from Michael. There was a sexual undercurrent between them that neither of them wanted, but for some reason wouldn’t stay buried. Plus, she needed an end to this God-awful night. Once she was alone, she’d be able to process her emotions and gain some peace of mind. Suiting thoughts to actions, she stood and headed for the door.

  “Sinclair, where are you going?” Finn shouted.

  “Out.” She used the same tone he’d used on her.

  “Wait,” he ordered.

  She ignored him and kept on walking.

  Finn caught up with her on the porch and grabbed her elbow, which forced her to turn and face him. “I need you to hide them.”

  “I thought you were going to put them up at your apartment.”

  “I have a one-bedroom. It would’ve been tight with Michael, but—”

  “I can’t.” She shrugged his hand off and faced him, meeting his gaze. “I get that the Department of Justice is compromised, but I can’t put the women and children I’ve rescued in danger, and I won’t. They’ve been abused enough. Maybe protecting them isn’t important to you, but I’ve dedicated ten years of my life to them. Hiding Michael when he was injured was one thing, but now I know the risks, I realize it was a mistake. I should’ve asked more questions.”

  Finn gave her a quizzical look. “Where are the victims now?”

  “It’s an ongoing process. Child Seekers searches for missing children and fights sex-trafficking, not just abroad but here in the States, too. Some can safely return to their families, but others are considered property by the larger cartels. We hide them in various places around the country until we can get them a new identity.

  “Is that legal?” Finn asked.

  She poked him in the arm. “This is one of the reasons I don’t want you near our operation.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “And the other reason?”

  She inhaled. “The way you talk about the Syndicate…it scares me. What if they find out where our safehouses are and come after them?”

  “She’s right. I know a place in the mountains where we can hide,” a calm female voice said.

  Sinclair turned to face an older woman with long graying dark hair.

  “Are you talking about the cabin on the reserve in the Cabinet Mountains?” Michael stood in the doorway, looking relaxed and at ease, which was just wrong. How could he be so centered when she was a mess?

  The older woman nodded.

  “I’m Sinclair.” She held out a hand to the woman, who she assumed to be Michael’s mother.

  “I’m Nadie, Nadie O’Connell, Michael’s mom.” She shook Sinclair’s outstretched hand and then pointed toward a tall, clean-shaven, handsome white man with silver hair who stepped forward and greeted her. “This is my husband, Milo.”

  Sinclair guessed him to be in his fifties. He didn’t try to squash her hand when he shook it, which was a good sign. He gave her an easy smile. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Sinclair has to come with us,” Michael said, his gaze connecting with hers. The set of his jaw and the way he ground his teeth suggested he didn’t want her to argue.

  Tough shit. “No.” She crossed her arms in a defensive stance.

  “How will I get in touch with you?” Finn asked Michael. He was either oblivious to her attitude or had decided to ignore it.

  Michael continued to scowl at her. Most people backed down under his laser focus, but she wasn’t most people. She glared back, refusing to look away. Finally, realizing their staring contest was childish, she switched her gaze to Finn. “They’ll have to pick up a burner. How much cash do you have on you?”

  Michael shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’m prepared. I have cash and a burner.”

  Anger flashed through her like a bolt of lightning. She poked him in the chest. “Good for you. It’s easy to be prepared when you know what’s coming. Some of us”—she pointed to Nadie and Milo who stood silently watching—“had no idea what to expect. I’d just arrived on a flight from Ukraine this evening. I was jumped getting groceries on the way to my apartment. Do you know what that means?” She poked him harder but didn’t give him time to answer. “It means all I have is a carry-on with dirty clothing and a toothbrush.” She held her hands wide. “What you see is what I’ve got.”

  “You have a car and a gun.” Michael glanced at the weapon in her hand. Not only had she forgotten it was there, which was dangerous enough, but it was also in her left hand. She was right-handed and didn’t remember switching hands. She tucked her handgun into her belt. Dear God. She needed to get her act together.

  “About the Volvo.” Finn winced.

  She groaned. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “It would be better if you take a different vehicle. First, they must know your car. And I was thinking about what you said in the office.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What I said?”

  “How did they know you were the one to hide M
ichael? They must’ve acquired the street cam footage of that night, gone through it until they saw him leaving the federal building with you. Unless you two have met in the last few months?”

  “No.” She didn’t like where this was going.

  “Which means they know your vehicle. You can’t continue to drive it. I should have thought of that. My bad.” Finn had gentled his voice, obviously thinking that would ease the message.

  “Seriously, who are these guys?” She scrubbed her face.

  Nadie put an arm around her. “I’m sure you can collect it once this is all sorted out.”

  Sinclair gave her a weak smile. She appreciated the older woman’s attempt to comfort her, even though it made her feel a little awkward. She wasn’t used to being consoled. The last person to be motherly to her was…well, her mother, and she’d died over twenty years ago.

  “It’s just a car. It’s not as important as being safe.” That was a lie. Her car was her backup in case she ever found herself homeless again. It was a roof over her head and a safe place to sleep. Even though, logically, she knew that, as long as she could work, the chance of her ever living on the street again was slim, but she liked having a safety net.

  “We have an old truck we use on our land. It’s unregistered and will work well enough to get us where we need to go.” Milo pointed to a barn on the north side of the house. “We’ll tuck your SUV in the barn, out of sight.”

  Sinclair stepped sideways out of Nadie’s embrace, hoping to make her escape. She had no idea where she was going but desperately needed some space to decompress.

  Michael smiled at her. “You’re coming with us.”

  She shook her head, pacing to the end of the porch. “That’s not a good idea.”

  He followed, crowding her. “Why?”

  “Because…” Think. She didn’t want to be in close contact with him for any length of time. Whenever he was near, she lost a piece of herself. Instead of being the confident woman who worked to find missing kids and stop human trafficking, she became an infatuated teen who had the sense of a gnat.

  She knew he cared about her but not in the way she needed. That was one of the reasons she’d avoided him for sixteen years. They’d only met on holidays, always in the company of others, and never for longer than a few hours. “I don’t want to put you out. There are places I can go to ground. If your bad guys find me, then I won’t be able to tell them where you are.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Michael gripped her shoulders. He was gentle despite his anger. “You’ve just gone through hell. You’re covered in bruises. Do you honestly think I’d just let you go off on your own and hope you survive?”

  “‘Hope I survive.’ Who the hell do you think I am? I have resources. You came to me when you needed a safe place. I’m not some helpless bimbo.”

  Michael’s eyes widened, and he let go but said nothing.

  She stared out at the night, focusing on Special Agent Morris who was now searching the gunmen’s SUV.

  Finn cleared his throat. “It would help me, personally, if you were all together.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but Finn held up his hand. “I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but you’re also very good at protecting others. I would feel better knowing everyone was under your protection.”

  Put like that, how could she say no? She nodded her agreement, admitting defeat. “This cabin we’re going to, does it have an oven? Can I bake?” Occupational therapy wasn’t the same as alone time, but she didn’t have the luxury of unraveling. She would do what she could to refocus her mind.

  Michael and Finn stared at her like they were seeing an alien.

  “You bake?” Michael’s question suggested he didn’t believe her.

  She ignored him.

  Nadie smiled. “Baking sounds like a wonderful idea. Let’s see what ingredients we have in the kitchen.” She waved a hand as she turned and walked into the house. “Come.”

  As she eased by, Michael brushed his fingers against hers. “You okay?” It was a small caress, probably meant to console her, but his touch burned through her like a wildfire. The memory of him lying between her legs on the kitchen floor appeared in her mind. She suppressed a groan. It would be wonderful to curl up in his arms, have wild passionate sex, and let him hold back the world. But reality would still be there, waiting, and she was nothing if not a realist.

  Summoning all her willpower, she nodded and carried on walking. The next few days were going to be torture. Once they were safe and everything was settled, she would get her alone time and come up with a strategy to deal with her emotions. Until then, she would bury her feelings just like she had for the last sixteen years.

  Chapter Four

  Ethan Moore stood just inside the door of Lucy Portman’s office at the PDE building in Granite City, watching her give instructions to a computer geek.

  Surprisingly, she hadn’t appropriated her late husband’s office next door. Maybe it didn’t matter. Her space was just as big, taking up a quarter of the floor. An ornamental wood desk sat at one end of the room opposite a large picture window that overlooked the Granite City square. A door on her right opened to an opulent private bathroom. He had no doubt she’d made the room her own. Everyone knew she called the shots, so maybe moving was inconsequential.

  Until yesterday, he’d been employed to protect the Syndicate’s oil and gas interests in Russia. The executive in charge of the operation, Yuri Ivanov, appeared to be a cheerful, friendly, and benevolent host. He provided his employees with good food and excellent living quarters. Normally, Ethan’s assignments involved the removal of rivals, journalists, and the occasional activist, anyone who got in the way of the Syndicate’s interests. Ivanov had needed him to do away with a business partner named Petroff. For some reason, the Russians seemed to prefer the use of poison over other methods. Ethan would’ve chosen to use his blade and make it look like a mugging, but he had followed orders and slipped sarin into Petroff’s contact lens solution.

  Unfortunately, Ivanov was also known for his indiscriminate killing of innocents.

  Ethan had never considered himself a man with a conscience, but he was having a hard time coming to terms with being employed by someone who gunned down children. His skills were subtle, like a surgeon’s blade carving out a brain tumor. He had honed his expertise over the last twenty years and considered himself a craftsman. The murder of juveniles was like smashing a head with a hammer. If the Syndicate expected him to waste his talents on mass exterminations, then he would have to rethink his work with them.

  He leaned with his back against the door in an attempt to seem disinterested as he waited for Lucy to notice him. It didn’t matter how he felt about Ivanov or his actions. He had a symbiotic relationship with the Syndicate. They paid him to do what he loved—killing people—and in return, he would rid them of anyone who interfered with their plans. It was a match made in Hell.

  His skin tingled as sweat dribbled down his back. He hadn’t knifed anyone in a month, and it was making him antsy, like an addict’s withdrawal. It was getting harder to stay focused, which was unfortunate because he had to be on guard when dealing with Lucy Portman.

  She was a ruthless woman who liked to use her body to manipulate men into doing her bidding. Luckily, he was immune to her charms. That distance helped him appreciate the brutal determination with which she conducted her business. If she saw something she wanted or decided a rival needed to be dealt with, she took steps to accomplish her goals.

  As a member of the Syndicate, she was powerful and deadly. She was also a stone-cold psychopath, which meant that in no way whatsoever was she trustworthy. It takes one to know one.

  She smirked at Ethan and curled her finger, beckoning him closer.

  He took two steps into the room.

  She turned her attention to the gangly nerd with the shaggy hair who sat in the chair opposite her desk. “Ethan, you’ve been assigned to me because, yesterday, Mic
hael Papin instigated a cyberattack.”

  Ethan had read the Syndicate’s files on Papin, and while it was true he was a skilled hacker who had worked for the feds, something about Lucy’s revelation felt off. “How do you know it was Papin?”

  Tyler twisted in his seat to address Ethan. “I spent two years in prison because an Army CID hacker, with the alias Spider, wrote a piece of malware that back-traced me. I’ve been studying his code. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  That all sounded a little too personal for Ethan, as though Tyler might have his own reasons for wanting to get Papin.

  Using her left hand, Lucy flicked her dyed blond hair over her shoulder. “And we know through our contacts at the Department of Justice that Michael Papin and Spider are one and the same.” She arched her back. The motion pressed her nipples against the thin fabric of her blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Sweat formed on Tyler’s forehead. “Y-y-yes. There are markers in the code that are as obvious as fingerprints. He wrote the virus that attacked the Syndicate.”

  Ethan had only met the Native American, known as Michael Papin, once. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table in a rundown ranch house owned by Timothy Morgan. Ethan had been there to plant evidence. It should have been easy. The home was supposed to be empty, but Papin had been waiting. Instead of walking in and planting a bloody knife in the freezer, Ethan had found himself with a Glock 19 aimed at his chest. It was only later he had discovered that Papin was a genius programmer who was a direct threat to the Syndicate. He’d expected to receive an order to take him out months ago, but it hadn’t happened.