Riding the Storm (26 page)

Creed
couldn't lie to himself—his pride swelled at the thought of being Annika's
first, and a sudden, fierce urge to call her
his
tore through his heart.

No
wonder she was running.

Before
he could untangle himself from the sheets to go after her—again—the familiar
chill began at the base of Creed's spine, working its way slowly up the back of
his neck and moving finally into his scalp, which felt pulled tight against the
force of Kat's machinations.

"Welcome
back, babe. Thanks for all the help," he muttered. Kat's response was a
light breeze and a squeeze to his right bicep, which meant she was going to
check out the spirit for herself. Annika had left the door open, and Kat closed
it lightly on her way out.

His
phone's distant buzz distracted him—set to vibrate, the sound was muffled, the
cell buried on the floor among the pile of his discarded clothing. Cursing, he
sifted through the pants and shirt until he uncovered the phone and checked the
caller ID.

Dev.

Well,
at least the phones were working.

"Yes,
Dev," he answered, as he struggled to pull his pants on and the door
opened. Kat was back, a little too fast.

"What
happened?" Dev's voice crackled in interference probably caused by the
house.

So
many ways to answer that one and none of them appropriate enough to be
appreciated by the man who was ultimately his boss.

"Whatever
lives here isn't all that happy, Dev. It wants out." That was, at least,
the truth. But Kat knew better and he shivered visibly as she made direct
contact with him again.

"Is
the spirit loose?" Dev asked.

"Not
fully. Is that what you want?"

Dev
ignored his question. "How is Annika?"

"She's
all right," Creed said.

"You
know she's going to take a while to warm back up to you, but once she does
she'll be fiercely loyal. Protective."

"Dev…

"Listen
to me, don't be too hard on her. She comes across as all tough, but really…

She's
mine
. "She's a cream puff?"

Dev
snorted. "I wouldn't go that far."

No,
you wouldn't. But I did.

Kat
jabbed him in the ribs for that thought.

"Are
you going to be able to get more of a read?" Dev asked.

"Kat's
back—she should be able to help," he said. "But things are getting
dangerous. This thing locked us in the house, cut off comms."

"Do
you want to pull out?"

No,
he hadn't wanted to pull out at all. "Fuck!" he yelled when Kate
pinched him.

"Creed?"

"Shit.
Yeah. Sorry, that wasn't directed at you." He sighed, pulled a hand
through his hair and tapped his tongue piercing lightly against his front teeth
before he spoke again. "I think we'll be all right. I'll know more in
about an hour."

"Take
care of Annika," Dev said.

"Will
do, Devlin." He clicked the phone off and stuffed it in his pocket.
"Don't start with me, Kat. I need your help," he said as he yanked
his shirt over his head, grabbed his boots and stomped off barefoot to find
Annika, still muttering.

"Who
are you talking to?" Annika was standing in the kitchen, drinking a Diet
Coke and eating from a bag of chips.

"Kat's
back."

"About
time. Maybe now we can get to work," she said.

She
was going to try to pretend they didn't just have mind-blowing sex, that her
first time wasn't off-the-charts amazing. And Creed wasn't going to let that
happen.

Neither
was Kat, because the bag of chips was ripped out of Annika's hands and thrown
across the room.

"Hey!"

"Kat,
cut that out," he said.

Annika
fold her arms across her chest and glared at him, and he would've probably, at
that moment, reached out to grab and kiss her, but that familiar chill gripped
his shoulders, telling him that Kat was about to make contact with whatever in
the hell ruled this house.

His
personal life would have to wait. "Let's go," he said. "This
thing's ready to talk again. And it's finally agreed to leave you the hell
alone."

A few
minutes earlier, Haley was riding him. Now Remy wondered if she'd really been
taking him for a ride the past couple of days. But the way her lips pressed
together and her hands fisted told him that she was just as concerned by the
invisible visitors as he was.

"Are
they yours?" he asked, his voice so soft as to not even be a whisper.
"Your agency?"

She
shook her head and pulled a Glock from the backpack she'd brought with her into
the pirogue earlier. He yanked his own gun out of the other side of the boat—a
Sig Sauer—and for a second they just stared at each other.

This
was his team now. And at least he knew she knew how to shoot. Shoot first, ask
questions later—and he was going to have an awful lot of questions for Haley.

Stay
down
, he motioned, and she grabbed
her backpack and followed him off the boat and into the soggy marsh that
bordered the back of the house, still hidden by the heavy drape of the cypress
trees.

At
first glance, there was nothing out of order—nothing obvious. No footprints. No
signs of forced entry. Nothing that would show others had been here, or had
gone inside.

But
that wasn't true at all. Because any signs of the two gators who lived along
this back path was gone, and he smelled the tinny, heady scent of fresh blood.

Haley
tried to walk ahead of him into the house, but he put an arm out to stop her,
shook his head.

My
equipment
, she mouthed.

He
shook his head again, more than prepared to haul her out of here if she didn't
start cooperating. But he caught a sudden flash along the west side of the
property out of the corner of his eye and realized that they were being tracked
by someone with a scope.

Without
warning, he turned and fired.

Suddenly
he found himself slammed against a tree, his feet dangling, fighting for a
breath as though an invisible set of hands was wrapped around his neck. He
heard gunfire; Haley shooting. To his right, he saw a man, his arm outstretched
and a look of intense concentration on his face. He couldn't warn Haley, not
with his neck in a choke hold, and he couldn't lift his gun, not with how his
arm had somehow been pinned to his leg. This was crazy. Impossible. And not
going to happen.

He
didn't need to concentrate, not with the fury that shot through him. A tingle
swept his skin as he glared at the man, and then a gust of wind roared through
the bayou, knocked that fucker off his feet, and then Remy was on the ground,
sucking in gulps of air.

He
grabbed Haley by the arm and hauled ass to the cypress trees by the marsh,
which would provide at least limited coverage.

"We
go on foot," he said. "I won't be able to lose them fast enough in
the boat."

She
nodded, grabbed her pack from the pirogue. He did the same and they took off.
She'd gathered the skirt up as much as she could, and her legs were going to be
cut soon by the brambles they were forced to run through, but he was impressed
by the way she moved.

He'd
have to take them deeper into the bayou—in the dark, it wasn't going to be the
prime place to be, but he had plenty of experience to keep them both safe from
the elements.

"Here."
He grabbed her, pulled her back against the trunk of a cypress, with its heavy
branches enveloping them in enough cover. He wasn't winded, and Haley's
breathing was only a little fast, which meant she was in good shape.

"We
won't lose them for long," she said.

"Something's
coming," he said, and she looked at him sharply. "Storm—it's not
mine. And it's going to be bad."

The
tattoo began to tingle, and as he brought his hand down to rub his hip, he
noticed Haley had begun to do the same. A mirror image.

"Do
you think you can bring the storm in faster? Make it more severe?" she
asked, and he eyed her to make sure he understood what she was actually asking.

"You
want me to help the storm along?"

"Yes.
I'm just not sure what's coming is going to be enough to stop this particular
group of people," she said.

"You
want to elaborate more on 'this particular group of people'?"

"I
will, but later. Let's concentrate on the weather for right now," she
whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear. His cock stirred, his entire body
on high alert in several different and conflicting ways. "Do you think you
can do this?"

If he
couldn't, they didn't stand a chance, because whatever these people wanted from
them, they weren't stopping.

"I've
got to stay still, concentrate," he said.

"Can
I help?"

"You
already have," he said, his eyes lingering on her breasts, and she smiled.
It was tough enough trying to control the weather and his sex drive, but Haley
was encouraging him to make weather, and the situation necessitated it. But
doing that came with a price and she didn't seem to mind paying. She was
fucking turned on by his little weather show. And her being turned on was
making him want to take her, right here. Again.

That
would have to happen later.

He
tore his gaze away, watched the sky from the shadows of the trees and let loose
every bit of excess energy, which he would've normally shoved down deep so it
wouldn't translate into some kind of major weather. But at the moment he had
Mother Nature's complete cooperation, and she was going to have his.

He
thought about the way his life had been turned upside down, worse in the past
twenty-four hours than he'd believed possible, thought about the way his dad
sold him out for money and thought about those people rummaging through his
house. The thunder boomed, loud enough to make Haley jump at its suddenness.
And then the fog began to roll in, thicker than he'd ever seen it, and if Haley
hadn't been holding him, he wouldn't have been sure she was there anymore.

He
took a few steps backward, until they were clear and he could see the fog like
a wall in front of him, cutting them off from their pursuers.

"That
should work for now. Come on," he said, tugged her wrist and led her away
from the rain and fog that hid them… and hopefully knocked out the enemy's
comms. At least now the fuckers would have trouble mobilizing if they'd come by
boat or air.

From
what Haley had told him about the operatives from her agency, he wasn't sure
what these people were capable of. Then again, he wasn't sure what he was
capable of—but he was going to find out soon.

"Where
are we going?"

"Someplace
I haven't been in years," he said. He wasn't sure the deer blind was still
there, hidden in the moss and high above the marsh on four-foot stilts, or if
it would even be viable, but it was better than nothing. Although they weren't
getting the worst part of the storm—the part he'd created—Mother Nature was
still giving them a deluge.

Another
mile in the driving rain and they ended up by the stilts that kept the
structure from getting flooded. He'd spent a lot of time here as a kid—his own
private place, where he could think and dream and draw his comic strips, where
he was the superhero and invincible. And now, as he ducked to walk underneath
and press the planks with his palm to check their stability, he noticed the
initials he'd carved over fifteen years ago.

He'd
done that the first time he'd found the place—after a particularly bad day at
school when he'd been singled out more than usual, accused of casting weather
spells and breaking the front windows of Jean Marie's daddy's store. He'd
stayed up there for two days, until Remy Senior had come to get him. His old
man had brought him food, had climbed up and sat next to his son, had waited
for T to finish the food and tell him what had happened. His father had told
him that running away from problems usually only made them worse and had urged
Remy back to the house again.

It
made perfect sense that his refuge from the past would provide shelter now,
although Remy knew well enough from experience that the trouble following him
wasn't going to stay away for long.

"This
should hold without a problem," he said. "Let's get in out of this
rain."

He
hoisted her up, holding her fast because she was soaked and he could barely see
through the driving rain, and finally she dragged herself in. Then she actually
reached out a hand to help him up. He smiled, shook his head and yanked his
body unceremoniously into the old structure.

It
creaked, but it held. Haley had already moved toward one corner so she could
see out both the small windows—one facing north and the other east—her gun
drawn. Covering him.