Riding the Storm (37 page)

"Bastard,"
she growled, and winced, waiting for the blow to come, but it never did.

"I
do believe we already covered that." He turned a dial on the machine, and
the reading on the wind gauge increased. "How do you like our little toy?"

It
was unbelievable. Really cool, if ACRO had it and not the insane monsters at
Itor. She'd give any one of her five senses to be able to study the thing.

"Why
are you interested in Remy if you have a machine that can do the same things he
can?"

"Our
machines create effects that are widespread instead of precise. For example, we
can create conditions favorable for tornado formation, but we can't aim the
funnel where we want it to go. The machines are also limited by the fact that
they can only create weather if the necessary environmental factors are already
in place. Our intelligence indicates that Remy can create intense conditions at
any time, and aim them exactly where he wants them."

Most
of what he said went straight into an ask-later file in her brain, except for
the most pressing question, one that chilled the blood in her veins. "You
said 'machines.' You have more than one?"

"This
was our prototype. It's compact, portable, but can produce only very small,
weak storm systems, like what you see going on around us. Our IWX-2 is one
hundred times more powerful, has produced category five hurricanes that have
devastated hundreds of miles of U.S. coastlines." He leaned in, spoke
softly as if telling her a secret. "We've boosted its power, and we think
we can wipe entire states off the map next hurricane season."

Nausea
bubbled up in her throat. Devlin had been right when he put in the order for
her lab to find evidence regarding the existence of said machine.

"Why
did you bring this smaller one here?" The moment the question was out of
her mouth, she knew. "To counter Remy's abilities. If you control the
atmosphere, then he can't."

"Your
brilliance will be an asset to Itor," he remarked dryly.

She
ignored him. "How did you know it would work?"

"Join
us, and we'll share our secrets," he replied, and she nearly laughed
because his vague answer told her enough.

"Ah.
You guessed."

Apollo
looked at her with a new appreciation. "I misjudged you."

Apollo
turned away, took a step toward the desk, and before she could think things
through, she lunged, shoved him between the shoulder blades while hooking her
foot around one of his, like her ACRO martial-arts trainer had taught her.

"Misjudge
this," she snarled as he went down, and before he fully hit the floor, she
pounced, brought her bare foot down on his head as hard as she could.

He
grunted, blinked, and then his eyes closed. Quickly, before he regained
consciousness, she ripped the phone from the wall and ran back to the weather
machine. She brought the phone down hard into the electronic face of the
device. Again. Again. Switches broke, and the glass faceplates on the gauges
cracked. But it wasn't enough.

Behind
her, Apollo groaned. She spared a moment to whack him in the head with the
phone, and felt no remorse when blood ran down his face from a deep cut in his
scalp.

"Now
you know what it feels like, bastard."

Panting,
she scurried back to the machine. It whirred, and inside, something sparked,
but the damned thing kept running. Figured. She'd seen equipment at the weather
station break at a harsh glance, but this thing must be powered by the
Energizer freaking Bunny.

Bracing
her palms against the cool metal, she pushed as hard as she could. The machine
probably weighed as much as Remy, and it scraped with agonizing slowness across
the table on which it sat.

The
sound of fabric on wood flooring whispered behind her. Shit. She didn't have
much time.

Spurred
on by adrenaline and the realization that she was going to die no matter what,
she shoved as hard as she could. The machine teetered on the edge of the table.

Apollo
cursed, his voice mushy, like his mouth was full of marshmallows.

She
shoved. Something crunched into her ribs. She cried out, pushed one last time.

The machine
fell to the floor with a crash and splintered apart.

Outside,
the thunder died away. Inside, it was just beginning.

It
had taken nearly every bit of mental strength Remy had to break the connection
he'd felt with Haley.

One
more hard tug on the restraints and one wrist was freed. He flexed his hand to
rush some of the blood back to his fingers even as he maneuvered his other
wrist out of the leather restraint.

He
had to be ready. Problem was, he was used to doing things to
save
his
own ass. Figuring out how to get himself killed was something entirely new.

You've
only got to do it once
. If it came to
having to take his own life…

If he
rushed Charles or Manny, they'd just shoot to bring him down—he was worth too
much to them alive.

Weather-wise,
he was still impotent.

Something
about the way that last storm had hit him didn't make sense. It had seemed
unnatural. For the first time, it hadn't felt like he was in a tug-of-war with
Mother Nature.

Stop
thinking and just do what you need to do
.
There were plenty of weapons lying around the barn, things that could take his
life quickly.

He
grabbed a scythe from a hook on the barn wall and weighed the heavy tool in his
hand. It was heavy, uncompromising; it would do the job. But shit, he'd have
given anything for a bullet right about now.

As he
waled to the center of the barn, something imperceptible shifted—pressure
changed, and the air around him buzzed with static energy. Like the atmosphere
had been freed from something horrible. He drew in a deep breath through his
nostrils.

Maybe
one last try…

He
started with something easy—rain. When he heard the light sprinkle on the roof,
his heart soared, and he quickly threw in thunder, lightning, hailstones the
size of golf balls. Then baseballs. Then—

"Are
you trying to fucking kill me?"

He
whirled around, scythe held out in front of him, to find Wyatt standing at the
door of the barn, his arm over his head to shield him from flying hail until he
entered.

"I
couldn't do that before, I was blocked," he told Wyatt.

"Yeah,
I know. But you can now." Wyatt paused. "So you planning on working
the farm, or are we going to do a little take-down?" Wyatt eyed the scythe
and then looked directly into Remy's eyes, because he knew what Remy had been
thinking. He shook his head. "We've all been there. Some of us more than
once. It's not your time."

Remy
realized he'd been gripping the metal so hard, his hand shook.

"Put
it down, man. It's not your time."

"How
the fuck will I know when it is?" he asked Wyatt quietly.

Wyatt
just shrugged, pulled a Sig Sauer out of his pants. "Want this?"

Remy
stared at the gun and at Wyatt for a long moment. Then he dropped the scythe
and walked toward the former SEAL. He took the cool metal in his palm, the
heavy weight comfortable and familiar in his hand.

"I'm
going to the farmhouse to get Haley," Wyatt said. "So far, she's
still alive, but she's not going to be for much longer. I can't keep watching
her or I'll burn out my other powers. And I really don't have time for a
therapy session." As Remy watched, gun in hand, Wyatt walked out of the
barn and then raced up the hill toward the farmhouse.

He
turned the gun over in his hands and swallowed hard. Because there was always
going to be someone with some kind of machine to fuck with him, someone whose
powers were always going to be greater than his. There was always going to be
danger surrounding him.

That's
why you learn to rely on a team
.
Those words rushed back at him. His first instructor from boot camp had said
them. And his BUD/s instructor. His team was still alive and well, and they
needed his help.

Son
of a bitch. He took off after Wyatt, the need to save Haley, to see her,
surpassing everything.

The
perimeter of both the barn and the main house were strangely quiet and free
from the activity Remy would've expected to see. Itor had to know he'd escaped,
and surely they'd be sending someone—probably more than one someone—after him.
But how many? Before they'd knocked him out in the car, he'd noted at least ten
guys.

He
pressed his back against the outer wall of the house, in between a window and
the partially opened front door. Wyatt had already disappeared inside, and now
Remy heard shouts and a strangled groan.

He
slammed in, gun drawn, to see Annika throw her hand out and electrocute an Itor
agent.

"About
time you showed," Annika said. "I've got this. Perimeter's stable.
Your father's safe. Back up Wyatt and go get Haley."

Remy
followed the trail of bodies, most of them looking more knocked out than dead,
up to the third floor.

He
burst in behind Wyatt, saw Haley and a guy standing in the center of the room,
and Remy raised his weapon. But Wyatt shoved him back.

"I'm
in fucking charge here," the former SEAL said in a low, controlled voice
that brought Remy instantly back to the team mind-set. No more time for lone
rangers here. "If you kill him now, he'll still have her. She'll go down
with him."

Remy
stayed back and let Wyatt do what he needed to do, even though watching Haley
struggle for every breath was fucking killing him.

"Let
her go, Apollo, and you won't be harmed." Wyatt's voice rang out through
the empty space, but Apollo didn't appear to be listening at all. "One
last chance, and then I can't be responsible for what's left of you."

Apollo
snorted in response, tightened whatever psychic grip he had on Haley's body,
because she gasped and grabbed for her throat.

Wyatt's
body stiffened, almost imperceptibly, and then things began flying around the
room. At first, they merely hovered by Apollo's head, but they were enough to
distract him, because Remy saw Haley's breathing come a little easier.

"Guy
needs all his concentration to kill someone like that."

Wyatt
told Remy. "I specialize in being that one annoyance you can't ever get
rid of. No matter how hard you try."

A
puff of air grazed Remy's cheek, and then Wyatt flew backwards, crunched
against the door frame. The objects in the air froze like they'd been suspended
in Jell-O.

Haley's
distress had lessened, but she still struggled for breath, her eyes wild and
rolling. Remy gripped the gun hard, wanting to do something, anything, to help
her, but as hard as the wind blew outside, it didn't do jack inside.

"Shit!"
Wyatt peeled himself off the wood, and the objects in the air started moving
slowly again. "Partition. This guy's good."

Wyatt
sent a printer spinning toward Apollo, but at the last second, Wyatt's head
flew back and the printer merely struck the other man a glancing blow off the
shoulder.

"Partition?"

Wyatt
growled, beaned Apollo in the face with a stapler. "He tied off his
connection with Haley so he can divert some of his power to use against
me." He impaled Apollo in the leg with a pencil, and Wyatt's head flew
back again, his lip split. "He can't make Haley better or worse while his
power to her is anchored."

The
room exploded with flying objects; Wyatt kept jerking as some invisible force
struck him. The window shattered. A lamp crashed against the wall. A desk chair
came across the room and finally nailed that bastard in the back of the head.
Apollo released Haley from the mental grip as he slammed to the ground, out
cold.

Wyatt
pulled out his gun and shot the man, execution-style in the back of the head,
and nodded in satisfaction.

"Evil
like that isn't allowed to share my planet. Get her out of here," Wyatt told
Remy, who'd rushed to Haley's side.

Remy
tried to rouse her, checked her pulse, but Wyatt was yelling at him again.

"Get.
Out. And stand down if anyone gets in your way," Wyatt said, starting a
storm of his own with equipment flying around them when another agent crashed
into the room, gun drawn and ready to fire.

"He's
mine," Remy growled, drew the Sig Sauer fast, with no hesitation, and shot
the man dead. Without waiting, he grabbed Haley and ran with her out of the
house, not sure where the hell he should take her.

Go
to the road. Find the main road.

The
ground beneath his feet began to shake with that familiar vibration Remy was
usually grateful to hear. This time, it became immediately obvious that whoever
was in the fast-approaching, low-flying helo was not friendly. And then the
Itor agents who'd been running in the opposite direction minutes earlier were
suddenly headed straight for him, and he had his hands full of Haley.