Unleashing the Storm (2 page)

“Right.”
She started up the drive toward the guest house, and motioned him to follow. “I
don’t know how familiar you are with Rainbow Ridge Sanctuary…”

He
settled into an easy, long stride next to her, and the warm breeze brought his
scent to her, a powerful mixture of grass, woods and sun-warmed man no one else
would have smelled unless they’d been on top of him. Which, she thought as she
glanced at him, sounded like a nice place to be right about now.

Yeah,
spring fever was kicking at the barn door, and it was only a matter of time
before it broke out at a dead run.

“I
know it sits on roughly forty acres, and that there’s a public and private
side.” He looked over his shoulder, frowned at Cheech. “Is that thing going to
follow us everywhere?”

“Just
you. He’s suspicious of strangers.”

“Great,”
he muttered, turning his attention back to their surroundings. “I’m guessing
this is the private side.”

She
nodded. “The people who own the sanctuary live on the front twenty acres with
the exotic animals. Fifteen or so volunteers help out over there, and they
charge a nominal admission for people to visit. Down here”—she waved her arm in
an expansive gesture—“we take care of the domestic animals.”

He
slowed to avoid stepping on Peepers, a crippled mallard duck she’d rescued last
year from a kid who’d grown tired of his Easter present. “I thought you were in
charge of the whole place.”

Nodding,
she bent to run a finger over Peepers’s smooth green head, which put her at
crotch level with Tom. Heat billowed from him, heat and seductive male scents,
and oh, she needed to be alone with him. Soon.

“I’m
the manager,” she said hoarsely, and straightened. “So I do the hiring, and I
oversee all the animal care and training. I live down here with you and Derek.”

“Derek?”

“He’s
my other hire. You two will share the upstairs part of the guest house. The
bottom floor is mine.” She thought she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes,
but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. “Is there a problem?”

He
shrugged and ignored Cheech when the goat gave him a head butt for the sheer
pleasure of it. “I was under the impression I was the only hire.”

They
started walking again, his boots crunching gravel, his tread lighter than she’d
have expected as they navigated around flocks of farm fowl and three sheep that
refused to give way. Tom didn’t miss a beat, moved with her to give the animals
a wide berth, and she tried not to focus on the way his lean thighs flexed
inside well-worn and well-fitting jeans with every step. Or the way the muscles
in his bare arms looked strong enough to effortlessly pin her beneath him.

“Two
of my guys quit suddenly a couple of weeks ago. One of them went on vacation
and never came back, and the other got up one morning, packed and left before I
knew he was gone.”

The
kind of labor-intensive, low-pay work they did in a place like this had a tendency
to weed out all but the most dedicated animal lovers, but it had still been odd
to lose Jack and David like that, and in such a short span of time. Especially
since they’d been around last year during her time of need, and they’d seemed
happy to stick around for this one.

Maybe
she shouldn’t have cut them off when she’d no longer required them. Then again,
she knew full well the consequences of trying to maintain a relationship
outside her fevers.

“I
hired Derek to replace one,” she said, “and you to replace the other.”

They
arrived at the guest house she’d partly remodeled with the money she made under
the table here at the refuge, and she mounted the rickety steps. “Watch the
banister—it’s pretty well shot.”

“I
can probably fix it,” he said, going down on a knee to pat one of the three
dogs lounging on the porch. When Cheech clattered up the steps and demanded
attention, Tom scratched the goat’s brown back.

“That’s
okay—Derek already offered. I guess he’s a carpenter in his spare time. He’s
going to paint the house as well, as soon as he gets some time.”

“As
long as it’s under control,” Tom said. “It’s always good to have someone handy
around.”

She
bit her lip. Tom had no idea how handy
he’d
be to have around. In more
ways than one.

“You
and Derek will always use the back-entrance stairs to the upper floor, but I’m
taking you in this way so you can see the place and meet the kids.”

“Kids?”

“The
house critters. Mostly rescues I can’t allow outside without supervision.”

She
opened the door, and fur exploded as cats scattered and dogs came running.

“Fuck.
Me.”

Tom
stood there wearing a shocked expression she doubted people saw much. He
quickly recovered and plastered on a neutral mask, but his sharp, focused eyes
took everything in. She got the distinct feeling he was cataloging the
furniture, the animals, the entire dwelling in his mind.

“Is
that a lynx?” he asked, as they walked inside and shut the door, only to be
surrounded by several happy dogs and one extra-large cat.

“Yep.
That’s Rafi.” She crouched on her heels to scratch the lynx behind the ears.
“He was on a butcher table, about to be skinned alive for his fur, when he was
rescued.” Her stomach churned, as it always did when she thought about how
close he’d come to an excruciating, lingering death. “The people who rescued
him from the fur farm only had enough money to buy him and one other cat. The
rest…” She trailed off, unable to talk about it.

She
straightened, waved the animals away, and they bounded off like a bunch of
kindergarteners released for recess. “So this is where I live. Nothing fancy.
Thrift store furnishings.” She gestured to the left, where the only pieces of
furniture, a stained blue love seat and a tiny television she never watched,
made the room seem bigger than it was.

“Living
room there, dining room to the right, my bedroom and den in the back. Those
stairs ahead lead up to your room, but like I said, you’ll use the back
entrance.” She took a key off the rack on the entryway wall and handed it to
him. “The door on the right is yours. Derek is on the left. You’ll share a
kitchen and a bathroom. Sheets and towels are in the wardrobe next to your bed,
which is a twin, so don’t expect to have any comfortable nights with guests.”

“Comfort
isn’t usually a concern.”

He
swung his gaze back to her, blatantly taking in her body from her lips to her
thighs, as though the mention of a bed had made him picture her in his. She
could certainly picture being there, could imagine his lean, hard body against
hers. The potent energy surrounding him, the aura of power and eroticism,
promised that time shared between the sheets would be something to savor.

“Anything
else, Kira?”

“Yes.
We start work at six A.M. You can break for lunch anytime between eleven and
two. We work until around six, but we sometimes go later. You and Derek can
each have one weekend day off. Work out between yourselves which day you want,
Saturday or Sunday. I work both. If you need to run to town for anything,
groceries or whatever, you can take my truck parked out back. Just ask first.
Ditto with my computer. You can use it, but ask. And there’s no Internet
connection.”

“Why
not?”

Because
Big Brother watches your every move.
“I like my privacy.”

He
gave her the usual you’re-a-nutcase look, and then rubbed the back of his neck.
“Is that all?”

The
words, spoken in a flat and emotionless drawl, sounded innocent. But she
suspected that inside he was bucking her authority as fast as she could throw
it at him. This man did not like being told what to do. How odd that he took
this kind of job—when he’d called this morning about a position, she’d been
pleased with his credentials, but now she had to wonder if his farm background,
typically a male-driven trade, made him a little edgy when a woman called the
shots.

So it
was with great pleasure that she said, “There’s one more thing. Under no
circumstances will you consume meat on this property or in my presence. I’m a
strict vegan, and while I won’t begrudge you eggs and dairy products, I will
not tolerate the offensive consumption of animal flesh by humans at this
refuge. Understood?”

A
vein popped out on his forehead and began to pulse. Though there were no other
outward signs of his annoyance and unease, she could smell the potent mixture
coming off him in waves.

He
smiled, hefted his bag high on his shoulder and said, “That’s cool.” And then
she watched his fine backside while he took the stairs three at a time, as
though he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

But
she knew better. Because along with the other smells, she’d caught the scent of
lust, pure and simple.

Closing
her eyes, she allowed the tantalizing aroma to invade her senses and trigger
systemic responses she should be trying to suppress—for a couple of hours at
least, because after that, there would be no suppressing anything.

But
Tom…there was something different about him, an earthy animal magnetism she’d
never encountered. After eleven years of suffering for a few weeks a year, she
knew her body, and she’d been sure she had a couple of days to prepare for
this, but it seemed as though Tom’s presence had brought the fever on early.
Fighting it seemed pointless.

Clenching
her fists at her sides, she threw her head back, let her heart rate double, let
it flush her body with blood that had heated up a couple of degrees. Her
nervous system sparked like someone had struck a match to it, and every nerve
ending tingled with hypersensitivity until her skin was on fire. Deep, frequent
breaths brought crisp scents and life-giving oxygen into her lungs, and she
could almost feel each individual cell distribute the fuel to the pleasure
centers that had begun to swell and pulse and crave what only a man could give
her.

It
had begun.

TUESDAY
5 P.M. MST

Kira
was a ballbuster. Again, unexpected. Ender, who didn’t do unexpected unless the
surprise came from his end, planned to get up to speed immediately and get back
to the comfort of being the cleanup end of the job. He also planned on eating a
nice juicy steak, or two, right under Ms. Greenpeace Tree-Hugging Doolittle’s
nose. And he was going to enjoy every bite too.

But
this Derek thing was going to be a problem—a big one. And Kira had a lot to
learn about whom to trust.

Paint
the house, my ass.

That
phrase, and its ultimate meaning, was one of Derek Martin’s specialties. Ender’s
too, and he’d never had a problem admitting it. When Derek and Ender were
members of the same Delta Force unit ten years earlier—a team Derek had
eventually quit—Derek used to tell Ender that his father had coined the phrase,
which really meant to kill a man, when he’d worked for Jimmy Hoffa. Ender
couldn’t be sure if it was the same guy until he came face-to-face with him,
but his gut told him it was.

Derek
wasn’t anywhere to be seen when Ender found the empty bedroom meant for him,
went in and shut the door behind him. It was hot as hell up here, and when he
opened the windows in a useless attempt to catch a breeze he heard the sounds
of children laughing. He looked out to see a busload of preschool-aged boys and
girls running through an open field to get to the main part of the refuge, and
he sighed. Like this job wasn’t enough trouble already.

Kids,
animals and women. Someone owed him big-time.

Using
the small device that hooked into the button on the front of his jeans, he made
reluctant contact with the Comms Division of ACRO, lowered his voice and spoke
rapidly.

“Bryan,
I need you to pull the W2s on the two guys who worked here before me. Names are
listed in the psychic’s report.”

“Why?
What happened?” Bryan asked immediately. Ender was sure the guy never slept,
but as head of Communications, he couldn’t afford to. He also heard muffled
female giggles in the background.

“I’m
betting they were executed. By the guy who I’m going to be working with,” he
said.

“Sucks
to be you. Stay tight, bro.”

Yeah,
sucks to be me.

He
slipped his mini-scope and knife into his pocket—the small pistol he always
carried would be discovered by that goddamned goat sniffing around him—and slid
out into the hallway. He opened Derek’s locked door easily enough and did a
quick scan of the area.

No
weapons, but he didn’t figure the guy would be stupid enough to leave them
lying around. But he did immediately hone in on something shiny and metal
sticking out from the bed. Careful not to touch anything he could leave prints
on, he pulled on the blankets until he saw the handcuffs lying against the
sheets, and his blood ran hot and cold at the same time.

If
anyone was going to use handcuffs on Kira, it would be him. Because he had no
doubt in his mind that Derek planned on using stronger restraints, and more,
when he kidnapped her—these were just for fun.