Read pdf - Eye of the Storm.PDF Online
Authors: Linda Eberharter
"Ren?" She touched his arm. "Will I have to talk to the authorities about all the men I shot?"
"No, baby." He pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. "I'm a Special Deputy.
The Sheriff is ex-Special Forces. He knows what SSI does. This isn't the first time we've had dead bodies at Sanctuary from a firefight." He pulled back and saw her worried gaze.
"I'm betting each and every one of those dead men were mercs." And he'd also bet that they would have either criminal military charges or civilian criminal records. Honorable men did not trespass armed to the gills.
"I'll work on that if you can get me fingerprints or photos. Plus, those two who came up on my nest… ?" He nodded his encouragement. He wanted to hear her theories. "I don't think they were part of the group in the valley."
"We'll find out." It was unlikely there were two separate groups attempting to invade Sanctuary at the same time, but it was always a possibility. It was one he wasn't going to overlook; Keely's instincts had been batting a thousand since he met her.
She stroked one hand down his stubbled cheek. "Thank you."
"For what?" He turned his head slightly and kissed the palm of her hand.
"For holding me last night." She lowered her lashes. Her cheeks pinkening. "I really do like sleeping with you. It makes me feel … happy—and safe."
Holding her made him feel more than happy—it made him content. There was a sense of rightness in the act of holding her while she slept. He just wished he could take away her nightmares. "Aww, baby. You were so restless and moaning—and crying." He kissed one hot cheek. "I … I … wanted to soothe you but wasn't sure what to do."
"You did just fine, big guy." She wiggled away from his arms. "Now, I'm going to soak in your big-ass tub and then go over and eat one of Scotty's huge omelets. After which, I will go to the Bat Cave and look at the data searches I had running on the terrible trio—as Tweetie and I have named our suspected spies."
"Keely," he held onto her arm so she couldn't turn to leave. "Take a nap. You didn't get much rest, and I'm worried you still have a fever."
"I'm fine, Ren. Really. I'll rest when you do." She forestalled any further lectures by turning her back on him and climbing the stairs to his contemporary version of a log home.
"Keely?"
She stopped at his door and angled her head to look at him. "Yes?"
"We detoured by Boston and, along with your dad and brothers, packed up what was left of your stuff. Well, it's not much … uh, the boxes are in the great room. I think there's some girly bath stuff and the like in there."
Keely's face lit up. She ran down the steps and leapt into his arms. He held her to him and reveled in the joy crossing her face.
"Thank you. Thank you." She peppered his face with kisses. "That was so considerate."
Too quickly, she dropped to her feet, ran up the steps and into his house. He wiped a silly-assed grin off his face. God, she made him happy—and whole. Once he took care of business, he'd grab Keely and they'd take a "nap," where he'd begin the sensual wooing of his little warrior. A more sexual smile crossed his face at the thought of a naked, sweet-smelling Keely in his big bed. He'd taken the liberty of smelling all her girly bath stuff as he packed it—the scents were warm and musky and had made him hot.
He groaned aloud at the thought of how she'd taste as he kissed her from her tiny toes to the tip of her curly head. He knew what she looked like naked from taking care of her night and day in Argentina. At the time, he'd filed away the images of her creamy white skin, her full rosy-tipped breasts, and the golden-red curls on her mound. He'd have been a foul monster to lust after her while she'd been so sick. But now, every treasured image resurfaced in living color—and he could hardly wait to revisit her body, this time healthy and alive for his touch.
But first, he had business to take care of. He had to protect Keely from any consequences of her skilled defense of Sanctuary and its people. He mounted the snow mobile and headed for the Lodge where he knew Sheriff Dan Morgan would be waiting to sort through the mess the intruders had brought with them. Dan wouldn't give him any trouble, but the county commissioners were another matter. He and Dan would need to put together a report that demonstrated that Keely had saved the lives of innocent—and tax-paying—citizens. He'd have Tweeter start on the background searches on the dead intruders. The sooner they could show the invaders were not law-abiding citizens, the better.
* * * *
all five of them. The cretins who'd trashed her townhouse hadn't left her much: some bath items, some cosmetics, some books, and miscellaneous things she'd packed in a storage unit the intruders either hadn't known about or didn't have the time to invade. All her clothes were gone, every blessed stitch. She'd need to go back to Boise or Couer d'Alene and hit a mall and supplement the few items she and her mama had picked up on the trip to Sanctuary with Tweetie over a week ago.
The good news part of the debacle was that she’d be able to buy sexier underwear to please Ren instead of the teenage holdovers she'd worn previously. She also needed to buy more winter clothing than she'd had in Boston. Winter lasted a lot longer and was a lot rougher in Idaho. She planned to tell Ren that she'd work for SSI as long as she could live on Sanctuary—with him.
Ballsy, yes, but she had a gut feeling he wouldn't mind.
She refused to cry over the loss of the majority of her possessions. She'd done more than her quota of crying over the deaths she'd caused; the loss of material things ranked pretty damn low on the grand scale of life's potholes.
Closing the lid on one box of books, she stood and stretched. Now to hit the Lodge and eat. She'd grabbed an apple and a Pepsi to get her blood sugar up enough to make it through her bath, and she still had almost fallen asleep in the warm, scented water. She could sleep later. After she refueled, she wanted to see just who Bannon, Vences and Jordan really were. Although Vences didn't make her neck itch as much as the other two, she suspected he was lying about something. The other two had ratcheted her spider senses up to high alert. They were at the very least felons, and at the worst plants.
Pulling on her parka and gloves, she left Ren's house, locking the door, and took the path leading to the back of the Lodge and the kitchen entrance. She liked to eat in the kitchen when she was by herself. Bannon, Jordan and Vences paid her way too much attention when she sat in the dining area. Vences probably did it to be one of the guys, but the other two, she sensed, wanted to hurt her. Whether they were ordered to do so or depravity was just in their nature, she wasn't sure yet. She’d bet their deep backgrounds would show some sort of sexually deviant crimes. They gave off that kind of vibe.
Entering the back door, the smell of spicy-so-hot-it-melted-tonsils chili hit her nostrils. The omelet she'd thought about asking Scotty to make flew out of her mind. Her mouth watered and stomach growled at the thought of Scotty's meaty, hot chili.
"Hey, doll," Scotty called out. His broad, ruddy face broke into a smile he seemed to only show her. The ex-Navy cook, whose much-younger fiancée she had yet to meet, had practically adopted her when Tweeter had first introduced them. No one would bother her with Scotty around.
"There's the love of my life," she teased. "When are we gonna skip this Popsicle stand and run away to the South Seas and open a restaurant on the beach?"
"You name the date, princess, and we're gone." He came over and hugged her, scanning her face as if to assess her condition. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. "Low-grade temp. What in the hell have you been doing to yourself? Before she left to go back home, your mama made me promise to take care of you." He tugged her over to the island counter and lifted her onto a stool as if she weighed nothing. "Let me guess what you want to eat. Hmm, chili with cheese and sour cream, mixed green salad with some of my homemade avocado ranch dressing, hot blackberry cobbler with ice cream and a Pepsi—with an aspirin chaser. You are not to move until it all goes into that tiny tummy. We clear on that?"
The man knew she had the appetite of a dock worker. She'd have no trouble packing the food away. She laughed. "Sounds good. Bring it on. I'm starved."
He turned to move, then stopped. His facial expression turned serious. "You saved my guys' asses last night." Every citizen of Sanctuary was one of Scotty's people; the man's loyalty to the Maddox brothers and those who worked for them was bone deep.
She shrugged. "I just did what I could."
"Damn good work." He turned and began to prepare her food. "Just so you know, the Sheriff has cleared the shootings as self-defense. Your brother had no trouble documenting the less-than-stellar records of the bastards. Most of the a-holes had records miles long. Some of them had outstanding warrants. Ren is making sure you get the reward on those. A lot of cold cases were cleared with some of the deaths. Damn good work, little girl. But you don't need to be doing those sorts of things in the future. We protect our women here on Sanctuary."
Some of the tension from the previous night’s battle dissipated now that she heard for a fact she wouldn't be charged with murder or manslaughter. She didn't need or want the reward and would tell Ren so. But she did need to clear up something. "Scotty?"
He walked to the island and put a salad and her soda in front of her. "What, princess?"
"I will defend myself—or anyone else belonging to SSI—if I need to." She touched the old salt's tattooed forearm, tracing the anchor and U.S. flag design. "I always try to avoid killing, but…"
Scotty's eyes filled with moisture as his lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "Yeah, I know, princess. I know. Some a-holes just ask for it." He turned his arm under hers then slid until he grasped her hand in his huge one. He squeezed her fingers gently. "Now eat up. I swear you've lost weight since you arrived here. You'll blow away in the wind if we don't put some meat on those bird bones."
She giggled. "Aye-aye, Scotty." She ate her way through the salad, two cups of chili, part of the dessert and three glasses of Pepsi. Leaning against the back of the counter stool, she sighed. "That was so good. Thanks. Now, I think I'll waddle off to find my brother."
"He was in the Bat Cave last I knew." Scotty washed some pots in the huge sink. His gaze fixed on something outside the large window over the sink. "Looks like Ren and the Sheriff are heading out to the scene of the battle. Don't expect we'll see the other guys until supper or so." He turned away from the view and captured her gaze with his stern one. "Since Ren isn't here to tell you, I will. Stay the hell away from Bannon and Jordan.
They were asking about you at breakfast. One of the computer techs told them you were out with Ren and the guys—and they weren't happy."
Keely frowned. "Do you think they're the infiltrators? Or, are they just screw ups who lied to get a job in security?"
Early on she'd decided to trust Scotty. He'd been with SSI from the beginning and knew the Maddox brothers' father, having served with the elder Maddox in the Navy.
Plus the gruff older man reminded her of her dad.
"Maybe. Probably. But one thing I do know, Bannon has a look in his eye when he watches you. Makes me want to kill him just for that alone."
"I know. He gives me the creeps." She shivered. "Well none of them have security access to get into the Bat Cave—and, even if they did, I have the techs and Tweetie down there with me. Safety in numbers."
"Take a weapon with you anyway." Scotty wiped his hands on his apron and pulled a sheathed battle knife from a drawer next to the sink. "Take this. I can't see that you're armed."
She walked to the older man and took the knife and hooked it on her belt. "I have a hold-out gun in an ankle holster. But this is good, too."
Scotty bent over and placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. "Much cooler. You were feverish because you were running on empty. Now scoot. I'm making pot roast and all the fixin's for supper and I need to get started on the vegetables."
She hugged Scotty and left the room, mouth watering at the thought of pot roast. She loved red meat.
Wending her way through the back hallway, she stopped at the elevator to the sub-basement, entered her handprint and her retinal scan. The doors opened and she entered the elevator and pushed the close button. The trip to the sub-basement, a natural cave over which the Lodge was built, took less than thirty seconds. The doors opened to an oddly silent control center. Her holographic table was turned off. The computers and equipment ran 24/7 with back-up generators to handle the electrical needs during times when the public utilities were down. So while the electronic hum was present, a constant white noise, there were no voices and no evidence of people at all.
Something was wrong. At this time of the day at least one technician should be present monitoring communications, if nothing else. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as a frisson of awareness swept over her. "Tweetie?" She called as she stepped out of the elevator. The doors would remain open on this level until it was called from above.
She put a hand on the knife Scotty had given her, opening the sheath, and drawing the blade out. She clasped it in her right hand in a fight-ready grip. Moving slowly, she glanced from side to side, paying close attention to the shadows, watching for movement, listening for anything out of place. She headed for the far right corner of the room where her brother had his desk and monitoring station—and an intercom to the house. A dark shadow on the floor next to her brother's desk caught her eye. She hurried to it, concerned it was her brother. Her sigh of relief sounded abnormally loud in the silent room. The body was one of the technicians who worked with her brother.
She leaned down and felt for a pulse. Faint, but there.
Whoever had hit the tech was probably still in the room, had been allowed entrance by the hapless man, and was the reason her gut was sending warnings to her brain.