Omega Force 01- Storm Force (24 page)

Mori
thought back to the meeting between Michael and his business associate that
night at River Oaks, and then of his banter with his secretary. “When he wants to be, definitely. There’s something about
him that makes you want to believe him and like him.”

“Right,”
Kell said. “Two, he’s good-looking, and sociopaths
are usually people that others find attractive. Third, he’ll do anything to get
what he wants, without hesitation. Fourth, he doesn’t have regrets. He doesn’t
regret that bombing, or branding you, or getting Adam killed.

“I
realized that when I was talking to him at the office.” He snorted. “You know,
before it all went to hell and back. I think he honestly believes himself to be
in the right and justified in whatever he does to get what he wants.”

Mori
closed her eyes and settled back against the headrest. “Me,
in other words.”

“Sure,
he wants you, but not just you for yourself. He isn’t obsessed with Mori Chastaine the woman. He’s obsessed with the person who can
help him get what he wants — not the chance to save the Dires,
but to win, to be the hero of the Dires. In his mind,
anything he does to you, or anyone around you, is justified.”

Mori
thought about Michael’s presence as she was growing up, waiting patiently for
his promised mate to reach maturity, and the violent direction he’d taken when
he realized she wasn’t willing to meet him on his terms. If he’d only wanted to
save the Dires, as an alpha should, he wouldn’t have
objected to her offer of artificial insemination. He’d still be fulfilling his
role as alpha. He could marry his human partner. The children would be theirs
to raise together, in whatever way they agreed.
That
was how a true alpha should behave.
It’s how Gus Chastaine would have behaved.

“I
can’t believe I never realized this.” She turned to look at Kell.
“He’s not being an alpha at all. He’s just…nuts.”

“Exactly. All along, we’ve been thinking about him in the
wrong way.” Kell shook his head. “I knew the
colonel’s plan wasn’t going to work. He offered to let Benedict walk away from
this whole mess without criminal charges. Benedict didn’t even consider
accepting. A sane man — even a sane criminal — would have
jumped at that offer, unless he cared more about winning than living or unless
he thought he was invincible.”

Invincible
. That
was Michael’s thinking, in a nutshell. But the biggest question remained: How
the hell were they going to stop him?

The eastbound I-10 had been
almost deserted from Beaumont, across western Louisiana, and into Lafayette.
There, Kell left the interstate and began winding his
way south again toward Jeanerette.

Then
the roadblocks began. Time after time, at parish line after parish line, Kell rolled down the window and, shouting to be heard over
the rain that was coming in steady squalls now less than an hour apart, lied to
another member of the Louisiana State Police about why he was traveling into
the storm zone instead of evacuating.

Though
she didn’t say it aloud, Kell knew Mori would be
happier if they’d stopped at a hotel in Lafayette or New Iberia, or even
Jeanerette itself. Her shoulders had settled into a tense, rigid posture, and
he wasn’t sure she realized that, for the past hour, she’d been holding onto
the door handle as if it were a lifeline.

But
his gut told him Cote Blanche was where he needed to go, logic be damned. Yeah,
it was closer to the coast. It was more isolated. They had no way to get help.
If the cabin got wrecked, they could be literally dead in the water.

Maybe
the old cabin lured him because he knew it so well, the way he knew the road
from Lafayette down to Jeanerette, his muscle memory keeping him on course in
the dark as he steered through the twists and turns of narrow roads.

Maybe
it was because when you got in trouble, or when you got hurt, or you weren’t
sure where else to go, you went to whatever place your heart considered home.
And no matter how long he lived in Houston and how much he loved it, the bayou
was home.

When
they got to Jeanerette, he stopped long enough to buy more gas and call his
cousin Trey to make sure he was still willing to grant this boneheaded favor.

He
answered on the first ring, and his voice was tight. “This is a big storm, Kell, a slow-moving Cat Three. You sure you don’t want to
stay here with us? We’re stocked up and riding it out.”

Kell heard Trey’s kids in the background,
laughing and shrieking like all kids did in close quarters, and felt a stab of
guilt at dragging him away in this kind of weather. But he couldn’t let go of
the call of Cote Blanche. In the backseat, Gator, who’d slept through most of
the drive, smelled home. He’d begun pacing and whining
as soon as they hit Iberia Parish.

“I
really need to get out there. Just let me borrow one of your boats. There’s no
point in you going down there and risking getting stuck.”

“Well…”
Trey hesitated, and Kell knew it had been the right
offer. It made Kell feel better, too. Trey needed to be home with his family. “OK. Drive straight
to the landing, and I’ll have the boat ready. The quicker you get where you’re
going, the better.”

Once
out of town, Kell wound his way toward the small
bayou that ran along the back of Trey’s property. It fed into a byzantine
network of lakes and bayous that eventually led to Cote Blanche Bay and the
Gulf of Mexico. They wouldn’t be going quite that far.

He
skirted the road around Trey’s home and drove to the boathouse and dock. A
light shone through the window, and as he stopped the SUV, Kell
could see movement inside.

He
turned to Mori, who’d been mostly silent since they hit the state line. If he
had to define her mood, he’d use the word
thoughtful
.
She had seemed truly surprised at the idea that Michael Benedict might be
mentally ill instead of just a bully alpha wolf. Kell
was no expert, but he figured mental illness didn’t play favorites with
species. They all had their bullies and their evil, and even their sociopaths.

“You
ready to meet the family?” He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’re almost
there. We’ll get to the cabin, dry off, and eat some of the best nonperishable
food this side of heaven.”

There
it was — the light he’d been missing in her eyes. And the
smile.

“Well,
how can I pass up that offer?” She opened the door and gasped as a gust of wind
blew rain in her face. “Hey, that feels pretty good.”

She
stood in the rain outside the SUV, tilting her chin up to the dark sky and
scrubbing off any traces of dried blood that remained. The minor shrapnel
wounds to her face and neck had already healed.

At
the smell of fresh air and damp earth, Gator scrambled between the seats and
took an excited lick along the side of Kell’s face
before leaping into the rain with Mori.

Kell stifled a groan as he heaved himself out of the
vehicle, carefully shifting his weight to a standing position and waiting until
the spasms settled. His back muscles were tighter than a well-tuned guitar
string. A good thing in a guitar, but not so good in a person
who needed to steer a boat through two hours of bayou in the dark, never mind
the hurricane.

He
followed Mori’s lead and let the rain wash off as much grime and blood as
possible. There was nothing to be done about his hand or the jaguarundi scratches that still trailed down his left
cheek.

Which
Trey noticed right away, observant Kellison that he was.

“What
got ahold of you, man?” He pulled Kell
into a bear hug before introducing himself to Mori.

She
kind of looked like a drowned rat, but an awfully sexy one. Trey
noticed that, too, if the nod and lift of his eyebrows behind Mori’s back were
any indication. He might be married, but he wasn’t blind.

Trey
was the nickname for Dwight Eisenhower Kellison III,
named after their grandfather, who’d seen fit to name all his sons after dead
presidents. The family resemblance could be seen in the blue-green eyes and
dark hair. Trey was skinny, though — always had been.

But
he’d never been afraid of work, and he’d been busy. The larger of the two boats
bumping against the slips had been stocked. Kell
spotted two or three gas cans, lanterns in sealed plastic bags to keep them
dry, a couple of coolers strapped shut with duct tape, a stack of blue tarps,
and two large boxes wrapped in plastic that, if Kell
had to guess, probably contained food.

Trey
helped them unload the SUV, taking the duffel, Mori’s backpack, and the
supplies she and Robin had packed and stashing those on the boat as well. It
was a big load.

“You
got plywood at the cabin?” Trey handed Kell the keys.
“Got all the tools you need?”

Kell nodded. “I’ll shore everything up as soon as it’s daylight.” And while thank-yous were as awkward as apologies, it had to be said.
“Thanks for all this. Not just for the boat, but for not asking questions.”

“No
problem.” Trey looked at him with the Kellison eyes, and Kell tried to
remember why he’d wanted to leave here so badly in the first place. “That’s
what we do, you know?”

Yeah,
that’s what they did. They were simple people who worked hard, earned an honest
living, and didn’t give a fuck about politics or position or being the biggest,
baddest Ranger on the block. Somewhere, Kell had gotten lost.

He
nodded, not trusting himself to keep from blubbering like a girl, especially
when the only girl in the boathouse was watching.

“Should
Gator stay here?” Mori walked up beside him and touched his arm. “I’m afraid if
he gets off the boat on the trip down, we won’t be able to find him again.”

Gator
had sniffed his way around the boathouse and had finally come to rest next to Kell. Man, he hated to leave his dog. But Mori was right. A
long, dark ride through a turbulent bayou was no place for him.

“The
kids’ll love to have him,” Trey said, pulling a leash
from a hook on the wall and attaching it to Gator’s collar. The Catahoula
danced around like it was walk time. “The cat will have to live with it. Take
care of the boat, man — and yourself.”

Kell watched them leave, then
turned to Mori. “You ready for another travel adventure?”

She
hopped on the boat, strapped on one of the Day-Glo orange life jackets, and
handed the other to him. “Let’s do it.”

Kell said a prayer of thanks for Trey as he navigated the
Belle Teche
out of its slip and into the bayou. The water was choppy, and the rain came in
at a slant, but the boat had a sturdy portable cover on it, and he was able to
steer from the back in relative dryness.

He
flipped on the two spotlights attached to the front of the boat and made his
way down a stretch of water he’d crossed hundreds, if not thousands, of times, beginning
when he was a kid. Traveling by water was a way of life around here, and it
felt natural, even in the storm.

The
lights had trouble cutting through the rain that kept coming down in sheets, so
he barely saw a downed log in the water in time to throttle back and ease
around it. Close call.

Mori
had been perched on one of the boxes of supplies, but now she was making her
way to Kell. “How about I hang in the front and keep
a lookout for stuff that’s fallen in the water?” She had to shout for him to
hear her. “I’ll signal if you need to change course.”

Good
idea, but she was going to be drenched. “Cover up with one of the tarps.”

She
nodded and grabbed a folded tarp on her way to the prow, almost losing her
balance as she left the flimsy sanctuary of the canvas cover.

Mori
wedged herself into a stable spot at the front and tried to unfold the tarp,
but a gust of wind caught it and blew it away. When she looked back at Kell with a shrug and a laugh, a surge of joy raced through
him. He had no right to feel such joy. They were in a blinding rainstorm, in a
dark bayou, on the run from a murderous shape-shifter, and if his new back
injury didn’t end his career, the broken fingers probably would.

But
watching Mori’s wet hair whipping around her head like the serpents of Medusa
as she hung over the front of the boat, her face alive and excited to be living
in the moment, he felt an inexplicable happiness. He didn’t know what the
future held for them — too many obstacles still remained. But she made him happy.
For now, that was enough.

Between
Mori’s hand signals, Kell’s knowledge of every bend of
the bayou, and her willingness to hang over the side of the boat, using a pole
to move the flotons and shifting water lilies aside,
they finally rounded the bend to the cabin on Cote Blanche Bayou just before
midnight — assuming Kell’s watch was as waterproof as
it claimed.

They
arrived at the cabin during a lull in the weather. Only a light rain fell as
they silently unloaded the boat and set all the supplies at the end of the
short dock. Once the boat was empty, Kell took down
the poles that held the canvas cover, unhooked the spotlights from the prow,
and handed the lights and their battery packs to Mori before levering himself
back up to the dock. He wanted to prevent those poles from becoming projectiles
when the real storm arrived, and they needed the battery-powered spotlights to
get settled.

“I’ll
secure the boat against the side of the cabin in the morning, but it’ll be OK
out here tonight.” He gritted his teeth as he squatted to tether the boat
securely to the dock, and gritted them more when he stood up. Damn, but he
hoped that first aid kit had some kind of sports cream in it and that his
industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen had stayed dry.

Another
squall line moved in as Kell set up one light on the
dock and the other on the cabin’s porch. After unlocking the door, he started
up a couple of fluorescent lanterns to light the interior.

In
sync, they worked through the wind and rain to move the supplies into the cabin,
and Kell breathed a sigh of relief when they finally
shut the door behind them.

Mori
had stopped just inside, dripping on the little braided rug he kept as a
doormat. He tried to read her expression as she looked around, but couldn’t.

“I
know it isn’t much.” He tried to imagine it as she might see it and ended up
somewhere between rustic and primitive. “We used it as a weekend fishing camp
when I was a kid. I don’t think it was ever meant as a place to actually live — at
least not until I sold my parents’ place in Jeanerette and began staying out
here.”

What
had he been thinking? There was no electricity. The water was iffy. There were no
people within thirty miles, even in good weather. And this wasn’t good weather.

She
grinned at him. “I think it’s cool. It’s just…you.” She waved her hands around,
looking for the right words. “It’s not pretentious or trying to be something
it’s not. It’s…Jack Kellison, if he were a cabin.”

Uh-huh
. Well, Jack Kellison
the non-cabin was tired and wet. His back hurt like nails had been driven into
it, and his left hand throbbed and was so swollen it probably weighed about
twenty pounds.

He
lifted it and studied the black, misshapen fingers and the puncture wounds from
Benedict’s teeth.

“Hey.”
Mori’s voice was soft as she walked toward him. “Let’s dry off and put on
clothes that aren’t soaked full of bayou rain, and then I’ll take care of that.
You have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah.” He reached out with his functioning hand and pulled
her toward him. “Thank you.” Somehow, saying it to her was easier. When she
stepped closer and pressed her lips to his, that strange joy crept over him
again. He must have been losing his mind. That was the only explanation.

She
stepped back. “I’ll get changed. There’s a bathroom, at least?”

Kell laughed. “Yeah, the one modern
amenity.” Well, not all that modern, but functional.

She
grabbed her backpack from inside the door and went into the small room set off
in one corner. Kell hobbled to his desk and saw his MP3
player where he’d left it the day after the Zemurray
bombing, just before the orders from the colonel had arrived. It seemed like a
lifetime ago.

He
stuck in the earbuds and pressed the
PLAY
button, not remembering what he’d
been listening to. Anything would beat the eerie wildcat whistle of wind
moaning around the edge of the cabin. They’d be hearing enough of that in the
next day or so.