Riding the Storm (28 page)

"Haley…
chere
," he whispered, cradling her head in his hands. She wasn't
waking up and her pulse was rapid, but she was breathing.

He'd
caught her before she'd fallen to the floor and now he let them both sink down
gently to the wooden planks. He rested his back against the side of the
structure, facing the window, and pulled her closer between his legs so her
upper body rested against his, her head on his shoulder. And he rocked her,
whispering in her ear to
please wake up
because Christ, he couldn't lose
her. Not now, not when he'd just found her.

"Please,
Haley… come back to me."

She
moaned a little, clutched the front of his shirt with her fists. "Remy…

"I'm
here. I'm here and you're safe."

"Hurts
so much…

"Don't
talk, just rest."

"Can't.
There's trouble. I have to call—"

"We've
no way to communicate with your agency, unless in that bag you've got a phone
that actually works," he reminded her.

"But
they've got him… hurting him. Badly. Threatening to torture him. Already
started… She closed her eyes again and he fought the panic that rose in his
throat.

She's
just resting
. And as much as he hated
to wake her again, he needed to know what the hell was happening. "Haley,
you need to tell me what's going on," he said quietly.

Her
eyes opened, her pupils slowly returning to their normal size. She hesitated
for a second before she finally spoke. "Itor Corp—the enemy—they have your
father," she said.

Threatening
to torture him… Already started…

Shit.
His mouth went dry, because his father didn't deserve that kind of treatment.
Not when Remy himself was their main target. "They're using him to lure me
in," he said.

"I'm
so sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. If we'd known Itor was this
close, we would've just taken you."

He
wanted to answer her, but he was wrung out. This wasn't going to be just any
mission. This was the mission of his life, and he had no choice but to accept
it.

"Shoot
first, ask questions later, right?" he muttered.

"It
would've been for your own protection. The world's protection. In the wrong
hands…

He
ran his finger through his hair and heaved a deep, ragged sigh. Because he got
it. Finally, he got it. "I'm a menace. And you're hurt because of
me."

"No,
Remy. My job's dangerous. With or without you."

"But
you said you usually don't get this close to the potential operatives—you're
not usually in the line of fire."

"I
was trained in case I needed to be. We can get help to your father and have my
agency come rescue us."

"I
don't ever sit around and wait to be rescued. Just not in my nature."

"It's
too dangerous for you to attempt this on your own."

"I
don't have a choice," he said.

"Yes,
you do. Get us out of here, and then I'll contact my boss. ACRO will help you
get your father out of this."

"What,
with no strings attached?"

"Everything
comes with strings, Remy. But they're not going to force you into ACRO against
your will. I won't lie to you, though, if you don't join, they'll do whatever
it takes to ensure you aren't a risk to yourself or others."

He
ran his finger through his hair again, the enormity of the entire situation
suddenly feeling too heavy for his own shoulders.

"I'm
a risk right now, to you especially. Dammit, Haley, let me go alone."

"No.
You're still vulnerable. You need me," she said, her blue eyes trained on
him. Seeing him, not the man who could control the weather. "And I need
you."

And
as much as he wanted to refuse, to argue, he knew there was no way he could
leave her here alone. She was still weak and far too vulnerable, and his sense
of chivalry wouldn't let him desert her now.

The
tattoo on his hip began to tingle, and she was looking at him with that now
familiar lust in her eyes. Desire had never been this right, and he'd never
been this calm or this content, even with the immediate threat bearing down on
him.

Somehow,
some way, he was gaining more control over himself, and he suspected that Haley
had something to do with that, whether or not it was something she was
conscious of.

"Do
you really think you can help me manage my so-called powers?"

"There
are trainers at ACRO who can help you as well. I'll just take time."

"Right
now we don't have the time. We're going to have to improvise if we want to get
out of here safely." He eased away from her slowly, stood, and then helped
her to her feet. She was slightly unsteady at first, but after she stretched
and massaged her neck, he saw that she was suffering no lasting effects from
whatever those monsters had done to her.

"We'll
be able to get out—Itor wants us to get out. They want us to come to
them," she said.

"Why
didn't they break into my mind?" he asked. "Wouldn't that have made
more sense?"

She
stared at him and he could tell she was deciding whether or not to hold back.
She chose not to, and for a minute he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad
thing. "Planting images, which is what Itor did to me—basically forced a
psychic image into my mind—can cause permanent damage. They'd never do it to
you, you're too valuable. To Itor, I'm disposable."

"Not
to me, Haley," he said, his voice holding more emotion than he would
normally let show. "Come on, let's go find a way to contact your
agency."

They've
broken into her mind, Devlin. Planted horrible images. I can't get much more of
a read on her right now… I keep seeing Remy's father.

Two
of the three psychics assigned to Haley, sitting in different rooms on either
side of the main house, came rushing in to report the news an hour after he'd
asked Marlena to put out a trace on Haley.

He'd
left them still trying to see what Haley was planning next. In the meantime, he
needed to get some help into the Bayou, and fast. Fortunately for him, two of
his best operatives were free to help him on this case.

Free,
and in the process of trying to kill each other. Never mind that they'd made a
complete shambles of the newly redecorated rec room, which Dev noted the second
he used his CRV to see what the problem was.

"What
the hell is going on here?" he demanded of Ender, an excedosapien with
superspeed and a magic way with weapons, who was also known as Tom Knight to a
select few at the agency. Ender was six feet, three inches of lean, lanky
muscle, and Wyatt Kennedy, who was putting his special gift of telekinesis to
good, solid work by throwing anything that wasn't nailed down at Ender's head,
matched him in height but was the polar opposite in coloring, with his dark
hair and eyes.

Both
were stubborn as hell, although Wyatt tended to get along with people better
than Ender did. Hell, anyone got along with people better than Ender, who
prided himself on being as much of a loner as being part of this agency would
allow.

"Someone's
been putting up wanted posters of Ender again," Wyatt managed. He was
pinned half under Ender, but he managed to make a heavy piece of metal artwork
fly across the room at Ender's head.

Ender,
of course, was too quick for that, and in seconds the melee threatened to begin
anew. The men were pretty evenly matched, although Ender would never admit
that.

"I
know it was you, you asshole," Ender told Wyatt, holding the dark-haired
man down by the throat.

"Enough!"
Dev bellowed. "One of these days, you're going to kill each other."

"One
of these days, I'm going to kill him," Ender corrected.

"Today,
you're going to need him to help rescue a new recruit," Dev said.
"Follow me."

He
walked toward his office, his CRV slightly dimming since he'd been up all
night. Again. He heard the soft footfalls behind him, the carpet purposely
thick and lush to keep the main house a place of calm and tranquillity.

"Marlena,
don't interrupt me until there's word on Haley," he said, feeling her
constant presence at the large desk outside his office.

"Yes,
of course, Dev." Her voice was soft, but there was worry there. Whenever a
potential operative as big as Remy was up for grabs, everyone was on edge.
They'd had one or two get away in recent months, and while they hadn't seen the
effects of that just yet, Dev knew the fallout wouldn't be good. He already had
a man planted deep inside Itor in order to try to extract those particular
operatives before Itor broke their minds for good.

But
that paled in comparison to the job that lay in front of him now.

Once
he entered the familiar space of his private office and heard the door shut
behind them, he let himself fall back into his leather chair and turned his CBL
sight off again.

Immediately,
his other senses kicked in at high speed, and he felt the tension in Wyatt's
shoulders and in Ender's lanky frame—like any men preparing to go on a mission,
their adrenaline, already on the rise from their fight, was palpable.

"We
haven't heard from Haley in over seventeen hours." Dev drummed his fingers
on the heavy oak desk. "Something's gone very wrong." He told them
what the psychics had told him, because he'd never ask men to go into a mission
without having all the facts.

"Itor's
been moving in faster than ever," Wyatt said quietly, and Dev caught the
note of speculation, and suspicion, in his tone.

Itor
had begun to know things about ACRO and her inner workings that they never
should have been able to figure out. Not without actually being here, and being
privy to classified information.

"Yes,
Itor's been particularly up on things as of late," Dev said.

"Which
means it could all be one giant trap," Wyatt said.

"As
always," Dev agreed. "I figure that once I get closer, I'll be able
to tell if that's true."

"You're
not going in," Ender said.

"Don't
tell me what I can and can't do. Last time I looked, you weren't in
charge."

Ender
snorted. "I have no interest in being in charge of this asylum."

"I've
asked you not to call it that, especially not in front of the new
recruits," Dev said.

"I
was just trying to make Wyatt feel more at home," Ender said, and Dev put
his hand out before Wyatt could make a move. Still, the already broken glass
ashtray rumbled from the garbage can next to his desk, proving Wyatt wasn't
fond of jokes about his mental stability.

"Bottom
line, Dev," Ender continued easily. "You stay. I'll go in and rescue
the SEAL. I'm used to rescuing them, since they can't save their own
asses." Ender was former Delta Force, and never failed to let others who
had served in other military branches know exactly how he felt about them.

This
time, Dev felt part of the ashtray whiz by his face and heard it crash into the
wall, leaving Ender to mutter and curse.

"You
deserved that," Dev told him, then pressed a few buttons on the computer
in front of him to make sure the helo was waiting to take the men to their next
location. Dev sighed.

As
much as he hated to admit it, Ender was right—if Dev himself went, he'd be
risking too much.

Taking
over as head of ACRO meant spending less and less time out in the field. It
worked the same way in the military, and Dev missed the rush of the fight, the
tense way the men in front of him waited for action, like animals waiting to
strike at a moment's notice.

"Both
you and Wyatt are going in on this one. More if we need them," Dev said.

Wyatt
was a former SEAL—he could relate to Remy the way only another member of the
teams could. Ender, of course, could relate to no one, but he was a damned fine
operative. And Dev thought about calling in Annika as well—her special brand of
electricity might well help rein in Remy's powers somewhat.

"Do
you want us to take care of Itor or just bring Remy in?" Wyatt asked.

That
was the million-dollar question. Because as badly as Dev wanted Remy safe and
sound, within the confines of this compound, until he had learned enough about
his own powers to protect himself and the world around him sufficiently, Dev
also knew that Remy needed to prove himself to the most important person of
all—himself.

A
man's got to come in on his own terms
,
his father used to say, and Dev understood that. The military men especially
needed to walk in, pride intact and ready to rock hard into this new phase of
their life.

The
ones who hadn't been given the choice, who'd been shunned and stripped of
responsibilities because of their powers, had the harder transition. Rather
than just sinking into the warmth of a place where they could finally be
accepted—and not be all that different—they grew suspicious. Ill-tempered. Hard
to control.