Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) (11 page)

Hours later, Sanctuary’s far northern perimeter

“Sabotage?” DJ looked at Ace whose light blue eyes had turned dark with anger.

“Looks like.”

She frowned and watched him work over the cable, his hands steady even though his body practically pulsed with his rage. “Wouldn’t you or someone have seen red blinkie lights?”

“No red lights. No outside intruders set off any alarms.”

The only conclusion was—“That means someone had a badge or an implant.”

“Yeah,” Ace growled the word, his expression dark. “Keely and I will figure out who it was. Process of elimination. It sure as hell won’t fucking happen again.”

DJ wanted to pat him on the back, tell him it wasn’t his fault. But he wasn’t ready to hear that. The system had been created to reveal intruders, not point fingers at authorized personnel.

Ace finished splicing the cable back together. “That’ll hold until I can lay new cable between the arrays.” He looked toward the west. “Can’t do much more today. A front is coming in.”

“The weather report didn’t mention one.” DJ helped Ace pack up his tools.

“Weather changes fast up here.”

The gusts of wind on the leading edge of the frontal system came on suddenly, strong enough to blow the both of them off the precarious ledge. While they had on climbing harnesses and had tied off on the pitons mounted in the rock wall, even an unexpected, short fall could dash them against the jagged rocks and hurt them severely.

After one particularly potent blast of wind, Ace placed himself between DJ and the edge. “Definitely time to go.” He spoke into his headset to be heard over the howling winds. “You rappel down first. I’ll be right behind you.”

“See ya at the bottom.” DJ turned her back to the ledge, gathered her line in her gloved hands, and took a little jump backwards. As she descended, she kicked off the side of the mountain in three-to-four foot sections. She only had to walk her way laterally across the mountain wall to avoid sharp crags twice.

Even with the increasingly bad weather, the descent was straightforward for someone with her expertise. Ace had picked great locations for all the arrays, making the job of checking on the perimeter security system lifelines easy enough even for even a moderately experienced climber.

When she reached the bottom, something tugged on the sleeve of her jacket. She looked down and spotted the jagged tear from a bullet even before she heard a crack of a gunfire muffled somewhat by the snow. She unhooked the lines and began to run. “Ace. Shots. Get to cover.”

“You hit?” His normally smooth baritone had turned gritty.

“Caught my sleeve. Can’t tell how bad.” DJ moved away from the base of the mountain and toward the shelter of the trees where the snowmobiles were parked. “You okay?”

Several more cracks of gunfire sounded. The bullets hit around her, sending up snow and chips of rock flying. She ran a zig-zag pattern but still felt several pieces of rock hit her body hard enough to feel through her snow gear.

The snow started to fall more heavily.
Thank you, Jesus.
With the lower visibility, DJ’s white snow gear would blend more easily into the terrain, but Ace was a sitting duck on the side of the mountain.

“Ace? Answer me. You okay?” As she moved from rock to shrub to rock, she stopped and let off several shots in the general direction from which the sniper’s shots had come. There was no way she could hit a target she couldn’t see, but maybe the fucker would concentrate on her position and leave Ace alone. “Ace, answer me.” Her breathing was choppy from exertion and, yes, fear for him.

“He’s not shooting at me.” Ace’s voice was a low snarl filed with anger, frustration, and worry—for her. “You’re his target.”

Then what sounded like a small explosion boomed in the narrow pass between the two mountain peaks. As the echoes of the blast were carried away on the wind, a loud roar filled the air.

She’d heard that sound before—

Shots hit all around her crew and Andy’s MARSOC team like a vicious hail storm. The Taliban snipers had them pinned down. Men shouted, screamed, cursed, and fired at the enemy they couldn’t see, but who could see them. Then the rumble and roar of the massive snow overhang letting loose. Avalanche! The shooting had triggered it. Snow, trees, and rocks barreled down the mountain at more than a hundred miles an hour. Turning, she shouted—

“Avalanche.” The voice wasn’t hers this time and it pulled her out of the nightmarish flashback which had frozen her in place. “Move that sweet ass, DJ.”

Reacting instantly to the command in Ace’s voice, DJ left the cover of the rock she’d hid behind and zig-zagged through the knee-high snow. She still had someone shooting at her. She had to make him work for the kill.

Two more shots pinged off rocks around her. She spotted, then dove for a crevice in the mountain that looked to be large enough to take her body—barely.

Just as she wiggled inside the narrow opening, the first deluge of rocks, debris, and snow hit, pummeling the side of her still a bit exposed. She gasped as pain shot up and down the arm that had been tagged by the sniper’s bullet—grunted when something hard and sharp hit her hip. Sucking in a frantic breath, she managed to thrust herself completely into protective bosom of the mountain.

Sandwiched on three sides by rock, she turned her face away from the crashing snow and detritus, toward the back of her rock shelter. This gave her a little bit of breathing space. The avalanche quickly walled her into the mountain just as effectively as the brick wall had trapped the poor soul in Poe’s
The Cask of Amontillado.

It was cold and dark in the cave. Andy had shoved her inside and pulled Dev in with him. Others in Andy’s team must’ve made it, because she heard men calling out names. Then—

“DJ! Where the fuck are you?”Ace barked into her ear; his voice, a mixture of authority and apprehension.

She shuddered and tried to shove her memories into the “done and over” file in her mind, but sensed them hovering in the periphery. The past would take her over again before she was out of this mess. This was one of her worst fucking nightmares resurrected—right behind the night she’d been raped.

“Dahlia Jane, answer me!” There was alarm in his voice now.

“Um … in the mountain?” God, was that meek, wimpy voice hers? She turned her face toward the way out—praying she’d been wrong about the wall of snow. Nope. It was there, maybe a small hole near the top, but she was effectively trapped with no room to maneuver or to dig herself out. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Snowed into the side of the mountain. In a crevice. I have air … sort of.” She went light-headed for a split-second when she couldn’t seem to catch her next breath.

Stop panicking, Dahlia Jane. Ace will get you out.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The dizziness dissipated.

“Stop talking. Calm your breathing.” He should talk. His breaths came fast and loud over the headset. God bless technology. The earpiece and mic were her connection to her partner, her anchor … to the now and not the past. “The avalanche is over. I’m coming down to get you out.”

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She shivered, the wetness made her feel colder than she already was. “The sh-sh-ooter?” She clenched her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.

“Stop talking.” He let out a breathy curse. “Fuck. Sorry, not swearing at you, just the situation. God, sugar, I never would’ve brought you—”

“Shut it, Ace.” She shook her head at the amount of responsibility these Walsh men took upon their shoulders for actions not wholly under their control. Dev must’ve apologized a hundred times as they’d dug out of that cave in Afghanistan. “It’s not your—”

“Hush. Conserve your air. For now, tap the mic once for
yes
, and twice for
no
.” He paused. “Shooter’s gone. When I catch the mother-fucker, he’s dead.”

He’d do it, too. She’d learned a lot about Stuart Allen Walsh in the past week and quadrupled that knowledge working alongside him today. He was just as much of an alpha-male as his brothers. When men like the Walshes were pissed and worried, their protectiveness shot into the stratosphere. She had no doubt Ace would get her out of the mountain and then he’d find and go after the man or men who’d put her in danger.

Of course, she’d be right there with him, covering his ass. They were partners.

The whole day had been a continuation of the partnership dance he’d initiated between the two of them from the first day they’d met. Over the last week, he’d tested her skill sets while subtly taking care of her.

What he may or may not have realized was she’d been doing the same with him ever since the Crawley incident.

Their flying skill sets and physical fitness were superior. Their mountaineering and climbing skills were about equal. Her abilities as a security system technician were rotten, but she was a good assistant and learned fast—and he’d told her as much.

Today, they’d worked as a team from the moment they’d mounted the snow mobiles. By the end of the day, they’d anticipated each other’s moves before they made them. Yeah, today had placed the seal on them as partners, as good friends. She’d trust Ace with her life.

“Sugar, you still doing good?” The wind shrieked over their connection. The sound of his breaths as he exerted himself to get to her was punctuated by the clanking of metal on his rope and harness as he rappelled.

She tapped once.

“Good girl. I’m down on top of the avalanche snow. Shit, what a clusterfuck. Thank God, your subdermal transponder is working. I know exactly where you are.”

“Good.”

She smiled as a Doberman-Pinscher type-snarl came out of his mouth and he muttered, “Hush, Dahlia Jane.”

She frowned. They’d be having words about the use of her full name after they were safe and warm—and after she assessed how his use of her full name—and
sugar
—made her heart stutter.

Normally, she’d chalk the endearment usage as being a Southern thing. Ace’s mother called everyone “sweetie” or “honey.”

But Ace’s
sugar
didn’t sound casual. His voice went softer when he said it. Even when he’d used her full name, there’d been an underlayment of an emotion that touched her in a way no other man had ever managed.

“…can you dig out from the inside? Answer me. Tap yes or no. Now!”

Ace sounded frantic. He must’ve been trying to get a response while she was off wool-gathering.

Head in the game, Dahlia Jane. Snow. Buried alive. Freaking dangerous situation.

DJ tried to maneuver her body to face the outside, but the space could only accommodate her sideways—and it was a tighter fit than she liked. Her round butt and big boobs were smooshed. She’d have bruises and scrapes where her outerwear had been ripped as she’d scrambled to get into the crevice.

Now she knew what canned sardines must feel like.

“I hear you breathing. Give me a yes or no.” His voice pleaded. “Can you dig out from your side?”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she tapped twice.

“Fucking hell. Okay, I see the beginning of the crack above where your signal says you are. I’m digging.” He panted between words. “You’ll soon see more light. Have more air. Just hold on.”

She tapped once and then rested her head back against the cold rock and closed her eyes. She’d lost her cap somewhere and was losing heat through the top of her head at a rapid rate. She couldn’t even move her arms to put her jacket’s hood up.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She focused on breathing slowly. She wiggled her toes in her boots and shook her hands in order to keep her extremities warm and ready to move when called upon. A pain in her left arm made itself known as a throbbing ache. In the good news-bad news columns, the hole the bullet had made in her outerwear let in just enough cold, damp air to numb the wound. The bad news was, it let in the cold, damp air and set her to shivering.

For now, she was okay. But if Ace didn’t get her out soon, she’d be in danger of hypothermia and eventually shock.

Behind her closed lids, images streamed on an infinite loop, dragging her back once again—

Two Marines dead. Crushed or suffocated by the snow and rocks. Those who survived finally dug out of the snowy tomb. Then a shooting battle ensued as the cold, tired, bruised survivors fought and clawed their way back to the place she and her crew had hidden the Hawk. Then she got them in the air. A strafing run to take out the terrorist snipers’ nests. Dodging surface-to-air missiles. Snow and death.

DJ stifled a moan. No use upsetting Ace. She wasn’t in that kind of danger now, not even close. All she had to do was stay calm and wait. Ace would get her out.

Even behind her closed lids, she sensed the area around her becoming lighter. A wisp of air over her cheek had her turning her head to see Ace’s gloved hand digging from the top down.

Relief and something else, something more intimate, swept through her. She blinked tears out of her eyes. “Hey, Ace.” She took a deep breath to get past the lump of emotion clogging her throat. “I see your hand.”

His hand disappeared and was replaced by his eyes peering through the small opening he’d made. His glacier blue eyes were filled with too many emotions to name. “Hey there. This is going to take a bit. You okay?” His voice was level and matter of fact.

“I’m super.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Have you called in the attack?” She turned her head to face the rock wall so she wouldn’t get a permanent crick in her neck.

“Yeah. Price was in the Bat Cave. He spotted the bogey. He was about to call us…” Ace’s breathing was only slightly elevated as he dug at her snow prison at a pace that would kill a less physically fit man. “…I reported the shots and the avalanche as they happened. Price and Trey went after the motherfucker. But the bastard had already left Sanctuary land, and he lost them in the national forest lands.”

Ace had to be tired, but never slowed once in his digging. It had been a long day of physically grueling work in cold, high-altitude conditions for both of them. Then this had happened.