Chapter Thirteen
WOLF KICKED BACK in the rocking chair, bracing one booted foot on the porch railing, letting the soothing darkness of early morning wash over him. The porch was attached to the double-wide modular house his mother still called home. It had been his home once too, back before Jude had shown him a whole new, often violent world.
He’d fitted right into the life Jude had introduced him to. Took to the lifestyle like he’d been born into it—which he had. Born and bred for war. His ancestors had been warriors for hundreds of years, as far back into the old times as written and spoken accounts allowed.
Wolf lifted a glass of iced tea to his lips, imagining the endless vista daylight would reveal. The wide-open prairie with knee-high grass that bowed in the hot wind. The flatness of the land was broken by only the distant bulk of cattle, and the clusters of trees and shrubs that were given life by the Little Wind River.
The hoot of an owl echoed through the darkness, followed by the distant knicker of a horse. The scent of manure, grass, and dust filled his nostrils. The sounds and smells were familiar yet not. Images from a dream or a life lived eons earlier.
His mother’s father had owned this land, all seventeen hundred acres of it. Back then they’d raised cattle and horses. With his grandfather’s death, the land and house had passed to his mother . . . and to Jude.
But his nesi had chosen a different life, one inside concrete walls and tunnels instead of endless, wind-scuffed grass. One of adrenaline highs and midnight ambushes instead of long days under a blistering sun.
The last of the Eaglesbreath cattle had been sold before Wolf left high school. His mother leased the land now, collecting monthly revenue without working the land herself. Between the lease revenue, the monthly checks from the oil companies, plus the money he funneled into her bank account, she got by okay.
Taking another sip of his tea, he set the rocker gliding. It was still warm on the porch even though it was more night than morning and borderline fall. The scorching, dry wind was gentler in September—known as the tenth moon, or the moon of the drying grass.
The porch light came on, the light so bright it burned his eyes. At the squeak and flap of the porch door opening and closing, the honey-colored mutt lying beside his rocking chair lifted its head, golden eyes alert.
“I see you’ve met Molly,” his mother said. “You should be honored. She avoids most people.”
Wolf dropped a hand and scratched the dog’s ears. “Golden retriever?”
“Who knows.” With a shrug, his mother dropped into the second rocking chair beside him.
This he remembered too. The two of them rocking on the porch together.
It was a memory that pleased him.
With both sneaker-clad feet braced on the porch floor, she set the rocker moving. The tail of her thick graying braid, which hung over her shoulder and across her breasts, flickered with each push of her feet. “She’s a stray. Found her way here a few months back.”
Of course she had. His mother’s house was twenty-four klicks from the nearest neighbor and forty-three klicks from Horse Tail, the nearest town. Yet dogs and cats, along with the occasional goat, pig, and horse, constantly found their way to her door.
“How many strays you taking care of now?” Wolf asked, glancing at the half dozen dogs and cats napping on the porch. The dogs ranged in size from squeak toy to miniature horse. Long and short hair. Solid to mottled colors. The only things they had in common were full bellies and content eyes.
“Counting the one you just brought me?”
Wolf turned his head and scanned his mother’s high cheekbones and oval face. Her comment had been a tease, but she wasn’t wrong. Jillian was a stray.
“I knew you would care for her as well as you care for your four-legged children.” He looked around the packed porch, filled with the canine and feline lives she’d saved.
He could only hope she’d save Jillian as well.
She laughed, a deep belly laugh, and sent her chair rocking again. His mother never held her emotions in. She loved hard, laughed hard, cried hard, screamed rage when the anger needed releasing. What you saw was what you got.
Half Eastern Shoshone and half Northern Arapaho, her heritage had combined to forge a beautiful woman. She’d inherited the oval facial features from her Shoshone mother and the high cheekbones from her Arapaho father. The dark, liquid eyes had come from both, as had the thick, gleaming black hair. As a boy he’d recognized her beauty more by the constant stream of admirers than by his own eyes.
Her hair was streaked with gray now, her face weathered by sun and wind, but she was still a beautiful woman.
She rarely spoke of Wolf’s father. He’d broken her heart when he’d left her behind. He’d almost broken her spirit when he’d married the white woman—Kait and Aiden’s mother. What he’d learned of his father had come from Jude, Kait, and Aiden.
She’d never remarried, never bonded with another man. If she’d had sexual relationships with other men, he’d never been aware of it as a boy.
Had she loved only the once?
“She will fare well here, this woman of yours.” She shot him a sly and satisfied smile.
He hadn’t told her what Jillian was to him, but she knew. He’d never brought a woman to his mother before. Never shared his childhood home with an outsider. His mother didn’t care about the color of Jillian’s skin or her heritage. She cared only that the son she’d feared would never gift her with grandchildren had committed to someone.
Even if that someone was white and locked in the spirit world.
She’d waited eighteen years for this day, and he could see the joy brimming in her. Feel her expectations.
Perhaps bringing Jillian here had been a mistake. If they couldn’t tempt her from the half life, his mother would carry the pain alongside him. It had taken him eighteen years to find Jillian. There would be no other woman for him. He knew this. Just as there had been no other man for his mother. Just as there had been no other woman for Jude after his fiancée’s murder.
Jude’s Rachel had died well before Wolf’s birth, but he’d heard what had happened. The vengeance his nesi had rained down on the drug dealers who’d taken his Rachel was still legend among the hinono’eiteen.
Those of the Eaglesbreath family loved hard and once.
There were no second chances.
His head turned at the squeak of the screen door opening, and Jillian stepped onto the porch. She’d come out to join them on her own! A jab of hope hit him. Until he saw her eyes. Her hollow, lost eyes.
“She wanted out,” Jillian said, her voice that dead monotone. She waved an absent hand at the furry, golden bundle pressed against her knee.
The dog, a carbon copy of the one lying beside his chair, had attached itself to Jillian’s side the moment they’d climbed out of the car. You couldn’t even slip a sheet of paper between the two.
“Come, sit with us.” Wolf got to his feet and led Jillian to his chair, his stomach knotting at the frailty of the bones beneath his fingers.
She didn’t protest, just sat down with apathy, the cherrywood of the rocker swallowing her slight frame. Folding her hands, she stared out at the cattle in the distance, her expression vacant. Her canine shadow of golden curled into a fluffy ball at her feet.
“I’ll get you some tea,” he said, forcing the words through his tight throat.
It’s been only two days. Two days. This is not a failure.
Except doubt ate at him.
He’d showed her around Horse Tail, then took her swimming at his boyhood swimming hole out on Little Wind River. He’d introduced her to Billie Two Thorns and Ryan Helmsteader and the other Shadow Mountain warriors who’d left the base when the call of family had grown too strong or their injuries had been too severe to continue serving their teams.
She’d greeted each new experience, each new person, with complete and utter apathy.
Silence and darkness closed around him as he stepped through the screen door. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, simply made his way through the house relying on memory and touch. The kitchen hadn’t changed since the last time he’d been here. The middle cupboard, which held the glasses, still wobbled when he opened the door. The tile counters were still chipped but scrubbed spotless. The table tucked against the east window was still ringed by three chairs. His childhood captured in perpetuity.
He’d just filled two glasses of sun tea and returned the pitcher to the fridge when Jude died.
He didn’t realize for two . . . three . . . heartbeats that Jude was gone, that the link connecting their minds had ruptured. His nesi—no, father—his best friend was agonizingly absent from his mind. There had been no pain, no fear, no goodbye, nothing to warn him—prepare him—for the greatest loss of his life.
Just sudden, complete emptiness where the connection to Jude had been.
His body reacted instinctively. Every muscle clenched. His breath caught. His head swam. His mind screamed in denial.
No. Damn it. No. Not Jude.
He frantically searched the emptiness of his mind.
Nothing.
Jude was gone.
Through the mental web that connected the Shadow Mountain warriors’ consciousness, a roar of disbelief built. A howl of grief. A hundred minds mourning a loss that reverberated so deep it diminished them all.
Eric pulled back Esme’s chair and waited for her to seat herself. It was a simple gesture but one he took great pleasure in performing. Esme deserved the very best of care, and that included small but significant gestures like opening doors for her or seating her at tables.
“Thank—” She tilted her head to direct an appreciative smile up at him, but her words were drowned by the scream of an airliner overhead. He glanced up with a disgusted shake of his head. The noise pollution these days was out of control. He looked forward to when the sky would be reserved for migrating birds rather than these endless airplanes and military jets.
As she lowered her head again, he eyed the vulnerable curve of her neck. He smiled. Sometimes good manners came with perks. Bending, he nuzzled the sweet spot at the nape of her neck.
She shivered, her fingers stilling on the napkin in her lap.
His smile grew. He knew all her sweet spots, the places that made her shiver or sigh—just as she knew all his. But before he could get creative and show her just how well he knew her, his cell phone buzzed against his hip.
He knew who it was before reaching for it.
“That can only be our American friend,” Esme said dryly, echoing his thoughts. “Once again proving his terrible timing.” She sighed and went to work spreading the napkin across her lap. “You might as well take it. It’s for the best, really. I’m famished, and if lunch had continued in the manner it was headed—well, I’d likely perish from malnutrition and overexertion.”
“Yes.” He leaned over to kiss the hollow just below her left ear. “But what a way to perish.”
With a laugh she brushed his mouth away, and Eric straightened, dragging the phone from his pocket. Sure enough, Coulson’s phone number was emblazoned across the screen. After punching the Talk button, he lifted the cell to his ear.
“Coulson.” He shot Esme a conspiratorial smile. “What a surprise.”
“Do you get the West Coast news channels?” Coulson demanded immediately, not bothering with niceties.
“The United States’ West Coast?”
Like most Americans, David Coulson was completely unaware of geography outside his own little neck of the woods. There were dozens of west coasts in the world. America didn’t corner that market by any means—not that you’d know it from listening to its clueless citizens.
“Yes, the US West Coast. Seattle specifically.” Coulson’s voice rose impatiently, totally missing Eric’s subtle message.
“Yes, I can get Seattle’s news, but it will take a few minutes to access the channel. Why don’t you just tell me what you want me to hear? It will save us both time.”
For once his American counterpart didn’t launch into one of his smug, self-aggrandizing sneer campaigns. “Someone broke into Link’s estate last night. Link is missing, his security detail dead.”
Eric froze, the ramifications of the news racing through his mind. “All of his security is dead?”
“There were three on duty, correct?” Coulson said, impatience growing thicker.
“Per shift, yes.”
“Then they took out the night shift. The news is reporting three security officers dead. And Link missing.”
Eric swore softly, rubbing at the sudden throb behind his temples. One of those security officers had been his man. He’d installed someone loyal to him on each shift for exactly this scenario. “My man was under strict orders to take out Link if something like this were to occur.”
He’d also been under strict orders to take the rest of the security team out first, in case they questioned his targeting or agenda. The deaths of the other security guards and Link himself would be shuttled off on the people doing the breaking and entering.
God knew they couldn’t afford to have Link in enemy hands, not with everything he knew about the NRO, the people involved, and their upcoming agendas. Christ, he even knew the date and location of the next meeting.
“Well, it looks like your man failed,” Coulson snapped. His tone implied it wasn’t a surprise—that Eric failed so often it was to be expected.
Eric stiffened, his fingers tightening around the phone. Too bad it wasn’t Coulson’s thick red neck. “We don’t know my guy failed. He could have taken out Link.”
“Right.” A definite sneer rode the tone. “And they decided to make off with Link’s body. For what exactly? You can’t interrogate the dead. There would be no reason to take him unless he was alive.”
Damn it.
There was nothing worse than admitting when someone you despised was right. “I’ll activate the protocols.”
“I’ve already done so,” Coulson said, with gloating satisfaction. “Link has been wiped from the system, and the board is voting on electing Poussey as interim chairman until Link or Embray is deemed fit for duty.”
The protocol, which had been designed to prevent anyone from making a run on Dynamic Solutions if Link were to be assassinated or kidnapped, had been Eric’s baby. His responsibility. A duty that Coulson had apparently usurped.
“Excellent.” Eric forced the word through gritted teeth.
It didn’t matter who pulled the trigger on the protocol. What mattered was that the company was protected. That whoever had kidnapped Link wouldn’t be able to use him to ransack or investigate Dynamic Solutions creations . . . such as clean energy generators that could be repurposed as clean energy bombs.
“We’ll need to alter our plans for the next meeting. Link is aware of the location and host.”
“Agreed.” Coulson sounded bored. “I’ll take it. Since I hosted it last time, it’s unlikely they’ll suspect me of doing so again. Assuming Link is alive and leaking like a damn sieve.” Which his tone said they should both be assuming.
“Who do you think went after him?” Eric asked, his mind turning to the underlying problem.
“Who the fuck do you think?” Coulson retorted. “Either those fucking SEALs or those fucking redskins. Or, hell, both. The attack on our lab indicates they’re working together.”
Eric nodded. His instincts insisted this as well, even though it didn’t make sense. “How would they know Link was working with us?”
Hell, it wasn’t like they sent announcements out when someone joined their organization. Nor did anyone, ever, announce their involvement in the council. The whole damn point of a clandestine organization was to keep it secret.
“How the fuck did they know where the lab was or that we even had the new energy device?” A cold front formed in Coulson’s voice. “We have a fucking leak somewhere.”
After another prolonged massage of his temples, Eric had to agree. “We need to find it and plug it. Permanently.”
Coulson grunted his agreement. “In the meantime, how is the hunt at Denali doing? Any word from your men on the ground over where these bastards are holed up?”
“Nothing.” Eric forced himself to stay calm. No sense in alerting Coulson to his building frustration on that front. “There’s no sign of a non-US military base. And although there is sign of military aircraft, there’s a fucking army base in Anchorage.”
Another grunt traveled down the line, this time a thoughtful one. “I have a guy. He’s motivated. I’ll send him up to poke around.”
Eric shrugged. “Fine.”
The only good thing about adding Coulson to the council was his effectiveness. While brutal, his methods did tend to get the job done. If Coulson’s man could track down the Shadow Mountain crew—or, hell, even Mackenzie and the rest of his damn SEALs—more power to him. They couldn’t afford much more of this interference.
“How’s the manufacturing going?”
“It’s going. We’re on schedule. We need to wait until we have enough in stock to hit everywhere at once. We don’t want a regroup and counterattack.”
“Agreed.” It was the strategy the council had developed as soon as Link had informed them of the clean energy generator’s potential. It was their very best chance of removing enough of the population to make a difference—of achieving what the council had been created to do: to reset the planet, thus preserving it for all the future generations that wouldn’t exist without the sacrifices made in the here and now.