Chapter 3
Cricket
On my motorcycle with my duffle bag strapped to the back, I follow Colonel Packard through an unmanned gate into an old logistics complex with a giant dilapidated warehouse and abandoned shipping bays for semi-trucks.
The compound is deceptively low security, but I clock the cameras in the trees as soon as we drive down the asphalt road that is in desperate need of repair.
We park on the side of a khaki airplane hangar similar to the ones the US military built in the Middle East. Inside, I’m betting there are rows of conexes with A/C units hanging off the backs, a single door granting access into each one.
He badges in and I follow through a maze of metal containers, just as I predicted. I’m wearing black tactical pants and a black t-shirt, boots and a web belt, but no weapons besides my blade. They’ll issue me whatever else I need, but as a shifter I rarely use a gun, even if I wear one on my hip.
It’s more about presenting an image to the human operators who expect Special Forces to be armed at all times.
We’re rounding a corner when someone calls Colonel Packard’s name.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Stand by.”
He spins on his heels to address the man calling for him at the same time I catch a scent in the air. The foul, putrid scent of betrayal and heartbreak, causing my belly to tighten and my volatile temper to spike in seconds.
Shit. Now I know what else about this operation I’m not going to like.
Pulling open the door to the command post, I’m face to face with my asshole twin brother—the one who stabbed me in the back, both metaphorically and physically—with nothing but a desk between us.
I have no words, but I don’t need them as I launch myself over the World War II-era fashioned furniture to take him down. Computers tumble to the ground as he and I roll to a stop, my ten extra pounds of muscle giving me a slight advantage.
Pulling back my fist, I connect with his cheekbone, the skin under his eye splintering open.
Blood quickly coats my hand as I land two more punches before he kicks me off and jumps to his feet.
I crouch and leap forward again, tackling him around his midsection and pummeling him into a metal wall locker.
He brings his combined hands down on my back and then hits me in the head with his elbow before bringing his knee up to my face, while I use his midsection as a punching bag.
Before his thigh connects with my nose, I spin with my fingers hooked into his belt loops and throw him across the desk we’ve already cleared. More papers scatter as Colonel Packard throws open the door, his Alpha command breaking through the red haze obstructing my vision.
Three guys jump on me at the same time two others hold back Crash, who is just as ready to kill me as I am him.
“My office. Now!” Colonel Packard barks and exits without another word.
I’d love to tell him to go fuck himself, but his Alpha command is one I can’t disobey, even after all of these years away from him. Glaring at my twin, I shake off the two humans and one shifter holding me back, and exit the command post to follow the Colonel for my first ass chewing of the day.
With my twin here, I know it won’t be my last.
I can’t believe Packard ambushed me like this. Even if he doesn’t know our detailed history, he had to have known that calling me in to work with Crash wouldn’t go well, considering what he said to me last night.
What is Crash even doing here? When did he join SpecOps Sierra? And why didn’t anybody tell me?
I throw open Packard’s door and snarl, “I’m fucking out of here.”
“You will address me as you would your commanding officer, Cricket,” he snarls back.
“You’re not my commanding officer unless you’re paying for me.” I throw my hands up in the air, desperate to punch something or someone else. “You knew what would happen and still you ambushed me with this shit?”
“Would you have come any other way?”
“If you told me that my douche bag twin brother was here? No! No fucking way I would be here right now.”
“Exactly why I couldn’t tell you. And I am paying for you today, so I am your commanding officer right now, and you will address me with the fucking respect my thirty years deserve!” He slams his fist on his desk, causing a coffee mug to jump off the edge and shatter on the ground.
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I do it again. And one more time for my sanity. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s Sierra and my XO.”
My jaw drops. “He’s your XO? When did that happen?”
“When I recruited him out of college four years ago.” Colonel Packard sits down, his jaw moving back and forth as his eyes narrow on me.
I do the math. And then I do it again because shit ain’t mathing. “He graduated four years ago. I’ve only been out for two.”
“I’m aware.”
“Was he active when I was active?” It’s not fucking possible.
Packard sighs and motions toward a chair that I refuse to take. “When I went to recruit him, he let me know the two of you were not on good terms and, therefore, did not think it was a good idea to join us. I guaranteed him you wouldn’t have to deal with each other.”
“So he knew where I was, but I didn’t know where he was?”
Packard flicks his canine with his tongue, his gaze unflinching and unapologetic. “Yes.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I hiss.
“Let me remind you why you are here—”
“Oh, I fucking remember. I’m the decoy! So my ass gets shot in place of him? Sounds about fucking right.”
The object of my hatred walks through a different door than the one I came through, putting him on the other side of Packard’s desk, just out of reach. He’s got his blond hair cut short, but I’m temporarily satisfied by the bloody cut on his cheek and lip.
He stands at parade rest behind Packard’s chair, which is more irksome than I would’ve guessed.
Fuck Crash and his military bearing.
“I told you this wouldn’t work, Colonel,” he says with no emotion, which slices deeper than I’d like to admit.
“Go fuck yourself!” I bark.
“Sir,” he smirks. “Go fuck yourself, sir. I am a college-educated officer after all.”
I lurch forward and Packard shoots up out of his seat, fisting my shirt and holding me in place. “For fuck’s sake! We’re trying to recapture and protect shifter children. Your bullshit is almost a decade old. Figure it out or bury it deep. I don’t care which!”
Putting my hands up, I back down as Packard pushes me away. “How many children?”
Crash stares at me for a good five seconds before answering. “Currently, there have been fifteen children reported missing out of four closed communities. We’re checking in with all of them to make sure there aren’t more.”
My eyes go down to the desk because looking at him hurts too badly.
It’s been eight years since I last saw him, give or take a few months.
I caught him sneaking out of the house with a duffle bag in his hand.
When I asked him to stay so we could talk it out—that it was all a big misunderstanding—he attacked and buried a three-inch knife between my shoulder blades, barely missing my spine.
I couldn’t reach it on my own, couldn’t pull it out, and our mother worked nights—so I crawled into our living room and laid there until she came home.
Only a few days later did I learn he’d emptied our college fund and our shared savings account, leaving me with less than nothing when several bills came due and there were insufficient funds to cover them.
He’s the reason I petitioned for a spot on the SpecOps team.
It was the only way I could afford to keep a roof over our mother’s head after he disappeared from our lives and found himself a cozy spot in a freshman dorm at the university.
The same school we were supposed to go to together.
By the time I was done with boot camp and SpecOps training, I didn’t care to find him.
He could rot in hell, for all I cared.
And I stand by that feeling today.
“Crash is our lead in this investigation. He’s been paired with an HSI agent.
The two of them will go in as buyers, making contact and building trust with middle men.
We can’t pull a rescue mission without blowing up all other facets of this operation, and we can’t tell the other agencies why we care so much about these children.
Crash has to be in front of the men when these kids are set free,” Packard continues, his eyes on me while my brother remains the picture of military decorum at parade rest behind him.
Fuck, that really pisses me off.
Crash wanted nothing to do with the military. He was the one who said we had to go to college to change our trajectories.
Now I see he did both. His dream and mine.
“You expect me to save him from being killed?” I arch my brow and bring my eyes to Crash’s. “I wouldn’t put money on me risking my neck for his.”
Packard sighs. “You, Cricket, have the skills and experience to get in and out of any facility undetected.”
I narrow my eyes, a million complaints on my tongue. If this was just about getting in and out undetected, Kade, Wiley, Sly, or Erick could do this.
They have stealth. Kind of.
“And you’re the fastest and most cunning out of my contractors.
Plus, you are identical twins. If you’re seen, hopefully they’ll drop their guard because they’ll think you’re him.
This should be a no-brainer,” he adds, as if he can hear my thoughts, which technically he could, if I was projecting them.
“You’re an asshole,” I think, my eyes set on Crash while testing our telepathic bond that hasn’t been used in a long time.
He smirks but says or thinks nothing.
“I heard that.” Packard leans back in his chair and rubs his brow. “What’s your answer, Cricket?”
Tearing my eyes off Crash, I look at my old commander, the one who taught me most of what I know today.
He is also the only pseudo-father figure I’ve ever had—one I didn’t think I had to share with my brother.
“How long will this take and how much of that time do I have to spend with dickhead here?”
“We have our first meeting set for this evening. You’ll be in disguise at that one, acting as security for Crash and Doralee.
There’s an auction in two days at an undisclosed location.
Then another two days after that. And then another two days after that.
We don’t know how many detention centers there are, so we have to be at all of them.
The auction is international with the promise that they will ship the children at a later time, but each auction gives us a chance to download the bidders and put them on our hit list. One of your jobs will be to tag the shifter kids, so we can separate them from the other children when the time comes. ”
My head snaps back, and my eyes dance between Crash and Packard. “We’re not leaving the other children behind.”
Packard’s eyes drop and I see the weariness I noted last night. “Our priority is finding and releasing our own kind. DHS will focus on the rest of the children.”
Biting my lip I close my eyes, not liking that answer in the slightest.
Also, I notice he didn’t answer my question.
Exactly how much time do I have to spend with dickhead?
“Fine. I’ll stay for the kids,” I say through clenched teeth. “Where am I bunking? It better not be with him.”
Packard stands and grabs his keys. Without saying a word he dismisses Crash, who walks out the same door he entered. “I’ll take you to the barracks. We’ll stop by the commissary on the way.”
“How many people are here?”
“We have three agencies plus us, so twenty-five people. Some of them have been here for weeks. They set up the computers you destroyed within minutes of being here, so I suspect you’ll be popular by noon.
” I follow him out of the office and he waves his hand to indicate all the transportation containers used as offices.
“Each agency has a soundproof office, and there is the command post with our briefing area. The less we come and go from this facility, the better.”
“I noticed the cameras in the trees. What about the barracks?” I’m thinking this will be a lot like some of the more established locations in the Middle East.
“There are two airplane hangars for equipment, offices, and a gym, and the warehouse with the receiving dock for living quarters. We have stacked conexes in there, plus communal showers with lockers—shit like that. There are two agency females here: one FBI and one DHS. Commissary trucks in a shipment every Wednesday and Saturday, and there is a cook on-site. It’s not a bad setup for a temporary mission.
” We grab my bag off my Harley, walk around the back of the airplane hangar and up a small flight of stairs to the warehouse door.
“And before you ask again—no, I wouldn’t put the two of you in the same space.
As a contractor, you have your own conex. ”
He turns and flashes me a toothy smile, his fangs on full display. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Great.” I roll my eyes.
He snorts, ignoring my blatant sarcasm. “We have a thirteen hundred tag-up with all agencies. Get settled, eat something, and report back to the command post then.”
“Roger.” I sigh and throw my duffle bag down on the double bed.
Damn, I’m styling. Normally these accommodations come with a twin bed which, although I can almost fit lengthwise, isn’t super comfortable.
It’s even funnier to watch someone like Kade or Erick with their big lumberjack asses try to sleep on them.
Half the time, Kade threw his shit on the floor and made a nest to rack out on.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I grin at a text from Erick.
You alive? Let us know you made it.
Yeah, I’m here. But it’s bad. Really fucking bad.
What’s up?
Crash is here. He’s Packard’s XO and was active duty while we were in. Packard hid him from us.
Who the fuck is Crash?
My brother.
What brother? You’ve never talked about a brother.
It’s a long story. The short version is, he’s still a dick. I walked into the command post. He stood there with a fucking smirk on his face. And I lost it. We went at it and it took five guys to break us up, one of whom is a bear shifter.
Holy fuck, man.
There’s a possibility y’all are going to have to break me out if Packard throws me in the brig for assaulting an officer.
Are you going to assault Packard?
No, man. Crash is an officer.
Oh… shit.
Exactly.