Chapter 18
Cricket
My phone rings, and I fumble to pull it out of my pocket. It slips out of my hand and bounces across the asphalt.
Crash picks it up, glances at the screen, and hits the speaker. “Doralee?”
“Mr. Pumarston?”
“Who is this?” Crash replies as I fight to stand up, my gut twisted in painful knots.
“Please understand, I don’t want to hurt Agent Baker.
If you had stayed out of this operation, everything would have gone as planned.
But considering our inventory stalled on Highway 287, and my drivers signalled they’re under attack, I’m assuming you have something to do with it—or at the very least will fix my problem for the woman you claim to love in this sweet message.
Do you, Cricket? May I call you Cricket?
Do you love Doralee enough to save her life? ”
Crash answers for me without hesitation, his eyes locked with mine. “Yes.”
“Then my inventory needs to be secured before law enforcement arrives. Are my driver’s alive?”
“They are.”
“Let them go, and when they arrive at their scheduled stop, I’ll give you directions to the location of your love.
But hurry. While I don’t want to hurt Agent Baker, I have two men here who are dying for a taste of her.
I’m holding them off for now, but any bullshit on your end, and I’ll strip her bare myself. ”
The call disconnects. A red haze fills my vision, my current reality fragmenting into a million pieces as my mind and my instinct scramble to come up with a plan.
Sly shakes me alert. “Cricket, where is she? Which direction are we heading? Tap into your bond and tell us where we are going!”
I don’t know how he knows about the bond, but his urgency helps me tune everything else out, to include the panic building in my chest. I focus on her face in my mind, the taste of her blood, her skin, and her sweet pussy on my tongue, the burning pain in my chest and stomach, and open my eyes to look north.
“She’s near the compound, somewhere in Dunham. ”
“Good.” Sly nods, smacking Erick on the arm. He turns to Crash. “We haven’t met, but I’m commandeering a chopper.”
“You can fly?” Crash asks.
“Yes.”
“So can I. I guess I’m your co-pilot.”
Erick nods, “I’m coming too, but first, what are we going to do about these trucks? Obviously they are being tracked and possibly surveilled.”
“I got it,” Junta says from the ground beside us, dressed and digging in his bag of tricks.
He’s our tech guy, as well as a wolf shifter, and has been the one to get us new identifications as needed.
He also created new identities for Wiley’s mate and her child when they were on the run from her abusive ex a few months ago.
“We don’t have time to sweep the vehicles, so we’ll throw signal jammers into each cab.
Axis will knock out and secure the drivers in the second cab, leaving the lead driver alert and restrained in the passenger seat until we get back to MirMax. ”
“You can’t head to MirMax until I have Doralee.” My cat surges forward as if he’s threatened her.
“We understand.” He nods and takes a step back from me.
“It’s okay, Cricket.” Sly gathers the rest of my clothes and shoves them into my chest. “Time to go.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Junta.” Crash jogs after us toward the helicopter, projects over his shoulder.
“Pitch, park the truck and fly the second chopper back to MirMax.”
“Roger, sir.” Pitch projects back.
We climb into the chopper. Sly slides into the pilot seat and flips a bunch of switches, the blades overhead whirling to life as we all throw on special headsets that protect our acute hearing from the high-pitched whine of the rotary blades. “How’s Doralee, Cricket? Is she still in pain?”
Closing my eyes, I reach out to her. “No. No pain. Anger. She’s fucking furious.”
That fills me with relief, even though it does nothing to dissipate my own anger.
I’m going to rip these assholes to shreds, pull out their bowels, and paint the concrete with their blood.
I’ve never been this angry—or as desperate—in my life, and I know nothing short of holding her in my arms will make it go away.
“That’s good, man. Focus on her. We’ll get as close as we can and then have to find her the old fashion way.”
It takes over an hour to fly to Dunham, and it’s made harder by the tension radiating off of four shifters in the cabin.
Crash didn’t hesitate to step up, but maybe that’s more for Doralee than it is for me.
Regardless, Erick and Sly already want to take a chunk out of his ass for the little they know about him, and I’m betting once silence filled the air, Crash regretted not commandeering his own chopper.
“What do you feel, Cricket?” Sly asks as we get close.
“Anger. Lots of anger. And…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Fear.”
“It’s okay, man,” Erick interjects. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Where is she? Can you sense her in one direction over another?”
“Keep going north toward the compound. I think she’s at the compound.”
“Shit,” Crash answers. “Sly, follow the main road north. There’s an abandoned gas station on the edge of town. Land there. The compound is another three miles up the road. I’ll text Castor and let him know to meet us outside.”
“If Castor is alive,” I mumble while removing the headset so I can rip my shirt over my head. Let’s face it, if whoever was on the phone is confident enough to bring her back there, what are the chances any of the other agents are alive?
Crash turns around to look at me. “What are you doing? You have to walk in there as a human.”
“I’m saving my mate, and the best way to do that is to charge in there as a cougar. Plus, it’ll be a lot quicker on my paws!” I snap.
“How are you going to open the door, asshole?” Crash snaps back.
Well, fuck me. He’s got me there.
I put the headset back on as Erick speaks out loud.
“We go as we are, gentlemen. Once we’re inside, if one or all of us need to shift, we’ll deal with it then.
The fewer agents we have to kill, the better.
If we turn a sanctioned multi-agency task force into a bloodbath, Packard is going to be asked questions,” Erick growls low in his throat.
“We can beat the shit out of each other later, but right now, we focus on what’s important.
Rescuing Doralee and whomever else is innocent. ”
Sly lands behind the abandoned gas station, and although the chopper is not hidden, the building shields it from any gawkers who may be traveling down the road.
I pull my shirt on and slide a pistol in the hip holster of my web belt while strapping an M4 across my back.
“Who’s the best shot?” Erick holds two M24s in his hands.
Sly holds out his hand for one while Crash takes the other.
When I cock a brow in his direction, he frowns. “I’m an expert marksman.”
“What’s your score?” Sly gets a mischievous grin on his face.
“Thirty-eight,” Crash answers. “Yours?”
“Thirty-seven. Impressive, Lieutenant.”
My twin blushes. “Thanks.”
“Come on.” I flash him a small smile. “We can compare dick sizes later.”
We jog along the side of the road and duck into the bushes when we see the gate entrance.
Crash points to the trees. “Two cameras—one sits at ten o’clock from the shack, thirty feet in the air on a pole. Do you see it?”
“Yep, is that mine?” Sly asks.
“Yes, I’ll take the other one.”
With both cameras down, we run as a unit into the compound, circling the airplane hangar to listen for voices. There are several black SUVs parked in our lot, one of which my cougar stood on the hood of while some asshole shit his pants.
I think the guard called him Sethegh, and if he’s here, I’ll kill him slowly.
“Over here.” Crash projects to us. The back door of the second hangar is ajar and leads into the makeshift gym. We slip in undetected, but voices carry over the containers and echo faintly off the vacuous ceiling.
“What do you mean we don’t have eyes on? Did you send a reboot command?”
…
“Get it fixed!” A metal door slams shut, muting all voices, even for shifter hearing.
I sniff the air and follow my mate’s scent to the left of the building.
Crash is giving direction despite my movement. “Clear a row; we’ll reconvene in the center.”
My pistol is in front of me as I take the far left row, passing multiple containers before faint voices seep through the seals on the container doors.
“Bet you wished you’d fucked me now, huh?”
I know that voice—it’s Donnie Rumpert. I told him if he looked at her, much less addressed her in anything other than a respectful manner, I’d hand him his entrails. Looks like that will happen this morning.
“And here I thought you were another frigid bitch, but you spread your legs easily enough for the SpecOps guy. Did you want to ride the lieutenant’s cock but couldn’t, so you jumped his doppelg?nger the second he presented himself?”
Doralee says in a muffled voice, “Go fuck yourself.”
My blood pressure spikes as I feel her anger mix with disgust, and I envision him touching her bound and gagged body.
“I hope your boy fucks up so Lucas will let me have you. I know Sethegh wants a taste too, but that punk ass bitch can take my sloppy seconds.”
“That’s enough,” the voice from the phone says—someone I assume is named Lucas. “Leave her alone.”
“Fine,” Rumpert grumbles. “I’m going to grab some shuteye.”
“Don’t wake any of the analysts or support staff. We don’t want to kill anyone we don’t have to. It’s already going to be messy explaining Castor and Caldwell.”
“Are they dead yet?” Rumpert asks.
“I don’t know!” Lucas snaps. “Go check.”
The heavy metal door swings open and closed, and I switch out my gun for my six-inch blade.
Sneaking up behind Rumpert, I wrap my fingers around his throat, cutt off his air, and drag him around the corner.
Hissing in his ear, I let him know exactly who has him.
“I promised you’d be holding your intestines when you die, but that will have to be postmortem, because I don’t have time for you right now. ”
Without another word, I shove my blade under his ribs and pierce his lungs before crushing his windpipe and snapping his neck.
“Who’d you get?” Sly projects, either hearing something or scenting the fresh blood pooling at my feet.
“Rumpert. I’m making a move on Doralee’s location now.”
“I found the FBI agents. They are in awful shape,” Erick adds.
“We need to find the two traders, Vantz and Sethegh, and their security,” Crash adds.
“If they are not in here, they might bunk in the warehouse. Rumpert felt comfortable enough to go to bed.”
Using Rumpert’s sleeve to wipe the blood off my blade before sheathing it, I palm my pistol and swing open the door, pouncing in and quickly putting a bullet between the eyes of a guy I’ve never seen before.
Doralee blinks up at me with wide eyes, her screams muffled by the gag wrapped around her head.
“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.” Reholstering my weapon, I dash across the mostly empty container to the far wall.
Her wrists are bound between her knees to a barbell with two-hundred and fifty pounds loaded on it, and her ankles are zip tied individually to the heaviest weights, forcing her legs to be spread open.
I swear to Fates, if she tells me Rumpert was the one to truss her up this way, I’ll desecrate his corpse like I originally promised.
Thank god she has her suit pants still on, or I might actually lose control of my cat.
Using my blade, I cut through the overkill of zip ties—six in total—and pull her into my arms while she rips the gag off her mouth.
“Cricket!” she half gasps, half sobs into my neck.
“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you,” I say again, the feel of her whole body a soothing balm. “Which asshole did I just shoot?”
“Agent Lucas. He’s my boss at DHS.” She sniffles, quickly pulling herself together. “I guess he’s part of the crime network and put me on this task force to take the fall when the operation failed. Melon was here to report back on me.”
“And Rumpert?”
“They were frat brothers in college. I’m not sure if Bennett is involved, but I’m pretty sure the FBI was not. They attacked Castor and shot Caldwell.”
“Yeah, we found them. They are going to need to be air-evaced out of here.”
“They’re still alive?”
“Reportedly.” I press a kiss to her forehead and pull back. “Are you hurt? Can you walk? Run?”
“I’m not running.” She shakes her head and pushes me back. “Help me stand so I can grab my gun and take these assholes down.”
I stand and pull her to her feet, but I hold on tighter. “I have to get you out of here, Doralee. You are the only thing that matters.”
“Cricket, I’m a trained field agent. I can handle myself.”
Unfair words are on the tip of my tongue—a need to point out that I’m here now to save my mate—when gunfire rings throughout the industrial building.
“We have six bogeys coming from both the front and rear entrances. Heavily armed!” Erick bellows telepathically, a hint of pain in his tone.
“Are you hit?” Sly barks back.
“Grazed my arm. It’s nothing I can’t work through.”
I shove my pistol into Doralee’s hands and swing my M4 to my chest. “Please, Doralee, if you love me, stay here.”
Pressing a kiss to her lips, I run out of the container without waiting for her answer and project to my team. “Going high. Where are you, Crash?”
“I’m also high near the right front entrance,” my twin says.
I lock eyes with him crouched low on a far container. He’s stripping off his clothes and preparing to shift.
Nodding, I project to Sly and Erick, “Crash and I will take them from on high in our animals. I’ll cover the back entrance while Crash has the front.”
“Roger,” both Sly and Erick respond.
I quickly strip and shift, leaping silently from one container to the next, clocking three bogeys, as well as Sly who looks up to meet my eyes. “One on the other side to the left. Two more coming around the corner two rows down.”
He rushes forward, shooting one guy in the back of the head with his suppressed pistol. I leap two containers forward, growling out loud when I catch Doralee tiptoeing between two containers with my gun pointed in front of her, walking toward one of the two bogeys.
She looks up and gasps, swinging my gun at me.
“Shit! Doralee is in motion,” I project as one bogey turns the corner and points his gun at her back. Instinct takes over, and I leap down on him, my fangs sinking into his shoulder while he gets off one excruciatingly loud shot.