The Omega Team_Spurs Read online

  Isbet smiled. “Well, maybe if I’m still here when you’re feeling better, we can have a race.”

  “Just go.” He smiled back, but his eyes reflected infinite pain. She was so angry with herself for going along with his crazy hiking when he clearly needed rest and then…well, she was angrier with the trespassers—and if they returned or were still on the property, she’d see to it they understood what a bad idea upsetting her was. “And, Isbet? This isn’t over. We have a lot of things to talk about.”

  She paused, unsure if he meant their conversation about her job or what simmered between them. Then hesitated a moment longer. Even with the gun, he was vulnerable. But the only thing she could do was move fast, so, in a move very un-Isbet-like, she returned and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be right back. If you hear anything, crawl into the brush, okay?”

  He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads, but when she made no move to leave, nodded. “You got it. Be careful.”

  Isbet had torn off down the path as if the hounds of Hell nipped at her ankles nearly a half hour before. And maybe they did. What were those people doing in the top pasture, and why did they have the XP427? The Viper or, in its creators’ native language, Vibora. Its bite as poisonous as that of the most venomous serpent, the spur-like barb could cause extreme tissue damage in a very short time, resulting in slow and painful death.

  Rumor had it the designer was a woman named Nina. She’d been educated in the US and was the widow of a drug magnate. But they’d never been able to track her down.

  He’d come so close to death; if Jimbo hadn’t taken extreme action, he’d have been past saving when extraction arrived only twenty minutes later. The doctors didn’t yet have a way to stop its spread past a certain point, and the fact his wound lay so close to a major artery almost sealed his fate. If the weapon became common worldwide, he didn’t even want to think about the results.

  His mouth dry, he realized he’d lost his water bottle somewhere and hadn’t noticed hers in her hands when she left. What a shame.

  He hated that his team continued to battle the menace without him. As the soft thud of Isbet’s boots faded into the birdsong and wind sough, Ryder contemplated his unusual display of chest-beating machismo. The doctors had summoned him one more time before making a final decision on his military career, and, if they saw him now, they’d have no trouble calling it over.

  The damp patch on his jeans grew, but not fast enough for him to think he’d bleed out, and he didn’t care to look at it, so he leaned against the rough pine bark and closed his eyes. Listening worked better. Nobody and nothing would be able to come close to him without his hearing them in the wilderness. Not like the noisy cities and villages of South America where his team even now faced an enemy armed with a weapon like none before it. He’d grown up in the mountains and could recognize a sound that belonged from one of encroachment.

  Ryder gritted his teeth and forced away the images of the night the Vibora shot out of the darkness and into his thigh muscle. It’s fluorescent-yellow ooze burned the skin and the smell…what the hell was in the thing? A nostril-singing combination of bleach and teriyaki sauce. So far, they’d only had the results of its damage to deal with. Nobody had found one intact.

  Until now.

  Opening his eyes, he reached into his pocket—how had he dared to slip it in there?—and drew out the pinwheel-shaped barb. If he hadn’t been hurting so much, he’d have been exultant to find the item. And if it hadn’t been on US soil, on Carmichael Ranch property.

  They knew it was self-propelled and remote operated. According to the short video on the Darknet, the operator stood within a few yards in order to detonate the item. A video! The bastards looked to sell their new nasty toy worldwide but so far as he knew had not made enough of them yet to distribute. At least that had been the theory since they had only been used in a small area of a very small country.

  And now…finally…he could present his superiors with the item they’d sought and the bad news that the XP427 had reached the US. Would his evil prize convince them to put him back in the fight? He shifted and pain shot up into his groin. Not if they got a look at him now.

  How could he ensure nothing slowed down finding out how to stop both the distribution of the item and healing those struck by it without ending his very slight chance for a military career?

  He couldn’t.

  The moment he returned to the ranch, he’d have to call in and embrace the higher moral ground.

  His late mother would be proud. His grandfather, a veteran of three wars and a very practical man, might have a different outlook. As he wrapped the little harbinger of death, the distant growl of an ATV met his ears. It grew louder and higher as it came closer, climbing the trail toward him. Dang, she must have really beaten feet all the way back to have help come so soon. He hoped they brought painkillers with them.

  Why was their little dude—guest—armed to the teeth for a stroll in the mountains? The small pistol he held was not something available in an ordinary gun shop. Plastic. He turned it over in his palm, admiring the engineering and checking the safety before tucking it in his waistband. It reminded him of an image he’d seen of a gun from a 3D printer.

  He’d been in the field too long if it hadn’t struck him as more than odd when a woman pulled serious weapons from her boots.

  Lucky she hadn’t taken a dislike to him. He had a feeling nobody would have found the body after she applied her wicked sticker to his corpse. The glint in her eyes when she’d handed him the weapon told him more about her than anything she’d said so far.

  Ryder turned to face the tree, pressed his palms into the rough bark, and climbed to his feet, favoring the left side, but the stain spread. Bleeding couldn’t be good. Why wasn’t the damn thing healing? Of course he’d pushed it today, but it shouldn’t still be so easy to reopen, should it?

  He rested against the tree as the pair of Kawasaki Mules came into sight. Isbet drove the first and a pair of men rode in the second. She stopped just short of him and hopped out. “Still alive, I see?” Her words were casual, but the tightness in her tone told another story. “Put your arm over my shoulders and let me help you to the car. You need to get to a doctor right away.”

  His brother gave her a little push. “He weighs twice what you do, little lady. I’ll get him comfortable and then you can drive him back down and call the doc. The number’s by the phone.”

  “I’m right here, people.” He allowed his brother to help him limp toward the vehicle, but kept his eyes on the other man. He had lighter hair than they did but eyes the exact color gray he and his brother shared. “Hey.” Pausing by his cousin’s side, he extended his free hand. “Cousin Carson?”

  “Yep.” He took his hand but without the warmth a long-lost relative might exhibit. Of course, maybe he didn’t know he’d been long-lost. “Carson Ames. Good to meet you, Ryder. Sorry about your injury.”

  He jerked his hand back. “You didn’t cause it. And looks like we called you out on the wrong mission. I don’t think we have cattle rustlers.” His bad leg gave out, and Andrew half-lifted him into the passenger seat in the front ATV.

  “No? Then what kind of bad guys were flying in and out of the pasture where we have our best stock?” Andrew asked, reasonably.

  The Vibora in his pocket was a military secret. He didn’t intend to tell anyone he didn’t have to about it. His only goal was to pass it along to his commanding officer. Who would then call him a civilian. Thanks for helping, Mr. Civilian.

  Isbet grabbed a water bottle from the back of the mule and handed it to him. He opened it and, while he drank it in one long gulp, Isbet said, “Weapons dealers, maybe? Ryder, where’s the barbed thing we found. It’s not a bullet or like anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Oh, yeah. Could pain distract him so much he forgot someone else already knew about the item? He couldn’t hide it now. He’d just have to stop the spread of info as quickly as possible. “I’m just going to t
urn it in to the proper authorities who can take it from here.”

  “Really?” Isbet said. “You’re going to take a weapon nobody has ever seen before and hand it to the local sheriff?”

  Andrew and his new cousin Carson jerked to face her. He licked his lips and tried to force the pain down. “How do you know nobody has ever seen this item before?” With the cat so out of the bag, he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and opened it. “What do you do again, Isbet, that you know all about weapons?”

  Isbet’s cheeks reddened. “Well…it…it looks like something out of a comic book, doesn’t it?” Again she managed to deflect questions.

  Carson held out his hand, and, reluctantly, Ryder placed the handkerchief and its evil burden in his palm. “I’ve been on the civilian side for a short time, but I can say with almost certainty this is something new. And I am sure, Ryder, you know that as well.”

  He nodded. First chance he got Isbet alone, he’d question her further, but, for now, the weapon was the thing.

  “I’m keeping this.” Ryder moved to protest, but Carson waved it away. “You are in no condition to chase me, so give it up. I just need to know what, if anything, you know about this. Is it going to explode in my hand?”

  Why did he assume Ryder knew a thing about the Vibora. Still, in the interest of saving time, he shook his head.

  “Does it explode?”

  Ryder’s hand jerked to his leg, which screamed in agony just at that moment. He swore.

  Carson looked from the item to Ryder’s jeans. He nodded. “Okay, I get it. But for safety, I need to know what it does.”

  “It explodes by remote, and the operator has to be within a few yards of it to make that happen. Some kind of mechanism lets it fly on its own. Again, not far, and that’s all I know basically, except it’s one of the most insidious weapons I’ve ever seen. It can cause necrosis and death.”

  “Got it” Carson wrapped it again and went to the steel toolbox in the back of the second ATV. “I wish I had a more secure lockup, but this is it for now.” He swung up into the driver’s seat, and Andrew hopped in the other side. “We’re going up to look around and see if we can find any more evidence.”

  “I take it you’re staying even if it’s not to help us with cattle rustlers?” Ryder said through waves of more pain than he’d felt since right after his injury. They’d laid out more than they could really afford to hire them, thinking it a good investment in keeping their herd safe. “Won’t your bosses want to renegotiate your fee or something?”

  “Just get that wound looked at and we’ll be back down to figure out the rest in a few hours, okay?”

  Isbet climbed into the seat next to Ryder and pulled the little vehicle off to the side to let the other men pass. “We’re out of here. Be careful.” Once the others disappeared into the distance, she made a Y-turn and headed downhill. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  “After.” He shouldn’t delay, but he wanted to wait and hear what the Omega Team cousin had to say about the evidence. He’d been in a lot of pain and feared he’d missed something important. How it could change the inevitable, he had no idea.

  Chapter Four

  Isbet ran out of breath arguing by the time they arrived in front of the house. Sarge, in his cook’s whites, waited on the porch and stomped down to help her assist Ryder up the steps and then, at his insistence, into his room on the second floor.

  “Why won’t you let me call a doctor?”

  “Later.” He sat on the edge of the straight chair and panted. “After we see what Carson and Andrew find out.”

  “You are the stubbornest man alive,” she raged.

  Sarge glanced from one to the other and retreated, closing the door behind him. The grizzled man had probably seen enough firefights to be ready to avoid them in his “retirement.” As his steps clomped away down the hall, Isbet crossed her arms over her chest and blew out a breath.

  “I’m not going to allow you to bleed to death while you wait for information,” she said. “Let’s get those pants off you.”

  “Why, darlin’, this is all going so fast.” His smile resembled a grimace, and she ached for how much he must be hurting.

  “I’ll help you. Can you stand up for just a minute?”

  He pushed himself to his feet with one hand on the back of the chair, white knuckles indicating how painful it was. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He was anything but fine. But she’d rather help with the problem than make a point of it. “Rest your hands on my shoulders while I unbutton your jeans.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just using this as an excuse to get me out of my Wranglers?” He obeyed, though, and she was startled at how much he did lean on her. Moving as quickly as she could, she slipped each button out of the hole and worked them off his hips. “Hang on.” He sucked in a big breath and let it out. “Okay, now.”

  Trying not to hurt him any more than necessary, she held the waistband away and, dropping to one knee, eased the denim past his wound. It seeped blood and clear fluid, and Isbet couldn’t believe he still stood.

  She also couldn’t believe he could be “happy to see her,” while in such pain.

  “Commando, huh?” She breathed in the scent of his arousal which bobbed inches from her face. “You could have warned a girl.”

  “Surprise!”

  “Sit down. On the bed so I can get a good look at your injury.” Ignoring her first instinct in favor of her better ones, she kept her hands and lips away from the straightest, hardest, smoothest penis she’d seen and rose to her feet to help him sit on the mattress. “I don’t know what to do with you.” Every inch she revealed of him stood in such sharp, healthy contrast to the red-edged raw flesh on his left thigh, and her anger grew.

  “I could make some suggestions.”

  “Just shut up. If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to get a handle on this injury first because I am not going to be responsible for finishing killing you.” Harsh words, but, damn, he was fine, and she’d jump on him if he wasn’t bleeding.

  “Are you saying you want me to fuck you?” He lay back on his elbows and extended his right leg. “Because that could be arranged. But I’d rather take my time and make love to you.”

  She glanced up, clutching the heel of his boot. “You don’t seem like the romantic type to me.” Bracing herself, she yanked and fell back on her bottom. “Are you?”

  He held out his other leg, and she managed to get the boot off without a huge jerk this time, but he still sucked in air through his teeth. “Whew.” Finally, she got his jeans the rest of the way off. “Not usually, but then I’m not usually this vulnerable to a woman.”

  She touched the skin of his upper thigh. “It’s hot. We have to get a doctor in here, Ryder. I’m afraid the infection will spread and you’ll lose the leg.”

  The concept should frighten him, but he shrugged it off. “A medical report of any kind with my name on it showing this injury has failed to respond to treatment will end my career. Just hang on until I can brainstorm with the guys when they get back. I just want to buy a little time.”

  Everything in her said this was wrong. She couldn’t be responsible for him coming to harm. But his plea, his gray eyes, lines of pain tightening his full lips…. “No longer than the morning. I’m not kidding.”

  “Deal. If we can’t come up with a better solution, I’m in your hands, you and the sawbones.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ryder?” The deep voice was accompanied by a rap on the door. “You decent?”

  “No. Just a second.” He glanced up. “That’s Sarge. Look, give me a pair of boxers out of the dresser. Top drawer. I don’t think he wants to see me naked.”

  She helped him pull them on, a little relieved not to have his erection waving at her when she planned not to take advantage of it. Once he was settled on the bed, she opened the door to find the older man bearing a basin of steaming water and a bucket of first aid supplies. Without a word, he set everything
down on the dresser and moved the straight chair beside the bed.

  Ryder smiled at her over the man’s massive shoulder. “Sarge was a field medic for a while before he discovered his true calling as a cook.”

  “Dang, son, this is a mess.” Sarge dipped a towel in the hot water and cleaned around the edges of the open sore. “This is gonna hurt, but you can take it.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I can. But I don’t want Isbet to watch in case I cry like a baby.”

  “But I don’t want to leave, I—” She took a step back.

  He bit his lip so hard a droplet of blood appeared. “Go, okay? Bring me some iced tea? I’m pretty thirsty.”

  She had no fear of physical danger, but someone she cared about in pain could really do a number on her and she’d never wanted to escape more. She wouldn’t stay gone, just needed a moment to gather herself, so she fled to the kitchen. Her hands shook as she poured a glass of sweet tea and added three ice cubes. She didn’t need a shrink to know where her reaction came from. Her mother’s lengthy, excruciating death from bone cancer haunted her. But Ryder had no cancer and he was not dying He had a bad wound, he’d overdone it…and he’d be fine. Maybe if she repeated it a hundred times more, she’d believe it.

  By the time she returned with the tea, and one for her, he lay with a sheet pulled up to his hips, no shirt on, and pillows fluffed behind his back.

  “I gave him some painkillers, and he’ll be okay for a while.” Sarge patted her on the back as he passed with his supplies. “It’s getting on toward supper, and I need to get everything dished up for the guests. I’ll send one of the boys up with a tray for Ryder and you.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. That’ll be great.” She handed Ryder the glass, and he took a sip and grunted.

  “Sweet tea?”

  “You need the sugar,” she said with great authority. At least, her mother would have said so.

  Sarge closed the door behind him, and she stood by the window for a few minutes, looking out. “I wonder when the guys will be back.” She let the curtain drop and turned around. “Should we get one of those radios you mentioned and—” Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tiptoed over to the bed. His lashes lay in half-moons on his cheeks, his jaw slack in sleep. Sarge’s treatments must have given him some relief. Thank heavens.