“Makes you wonder,” Zane agreed, his green eyes thoughtful.
Cosky took a generous swallow of whiskey and set the glass back on the table, absently rotating it. “Wolf’s got the same handy-dandy trick Zane has.” He glanced toward Zane and raised his tumbler in a salute. “Although not quite the same. Wolf doesn’t have to touch anyone to get the vision. They just come. It’s how he knew our condo was about to blow back in Coronado.” He paused to shake his head, a frown darkening the turbulent gray gaze that met Mac’s. “He knew the compound was going to be attacked yesterday morning. He sent Jude over to warn us. We knew what was happening before your nine-one-one came over the wire. Hell, I had the radio in hand, was about to warn the three of you, when your call came through.”
“Okay . . .” Mac said and waited for the rest of it—because there was a huge “but” in Cosky’s tone.
Cosky reached for the bottle of Jack. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s just . . . there’s something fucking strange about this place and the people holed up in here.”
Rawls laughed.
Cosky turned to him with a glare. “You find that funny?”
“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled, irony clear on his face. “How about we take an inventory? So we have Zane, who’s psychic—able to predict a person’s death with one touch. We have Cos and Kait—together they can heal life-threatenin’ illnesses or injuries—hell, even drag people back from the grave. And then there’s moi. I see dead people. Or at least I used to. With the exception of Mac”—he lifted his glass of whiskey in a theatrical toast—“we fit right into this place.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty
* * *
AFTER THIRTEEN YEARS and hundreds of insertions, Rawls had identified certain similarities no matter the mission. There was the edgy pressure that knotted the belly and shoulders. Not fear so much as a low-grade tension where preparation gave way to anticipation. After all of the planning, monitoring, and assessing, the green light was finally given and all that groundwork was about to be put to the test. There was the cramped, silent flight where legs and feet fell numb, where bodies were buffered by bone-rattling vibrations, where equipment checks were rampant and the smell of jet fuel overpowered everything. There was the deploying into darkness and unfamiliar territory. Sure, the satellite images often provided reference points, but the insertions themselves took place in unfamiliar, often alien landscapes.
Until today . . .
Rawls silently shook his head, his arm tightening around Faith’s frail body. Oh, the tension was there, only this time that edgy pressure butted against fear. Not fear for his safety, or any of the other experienced warriors silently stretched out in the helicopter, but fear for Faith.
Although everyone’s vulnerability had gone up exponentially when Wolf and Cosky had flatly refused Kait’s appeal to join the mission. They’d vehemently opposed Kait’s inclusion, insisting that William and One Bird were fully capable of handling any injuries, and that her inclusion was unnecessary and a potential distraction. Cosky and Wolf’s intense reaction had reinforced just how dangerous this mission was.
But Faith didn’t belong in this dark, dangerous world either. She was as ill-equipped for this operation as Kait was. She had no business being on this helicopter, awaiting the one-minute prep call for insertion.
A couple minutes earlier, Wolf had appeared in the cockpit doorway and held up his right hand, all five fingers splayed. The universal five-minute warning. The interior of the bird was murky, the only light piercing the darkness was the rosy-red digital displays in the cockpit. The ruddy burn had burnished the big Arapaho’s hand until his fingers looked rimmed in fire.
Faith had stiffened in his arms even more. With a deep breath he’d pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. Rather than the smothering stench of jet fuel, the scent of strawberries and raspberries washed over him.
The scent was coming from her hair. He recognized it from the past two nights he’d spent in her bed. And like any good hound dog, his dick had imprinted on that particular combination of berries as something to celebrate, which it was currently doing with an enthusiastic salute.
Another first—the first time in his military career he’d dropped into hostile territory with an erection. A wry smile curved his mouth even as the tension cinched another notch tighter.