Page 45 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter thirty-seven

Eighteen hours after Aiden hauled the Bountiful Harvest’s drugged crew into the wheelhouse, the Chinook once again hovered over the boat.

Although not over the same GPS coordinates.

Aiden had piloted the trawler to the Harbinger’s grave site during one of the many refueling flights the Chinook had undertaken.

This last refueling trip had been their fourth.

With luck, it would also be their last. At least at the San Bernardino fuel depot.

Under the liquid calm of darkness, the seas had calmed, retreating to gentle waves. The crew, along with Winchester, showed no signs of infection. Overall, the outcome had been kinder than O’Neill had expected.

Tethered to each side of the open cargo door, O’Neill watched as the Chinook’s winch lowered a harness through a hole in the roof of the wheelhouse.

The hole, which Winchester had created by attaching several breaching charges to the ceiling of the captain’s cabin, blazed like a halo beneath the Chinook’s spotlight.

The new entry point allowed the chopper to lower equipment down and hoist people up without risking bot infection through touching the deck.

They knew the boat’s cabin was clean. But they still weren’t sure whether the ocean spray had contaminated the decking.

“First crew member is ready for off-load.” Aiden’s voice came through the comm.

Wolf gave the whirlybird signal in the dim light of the cargo bay and the winch started to whine. The speed was microscopic at first, at least until the limp captive rose through the spotlight. The speed picked after that.

The captives had awakened hours ago, giving Aiden plenty of time to assess them for signs of bot infection.

He’d also forced them to change clothes, discarding their soaked clothing and rain bibs.

Turned out there was a lower cabin of sorts beneath the wheelhouse.

Six bunk beds and a tiny galley. It made sense when Aiden told them about it.

The Bountiful Harvest fished so far from shore it wouldn’t be able to return most nights.

The crew needed somewhere to eat, sleep, and store their extra clothing.

The underdeck cabin also served as shelter when Winchester blew the roof.

When their first captive reached the darkness beneath the lip of the cargo hold, Simcosky and O’Neill leaned down to haul his limp body on board. He was still bound at the wrist and ankle, but Aiden had blindfolded him too. That was new. And appreciated.

After unhooking the harness and reattaching the winch cable, O’Neill flung it back into the darkness for its trip back down to the wheelhouse roof. Two of Wolf’s warriors grabbed their sleeping captive and dragged him to the back of the Chinook.

“Looks like he’s using the right amount to knock these guys out again, without killing ‘em,” O’Neill commented, as he watched the harness appear in the halo of light below. “And without Rawlings whispering the correct dose in his ear.”

They’d lowered a basket through the hole earlier, with a med kit, stocked with sedatives.

Simcosky grunted an acknowledgement before suddenly asking, “What’s Wolfie got planned for the boat? If the hull infested with those bastards, we can’t leave it floating.”

“He’ll sink it,” O’Neill said, which would have been obvious if Simcosky knew Aiden had motored the trawler to Harbinger’s grave.

But without GPS, one wouldn’t know the Harvest had moved. Everything looked the same in the middle of the ocean, with no shore to navigate from, and celestial navigation markers hidden beneath cloud cover.

“If we sink the boat, we destroy the livelihood of five men,” Winters argued.

Mackenzie scoffed “That’s what insurance is for.”

“You’re assuming they have insurance,” Winters countered.

O’Neill was quite sure Wolf had already considered all this. Since the dude was an overgrown boy scout, no doubt he’d already found the names and bank records for the Harvest’s captain and crew. Their reimbursements were probably already sitting in their bank accounts.

“The owner of the vessel and its crew will be reimbursed for their losses.” Wolf’s placid voice broke into the comm.

O’Neill smirked. Did he know the son of a bitch or what?

As they watched the harness descend through the bright white light illuminating the hole in the roof, O’Neill grappled with a new worry. “Did Aiden find a GPS system or an emergency location beacon on board? That ship needs to disappear; in case someone comes looking for them.”

Wolf nodded. “He pulled the Harvest’s GPS system, its radio, and the emergency location broadcaster. We will dump all three once we have deployed Capland’s LFTs and fly away from the gravesite. Then continue to Pinnacles National Park to drop our passengers off.”

O’Neill relaxed. The trawler’s original heading was miles from where it was now...where it would sink. Without a guidance beacon, nobody would find her.

Cosky glanced at him as silence fell again. “I hear you picked up a daughter.”

O’Neill’s eyebrows rose. “Her name is Gracie. You talk as if I purchased her from Walmart or some shit.”

He didn’t ask how the squid had found out. Since Rawlings had already figured it out and had quite the mouth on him, everybody on base probably knew about his relationship with Muriel and Gracie by now.

Simcosky hesitated, “Sorry about the other kid—the boy.”

Daniel...he was talking about Daniel. O’Neill’s son. His dead son.

O’Neill froze. It shouldn’t hurt. He hadn’t known the youngling, not really. Everything he knew about the boy, he’d learned secondhand—through other eyes, other ears, and other memories.

Yet still, the ache remained, throbbed through his chest in time to his heart.

It was the ache of loss: of lost possibilities, lost potential, lost chances. Not as intense as Muriel and Gracie’s grief. But sorrow all the same. One he could not lose himself in.

Not when he had a daughter waiting for him...counting on him. Offering him a second chance.

Day 37 Shadow Mountain Base, Alaska

Wolf pulled his cell phone from his tactical pants and grimaced. Anistaa blazed across the screen. Apparently, she had tapped into the early bird grape vine and knew the Chinook had set down. He looked at the clock on his phone. 4:00 am. He frowned. This was early, even for her.

He was tired, hungry, and desperately in need of a shower.

Even more in need of sleep. His finger hovered over the dismiss icon.

But he couldn’t force himself to push it.

With a deep, shuddering sigh, he accepted the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

She was his anistaa. He’d never ignored her summons before. He would not start now.

“Ho'cee!” She called, her voice sharp. “Come now. Hurry !” The line went dead.

Wolf broke into a jog while fumbling with his phone.

Come? Come where? She’d given no location!

He called back, but the ring went on and on.

He grabbed the first elevator and got off at level three—the interim lodging level.

It was early morning. Very early. Likely she was still in the quarters he’d assigned her.

Which proved to be the correct assumption. She yanked the door open at his first knock. He scanned her quickly. Rumpled hair, rumpled bathrobe, eyes with sleep crusted in the corners. Her face was...sly? Her eyes...satisfied...?

Odd. What was she up to?

“What’s wrong?” The question verged on a demand. His anistaa was not one to face company, even her son, in such a rumpled state. He looked over her shoulder, but his anistaa was alone in the room. “Where is Jillian?”

Her lips quirked and her face folded into lines of gratification. “There is something you must see. With your own eyes.”

Turning, her bathrobe flapping behind her, she hurried down the hall, her slippered feet swishing against the carpet.

Wolf followed, his heart thundering in his ears, his breath a fist in his throat.

His anistaa did not appear distressed, but to call so early and demand his presence. ..something must have happened.

What had changed since four days earlier, when he last sat at their table? Jillian had seemed more aware, more engaged, willing to take the initiative. She bathed without asking, ate without asking. Had her progress reversed?

He caught up with his anistaa before the first bedroom, grasped her elbow, and drew her to a halt. “Tell me. What is wrong with Jillian?”

His anistaa pivoted to watch his face. Her expression regal with a touch of frost.

“It is best you see for yourself.” The bedroom door was already open a crack; she nudged it even wider. “So, you cannot claim I lied to you.”

Lied to her...what in shadow’s name was she—

The hall light slanted across the room, washing the bed in golden radiance. His mind froze as his gaze fell on the two figures curled together in the bed. Not one, but two.

One human.

The other…not.

A broad, tawny head lifted and turned toward the door.

The whiskered muzzle pulled back, exposing wicked, curved teeth.

A low, rumbling growl filled the room. The long, thick tail twitched, the inky tip flicking.

And then the broad head turned to Jillian—rubbed against her… like a house cat marking its territory.

Wolf took a step back. A long one.

Power thrummed from the bed. A current of energy, feral and radiant. This beast was not a mortal heschrmal. It was pure spirit. The essence of nature. Of immortality.

Another low, vibrating growl echoed from the bed. Its energy filled the room and pushed through the door. Wolf backed up farther. He was intruding on something not meant to be shared.

His anistaa had said Jillian’s heschrmal visited her often, but until just now, after witnessing those glowing green eyes and whiskered face, he had not truly believed it.

“So, my dear Ho'cee ...” Her arms folded across her breasts, his anistaa lifted her stubbornly proud chin. “Do you still believe I am lying?”