Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(35)

Maybe . . . or maybe not.

Rawls frowned. He shouldn’t assume anything. He had no clue what the parameters of this situation were. For all he knew, his death would dissolve the tether anchoring Pachico to his side, leaving the bastard free to harass people at will.

His best bet was to wait for Wolf to return and hope like hell the big bad Arapaho knew how to drive Pachico back to that translucent otherworld. Which meant he needed to hang out close enough to the helipad to intercept their cagey host the moment the chopper landed, but far enough away so that Pachico couldn’t target any of his unsuspecting friends.

“Running away won’t solve anything.” Faith lifted her voice.

It would solve one thing. It would keep Faith safe. It would keep everyone in the camp safe until he came up with a better idea.

“Now, Doc. Don’t go getting all hot footed on us,” Pachico said from behind him.

Damn it . . . he’d hoped to be gone before the bastard reappeared.

“You can talk to me. I might be able to help.” Faith’s voice rose entreatingly.

“Go ahead, tell her what’s going on. Better yet, I’ll do it.”

The ugly undertone in the raspy voice turned Rawls around. Pachico was floating there next to Faith, the block of knives within reach.

Son of a bitch. Rawls spun and launched himself at the door. The sooner he got the hell out of here, the sooner the phantom rubber band would retract and drag his ghost back to his side—away from Faith.

“Rawls!”

Except, Faith’s voice didn’t sound fainter. Hell, it sounded louder.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. She was following him.

Sweet Jesus, he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe if she insisted on tagging along. To protect her, he needed to kill any interest she had in him. Make sure she avoided him. Regret swelling, he pivoted, ready to go on the attack—no matter how much he hated it—only to find Pachico floating along beside her. The ghost’s intent expression as he studied Faith sent alarm bells peeling through Rawls’s gut. He flashed back to the moment Pachico had tried to hit his arm, only to sink into it instead.

The pain had been immediate and horrific—an acidic burst that had seared through muscle and bone. Why in hades it had hurt that time was an excellent question, one he still hadn’t figured out. Zane hadn’t reacted when Rawls’s hand had pierced his shoulder, or when Rawls had Caspered through his legs.

But damn it all, Pachico’s last punch had hurt. Hurt like hell.

And suddenly Rawls knew exactly what the bastard had planned.

“Son of a—” Rawls launched himself toward the pair.

Separating himself was no longer an option. There wasn’t time for that tactic. Somehow, in the here and now, he had to stop Pachico from piercing Faith’s body.

“What’s wrong?” Apprehension touched Faith’s face. She half turned, as though to look behind her.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” On a deep-throated laugh, Pachico stepped to the left, directly into her. His translucent form merged with Faith’s body and vanished.

“No! Goddamn you!” Rawls roared, watching helplessly as the * he’d dragged back from death disappeared into Faith’s body.

Faith froze, her muscles locked and trembling. Her face contorted. Her pupils dilated. And then she screamed. And screamed. And screamed. One long, endless shriek of agony.

The pain when Pachico’s hand had plunged into his arm had been overwhelming, but it had also been localized and fleeting. What the bastard was doing to Faith was worse. Much worse. His entire translucent form had merged with her flesh and bone, so the pain was likely widespread, rather than restricted to a specific area. Plus, he’d already been in her twice as long, with no sign of retreat.

Cold, greasy clamminess broke out as her screams reverberated through the room. Ah shit . . .

Not knowing what else to do, he swept her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest, gently rocking her while her screams reverberated through the room.

Jesus, Jesus.

The most god-awful sense of helplessness swamped him. An emotion he hadn’t experienced since the events leading to Sarah’s death—an emotion he’d promised himself he’d never feel again. Except his SQT was useless against an enemy with no physical form.

How do I get the bastard to vacate her body? Demands won’t work.

His arms froze around her. But bribes might.

“All right,” he shouted, uncertain if Pachico could hear him through Faith’s screams. “I’ll call your parents. Hell, I’ll call anyone you want. If you get out of her—now.”

For a moment nothing happened, and then the acidic burning from before swept through him. He turned in a circle, Faith’s screams still pounding him, and scanned the room for his ghost’s transparent form. Nothing. If Pachico had vacated Faith’s body, he’d vanished again.

Suddenly Faith collapsed in his arms, her screams snapping off in midshriek. From her hoarse, ragged breathing he knew she was alive. Relief flooded him. His legs weak, he carried her to the kitchen table, dragged a chair out with his foot, and sat down, cuddling her on his lap. He checked her pulse, it was rapid and irregular beneath his fingers.

Sweet Jesus, tachycardia was often brought on by stress. Where were her pills? In her pocket or in her room?