Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(98)

“James Link is the name that interests me,” Mac said, leaning far enough back in his chair to bring the front two legs off the ground. “Ghost interrogation aside, with Embray out of commission, Link heads up Dynamic Solutions’ experimental department. That shit swimming in Brendan’s and Benji’s cells is as experimental as f*ck, right up Dynamic Solutions’ alley. James Link has to know what the hell was injected into Amy’s kids. That’s where we start looking.”

Heads nodded in agreement.

Mac turned to Rawls. “You hear if Wolf’s people had any luck neutralizing the isotope?”

Rawls had spent every spare moment in the clinic overseeing Faith Ansell’s tests, so maybe he’d run into Amy recently. The last update Mac had gotten had been within hours of arriving at Shadow Mountain. While they’d identified the synthetic compound in the boys’ blood cells that was powering the signal, nobody had known how to deactivate the element. But maybe progress had been made in the past twenty-four hours.

“Far as I know, they don’t have a clue what to do about it.” Rawls’s voice was grim.

Cosky leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Have they tried a healing?” He glanced around the table and shrugged. “Kait says there’re other healers in this place. She’s all gung ho to try herself, but hell”—he broke off to scowl—“she needs to do some resting and recharging before she burns herself out.”

“If doing a healin’ is an option, I’m guessin’ they would have already tried that,” Rawls said, glancing up. “Cos is right. Doc Kerry rattled off a couple of other healers while talkin’ to Wolf—” He glanced at Cosky. “He also said she was stronger than the others. In fact, I believe he called her remarkable . . .” He paused, shrugged. “By the by, did you know those two are siblin’s? Or half sibs anyway?”

“Who?” Mac’s question hit the air at the same time Zane’s did. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in the dark when it came to the Shadow Mountain’s gossip mill.

“Wolf and Kait,” Rawls said. “Kerry said she’s Wolf’s sister.”

Mac turned to stare at Cosky, who didn’t look at all surprised.

Zane picked up on that as well. “You knew?”

Cosky shrugged. “Wolf was worried for her and Aiden’s safety. Wanted to keep the connection private.”

“Well that explains why he’s been so damn invested in her,” Zane said.

“Can’t say I envy you having that stony bastard as a brother-in-law,” Mac said on a grimace.

With a snort, Cosky settled back against his chair’s backrest. “You forgetting all the toys he comes with?”

Mac grinned slightly at that. He’d sure as hell like to get his hands on that little beauty that had ferried them up to Alaska in five hours—give or take a couple of minutes. The trip had taken half as long as it would have taken in a stripped down Black Hawk. Which reminded him. “You realize this damn compound is in motherf*cking Mount McKinley?”

Shadow Mountain’s brass hadn’t been nearly as closemouthed as good old Wolf.

“It makes sense. The mountain’s sacred to the native population,” Cosky said. “What’s incredible is the amount of work that must have gone into hollowing it out and constructing the base.” He paused to scowl. “Yet nobody noticed? Fuck, fifteen hundred people climb to the summit every year, and nobody noticed what was going on under their feet, or that huge flat tarmac up there where helicopters and planes land and disappear? There’s something pretty f*cking weird about this place.”

Uneasy silence ringed the table.

“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 f*cking 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.”