Predatory

ZOE POV

“Holy shit, Rika. Are you sure those coordinates are right?” I ask my partner even as I touch our plane down on the landing strip outside a picturesque mountain lodge. Perched on the peak of one of the Montana Rockies, its log walls feature immense crystalline windows that must offer breathtaking views of the surrounding landscape. Despite its rustic charm, the lodge and its surroundings seem to sparkle in the midmorning sun—no doubt an effect of melting frost.

“They’d better be. Regional Commander Baryshnikov sent them to me himself,” Rika grumbles from behind me, where she’s changing the dressing on Sasha’s burns. Sasha used a ton of energy on her fight with Svartheron; normally shifting back to her human form from the feline one would have healed most of her injuries, but she barely had the energy to make the shift, once the fight with the dragon was over and a team of support operatives, led by Regional Commander Baryshnikov himself, arrived on the scene. She desperately needs time and space to recover. That’s at least part of the reason why Regional Commander Baryshnikov invited us to his personal home. He’s an absolute mountain of a man, and extremely intimidating. His assistants whispered that he’s an ursidae shifter, with his non-human form being a grizzly bear.

“He didn’t seem like the type to live someplace so…beautiful,” I remark as I bring our plane to a complete and final stop. Based on Baryshnikov’s lumberjack flannel shirt, dirty work boots, and thick tangled beard, I was expecting a log cabin, sure, but the type without running water or electricity or more than two rooms.

“Mind your manners, and help me get Sasha inside.”

“I can walk…on my own,” Sasha protests weakly.

“Can and should are two different things, lovely. You did a remarkable job convincing that upstart dragon that we’re not to be trifled with, but you did a number on yourself in the process. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I chide her gently. Normally Sasha would have no trouble whatsoever overpowering Rika and me, but right now it’s only a mild struggle for us to carry her out of the plane.

“Please, put me down! This is embarrassing,” Sasha growls. Her irritation with us seems to have given her a burst of energy. “I don’t want to look weak in front of Baryshnikov.”

“Trust me, Sasha, the idea that you’re weak would never cross his mind,” Rika laughs, but we carefully settle Sasha on her own feet, although she’s leaning heavily on Rika for support so that I can go back into the plane for our overnight bags. “He saw what you did to Svartheron. Every support operative who came in to help with cleanup and negotiation of terms was rather in awe of you. Relax. Not all C.O.s are like Anselm.”

Sasha hisses at the mention of our Commander. “Has anyone sent that bastard a report yet?”

“I believe Baryshnikov said he’d send it in, once we finalize the details over a nice hot meal,” I assure her. We’re making our way up the slope from the runway to the front door of the lodge, slow and steady. I can’t get over how beautiful this place is. Maybe Rika and I can get a place like this, just on a smaller scale, whenever we decide to retire.

As we approach the steps to the elegant wooden porch, the glass-paneled mahogany door swings open, revealing none other than Regional Commander Baryshnikov himself.

“Welcome, Special Ops 13,” he greets us in his booming baritone. I swear this man has giant blood. “I appreciate y’all agreein’ to join me here.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Commander Baryshnikov. This place is incredible,” I reply with my most winning smile. All three of us want to be on his good side.

“Please, call me Samson. Formalities are best saved for field work an’ formal business. Come on in. We’ve got a hearty breakfast spread for ya, courtesy o’ Margaret, best chef in the Rockies.”

“Much obliged, Comma— I mean, Samson,” Rika answers, somewhat flustered. Anselm never tolerates being called anything but Commander by his subordinates. “To what do we owe the honor of your hospitality?”

“Why, y’all’ve done me a great service, with your handlin’ o’ Svartheron. Course, we got some paperwork related to that situation to finalize, and I got some questions I’d like y’all to answer. But there’s no sense doin’ any o’ that on an empty stomach. Y’all’ve worked hard an’ deserve a bit o’ rest ’fore we get back t’business.”

Of course there’s an ulterior motive to his kindness. None of us expected anything different. But his kindness certainly seems genuine as he helps Rika get Sasha settled on a leather couch under thick woolen blankets, as he gives Rika a choice of several different bottles of blood while piling a plate high with scrambled eggs and elk sausage and buttery biscuits for Sasha, as he makes sure the three of us are comfortable and well provided for before he takes any food or respite for himself. I don’t know what to make of him. Is he just a genuinely good person? Or is this a trap, a means of lulling us into a false sense of security so that we’ll give him whatever he wants from us?

“Hafta say, y’all did some mighty impressive work with that dragon,” Commander Baryshnikov remarks conversationally once we’ve all had our fill from Margaret’s spread—which, it must be said, was delicious. He’s stretched out in a leather armchair, feet towards the roaring fire in his immense stone fireplace, a glass of whiskey in one hand. Here it comes. “My own teams ain’t been able get anywhere with ’im, but y’all came in an’ handled it quick an’ clean as anyone could wish.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sasha mumbles sleepily. She’s doing her best to stay away and alert—there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell she’s not at least as suspicious of Commander Baryshnikov as I am—but she’s fighting a losing battle against her comfortable nest and her own exhaustion.

“Make no mistake, I’m grateful for the deal y’all worked out with Svartheron. Arranging for bi-monthly food drops and repairs to his lair, in exchange for his compliance with WASP law, is far more manageable than the damage control my team and I’ve been doin’ related to that nuisance. No question y’all’ve earned your reputation as the best special ops team in WASP. But I do gotta wonder why Anselm sent y’all out here.”

“What do you mean?” Rika inquires. “If our work has been satisfactory, then why does it matter—”

“When Anselm sends a team out here, it’s usually people he’s tryin’ t’teach a lesson o’ some kind. This ain’t a popular place to work. Rough terrain, remote, alternates between nothin’ much goin’ on an’ backbreakin’ labor. Normally he tells me why he’s sendin’ a group my way. This time, I initiated his involvement by askin’ for backup dealin’ with Svartheron. He ain’t seen fit to tell me anythin’ about y’all except that y’all’re the best of the best. But I think he’s got his own reasons for sending his best team all the way out here.”

“Could just be that we were already in the States, on an unrelated mission,” I offer.

“And Zoe’s the best pilot in all of WASP,” Rika adds, making me blush. “Probably we could get here faster than any other team.”

“S’pose that could be it, but Anselm ain’t normally too concerned about my personal convenience, so long as the organization as a whole ain’t compromised by a delay,” Baryshnikov muses. “We got personal differences in how we like things done, an’ he ain’t the most…amicable disagree-er. Sure there ain’t any other reason he might’ve sent y’all my way?”

Rika and I exchange glances. Is it safe to tell him the truth? Sasha’s no help at this point; she’s dead to the world, asleep in her pile of cozy blankets, and she’s more than earned the rest.

“Our Commander is…growing impatient with our speed of evidence gathering on our other, ongoing mission,” Rika reveals tactfully after a few moments’ consideration. “But I don’t know why he’d send us here to teach us a lesson about picking up our pace, if things are usually pretty low-key in your jurisdiction.”

“Truth be told, I think it’s dead gorgeous out here. Wouldn’t mind staying,” I agree with my most winning smile.

“That’s just as well. Anselm did ask me to keep y’all here another day or two. Says it’s imperative for your other mission goals. The hell he got y’all doin’?”

“Investigating a few individuals suspected of being…less than compliant with WASP regulations concerning personal discretion,” Rika answers. She’s so good at this. Such a way with words. “I’m actually monitoring them as we speak—” she gestures the tablet on her lap “—but we haven’t found any evidence of the accusations leveraged against them. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Commander’s convinced something will turn up. He’s hoping, paradoxically, that sending us away for a few days will help…accelerate the pace of the investigation.”

Baryshnikov arches an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t mean to pry, of course. But I do gotta wonder what he intends for me to do with y’all if y’all’re stayin’ here. That one—” he points to Sasha “—ain’t fit for much o’ anythin’ ’til she’s recovered.”

“Do you have any technology that needs upgrading?” Rika inquires. “Software you’d like created? Anything of that nature?”

“And once I’ve had a nap, I’m more than willing to offer my skills as a mechanic, if that’s of interest to you,” I volunteer. I’ve been downing energy drinks like water since we left Columbus, but the caffeine is starting to wear off and I’m dead tired.

“Never been much for computers or technology. Your feline friend there does things more my style,” Baryshnikov admits. “But this remote surveillance thing you’ve got goin’ on for yer other case intrigues me, an’ I’ve heard about y’all from Anselm. You’re the one he calls a technology wizard, right? Wouldn’t mind lettin’ ya have a look at my computer system an’ other gear an’ seein’ if I can learn some o’ the same tricks.”

“I’d be more than happy to help with that,” Rika grins. She loves projects like this, and as much as none of us like Anselm, it’s nice to know that he’s been talking us up to other WASP C.O.s.

“An’ I do have some ATVs could use a little maintenance, too. But all o’ this can wait a piece. Y’all’ve more than earned a good rest—”

“Zoe and Sasha can have mine. I don’t sleep,” Rika interjects, eyes alight with enthusiasm. “What sort of computer equipment seems to be the trouble?”

“Well then. Zoe, you can nap here with Sasha, or there’s a nice bedroom just ’round the corner there.” He points down a hallway. “If you, young lady—”

“My name is Rika, Comm—I mean, Samson.”

“Rika, then, follow me. Computer room’s this way.”