Against Orders

Chapter 1 : Rhys

Chapter 1

Holy Crapola. Rhys had witnessed some crazy things in his day, but the scene before him topped the charts.

People fled from the front doors and first floor windows of the large, grey compound, like cockroaches when the lights are turned on. Then again, what had he expected when his squad had gassed the place?

When the fumes finally cleared, as well as most of the people, he broke cover and ran towards the building, rain pelting him. Rhys ducked through the door and removed his gas mask, sucking in a tentative breath to test the air around him. The slight tingle in his throat was manageable. He didn’t plan on staying in the front room where the canisters had crashed through the windows anyway.

His goal was to scope out the back rooms and find anyone still lingering inside. Add the bonus points if he found the cult leader, Micah, before his commander did. If Micah was guilty of even half of what they suspected, Rhys wouldn’t mind rearranging his face.

Micah was a certifiable nutcase, claiming to be a spiritual healer; he had about sixty people eating out of his hand. When the FBI learned about his plan to lead his group on a suicide mission this morning, they’d moved in fast, warrants be damned.

It appeared they’d made it in time.

Rhys adjusted the strap of his rifle and tread along the silent hallway. He turned a corner and found two open doors. One to his left, the other on his right. The lighting was dim due to lack of windows and so he listened for any sounds. Dead silence. Hearing nothing indicating a threat, he entered the room on his right.

Or he tried to, because suddenly, a knife was sailing toward his head. He ducked in the nick of time and raised his rifle at his assailant. He could only just make out a shape on the other side of the room. He took aim at his attacker, but before he could shout out a command, “You sick bastard, Thomas! I’m not going to let you freaking well rape me without a fight!” The voice was female, raspy and soaked with aggression. What the hell?

“FBI! Drop any and all weapons and put your hands on your head!” Rhys shouted. All of a sudden light flooded the room and he saw a young woman slumped on the ground. She leant against the wall, knees pulled to her chest. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps.

For a long second, Rhys couldn’t move, couldn’t even form a thought. He could only stare at the prone figure huddled before him. She had captivated him. Maybe it was the eyes, the colour of emeralds that stared at him in confusion. And relief? Her trembling hands hugged her knees to her chest while unshed tears enlarged that brilliant green gaze.

Snapping out of his daze, Rhys stepped closer. The woman flinched away from him. She was shaking uncontrollably now and he could see the chain around her ankle that kept her tethered to the bed. He scanned the room for other victims or threats but found only a queen sized bed, closet and clothes strewn everywhere. Once he knew the room was secure, Rhys turned his attention back to the young woman.

Procedure dictated that he shout his command before taking action, but instinct said otherwise. “What’s your name?” he asked gently, gazing down at her petite form. “E- Emlyn,” she stammered her voice soft and raspy.

Pulling in a deep lungful of air, he crossed the room, his boots musted against the carpet. She pressed further back into the wall, watching him approach. Rhys slung his rifle around to his back as he squatted – hands up, palms out, fingers splayed – facing her. “It’s okay. I’m here to help. My name is Rhys. Special agent Rhys Carter.” He was looking into her eyes and he saw them spark with curiosity, but they still held fear and confusion.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his lock picks, “May I look at the lock?” he nodded to her ankle. Hesitantly, she stretched her leg out for him. Slowly, so not to frighten her more, he pulled up the cuff of her worn jeans so he could see the lock. He snorted in derision at the simplicity of the one pin lock. Rhys had it unlocked in less than ten seconds.

As soon as her leg was freed, Emlyn scooted away from him. “So you’re really FBI?” she asked, staring at her knees, still pulled to her chest. Her long, brown waves of hair created a curtain, hiding her face. “Yes, I’m really with the FBI.” Rhys didn’t know how to proceed. He considered helping her up, but instinct told him that her hands would remain tightly clasped around her legs.

The way he saw it, he had two options; pick her up or win her trust. Trust took time he didn’t have. His split second decision found Emlyn in his arms, one secured behind her knees, the other around her waist.

A startled gasp escaped her throat. Pulling away, she looked in his eyes. Finding something there she agreed with, her body relaxed into his. Emlyn rested her head against his shoulder and linked her hands behind his neck. She buried her face into his neck and released a deep sigh as if some great burden had been lifted from her now that she was in his arms. Momentarily stunned by her reaction, it took Rhys a minute to get his feet to move.

He carried her back through the building, catching surprised glances from the other agents. He held her tightly to his chest and she relaxed further into him, into his protection and that measure of complete trust and surrender made Rhys’ insides twist, raising emotions he’d never encountered before.

“Find a girlfriend back there, Carter?” one of the guys called out, good-naturedly.

“At least I can get one, Fletcher,” Rhys retorted, followed by a wave of laughter. He thought he even felt Emlyn smile.

When they reached the front room, Emlyn finally spoke, “You can put me down now.” Her breath was warm against his neck, sending tingles to his toes. He set her on her feet, yet he found himself reluctant to let her go, especially when she gave him a tentative smile, sending all the air rushing from his lungs. He returned it with one of his own rare smiles.

She turned and walked over to the few people still left in the compound – a small group of children huddled up against the wall furtherest from the agents, looking bewildered and afraid.

It was no big shocker that a group of male agents had no idea as how to deal with the littlest victims. At least, they’d possessed enough sense to bring the kids in out of the rain, while waiting for transport to arrive.

Emlyn kneeled before the kids and spoke, in hushed tones, to them. Whatever she said had the power to calm them. Rhys watched as they swiped the tears from their cheeks and attempted brave faces. He couldn’t help but smile when the smallest one, a toddler with fiery red curls took hold of Emlyn’s hand.

 At first, Rhys had only cared about the mission – to capture Micah – but now he wondered what would happen to the innocents, like the children and mostly all of the women. Well, mainly one young woman, Emlyn.

“Come on, Micah,” the gruff voice belonged to his commander, Kaiden Mills. The grin he aimed at Rhys was pure triumph, as he lead a handcuffed – and slightly scuffed – Micah out to the waiting van. Rhys grimaced; he couldn’t believe he lost that one. But then he saw Emlyn helping the children fashion capes out of spare blankets to shield them from the rain and everything else fell away. Then she was leading them outside and into the waiting vehicles.

An unexpected sting of worry shot through his chest. This compound was the only home they knew – unless they had been kidnapped, which was on the long list that Micah was guilty for – and now it was the centre of an FBI investigation. They’d been cast out into the cold. Literally. Shaking his head, Rhys dismissed the thought. Damn, he must be going soft. This was the sort of thing he advised his junior agents on – never get emotionally involved in a case. It was a mind game waiting to happen. But damn him if he could ignore the anxiousness piercing his chest as her van left.

As Rhys stood in the doorway, the cold biting at his exposed skin, he pulled his jacket edges together; he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had invoked in him an instinctive need to protect her, to never let her go. But he was willing to bet his career that he’d never see her again. And it would be the best thing for both of them.