Coming to Colorado (4 page)

Like the guy he’d assassinated two months ago. There’d been no question amongst the men in his unit that the bastard needed to die, but they hadn’t cleared out all of the terrorist—just like Ryan knew they wouldn’t. Now, there were more assholes just like him running around spreading their hate. It was worse than the mythical beast, Hydra. They would get rid of one jerk and two more would come out of the woodwork, threatening peace and spreading their own brand of hate. They didn’t just target people in the west, hoping to kill off a few English, Americans, or just anyone who lived with freedom. These terrorists were idiots who tried to disrupt the very essence of living, even if it meant killing their own people. These bastards killed women, men, and children indiscriminately, not caring if the person had family or not. It didn’t matter to them that they destroyed, instead of building something beautiful. By their standards, there was no value in life, only hate fueled by ignorance and religion. He detested it. If he could find another way to even the field, he would, but he wasn’t paid enough to live in this shithole and do this type of work, not when he had no say in the orders he had to carry out. The mission from two months ago, that still bothered him. He worried that the innocents caught in the middle had been hurt.

Ryan rolled to his side, wishing he were in a comfortable bed with a mattress and blankets. God, it would be so nice to have a huge white comforter pulled up to his chin, pillows surrounding him, no spiders or mice running rampant in his digs, and maybe a guy, warm and cuddly, holding him close as they whiled away the morning. He stretched and sighed, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the cot. Ryan was about to get up when a loud noise sounded. The ground shook and one of his books rattled off the shelf. His heart stalled for a moment, his breath held in his lungs. There was only one thing that could have made the sound he’d just heard and he hoped to hell he was wrong, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t.

“Fuck!” Ryan bolted from his bed, searching for his pants. Another explosion rocked the area, shaking more books from his shelves. He cursed again, bracing himself as he struggled to get his foot in the leg hole, but it wasn’t working. Ryan abandoned his pants and reached for his weapon, running out of the container where he bunked, pausing only long enough to figure out which way to go. Black smoke rose from across the base. Guys were racing away from the blast. General chaos reigned. He stopped a corporal, hoping he could get answers.

“What’s happening?” Ryan ducked low as another explosion went off.

“No fucking clue. This sucks.” The guy took off, his head low as he ran away from the blasts.

Ryan checked his magazine, making sure he had enough ammunition to get the job done. He headed toward the commotion, sprinting around the shipping containers that were being used as sleeping quarters, and the tents that had sprung up over the base. Guys were streaming from the area that had been hit, fear evident on their faces. Ryan didn’t hesitate as he raced around the edge of a building, running faster as he searched for the cause of the problem. Contemplating why he was hurrying towards the danger when most people were fleeing was a useless pastime. He was a trained specialist, and it was his nature to step in when he saw a wrong, no other explanation was needed.

The fire came into view as another explosion rocked the area. Ryan stopped, holding still as he took in the situation. Chaos reigned. People were bolting from the area, their shouts like tiny bugs over the roar of the fires. Ryan stared into the mêlée and could make out one person standing close to a small building the base used as storage. The man seemed to be his mark. He wouldn’t allow the asshole to continue his reign of terror.

A shot rang out, zipping past him and far to his right. The bastard was now taking aim at something close to his position. Ryan looked, seeing a couple of men running from one of the officer’s tents. He shouldered his weapon, bringing the scope to his eye. He didn’t think the guy had seen him or figured out that he was in the crosshairs, but he’d know soon enough. Ryan took two seconds to get set, staring through the scope, hoping he could actually stop this bastard. Ryan watched as the asshole took aim, firing another round and hitting a soldier. Anger flashed through Ryan, burning hot. There was no question of guilt. The man wasn’t a friend. He’d come onto this base to kill and was causing real damage. Ryan counted backwards from five, calming as he lined the guy up in his sights. This shot had to ring true. The bastard was being rather smug, standing in the open like he was impervious, thinking that no one would shoot him. Of course, the explosions were making people run away. This fucker had to die.

Ryan got to one in his countdown and squeezed, knowing before the noise of the shot died that he’d hit his mark. It seemed like forever for the guy to drop to the ground, but Ryan knew it had only been seconds. Ryan waited a few beats of his heart for another shooter to reveal himself, but all was quiet and no one else took over the killing spree. No shots were fired and no more explosions sounded.

Slowly, people started coming out from their hidey-holes as Ryan walked over, his rifle at the ready. Someone pulled out a hose and began fighting the fire that had started from one of the explosions. Peace settled as Ryan raced across the expanse, closing the distance on the shooter. He needed to make sure the guy was down. As he approached, Ryan shouldered his rifle, ready to fire if the guy moved. A couple of MP’s were there, their weapons trained on Ryan. He bent, checking the pulse of the dude before dropping his rifle and holding his hands up, allowing the MP’s to take charge.

Ryan stared at the familiar face, his anger increasing.
Ibrahim.
What the hell? His spotter was one of them, a Marine, or they’d assumed that Ibrahim felt they were family. To find this man gunning down his brothers in arms was sickening. How could he trust anyone? Chaos ruled with people barking orders, a bit of shoving, and all Ryan could do was stare at Ibrahim, unsure how in the hell it had come to this.

Why would someone who was on the inside do this? Ibrahim had never shown the least bit of interest in being a martyr. He’d blasted his parent’s religion on more than one occasion, decrying how stupid the people who killed others in the name of religion were.

As Ryan glanced around, his gaze coming to rest on men who’d died here on this base where they’d assumed they were safe, Ryan realized he couldn’t do this any more. Something needed to change. He couldn’t stay in the Marines when brothers were killing brothers. The day had gone to shit and it hadn’t really even begun. The sun started to pink up the sky, reminding him of home. That’s what he wanted, something other than this madness.

Ryan spent the next twenty hours being questioned over and over again as the base commander tried to figure out exactly what happened. Ryan told his superiors that he had no clue why Ibrahim had gone off the deep end, but that didn’t stop them from asking. They twisted the situation and his words, further cementing Ryan’s decision to leave. He was allowed to sleep, while being watched, of course. It was obvious they didn’t trust him, though he’d done nothing wrong. One month later, after they installed cameras in his house, and had him under surveillance, he was finally cleared of all suspicion. The inquiry and general head-in-ass attitude had helped him make up his mind. He wouldn’t reenlist. He was done. There was no way he could actually stay in the Marines. There had to be something he could do on the outside, anything other than put his life in danger only to have one of his own try to kill him.

*~*~*

Duff chewed on the end of the pen, his heart speeding up as he scanned the note then reread it. After reading the note another time, he closed his eyes and put his head on the desk. That’s where Grant found him.

“Duff, what’s going on?”

He lifted his head, his gaze meeting Grant’s. Telling this crew that their worst enemy was on the loose was one of the most difficult things he’d ever have to do. They’d been so happy after coming back to Colorado. Everything had been going so well. They hadn’t taken any assignments, but they were enjoying the ranch work and each other’s company. These men were his best friends, his buddies. When he’d started this ranch, he hadn’t intended to get so attached, but these men were his family now.

Duff sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders. He wouldn’t concede defeat yet. “He’s not in custody any longer.”

A haunted look crossed over Grant’s face. “Who?”

“I received this note.” Duff pointed to his computer.

Grant took a step closer, then paused. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Apparently, they were transporting Craig.”

“Fuck.” Grant dropped to a chair just as Roger walked into the room.

“What’s up?” Roger asked.

“Craig,” Grant said.

“Oh God. Is he here?” Roger’s face turned pale and his eyes grew wide as he moved to the window.

They’d all suffered so much when Craig had visited them the last time. This time, Craig would make sure they didn’t survive. Duff got up from his chair and moved to stand beside Roger.

“I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere in the world.”

“When did this happen and what exactly happened?” Grant asked.

Duff cleared his throat and moved back to the computer. “On March fifteenth—”

“Fuck, that was over a week ago,” Roger interrupted him.

“Yes, it was.” Duff sat and adjusted in the chair before he started reading again. “On March fifteenth, we were transporting Mr. Craig Jenkins from a military prison in an undisclosed location in the state of Tennessee when the van ran off the road and hit a tree. It appears that Mr. Jenkins caused the accident. The officers transporting Mr. Jenkins were knocked out. Unfortunately, Mr. Jenkins killed one of the officers. When the surviving officer came to, Mr. Jenkins was gone.”

“Fuck,” Roger said.

“We need to double down on watch and,
fuck
, we need to get word to James and Brody,” Grant said.

“If we contact James and Brody, it might open them up for attack. Craig could find them and then they’d be in danger,” Duff countered.

“Hell, he might already know where they are. God, when will this end?” Roger paced across the room then back to the window and stared out, his shoulders stiff. “He’s not going to stop. Fuck, he could have me in his sights right now. I could be dead and there’s nothing I could do about it.”

Grant stalked over and hugged Roger from behind. “I hate this.”

“I do too. We’ll gather everyone and have a chat. I do have some more security measures I was thinking about, but it looks like we’ll need those now.” Duff had ordered special glass for their windows. When they’d built the place, he didn’t think they’d need to have bulletproof glass installed. Now, it was like they needed a bunker. Craig wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d kill them all instead of trying to get some sort of satisfaction. Really, the windows would do nothing if Craig used a bomb, but it would keep him from shooting them with a long-range rifle.

Duff closed his computer and stood. “Thirty minutes, then we’ll meet in here.” He headed to his room, wondering what the hell had happened on that transport, and why they were moving him in the first place. If Craig came to attack, Duff would be dead. Any issues he’d had with Davis would still be out there, unresolved. He needed to call his son. He pulled up his contacts and stared at his phone for a long time. Once he realized he couldn’t put it off any longer, he called, hoping Davis would talk.

The phone rang five times before dropping to voicemail. Hell, he really wanted to tell his son that he was proud of him no matter what he did. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. There was no evidence Davis was operating as a drug dealer, and Duff had used every tool he had to look into the matter. It wasn’t fair for him to accuse his son of doing something illegal when he had no proof. Soon, he’d need to find Davis and have a chat, one where he listened and didn’t allege that Davis was dealing drugs.

Chapter Five

Davis pushed the problems with his father from his mind, ignoring the call he hadn’t returned from yesterday. He sipped his espresso, acting like he was thinking hard about his coffee. The mission took precedence over family, and that’s why he needed to take care of the issue with Duff. Once he was done here in Boston, he’d fly to Colorado and finally visit that ranch where his father lived, even if the old man didn’t want him there. He had no idea exactly where the ranch was, but he’d use his inside contacts to find the place. They were going to bury this hatchet, even if he had to tell his father what he really did for a living.

People streamed past, some tourists, others business men and women. The building across the street housed the office where his target worked. Over the rim of his coffee cup, he stared at the edifice, wondering why he was really watching this building. He wasn’t here to get rid of the guy, just reconnaissance. The man in question was supposed to leave his office for a meeting at ten this morning, and Davis was supposed to sit here until he came out and then figure out whom the man was meeting with. When he’d received the note asking him to go to Boston and watch this place, he’d thought it a bit odd, but he hadn’t called his handler to check what was up since he wasn’t doing any wet work. Easy missions like this happened, and sometimes he didn’t talk to his handler for months. It was an in and out job, easy-peasy with no mess, no problems.

The longer he sat, the more uneasy he felt. Unlike most days, he actually needed the coffee to get going this morning. His head ached, almost like he’d gone out drinking though he hadn’t. Davis forced himself to focus. He believed he was doing a convincing job of playing the coffee snob, so that wasn’t why he felt off. Living in Seattle had taught him to be a connoisseur of coffee, or at least be able to mimic those people who thought they were highbrow coffee consumers. His observational skills weren’t in question. He had learned long before joining the Army, or the CIA, how to watch without watching. His father had taught him how to be observant without looking like he was observing anything in particular. Duff had taught him a lot, too much really, which was why he had issues in the Army. Not big problems, but the tiny inconsistencies had made it impossible for him to stay in the military. When the CIA had asked him to join their fight, he’d jumped at the chance.