Brotherhood Protectors: Rough Justice (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Out of the Wild Book 1) Read online

  “I understand,” his mother said with a nod. “I’m being a little selfish, too. Your dad thinks he’s still fifty and tries to do too much. Having you around forces him to take it easy.”

  He pushed his sunglasses down his nose, peering over the rims. “Ma, at fifty-five, you do too much.”

  She waved her hand. “I’m not pushing eighty like your dad.”

  Shamus often wondered if his parents had thought about their age difference when they’d married, not that it mattered. His dad, minus the aches and pains of getting older, didn’t look a day past sixty, and he was as fit as a fiddle. His mom just wanted him to retire, but Liam Shamus O’Neil would do no such thing.

  Lifting the other saddle off the railing, Shamus groaned as a sharp pain rippled across his lower back, reminding him that he had been forced to retire from the Army a year ago at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, just as his career had really taken off as an intelligence officer with the Green Berets. It wasn’t that he didn’t love ranching, but being back in Montana made his mind wander to what could have been, had his half-sister not been run down by a drunk driver.

  “I’m only a couple miles away at the cabin, and the cell service out there is great, so I can be back in a flash if you need me,” he said, tightening up the belt on Sparky, who pranced like a puppy waiting for a treat. His sister loved horses. All animals, which is why she’d become a vet.

  Colleen had been fifteen years older than Shamus. Growing up, they hadn’t been close. She’d left for college when he’d been a small boy and hadn’t returned until he was in high school, only to die his senior year. She was more like a favorite aunt than a sister. To this day, the mere thought of her brought the sting of tears to his eyes. And it wasn’t just her death that day that had changed his life in ways he still had a hard time reconciling.

  His mother strolled over to the horses, holding out apple slices for each. “How do you feel about seeing her again?”

  “I honestly have no idea.” When he’d heard Amber’s fearful voice last night, adrenaline kicked in, and he became hyper-focused on finding a team that could get her out safely. However, when the phone disconnected, his heart squeezed with the same torment the day she told him he was better off without her—the same day they’d buried his sister. He could almost understand the shame she must have felt when they hauled her father off in handcuffs, but that hadn’t changed how they had spent the few hours before the tragic event.

  Or that he’d loved her with all his heart and soul, and he thought she’d felt the same way.

  No, he knew she loved him, but tragedy changes people, and it changed them both in ways they, as teenagers, couldn’t fathom.

  “But Hank hired me as a Brotherhood Protector, and it’s my job to make sure nothing bad happens to her.”

  His mother reached out, grabbing his chin, tiling it down so she could look him in the eye. His mother was stronger than any woman he’d ever met and the rock of the entire family. “Don’t let the past rule your life.”

  “You know I don’t.”

  She arched a brow. “You’re still bitter about being discharged from the Army.”

  “It’s not that I’m bitter.” Oh, hell he was more than bitter. “I loved serving my country. It’s just been an adjustment.”

  “Life is a constant adjustment.” She turned his face to the side and kissed his cheek.

  The whopping sound of helicopter blades cutting through the thick air echoed across the mountains.

  “Give her our best,” his mother patted his shoulder.

  “Will do.” The only problem with that was that Amber had always believed that his family would only see the daughter of the man who killed their child and not a young woman born to shitty circumstances. He slipped his foot in the stirrup and kicked his leg over the saddle. Sparky kicked up his front legs in excitement. Bourbon bent down and gnawed on grass, totally bored.

  “Whoa.” He pulled back on the reins, letting Sparky know who was boss. “I gotta go, Mom.” He pointed to the chopper coming up fast and flying low. “If you need me, call, okay?”

  “Be safe,” she stepped back as he kicked Sparky in the ribs, pulling on the reins of Bourbon, quickly making it to a gallop as the dust flicked up behind him. He glanced at the sky, the chopper gleaming in the morning sun burning over Crazy Mountains. Racing across the meadow toward the hunting cabin on the far corner of the family ranch, he tried to push out the memory of the last time he’d been inside the small three-room house. The best night of his life had turned into his worst nightmare, and he’d never recovered.

  He tugged on Bourbon’s reins while slowing Sparky down to a gallop the other horse could tolerate. In less than ten minutes he’d be face to face with the woman he never thought he’d see again, yet she never left his mind...or his heart.

  The sun lifted over the mountains, shining its rays on the small log cabin in the distance. Less than a mile out, he watched the chopper set down on the front lawn, Hank jumping from the bay doors, reaching a hand out and helping Amber.

  “Jesus,” Shamus muttered, swallowing his breath.

  Her long, black hair pulled back in a slick ponytail trickled down her back. Her jeans hugged her body like a worn saddle hugging the back of a fine horse. She sported a black tank top that showed off the curves of a woman…the woman he remembered even if she’d only been seventeen.

  “Come on,” he kicked Sparky, hoping Bourbon wouldn’t push back too hard. The need to see her dark-chocolate eyes squeezed his heart like an unexpected visit from a pack of puppies. He remembered every curve of her five-foot-eleven-inch frame against his six-foot-one frame. The memory eased the pain throbbing in his back where he’d been pelted with a half-dozen bullets, nearly paralyzing him for life.

  Someone tossed her a backpack from the chopper. Hank waved before climbing back on board, the bird lifting from the ground, lunging forward in the air, spinning over his head.

  Amber stood a good forty feet from the front porch with a bag tossed over her shoulder and a hand covering her eyes. The hair, gathered in a long ponytail, sailed in the wind as the chopper sped by, Hank waving from the open bay doors.

  Shamus tugged on the reins, bringing the horses down to a trot, then a walk, and finally a stop just past Amber. He slid off his horse, tying both to the side of the house before turning, holding his breath. Over the years, he’d practiced numerous speeches if he ever saw her again, but staring into her rich eyes, his mind went completely blank.

  “Hey, babe,” he said. While everyone in town called her pigtails, he’d always called her babe, a term he never, ever called another woman since. He started calling her that after they’d watched a movie by the same name, and he just kept it up. She’d always had a love/hate relationship with the term of endearment.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said, inching closer, her chestnut eyes glazing over him like a roasting fire licking at his skin. “You look good, considering.”

  He pushed his sunglasses to his forehead. “So, you heard?”

  “I watched your homecoming on television,” she said, tossing her bag on the porch, standing with her hands on her hips, just a few feet away. “But before that, I was in Syria covering a story, so the ambush came across my newsfeed.”

  “It was just a little over a year ago.” He wanted to close the gap between them, but his feet wouldn’t move, frozen in place, staring at her tanned skin and sweet smile. He couldn’t say they were like two strangers, but an awkwardness had engulfed them like the calm before the storm.

  “I tried to see you when you were in the hospital in Germany, but they wouldn’t let me.”

  It felt like his heart stopped and his lungs collapsed. “I had no idea. What were you doing there?”

  “We were forced to leave, and my news crew and I had hitched a ride with an Army transport to Germany just days after the bombing. I called in a few favors to find out where you were, but they wouldn’t let me see you.”

  “I was unconscious f
or weeks,” he said, kneading his fists in his back. The constant pain had, for the most part, become background noise, but the ache in his heart had never gone away, and standing a scant few feet away from her felt like a knife jabbed through his chest. No matter how many girlfriends he’d had over the years, no one made him feel like he had jumped from a plane and was freefalling, spinning over the earth.

  “I was glad to hear you pulled through, but sorry you had to leave the Green Berets. I know how much that meant to you.”

  It had meant the world to him, but he was still grateful to be alive.

  And walking.

  “I’m vertical, so that’s all that matters.”

  She nodded, inching forward.

  “You look exactly the same,” he whispered, scuffing his boots on soil that desperately needed a good rain.

  She tapped the area between her temple and eye. “Other than that scar, so do you.”

  “If you saw my back, you wouldn’t say that.”

  Her forehead crinkled as she wrapped her arms around his back. “I can’t believe I’m back here,” she whispered, dropping her head to his shoulder. “And of all places at this cabin…with you.”

  He breathed in the soft, lily scent lifting off her hair, kissing her temple. “Hank and I both thought it would be the best place to keep you safe while we try to figure out what the hell is going on at the MDA.”

  Her body shivered. “I didn’t know who else to call. Hank has always been there for me.”

  “Had you given me a chance, so would have I.”

  Her body went rigid as she stepped back. “Let’s not go back there.”

  He nodded, dropping his hands to his sides, trying to forget how perfect she fit against him, even after all these years. “I’m here for you now.”

  “Thank you,” she said, turning and making her way up to the porch. He remembered chasing her up those very steps, pushing her through the front door as his lips assaulted hers in a tangled web of teenage lust before tossing her on the bed in the only bedroom in the cabin. That evening they learned about love and passion…followed by the anguish of death and destruction.

  “I’m glad you called Hank, and I’m honored to help.” He leapt in front of her, opening the door. “I’ve done some research and talked with a few buddies in the intelligence community, but I need to read through what you have so we can make a plan going forward.”

  “Do you mind if I shower first? Riding in the back of a C-150 is never fun.”

  “Not at all. I had the hot water turned on last night, and my mom made sure there are clean towels in the bathroom.”

  She set her bag on the table, her eyes scanning the room. “Wow. This place hasn’t changed.”

  “I learned that when I came home a year ago, not much has.”

  “I bet my old place has changed.” She stood next to the plaid sofa, her fingers gliding across the cushions.

  “I haven’t been there, but my folks say the new owners are good people.”

  “Unlike my father,” she said under her breath. Quickly, she held up her hand. “Don’t say it. I know. I’m not my father, but being back here brings it all crashing down on me. Add in the fact that someone tried to kill me last night, I’m feeling a bit off.”

  He took a step toward her, wanting to hold her and tell her it would be all right. That things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That he and his team would help her figure this out and restore her life to something that resembled her existence before she uncovered a plot that could expose military secrets and put American citizens at risk.

  She took a step back.

  He pointed to the backpack. “Everything in there?”

  She nodded. “The file folder that Bud gave me and my flash drive, which needs a laptop.”

  He moved to the table, tapping his finger next to the computer. “All taken care of.” He nodded toward the bedroom. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll muddle through all of this after a good breakfast.”

  “You’re going to cook?” her lips turned into a half-smile.

  “I’ve learned a thing or two since we’ve both been gone.”

  “Good Lord, I hope it’s edible, I’m freaking starving,” she said, yanking her hair tie, letting her waist-long hair cascade over her breasts.

  He coughed, trying not to stare at the exotic sight.

  “I have no clothes with me,” she said, smiling that killer smile that sent his insides into a twist.

  “My mom sent some over.”

  “She always took care of everything.”

  “Still does.”

  Amber turned, her hips swaying as she strode toward the one and only bedroom, something he hadn’t given much thought to when he suggested they stay out at the cabin.

  “Hey, babe?”

  She laughed. “What?”

  “It really is good to see you.”

  Chapter 3

  THE SECOND Amber stepped into the steaming hot shower, the tears came. Her body shook as she hugged herself, letting the water roll down her body, stinging her skin. Bud Harrington was dead, and he’d died trying to uncover a mole in his own agency. She had to wonder if when he blew her off it was for her own protection, or if he’d always planned on giving her the file, which meant her source had tipped off Bud.

  A million things raced through her mind like rapid bullets flying across the shooting range. As soon as one idea popped in, it was quickly replaced with another.

  Only none of them stopped the tears. She’d held them at bay all through the night sitting in the back of a military transport aircraft. One or two trickled out when Hank greeted her at the small airport a few hours away. But between the weight of her situation, being back in Montana, and feeling Shamus’s strong arms wrapped around her, there was no way in hell she’d be able to stop the waterworks.

  She needed to let it out. A good, cleansing cry, and thank God she didn’t have to do it around Shamus.

  Taking in a deep breath, she vigorously scrubbed her hair and body as the tears subsided. She didn’t think she’d be able to peel away the grimy film feeling that coated her skin since hearing of Bud’s untimely demise, but she sure as hell would try.

  Shutting off the shower, she wrapped a towel around her head and one around her body, padding her way into the bedroom and stopping just short of the log wood framed bed, staring at the green, plaid comforter with matching pillows. She clutched her heart remembering how nervous she and Shamus had been that night. They’d talked about it for weeks, wanting to make their first time special, and it was.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Amber, are you decent?” Shamus asked.

  “Give me five minutes,” she called.

  “I think I found something.”

  Mrs. O’Neil had packed all the basic necessities. Amber opted for a pair of leggings, a loose-fitting shirt, and she left her waist-long hair down to dry. When she stepped into the main room, Shamus had plopped himself down on the reclining sofa with his feet up and a computer on his lap.

  “I don’t remember that couch reclining,” she said, contemplating on if she should sit next to him or on the chair next to the couch, angled toward the television.

  “Just bought it a few months ago. My back couldn’t take the other one. My pop was stoked we found the exact same style.”

  “Your father has never liked change much.” Because she wanted to see the laptop screen, she opted for the seat next to him, though she made sure there was enough distance, so their bodies didn’t meet. “What did you find?”

  “I think I found out who your informant is.” He twisted the screen, tapping on a name. “The email was joansmith, but we found no Joan Smith in any government directory, so I tried to pick apart the letters as I looked at the names at the MDA, and I found a Josephine S. Wesson.”

  She cocked her head, staring at him. “That makes no sense.”

  He smiled that cocky smile that made his dark eyes shimmer with the excitement of a
little boy who thought he had all the answers. “The middle initial is Smith.”

  “Smith and Wesson? That’s her name?” The corner of her mouth curled upward, releasing a bit of the tension suffocating her.

  “I know, right? But turns out she’s a real gun buff, card carrying member of the NRA, all for second amendment rights. Imagine the odds of marrying someone with the last name Wesson.”

  “How do we know this chick is the person who initiated contact with me?”

  “We don’t. Yet,” he said, handing her the computer as he sat up slightly, reaching behind his back, groaning. He yanked out a heating pad and tossed it to the floor. “We’ve got one of our guys on a mission in the area, so he’s going to see what he can find out. But what we do know is that Josephine is the chief assistant to the director of the MDA, so she certainly has access to a lot of information.”

  Instinctively, she reached out, resting her hand on the center of his back. “Should you be riding a horse?”

  “It wasn’t from being on the back of a horse, though I’m sure that didn’t help.”

  “What then?”

  “Lifting a bunch of shit for my pop, who refuses to let my mother hire someone to do half the shit around the house. Stubborn old mule, that man. He’s seventy-eight years old. He should be front porch sitting with a lab at his feet and his wife on his lap.”

  She squeezed his biceps, before dropping her hand to her lap.

  He adjusted the recliner, stretching his back left and right. “Let’s get back to the reason you are here.”

  “Right,” she mumbled. “Are your men going to interview her? I don’t want her to get spooked, if she is my source.”