Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Chance could imagine his brother lying belly down, feet anchored over the edge of that boom, his eye to his scope and as cool as a cucumber. “The man should’ve stayed home and minded his business. His wife fell overboard last night.”

  “She’s dead?” Pagan asked without a hint of surprise at that bombshell.

  “The ship’s captain believes her assistant fell overboard with her sometime during the night. They’re still looking for him.”

  “Hmm,” Pagan murmured. “Then why the hell is the governor here, when he’s got a state funeral to plan? Does Suede know?”

  “Not yet, I just found out. I’ll bet Tennyson thought he’d catch York in that terminal. That’s why he’s there. Want to bet this turn of events screwed his plans?”

  “No shit.” Pagan grunted. “Tough break, her being born to those two. Never had much use for either Tennysons’ politics, but I like her. Be good to that girl.”

  “Copy that,” Chance said. “Stay safe, Baby Brother.”

  “Nine, Chance,” Pagan hissed. “Zapata had nine bodies in that terminal.”

  “Nine?” Chance closed his eyes at that magic number. “Want to bet those are the Port Authority Commissioners? Most of them were York’s buddies. Someone’s cleaning house, Pagan, and whoever’s aligned himself with York is next.” Which meant Julio Juarez and Benito Garcia, maybe Suede, if that someone came looking for York. Chance’s stomach dropped.

  “Why do I get the feeling all roads lead back to Mick Tennyson?” Pagan asked. “You remembered to set the beacons, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, smartass,” Chance hissed. Man, make one mistake, and his brothers never let him live it down. “I set four topside, some cameras, too.”

  “You climbed back up Old Man Mountain? At night?”

  “It was nearly morning by then, but yeah. I’m not taking chances.”

  Pagan chuckled. “How’s our girl doing?”

  “Good. She was there when York fell.”

  “Christ, you took her on a job with you?”

  “There was no choice. I couldn’t leave her here alone. She’s neck deep in this mess, and she deserved to look her murderer in the eye.”

  “You should’ve let her take him out.”

  “She had her chance, but she chose not to.”

  “So you did it? In front of her?”

  “Not precisely. He slipped.” Kind of.

  “You tossed him over the edge? Like he did to Suede? Gnarly!”

  Who said gnarly anymore? “Get a life. I said he slipped. Suede and I both grabbed for him, but we couldn’t get to him fast enough.”

  “You all choked up?”

  Chance grunted. “Crying my eyes out. Gotta go. Keep your ears on.” He had a breakfast date with a beautiful woman, and he couldn’t miss it, not with the bad news he now had to share.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  What is keeping that man? Suede drummed her fingertips on the kitchen table. She’d gone all out this morning and made cinnamon roll French toast, eggs over-easy, and browned a half-pound of Canadian bacon. Gallo had already had his piece of bacon, but Chance was late and his food wouldn’t stay warm and delicious if he didn’t hurry.

  “On my way,” he called from the direction of his office.

  A smile threatened to steal over her whole face at that simple, ordinary statement. In a week, her life had changed from hell to near nirvana. She still had to deal with the real world one day soon, but for now she basked in the glow of Chance Sullivan’s home and the comfortable familiarity of living with him.

  He rounded the corner, rubbing his palms together. “Smells good.”

  “I hope you like it,” she said, loving the way his T-shirt stretched over his chest. An insatiable appetite for her man began a restless beat in her blood. Coffee, tea, or Chance? Hmmm…

  Suede jumped to her feet for a hug, but he’d already taken his seat, his focus on the platter in front of him. “For me?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Still no eye contact and no answer, just a lip-smacking guy grunt and a change of subject, “Let’s eat.”

  She took her seat opposite him, her elbows on the table and her chin on her steepled fingers. “Spill, Sinclair. Something’s up. You can’t keep anything from me. I’ll always know.”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather eat first.”

  “I knew it. It’s in your voice. Who’s hurt? Not Pagan or Kruze?”

  His lips pinched as he lifted his head to face her, but there was sadness in those deepening ambers. “It’s your mother, Suede. She was on a cruise, and I’m sorry, but... she fell overboard last night.”

  “She’s dead?” Suede hadn’t expected that. Mom? Dead? Does not compute. “Umm, okay. You’re right. We should eat before everything gets cold.”

  He cocked his head. “Did you hear me? Your mother’s gone, baby.”

  “I heard you, I just…” She lifted her fork, not certain what to feel. Relief? Anger? What precisely should she feel when someone who, by her own admission had never loved her, died? “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” I guess.

  Chance flew to her side. It was his warm grip at her waist that got through to her. “It’s okay. Let it go,” he breathed into the side of her head.

  But there was nothing to let go. All Suede could do was nod. She wasn’t in shock or denial. It was more like a rug had been jerked out from under her just when she’d caught her balance for the first time in her life. Didn’t it figure? Just when everything was going good, Mom ruined everything?

  Suede couldn’t wrap her head around this interesting, awful news. How can you mourn someone who didn’t want you? Who never had one kind word to say to you or about you? Suede leaned into Chance, hoping he’d share some of his compassion, because all she felt was—nothing. “I don’t know how to feel. I was afraid for your brothers, but my mom?” She never crossed my mind.

  Nose to nose, Chanced threaded his fingers into her hair as he kissed her forehead. “It’ll come, and when it does, I’m here for you.”

  Suede closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh scent of the wild Montana sky that always came with Chance. “Okay. That’s nice.” I guess.

  *****

  Pagan was right. Someone came looking for York. Twelve somebodies. Two choppers landed on Old Man Mountain at noon after Chance and Suede finished breakfast. They touched down precisely where York’s rig was stranded. Six men all decked out in winter camouflaged tactical gear and loaded for bear piled out of each chopper.

  Chance had left Suede with an earpiece so she could reach him without having to come looking for him. For now, she sat snuggled with Gallo in front of the fireplace, reading one of his mom’s novels, My Enemy Tryst, if Chance remembered right. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the camera feeds he’d rigged topside. He hadn’t set the beacons to sound alarms though. It hadn’t seemed right to alert York’s buddies that a covert operator quartered nearby.

  So he watched from the privacy of his office as the men scouted the rig, then cautiously entered like SEALs going door-to-door in Fallujah. These guys were just as steady and maybe half as good. They moved with the precision and accuracy of special operators while one brave individual entered the rig, pistol drawn. Three more followed on his six, but all came out shaking their heads. From there, they spread out.

  One kicked around the rig and found the men York murdered just beyond the exit. He knelt long enough to determine COD, but didn’t search for identification, and Chance knew then that he was looking at a death squad. These guys hadn’t come to rescue York. They’d come to kill him.

  Several others stood overlooking the falls. They stayed there a good long time, one peering through high-powered binocs, the others using rifle-scopes. Scanning. Searching.

  Chance held his breath. If they were looking for York, all they’d see was the pristine scenery he wanted them to see. York wasn’t in the pond where he’d fallen. Chance had taken him deep in the woods and buried him in a plot of e
asy–to-dig bark and peat moss he’d prepared for just such occasions. If Sullivan’s crew didn’t show soon, the animals would take care of York, but for now, he was out of sight. Suede would never know this part of the op, and someday, he hoped she’d look out across his parcel of wilderness and think ‘how pretty’ again.

  There seemed to be no leader in charge of the guys up top, which meant they relied on earpieces as well. As one, they turned back to the choppers. In minutes, the birds lifted off. That was when it got interesting. Instead of hovering over the site of York’s last known residence, both choppers veered directly west and disappeared in a cloud of snow. Precisely ten seconds later…

  BOOM! A tremendous reverberation rattled the ground. Chance lost all video feeds. His cabin windows rattled. Those men had just blown York’s rig to kingdom come. Had to be Viktor Patrone’s work.

  It made logical sense. Kill your enemy. Erase his name from the face of the Earth. Winners had been doing that for years. It also meant those mercenaries and whomever they reported to, Patrone or Tennyson, now knew Suede Tennyson wasn’t with York. They had no way of knowing about the video. They’d target her next.

  Chance jumped to his feet. Sullivan still didn’t know who was behind his previous employees’ betrayals, and no one knew which side Domingo Zapata or Vicki Hex worked for. Trouble could come at Suede from any player still in the game. With one keystroke, Chance activated the live ordnance concealed within the foundation, walls, and perimeter of his home-sweet-home. Company was coming.

  *****

  The windows rattled, which in California meant any number of mini-earthquakes, but here in Montana? Suede felt a sudden draft float past her, kissing her cheek like the breath of winter. She looked over her shoulder as the slide and click of heavy metal at the windows darkened the massive room. The interior lighting flickered along the ornate overhead beams. That was no earthquake. The pages of the book in her hand collapsed into themselves as she reached for her pistol. Better safe than sorry Chance had taught her, and after a week like the last, she believed.

  “Come, Gallo,” she said as she lifted to her feet, one fingertip to her earpiece. “Chance?” she asked, her voice clear and strong.

  “Right behind you.”

  She lowered her pistol when he came from the opposite direction than she’d expected. “What’s going on?”

  “Visitors up top just blew York’s rig. Patrone’s men possibly, but I can’t be sure. There are too many players in this mess. I activated the cabin. Don’t worry. We have nothing to fear.”

  “But fear itself,” she shot back at him as she holstered her weapon. “So what happens when you activate the cabin? Does it spring to life into a Transformer or something? Sure hope it’s not one of the Decepticons.”

  That got a grin out of her grimfaced companion. “Remind me to tell Pagan and Kruze they’ve got Optimus Prime working on their side.” Chance ran a hand up the back of his neck and through his already shaggy hair, ruffling it as if he needed to look more like an unkempt bear than he already did. “I built this cabin with five-inch-thick steel plating between the outer logs and the inside framing. No one’s getting in unless they bring heavy explosives with them.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Wow.”

  Chance nodded. “I also added a couple offensive features in case someone gets in too close. The corner joints conceal remote operated weaponry to ensure no enemy lives past a twenty-yard radius. The porch itself is an electrical trap. One step up and whoever’s in that boot is on their way to hell.” Chance cocked his head. “Close your mouth, Suede. You’re drooling.”

  That made her smile despite the fact she was now living in a massively armed camp instead of a log cabin. “What if they still get inside? What if they bring a tank and blow past all your defenses? What if they use rockets?”

  The cocky, handsome man winked. “Then we go downstairs and escape through the tunnel while my interior traps do their stuff. Trust me. If anyone gets in here, they’d better be wearing Kevlar pajamas and gasmasks.” He canted his head. “Any other questions?”

  Suede scanned the plush interior that only seconds before had been merely rustic. She ran into his open arms and snuggled under his chin. “Only one,” she breathed. “How’d I get so lucky?”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “You’ve got it all wrong, babe. I’m the lucky one.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chance relaxed in the easy chair in front of the fire, his stocking feet on the matching ottoman. Suede had gotten a burst of nervous energy and decided to launder the bed sheets from Chance’s room, then the blankets. She cleaned the bathroom, tub, and shower stall, then folded what she’d laundered once it dried. With all of her traipsing back and forth, he wasn’t sure where she was at the moment, but she had strict instructions not to leave the cabin.

  Chance had a direct line to his brothers and Sullivan via his high-tech earpiece, so he’d purposefully stayed out of his office to keep her company, if she’d hold still. He had a remedy for her nerves. “Suede,” he called out.

  No answer came back to him, and now that he noticed, Gallo wasn’t in his customary place by the fire either. The hairs lifted at the back of Chance’s neck. He pushed up, his throat dry and his hands on his knees. “Suede?” he called again, every fiber of his body tuned for her sweet voice.

  Still nothing.

  The easy answer for her silence was that she was intently scrubbing something else and couldn’t hear him, and Gallo was with her. Chance needed to see that to be certain, and she needed to cease and desist the Suzy Homemaker routine. It was driving him crazy.

  He paused at his nearly shut bedroom door, not wanting to startle her. She was already uptight. Easing it open, his heart caught in his throat. There she was, sound asleep on his freshly made bed. The poor thing. She had to be exhausted.

  That lazy scoundrel Gallo lay stretched alongside of her. He lifted his lazy head and gave Chance a, ‘Hey. Close the door. We’re sleeping here’ look. Chance snapped his fingers. The long-legged kid took his time slinking to the floor, but at last there was room for the real man of the house beside Suede.

  She didn’t make a peep as Chance covered her with a light blanket, then eased in behind her. He came to rest in line with her body, spooning with his hand on her hip. His early defense warning had been quiet since this morning’s rumble, so he grabbed this stolen opportunity to hold the woman he’d fallen for. Who would’ve thought he’d fall this hard or so fast?

  An errant thought wiggled its way into Chance’s wandering recollections. What would Bear think of Suede? Navy SEAL, Master Chief Petty Officer Barrett ‘Bear’ Knight. The only man Scarlett Sinclair had truly cared for besides her sons.

  The name fit him. Bear was a mountain of a man, but as kind and as gentlemanly as could be. He’d not only treated Scarlett with the respect she deserved, but he taught Chance and his brothers things a man needed to know. Like gun safety. Deep-sea fishing out on the wild Pacific. Bear taught them everything, from how to steer his fishing boat to baiting hooks and wrangling rock cod, yellowfin tuna, and calico bass into the boat, all without giving the ever-present dogfish a snack on the way up from the deep.

  The youngster barracuda that Chance had snagged one summer afternoon was the highlight of his teenage years. Somewhere in the cabin, he still had a picture of him holding that toothy baby beast and grinning like a fool. You’d have thought he’d nailed the record for largest catch of the day by the size of that grin. It might be time to dust that memory off and frame it. Suede might like to see it. Yeah. Good times.

  Bear was the one who’d taken the photo. He was the only real man in the Sinclair boys’ lives. It stood to reason they’d follow in his footsteps. Chance lowered his nose into Suede’s fragrant mass of tangles, breathing her in. Loving this woman with all he had. It might be time to reconnect with Bear. He had to be grieving Scarlett’s death as much as her boys.

  Chance found it odd that merely holding Sue
de while she slept brought his tenderest emotions to the surface. Everything about her was feminine and soft, and Heaven knew he’d been a loner for too long. He couldn’t help but wonder what he would’ve amounted to if his mother had deserted him like Suede’s mother did her. How does a kid survive without a soft place to land at the end of a bad day? Without a mom who stopped writing her novels the minute her boys showed up because she had to know everything they’d been up to since she’d seen them last? Without a mom with light in her pretty green eyes just because you woke up in the morning? Without love?

  He’d managed to survive the six months since he’d lost her, but only because he’d thrown himself into building this cabin. Without working every twenty-four-seven like a maniac, he’d still have the nightmares. Jimmy Superman Olsen, Gerard Hot Shot Rowe, and Stokes Gunpowder Remington would still be visiting him when the cabin was quiet and the work crews were gone. Merrick Ears Wong. Kevin Chill Frost. Pete Ducky Newton… They’d gone through hell together. God, he missed his mom and he missed his guys.

  But surviving wasn’t quite the same thing as living, was it? Chance knew he’d been hiding out more than just dedicating his time to his brothers’ future security. Who was he kidding? He’d become a coward for the first time in his life, slow rolling the commitment Sullivan and his brothers deserved. In truth, the cabin had been ready a couple months ago. It had taken an angel dropping from heaven for Chance to wake up and get his priorities straight.

  He lifted a strand of her auburn hair just because he could. Then another, thrilled at this stolen intimate moment. Suede had beautiful hair, a cascade that curled and dripped off her shoulders like a ruddy mountain waterfall in spring, full of glints of red and gold and—life. That moment up top when she’d loosed her goggles and beanie to stare York down would be forever etched in Chance’s mind.