Zero Hour: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Holt, Desiree

“Believe me, if that’s what he sees after he meets you, you’ll be gone before you know what hit you.” There was the sound of him clearing his throat again. “My challenges were physical, but I got past that, and Alex never treated me any differently. What do you say?”

  Well, what else did he have to do, anyway? Maybe this time the situation would help him get Terry Fordice out of his mind.

  “Okay. I’ll give it a shot. But,” he added quickly, “this is just a looksee. No promises.”

  “On either side,” Zane agreed.

  “Text me the directions. I’ve got your number in my phone now, so I’ll let you know when I get close.” When he read the information, he said, “I’m less than a day away.”

  “Call me when you’re partway here, just to check in.”

  Jesse laughed. “Think I’ll change my mind?”.

  “Better not. You might be missing out on something great.”

  Jesse wasn’t so sure about that, but he kicked back on the bed for long moments after the call ended. What did he really have to lose, anyway? He’d already planned to find someplace new where construction was hiring and see if that might be a place to get his head on straight. Yeah, his head. That seemed to be fucked up, especially when he tried to clear it of thoughts about Terry Fordice.

  Swallowing a sigh, he rose and stuffed everything in the small duffel that fit in one compartment of his bike. Ten minutes later he had checked out, picked up breakfast at a drive through, and was on the road to Montana. To the Crazy Mountains. Yeah, that was very appropriate, because he had to be crazy to do this.

  The roads he took were mostly rural. He avoided the major highways whenever possible, preferring to enjoy the scenery rather than breathe the exhaust from all the cars. For some reason, today the trip made him think of Terry Fordice again. He’d bought the beast just before they met, and he’d taken her riding on it a bunch. Now his horny mind thought back to the times he’d convinced her to ride in front of him, her perfect ass pressed against his fly and the swollen cock behind it. God, that woman was hot. Best sex of his life, and she was smart, sassy, and funny on top of it.

  Well, he’d sure fucked that up in a hurry. His mind and his nightmares had betrayed him, leading him to decide he couldn’t handle a relationship. Not the first mistake he’d made nor the last one. Since then any woman he took to bed had turned out to be a pale comparison. His cock—and shockingly, his brain—had been giving him hell since then. He needed to do his best to get her out of his mind, since the chances of ever seeing her again were slim to none.

  When he stopped to gas up the Harley Davidson Ultra Glide he checked the remaining distance on his digital map and called Zane.

  “Well, I’m halfway there,” he told the man. “I guess I’ll finish the trip. I’d hate for you to get all pissed off at me.”

  Zane laughed. “You know I would. Okay, get your sorry butt back on the road. You should be here before dark. Call me again when you’re very close, and I’ll tell you how to get where I am. Even with GPS, places in the Crazy Mountains aren’t that easy to find.”

  “Will do.”

  He climbed back on the bike and kicked on the motor. He hoped to hell he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

  * * *

  Terry thought it was a good thing she’d had a course in evasive driving. She was barely hauling ass down the road leading away from Morgan Arms Manufacturing when she saw a brown SUV barreling up behind her. Flooring the accelerator—and giving thanks for her course in evasive driving—she hit the interstate and zoomed across three lanes of traffic. The SUV was still on her tail but caught behind a semi and an oil truck, unable to cross the lanes. While they were still blocked, she pushed her speed past the limit, zigzagging back and forth until she came close to the intersection with IH-35. Waiting until the last possible minute, she zipped across the lanes again and took the exit ramp to the other highway.

  She didn’t let out her breath until she was five minutes onto the other interstate and could see nothing of the SUV. Sliding into the flow of traffic, she pressed a speed dial number on her cell and called Alex Rossi, a Montana sheriff who was her good friend. If anyone could help her, he was it.

  He listened to her story and, as he usually did, asked a few pointed questions before agreeing with her that he could help.

  “Check in along the way,” he told her. “We’ll handle it, Terry. I’d love to tie a rope around that asshole. I always believed there was something wrong about him.”

  “Well, now you know. And thanks for agreeing to help me. See you sometime tomorrow.”

  “I’ll start putting things together. Drive safe.”

  She got off at an exit that would take her to a large mall, zigzagged around it, and finally managed to find a parking space between two pickups. Just as she pulled in her phone rang. She looked at the readout. Jaeger.

  “I’m still alive,” she told him as soon as he answered.

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Where are you?”

  She told him her location, giving him the name of the mall where she was parked so he could pinpoint her on a map.

  “Okay, don’t stay parked, just in case. Drive around the parking lot to make sure those assholes haven’t by some miracle located you. Give it a good twenty minutes. I’m going to text you a location. When you get there, a man named Brian will be waiting for you with a clean car and driving directions to where you’re going. Brian will let me know when you’re on your way again. Stop wherever you need to get supplies, but don’t try to make it in one day. I know you.”

  Yes, he did. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, she’d have laughed.

  “Got it.”

  “Check in again when you make your first stop.”

  The line went dead. That was Max. Efficient as hell with no time for niceties. It didn’t matter to her. He had her back, and that was all she cared about.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled off the interstate and into a used car lot. When she stopped at the trailer that served as the office, a tall, lean man with graying hair and a trimmed beard was waiting by the steps. She left the car running and her gun tucked against her thigh where she’d kept it since leaving Morgan Arms. She wasn’t taking any chances.

  The man walked up to the car and nodded. “I’m Brian. I’ve got your car.”

  Could she believe it was him and not an imposter?

  Get real, Terry. Reed Morgan and Lyle Beckett have no idea where you are and would not have had time to set this whole thing up.

  But then, as if aware of what she was thinking, he said, “His middle name is Howard.”

  Terry swallowed a laugh. Max hated that name. Only someone he knew and trusted would have it.

  “Okay.” She shut off the car and stepped out, taking her purse and her weapon.

  “Max said you’re heading to Montana, to the Crazies. Got you a sturdy ride.” He led her to the side of the trailer where a black SUV sat waiting.

  Terry almost laughed. SUVs seemed to be taking over her life.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the keys he handed her and listened while he ran over the details of the vehicle for her. Then he handed her an envelope.

  “Cash,” he told her. “Max said you needed it.”

  “Right.” No credit cards for her right now. “Thanks.”

  “Crank up that car and let me go over a few things with you.”

  Ten minutes later she was back on IH-35 with directions to Bozeman, Montana programmed into her phone and a wad of cash in her purse. She planned to put plenty of miles between her and San Antonio before she stopped to pick up what she needed and get her cup of well-deserved coffee.

  Chapter 5

  “What do you mean, you lost her?” Reed Morgan stared at the two men standing in front of his desk. “You guys are supposed to be the best. She’s just a fucking reporter, for god’s sake.”

  Lyle Beckett sat in a casual pose with one hip on a corner of the desk, but the line of his b
ody was anything but, and anger radiated from his body.

  “Just what I said.” Curt Renshaw, his personal bodyguard, spoke in a rigid tone. “We lost her on the interstate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a reporter drive the way she does.”

  “Told you,” Beckett snapped. “If she’s a reporter, I’m Little Bo Peep.”

  Morgan maintained his rigid control with an effort. He was damn fucking sick of Beckett throwing his weight around. Sure, it had been a godsend when he stepped up into the financial hole left when they’d had to get rid of Vanetti. Now, however, he wondered if it was worth the cost. The man challenged his authority at every turn.

  He focused on Renshaw again, shocked at the situation. Renshaw never lost a target, never misplaced anyone, never let a situation slip away. He could tell the man was angry with himself and trying to control it.

  “Give me the details. You got to her before she pulled out of the parking area, right?”

  “Maybe a couple of minutes after, but we were right on her tail. Maybe not more than three car lengths behind her when we hit the interstate.”

  “So, what happened?” Morgan demanded.

  “The minute she hit IH-10 she took off like she had a stick of dynamite up her ass.”

  Don, the other man, agreed. “She rode that interstate traffic like a pro. When we got up to the 35 interchange, she zipped across three lanes of traffic and onto 35. No way we could follow her.”

  “I never met a damn reporter who could drive like that,” Renshaw spat. “She’s a phony, whatever else she is. I should have spotted that from the beginning, but the bitch is a damn good actor.”

  Morgan wanted to hit someone or something at the look Beckett shot his way.

  “So, what you’re saying is she took off on IH-35 West, and you lost her.”

  “By the time we were able to get off one highway and onto the other,” Emery told him, “she was in the wind.”

  Morgan wanted to hit something. Or someone. How the hell did he get a ringer in here, anyway? He’d called Franklin Morrow, the publisher of American Made himself to check her out. Why would Morrow lie to him? Did someone have his balls in a wringer?

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “What do you want us to do?” Renshaw asked. “Let me loose on this. I’ll find her.”

  “No. Do nothing right now. I have to figure this out. There’s a good possibility she’s with the fucking government. I don’t want you tripping any warning flags. Just keep yourself available.” He looked at Emery. “Both of you.”

  He could tell that Renshaw was keeping himself under tight control. If Beckett had not been in the room, he might have protested. Instead he just gave silent agreement and the two men left.

  Beckett slid off the corner of the desk, standing so he faced Morgan. “It is critical that we find this bitch.”

  Morgan held up a hand. He was getting sick of Beckett’s criticism and increasing attempts at control. Project Zero Hour was going to be expensive. They’d had to make a lot of plans and arrange for a lot of equipment to pull this off. Vanetti’s unexpected defection had put him in a bind, and Beckett had seemed like a godsend.

  Yeah. God of the underworld.

  But he was right about this. Had he let his ego get in the way here? His whole life he’d had a laser focus on his goals. He couldn’t believe he’d missed so badly on this one.

  “You’re right.” He pulled up his list of contacts on his cell phone. “Everyone has footprints somewhere. Plus, we’ve got a network that covers the country. We need to put it to use for this. We’ll find her.”

  * * *

  Terry lifted the cup from the holder in the console and took a last swallow of the now cold coffee. She’d be damned glad to get to Eagle Rock and Alex Rossi after all this time on the road. She’d spent last night in Colorado in a cheap but clean roadside motel before hitting IH 25 again toward Billings. The SUV was built for long distance travel with comfortable seats and a lot of electronics. She’d just be glad to get to Alex’s office and off the road for a while.

  She had left the interstate a while ago and was enjoying the scenery as she followed the two-lane highway that would lead her to Alex Rossi’s office. Alex had been on the same SEAL team as her cousin Rick. Sadly, Rick had been killed by an IED, and Alex had come to visit her aunt and uncle and talk to them about Rick’s time on the team. There had been no romantic spark between them, but they had become good friends and kept in touch sporadically. She was glad he’d found a woman like Micki Schroeder and that they were happy together. And thrilled he’d not only made a place for himself in the civilian world using the skills he’d been trained in, but also that he was reaching out to other SEALs to do the same thing.

  When she’d called him about the situation with Reed Morgan, he’d told her to come on out, no questions asked, and let him know what he could do to help.

  She had spoken to Max Jaeger three times since she’d left Texas yesterday, aware he’d managed to get eyes on Reed Morgan shortly after her hasty exit.

  “He’s been holed up in his office since you left,” Max told her. “We’ve got a fake construction crew working on the access road, so we’ll know as soon as he leaves. I also flagged his license plate so when he drives anywhere that has CCTV we can follow him.”

  “The man whose picture I sent you, Lyle Beckett. Anything on him?”

  “Not as much as we’d like, but enough to know he’s got money to burn and suddenly became asshole buddies with Morgan. With Vanetti dead, Morgan needed a new money man. He’s rich, but he’s building up to something we think requires unlimited cash. The worrisome thing is that Beckett, like Morgan, has a grudge against the government. Whatever Morgan has on his agenda, it appears Beckett is more than willing to fund it. Which, if I may say so, scares the shit out of me.”

  “You’ll keep looking into it?”

  “Count on it.”

  They had spoken briefly when she checked into the motel last night and then this morning after she hit the highway. She was just anxious to get there and look around. Alex had told her Morgan’s property, while private, was connected to the huge ranch next to it. And that ranch was owned by a friend of Alex’s, which could give them the access they needed to Morgan’s spread. She was anxious to get a look at the setup and fix it in her mind. Try to figure out what the hell they were doing there, before Morgan pulled the trigger on whatever he was planning.

  In Colorado, before she’d gone to sleep for the night, she’d hit a discount store and used some of the money Max had arranged for her to buy some basic clothing and other needs. At least she was set for the time being.

  She paid careful attention to the scenery as she ate up the highway miles. All around her she could see the peaks of the Crazy Mountains rising, where the transition from prairie to mountain was incredibly dramatic. She knew most of the land surrounding it was privately held. Landowners were obsessive about keeping traffic to an absolute minimum. There were, however, two public access roads, one from the east and the other from the west. She hoped using one of them would get her close enough to Reed Morgan’s spread to find out what the hell was going on.

  It was late afternoon, and she was less than a mile from Alex’s office when disaster hit. The sound of a blown tire and the clump on the road let her know exactly what had happened. Pulling over to the shoulder, she turned off the ignition and climbed out, the view of the left rear tire confirming what she thought. Flat tire.

  “Well, damn.”

  Not at all what she needed. She’d changed plenty of flats in her time, but it was a pain in the ass, and she really wasn’t in the mood.

  “Well, better get to it, girl. No white knight is going to come along and save you.”

  She supposed she could call Alex, as close as she was, but her streak of independence wouldn’t let her do it. Instead, with a sigh, she climbed out of the vehicle. She had the jack lying next to the flat and had just pulled the spare out of the well where it was stored when she he
ard the sound of a motorcycle behind her. She grabbed her gun from her purse next to the driver’s seat and shoved it into the pocket of the new jeans she wore, pulling her T-shirt out of the waistband and letting it hang loose to disguise the outline of the weapon.

  As the motorcycle came closer, her breath caught. No, it couldn’t be. Not here, in the middle of nowhere. Not when her mind was so focused on her job and what her immediate priority was. It had to be someone who just reminded her of him, with a big bike that looked like his. But when he got closer, every nerve in her body fired as she realized it was indeed Jesse Donovan, heading straight for her. What on earth was he doing here?

  He pulled up to the shoulder of the road, shut off his engine, and climbed off the bike. Then he pulled off his helmet and stared at her for a long moment. She felt as if all her clothes had been stripped off.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said at last. His voice still had that deep, rusty tone to it.

  She ran her gaze over his body. He was just as lean and muscular, his hair a little longer, his beard a little scruffier. Very inappropriately, the pulse between her legs set up a throbbing, and her nipples hardened. She wished she had a jacket on to conceal the evidence of her unwanted arousal because Jesse’s eyes immediately focused on her breasts.

  She swallowed. “I could say the same.”

  “I’m here to see an old friend. What’s your story?”

  “Ditto.” He knew she was an ATFE agent, but she wasn’t about to give him any details of what was going on. She had no reason not to trust him, but spilling her guts didn’t go with the job.

  “You have an old friend out here in the middle of the Crazy Mountains? That’s…crazy!”

  “Yeah, well, I could say the same.” She looked at her flat and the jack lying on its side. “I’d better get to work here.”

  Jesse closed his fingers around her wrists, his touch sending arrows of heat through her body.

  “I’ll do it.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t want you to break a fingernail.”