Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series

by Tracey Devlyn

  “Why are there extremists in every group?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let me clue you in. Stealing an endangered wild wolf, placing her on auction, detaining my mom, throwing my equipment out the window, doing God-knows-what to my brothers—don’t you think that’s a bit much for the pleasure of killing a scared, defenseless animal?”

  “Wolves are not defenseless.”

  “When up against a high-powered rifle? Yes, they are.”

  “You obviously don’t understand the sport.”

  “Sport would be if you and the wolf were on an equal playing field. What you’re promoting is senseless murder—just so you can fill empty counter space at your club.”

  “Such a naive young man. When our country goes to war—and it will in our lifetime—you will be thankful for hunters like me. Men who can protect and provide for do-gooders like you, who were more concerned with preserving every living creature instead of using them as a training ground.”

  “You’re a sick puppy, Ito.”

  “One day, you will understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “You chose the losing side.”

  33

  “Drop your weapon, wolf man.”

  The blunt end of a gun barrel dug into the back of Britt’s skull. Two poachers in front of him and, at least, one behind. How many more?

  The barrel pressed harder. “Best not to test me.”

  Gritting his teeth, Britt placed his rifle on the ground. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “And the handgun.”

  Snapping his .40 caliber free of its holster, he laid his Sig Sauer next to the rifle.

  “Watters, check him.”

  The blond, who appeared as though he’d rather be anywhere but here, conducted a thorough enough search that he couldn’t have missed the knife strapped to Britt’s right ankle, though he didn’t confiscate it. He did, however, take a boot heel to Britt’s phone.

  “He’s clean.” Watters avoided Britt’s gaze.

  “Looks like we have ourselves a bit of a problem here, gentlemen,” the poacher behind him drawled.

  “Samuel, shouldn’t we contact Norwood?” Ferguson asked.

  Samuel Taylor, the Texan.

  “He already has his hands full.”

  “Why don’t we tie this guy up, grab the pups, and get out of here,” Watters said.

  “Do you see any rope?”

  “There’s another option,” Britt threw over his shoulder to the man who was clearly in charge.

  “What’s that, wolf man?”

  “Let me go before this can’t be explained away as a misunderstanding.”

  “He has a point, Samuel,” Watters said. “We all agreed to the risks associated with taking the female wolf and even her pups. With our connections, the worst punishment we would have faced if caught was a stiff fine. This”—his index finger spun in a circle between them—“will go well beyond a fine.”

  A message passed between Ferguson and Taylor, and Britt braced himself against the decision he saw reflected in the Scot’s cruel eyes.

  “You’ve not been with the League long enough for us to entrust you with the list of our Top Ten.”

  Watters glanced between his two colleagues and Britt. Blood seeped from his face. “You can’t be referring to people.”

  “Not just anyone, but specific classifications of people,” Ferguson said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “At this stage, you weren’t meant to,” Taylor grumbled. “But the Steeles stuck their noses in our business, forcing us to fast-track your orientation.”

  Cold, damp heat scoured Britt’s body. “What part of me will become your trophy?”

  “Nothing grand,” Ferguson said. “The danger of discovery is too great. A rib will do.”

  Britt’s midsection contracted.

  “What human classifications do you have?” Watters asked in a voice that conveyed both fear and disgust.

  “Warriors such as the Maasai or Sentinelese, a member from each of the United States Armed Forces—”

  “Why not serial killers and mass murderers?” Britt interrupted. “At least then your list might make sense.”

  “Because they’re cowards, spineless and weak,” Taylor said. “Like the animals we hunt, our human prey have battle scars. They have honor, intelligence, courage.”

  “You think I fit this bill? Someone you’ve met twice?”

  “Yes, or you wouldn’t be here protecting a pack of endangered wolves no one wants. And you have the added bonus of being a fucking Steele.”

  Ferguson smiled. “Double the fun.”

  “Don’t worry, wolf man,” Taylor said. “This will all be over quickly. We don’t have the luxury of time for a chase.”

  “So this will be cold-blooded murder? You’re not even going to give me a fighting chance.”

  Taylor jabbed him with the barrel so hard that Britt felt warmth trickle down the back of his head.

  “I told you. We don’t have time.”

  Not once had any of them used his name. Much easier to detach from a heinous act if they boil their victim down to an object or thing, rather than a living, breathing individual with feelings, thoughts, and family.

  “Strip,” Taylor ordered.

  “Why?”

  “Convenience and confusion.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Convenience for us because we won’t have to undress you to retrieve our trophy. Confusion for when the authorities eventually find your carcass.”

  “Stop this,” Watters demanded. “You’re talking about murdering a person. I cannot let you kill him and I won’t be a party to this.”

  “Then the League disavows you,” Taylor said.

  Ferguson drew his sidearm and blew a hole in Watters’s head.

  The blast rocked through the forest, and Britt knew then that he would die in these woods.

  But not without maiming a few of his enemies.

  “Strip, wolf man.”

  Britt’s hands curled into fists and his gaze locked with the Scot’s. The sick bastard smiled, anticipating Britt’s fight-or-flight instincts. The poacher’s expression said he didn’t care which action Britt chose.

  A splatter of bright yellow paint smacked Ferguson in the face, splashing into his eyes.

  “What the hell?!” Ferguson rubbed at his eyes, blinking and cursing and trying to keep Britt in view, but unable to hold his eyelids open for more than a second.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Britt rolled away, grabbing the knife Watters had ignored in his search. A shot rang out. Britt took aim and his knife ripped into Taylor’s right shoulder. The poacher’s rifle crashed to the forest floor.

  Taylor fumbled with his holster, and Britt slammed his shoulder into the Texan’s gut, taking them both to the ground. Britt’s weight emptied the air from Taylor’s lungs, leaving the bastard gasping for breath and giving Britt time to toss his handgun out of reach.

  “I’ll take it from here, Britt.”

  Britt reared back to find Sheriff Maggie Kingston hovering over him, her Glock pointed at the heaving poacher’s head. Getting to his feet, Britt whipped around, preparing to deal with the cursing Ferguson. What he found had him shaking his head. Literally.

  Evie and Brynne, legs braced apart, stood opposite Ferguson, guns aimed at his chest.

  “Beautiful timing, ladies, though I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing here.”

  “Doing something besides watching Jonah fight a cyber war.” Not taking her eyes off Ferguson, Evie asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, thanks to the three of you.”

  “Looked like you had it under control.”

  “Either that, or I was about to get my ass beat.”

  Maggie forced Taylor to roll over, a rather hard feat with a knife protruding from the poacher’s shoulder. Taylor wailed like a newborn while Maggie clamped his wrists together.

  Br
itt divested Ferguson of his weapons before forcing him onto his stomach. Maggie tossed him a second pair of handcuffs and began relaying instructions into her shoulder mic.

  “Are those Reid’s new paintball guns?”

  “Not his most recent purchase,” Brynne said. “Those monsters are under lock and key.”

  Evie’s smile lit up the forest. “Not bad for forty yards, huh?”

  “You made the shot?”

  Maggie rose to glare at both ladies. “Against my explicit orders.”

  Never one to be cowed, Evie waggled her eyebrows.

  “Let’s see how cocky you are after I speak to your mother.” Maggie let out a loud, aggrieved sigh, one that indicated she’d had more than one run-in with her little cousin. “I’m just glad Jonah tipped me off to what you girls were up to.”

  “Jonah told you?”

  “He thought you might be in over your head.” Maggie inspected the scene. “He was right. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened had I not caught up with you before you entered the woods.” She sent her cousin a warning look. “Next time, I’ll lock you in my cruiser to make sure you follow my direction to stay back.”

  The joy of adventure drained from Evie’s face. Britt felt the familiar urge to comfort her, but he agreed with Maggie on this. Her sleuthing could have had fatal consequences.

  “What is all of this about?” Maggie asked. “Jonah said something about a kidnapped wolf.”

  “A faction of the Carolina Club are extreme trophy hunters,” Britt said, rising. “These three, plus at least two others, decided they wanted to add a critically endangered red wolf to their kill list.”

  “Looks like they’ve upped their game to people now.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed on Britt. “Three to one? Where are your brothers? And why didn’t you call me?”

  “None of us expected this.” Britt waved his hand toward Watters. “I came over here to check on the pups, see how they were faring without their mother.”

  “And your brothers?”

  “Jonah’s back at the house. Grif and Reid should be headed to the two-track where we’re to meet up with Richard Norwood, the leader of this murderous group.” His hand slid inside his pocket for his phone before remembering Watters had destroyed it. Bending, he picked up the pieces and threw them into his backpack. “What time is it?”

  Maggie told him.

  “Norwood will be arriving soon with the female wolf.”

  “You got him to give her up?”

  Britt winked. “With a little incentive.”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “We should go,” Brynne said, looking uncomfortable. “Randi and Carlie Beth followed Norwood and Ito. If these guys are capable of killing a member of their group, no telling what Norwood will do if he finds them out.”

  Britt’s insides churned at the thought of Randi under Norwood’s power. “Dammit, Evie. Why were y’all trailing these crazy-ass hunters?”

  Evie flinched, her gaze dropping to the ground.

  “We thought they might lead us to Calypso,” Brynne said quietly, putting an arm around Evie.

  That admission earned the ladies another severe sheriff scowl. “All of this could have gone wrong ten ways to Tuesday, Evie. I hope you see that now.”

  Evie nodded. “We just wanted to help. The wolves mean so much to Britt—and to me. I couldn’t stand the thought of Calypso caged and alone.”

  Maggie curled a hand around the side of her cousin’s face and kissed her on the head. “You brought a paint gun to a fight with a hunter, really?” Not waiting for an answer, she heaved Taylor to his feet. “Time to go to jail.”

  “What about my wound? I need a hospital!”

  “Paramedics are waiting by the road. They’ll decide where you go first.” Maggie gave him a little shove. “Now stop your whining and move.”

  Evie wouldn’t meet Britt’s gaze. He didn’t like seeing her upset. Never had.

  Putting on his best shit-eatin’ grin, he nudged Ferguson with his boot. “How do you tough guys feel about being taken down by a college girl with a paint gun?”

  Evie’s eyes widened and her sweet laugh danced all around them.

  Noticing several sets of flashlights making their slow progress through the woods, Britt asked, “The cavalry?”

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like.” She confirmed via her radio, then snapped on her small flashlight, waving it in the air.

  “I gotta get to the two-track.”

  “Go,” Maggie said.

  “You’ll be okay?” he asked Evie and Brynne.

  They both nodded.

  “Be careful,” Evie said.

  To Maggie, he said, “Let Grif know I’m on my way? And have Reid head back to the Hill to check on things there.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Evie, contact Randi and Carlie Beth.” He checked both prisoners’ bindings before collecting his Sig and rifle. “Tell them to disengage and go home. If they dig their heels in, let them know what’s happened here.”

  She nodded, tapping in her password.

  “You ladies did well tonight. Very well. Thank y’all.”

  They each gave him a grateful, beaming smile.

  Britt secured his weapons and pack and took off at a speed his legs hadn’t attempted since high school track. He had to get to Grif before Norwood arrived. And he hoped to God Evie got ahold of Randi in time.

  “Britt!” Evie yelled.

  He jarred to a halt. “What?”

  “I have several texts from Carlie Beth. They found Calypso at a cabin off Choctaw Road.”

  Some of the aching tension eased from Britt’s chest. “That’s great. Tell them to get out of there. I’ll take care of Calypso. You and Brynne head back to the Hill.”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no!” Sweet blue eyes bleak with guilt and fear slammed into him. “Norwood has Randi.”

  34

  By the time Britt reached the two-track, he was breathing fire and his feet throbbed from the brutal pace he’d set. Grif paced beside his Maserati, Louise.

  Catching sight of Britt, he asked, “What the hell’s going on? Maggie gave me some cryptic message about staying sharp until you arrived.”

  “Some major damn shit, that’s what.” Britt raked the sweat off his forehead.

  “Hit me with the short version.”

  “I met up with Ferguson, Watters, and Taylor near the den. They got the upper hand. Ferguson killed Watters because he didn’t want to kill me. Evie and Brynne took down Ferguson with a paint gun. Maggie arrested the others.”

  “All of that happened in the last hour?” At Britt’s nod, he asked, “Why didn’t you fucking call me?”

  “Watters destroyed my phone.”

  “Anyone besides Watters hurt?”

  “The ladies are fine and the other two club members sustained minor damage.”

  “What about you?”

  Britt waved him off. “There’s more bad news.”

  “Let it rip.”

  “Evie, Brynne, Randi, and Carlie Beth decided to follow Norwood and his cronies to see if they would lead them to Calypso.”

  “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

  “I wish.”

  “Where’re Carlie Beth and Randi?”

  Britt struggled to form a single syllable, his worry for Randi paralyzing the words in the back of his throat.

  Grif clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Just spit it out. You don’t need to clean it up for me.”

  “Randi and Carlie Beth found Calypso.”

  “And?”

  “Norwood found Randi.”

  “What about Carlie Beth?”

  “Her phone’s going directly to voice mail.”

  “Fuck!” Grif strode away, phone to his ear. The moment stretched. He ended the call. “What’s the plan?” His words were thick.

  Britt had had a long time to think about strategy on the run over. “We wait for Norwood.”

  “What if he
doesn’t show?”

  “Then we head to Norwood’s cabin on Choctaw Road, where Randi and Carlie Beth found the wolf. See if there’s anything that’ll lead us to Norwood.”

  “What about Maggie?”

  “She’ll send a deputy as soon as one frees up.”

  “Sounds like a shitty plan.”

  “Got a better one?”

  Grif grasped his head with both hands, one still held his phone. “I can’t lose her.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Grif swiveled around. “You and Randi?”

  Britt gave a sharp nod.

  “’Bout damn time.”

  “Amen, bro.”

  “How can you be so calm? I feel like my flesh is peeling off my bones.”

  Lifting his hands, Britt unclenched his fists. They shook like a two-day-gone addict’s. “I’m anything but calm. Norwood’s group has advanced to killing people for sport. Those bastards have Randi now.”

  “And Carlie Beth.”

  “It’s been a long time since I feared failing my family. That I wouldn’t be able to protect them,” Britt admitted, eyes burning down the two-track, willing Norwood’s vehicle to appear. “I’m in over my head on this one.”

  “I’ll call Reid. Have him check on Mom and Jonah.”

  “Already done.” Britt’s jaw hardened. “I should never have gotten y’all involved in this. If something happens to any of you—”

  Grif wrapped a hand around Britt’s neck, the same act Britt had performed a hundred times on his younger brothers when they were struggling with something.

  “These assholes are nothing but bullies.”

  “With guns.”

  “We dealt with our fair share of guns and bullies over the years. Together, there’s nothing we can’t handle. We’re Steeles.”

  Mirroring Grif’s brotherly embrace, Britt stood there, in the dark, feeding off his brother’s strength, his confidence, his reassurance. He couldn’t recall depending on any of his siblings before, not like this. When strength was needed, he gave it. When comfort was needed, he provided it. When ass-kicking was needed, he kicked it.

  Giving his brother’s neck a grateful squeeze, he pushed away. “Thanks for the pep talk.” His fingertips dug into his forehead. “The ‘what-ifs’ are destroying my mind right now.”