by Zoe Dawson
COWBOY
SEAL Team Alpha
Zoe Dawson
Cowboy
Copyright © 2017 by Karen Alarie
Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9971967-5-7
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Glossary
About the Author
OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my beta readers and editor for helping with this book. As always, you guys are the best.
To Bruce, the inspiration for Triton with his sweet mix of German Shepherd/Pitbull mix. You are a sweet, sweet boy. And, to Pip, the inspiration for BFA, a Tortie with tortitude.
If you don’t fit in, then you’re probably doing the right thing.
Unknown
1
The rope felt rough against his fingers as he coiled it up, the big gelding beneath him broadcasting his readiness, and this big fella, a palomino named Sunshine, was one of the best. Hanging the rope over the horn, he pulled out his gloves and slipped them on. The sun blazed in the bright blue cloudless sky and beat down on the rolling rangeland, the relentless heat shimmering up in waves. The rises and gullies lay like laugh lines in the earth’s surface, the folds held in place by sharply defined mountains rising up in the west.
A vast cloud of dust hung in the air, forming a golden aura that cloaked the landscape and distorted the horizon. Overhead, two red-tailed hawks circled, watching for unwary gophers.
The bawling of calves and the shouts of cowhands carried on the warm air, echoing in the crystal clarity. Hundreds of cows and their spring calves plodded onward through the rolling terrain, marshalled into a long meandering column by watchful riders. The cloud of yellow dust hung suspended above the undulating herd, the fine grit coating the newly unfurled leaves of the oaks and sweetgum, finally settling on the new shoots of grass struggling through last year’s thatch.
Cowboy pulled up his mount at the crest of a small hill, giving the reins a light jerk as the big palomino gelding danced and tossed his head, impatient, already seeing what needed to be done. The slant of the late afternoon sun angled beneath the brim of his Stetson. With his gaze fixed on the rim of a far-off ravine, he squinted into the distance.
A series of shrill whistles pierced the din, and Cowboy’s attention shifted to his dad as he gave signals to their two hardworking border collies to move up and turn the lead cows into a narrow draw. Yet when his eyes moved to his dad, he was indistinct, blurred not as if by distance, they were close, but in definition. With an unsettling feeling in his gut, Cowboy kicked his heels into Sunny and the gelding jumped into a gallop from the get go. All cow ponies knew what they were about and Sunny was one of the best.
Two other riders assisted him as he hazed the outside stragglers back into the ranks and crowded the herd into the gully, forcing them through the natural funnel. A sense of foreboding settled between his shoulder blades when he tried to make out his father again. The lead cows complied, calves crowded against their sides, lumbered through the wide gate, while other riders flanked the herd, trying to prevent any of the range-wary animals from bolting.
He wheeled the big animal around. Sunny tossed his head, prancing and Cowboy handled the spirited horse as easily as breathing. He gave him his head as Sunny instantly responded, lunging down the hill, stirring up more dust as he headed toward two stragglers grazing down by a ring of cypress. Cowboy grinned. Right on the money. He’d had cowhands who weren’t as smart as this horse.
Then there was another shrill whistle and he turned his head, confused. His dad was now gone, his horse’s saddle empty, the air heavy and humid. Something was wrong, the landscape was different, rain, darkness, water. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. Something was wrong.
Cowboy jerked out of sleep. The sound of the explosions was deafening. He was jarred out of his idyllic dream of what his life should have been and rolled right into hell. Mud flew everywhere in the tropical, water-saturated air.
He snatched his body armor and weapon out of habit, his uniform damp, ready in a heartbeat. They had been stuck here waiting out the intel before they could move forward which seemed like a good time to rest. Clearing his head from getting startled out of a deep combat nap, he put on his comm headset and listened in.
“Fuck! RPGs, ladies. I think we found the enemy!” Ruckus shouted. The enemy in this case was the Abu Hurriyah or ABH for short which in English stood for “Father of Freedom.” A Jihadist militant group based in and around Jolo and Basilan islands in the southwest Philippines, where the Moro or Muslim groups had formed into an insurgency for independence in the province. The group was designated a terrorist group by many countries including the US.
Another volley of rounds hit the wall outside, and off in the distance, he could hear other battles raging. “Kid, get up on the roof and get those guys to stop shooting at us, pronto!”
“Roger,” Ashe “Kid Chaos” Wilder said, sprinting under fire to one of the buildings below Cowboy and disappearing inside. He didn’t want to take his eyes off that roof with Kid on it, but he had a job to do. They had gotten a tip about a man who would have the intel they needed to rescue two American hostages and a Filipino doctoral student who had all been taken by the ABH at a small eatery in Manila outside the university. The Americans were Harvard recruiters and the Filipino a much sought-after candidate who had designed a new state of the art microscope.
To gain intel on the hostages, they were working with the Philippine Special Action Force with the SEALs on point. They were currently on the island of Basilan in Isabela City where there were still pockets of ABH fighting, but their objective was Farouk Bakil, a zealot who had in recent months been responsible for numerous kidnappings of foreign nationals in the country. With Americans targeted, the SEALs would run him to ground and get the information they needed.
With Kid laying down cover fire, Cowboy’s team, Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper or LT as he was known, Scarecrow, the comm operator, Blue, their corpsman, Hollywood, Wicked, Tank and Echo started their assault along with the SAF guys. The rain was coming down in a steady sheet. Dirt, leaves and debris eddying in the wind around them, Cowboy prepared to advance. Rubble from demolished buildings lay in heaps as they passed, keeping low.
“RPGs neutralized,” Kid said over the mic. Everything is quiet now, LT. Looks like they were reacting to the police in the area. I don’t think they know we’re here.”
“Solid copy,” LT said. “Let’s keep it quiet, ladies.” Cowboy, paired up with Tank and Echo, surveyed the windswept area. “Kid, get down here and get on point.”
“Copy, LT.” After a few moments, his voice came over the comm. “On point, plenty of tangos.”
“Keep it stealthy. Let’s hope we find this guy and get enough information to get those hostages out,” LT said.
“If they’re still alive,” Tank muttered.
“Comms scrambled,” Scarecrow said.
As Kid fed them information, they went through an abandoned and demolished house, and Cowboy saw the sentry at the same time Tank did. “Clear,” he whispered. “All yours, man.”
Cowboy moved up on the guard and with his knife made short and silent work of him. In front of them was a pile of debris and a burn barrel to keep the sentry warm. Tank squeezed off a suppressed head shot and the guy went down.
After crawling through the mud and rain puddles, they made their way into the main part of the city and Kid said, “Tangos on the buildings surrounding your position, LT. Half a dozen. Maybe more inside.” Cowboy, Tank and Echo had moved around the building to the back door.
“Copy that. They’re going to know we’re coming. We need to get inside a-sap. Cowboy?”
“Roger, LT.”
“Are you in position in the back?”
“Affirmative, ready for assault.”
“Go on my mark.”
“Kid, take them out. Cowboy breach. Get me Bakil. Alive.”
As soon as Kid started firing, they back kicked the door, Tank tossed in a smoke bomb and as the explosion went off, Cowboy smoked everyone left standing in the room. They made for the stairs as soon as the room was clear, took out two armed guys at the top of the stairs, and continued down the hall. Outside, Kid’s sniping had grown silent.
“Moving,” LT said. “Cowboy?”
“Standby,” Cowboy said as they breached another door and took out the two guards, recognizing Bakil. He wasn’t about to be taken. When he raised his arm to fire, Tank gave the apprehend signal and Echo was on him so fast, he never had a chance to discharge his weapon. Faced with the dog hanging on his arm in a vicious bite, his jaw locked, Bakil screamed, “I surrender! Get him off me!”
Tank covered him while Cowboy kicked the weapon away. “Target secured,” he said over the mic.
Challenged with the growling threat of Echo, Bakil spilled the beans and hours later they had what they needed. The hostages were being kept at an Abu Hurriyah safe house deep in Isabela City close to the coast. It was a chaotic op, but they took down the ABH fighters, securing the hostages.
“LT,” Kid’s tight voice came over the comm. “You need to see this.” They were currently at the safe house, a single-family home near the beach.
Cowboy and LT walked downstairs to the basement. Bodies were strewn across the floor, a testament to how well guarded this area was. Kid stood in front of a crate. He turned when they walked up. Kid moved out of the way, and Cowboy’s gut clenched.
“Warheads.”
“Yeah, I recognize them. These are from the undercover operation in Bolivia, ones in a cache that the Kirikhan rebels got away with,” Kid said, his eyes bleak. “But there’s only one here.”
“Where are the other five?” Ruckus growled.
“That’s a good question,” Kid said.
A question Cowboy was pondering as he kept his eyes peeled while they headed toward transpo to the back of the island—rigid hull inflatables, sleek high-speed boats or RIBs. “Angel One, this is Ruckus, proceeding to the boats, Rally Point Delta.”
“Roger that, Ruckus.”
Cowboy spotted them a second after Echo who jumped into a sprint and took the guy with the RPG down. The chopper was coming in fast through the gray sheets of rain, but still distant. They had to get to the boats. Automatic gunfire sounded all around him, but he stayed with the group while Echo hit several other targets, causing disorientation. He was the best damn dog. Cowboy hustled the rescued hostages toward the boat when one of the recruiters went down, blood coating his neck and shirt. Cowboy covered the wound with his hand, stemming the flow of blood. The guy’s eyes were wide, his mouth gaping with the shock and pain of the wound.
“Blue!” Cowboy called out, but he was already responding, already next to Cowboy, taking over.
Blue’s mouth pulled into a grim line, his hands working fast over the injured man’s wound. Cowboy was always in awe of their corpsman’s calm under pressure.
“Took a round in the throat. Not good! We need to move.” Blue shouldered him into a carry and headed for the boat.
Tank whistled shrilly and soon Echo was back with them. He had blood on his muzzle, but it looked like none of it was his. The dog flanked him as he rushed toward the RIBs. Helping the other two terrified hostages inside, he registered Tank’s warning. “Cowboy!”
He spun to find several ABH bearing down on them. They wanted either the hostages back or the warhead, Cowboy was determined it would be none of the above.
Cowboy took out one, and Tank doubled tapped the second. Soon they were in the boat and speeding out of the canal.
“This guy is going into shock, Angel One.”
“Roger that Trauma is standing by. We’re almost to Rally Point Delta. Coming in hot.”
“Hit it, Cowboy,” Blue shouted and the RIB surged forward as Hollywood manned the gun and took care of the tangos along the banks that were shooting at them. Spray from cutting through the waves and the rain drenched them, visibility obscured. When they were almost out to open sea, a gray landscape with occasional whitecaps, an explosion hit a dock nearby and rocked the boat, but Cowboy muscled them through the debris stinging his face and into the open ocean. The helos buzzed over them and they hooked up the two boats to the chopper’s underbelly. As they were lifted into the air, Cowboy could only think it was a job well done.
They were heading home after this, the brass obviously concerned about the warheads. If they were still in the hands of the Kirikhan rebels, it was bad news.
Very bad news, but Cowboy was off on leave to attend his reunion and spend some time with his family. The team was in store for some much-needed downtime.
His battle-focused mind relaxed, he remembered his combat “dream” and it hit him hard. That life was now a dream when it had felt so real. There was no ranch anymore, no legacy, no birthright. Now Cowboy was just the son of that no-good coward, Travis McGraw. He had never even tried to change anyone’s mind, not that he could. But he would like to go back to Reddick and be able to hold up his head without this shame dogging him, reconnect to his family. They had become the casualties in his battle to deal with his betrayal. Cowboy had lost his connection with Reddick a decade ago and felt nothing but humiliation when he thought about the area now. Going home meant nothing to him. He’d lost that a long time ago.
The day his dad had put a bullet through his brain.
Then a thought occurred to him. If he could get the ranch back, show the people of Reddick that he wasn’t like his dad, maybe that would be enough. He had the money tucked away. He’d saved every last cent of all his bonuses. His renewal for his tour of duty was coming up. Maybe it was time to reclaim what he had lost.
There was someone in Kia Silverbrook’s house.
Kia turned off the water of the shower, the sudden chill mixing to produce pin prickles of fear that blossomed like goosebumps all over her wet, tired body.
She listened intently, her body frozen, her muscles locked. But heard nothing.
Maybe her imagination? But lately, she had the feeling that she was being watched. She’d felt it in The Back Forty, her bar/diner/rooms for rent where she worked behind the bar and fed the people of the small town of Reddick, twenty minutes from Galveston and thirty from Houston. She felt it at the grocery store while she was squeezing cantaloupe and smelling them for freshness. The persistent ache between her shoulder blades was now a constant companion.
There was never anyone there, but the feeling had persisted, making Kia edgy and paranoid.
She waited as cool air slid across her just wet skin, the warmth from the water a fl
eeting memory. A shiver cascaded over her, a combination of physical and mental energy co-mingling.
She listened intently, her eyes fixed on the door, her ears attuned. Water trickled down the drain like an indrawn breath, adrenaline shocking into her system, twisting her stomach into knots.
Just when she thought she was hearing things and had reached for the tap to turn the water back on and finish her shower, she heard it.
A scuff of a shoe.
Her heartbeat quickened and the hair on the back of her neck stood to attention.
Slowly so as not to make a sound, Kia stepped out. She knew a little something about self-defense and trying to defend herself in a wet, slippery shower didn’t put her at any advantage.
She approached the bathroom door and with a deft flick of her wrist, she set the lock. She pressed her ear against the gap between the frame and the door. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it was her overactive imagination.
She could hear him breathing.
Her heart dropped straight into the pit of her stomach. Gasping, she backed away, her gut tightening in ever-increasing spirals of fear until it was a huge roll of panic.
She looked frantically around her, but there was simply no place to hide, no place to run.
Just as she reached for her discarded clothes on the floor, she heard the bathroom doorknob jiggle. Kia gasped and froze.
Her stomach flopped, turned upside down. “Oh, God,” she said softly.
He kicked the door open, ready for a fight, ready for anything, but the bathroom was empty. He knew she’d been in here. Suddenly he felt the air on his face, and his head jerked toward the left. He strode over to the open window and stuck his head out. The little resourceful bitch. A ladder to the ground swung against the house.