Her Rocky Mountain Defender

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  Overhead, the light blazed to life.

  “Roman Black.” The alias always sounded foreign to his ears, yet he recognized the person who spoke as The Prow’s owner, Oleg Zavalov. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Roman broke away from the kiss. He did so reluctantly—as if forced to stop something he enjoyed—and it wasn’t exactly an act.

  Oleg Zavalov stood in the doorway. Hair slicked back, he wore a tailored suit, along with a button-down shirt, open at the throat. He was flanked by his two underlings from Russia, Anton and Serge. Both men were tall and broad and stupid, a complete contrast to Oleg. And Roman was certain that one of them was Nikolai’s great-nephew.

  “Oleg.” Roman pulled Madelyn into his chest. “Sorry about using your office. We just needed a moment of privacy and the beer cooler didn’t seem like a classy place to take a lady.”

  Oleg always had a beautiful woman or two hanging off his arm. So Roman knew that he’d never begrudge anyone a quick hookup.

  With a shake of his head, Oleg clapped Roman on the shoulder. “I knew you’d eventually find someone you liked. Next time use the stockroom like everyone else.”

  “Sure,” said Roman. His eye went to the place where he’d hastily planted the ELD. He forced himself to look away. Grabbing Madelyn’s hand, he led her to the door and into the hallway.

  “Hey, Black,” Oleg called.

  He turned. Oleg sat on the edge of his desk. His leg swung lazily back and forth and his rear was settled right above the ELD.

  Roman began to sweat. “Yeah?”

  “They need a keg upstairs. Get the beer to the bar and then if you want a break, take one.”

  Silently, Anton and Serge slipped into the office. Like twin pillars of brute force, they took up positions at opposite sides of the door.

  “Sure,” Roman said. “I’ll take care of the beer right away.”

  Roman’s hand remained on Madelyn’s back. Her muscles tensed under his touch. He assumed she was sensitive to the implication of what a break entailed and he hated that she might see him as creep.

  For the first time in months, Roman wanted to explain himself to someone—to Madelyn, specifically. To hell with his undercover work, he needed her to see him as the good guy and not a part of all this, the criminal underbelly of Boulder.

  His hand still on Madelyn’s back, he led her to the stairs. That ELD wasn’t going to stay hidden for long and the best Roman could hope for was another chance to reposition it later in the night.

  But first, he needed to get Madelyn out of the bar and make sure she was safe. She ascended the stairs. One. Two. Three. He followed close behind. As her foot landed on the fourth step, a metallic thunk filed from the office and swept into the corridor.

  The ELD really hadn’t stayed hidden for long.

  “Run,” he whispered into Madelyn’s ear.

  She took the remaining steps two at a time, Roman on her heels.

  “What the hell?” There was a moment of silence and then Oleg began to curse. “Roman!” he bellowed.

  Roman didn’t bother to slow his stride or answer.

  “Get back here.”

  Roman felt an invisible target between his shoulder blades. He imagined one on Madelyn’s, as well.

  “Roman!”

  Roman had very few options. Run, and get shot in the back. Or stay, and be murdered in Oleg’s office. Neither appealed, but he refused to be taken down without a fight.

  With the door just two steps away, Roman reached around Madelyn to grip the handle. A familiar click resounded through the hallway. Such a small noise, insignificant and yet so momentous that it reverberated in his chest. It was the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being released.

  * * *

  Madelyn’s thoughts were disjointed and jumbled all at once. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. The men. Their guns. Icy terror clawing at her throat. A strong arm pushing open the door. Rushing into the bar, she stumbled on the last step. The same strong arm lifted her and ushered her forward. She ran, stumbling again as she heard a crack, the whiff of sulfur, followed by buzzing in her ears.

  She looked over her shoulder, and the continuum of time began to flow again. The men with the guns were right behind her. One stood, his weapon drawn, a tendril of smoke swirling from the barrel. Roman, the man who’d kissed her—warned her about this bar—turned back. He lifted a bar stool and brought it around. It crashed into the man with a gun. He teetered. The firearm flew from his grasp. The second man lifted his arm, gun in hand. Roman delivered a kick to his knee and the shooter crumpled to the floor. Frightened bar patrons scattered to the corners of the room.

  “Roman,” she screamed.

  The first man had risen to his knees and was reaching for his gun. Roman planted one foot on the outstretched hand. His other foot connected with the man’s chin. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head snapped back. The second man was unsteady, but up. He leveled his gun with Roman’s chest. Without thought, Madelyn lifted a glass from the bar and threw. It hit the man in the shoulder. There wasn’t adequate force to knock him down, just enough to ruin his aim.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Roman said to her.

  Madelyn didn’t need to be told twice. Pivoting, she sprinted to the door. She pushed it open and took in one gulping breath of clean, fresh air. But then...

  An arm encircled her waist. Her lungs emptied in a gasp and her feet dangled above the floor.

  “Hold on there. You aren’t going anywhere.” The stench of beer breath and cologne washed over her. Acidic fear rose in the back of her throat.

  Madelyn grabbed the hand that held her, wrenching back the fingers. They didn’t budge. She bucked and kicked, swinging out legs and arms. Sweat trickled down her back. The grip around her middle tightened.

  “Let me go,” she said. “You can’t do this. I’ll call the police.”

  “Police?” The man who held her snorted. “I am the police.”

  The door was still so close. If she reached out, she could graze the handle. But even if she did, it would do her no good. Like a pinprick in a balloon, the fight leaked out of Madelyn.

  “Let her go,” said another man. Madelyn recognized Oleg, the guy who found them in the basement.

  The arm around her middle released and Madelyn fell to the floor. She looked over her shoulder. Roman, bloodied and bruised, knelt a few feet away. One of the thugs held his shoulder. The other pointed a gun at Roman’s head. The rest of the people in the bar only stared, not bothering to offer aid or even turn their impassive gazes away.

  “Just a little misunderstanding,” said Oleg with a wave and smile. “We’re going to go downstairs and clear it all up. Until then, the next round is on the house.”

  This pronouncement was greeted with a weak cheer.

  The man who had caught her, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the basement door. Madelyn searched every face in the bar for one person who would help—do something, anything. Speak up or call the police. Then she remembered, the person who now held her was a cop. Dear God, this could not be happening. All she wanted to do was find her sister.

  Oleg stopped at the door and placed his hand on the middle of the cop’s chest. “Thanks for your help, Jackson,” he said. “I’ve got it from here.”

  “Sure,” said Jackson, “no problem. I’m on duty soon, anyway.”

  Jackson. Madelyn would never forget his name. She studied his face and memorized every detail—his height, six feet three inches, or maybe six foot four, athletic build, the exact shade of his blond hair. How his right eye was slightly bigger than his left, and one tooth on the bottom leaned a little on its neighbor. The more information she had, the better a description she could give later.

  Oleg grabbed her arm, his fingers dug into her flesh. He pulled Madelyn across the threshold and the d
oor closed with a crack. A thought snapped into place and her mouth went dry. None of these men had hidden their appearance. They weren’t worried about what she might say, because as far as they were concerned—she wasn’t leaving The Prow alive.

  Madelyn yanked her arm free. Escape. Escape. Escape. Her fingertips brushed the cold, metal handle. Oleg grabbed her arm again, pulling her away. She pitched back. Her skull slammed into the stairs, turning everything dark and then filling her head with light and pain. Her feet flew up, sending her somersaulting downward. Her shoulder hit the concrete floor and her vision flashed with red. Her body ached with each beat of her heart.

  “Madelyn.” Roman placed a strong hand under her elbow, helping her to sit up. “Madelyn, are you okay?”

  She was as far away from okay as she could get. “What’s happening? Why is this happening?”

  Roman lightly rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “She’s got nothing to do with us, Oleg. Let her go.”

  “Nothing? She shows up and I find this.” Oleg reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, plastic box. He knelt in front of Madelyn. “Who do you work for? How’d you get him to betray me?”

  “I’ve never seen that thing before in my life. I don’t even know what that is. Roman?”

  “She’s nobody, just a girl,” said Roman. “It’s me, all along, it’s been me.”

  “Search them both.”

  One of the thugs pawed through Madelyn’s purse and patted her roughly from shoulders to feet. From Roman, they got a set of keys from his pocket.

  Oleg held the keys in his palm. “So, you use my own business to betray me? After I brought you in and gave you a job.” He threw the keys to one of the thugs. “Who turned you, Roman? It’s not the cops. Jackson would’ve told me.”

  Roman helped Madelyn to her feet. She felt light-headed and sick to her stomach. She leaned into Roman for support.

  “I’m not going to say anything until you let her go,” Roman said.

  Oleg snorted. “I’m going to ask you once more—who got you to plant this thing?”

  Roman wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s shoulder. “Let her go and I’ll tell you everything. She’s innocent, man. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Wrong place? Wrong time? Isn’t that the truth. She’s not leaving here, but I bet you’ll talk to make her death quick and painless.” Then to the thugs, he muttered, “Bring them into the office.”

  “No. No. No. Please, let me go,” she begged. Like a mouthful of spoiled fruit, humiliation for having to plead left a rotten taste in her mouth. Yet what other choice did she have? She knew little of self-defense, and doubted that jabbing one of these men with her keys would do anything to change events. “I swear, I won’t say anything.”

  “Go,” said Oleg.

  “I’m not going into that office,” said Roman. “Neither is Madelyn.”

  His words gave her enough resolve to disregard Oleg’s order.

  Oleg hitched his chin to one of the thugs. He withdrew his gun and pressed the barrel into Madelyn’s temple. The metal was cold and hard.

  Oleg said, “I’m tired of playing games. If her well-being matters to you, tell me what I want to know and she’ll die quickly. You have my word of honor.”

  The thug released the safety of his gun with a click that was deafening.

  “No, no, no,” she wept. There were so many things Madelyn had yet to do. She needed to finish med school. She needed to say goodbye to her parents. Her sister. “Please, Roman, help me.”

  “Okay.” Roman held up his hands. “We’ll negotiate.”

  “Call it what you want. Get into the room.”

  The barrel bore a hole into Madelyn’s temple and she was shoved forward by the pressure of the gun.

  A metal chair sat in the middle of the room. The thug pressed on her shoulder. “Sit.”

  Her knees buckled and she sank to the chair. Fear made her useless, paralyzing her mind, her spirit and her body.

  For a single second Madelyn was five and standing on the curb in front of her house, watching Ava run across the street as she headed to the park.

  “Come on, Maddie,” Ava called.

  Madelyn hesitated and looked toward the house. Her mother wasn’t there to either give her permission or forbid that Madelyn leave the yard. Without another thought, she bolted into the usually quiet street. Suddenly, there was the blare of a horn. The grille of an old pickup truck filled her vision and she froze with fear.

  Madelyn tumbled to the pavement, landing on her back. The pickup truck screeched to a halt, the bumper well beyond where she’d been standing. Madelyn was in Ava’s grasp. In that moment, she knew that her sister had saved her life.

  Yet as she felt the cold steel of the gun against her skull, she knew there was nobody to save her this time.

  Chapter 2

  Roman didn’t like the odds. Three armed men against one. A locked room with no chance of bringing in backup and top that off with a terrified woman, for whom he was now responsible. If he were a betting man, he’d place his money on Oleg Zavalov winning. Thank goodness Roman had never wagered in his life.

  “One last time before I get medieval on your girlfriend,” Oleg said. “Who do you work for?”

  A fiery sense of self-loathing filled Roman. This whole situation was his fault. He should’ve marched Madelyn up the stairs as soon as she walked into Oleg’s office, to hell with her stubbornness. Instead he had what? Flirted? It was an amateur move, but at the same time, a little of the world’s ugliness had melted away during their exchange.

  To top it all off, he was about to lose five months of work. And more than that, Oleg would know that he was being investigated and have time to dispose of any evidence. Roman opened his mouth, ready to confess all. He couldn’t find the words.

  What he could find was a lie. “I don’t know what you have, Oleg. But it’s not mine.”

  “It’s an ELD, a bug, a listening device.”

  “How am I supposed to know about those things?” Roman asked, a little regretful that he couldn’t claim his latest creation. “I’m just the bartender.”

  “I don’t think you do. I think she does.”

  “But I don’t,” Madelyn said.

  “If it wasn’t you, why’d you run?”

  Roman answered for her. “Because I’m standing at the top of the stairs and when I turn around, there’s Serge and Anton with their guns. I told her to run. It’s what you do when someone threatens to shoot.”

  Oleg’s mouth hung open for a minute, then like it was controlled by a puppeteer’s string, it snapped shut.

  Fighting the urge to smile, Roman took in a deep breath. A pain shot through his side from a kick or punch he didn’t recall receiving. Madelyn looked at him. She was beautiful in a delicate way. She wore a navy blazer and white T-shirt that fitted her pert breasts and trim waist perfectly. Her dark hair was cut short and her brown eyes were large. Her skin was creamy and smooth. To him, she looked perfect, almost magical, and he wished like hell that magic was real and she could simply disappear. Small gold hoops dangled from each ear and a gold chain hung around her neck. Funny how small details became important when you were standing next to the thin line that separated life from death.

  Oleg tossed the ELD in the air and caught it. “There’s one thing I do know, is that one of you two planted this bug. So, I’ll ask again—how’d this get in my office?”

  “I don’t know,” Roman said.

  “What about you?” Oleg turned to Madelyn. “How’d this get in my office?”

  Madelyn quietly wept and shook her head.

  “Nothing to say?” Oleg leaned his hip onto the corner of his desk. “Maybe you need the right motivation to talk. Make her sorry, Serge.”

  Serge cracked his knuckles, a smile lifted the corn
ers of his mouth. He brought back his arm and slammed his fist into Madelyn’s face. She toppled from the chair. A bright red mark bloomed to life on her cheek.

  To hell with the work or the loss of the investigation. Roman wouldn’t let Oleg hurt Madelyn any more. Although if they made it out of this alive, Roman would take great pleasure in bringing Oleg Zavalov to justice. It wasn’t professional anymore. It was personal.

  “Okay. Okay.” Roman held his palms up and stepped between Serge and Madelyn. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Everything?”

  Roman swallowed. His side burned. “Yes.”

  A phone rang and Serge pulled a cell from his pocket. “Da.”

  While with Delta Force, Roman had studied over a dozen languages. He was fluent in Farsi, German, Spanish, French and Russian. Even if he hadn’t, the single Russian word was easy to translate. Yes.

  “Oleg.” Serge held out the phone. “Vy khotite, chtoby prinyat eto.” Oleg, you want to take this.

  “Ne seychas,” Oleg said. Not now.

  “Seychas,” Serge insisted. “Eto moy dyadya Nikolay.”

  Serge’s uncle Nikolai was on the phone? Nikolai Mateev?

  Oleg sat taller and reached for the phone. He met Roman’s gaze and his eyes narrowed. Had Oleg guessed that Roman understood the short conversation? Roman looked away.

  “Lock these two in the beer cooler,” said Oleg, “but stand guard. We’ll deal with them later.”

  Serge pulled Madelyn to her feet. Anton withdrew his gun and motioned to the door. “Go,” he said.

  Serge worked both locks on the outside of the beer cooler’s thick, white door. Madelyn was shoved in first. She stumbled over the doorjamb and fell to the metal floor with a hollow thump. Roman calmly stepped inside and turned to face Serge—the man he now knew for sure to be Nikolai Mateev’s great-nephew. “I’m going to get out of here and then, I’m going to kill you for hitting Madelyn.”

  “Is that a wager, you stupid American?” he asked in halting English.