Riley's Retribution

by Rebecca York

  He’d just about given up hope when he finally spotted a man covered with smoke and soot helping an older woman toward one of the ambulances that had arrived. The guy seemed familiar. Cam looked harder.

  “Watson?”

  A grin spread across the man’s grimy face. “None other.”

  “Thank God. I thought you’d bought the farm.”

  RILEY DRAGGED IN A DRAFT of the cold night air. To be truthful, he felt winded—as though his lungs weren’t functioning quite right. But he ignored the breathless sensation. Tilting his head to one side he wheezed, “It’s hard to get rid of me.”

  “I see that. Thank God you made it.”

  Riley turned the woman over to the medics. Then he gave his commanding officer a long look. “I was counting on you to get here and scoop up the militia men. What the hell happened?”

  The colonel’s features hardened. “I guess the Secret Service thought we were terrorists. They had us corralled over to the side.”

  Riley swore, then lowered his voice when he caught some of the firebomb victims looking at him.

  Murphy led him away from the crowd. Blackhaw, Campbell, Mike Clark and a bunch of his comrades joined them.

  He’d never been so glad in his life to see their familiar faces. They were all tough guys, but they all embraced him like tsunami victims who had each thought the other was dead.

  “The firebomb was set at the back—just where the militia went in,” Riley said when he had control of his emotions.

  “So either they made a bad mistake…or somebody set them up.”

  “We’ve been thinking they were working with the terrorists King Aleksandr hired to influence American public opinion,” Campbell said.

  “Yeah, but what if the terrorists were just using them—and figured this was a good way of getting rid of a dangerous group of hotheads?” Blackhaw suggested.

  “That would make sense,” the colonel agreed.

  They moved to the burned-out entrance the militia had used.

  “From the inside, this end of the building is completely destroyed. I couldn’t get back there,” Riley said, trying not to gasp as he spoke.

  The colonel gave him a long look. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, fine,” he insisted. He might have given up and gone back to the medics, but he knew there were people who needed treatment more than he did.

  “It looks like the militia all got trapped in the fire,” Clark said.

  “We’d better make sure of that,” the colonel ordered.

  “There’s one of them tied up along the highway,” Riley said. “A guy named Drake. He’s the bastard who shot at Courtney from the bridge.”

  Murphy gave him a considering look, and he knew he’d let too much emotion leach into his voice.

  In a more matter-of-fact tone, he added, “He’s point three miles from the entrance to the Golden Saddle Ranch. Maybe he can give you some information.”

  The colonel didn’t spare the time to ask for explanations. But he sent Cook back to pick up Drake—so he could stand trial for attempted murder.

  The remaining men fanned out, looking for survivors. The snow near the building had completely melted, but when Riley reached the trees, he spotted a set of ragged footprints leading away—toward where the getaway vehicles had been parked.

  He picked up his pace in time to see a man heading for one of the lead trucks. It looked like Fowler.

  Riley reached for his gun and realized he’d lost it while he’d been helping get people out of the building.

  Without sparing the breath for a curse, he put on a burst of speed, caught up with the guy and grabbed his arm.

  Fowler spun around.

  “Hey, man, wait up,” Riley tried. “I’ll drive.”

  The militia leader gave him an angry look. “No way, you bastard. I saw you in the middle of the rescue operation.”

  There was no use arguing the point. Instead of wasting any more breath, Riley hauled off and socked the guy. But Riley was in no shape for a fight. The punch was weak, and he knew that he should have called for backup before starting anything.

  Fowler had apparently also lost his gun. Instead, he pulled a knife and slashed at Riley’s middle. Putting up an arm, he deflected the blade, but it ripped through his coat and into his flesh.

  Fowler might have gone for him again, but a shout warned him that the cavalry was coming. Cutting his losses, he ran to one of the trucks and grabbed an assault rifle. Then he turned and ran into the woods.

  Riley tried to struggle to his feet.

  Clark knelt beside him. “You’re wounded.”

  “I’m…”

  “You’re out of the action,” his buddy said.

  “I let him get away.”

  “He can’t get far. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Too exhausted to protest, Riley closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, a medic was leaning over him.

  “He’s been cut,” Clark said. “And he’s suffering from smoke inhalation.”

  The medic looked at the blood on his coat. “You’re coming with us,” he announced.

  Riley glared at Clark.

  “Do what he tells you,” his friend said, then went to join the rest of the bounty hunters.

  CAMERON MURPHY LED his men into the woods. A kind of sick excitement bubbled up inside him.

  Big Sky had been the perfect job for a man with his background. But this bounty was gut-wrenchingly personal.

  Cam had been waiting five years for the chance to make sure Boone Fowler got everything he deserved. The militia leader had killed Cam’s sister in a government building bombing. And almost killed his wife, Mia, while they were hunting him down. Now he was finally going to even the score with the bastard.

  Fowler had a head start. But Big Sky had the advantage of a dozen eyes and ears. Going into search mode, his men spread out, combing the woods. It seemed like hours before Aidan Campbell called out, “Over here.”

  Cam and the others rushed to the spot. In the sparse snow under the trees, they could see a single trail of footprints.

  He could tell that Fowler wasn’t quite steady on his feet. It looked like he was hurt. Good. That would slow him down.

  Moving as silently as possible, they followed the militia leader’s spoor.

  He was making for a rocky area, and Cam muttered a curse when the footsteps momentarily disappeared.

  As he paused to consider his next move, a hail of bullets slammed into a nearby tree. Fowler had gone for a surprise attack.

  “Down!” he shouted.

  Everybody hit the ground, then scuttled for cover.

  “You keep him pinned down,” Cam ordered. “I’m going to circle around.”

  “Not alone,” Trevor Blackhaw informed him.

  He gave his friend a sharp look but didn’t argue because he knew that going in by himself was a bad idea. And he wasn’t planning to make his wife a widow if he could help it.

  Weapons at the ready, he and Blackhaw moved as quietly as they could through the woods, circling around Fowler’s position. The militia leader continued to exchange fire with the rest of the men, and Cam figured they were keeping him busy.

  Finally, they were in position directly behind their quarry.

  He motioned Blackhaw down, then crouched a few yards away.

  “In back of you,” he shouted.

  Fowler whirled, firing as he turned.

  Cameron shot him three times, watching with a kind of dreamlike satisfaction as the bastard toppled backward.

  He and Blackhaw sprinted down into the rock depression where Fowler had been holed up. He lay on his back, eyes closed and blood leaking from his mouth.

  Squatting, Cameron leaned over him. Fowler’s eyes flickered open.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” the militia leader wheezed.

  “Yeah, well, I guess the joke is on you.”

  Neither of them laughed.

  “We didn’t get blown up like you thought.
And in case you haven’t figured it out—Riley Watson is working for me. The last time you saw him his name was Craig O’Riley. He tricked you into thinking he was a different guy. You even invited him to join your organization.”

  Fowler coughed. “No.”

  “Afraid so. And I’ve got some more bad news for you. Your friends, the terrorists from Lukinburg, double-crossed you. That fire was rigged before you arrived at the battered-women’s shelter. It was meant to take you out.”

  Fowler’s jaw firmed, but he said nothing.

  “But you can get even with whoever set you up—by giving me his name,” Cam suggested. “You can screw up his communications if you tell me how he contacted you.”

  Fowler’s lips moved.

  Cameron leaned closer, ready to hear the information he’d been seeking for months.

  “See you in hell,” Fowler spat, then went still.

  And Cam was left staring into a dead man’s face. Thanks to Riley Watson’s excellent advance work, he’d finally evened the score. But it felt like a hollow victory.

  RILEY WAS FIGHTING with the doctors when Cameron Murphy and Bryce Martin showed up at the hospital.

  “If this guy is giving you a hard time, we can take him off your hands,” the colonel said.

  The physician looked relieved. “Keep him quiet for the next twenty-four hours, if you can.”

  “Will do.”

  “What happened?” Riley demanded.

  The colonel filled him in on Fowler’s demise. “Now we just have to figure out who was backing him.”

  “And how he was getting his orders.”

  Murphy nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to know that.” He gave Riley a direct look. “Do you mind staying at the ranch for a few more days? Until we figure out who set Fowler up and how.”

  “I’m staying at the ranch until Courtney Rogers gets a replacement for me,” Riley bit out. “Big Sky got her foreman to quit, and I’m not leaving a pregnant woman in the lurch.”

  The colonel had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “You can give me a ride back,” Riley said, pressing his advantage. “As soon as I take a shower.”

  “Okay,” Murphy agreed.

  “You got any clean clothes? I don’t want to go back there smelling like Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  Forty minutes later they were on the highway, heading toward the Golden Saddle.

  When they passed a lighted sign along the highway, Murphy gestured. “If you need us, we’re at the Buckskin Motel. Right over there. We’ve rented rooms five through fifteen.”

  Riley didn’t bother telling him it was the same motel where he’d taken Courtney that first afternoon, when he’d found her stranded beside the road. It seemed like a lifetime ago, when it was really only a few weeks.

  Tension gathered inside him as they turned up the ranch road and headed for the house.

  Murphy glanced at him. In a voice that was half-teasing, he asked, “How about if I tell her that you were working for me?”

  “I’d rather handle it myself,” Riley said as Courtney barreled out the front door, gun in hand, and stopped short when she saw the unfamiliar SUV.

  “That’s quite a woman you’ve got there. You want us to wait around—in case she shoots you?” Joseph Brown quipped from the driver’s seat.

  “You take care of your own woman. That princess. She’s a handful, too. Right?”

  That shut Brown up. But Riley still had to deal with the spitfire standing in the ranch yard with a gun. And he didn’t want anyone else getting caught in the cross-fire.

  “You guys get the hell out of here before the rough stuff starts.”

  Murphy looked doubtful, but he did as Riley asked—because he owed him that much after giving him the most dangerous part of this assignment

  Riley climbed out of the SUV and started toward the house, holding the arm Fowler had cut stiffly against his body and trying not to limp.

  “Put the gun down,” he said wearily. “If you want to shoot me, do it after my friends leave, so there won’t be any witnesses.” Before she could answer, he turned and waved to Brown.

  After several seconds hesitation, the SUV drove off, leaving Riley wondering if Courtney was going to kick him off the ranch in the next five minutes.

  She stood staring at him like she didn’t believe he was real.

  “Do I look that bad?” he asked.

  “You look like you’ve been in a fight and you got the worst of the deal.”

  “The other guy is dead.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re saying you killed someone?”

  “No. Unfortunately. Fowler got away from me, but Murphy and the guys tracked him into the national park. He won’t be bothering you again.”

  “Who’s Murphy?”

  “Long story. But I need to sit down first.”

  When Riley started toward the house, Jake stepped onto the porch and gave him the evil eye. “Where do you think you’re going? We don’t want you around here.”

  “I guess that’s for Ms. Rogers to decide,” he answered, then gave her a questioning look.

  “Go on in,” she murmured.

  Riley wanted to tell the guy to butt out, but he kept his head down and his mouth shut as he walked past Jake and into the house.

  Apparently the old ranch hand wasn’t going to leave it at that. They all ended up in the living room, where Riley sat down heavily on the sofa, then looked around in surprise. He’d been too busy to think about Christ mas except for his Santa Claus remark. But while he’d been gone, someone had decked out the room for the holidays, with fresh greens on the mantel and a six-foot fir tree, decorated with beautiful handmade ornaments.

  He looked from the trimmings to Courtney. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I needed to focus on something positive….” The sentence trailed off. She cleared her throat and began again. “Jake and the men helped me.”

  “Good idea,” Riley managed, thinking that having them around her had provided extra security.

  Courtney turned toward Jake. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave us alone.”

  He wedged his hands on his hips. “You know I can’t do that. I’ve got an obligation to you.”

  “Well, your obligation to me is to leave,” she said firmly. “Don’t forget you work for me, and I’m giving you an order.”

  “He could hurt you,” Jake insisted.

  “Does he look like he’s in shape to hurt anyone?” she asked sharply.

  Jake ran his gaze over Riley’s sorry self. “I guess not,” he muttered, then stomped out of the room. But he lingered in the hallway.

  “I’ll be fine,” Courtney called out.

  When they were finally alone, she turned back to Riley and slicked her hands down her sides. “I was worried about you.”

  He wanted to make something of that. But it might just be a polite comment, so he cleared his throat and said, “Sorry. I came here as soon as the medics let me go.”

  “You were in the hospital?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Smoke inhalation.” He kept the knife wound to himself.

  She looked as if she wanted to cross the room to him. He waited with his breath frozen in his lungs. Unfortunately, she stayed where she was.

  “The fire at the women’s shelter rated a special radio report,” she said. “The newscaster on the scene said you saved a lot of people.”

  Riley gave a small nod.

  “And a group of men nobody had seen around here before were also in the thick of it.”

  “Big Sky,” Riley told her. “The outfit I work for.”

  “So are you still keeping the whole thing a big secret?”

  “Not now. We’re all former military. Colonel Cameron Murphy personally selected each of us.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “We’re bounty hunters.”

  Courtney’s gaze turned hard. “And you were after Fowler?
”

  “Yeah. We’ve been pursuing him for months.” He plowed ahead because he owed her an explanation. “Fowler headed up a sinister militia group that has caused unspeakable harm. He broke out of prison with a group of his cohorts, and we’ve been slowly rounding the fugitives up. But Fowler was the most dangerous—and elusive—of the bunch. And he made our lives a living hell. Shortly before I arrived here, he held us in captivity at his prison camp. We escaped, and he thought we all died in an explosion. But I’m good at disguising myself. The colonel figured Fowler wouldn’t make me. So he sent me here.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You mean you’ve really got dark hair and bushy eyebrows?”

  The comic picture made him bark out a laugh. “No. This is the way I normally look. When he captured us, I was carrying a false ID, and I had my hair dyed. Then he shaved my head with a dull razor, so I looked considerably different.”

  She winced, then her features sharpened. “It sounds like your friend, the colonel, was taking a chance—that Fowler wouldn’t recognize you and kill you.”

  “It was an acceptable risk. And I pulled it off.”

  “Just like you pulled off pretending to be a ranch manager,” Courtney pointed out.

  Riley looked down at his hands. “I know enough to get by.”

  “And you think that’s what I deserved?”

  “If you want my answer now, it’s no. Back when I came here, we couldn’t tell if you rented to Fowler because you were cozy with him. And we didn’t know you were pregnant.”

  “Oh, that makes it all right!”

  “I understand why you should kick me out,” Riley said, struggling to keep his voice steady. He pushed himself up, swaying on his feet. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  He started past her, but she grabbed his arm. Caught off guard, he groaned.

  She gave him a long look. “Your arm’s hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me nothing. What happened?”

  “Fowler cut me. It’s stitched up.”

  “You should lie down,” she said.

  “In the bunkhouse, for tonight, if you don’t mind me taking my old bed back.”

  He waited for her answer. Waited for her to say that she was going to kick him out on his ass—into a snow-bank.