Out of the Cage: While out hunting with family in the woods, a wolf shifter finds something he never expected.
Castrose Zukan returns to the hideaway his brother, Clayton, had been using, only to find it destroyed. After checking the escape route they’d created, he discovers Clayton didn’t leave alone. While it takes a few days, Castrose figures out who took him... and where. He sneaks into the United States and heads to a little mountain town called Stone Ridge. What he doesn’t expect is to become the hunted.
When Eion MacDougal watched his two eldest brothers and dozens of others in their wolf shifter pack find their mates, he never lost hope that he would find his own someday. Out hunting with family in wolf form, that day comes when he runs across a guy with a sniper rifle. Revealing himself has unexpected consequences. The big, blond human faints.
With help from his family, Eion takes him home. Help from his pack tells him who the human is... and why he’s there. When Castrose wakes, can he win the man’s trust? Or will his mate flee from Eion when he learns he’s part of the group that kidnapped the human’s only family?
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In the Sniper’s Crosshairs
Copyright © 2019 Charlie Richards
ISBN: 978-1-4874-2678-1
Cover art by Angela Waters
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In the Sniper’s Crosshairs
Wolves of Stone Ridge: Book Forty-Nine
By
Charlie Richards
Dedication
So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships onto the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message—you are not alone.
~from the movie Matilda
Chapter One
As soon as the buckle seatbelt light flashed off, Castrose Zukan unclipped the clasp and rose to his feet. He longed to stretch his arms over his head and pop his back, but he knew that would have to wait. Even flying first class, Castrose found the seats on the airplane uncomfortable for his big six-foot-three-inch frame.
Time to get off this damn bird, so I can stretch my legs.
Castrose grabbed his carry-on bag from the overhead storage bin. Slinging the satchel over his shoulder, he straightened his suit coat, then began making his way down the aisle toward the door. Even as big as he was, Castrose easily maneuvered around the other fliers and made it to the door nearly first.
Sometimes, military training came in handy in unexpected ways.
Slipping from the plane, Castrose strode steadily down the attached tunnel. He followed the tide of people toward the customs check and found a slow-moving line to stand in. When he finally reached the head of the line, Castrose pulled his fake identification from the inside pocket of his suit coat.
Castrose spotted a passenger moving away from a booth, so he headed that way. Offering a slight smile, he handed his identification to the attendant.
The man behind the counter read over the information, glanced at him, then placed a stamp on his passport. “Welcome to Houston, Mr. Randin. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” Castrose replied, giving the man another small smile as he took his passport back.
As Castrose moved away from the counter, he tucked his forged information back into his suit coat. His documents listed his name as Daniel Randin, a Swedish native who had diplomatic immunity. That meant his bag wouldn’t be searched, allowing him to break down his sniper rifle and carry it on the plane with him.
While there was always the low chance of getting hassled, Castrose had chosen to take the chance. He’d been through so many custom checks that he’d learned what set off people’s radar and knew to avoid that. In this instance, acting as a weary business traveler was a damn sure bet that he would be waved on through.
And I was right.
Without a bag to pick up and only having the clothes on his back and one change in his bag—which were wrapped around the pieces of his weapon—Castrose headed toward the car rental area. Once there, he had to stand in another line. Rubbing the back of his neck, he silently urged the rental company to open a second line.
Castrose almost chuckled when two minutes later, another employee appeared from the back and did just that. Within ten minutes, he’d used his forged documents to rent a four-wheel-drive pick-up truck. Evidently, in Texas, that was fairly common, so he even had his choice of blue, red, or black.
With keys in hand, Castrose left the airport. He found his vehicle in the slot the woman had indicated on the map. After placing his satchel on the floor of the passenger side, he climbed behind the wheel and fired it up.
As Castrose drove, he searched for a fast food joint. He hated plane food. First, it was never enough. Second, even in first class, it tasted like shit.
Spotting a sub sandwich place, Castrose hummed. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he mumbled. With a sigh of relief, he parked in the lot and hustled in to get a few sub sandwiches for the trip.
While Castrose could have caught a connecting flight and flown directly to Denver, he’d chosen to drive. He hated flying and crossing the ocean was long enough. Besides, it gave him time to wait for his contact in the CIA to get him the last of the information he needed.
There was something odd about how someone from a hick town had managed to infiltrate his brother’s home.
Castrose still remembered the shock he’d felt when he’d driven to his hidden parking spot, hiked toward the abandoned cabin, and found the destruction of the home. His heart had skipped a beat, and he’d gasped. He’d swept his gaze over the devastation as he’d rubbed his chest.
His brother, his only family, had been in that cabin—Clayton Zukan.
While Castrose had learned bomb-making while in the military, his younger, much-smaller brother, had taken his training manuals and turned it into an art form. His bombs ended up in high demand. Turning his skills toward sniper-dom, Castrose had ended up a hell of a shot, and after leaving the military, combined with the martial arts training he’d enjoyed since he was five, he’d had an easy segue into becoming an assassin.
Castrose and Clayton had banded together and created a kickass team. It was a good thing his brother had a moral compass. Clayton laid the ground rules for who they sold to, who they allowed to hire them, and always demanded Castrose confirm that what the client said had happened was actually the truth.
Without Clayton, Castrose knew he would lose those values. He had never considered himself a bad man, but he certainly wouldn’t be called good, eith
er.
I need my brother.
Fortunately, Castrose had located the exit of their underground lair’s escape tunnel. While the opening itself was charred from the flames of the explosion, the land itself had given him plenty of clues. He had found tracks... a lot of tracks. Castrose recognized his brother had left one of the sets.
Thanks to the maker.
Collecting his discreetly placed cameras, Castrose had felt a wealth of relief to discover that not only was Clayton alive, but he was also uninjured. Hell, the group who’d escorted him to a hidden SUV hadn’t even trussed him. In fact, Clayton had been chatting eagerly with them, appearing to question them and get responses in return.
Just who the fuck are these guys? And why didn’t Clayton leave me a message?
Castrose had holed up in a hotel room and spent several days watching the sites where his brother might reach out to him. In the meantime, he had delved into their recent accepted assignments. If someone had managed to track Castrose and Clayton to their secret hideaway in Romania, then they had to be very good, have a lot of money, or perhaps both.
In conjunction with that, Castrose had cross-referenced everyone in the person or person’s life with acquaintances, friends, or family.
It had taken Castrose three days to spot a correlation.
Clayton had accepted a bomb contract from the Danner family. According to his brother’s research, the sibling pair was going to get revenge on an assassin who’d taken their money, then warned their father—who they’d hired him to kill because the man had threatened to cut them out of his will since they were no-good lay-abouts. While the premise was admirable—sort of—backstabbing in the assassin industry just wasn’t done.
Castrose understood why the siblings—who had ended up in prison—had wanted retribution. Since Clayton had taken the contract, he figured his brother had agreed. What Castrose couldn’t figure out was how the assassin’s husband’s co-workers had tracked down Clayton.
Guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.
To that end, Castrose had asked an associate for information on the residents of Stone Ridge. He’d been shocked when the other man had come back with very little. The group was all very insular, taking care of their own and dealing with problems in their own way.
It sort of reminded him of the local authorities in the first John Rambo movie. The backwoods sheriff had a bone to pick with a stranger, and he’d utilized all his resources to take him down. While it hadn’t worked so well for the hick in that movie—and in this case, Castrose would substitute a forest ranger for the sheriff—the premise was still dangerously similar.
One of the ranger’s officers—Carson Angeni—had died due to someone going after his husband. The husband had been Jared Templeton, the assassin who’d taken the money. He’d dropped off the grid and gotten out of the business over ten years before, but someone had still wanted him eliminated, and he and Clayton had taken the job.
Evidently, everyone at that office was close. Hell, only the year before they’d lost another ranger to a forest fire that had taken out the man’s home, killing his wife and daughter along with him—Shane and his family. The head ranger, Declan McIntire, obviously didn’t take kindly to losing another of his men.
Another big difference seemed to be how connected Declan was for a forest ranger. He must have had some serious skill—or one of his people did—to get information on Castrose. He wasn’t even certain who would have been skilled enough to locate Clayton’s hideout.
On top of all that, how the bomb had ended up in Jared and Carson’s home as opposed to their rental car when they’d taken a trip to Los Angeles, Castrose had no clue.
Just something else to figure out.
Shaking his head as Castrose climbed back into his rented truck, he settled comfortably behind the wheel. After placing the bag containing the six sub sandwiches on his lap, he peered into the paper sack. Castrose rifled through the offerings he’d ordered—two roast beef, two turkeys, one ham, and one pastrami—and chose one of the turkey subs.
All the sandwiches were lightly baked, so the cheese was melted and the bread toasted. He’d asked for extra veggies, including lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers, as well as extra mayo. He’d even gone ahead and had them add a few jalapeno slices to the sandwiches.
As Castrose unwrapped the top half of the sandwich, using the wrapper as a holder, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He licked his lips, then took a huge bite. Chewing slowly, he groaned appreciatively as he enjoyed the myriad of flavors bursting over his tongue.
Exquisite. Love toasted flatbread.
With his food in his left hand, Castrose used his right to spread a napkin over his lap. Then he awkwardly opened a bag of harvest cheddar Sun Chips and tucked it between his thighs. Once he had his food settled, he fired up the truck and, once again, started on his way.
After five hours, a second sandwich, and one stop to piss and get fuel, Castrose pulled into a chain hotel. He paid for a room, then locked himself into it. After a shower and getting cleaned up, he dropped into bed and passed out.
Castrose was on the road again, bright and early. After another half a day of travel, he spotted the road sign for Stone Ridge—thirty-seven miles. Turning left, he began his ascent deeper into the mountains.
As Castrose peered left and right, he took in the dense growth of trees. His mind strayed to the email he’d received from his associate that morning. He couldn’t hide his shock that the man had told him that he could no longer continue researching Declan and his people.
Orders from his boss. What the hell?
Killian Obskund worked in intelligence for the United States. Why the hell would someone in the CIA tell Killian to stop looking into a backwoods park ranger?
Castrose didn’t know, but the strange turn of events caused the hairs on his nape to stand on end. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a spike of nerves so great. If it hadn’t been his brother in trouble, Castrose would have walked away.
Except, he couldn’t.
He’s my only family.
Heaving a sigh, Castrose spotted the sign Welcome to Stone Ridge—Population four hundred seventy-two. He figured most people had to live amidst the winding mountain roads because the town itself was tiny. Castrose had heard the expression, if you blink, you’ll miss it, and he could see that it completely applied.
There was a large local market, a police station, a fire station, and according to the sign, the post office was on a side street. There was the requisite pizza parlor, frosty and burger joint, and a family diner. The town even had a bar and grill—Caribou’s—which boasted the best hot wings and cheese fries on the mountain.
Castrose’s stomach growled at the idea of greasy goodness.
Instead of giving in to his belly’s need, Castrose stopped at a gas station. He fueled his pick-up and grabbed a pre-made sub sandwich, a canister of French onion Pringles, and a six-pack of bottled water. As he paid for everything, he realized he was going to have to do a hell of a lot of sit-ups to burn off all the carbs he’d eaten over the last few days.
The upcoming hike into the forest should help.
For the next two hours, Castrose drove around the mountain roads. He found Declan’s driveway, as well as the homes of his other park rangers—Nick Greely and Dixon Holsteen. Castrose even found the remains of Carson Angeni and Jared Templeton’s home.
Castrose frowned as he stared at the destruction. There was something about it... something that niggled at his senses. Unwilling to stay too long and be noticed, Castrose filed his discontent away to peruse another time.
He would figure out what was bothering him... eventually.
“Okay, time to explore the logging roads,” Castrose muttered as he circled back around and once again located Declan’s home. “Let’s see if I can’t find a good location to scope out your place.”
With that thought in mind, Castrose turn
ed left onto the first available dirt road. He didn’t get far. There was a gate with a chain and lock, so he found a spot to turn around, returned to the street, and tried again.
Although Castrose could have hiked in, he felt his truck would have been left too close to the road. He had better luck on the next road. While there were plenty of grasses and weeds springing up the middle of the dirt and gravel track, it extended a good half mile into the woods before petering out.
In fact, at the end, Castrose spotted a small parking area and a sign indicating it was the head of a hiking trail.
“Perfect.” Castrose smiled grimly. He remembered that Declan McIntire’s fifty-plus acre plot backed up to BLM property and National Forest lands. If the satellite mapping app on his phone worked way out there, Castrose bet he could easily scout it out.
After packing his food and water into his duffel bag, Castrose placed the strap over his shoulder. He locked up his pick-up, shoved the keys into his pocket, and headed to the trailhead sign. As he read the map indicating the trail—a six-mile strenuous hike with plenty of elevation change, which explained why the place was so overgrown—Castrose tried to pull up his map.
Castrose grinned.
It works.
Between the board’s map and his phone, Castrose plotted out a route.
Of course, the second he started the trail, he realized his folly. Hiking through unfamiliar woods was completely different than picking a straight direction on a map.
Oh, well. Good thing I have plenty of food and water. I’m gonna be at this awhile.
Chapter Two
Snorting upon hearing his youngest brother’s joke, Eion MacDougal nudged his elbow into him. He rolled his eyes as he quipped back, “Yeah, you and what army?” Waggling his brows, Eion added, “I’ll let you decide on our pairs. Whoever you want to match us with, me and whoever will still take down a bigger game animal than you all.”
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