SEAL's Vow (Iron Horse Legacy Book 4) Read online

  SEAL’s Vow

  Iron Horse Legacy Book #4

  Elle James

  Twisted Page Inc

  Contents

  SEAL’s Vow

  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

  Epilogue

  The Billionaire Husband Test

  Chapter 1

  Warrior’s Resolve

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Also by Elle James

  SEAL’s Vow

  Iron Horse Legacy #4

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  ELLE JAMES

  Copyright © 2019 by Elle James

  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.

  Dedicated to my mother.

  Elle James

  Author’s Note

  Enjoy other military books by Elle James

  Iron Horse Legacy

  Soldier’s Duty (#1)

  Ranger’s Baby (#2)

  Marine’s Promise (#3)

  SEAL’s Vow (#4)

  Warrior’s Resolve (#5)

  Visit ellejames.com for more titles and release dates

  For hot cowboys, visit her alter ego Myla Jackson at mylajackson.com

  and join Elle James's Newsletter at Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian “Bastian” McKinnon shined a flashlight around the dark interior of the mountain cave, praying for something. Anything that would help them find their missing father.

  “Why are we here?” Angus, his oldest brother, asked. “We’ve searched this cave at least five times. There’s nothing left to see.”

  “They found William Reed in this cave. Dad disappeared at the same time. He had to have been here. He had to have witnessed them killing Reed.”

  “You think whoever has him, kidnapped him to keep him from telling who shot the convict?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I just feel like we’re missing something.” Bastian walked around the cave again, shining the light into the farthest corners. “This is the last place he might have been before he disappeared.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Angus said. “He could have been swept away in the avalanche and buried under tons of dirt and rocks.”

  Bastian winced. “Do you really believe that?”

  Angus shrugged. “No. Not after we found Dad’s ring. If he was buried under rocks, that ring would be buried with him.” He squared his shoulders. “I think he’s still alive. And my gut tells me he’s somewhere nearby.”

  “But where?” Bastian’s voice echoed against the back walls of the cave.

  He and his brothers had been home in Montana for the past two weeks, and they still hadn’t found their father. A massive search had been conducted, but the mountains were so vast and filled with caves, ravines and valleys tucked away, they couldn’t begin to find all the places a kidnapper could have hidden James McKinnon.

  “The question is why would someone kidnap Dad?” Angus said. “If he was here when Reed was murdered, why didn’t they kill him to keep him from identifying the murderers?”

  “Reed stole a bunch of money,” Bastian reminded his brother. “He had motivation to get out of jail.”

  Angus nodded. “Not only did Reed have incredible motivation, others would have helped him get out for a cut of the loot.”

  “If Reed was the only man who knew where the money was, and he was shot,” Bastian turned to face his brother, “do you suppose he told Dad where he hid the money before he died?”

  Angus frowned. “It’s the only reason I can think of to keep Dad alive.”

  “And if he’s still alive,” Bastian’s fists clenched, “he hasn’t told them where they can find the money.”

  “I would think they’d be pretty impatient by now.”

  “Dad’s a tough old bastard,” Bastian reasoned. “He’d know that as soon as he told them where to find Reed’s stash, they’d kill him.”

  “All the more reason to find him as soon as possible.” Angus walked toward the mouth of the cave. “We’re wasting our time here.”

  Not having found even one more shred of a clue, Bastian had to admit defeat. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We can ride up through the valley and look for tracks,” Angus suggested.

  “The rain and snow we’ve had will have obliterated any tracks from the day he disappeared.”

  “True, but whoever has him might still be hiding in the mountains,” Angus said. “It’s been two weeks. He’d have to replenish supplies.”

  “True. It wouldn’t hurt to look again.” Bastian slipped his small flashlight into his pocket and followed Angus out of the cave.

  Angus reached his four-wheeler first, slung his leg over the seat and settled his helmet on his head.

  Bastian lifted his helmet from the seat of his ATV. For a moment, he stared out at the rocky cliffs rising up around them and the forested valley below. How could such a beautiful place be so dangerous and hold so many dark secrets?

  The distinctive crack of a shot fired echoed off the mountainside.

  “Get down!” he yelled as he dropped to a prone position.

  Angus threw himself off the ATV and lay flat on the ground.

  Bastian low-crawled to the edge of the fat, knobby ATV tires of his four-wheeler and looked out at the scenery, searching for movement.

  “You all right?” Angus called out.

  “I’m fine,” Bastian responded. “You?”

  “Winged my arm but it’s just a flesh wound,” Angus replied.

  Bastian frowned. “Are you able to ride?”

  “No problem. The bullet tore my shirt more than my skin.”

  Bastian knew his brother. He’d claim a flesh wound, even if he had an arterial gusher and was in the process of bleeding out. That’s how the McKinnon men rolled. “We need to get you back to the ranch.”

  “No way. I want to catch the bastard who took a pot shot at us.”

  The sound of an engine drew Bastian’s attention to the trail that led west. The mountain jutted out at a point that allowed someone to have an unobstructed view of the mouth of the cave. And an excellent position to fire on them.

  “He’s making a run for it,” Angus said. He leaped to his feet, jumped onto his four-wheeler and fired up the engine.

  Bastian slammed his helmet onto his head, mounted his ATV and pressed the starter switch. He could see the blood on his brother’s shirt. It didn’t look like much. Thankfully, his brother hadn’t been lying about the flesh wound. Especially considering he was going to chase down the fool who’d fired on them.

  Angus took off, spitting up gravel and dust in his wake.

  Bastian was close behind, gunning the throttle, sending the four-wheeler careening down the mountain path that was better suited to a horse or a goat than a vehicle. He held on tightly to the handlebar to keep the ATV from bouncing off the trail and down the two-hundred-foot drop to the valley floor below.

  Ahead, a rider on a two-wheeled dirt bike drove the trail like he had a death wish. One bad move and he’d fly off the edge.

  Though the rider had taken a shot at them, Bastian di
dn’t wish that he’d fall off the trail to his death. They needed to catch this guy alive. He might know where their father was being held. At the very least, they needed to know why the rider had fired that shot.

  With dust rising in front of him, all Bastian could do was follow Angus’s lead and hope his brother was gaining on the man ahead of him. A skilled dirt bike rider would have the advantage of speed over the four-wheelers. If he didn’t fly off the trail, he’d have a good chance of evading the brothers.

  They hit a straight stretch on the trail and picked up speed.

  Angus’s brake lights shone brightly through the fog of dust as they neared an outcropping of rocks. Then he disappeared round the bend in the trail.

  Bastian’s gut knotted. He sped up, approaching the turn too fast to be safe. Then he slammed on his brakes and skidded around the corner.

  Angus still held to the trail.

  Bastian couldn’t see what was in front of his brother but hurried to catch up. The path wound down into the valley below, twisting in and out of trees, following the creek that ran the length of the valley floor.

  When the trail emerged into an open clearing, Angus slowed and stopped.

  Bastian pulled up beside him, his gaze panning the field. He saw no sign of the shooter on his trail bike. “Where’d he go?”

  Angus frowned. “I think we lost him in the woods. He must have ducked off the trail and hid in the brush.”

  Bastian spun his four-wheeler around.

  Angus held up his hand, shaking his head.

  Slowing to stop beside his brother, Bastian called out, “We can’t let him get away with shooting at us.”

  “If we go back in there, he’ll have the advantage. He’ll see us coming and will easily pick us off. Or the other option is that he waited until we passed and high-tailed it in the opposite direction.”

  Bastian revved his engine, his frustration rising. “I’m willing to take the chance.”

  “We’re lucky neither of us was fatally wounded the first time.”

  Bastian let off on the throttle, remembering his brother had taken a hit. He stared at the forest where the shooter could still be hiding. The only way he and Angus would be able to get to him was to sneak in on foot. By the time they got anywhere close, the guy could be mounting up and riding away, leaving them afoot, deep in the trees.

  With a sigh, Bastian turned his ATV around. “Let’s head back to the truck. We need to dress that wound, and the sheriff needs to know what just happened.”

  “We’ll have to keep an eye out for someone who owns a dirt bike.” Angus said.

  “That should narrow it down,” Bastian said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “If I recall, there are a lot of guys in Eagle Rock who own dirt bikes. Hell, we own a couple we used to race on the track out by the old quarry.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to ask around and find out who the best riders are. The guy we chased knew his bike and knew how to handle these trails.”

  “He also knew where William Reed died and was possibly following us out to the cave. Find the dirt bike rider, and we might find Reed’s killer and the people responsible for taking our father.”

  Jenna Meyers checked her watch. Her clients were fifteen minutes late to the scheduled viewing of the house and forty acres tucked into the trees at the foothills of the Crazy Mountains. She waited patiently, giving them the benefit of the doubt in case they’d gotten lost.

  With little to no cellphone reception this far from town, she couldn’t expect a call to let her know they would be late. All she could do was wait and hope they showed.

  After thirty minutes had passed, she was done.

  Jenna slid into her four-wheel-drive, slate-gray Jeep Wrangler and drove down the gravel drive to where it connected with the county-maintained gravel road. “Maintained” was a loose use of the word. The road apparently wasn’t used by many, and it was in great need of repair. Many places along the road had ruts carved out by rain and water generated by melting snow.

  Perhaps the Johnsons had come out earlier and decided they didn’t like the idea of driving down three miles of gravel road to get to the cute little house on forty acres.

  With a sigh, Jenna turned away from town, instead of toward it. She had studied the plat map for this road prior to setting up the viewing. On the survey for the county road, there were several other properties even farther out of town.

  Since she was out there, she might as well earn some pay in her part-time job as a private investigator. The insurance company that had covered Pinnacle Bank of Montana paid her to check out other properties for potential stash locations for the money that had been stolen years ago by the infamous armored car robber William Reed.

  Yeah, she’d look for their money and earn a few bucks on the side in the process. She actually thought it was brilliant that they’d approached her to conduct an investigation. As a real estate agent, she knew more about county properties than most. It made sense to pay her to keep her eyes open for potential locations that might provide a good hiding place for the million dollars taken from the armored car in the heist of the century.

  When William Reed had been shot, the bank’s insurance company was certain all knowledge of the money’s whereabouts had been lost. Still, they wanted Jenna to keep looking. Selling real estate gave her access to places most people didn’t think to go. And she studied county plats to understand who owned what properties in the area where William Reed had come to reclaim the treasure he’d stolen.

  In the process of investigating to find the money, she could perform an even greater service in helping her best friend Molly McKinnon discover the whereabouts of her missing father. If someone was holding him hostage, they had to have him somewhere. A hunter’s cabin, an abandoned mine, any place they could keep him hidden. And the Crazy Mountains were a great place to hide.

  So, instead of heading back to town after a no-show, Jenna drove a little farther out to investigate a small cabin she’d noted on the plat map. The cabin was owned by Russell Mahon, a man who’d moved out of state ten years prior but hadn’t sold the building or land. He paid the annual property tax, which wasn’t much. As far as anyone in the county offices knew, the place was abandoned.

  A perfect place to stash stolen money or a missing person…?

  Maybe not the money, considering William Reed had ended up dying in a cave in the Crazy Mountains. He’d probably buried the money in one of the many caves close to where he’d bit the big one.

  But to earn her investigative fee, Jenna would put in a little time looking over an abandoned property. It beat going home empty-handed after a day of researching places for the Johnsons. And if she found a clue as to the whereabouts of James McKinnon, even better.

  She missed the turn onto the driveway for the Mahon cabin. She’d gone half a mile past it before she realized she had. After turning around, she drove slowly back in the direction she’d come until she found a turnoff onto a rutted path that might once have been a driveway.

  Tree branches hung low over the road and bushes had crept in from each side, virtually obliterating the view up to the structure Jenna knew to be there, based on the survey plat. Unless, of course, the cabin had burned down in the ten years since the owner had been in residence.

  Jenna eased onto the road and cringed as tree branches scraped across the top of her Jeep and the leaves from the bushes brushed against her windows.

  A ripple of apprehension made her shiver. Her hand went to the bulge beneath her blazer where she kept her .40 caliber H&K pistol tucked away in a shoulder holster.

  She never left home without it. Not since her ex-husband defied the restraining order against him and beat the crap out of her for leaving him and filing for divorce.

  And being a real estate agent had its own dangers. As a lone female out in the wilds of Montana, she had to be prepared for anything.

  Not only did Jenna carry a concealed weapon, she’d also taken self-defense lessons in the Krav Maga art of sel
f-defense taught in the Israeli military. Her instructor had been thorough, and she’d been a passionate student.

  Never again would she be a victim because she couldn’t protect herself.

  Still, all her instinctive warning bells were going off as she drove down the overgrown driveway. When she emerged from the gloom into an opening where she could see the sky, she felt a slight sense of relief that was short-lived.

  The cabin had not burned down, but someone needed to torch it. Paint peeled on the clapboard siding, and where there was still paint, the walls were covered in a thick layer of black mildew. The northside of the building had a healthy growth of moss turning it a yellowish green. In a sad state of disrepair, the roof was missing several shingles and was also layered in thick moss. Jenna doubted it held out the rain and suspected a heavy snow could trigger a collapse.

  The cabin appeared dead and decaying. Even the windows were dark, as if the life and light had long since faded away from the inside.

  An abandoned house no one could see from the road made a perfect place to stash stolen money or a hostage.

  Jenna parked her Jeep in front of the cabin and sat for a moment, staring at the crumbling porch that dipped on one side where the support beams had rotted. She pulled her cellphone from her pocket and snapped a few photographs of the cabin as proof she’d investigated the site, in case the insurance company paying her investigator fee questioned whether she’d really been there.