SEAL SALVATION (Brotherhood Protectors Colorado Book 1) Read online

  “Not active Delta Force,” the man fired back. “Look. A friend sent me to offer you a job.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” Jake said, then added muttering beneath his breath, “and I’m not fit for any jobs.”

  “You’re fit for the job he’s got in mind,” the man said. “Look, Cog, the only easy day was yesterday. Are you a SEAL or not?”

  Cog.

  Only the men he’d fought with side by side had called him Cog.

  A frown pulled his brow low as he leaned forward in his chair. “Anyone can look up the SEAL motto. How do I know you’re the real deal?” Jake had to admit he was curious now.

  “You have to trust me.” The man chuckled. “It’s not like us Deltas have tridents tattooed on our foreheads like you Navy SEALs. My honor was forged in battle, just like yours.”

  Despite himself, Jake’s lips twitched. No, they didn’t have tridents, the symbol of their trade, drawn in indelible ink on their foreheads. But it was etched into their hearts. The grueling training they’d survived had made them proud to wear the symbol of the Navy SEAL and even prouder to fight as a team alongside the Delta Force operatives.

  “Who sent you?” Jake asked.

  “Hank Patterson,” the voice said and waited.

  A flood of memories washed over Jake. Hank had been his mentor when he’d come on board, fresh from BUD/S training. He hadn’t hazed him as the others on the team had. He’d taken Jake beneath his wing and taught him everything he knew that would help him in the many missions to come. Many of Hank’s techniques had kept Jake alive on more than one occasion. He owed the man his life.

  “Why didn’t Hank come himself?” Jake asked.

  “He and his wife have a new baby. You might not be aware that his wife is a famous actress. She’s going on set in a few days, and Hank has diaper duty.”

  “Hank? Diaper duty?” Jake shook his head. The alcohol in his system made his vision blur. “Doesn’t sound like Hank.”

  “Well, it is. Will you open the door so we can discuss his proposition?”

  Jake glanced around the pathetic excuse of an apartment and shook his head. “No. But I’ll come out in a minute. You can buy me a drink, and we can talk.”

  “Good,” the man said. “Anything to get out of this hallway. Your neighbors are giving me threatening looks.”

  Jake reached for his prosthesis, pulled up his pantleg, donned the inner sleeve, slipped his stump into position and pulled the outer sleeve over his thigh. He slid his good foot into a shoe and pushed to a standing position, swaying slightly.

  He smelled like dirty clothes and alcohol. But he’d be damned if he let Hank’s emissary into the apartment to see how low Jake Cogburn had sunk.

  Lifting his shirt up to his nose, he grimaced. Then he yanked it over his head, slung it across the room and reached into the duffel bag in the corner for another T-shirt.

  The sniff test had him flinging that shirt across the room to land with the other in a heap on the floor. Two shirts later, he settled on a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt that had been a gift from one of his buddies on his last SEAL team. The man had been a fan of one of the biggest bands of the seventies, a time way before he’d been born.

  Running a hand through his hair, he shoved his socked-foot and his prosthetic foot into a pair of boots and finally opened the door.

  The man on the other side leaned against the opposite wall in the hallway. He pushed away from the wall and held out his hand. “Jake Cogburn, I’m Joseph Kuntz. My friends call me Kujo.”

  Jake gave the man a narrow-eyed glare but took the hand. “What kind of job does Hank have in mind. Not that I’m interested.” He shook the hand and let go quickly.

  “He’s started a business up in Montana and wants to open up a branch here in Colorado.” Kujo ran his glance over Jake.

  Jake’s shoulders automatically squared. “And?”

  “And he wants you to head it up.”

  Jake laughed out loud. “Hank wants this broken-down SEAL to head up an office?”

  Kujo nodded. “He does.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “I have a pregnant wife back in Montana. I only have a few weeks to help you lay the groundwork. Then I have to get back.”

  His head shaking back and forth, Jake stared at the man as if he’d lost his mind. “What the hell kind of business can a one-legged ex-SEAL manage? Does he even know me?”

  “He said he mentored you as a newbie SEAL a long time back. He knows your service record and thinks you would make the perfect man to lead the new branch.” Kujo crossed his arms over his chest. “He has confidence that you have the skills needed to do the job. And there’s no such thing as an ex-SEAL. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. ”

  Jake nodded. The man was right. “He knew me back then. But does he know me now?” Jake touched the thigh of his injured leg.

  Kujo nodded. “He knows about your circumstances, and he’s still certain you’re the one to do the job.”

  Jake shook his head. “What exactly will this branch of his business sell?”

  “We’re a service organization. We provide security and unique skills to our clients to protect them and/or take care of situations law enforcement or the military might not be in a position to assist with.”

  “Vigilantes?” Kujo held up his hands. “No thanks.”

  “Not vigilantes,” Kujo said. “More a security service for those in need of highly trained special ops folks who know how to handle a gun and run a tactical mission.”

  “Again,” Jake said, “sounds like vigilantes. No thanks. Besides, I’m not fit to fight. The Navy told me so.” He turned to go back into his apartment and find another whiskey glass.

  Kujo stepped between him and the door. “Can you fire a weapon?”

  Jake shrugged. “Sure. Nothing wrong with my hands and arms. But I can’t run, jump and maneuver the way I used to before…” He tipped his chin toward his prosthesis.

  “You still have a brain. You can compensate,” Kujo raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a job?”

  Jake’s chest tightened. “No.”

  Kujo’s chin lifted a fraction. “Then, what do you have to lose?” He stood with his shoulders back, his head held high—the way Jake used to stand.

  What did he have to lose? He’d lost everything that had been important to him. He couldn’t sink any lower. His brows furrowing, he stared into Kujo’s open, friendly face and then shrugged. “I have nothing to lose.”

  Kujo nodded. “Trust me. I’ve been there. Hank Patterson brought me out of the hell I’d sunk into. Life has only gotten better since.”

  “Well, you have both legs,” Jake pointed out.

  “And you have your hands and mind, one perfectly good leg and a prosthetic device you can get around on just fine from what I can see.” He frowned. “Are you going to stand around bellyaching or come with me and start a new job I think you’ll love.”

  “I’m not bellyaching,” Jake grumbled.

  “But you’re wasting daylight, and I have another place I need to be before dark.” Kujo stood back. “What’s it to be?”

  For a tense moment, Jake stood fast. After weeks of wallowing in the hovel of an apartment, getting out seemed more difficult than staying with the familiar.

  “Why did Hank choose me?” he asked.

  “Based on your past performance as a Navy SEAL, Hank thought you were the right person for the task he had in mind. He trusts you, your work and your integrity. The job won’t always be easy…” Kujo grinned. “But the only easy day…”

  “Yeah, yeah…was yesterday.” Jake impatiently waved Kujo ahead of him. “I’m coming. But don’t take that as a yes. I have yet to decide whether I want to work for Hank.”

  Kujo cocked an eyebrow. “You have a better job offer?”

  Jake wanted to tell the man that he did, but he couldn’t. “No.”

  “Fine. Come with me. We have another stop to make before we seal this deal and kick off this pr
oject.” Kujo nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “Got a go bag?”

  Jake glanced back. “Not since I left the service. Why?”

  “We’ll most likely stay the night where we’re going. Maybe longer. Grab what you need for a couple of days.”

  Jake returned to his apartment, grabbed the duffel bag out of the bottom of the closet and stuffed a pair of jeans, socks, underwear, some T-shirts, a jacket and his shaving kit into it. He returned to his apartment entrance where Kujo waited.

  The other man stepped outside and waited for Jake to follow.

  Jake carried his bag through the door and pulled it closed behind him. “Where are we going?”

  “To a ranch.”

  His feet coming to an immediate halt, Jake shook his head. “Why are we going to a ranch? You didn’t say anything about a ranch.”

  Kujo drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly, as if he was holding back his own impatience. “Bear with me. I’ll fill you in when we get there. Just suffice it to say, your job will be important to someone.”

  “Who?”

  Kujo grinned. “Whoever needs you most.”

  “That’s kind of vague, if you ask me.”

  “It’s the nature of the work,” Kujo said.

  “Just what exactly does this job entail?” Jake asked.

  “Don’t worry.” Kujo led the way down the stairs of the apartment complex and out to a shiny, black SUV. “I fully intend to brief you on your position and the nature of Hank’s organization. But first, I’d like to get out of here and up into the mountains.”

  Jake climbed into the SUV, silently cursing his prosthetic when it banged against the door. Once in his seat, he buckled his seatbelt, wondering what the hell he was doing and when the hell he’d get that drink Kujo promised. Thankfully, he hadn’t committed to anything, which was his only saving grace. What kind of job could Hank have in mind for a one-legged, former Navy SEAL?

  Chapter 2

  “RJ? You out back again?” a voice like rocks rattling in a bucket called out.

  Striker took up a protective stance. The Military Working Dog RJ had adopted a month before was still learning how to live a non-working life. He stood his ground and growled deep in his throat.

  RJ, or as her father had documented on her birth certificate, Rucker Juliet Tate, patted the Belgian Malinois’s head. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s just Gunny.” Then she tossed the heavy bag of trash into the bin and turned toward the back door of Gunny’s Watering Hole, the bar just outside of town and conveniently situated at their home, the Lost Valley Ranch. “Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just emptying the trash.”

  Her father, former Marine Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Tate—Gunny to anyone who knew him—stepped out the back door and pushed his straw cowboy hat back on his head. “You got plans for this evening?”

  She snorted. “Do I ever have plans on a Monday night?”

  Her father’s lips twisted. “No. But I keep hoping you will.”

  “And leave you to run this place and the ranch by yourself?” She shook her head and gave him a gentle smile.

  “I can manage.” Gunny shook his head. “Though, why I thought a dude ranch and a bar were good ideas, I’ll never know.”

  “You needed something to do in your retirement, and you know it.” She planted her fists on her hips. “What’s up?”

  “I think our prospects,” he said with a twisted grin.

  RJ’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean our prospects?”

  “Got a call from an old friend the other day. He wants to use our place as a base for a business he wants to run here in Colorado.”

  RJ’s frown deepened. “He wants to buy us out?”

  “No,” Gunny said. “He just wants to rent space.”

  “Space? As in the barn or the lodge?”

  “Some of both.” Gunny held up his hands. “He wants us to continue our own operation, as is, but he needs a location for his business. And you know how hard it is to make money with this dude ranch.”

  “No kidding. The bar is the only thing keeping us going through the winter months.”

  Her father nodded. “And even then, only when we don’t have heavy snows.”

  The wheels in RJs head spun. “How much is he willing to pay in rent?”

  Gunny named a figure.

  RJ whistled. “What kind of business is he running? Drugs?”

  “We’ll find out soon. Two of his guys are on their way out. I don’t know whether to clean or just let them see this place, as is.”

  RJ shook her head. “Gunny, this place is clean. Any cleaner, and people won’t think it’s a dude ranch or a bar.” She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans. “When will they be here?”

  “Any minute. I need to set aside a couple of rooms in the lodge for them as well. I’m not sure if they’re only visiting or going to stay the night.”

  “Seriously, Gunny? And you’re just now telling me?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I wasn’t sure when they’d arrive until I got the call a little while ago.”

  RJ lifted her chin. “I don’t care how much money they offer…if their business isn’t legit, we don’t want anything to do with it. We’ve worked too hard on this place to have it confiscated by the DEA, FBI or any other government organization.”

  Her father laughed. “If I know Hank Patterson, it’s legit. He’s one the finest Navy SEALs I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I’d bet my life that he’s on the up and up.”

  RJ crossed her arms over her chest. “Still, I want to hear them out before we commit in writing.”

  “Fair enough.” Her father tipped his head toward her shirt. “You might want to change into a clean shirt. That one has mustard on it.”

  RJ glanced down at the shirt she’d been wearing through the bar’s lunch crowd. Like her father indicated, she had a bright yellow smear of mustard across her left breast. “This is your place. I don’t need to impress them.”

  Her father’s chin lifted, and he stared down his nose at her in the way he reserved for Marine recruits. The man didn’t have to say a word. That look was more than enough.

  “Yes, sir,” she said and popped a mock salute. “I’ll change, right away.” She turned away from the back of the bar and headed for the lodge where she and her father lived and worked the dude ranching operations during the day. The bar operated at lunch and later.

  “You might also comb your hair,” Gunny called out after her. “And hurry. They’ll be here in less than fifteen minutes. I’ll need you to man the bar while we talk.”

  RJ picked up her pace, walking fast to reach the lodge. She didn’t care if she had mustard on her shirt. To her, it was a proud sign of the fact that she’d been working hard. If the men coming to see her father didn’t see it the same way, they didn’t need their money.

  Well, they really did.

  She still wasn’t convinced their business was on the legal side. Then again, the income from renting them space on the Lost Valley Ranch might help cover their expenses for the year.

  RJ crossed her fingers as she took the steps up to her room inside the lodge, two at a time, Striker on her heels. Once she’d closed and locked the door behind herself and Striker, she pulled the blue chambray shirt from where it was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoned a few buttons and yanked it over her head, flinging it into the wicker clothes basket she kept in a corner. Even in her haste, she couldn’t leave dirty clothing lying on the floor.

  Her father, being the Marine gunnery sergeant he’d been, had raised her to run a tight ship. She was almost as OCD about cleanliness as he was.

  Despite Gunny’s discipline and taciturn manner, he was a softy to the core and loved RJ with all his heart.

  The man had raised her from her beginning, after her mother had died in childbirth, sacrificing much of his career in the Marines to provide a safe and loving home for her. He’d deployed a couple of times when she’d been little. When they were s
tationed at Coronado, he’d met a young Navy SEAL who’d made a big impression on the older Marine.

  RJ guessed that young Navy SEAL had been Hank Patterson, the one calling in a favor and, by doing so, could actually help Gunny and RJ in a huge way.

  Gunny had been pouring over the books just a week ago, wondering how they would pay the mortgage and utilities for the place. The winter had been harsh, not allowing many to venture out to the bar.

  The previous summer, a nearby forest fire had cut their business in half. Fortunately, rain had come to tamp down the flames before the fire reached the Lost Valley Ranch.

  RJ had seriously considered looking for a job in Colorado Springs to help supplement the Lost Valley Ranch coffers.

  Having the rental income from Hank’s business could potentially save them from having to put the ranch up for sale.

  RJ rummaged through her closet for a clean shirt. Her hands skimmed over several more of the same well-worn, blue chambray shirts she preferred to wear while both mucking the stalls and bartending at Gunny’s Watering Hole. She’d found it safer than dressing all girlie. At least she wasn’t harassed by the guests of the ranch or the bar patrons when she looked like a ranch hand or just one of the guys.

  And she kept her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. On several occasions, she’d threatened to cut her long wavy blond hair, but her father talked her out of it every time.

  “Your mother wore her hair long, and you’re the spitting image of Grace.” He’d looked so sad and nostalgic RJ couldn’t go through with it. She compromised by pulling it back into a tight ponytail or a knot at the nape of her neck, and then wearing a cowboy hat when she was outside.

  Her hand swept past the faded shirts to the one dress she owned, a simple black dress she’d worn once to a funeral.

  She shook her head and moved past it to the powder-blue rib-knit, short-sleeved sweater her friend JoJo had given to her as a birthday present. She’d worn it to the last outdoor dance the city of Fool’s Gold had set up in City Park.

  JoJo had insisted RJ go with her to provide safety in numbers. Two lone females were better than one.