Prologue
“Minz, cover me.” Devin “Daredevil” Layne gripped his M4A1 rifle, bunching his muscles, ready for action. “I’ll take point.”
“I’ve got your six,” Staff Sergeant Trace Minz said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Twenty Green Berets of the 10th Special Forces from Fort Carson, Colorado, crouched in the shadowy ruins of buildings on the edge of a small Syrian town, awaiting the signal to move in.
They’d waited until night to infiltrate the town. Starlight shone down on them, lighting their way.
Intelligence sources from inside that village had identified a top ISIS leader responsible for the beheadings of a group of aid workers including doctors and nurses, sent in to help the civilians impacted by the shelling of several multifamily structures.
Their sources indicated their target Hajji al-Hassan would be surrounded by his guard and a couple of mercenaries the leader had engaged as his personal bodyguards. He’d hired one mercenary for himself and a female mercenary to guard his three wives, who were also located with him in a former government building at the center of the town.
The Special Operations Task Force had been given strict orders to find and neutralize al-Hassan. He was not to escape, even if it meant collateral damage to civilians who might be with him.
Devin didn’t like it when terrorists used civilians as human shields. Though they’d been told to do whatever it took to take al-Hassan out, Devin would do his best not to kill women and children.
“Go,” came the command from their team leader, Sergeant Major Mark Rutherford.
One by one, the men moved through the streets, entering the village at different locations, leap-frogging from shadow to shadow, covering for each other as they progressed toward the town’s center.
On point, Devin led the team to their goal, the large government building at the town center. He came up from a side street at the west corner of their target with a view of the front of the building and the west side.
“Two guards at the west entrance,” he whispered into his mic. “Two at the front entrance.”
“Moving into position,” Ace Monahan, their most accomplished sniper, responded. He would take out the west side guards and then the front guards. Ace had a reputation for eliminating multiple targets before they could sound any alarm.
Using a silencer, he tagged the two guards on the west entrance, dropping them before either knew what was happening.
“Cease fire,” their team lead ordered. “Motor vehicle coming up the street in front of the building.”
A large, dark SUV stopped outside the main entrance. The driver, wearing loose black clothing and a black turban, got out. He leaned back into the SUV and pulled out an AK-47 rifle. After releasing the thirty-round magazine, he slammed it back into the weapon and rounded the vehicle, moving to the side closest to the front door. With his rifle at the ready, he stood with his shoulders back, his black-turbaned head held high and waited.
The SUV and its armed driver weren’t part of the plan. So, what was an SUV doing there at that time of night? It was late, almost midnight.
Rutherford spoke softly, “Ace, be ready,”
“I can’t get a clear shot with that SUV parked in front of the door,” Ace reported.
Devin studied the building and the surrounding area. With the west entrance guards ou
t of commission, the entire west side of the building was clear of ISIS rebels. “I can move closer,” Devin said.
“Go,” their team leader said.
The driver and the two guards turned as the double front doors opened. With the guards and driver preoccupied, Devin took the opportunity to move. Crouching low and keeping to the shadows, he raced for the west wall.
Three women dressed in black burkas were herded toward the SUV by a slim figure dressed in khaki pants and a khaki long-sleeved shirt. On her head, she wore a black hijab, which covered her hair and much of her face. She carried what appeared to be an AR-15 with a thirty-round magazine.
The female mercenary, Devin concluded. He hoped the women would move quickly into the SUV and leave the area clear for him to zero in on their target.
He dropped to his belly, doublechecked his rifle with the silencer fitted to the end and stretched across the ground.
Lying in the prone position, he brought his rifle up to his shoulder and stared down the sight, lining it up with the edge of the open front doors.
“Moving in behind you,” Minz whispered into Devin’s headset.
Moments later, Minz dropped to his haunches beside Devin. “The others are in position, ready to make this happen.”
“Good,” Devin responded. “We might need help.”
All three burka-clad women settled inside the SUV, leaving the door wide open.
Their chauffeur was in no hurry to close the vehicle. Instead, he turned to the entrance and waited.
The female mercenary left the women and crossed to the building’s main entrance.
Devin’s gaze remained focused on that door while using his peripheral vision to scan the area for other movements.
The guards moved back a step as a squad of armed ISIS fighters exited the government building and spread out, weapons pointing outward, establishing a perimeter, and making Devin’s job even harder. One fighter stood between him and the door. The man hefted his rifle to his shoulder and rolled his head from side to side as if working kinks out of his neck.
More mov
ement at the door made Devin tense.
A black-bearded man dressed in khaki like the female mercenary, wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a camouflage hat, stepped out of the building.
Behind him, a man in a long black caftan and a black turban stepped out, surrounded by a phalanx of men crowding through the doorway all at once. The man at the center of the clump sported a long, full white beard. Devin caught glimpses of him through the gaps between the ISIS soldiers, each carrying rifles. One man had in his possession a revolver-type grenade launcher. Another held an RPG over his shoulder. Those two weapons could mean a lot of trouble for Devin’s team.
With all the men standing at the entrance, surrounding al-Hassan, Devin couldn’t get a clear bead on their target.
“Fuck,” Devin muttered and shifted his position, hoping it would help.
It didn’t.
“Focus on the target,” Rutherford said, his voice tense but encouraging. “He can’t get into that SUV.”
With the women tucked into the vehicle, only ISIS soldiers and the mercenaries stood in the way of Devin accomplishing his team’s number one mission.
Take out al-Hassan.
His sights set on al-Hassan, Devin waited for a gap in the people milling about the entrance.
As the group moved toward the SUV, distance widened between the men surrounding al-Hassan. A gap opened.
Devin squeezed the trigger.
At the exact moment Devin committed to the shot, the female mercenary stepped between him and the ISIS leader.
Too late. The bullet was out of the barrel. A second later, the woman in khaki jerked and fell against al-Hassan.
Devin cursed. “Shit’s about to hit the fan.”
“Move in,” Rutherford ordered the team.
Some of the ISIS soldiers scattered, and others gathered around al-Hassan, moving him toward the SUV.
Devin aimed for the middle mass of the clump of bodies headed for the vehicle. Al-Hassan was not getting into that SUV.
He fired again, hitting one of the men in black, who was using his body as a shield to protect the ISIS leader. That man dropped, making the others stumble.
Minz leaped over Devin’s prone form and knelt beside him, his r
ifle pressed to his shoulder. He fired into the clump, taking out another ISIS soldier.
Finally, Al-Hassan was in Devin’s line of fire. He fired a round, hitting the man in the upper torso.
The ISIS leader jerked backward.
Devin fired again as the man swayed toward the SUV. The bullet hit the ISIS terrorist in the head. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.
“Daredevil and Minz fall back!” Rutherford said.
“Incoming!” Minz yelled.
Devin had only a split second to shift his gaze from the dead ISIS leader to the man in khakis who’d taken the RPG from the ISIS soldier and now held it over his shoulder, aimed directly at Devin and Minz.
Minz shoved Devin hard, sending him flying past the corner of the building. A moment later, the world exploded around them.
Pain ripped through Devin’s leg, and shrapnel peppered his body. His ears rang, and his head swam from the concussion.
Rifle fire raged around him as dust settled over his skin. Pain radiated up his leg and throughout his body. He looked around, realizing he’d fallen around the corner of the building. He remembered Minz pushing him.
His heart stopped for a frightening moment. Where was Minz?
“Minz!” he called out, his voice no more than a weak croak. “Minz!” In a haze, he tried to get up. His right leg didn’t work. Every movement sent fiery pain ripping through his body, making him fade in and out of consciousness.
Devin fought to stay awake. Since he couldn’t get up, he dragged himself across the ground to where Minz had been before the explosion.
What looked like a bloody lump of rags lay in a pile where Minz had been.
“Minz.” Devin choked on his buddy’s name as he gathered what remained of the man in his arms. “Goddamn it, Minz. You can’t die on me.”
His words went unheard. His friend was gone.
Tears spilled down Devin’s cheeks as gunfire raged around him. His head swam, pain gripped him, and he grew weaker, finally succumbing to the black fog creeping in to claim him.
Chapter 1
“Devin Layne? Or should I call you Daredevil?”
At the sound of the voice behind him, Devin turned, a frown forming on his forehead. Daredevil was a moniker he no longer attributed to himself. Not since his last deployment—the mission that had taken the lives of some of his best buddies in the 10th Special Forces and had gotten him a one-way ticket out of the military. He flexed his aching leg and faced a man with black hair, black eyes, and a military haircut. “I’m Devin.”
The man stuck out his hand. “Jake Cogburn. My colleague, Max Thornton, asked me to talk with you.”
Max Thornton? Devin remembered Max Thornton. He’d been a member of the 10th Special Forces a couple of years before Devin. Max had been on a mission with him sometime in the past. Then Devin hadn’t heard or seen anything about Thorn—the callsign he’d gone by—for several months. “So? Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Jake gave him a quick grin. “No. But he said you were a top-notch Green Beret.”
“Past tense,” Devin said, turning away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m working.”
“I know. I don’t want to take up too much of your time here. But I’d like to buy you a drink and talk.”
Devin shook his head. “I’m busy.”
“How about tomorrow…Gunny’s Watering Hole…seven o’clock?” Jake persisted.
Irritated, Devin gathered his horse’s reins. “Like I said, I’m busy.”
“At least, think about it. I have a job opportunity you might be interested in.” Jake touched his arm. “Just hear me out over drinks. I think you could be an asset to our organization.”
Devin snorted. “I doubt it.” He stood for a moment by the fence overlooking the arena where the Fool’s Gold, Colorado, annual Gold Rush Rodeo was taking place. This was the first job he’d landed since he’d come home to Colorado, and it was only for the duration of the rodeo.
Yeah, he had some money coming in from his medical retirement from the Army, but his dissatisfaction wasn’t so much with the money as the need to work. The problem was there weren’t too many opportunities for a man who could barely get around. Unless he settled for a desk job. He frowned. “How did you know I’d be here?” No one except his immediate family knew he’d returned to Fool’s Gold.
“I ran into your sister, Laurel, in town.” Jake Cogburn leaned his elbows on the rail, watching as a contestant lowered himself onto a huge bull in the chute.
Seconds later, the gate opened, and the bull leaped out. The man held on to the rope around the bull’s middle for four seconds before the frenzied beast threw him.
“Laurel has a big mouth,” Devin muttered.
“Laurel cares about her brother,” Jake countered. “Besides, I asked about you. She didn’t want to lie, so she told me you’d come home.”
“So, I’m home.” Devin shot a narrow-eyed glance at Jake. “How did Thorn know to ask about me?”
Jake gave a hint of a smile. “He has connections in the Special Forces like I do from my time in the Navy SEALs. We belong to an organization called the Brotherhood Protectors. We recruit former military, who are highly trained for Special Operations, and put them to work.”
Devin’s frown deepened. “Look, I don’t know what Thorn thinks, but
I’m not the same guy who fought with him in Afghanistan.” He took a step away from Jake, demonstrating the decided limp. “I didn’t quit the Army; they processed me out because of this.” He patted his leg.
Jake lifted the leg of his jeans, displaying a prosthetic. “I get it. This civilian life is new to you, and you’re trying to figure out how you fit.” He shook his head. “I was where you are not long ago until an old buddy of mine, Hank Patterson, pulled my ass out of the bottle I was trying to drown myself in and gave me purpose. I didn’t think I could be useful to anyone when I was one leg short of a pair.” He lifted his chin. “Hank proved me wrong. And I’m here to offer you the same deal he offered me. Come to work for the Brotherhood Protectors. We need men like you.”
Devin wanted to believe what Jake was saying, but it all sounded too good to be true. “I don’t need anyone’s pity or handouts.”
“We aren’t handing out either. You have to work for your pay on our team. Some of our assignments are dangerous. But, tell you what, don’t say no right now. Think about it. I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at the Watering Hole. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I have to get to work,” Devin said.
“You don’t have to commit to anything.” Jake held out both hands, palms up. “What can it hurt?” He grinned. “See you tomorrow.” And he left.
As soon as Mallory Watts drove up to the arena, her horse trailer in tow, she could sense something was different. She’d been to the Fool’s Gold arena so many times in the past twenty years, she could find her way around blindfolded. Hell, she’d cut her teeth riding barrels and had fallen in love with a bronc rider.
But that was another story she’d just as soon forget. That bronc rider had chosen to join the military. On one trip home on leave, he’d promised to come back and marry her the next time he came home.
She snorted in a very unladylike way as she parked the truck, climbed down, and strode to the back of the trailer. Jazz pawed the floor of the trailer, more anxious than usual.
“I get it,” Mal soothed. “I feel it, too.” She unlocked the gate, swung it open, and stepped inside. After untying Jazz’s lead, Mal backed her out onto the hardpacked dirt. “Let’s just do what we came to do and go home to a warm stall and a bucket of sweet feed, all right?” She rubbed the horse’s muzzle and patted her neck.
Jazz tossed her head as if ready to do her part and get back to the Lucky Star Ranch.
Mal’s edgy feeling didn’t go away and must have transferred to Jazz because the animal tugged against the lead and danced sideways.
“Whoa, girl,” Mal whispered. “We have to wait our turn.” She glanced over the top of her horse’s neck at a man on a horse, wearing the polo shirt of one of the arena’s security staff. His hair was a rich brown, cut short on the sides and barely longer on top. The guy sat straight in his saddle, his hips swaying with the horse’s steady gait as if he’d been born to ride.
A memory tugged at Mal’s heart. ...
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