Blizzard on the Mountain (Watchdog Mountain Division #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

September, one year ago

“Any sign of the unfriendly?” Waylon “Ram” Ramson asked his brothers already on the scene of their current mission. He drove the speed limit—a true test of his patience—wary of speed traps. Waylon passed a semi while watching for one of those damn-ugly Tesla trucks that looked like something straight out of a video game, license plate reading W1NN1N.

“Negative outside the site, over.” Ben’s calm voice came through the radio.

“Negative at the entrance, over,” Shane reported.

“Happy’s a go,” added Charlene King, referring to their principal, Felice, by her code name. Charlie was not part of Mountain Division, but worked with Shane at Watchdog. She agreed to help them today, to help keep Felice calm and focused. Plus, the former Swick had a special talent they needed in order to ensure Felice would be safe in the future .

Waylon glanced at Elias riding shotgun. “So, tonight? Cocks and Strippers?”

“You know it,” Elias grinned.

Waylon smiled as he took the next exit and turned left. They were overdue for a night out at Cocktails and Chicken Strips and he was in the mood for some line dancing, flirting, and maybe a little more if he was lucky. And if he wasn’t lucky, Elias was the best wingman. Whenever Waylon felt his confidence flagging, Lion was there to talk him up to whatever hottie he’d targeted.

Waylon put aside his thoughts and focused on the mission. They were almost there, and with no sign of Preston, he assumed the man was too cowardly to confront them. Waylon didn’t understand men who took their insecurities out on people who were weaker than themselves. Why tear someone down to build yourself up? Especially your wife, the person you should love and cherish the most.

Even if she doesn’t love you back .

Waylon ignored the old memory threatening to surface.

They turned left onto a brick-paved road and passed the sign for the gated community, The Reserve.

Shane’s voice came back through the radio. “Elk to Moose, visual on Ram and Lion. Elk to Ram and Lion, target not sighted, over.”

“Roger that,” Waylon responded.

As they wound through the affluent neighborhood, Elias asked, “How much trouble do you think Preston would cause if he shows up?”

Waylon smirked. His brother had read his mind for the millionth time. “At most, sic his lawyer on us. He won’t throw a punch.”

“I disagree. I think you’re underestimating him.”

Waylon glanced at Elias. “Nuh-uh. He’s just a punk.”

“A punk with a concealed carry.”

Waylon shrugged.

“Friendly wager?” Elias asked.

Wow . Elias considered old Presto a threat. ‘Friendly wagers’ went back to their military days. They’d make a friendly wager before a particularly gnarly mission as a superstitious ward against SNAFUs. It almost always worked.

Almost.

“Yeah, I’ll take you up on that,” Waylon said. “When I win,” he grinned, “I get your truck for a week, starting tonight.” Elias’ 1973 Ford F100 Flareside was his pride and joy, and the front bench allowed for some killer makeout sessions.

Elias eyed him. “Okay, but if I win, you’re taking the bus everywhere for a week.”

“Damn, that’s harsh.” Waylon chuckled. “But since I’ll win, deal.” They fist-bumped as they pulled up to the McMansion.

From what Waylon had read in the SITREP, Felice had fallen hard for Preston, never suspecting that the man who wined and dined her and bought her a huge rock to impress her was a cold-hearted sociopath who gave her nothing but his fists after they were married. Waylon understood too well why it took Felice years and several tries to leave her abusive husband. That’s when a man became the most dangerous, with his intimidation and sick possessiveness. Women sometimes died trying to leave monsters like Preston when they followed through with their threats.

Not today, Satan , Waylon thought.

Waylon backed the moving truck into the driveway. He’d used his own name on the rental to avoid suspicion if Preston started sniffing around. Ben appeared beside his window. For such a huge guy, Ben moved with surprising stealth, reminding Waylon of their other friend, Bear.

Waylon and Elias got out of the truck. “She ready for this?” Elias asked as they walked toward the front door.

Ben nodded. “Charlie took care of everything.”

“Excellent.”

Inside, they saw a few moving boxes in the entryway—Preston’s things, no doubt, courtesy of Charlie. She’d even swapped the locks, and Ben planned to personally serve Preston the divorce papers, complete with an emergency restraining order that’d relieve him of his guns. If it were up to Waylon, he wouldn’t even do old Presto the courtesy of removing his things to a storage unit. Felice deserved everything in the house, even if she didn’t want her soon-to-be ex’s clothes and knickknacks.

She should throw a celebration party with a bonfire fueled by his shit.

Ben called, “Charlemagne, all clear.”

Charlie appeared in a doorway. She carried a plastic evidence bag in her gloved hands. Felice stood in the shadows behind her. Next to Felice was a beautiful German Shepherd whose attention was fully focused on Charlie—one of the dogs from Watchdog. The tall bodyguard turned and gave Felice a reassuring smile then nodded for her to follow as she gave a hand signal to the dog. When Felice stepped into the light streaming in from a tall window, Waylon clenched his jaw. He caught Elias’ anger when the man stiffened beside him. Any decent man would.

Appalling .

The right side of Felice’s face looked like it was still in dappled shadow—thanks to the purple bruises. Her eyelid was swollen half-shut and her bottom lip was split—more testaments to Preston’s abuse.

She covered the side of her face, unwarranted embarrassment in her eyes.

Oh, darlin’. He deserves to die just for that.

“Thank you so much for your help.” Felice spoke slowly through her broken, swollen lips, and her muffled voice hurt Waylon’s heart.

The men brushed off her thanks, knowing she didn’t owe them anything.

Waylon picked up a moving box. “Anything with red stickers going, right?”

Charlie pointed back toward the hallway. “Yeah, just a few pieces of furniture through there. But this”—she held up the evidence bag—”is going straight to the detective.”

“I should keep it,” Felice whispered. “Just in case. ”

Charlie placed a comforting arm around her. “This and the footage will be enough to keep him away from you for good.”

Waylon and Elias exchanged a look. They knew justice wasn’t always so simple, especially against men like Preston who had the money to hire the best lawyers and buy his way out of the justice system like so many others. Waylon swallowed the truth—Felice needed support, not discouragement.

“We’ve got your back in the meantime,” he said, giving Charlie a nod. “Nice work.”

Charlie shrugged, but Ben added softly, “Not everyone can break into a safe like that.” A pleased pink bloomed across her cheeks as Ben praised her special talent.

“Let’s get on the road while we’re still in the clear,” she told Felice as she grabbed their coats off a chair. “We can head to the safehouse at Watchdog right after talking to the detective.”

Felice looked at everyone one by one. “Thank you again.” She took a pair of oversized sunglasses out of her coat pocket and put them on before walking out the door. Waylon wondered how many times she’d used them before to hide the damage that she didn’t deserve and wasn’t her fault.

With everyone on high alert, they left the house. Felice’s hands trembled as she clutched her purse, her eyes darting anxiously as she stepped outside, Charlie on one side and the German Shepherd on Felice’s other, flanking her. Waylon tossed Preston’s things into the truck, smirking as something fragile shattered on impact.

When Charlie and Felice got to Charlie’s SUV, Charlie opened the passenger side door for Felice, her head on a swivel, always alert. The dog too, seemed poised for danger and hesitated jumping into the SUV where Charlie crated her. Watching their wariness, Waylon felt a flicker of doubt about the wager he’d made with Elias. He exhaled as Charlie’s SUV pulled away, taking Felice to safety.

Ben stood behind him, holding another box. “Principal’s safe, Ram. Charlie’ll see to it.” He dropped the box into the truck with a heavy thud, followed by another satisfying crunch as something broke inside.

Waylon shrugged. “I’m not worried, Moose,” he lied. “Go talk to Lion if you want to reassure someone.”

The truth was, Waylon should have felt calmer with Felice out of harm’s way, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled now.

Stop. We made the wager. Nothing’s gonna go south.

Ben only smiled and turned back to the house.

As they packed the last of Preston’s belongings, Waylon hefted a garish bronze lamp shaped like a woman’s naked torso, her arms holding up a white glass sphere where her head was supposed to be. “This thing’s uglier than the lamp from A Christmas Story . But the worst part is the shiny tits. How many times a day do you think old Presto rubbed them to wear off the patina?”

Elias grimaced. “Moving on, please.”

Then came the crackle over Ben’s radio, Shane’s voice tense. “Incoming. Following, over.”

Waylon tensed. “Well, shit. Guessing a neighbor squealed.”

“Get ready,” Elias said.

Ben took an envelope out of his jacket. “I’ve got to serve him anyway.”

A moment later, Preston’s Douchemobile rounded a corner doing about forty, then screeched to a stop, blocking the driveway as Shane’s SUV rolled up behind. The driver’s door opened and Preston Rudolph got out. Oozing arrogance, Preston strode up the drive. He pulled the side of his jacket back, revealing a shoulder holster. Waylon and his brothers fell into a shoulder-to-shoulder stance as Shane waited behind him, arms crossed.

Preston sneered. “Which one of you bastards is sleeping with the bitch? Or is it all of you?” He gestured at the moving truck. “I’m not letting you take her shit. I bought her everything she owns.”

Waylon smirked. “Nah, that’s your junk. And dude, you have shitty taste.”

Ben stepped forward, envelope in hand. “I’m not going to bother addressing your absurd insults against Felice.” He handed over the envelope. “Consider yourself served. Divorce papers and a protection order, effective immediately.” Ben nodded at Preston’s gun. “Colorado law requires you to turn in your firearms. I’m an FFL, so we can do this easy and I can take them now—or you can visit the sheriff.”

Preston’s face darkened with fury. “Fuck you. I’m not handing over anything. And she’s not leaving with a single dime of mine.” He tossed the papers to the ground like a toddler denied screen time and called out, “Felice! Get your sorry ass out here, now!”

“She’s gone, Preston. You’re not going to see her again,” Waylon said, voice calm.

Preston’s gaze flicked back and forth, trying to gauge Waylon. “You the one sleeping with her? Where the hell is she?”

“She’s somewhere safe until you get the hell out of here.”

Preston puffed up his chest, a hand twitching toward his gun, but he hesitated. “No. This is my house, my things. I have every right to be here. I’m calling the cops.”

“Already did,” Shane called from behind him, holding up his phone with a smirk. “Should be rolling up any second now.”

The asshole turned on Shane and took a step closer, but Ben’s voice stopped him cold. “You’ve been served, Preston, and you’re breaking the law. Hand over your firearm and leave. Now.”

He spun back around and glared at Ben. “Good. I’m on the city council,” he sneered.

Waylon chuckled. “La-de-fucking-da. I’m sure they’ll be more interested in what we found in your office safe.”

Preston’s face paled, though he managed a shaky scoff. “Bluffing.”

“Are we?” Waylon’s voice held steady. “We cracked it wide open.”

Preston stiffened as the rest of the color drained from his face. “You broke into my house? Into my safe ? I’ll have you all arrested.”

“Yeah, I don’t really think so,” Waylon replied, keeping a careful eye on Preston’s hand, which had gone twitchy. “The false ledger? The one showing how you’ve been using your council position to accept bribes from construction companies? There’s enough in that safe to keep the DA busy for months.”

“Bullshit! That’s all lies?—”

Ben’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “There’s more. Felice got you on video. She recorded your confession—then you hit her. That was for the last time.”

A cruiser pulled up behind Shane’s SUV, lights flashing, and two officers stepped out. Waylon recognized them immediately—Officer Sylvie Hoff, who was married to Watchdog’s kennel master, and her partner, Officer Carla DeVivo. Shane nodded his greeting and they acknowledged him while focusing on Preston.

“Mr. Rudolph,” Officer Hoff called, her voice steady, almost friendly. “Can we have a word?”

Preston was a pro at puffing out his chest. He pointed at Waylon, Elias, and Ben. “I want these men arrested for breaking and entering, theft—just look in that truck! Oh, and kidnapping. They took my wife!”

Carla raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Kidnapping, wow,” Sylvie said, exchanging a glance with Carla.

“Yes!” Preston insisted, his tone confident as if expecting the officers to side with him. “I want them all arrested.”

Sylvie addressed Ben. “Felice is safe.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Preston’s agitation grew, his gaze darting between Sylvie and Ben. “She sure as hell is not safe! They’re all lying! These assholes kidnapped her.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Rudolph,” Carla said, unfazed. “We know she’s not a victim of kidnapping. However, she appears to be a victim of domestic abuse.”

Preston let out a laugh, dry and bitter. “Domestic abuse? That’s slander. I’ll have your badges.”

Sylvie’s tone turned icy. “Your soon-to-be-ex-wife gave us a statement an hour ago, attesting to your abuse and she’s pressing charges. She also provided evidence of your involvement in bribery.”

The wild look in Preston’s eye sent a chill down Waylon’s spine. “Officers, he’s been served and is refusing to turn over his firearm. Left shoulder holster,” he informed them.

Carla and Sylvie nodded in acknowledgment, their posture alert. “Preston, put your hands up against the truck?—”

“You can’t just take my life apart!” In a flash, he reached behind his back and pulled a second gun. But before he could aim, Waylon’s hand shot out, gripping Preston’s wrist and twisting it with a swift, practiced move. The gun dropped to the driveway with a loud clatter as Waylon pinned Preston’s arm and slammed him against the truck.

“Congratulations, you just added aggravated assault on a police officer to your list,” Sylvie said as she stepped forward and removed the weapon from Preston’s jacket while Carla read him his rights. Preston went slack, the fight finally draining from him.

“So,” Elias said with a smirk, watching the officers haul Preston to the cruiser, “about that wager…”

And that’s how Waylon found himself riding the bus to his paramedic job in Longmont.

It was killing him.

Waylon loved his rides—the Camaro, the Dodge Ram (of course he owned a Dodge Ram ), the Jeep—and he loved adrenaline. Not only did he have to take a bus, but he had to take the one with the most stops along the way, slowing him down even further. If there was one thing that Ram hated, it was anything slow.

Worse, the bus was getting crowded and he wasn’t too fond of that, either.

He’d just given the seat he’d snagged toward the back of the bus to a woman with a cane—feeling annoyed at all the people she’d walked past who didn’t have the common manners or decency to give up theirs—when he spotted another woman standing in the crowd ahead of him. She was laughing hysterically. Waylon looked around to see who or what could have set her off and saw nothing but people staring at their phones or gazing listlessly out the windows at the gray clouds and drizzle.

So he studied her instead, which was pretty easy since she was gorgeous. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was slightly plump with the most tempting curves. What really caught and held his attention was the sparkle in her eyes and her easy laugh. But just what was she laughing at? When she ran her hand through her hair and tucked a lock of it behind her ear, he got his answer when he noticed the earbud.

Maybe she’s listening to a funny podcast .

He wanted to be in on the hilarity—God knew he needed something to laugh at, but didn’t everyone? A quick glance around the bus showed him tired faces, boredom, listlessness. Everything looked drab and washed out, and she was a bright spot of color with her laughter and flashing eyes. She was totally unselfconscious about who might be watching her, which was charming on one hand, and on the other, he couldn’t help but worry that she was a little too unselfconscious, opening herself up to all sorts of trouble from pickpockets or anyone who might want to…

…Stare at her like you’re doing right now? he asked himself. Yeah, stop perving on the pretty lady already, before you creep her out .

He started to look away just as she turned her head. Their eyes met one second before he could look away, and then she smiled right at him and he was hooked.

The bus came to another stop and a flurry of people crossed between them. That should have been the end of it, a moment shared and then back to being two passengers on a bus. But Waylon couldn’t help looking back again and when he did, she was smiling at him—actually leaning a bit to the side to see around a tall man standing directly behind her. She laughed and Waylon chuckled. Her smile was infectious .

He tilted his head and pointed to his ear as he mouthed What are you listening to? Her eyebrows lifted just as the bus stopped again. In the space between people clearing out and others coming in to take their place, she pulled out an earbud and tossed it down the aisle just ahead of the next group of riders cramming themselves in.

Waylon grinned and put in the earbud, not sure what to expect, maybe some stand-up comedian.

“…found myself standing in front of an actual penis museum !” a woman exclaimed into his ear.

“Whoa!” He damn near ripped the earbud back out. Waylon was too stunned to catch where the hell the podcaster said this penis museum was so that he could avoid the place like the plague.

His shock was worth seeing the gorgeous woman howl at his reaction, much to the annoyance of the people around her.

You did that on purpose he mouthed, since there was no chance she’d be able to hear him, and that just sent her into more hysterics as she nodded vigorously. She put her hand out as her eyebrows rose and she mouthed done ?

He shook his head. Oh hell no. Challenge accepted . Which just made her laugh again as she gave him a thumbs-up.

As Waylon listened, he realized it was a podcast about the misadventures of a woman traveling alone, and the stories she told were hysterical. He couldn’t help but laugh just as loudly as the woman on the bus. Then the podcaster launched into a story about the next place she visited, a punk rock museum in a former public toilet—which, he had to admit, actually sounded pretty cool. Whenever the podcaster said something particularly hilarious, he glanced at the woman ahead of him to catch her response. Seeing her laugh just made the podcast that much funnier, until he was laughing right along with her.

Damn, she was magnificent when she laughed.

The bus stopped and more people crowded on. Seriously, was this the only bus in town? The new passengers prevented him from watching his new friend laugh, dammit. He couldn’t see her now. As soon as he possibly could, he would make his way up to her, ask her name, see if she wanted to go for coffee.

No you won’t .

Waylon squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. His heart ached as he remembered exactly why he wouldn’t ask her out. Her or any other woman he found attractive beyond a night of dancing at Cocks and Strippers and maybe a hookup after.

She’ll want her earbud back though, a hopeful little voice in his head told him.

So I’ll give it to her, then get straight off the bus. I’m only a couple stops away from the hospital. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Forget all about her, which is best for the both of us .

The bus lurched forward, the podcaster started talking about a boat trip to see puffins, and a moment later the podcast fuzzed out and went silent.

Did she turn it off? Were there too many people between them, blocking the signal? Not caring if it was rude, Waylon started pushing his way through the crowd to find her.

Don’t, don’t, don’t!

Ignoring the scolding voice, he pushed on. But when he got to where she’d been standing, she was gone.

Maybe someone gave her their seat .

Waylon looked around the bus but there was no sign of her long, dark hair or her beautiful, sparkling eyes.

Leading Waylon to one conclusion—she’d gotten off at the previous stop without bothering to get her earbud back.

So, her better instincts finally kicked in. Good for her .

The bus slowed for the next stop and for a moment he was tempted to still exit, and instead of walking another block to the hospital, backtracking to see if he could find her.

Stop it, asshole! Don’t you remember? Pathetic .

He gritted his teeth as he let the stop go by.

The next stop was his. When he stepped out of the bus in front of the hospital, he started to toss the earbud into a trash bin on the way in.

Wait. If she rides the bus the next day, it’s only polite to return it if I see her , he rationalized to himself.

Waylon slipped the earbud into his coat pocket instead.

But she wasn’t on the bus the next day, or the day after. He didn’t see her the entire week. Or the next, when he talked himself into taking the bus again, even though the terms of the wager had ended and it was his day off.

He realized what he was doing. He told himself he was pathetic and gave up. Waylon went back to his Friday and Saturday nights at Cocks and Strippers. Back to using Elias as his wingman. Back to one-nighters. Easy fun, no deep connections.

He didn’t throw away the earbud though. He kept it in his pocket, played with it like a worry stone every time he wore that coat.

Then he forgot about it when he put the coat away for the summer.