Chapter 3
Hunter sat on the edge of his glamping platform, relishing the peace that enveloped his secluded retreat. He’d needed this escape more than he’d been willing to admit. When Cameron offered the place as a respite, he’d hesitated before giving in to the call of the mountains. The crisp air mingled with the aroma of pine trees, and the distant chirping of birds provided a serene soundtrack to the morning. The retreat offered a much-needed calm, with its canvas platforms perched like sentinels among the trees.
Around him, nature played its symphony—wind soughing through the pines, a distant birdcall piercing the silence. Hunter inhaled deeply, the scent of pine flooding his senses, grounding him to the here and now. The grandeur of the mountains stood immutable against the sky, their peaks dusted with the last remnants of winter snow, a testament to the enduring battle between the elements. He took a measured bite from his sandwich and stared at his laptop screen, scrolling through the potential jobs being pitched to Spartan Elite.
This wasn’t a vacation. He’d simply moved his office for the week. It was a serene tableau, one that belied the undercurrent of peril threading through his veins. With every crunch of wholegrain bread, crispy bacon, and slice of tomato, Hunter mulled over the strategies and tactics that might be necessary in the days to come. His mind was a fortress, planning defenses, calculating risks, mapping out escape routes—a battlefield laid out with paths and contingencies only he could see. He had three teams of men—Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. They specialized in counterterrorism, hostage rescue, direct action, and special reconnaissance, like they had as special operators for the United States military. Where SEALs and Delta still went on official government missions, his teams were used for the missions the government needed to have full deniability on. Guns for hire. Vigilantes. If things went south, they could be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
They wouldn’t be. If they were lucky, they’d be killed by the same government they worked for… Or worst case, they’d be hauled off to some deep CIA black site and held for the rest of their miserable lives.
Hunter took his job seriously, making sure things never went so far south they couldn’t recover from it. It was a life-or-death situation. Hunter’s men captured or killed high value targets in countries the government wasn’t allowed to operate in, keeping the country out of war while minimizing threats to the American people.
Sometimes, they were cleaners. Moving in behind a failed military operation and cleaning up the mess America left behind. He did that often. Or finding men that had slipped through the fingers of the CIA, FBI, or any other three letter agencies.
He quickly moved the junk mail out of his account. Damn scammers. How they even got his email address, he didn’t know. He hadn’t signed up for any mailing lists. Using flags, he went through the rest of his emails. Green for possible jobs, yellow for a second look, red for hell no. Per usual, there were several people looking for private security details for short-term events. Alpha team was out on a kidnapping case, recovering a high value target. Instead of paying the ransom to the kidnappers, they’d convinced his family to pay it to them. About half of their income was legitimate, and they paid taxes on that income. The other half came from under the table…morally gray areas. Recovering kidnapped victims, collecting awards for missing people they found, destroying regimes, and walking away with any cash they found lying around. It was all in an honest day’s worth. On paper, Spartan Elite had a modest net worth and was a law-abiding firm with all their insurances, licensure, and registrations up to code. They kept the front going by taking private security details and running off the books ops for the government whenever necessary. As long as they played ball with the CIA and DOD, no one would look too closely at their books.
He reread an email from a former SEAL buddy of his who now worked private security for a bodyguard firm out of Atlanta. He was working for the world-famous author, Iris Higgins. Ms. Higgins had topped all the best-seller lists with her recent crime thriller novels. The first two were now contracted to be produced into movies. She had a book signing coming up, and he needed a few good men to beef up security. His eyebrows raised as he continued to read the email.
Sure, we get threats all the time. These are different. My gut is telling me there”s more behind them. They aren’t run-of-the-mill emails. I’d like to hire an extra man or two of yours, if you can spare them. She pays well. I can guarantee your going rate of $3k, per person, per shift for a former SEAL or operator. The signing is the second weekend of April. It would be Thursday-Monday.
Three thousand a day was his minimum rate for his men for private security details. They were worth a million dollars a year, easy. The training and experience they had alone substantiated it. He sent a quick response telling Jordan he’d look over his schedule and see who he could send. He couldn’t guarantee two, but he knew he should have at least one. Whoever he assigned would balk at the idea. They hated the glorified security guard details and would rather be on the front lines, kicking down doors and ridding the world of threats. However, bills had to be paid.
Lost in his thoughts, Hunter took another bite of his sandwich and pulled up the schedule. Ghost was available. The large man was quiet until he trusted you and had one dry sense of humor. He was loyal and one of his best, but he’d still scowl and give him some shit about the assignment.
A movement in the trees caught his attention. Glancing up from the computer, he saw a figure exit from the woods. Amber. His mind immediately flashed back to the passionate night they shared, her fiery spirit igniting a blaze of desire within him. Damn if she wasn’t the best one-night stand he’d ever had. He wasn’t a stranger to fulfilling his carnal needs with a Frog Hog or two. The women who chased after Navy SEALs and had no problem warming their beds for a night or two. He’d had women who were great behind closed doors—skilled lovers with masterful tongues who could get him off in a minute or two.
Amber was different.
He’d never craved a woman. Never. Not with former girlfriends. SEALs could compartmentalize. Joking one second, killing the next. Hunter could turn his emotions on and off like a switch. Obsessions? He had none. Addictions? Never.
Unless adrenaline counted. He couldn’t live a quiet life. Chasing the next adrenaline hit was his life. Motorcycles, dirt biking, skydiving, rock climbing. Chasing bad guys around the world. Walking into a room with a bomb…whatever.
He’d never chased a woman. Never wanted more of what she had to offer. When they were eating dinner, she’d spelled it out for him. She chased evil too but sat across a table with a camera and interviewed it. Her job bothered him. Some of the same men she spoke with, he’d been hired to chase down and kill. He hadn’t told her that, of course. And the man that got away from her last assignment? There was a million-dollar bounty out on his head, and he had a team of men out tracking him as they spoke.
He didn’t tell her that, either.
The physical connection was there. It was there in spades. They both orgasmed, a few times. He should have been sated. Satisfied with the boundaries they set. He wasn’t.
She’d gotten into his veins.
Coursed through his body like a drug he needed another hit of. Challenged his discipline. After one night.
You are losing it, man.
It wasn’t the alcohol; he’d barely drank enough to take the edge off. The conversation flowed better than the wine. Amber was intelligent and funny, without trying too hard. He’d felt her authentic self in the exchange—she wasn’t looking for anything from him, didn’t want to check off her fucking a Navy SEAL box. She communicated clearly what she wanted, and it was a breath of fresh air.
Air he wanted to breathe more of, even though they’d agreed it was for one night only.
Hunter wasn’t a good man. He did bad things to the worst of men and slept like a baby after. No regrets. He didn’t imagine growing old, didn’t believe it would happen for him. He lived a dangerous life and couldn’t bring a woman into his world. No woman deserved to live the rollercoaster of a life being with him would demand. He hurt bad people and because of that, anyone he loved could be used as collateral to hurt him.
As she drew closer, Hunter couldn”t help but wonder if she felt the same way. If she wanted to turn their one night into a week-long affair. He’d be okay with that, if she could cut ties and walk away from him at the end of their stay. His pulse quickened at the thought, anticipation building in the depths of his being.
But to his surprise, Amber”s expression was serious, her gaze intense as she stopped in front of him. Something was wrong.
“Hunter, I know we just met but…” she began, her voice low and urgent, “I… I feel like I can trust you already. Something happened—” She took a pause and searched his face.
His curiosity piqued, Hunter set aside his sandwich, his senses sharpening as he focused on her words. “What”s going on? What’s wrong?”
Amber hesitated for a moment, as if debating how much to reveal. But then, with a resolute nod, she plunged ahead. “While I was hiking, I overheard a conversation in the woods.”
Hunter”s brow furrowed in concern. “What kind of conversation?” As far as he knew, they were the only guests this week, and Cameron assured him it was only them. He was supposed to be out here alone, but there’d been a mix-up in the reservations, Cameron and Lauren both booking a site on the same day. Besides them, and the staff that worked the ranch, there shouldn’t have been anyone else in the woods.
“I’ve worked with a lot of these men before, not them specifically, but their groups. I did an episode on the fentanyl epidemic and followed a cartel from start to finish in Mexico. They let me go in with one cameraman and follow the process from production to distribution. It’s the same cartel. They were meeting with a motorcycle club, talking about distribution here in Colorado and across the west,” she replied, her tone grave. “They were discussing their future trafficking operation. Apparently, they use my family’s private woods as a meeting point. Our property backs up into the national parks, but rangers don”t patrol ours. My grandfather has several hunting cabins spread out in the woods that people and groups rent out during hunting season. Cameron sometimes works as a guide during the season. I got the impression they are using some of the cabins that need TLC for their own needs.”
Hunter”s mind raced as she spoke. His instincts kicked into overdrive, his training propelling him into action. “How many were there? Did they see you?”
Amber shook her head. “I stayed hidden. There was a moment when they thought they heard me, but they didn’t see me.”
“Good. Now tell me exactly what you heard.”
“I can do one better,” she held up her phone. “I captured it.”
“Show me.”
The table where they’d had a romantic dinner the night before had been turned into an operations center. Hunter noticed how Amber’s hands trembled as she sorted through the photos they’d printed. They’d run up to her grandparents’ house and used their office but returned to the glamping site to talk in private.
Amber sorted the images into two piles. People she recognized from the woods and those she didn’t. They’d been able to scour social media and found several members of Hell Speed Motorcycle Club. Idiots didn’t hide their membership or their illegal activities. From pictures taken during rides, they could identify several members who had been part of the conversation in the woods.
The Los Pedros cartel was harder. “They let me imbed with them, almost bragged about their illegal activities,” Amber said. “I’m sure they loved their fifteen minutes of fame. Part of my job, the way I’m able to get close, is by promising anonymity. I don’t work with the police or the local government. It”s a docuseries. If watching my docuseries ends up resulting in capture, that’s not on me. Most of the time, the people I interview insist on wearing disguises on film, but off film, they are more free. They trust me. I know the trust comes with limits, and if I violate it, they’ll kill me. I’ve never testified against any of them. Anyway, there was a split. I’m not sure what happened or why, but several members of the Los Pedros cartel were kicked out. The man in the woods, he was one of the rejects. This is him.”
She held up the photo, pointing to a man standing in the background. Hunter wished it was clearer, but something was better than nothing. “Every instinct tells me I”m holding a death sentence,” she confessed.
Hunter studied her with an inscrutable expression, his jaw set in a firm line. He took the photo from her with a steady hand, his touch inadvertently grazing hers, sending an incongruous jolt of awareness between them. “You found a hornet’s nest, Amber,” he said calmly, flipping through the evidence. “But we will not let them sting. They won’t hurt you.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“Because I”ve been stung before,” Hunter replied, locking eyes with her. “And I learned how to hit back harder, move faster, and keep one step ahead of them.”
As the cool mountain breeze filtered through the air, Hunter leaned back against the wooden railing of the porch. “And they are threatening something I love.”
“Something you love?”
“They mentioned Grand Ridge,” Hunter said, almost to himself.
“Why does that matter?” Amber asked, tilting her head as she sought to understand the significance.
“Because if the cartel”s got their claws in Grand Ridge, it”s personal,” Hunter stated flatly, his jaw set. “Grand Ridge isn”t just a place on a map for me,” he began, his tone even but carrying an undercurrent of intensity. “I’ve visited many times, loaned my men out when they’ve needed them. The men who live there have invited me to take residency there as well. I’ve never settled in one place, but if I were, it would be at Valhalla. It’s a compound where former special forces operators find peace and meaning. The men on Valhalla, inside of Grand Ridge’s limits, are brothers of mine. We”ve faced down terror together; we watch each other”s backs. Some are my closest friends. Scratch that, they are my brothers. Like hell is anyone going to threaten the haven they’ve built. My friend Rider lives on Valhalla and owns a private security firm called Spartan Shield. I’ll get a hold of him and let him know to watch for anything suspicious.”
“Spartan Shield, Spartan Watchmen, and Spartan Elite. Interesting names,” Amber said with a smile.
“We are all interrelated. All of us are former special operators and most of us have worked together. We live and abide by the same honor code. Rider’s firm is on the up and up. They do everything by the law. They have an official contract with the Department of Defense and the Department of Justice. Spartan Watchmen are a veteran’s motorcycle club. They love riding but also, if asked, will not hesitate to be the sheepdogs that society needs.”
Amber waited for him to continue. He studied the photo in his hand, avoiding her gaze. “And Spartan Elite?” she probed, curiosity threading through her apprehension.
“The name might sound like something out of an action movie,” Hunter conceded with a half-smile. “But what we do is very real. Sometimes the law can only go so far, and that”s where we step in. Call it vigilante if you want, but I see it as balancing the scales.”
“By any means necessary?” Amber challenged. Hunter already knew that Amber’s moral compass searched for true north.
“By any means necessary,” he confirmed without hesitation. His hands clenched into fists at his side, a physical testament to his resolve. “Bad people do bad things, and they don’t stop unless someone makes them. I sleep well at night knowing I”m keeping innocents safe from predators.”
“Even if it means crossing lines…”
“Especially then.” Hunter”s eyes were steel as he met her gaze. “In this world, Amber, sometimes you have to become the monster to defeat the monster. There are still some things my team and I won’t do. We don’t hurt children. Ever. No matter who their parents might be. We don’t kidnap or injure innocent people to get what we need. Minimal collateral damage, none if I can help it.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the wind”s haunting melody. Had he done it? Scared her off? Would she think differently of him now? Why did it matter to him what this woman thought? They’d barely known each other for twenty-four hours and other than tuning in to watch her show, he doubted he’d ever see her face again after this week.
“My job is to make sure the good guys are the ones who walk out of a dangerous situation. I contain the evil, right then and there. Sometimes, we capture them. Sometimes, we kill them. Most of the time, it’s their decision on which happens. I’ll never apologize for what I do, Amber. Someone has to keep society safe. At the end of the day, I have no problem sleeping.”
“Then let”s make sure we”re the ones who walk away when this is over,” Amber said, the quiver in her voice replaced by a hard edge of determination.
“Agreed,” Hunter replied. “We”ll take them down, starting right here. After all, wars aren’t only fought in the valleys—sometimes, the high ground is where you win. For now, let”s get some rest,” he said, his tone softening as he met her gaze once more. “Tomorrow, we will figure out how to stop them.”