Thunder on the Mountain (Watchdog Mountain Division #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

Shane Foti took another drink of what looked like whiskey on the rocks and studied the room reflected in the mirror behind the bar.

Cocks and Strippers was jumping tonight, just like any other Saturday after nine.

He nodded at the bartender who pointed at his glass and raised his eyebrows with a look that asked another?

Then Shane went back to sweeping the room.

Typical crowd—women dressed for clubbing, guys sizing them up, gauging their chances at taking one home after a dance or two.

The bartender, Jimmy, walked over, but instead of setting another drink in front of Shane told him, “You’re cut off, friend.”

Finally.

Jimmy did a chin lift over Shane’s right shoulder.

Shane watched the reflection of a man approaching a table where a lone woman sat nursing a Cosmo.

She looked up at the guy’s charming smile and visibly relaxed as he presumably introduced himself, then sat down across from her.

He pointed at the half-empty Cosmo and the woman smiled and nodded, then lifted the glass and finished off her drink in anticipation of the next one as the guy stood and walked to the bar.

If all went well—and Shane was sure it would—she’d never have the chance to taste it.

Jimmy turned his attention to the man now standing to Shane’s left. “What can I get you?”

“A Cosmo and a pint of that.” He pointed at the non-alcoholic option on tap at the other end of the bar.

Jimmy nodded and started on the Cosmo. As Shane pulled out his phone, he spared a glance at the woman who was still waiting patiently at the table.

Then he glared at the bartender’s back. Jimmy turned and set the Cosmo down in front of the man, then grabbed a pint glass and started toward the end of the bar.

The man watched Jimmy’s retreating back as he passed his hand over the top of the Cosmo.

Jimmy took his sweet time pouring the beer, pausing to talk to a huge guy with intelligent eyes who’d been watching the whole scene.

As soon as Jimmy returned, beer in hand, Shane downed the last of his drink and slammed the glass on the bar top. “Said I wanted another,” he slurred.

Jimmy hoisted the non-alcoholic beer. “Happy to get you one of these, friend.”

Shane snorted. “You think I’m in high school?” He pointed at his empty rocks glass. “Another one, now.”

“I’d like my beer, please,” the guy said. His voice was all charm but his eyes had gone as cold as a couple of ice chips.

Jimmy hesitated as he glanced at Shane.

Come on, man, he silently willed.

Then the guy next to him picked up the cocktail glass.

Perfect.

“Can you believe this asshole?” Shane asked, as he slammed his shoulder against the other man’s. Half the Cosmo sloshed over the rim and splashed onto the bar.

“Fuck!” the guy snarled.

Shane held up his hands. “My bad, my bad. I’ll buy your woman a new one.” Shane turned to Jimmy. “Set ’im up.”

Jimmy nodded and grabbed a new glass.

The guy’s mood abruptly shifted and he chuckled. “Hey, no need to dirty another glass. Just pour it into this one.”

Jimmy shook his head as he mixed the new drink. “That’s against the health code.”

A very tall waitress appeared as if by magic. “I’ll take it over to her,” she said.

“No, I got it,” The man said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

Jimmy was already setting a fresh Cosmo on her tray. “No need.”

The man’s mood shifted again and his eyes blazed.

“I said I’ve got it.” He grabbed for the Cosmo just as the waitress lifted the tray above her head and stepped back in one fluid movement.

He turned to pick up the spilled Cosmo but Shane had already picked up the glass with a gloved hand and set it aside.

“What the hell is going on here?” He whipped his head back and forth, not sure where to direct his anger—at Shane, the waitress, or Jimmy.

He realized he was wrong on all counts the moment a huge hand dropped onto his shoulder.

“I think we need to take a walk outside,” growled the big man from down the bar.

“Take your hands off me,” the guy said as he half-turned. His face paled as he looked up—and up, and up—into Ben’s face.

Shane stood and grabbed the guy’s other arm as he shared a look with his brother. “Yeah, we all need some fresh air.” He set the burner phone on the bar.

Then he and Ben marched the scumbag around the bar toward the back door leading to the alley behind Cocktails and Chicken Strips—the official name of the dive bar, though almost no one ever used it.

The tall waitress—better known as Charlie to her friends at Watchdog, where she worked as a bodyguard—was already on her way over to the confused woman to let her know she’d narrowly missed being roofied.

She’d also ask her if she wanted to press charges once the cops got there.

The tainted glass and drink, plus the footage on Shane’s burner phone of the guy dropping the drug into the Cosmo, would be turned over to Officers Sylvie Hoff and Carla DeVivo along with testimony from Jimmy.

The bartender had become suspicious of the guy who only paid in cash, and whose last date was strangely falling-down drunk after a single drink.

She’d been rescued by Jimmy, who’d sent her home in a rideshare (she’d called the next day to thank him and confirm that she’d been drugged) but the perp slipped away and the glass had already been rinsed.

After that, Jimmy had called his buddy, Ben. Mountain Division set up a rotating sting every night for a week before the idiot came back. This time, they had him dead to rights and he’d be on his way downtown in ten minutes.

Shane and Ben intended to use that ten minutes to show the son of a bitch the full error of his ways.

By the time Sylvie and Carla pulled up, Bill Ferguson—the name Shane read on the guy’s driver’s license—looked like he’d fallen down three flights of stairs face-first. He might have been foolish enough to return to the same bar, but he wasn’t stupid enough to admit to the true reason for his broken nose and bruised ribs. He didn’t have a death wish, after all.

Ben and Shane sat across from each other at an all-night diner on the outskirts of Longmont.

Ben insisted on buying Shane midnight breakfast for his help with Ferguson.

The lifelong friends sat in comfortable silence, sipping coffee as they waited for the server to bring their meals.

That hadn’t been the case when Shane returned to Lyons, Colorado after he left the Navy.

Ben was already out of the military and home, renovating the Victorian house that had been practically falling down when they were younger.

Their other friends—Elias Hunt, Waylon Ramsey, Gabe O’Neal, and Jon “Bear” Behr—weren’t far behind, though it would take Bear a couple more years to come to terms with his ghosts and return to Colorado.

So, Ben and Shane had had time to reconnect one on one before then. Which was not pleasant for Shane, considering the reasons he’d left town at eighteen. Ben was the only person—besides Shane and April—who knew the full truth about their early relationship.

Much to Shane’s embarrassment and shame.

Ben wasn’t the type to hold a grudge against a friend—unless that friend had knowingly and willfully fucked up.

Or so Shane had thought. Ben and Shane had had reason to see each other a few times since high school—once, to help Waylon out of a dark place.

Shane had barely been able to look Ben in the eye the whole time, though Ben gave no outward sign of anger or judgment toward his old friend.

Shane had assumed he’d put their differences aside only for Waylon’s sake.

So, he'd avoided Ben after coming home, until one day the big man showed up at his doorstep with a case of the cheap, crappy beer they’d guzzled by the gallon at backwoods bonfires when they were teenagers.

They drank to their military service. To the friend they’d lost to that service. To the memories they’d made back when they were young and naive, believing they were bulletproof. And, they drank to their unbreakable friendship.

Neither man ever brought up April.

Ben set his coffee down and cleared his throat, bringing Shane back to the present. “Thanks again, Shane. I wish I could—”

Shane held his hand up, knowing where Ben was going. “Don’t even think about saying you wish you could pay me. I’d do this no matter what. If you so much as tried to give me a dime, I’d refuse.”

Ben shook his head. “But it’s taking time out of your life when you could be off doing other things.”

“Yeah, what life? Not like I’m gonna be hanging out with Elias and Waylon at Cocks and Strippers, even if they weren’t married now. Truth is, it never was really my scene.”

Ben grunted. “Mine, neither. After tonight, even less.”

Shane grinned. “Not even seeing Charlie made it good, huh? I’m surprised she’s not here eating with us.”

Ben turned a damning shade of red, all the way up to his ears, confirming what all of Ben’s friends already suspected—their leader had the hots for Charlene King.

Shane leaned in conspiratorially. “I can put in a good word for you with her. I see her all the time at work and I’ve only known her for, oh,” he pretended to check his watch, “the better part of a decade.” He was pretty sure Charlie felt the same way about Ben.

Shane had known “King Charlamagne” since they served together as Swicks, right up until their honorable discharges, so he could read her well.

Shane had caught her more than once checking out his friend and there was definitely interest there.

Ben waved him off with a smile as the waitress set their plates down and they tucked into their food.

“Seriously, Moose,” Shane pressed. “How long have you two been dancing around each other?”

“What about you and April?” Ben said, taking Shane completely off-guard, enough that he almost choked on his coffee.

“What about us?”

“Things haven’t been the same since…” Ben trailed off.

“The drive-by on Riversong? I know.”

“It’s been a year and a half, Shane. The hit wasn’t directed at them. Do you know why they circled the wagons after?”

Shane knew what Ben was really asking—did he know why April had gone from finally beginning to accept Shane’s advances, to pushing him away.

It went beyond her initial snarkiness—which Shane one hundred percent deserved—to not even responding with snark of her own.

Whenever everyone got together, she avoided talking to him, and kept her son, Kevin from talking to him as well.

That killed—Kevin was an awesome little guy, even if he was a handful.

“I wish I knew, Ben. They acted like the hit was personal, which, sure, who wouldn’t? But you’d think they’d relax once they knew it had nothing to do with them.”

“You think they’re jumpy because of Sonny’s past?” Ben asked.

“Always a possibility. Though, Sonny never went into the drug trade like his sister did. But, considering what happened to Brianna and Brian Junior, maybe they’re wise to be jumpy.”

Brianna and Brian were April’s cousins, and they’d run into trouble a couple years back, thanks to their parents’ dispensary.

Ben nodded as he chewed on a strip of bacon. “It’s bothered me ever since. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The whole family’s worried about something, or at least they were.”

“Seems like they’ve gone back to normal,” Shane said.

“Not all of them. April’s gone cold toward you, Elk.”

Shane felt his chest tighten. It would be easy for him to lash out at Ben, tell him to butt the hell out, that it was none of his business. Accuse him of inferring that Shane had done something to fuck up the potential relationship.

Again.

But that was just projection on Shane’s part. Ben wasn’t accusing him of anything, and he was the last person on earth who deserved Shane’s anger.

“I’m asking because maybe I could t-talk to her for you,” Ben said, looking down into his coffee mug.

There it was. The slightest stutter gave Ben away—he was remembering the way Shane had treated April. And now he was offering to play peacemaker again. Same old Ben.

“No, brother. I got this. Thanks.”

They finished their midnight breakfast in a silence that was anything but comfortable, Shane lost in his thoughts, thinking back to his betrayal.