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  “You continue toward the ghost town,” Bogart informed them. “I’ll catch up with you. We’ll find out who’s been spying on you.”

  §

  Monique and Colleen rode at a leisurely walk into the ghost town along the main road. The dilapidated old town consisted of the main street and two side streets, though most of the buildings on the side streets were reduced to piles of rubble. The buildings along the main thoroughfare appeared almost structurally sound, having survived hundreds of years in the dry conditions. They attempted to keep their attention on each other and their ride, not wanting to think about what Bogart had planned. They stopped outside the saloon as usual and dismounted. Once on the ground, they patted their horses and stood behind them, so that they couldn’t be seen by anyone hiding within the sheriff’s office.

  “What do you think?” Colleen asked while fidgeting.

  “I’m hoping we did the right thing by confiding in Bogart,” Monique muttered and leaned against her horse. “He can be sneaky, but he’s not their best fighter. If there’s trouble, he may need our help.”

  Monique removed her rifle from the saddle holster. Colleen grabbed her bullwhip, which she kept where a cattle rope should hang.

  “What are the chances this guy is military grade?” Colleen asked while attempting to sound more confident. “I’m sure Bogart has enough training to take your average guy from the street down.”

  Monique nodded with conviction. The two girls stared at each other then frowned and groaned.

  “We shouldn’t have let him go alone,” Monique muttered and leaned against her horse.

  §

  A man stood alongside the glassless window within the sheriff’s office and peered outside at the girls with their horses just down the street. The sheriff’s office was void of furniture and mostly rotting, as was most of the town. The floorboards were excessively dusty, although there appeared to have been a lot of foot traffic in the small room. There were old cells beyond the door to the back, although they too were hanging from the rotted wood. The man stood silently by the window while watching the girls. The girls’ stalker was in his mid to late thirties. He had a full head of thick, dark hair that was in need of a trim. His facial stubble suggested he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark circles beneath his eyes indicated the once handsome man hadn’t slept much either.

  Although he was a tall, moderately muscular man, he was possibly malnourished, lacking food as well as sleep the last week. His clothes continued with the trending theme, suggesting he had been homeless for several weeks.

  “I’m not sure what you’re up to,” Bogart announced startling the man, “but I find it a little disturbing for a man your age to be stalking two teenage girls.”

  The man whirled around with surprise and stared at Bogart, who casually leaned against the back entrance to the sheriff’s office. Bogart stared at the man a moment, and his expression immediately dropped as he straightened.

  “Ah, hell! You’re Colleen’s father,” Bogart suddenly gasped while allowing his arms to fall to his sides, revealing the semiautomatic he’d been concealing.

  The man eyed the gun in Bogart’s hand but didn’t seem concerned by it. “You know who I am?” he gasped with surprise. His look then turned stern. “No one can know I’m here. They can’t know I’m alive.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be stalking your family then,” Bogart snarled, lacking sympathy to the Army deserter who’d also ran out on his family several years ago. “They’ve seen you lurking about, Martin. That’s why they called me out here. You’re scaring them.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare them,” Martin announced then fidgeted. “I just wanted to see my daughter. I miss my family.”

  “Why can’t you tell them that yourself?” Bogart suddenly demanded.

  “Because I’m wanted by the Army,” he announced. “They labeled me a traitor. In some circles, they’d prefer to bring me in dead rather than alive.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the story from your wife,” Bogart snarled with annoyance. “Selling weapons to the enemy.”

  “I never did that,” Martin insisted. “I was framed.”

  Bogart rolled his eyes and replaced his gun to the hidden holster in the small of his back. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered with annoyance. “That’s what they all say.” He snorted a laugh. “I should know. It was a favorite line of mine back in the day.” His look again turned serious. “If you want to see your family, you need to turn yourself in. Because this ain’t cutting it.”

  “I can’t turn myself in,” he replied now seeming desperate. “You don’t know the sort of men who are after me. They’d kill me before they’d ever allowed the truth to come out.” His eyes pleaded with Bogart. “You don’t know me, and you have no reason to believe me, but I’m telling the truth. For my family; don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”

  “Then you need to stop stalking them,” Bogart snapped sparing no sympathy. “That girl thinks her father is dead. Let her live with that delusion. Your wife went to great lengths to protect her. Don’t take that from her, if you’re not willing to stand trial.”

  Martin reluctantly nodded.

  §

  Bogart rode his horse down the broad road of the old ghost town toward the girls just outside the saloon. They perked up when they saw him. Bogart immediately noticed the rifle and bullwhip in their hands and stopped his horse near them.

  “We’re not having any of that,” he announced while indicating their weapons of choice.

  “We thought you might need backup,” Colleen informed him while tossing the bullwhip over her shoulder.

  “Did you see him?” Monique asked with concern.

  “Yeah. Who was it?” Colleen asked as her eyes widened. “Did you beat the crap out of him?”

  “He got away,” Bogart reluctantly informed them. “I didn’t get a very good look at him, but I think I scared him enough that he won’t be back.”

  The girls were disappointed that he hadn’t caught the mysterious stalker. They were quite possibly disappointed that he didn’t kick any ass either.

  “We should head back,” Bogart announced and indicated their horses.

  Monique and Colleen replaced the rifle and bullwhip then mounted their horses without use of their stirrups. All three turned and rode at a leisurely pace alongside Bogart heading back out of town.

  “Should we say something to my father?” Monique asked as they reached the edge of town.

  “No,” Bogart replied with a defeated sigh. “There’s no reason to involve your FBI father. I’m pretty sure you’ll never see him again. If he shows himself again, let me know, and I’ll say something to your father.”

  They rode several minutes away from the ghost town in silence. Bogart had a lot on his mind and seemed less enthusiastic about their return ride.

  Monique cast a look at Bogart and raised her brows in question. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Bogart shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “How many men have you killed?”

  Colleen eagerly looked at him and awaited his answer as well. “Any with your bare hands?”

  Bogart eyed both girls with some surprise then frowned and shook his head.

  “You girls need to start taking an interest in boys,” he muttered. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  Chapter Three

  An hour from Colorado Springs. Sebastian Cicco’s mansion was sprawled across the massive, secluded estate grounds. Although only two stories, the mansion covered a lot of ground. It was early evening, and everything seemed peaceful. A woman’s shrill scream broke the silence. A young woman wearing a white, satin nightgown with a matching robe ran along the mansion’s second floor hallway with her robe flowing behind her. Her expensive, satin nightgown was strewn with blood near the chest and the waist. There was blood on her hands and down her legs to her bare feet. The young woman, who barely made the legal drinking age, appeared frightened to death from whoever chased h
er.

  Lindsey Cicco was a beautiful woman with dark, nearly black flowing hair that was now pasted to her sweating neck and chest. Her expensive jewelry and the mansion hallway suggested she was as wealthy as she was beautiful. She ran along the hallway containing expensive paintings and antique tables strategically placed almost as if to hinder her escape. Lindsey heard someone following from a distance, but he was still too close. She looked behind her as she ran and held back her scream to the unseen predator. She bolted into a dimly lit nearby bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  Lindsey leaned against the door while breathing heavily then scanned the nearly dark room. She could make out the phone on the bedside table not far from her. She darted away from the door and fumbled for the nightstand, knowing it would be unwise to turn on the lights. Lindsey grabbed the phone and, with her blood-covered fingers, she pressed several buttons then placed the phone to her ear. There was a loud thump against the door, startling her. She gasped with surprise and stared at the door that seemed secure for the moment. Someone picked up on the other end.

  “Daddy,” she gasped into the phone. “I’m in trouble. Something’s happened. He’s going to kill me.”

  There was another thump against the door. She looked back at the door and saw it vibrate despite its thickness. Lindsey allowed a startled scream escape.

  “I have to get out of here,” she cried into the phone. “It’s not safe here. He’s going to get through. Send help!”

  Lindsey tossed the phone aside and ran to the balcony door. There was a loud crack as the bedroom door broke and flew open. Lindsey gasped and spun toward the glass doors.

  §

  It was just after dark and Sal’s back patio was brightly lit with sporadic lights extending into the garden for a romantic appeal. Several outdoor lights gave a warm glow to the extensive garden and distant gazebo. After a picnic dinner of fried chicken and coleslaw served on the expensive, fine china, Sal’s guests drank wine and celebrated the upcoming nuptials of their comrade, Beck. The large patio table seated nine, including Sal and his daughter. The six men along with Jackie were seven of the eight members of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Their leader, Ross, was on his honeymoon.

  The former Navy SEAL team Whiskey Tango Foxtrot had been under the command of Jackie’s father back when they served together. He was supposed to retire, but an unfortunate incident claimed his life. When Jackie needed her father’s team most, they came to her aid. She’d been a part of the team ever since. Her brother, Bogart, had finally gained acceptance with the team. Well, most of the team accepted him. Bogart had returned that afternoon from his weekend ride with their favorite teenage witnesses. Besides Ross, Beck, Jackie, and Bogart, the remainder of the team was Gil, Kirk, Monroe, and Zack.

  Zack Kinsley was easily the oldest man at the table and the senior member of the team. He was shorter than average, being lucky if he made 5’8” with a moderately average physique. Non-impressive by most standards, he appeared almost innocent at first glance. He was more athletic than most people would suspect. His brown, slightly graying hair was kept short and neat, although moderately spiky on top. He seemed more cuddly than intimidating but looks were deceiving. Monroe Dallas was a tall, lanky man in his mid to late thirties with a stylish flare to his expensive wardrobe. His light brown hair was neatly trimmed, although not nearly short enough to constitute a buzz cut. He was handsome in his own rights, so his lack of female companionship was baffling.

  Kirk Mandel stood an imposing 6’4” with broad shoulders and biceps the size of tree trunks. His buzz cut and thick facial stubble made him even more intimidating if it were possible. Women were drawn to Kirk’s ruggedly handsome features and massive muscles. Despite his moderately loose morals, women had a tough time breaking through his frigid exterior. Gil Rafferty, although a handsome man, shared the same serious expression as his counterparts. He was on the upper end of thirty if not in his early forties. His short dark hair was peppered with gray giving him a slightly distinguished look. His serious expression was the one he wore most and had a way of keeping strangers at arm’s length.

  The most easily dismissed last member of the team was possibly the most temperamental. A silver sable German shepherd lay in a grassy area not far from the table and snapped at lightning bugs as they flashed past his face. Darth could be as serious as the rest of the team yet lovable when called upon or when a squeaky toy was involved. His loyalty to the team was undying, and the team felt the same way about their four-legged, furry comrade.

  “Three days in Denver devoted to shopping?” Kirk remarked then eyed Beck while raising a skeptical brow. “You’re not even married, and you’re already--”

  “Finish that sentence and die,” Jackie launched across the table to the big man with more brawn than brain, which obviously included tact.

  A muffled whipping sound came from one of the men at the table. Jackie’s eyes narrowed as she eyed each man, but they all maintained the same mildly serious yet innocent looks on their faces. When she couldn’t figure out which man it had been, there was a round of chuckles.

  Pinto groaned and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m willingly marrying into this.”

  Beck took her hand in his and affectionately kissed it then met her gaze. “Never mind them,” he announced while smiling warmly. “They’re just jealous. Every single one of them would like to be whipped.”

  “Some more than others,” Monroe muttered.

  “Was that directed at me?” Bogart suddenly demanded while glaring at Monroe. “Because if anyone is whipped around here, it’s you.”

  “Me?” Monroe practically cried out. “When have I been whipped? Figuratively or literally?”

  “Literally,” Zack announced and raised his hand. “A few times. Not a fan. It stings like a mother--”

  “Be nice,” Jackie remarked sternly.

  “Well, this evening certainly took a turn in the wrong direction,” Pinto scoffed.

  Sal clinked his butter knife against his crystal glass, silencing everyone and directing attention on himself. He stood and raised his wineglass.

  “I’d just like to say that I’m very proud to have Beck marry my daughter in two weeks,” Sal announced cheerfully. “I’ve been blessed with a wonderful future son-in-law--” He raised his glass to Beck, who smiled and lifted his glass to Sal in response. “And to the new extended family I’ve always wanted.” He raised his glass to the rest of the team. “To my new family!”

  The entire team stood and raised their glasses to Sal and took a drink. As they returned to their seats, the butler approached the patio table. He paused near Sal and whispered something in his ear. Sal eyed his butler and appeared surprised.

  “Really?” Sal announced then turned serious as he sank into thought. “Send him out.”

  As the butler returned to the house, the guys eyed Sal in silent question.

  “What was that about?” Beck finally asked.

  “An old friend I haven’t heard from in years showed up unannounced at my doorstep,” Sal informed them.

  “What sort of old friend?” Monroe asked.

  “Just your usual sort of old friend,” Sal replied with a strange look in his eyes.

  “Oh,” Gil replied and shifted in his chair.

  “This could get interesting,” Sal announced.

  They heard a gun cock. All eyes shifted to Zack. He looked innocently around the table with his semiautomatic partially hidden beneath the table and shrugged.

  “What?”

  “Just keep it in your pants,” Beck lectured.

  A neatly dressed man in his early fifties followed the butler to the patio table. Dexter Mansfield was a good-looking man with short graying hair and a clean-shaven face. He obviously had the money to take care of himself. His suit was hand tailored and cost more than the team’s entire wardrobe combined. Sal stood and shook Dexter’s hand then indicated the seat Pinto vacated for her father’s friend. She chose to hang over Beck’s shoulders
instead.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Sal asked while smiling, although it wasn’t a trusting smile.

  “I wish it were under better circumstances,” Dexter announced then quickly eyed those at the table. He returned his attention back to Sal. “I’m here out of desperation.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” Sal pressed.

  “My daughter recently married Vinny Cicco’s boy, Sebastian,” Dexter began. “I got a strange phone call from her earlier this evening. Something happened to my daughter, and Vinny is refusing to let me speak to her.”

  “I don’t suppose the police can knock on the door,” Gil muttered while resting his temple on his finger as if already knowing the story.

  Dexter eyed Gil and raised his brow in response. “Vinny Cicco owns the local police,” he insisted. “They tried to convince me she was fine.” He shifted uncomfortably. “My daughter has, in the past, embellished a few stories. The police are trying to convince me that’s all there was to it, but I’m not buying it. I need someone to rescue my daughter.” He tensed and held his breath a moment. “I know something bad has happened to her. If she’s fine, I want her to tell me she’s fine. If she’s being held against her will, or if something’s happened to her, I want her out of there.”

  “And you came to me because you know my future son-in-law has been known for discretion in this sort of situation,” Sal announced while sitting back in his chair.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Beck muttered humored.

  “I know how desperate I sound,” Dexter replied then looked around the table. “If anyone can get my daughter back, it’s this team. Discretion is the last thing on my mind. I don’t care if they level the entire mansion to get her out of there.”

  “I’m in,” Zack immediately chimed in, obviously enticed by the prospect of leveling a mansion.

  Beck ignored Zack’s comment and leaned on the table closer to Dexter. “I’ll be honest with you,” he announced with little emotion. “I’m getting married in two weeks. Getting shot, maimed, or otherwise bruised before the wedding isn’t an option. I’m not going on any assignments until after my honeymoon. Pinto and I have been through enough recently, and I don’t want anything ruining our upcoming wedding.”