Wounded Falcon: Brotherhood Protectors World
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WOUNDED FALCON
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS WORLD
JESSE JACOBSON
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Devil’s Fork
About Devil’s Fork
Devil’s Fork
Also By Jesse Jacobson
Original Brotherhood Protectors Series
About Elle James
Copyright © 2019, Jesse Jacobson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 Twisted Page Press, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Brotherhood Protectors
Original Series by Elle James
Brotherhood Protectors Series
Montana SEAL (#1)
Bride Protector SEAL (#2)
Montana D-Force (#3)
Cowboy D-Force (#4)
Montana Ranger (#5)
Montana Dog Soldier (#6)
Montana SEAL Daddy (#7)
Montana Ranger’s Wedding Vow (#8)
Montana SEAL Undercover Daddy (#9)
Cape Cod SEAL Rescue (#10)
Montana SEAL Friendly Fire (#11)
Montana SEAL’s Mail-Order Bride (#12)
Montana Rescue (Sleeper SEAL)
Hot SEAL Salty Dog (SEALs in Paradise)
Brotherhood Protectors Vol 1
Author’s Note
This book is written to be read as a standalone, and borrows with permission characters from the Rainhorse series and Swede - Axel Svenson from Elle James’ Bride Protector SEAL.
For those who have followed the Rainhorse series, the timeline of this book is set prior to the present -day timeline of A Good Samaritan, just after the timeline of Long Ghost.
This is the story of FBI Agent Jim Andrews, who appears with Rainhorse in Guardian Ranger, Rainhorse, Rainhorse Returns, A Good Samaritan and Long Ghost. The character of Agent Julie Love first appeared in Defending Honor.
All Rainhorse novels are written to be read as standalones, but are part of a series. The series order is at the end of this book.
Chapter 1
Special Agent Jim Andrews stepped out of the black FBI Chevy Suburban. Agent Emily Carlisle greeted him. Carlisle was one of the new order of agents recruited into the bureau. She was smart, young, talented, eager and ambitious.
“What’s our situation?” Andrews asked.
“The suspect is inside, holding a nine-year-old white female. He’s armed and has military experience. He warned us off and stuck the barrel of an assault rifle through the window just to let us know he was serious—probably an AR-15.”
“Has he fired a shot?” Andrews asked.
“No. He’s just been sitting there.”
“Have you made contact?”
“Not yet—waited for you.”
“Good. We don’t know where the girl’s position is. Do all these cowboys know to hold their fire?”
“They do.”
Andrews stole a glance toward the second floor of the house. Through the top window, he saw a young blonde girl, peeking through the curtains. If push came to shove, one SWAT unit could rescue the girl through the window while a second unit stormed the first level and took out the shooter. He was hoping it didn’t come to that.
“Have we confirmed this is the Amber Alert from earlier?” Andrews asked. “Mandy McKay?”
“Yes.”
“Who are these people on the scene?”
“Me, the Sheridan County Sheriff and two of his deputies.”
“Just you and me from the field office?”
“That’s it. Everyone else is on assignment.”
Andrews scanned the scene and saw a woman, dressed in a blue FBI jacket with yellow lettering. She was tucked into position out of the suspect’s line of fire and away from the scene. She had medium length brown hair and an athletic build.
“Who’s that?” Andrews asked.
“An agent from DC.”
“Washington? That can’t be good. What the hell is she doing here?”
“She stopped into the Missoula office this morning to see you,” Carlisle replied. “When we got this call, she said she wanted to come along and observe.”
“Observe what, exactly?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“That’s what she said. She’s kind of scary. She asked for my cell number—said she wanted to ask me questions about you later.”
“She wants to ask you questions? About me?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Did she say what about?”
“Nope. I just figured it wasn’t good.”
“Jesus H. Whatever. Where’s SWAT?”
“SWAT is more than twenty-minutes out.”
Andrews rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Twenty minutes? Are they going through the Starbucks window before they come?”
“They were on a field exercise outside of Missoula,” Carlisle said. “The helicopter normally used to transport SWAT is currently being serviced. We found a medical chopper to use, but it was transporting a trauma patient from a car accident to Bozeman. The pilot is on his way to pick up the team, and then to here. Until then, we wait.”
“How about the hostage negotiator?”
“He’s in Seattle at a convention. Continuing Education.”
Andrews sighed loudly.
“What a cluster-fuck,” Andrews exclaimed. “Damn budget cuts. Do we know who the suspect is?”
“Yes,” Carlisle replied. “The suspect’s name is Richard McKay, forty-one-years-old, white male, journeyman agricultural worker.”
“He’s Mandy’s father?”
“That’s right,” Carlisle affirmed. “The suspect is alleged to have abducted the girl this morning when she stepped off the school bus.”
“Let me guess . . . he’s divorced and there was a recent custody battle in which Mr. McKay lost.”
“Nailed it,” Carlisle replied. “The suspect lost complete custody. He tested positive for marijuana and that violated his custody arrangement.”
“How much marijuana?”
“Barely enough to show up on the blood test.”
Andrews sighed, “So, they rescinded all his custody rights because of a little ganja?”
“Yes.”
“Dammit, I hate these situations,” Andrews scoffed. “What else do we know about McKay?”
“He served six years of active service in the Army,” Carlisle added.
“What division?”
“82nd Airborne.”
“Wow, I know them. That’s an elite group. When did he leave the service?”
“In 2006. He received a Disability Discharge.”
“Let me guess—PTSD.”
“Yes. The Medical Officers ruled McKay suffered a psychological condition which interfered with his fitness for duty.”
Andrews shook his head, “Sounds like they were brushing a problem under the rug. Poor bastard.”
“It’s not for me to say, sir,” Carlisle replied.
Andrews sighed, “Based on his timeline, it’s fair to assume this man served in Operation Iraqi Freedom. The 82nd was also one of the first responders to Hurricane Katrina. This man committed several years of his life in service for his country. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“No one made him kidnap his daughter and hold her hostage . . . sir.”
Andrews glared at his protégé, then offered a tiny smile, “That’s true, Carlisle. Thanks for keeping me grounded.”
“His ex-wife reported that he came to their house last night. When Mrs. McKay would not let him see Mandy, she said he became extremely agitated.”
“Did he hurt anyone?”
“No.”
“Threaten anyone?”
“No.”
“Break anything?”
“A plate. He threw it on the floor.”
“That’s it? A plate?”
“His wife said it was a nice plate.”
Andrews rolled his eyes.
“Does he have a record?”
“Nothing criminal. Drug possession, twice—both misdemeanors. Hence, the blood test.”
“Nothing violent?”
“No.”
“This guy is no criminal. He’s crying for help,” Andrews said. “He doesn’t want to hurt anybody. He just wants to see his daughter.”
“With all due respect, he really screwed that one up. What do we do now?” Carlisle asked.
“Give me the bullhorn,” Andrews demanded. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Carlisle looked in the direction of another agent and signaled for the bullhorn, then turned back toward Andrews.
“Shouldn’t we wait for SWAT?”
“I think it’s likely that a dozen armed men coming at him from a helicopter might make him a little . . . anxious. I’m going to try to talk him down before they arrive.”
Carlisle’s partner handed Andrews the bullhorn. He stepped out into the open, in full view of the front windows of the house, where McKay was thought to be.
“Agent Andrews!” Carlisle exclaimed. “Get down.”
Andrews ignored the admonishment and turned on the bullhorn. A high-pitched screeching feedback filled the air.
“Richard McKay!” Andrews called out. “My name is Special Agent Jim Andrews. I’m coming up to the porch. I am unarmed. I just want to talk.”
“Don’t come any closer!” McKay warned. “I’ll shoot.”
“No, you won’t,” Andrews snapped back through the bullhorn. “Your daughter is old enough to remember this day. You do not want her to see you shoot down an unarmed man.”
“Stay away, man. I’ll do it,” McKay threatened.
“Then that’s what you’ll have to do. I’m coming in with my hands up. I promise I will not try anything. There’s a nice little swing on the porch. If you crack the window near it, we can talk from there.”
Andrews paused. There was no reply. He took that as a good sign.
“Agent Andrews,” Carlisle barked. “I strongly urge you to wait for the SWAT team.”
“Relax, Carlisle. Take a pill or something. You’re very tense.”
Andrews raised his hands and proceeded toward the house slowly. When he came to within ten feet of the porch, he saw the top half of McKay’s head.
“I just want to talk,” Andrews repeated. He continued up to the porch, up the steps and across the porch to the swing. He sat, keeping his hands held high. A moment later, the window near him opened by no more than four inches. Andrews saw the barrel of the AR-15 sliding out of the window, aimed at his head.
“He’s got his gun on Andrews!” Carlisle screamed. The Sheridan County Sheriff stood with his rifle pointed at the shooter.
“Stand down, everyone!” Andrews yelled back. “That’s an order.”
“Standing down,” Carlisle called back. The Sheriff lowered his weapon and took cover behind his vehicle again.
Andrews turned toward McKay, “It’s so hard to get good help these days.”
“What did you want to talk about?” McKay demanded to know.
“Ever watch television, Richard?” Andrews asked.
“Rich.”
“What?”
“My name. I go by Rich. I hate the name ‘Richard.’”
“Fair enough. Do you ever watch cop shows . . . Rich?”
“Cop shows? On TV?”
“Yeah. You know, Chicago PD, Law and Order, that kind of thing?”
“I’ve seen every episode of The Shield,” he admitted.
“Yeah, that was a good one,” Andrews acknowledged. “Well, I watch a lot of cop shows myself and to tell you the truth, most of them are so far from reality, they make me laugh. There is one thing they always do get right though. Know what that is, Rich?”
“No, what?”
“Hostage situations.” Andrews replied.
“Really?”
“That’s right. Think about it, Rich. Have you ever seen a cop show where there was a hostage situation and the suspect yells out the window, ‘I want all you cops to leave?”
“Sure.”
“And have you ever seen a show where the cops actually leave?”
McKay paused, thinking, “Not really, no.”
“That’s because they never leave,” Andrews explained. “They always stay and it always works out one of two ways. The suspect gives up or the SWAT team breaks in and shoots the guy. Which way is it going to be for you, Rich?”
“I just want my daughter back,” McKay barked. His voice was quaking. He could hear the man beginning to sob.
“I know you do,” Andrews consoled. “I heard you lost custody of Mandy. I’m sorry.”
“I got discharged from the army,” he said, his voice still trembling. “I came home to medical bills, no job and no future. And now they take my daughter from me. It’s not fair.”
“I know,” Andrews agreed. “I have a little good news, though.”
“What would that be?”
“No one has fired a shot, and Mandy is still okay. She is okay, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s fine . . . she’s scared.”
“Of course, she is,” Andrews said. “She’s worried about her father, and she has good reason to be. You’ve already goofed up, but you can make it right. Lay down your weapon and surrender to me now. You’ll do a little time in jail, but you’ll still be out in time to see your daughter graduate high school.”
“I can’t come out,” McKay snapped. His began to quake.
Andrews looked at his watch, “I’d rethink that if I were you, Rich. In about nine minutes, twenty-four heavily armed men are going to arrive by helicopter. Once they arrive, I can’t help you anymore. It’s out of my hands. I don’t want to see you or Mandy get hurt.”
“It’s better if I just die,” McKay said, sobbing.
“No, it’s not better,” Andrews argued. “Mandy won’t think it’s better. I think Mandy would really like to see have her dad visit her in college, walk her down the aisle someday, maybe be a grandad to her kids. Those things can still happen, Rich.”
“No, they can’t. I really fucked up.”
“You did, I won’t lie, but there are extenuating circumstances that a judge will take into account,” Andrews said. “You are Mandy’s father.
You served your country in the military. You have no violent criminal record. The fact that you have not discharged your weapon is the very best thing you have going for you. All of this will be taken into consideration. If you give up now, peacefully, this will go much easier on you.”
He heard McKay continuing to sob. The barrel of the AR-15 began to withdraw from the window.
“That’s good, Rich, that’s good,” Andrews said. “Now, lay down your weapon. I’ll warn everyone you’ll be coming out through the front door with your hands on your head. You can do this. No one will shoot, I promise. We’ll make it easy on you. I’ll see to it you are treated fairly.”
Andrews quit talking.
“Give me a minute,” McKay pleaded.
“Okay, but I hear a chopper off in the distance,” Andrews replied. “A minute is all you have.”
Rich took less than thirty seconds to think.
“Okay, I’m coming out,” he announced. “Tell them not to shoot me.”
“You laid down your gun?”
“I did.”
“Do you have any extra clips on you?”
“What? Oh, no. My gun was never loaded, anyway.”
Andrews stood and yelled, “Mr. McKay is laying down his weapon and surrendering. Do not fire. Repeat. Do not fire.”
A moment later, the door opened and McKay appeared with his hands on his head. Andrews approached him and opened the screen door.
“You’re doing the right thing, Rich,” Andrews assured. “You can recover from this thing.”
“I hope so,” he replied.
“I’m going to have to cuff you now,” Andrews continued. “It’s protocol. Is Mandy still upstairs?”
“Yes. How did you know she was upstairs?”
“I saw her peeking through the bedroom window.”
McKay shook his head, “I told her to hide under the bed. Kids never listen.”
Andrews clasped the handcuffs on McKay an called to Carlisle, “I have Mr. McKay. Mandy is upstairs in the bedroom. You go after the girl and have your partner escort Mr. McKay to the SUV. It’s over.”
Off in the distance, Andrews could hear the helicopters coming.
It took another fifteen minutes for the SWAT team to declare the house secure. They recovered the AR-15. It was not loaded, exactly as McKay had said. Mandy McKay was a bit shaken up, but otherwise healthy.