The Loner: Men Out of Uniform Book 4

by Rhonda Russell

  He’d be damned before he let another friend down.

  Speaking of friends, he should really call Levi, Mick thought, ashamed that he’d avoided contact with his unit mate. Mick had met both Lucas “Huck” and Levi McPherson during Jump School and somewhere between the grueling training and commiserating beers, the three had become especially close friends. Having been in an all-guy environment for most of his life, one that by its very nature fostered a unique blend of competition and camaraderie, Mick had made some great buddies over the years. But the dynamic between the three of them had always been more like brothers.

  Other than his grandfather, they were the closet thing to a family he’d ever had.

  When things had gone south recently, it was Huck he’d helped him find a job and, while Levi had had his back as well--he’d actually been a member of the team on that ill-fated mission--Mick was having a harder time facing him, hell even talking to him. Levi had personally witnessed his mistake and knowing that made it too damned hard to look him in the eye. In short, Mick was ashamed and until he figured out how to cope with the screw-up, he was better off avoiding him. Cowardly? No doubt. But necessary to his questionable sanity at the moment.

  Rather than linger on things he couldn’t change, Mick exhaled a short sigh and mentally reviewed the mess of his first case. And it was a convoluted quagmire of personal crap he’d just as soon stay out of. Unfortunately, staying out of it wasn’t in his new job description.

  “So let me get this straight. We’ve been hired by Chastity Walker--“

  “Sarah Jane’s stepmother--” McCann interjected.

  “Who is also Sarah Jane’s age and most hated enemy,” Flanagan added with a wry look.

  “--to catch Sarah Jane trying to steal some of her deceased father’s possessions.”

  “Possessions that Sarah Jane claims are part of her inheritance,” Payne added.

  Mick frowned. “There’s no will?”

  Payne shrugged. “Not according to Chastity, and with the absence of a will, everything goes to the next of kin. As the wife, that’s her.”

  “What about according to Sarah Jane?” Mick asked, smelling a rat. Something about this didn’t sound right. Why would Chastity go to the trouble to hire their services for something so small? So petty? He knew women were like that, of course, and there certainly didn’t seem like there was any love lost between these two, but... He was rocking a weird vibe on this one.

  “Sarah Jane insists there was a will, but neither Chastity nor the attorney who supposedly drafted it has produced it.” He grimaced. “Like I said, I’m not sure about this one and we won’t be a party to witting party to anything illegal. Right now we have the facts according to our client. If she’s lying, then naturally that will change things and you can respond however you see fit.” He paused. “As it stands, we know that Sarah Jane, in particular, is after a pipe that had belonged to her father and her mother’s antique wedding dress.” He grimaced, looking uncomfortably skeptical. “Chastity will not give up the pipe and insists that she donated the dress to a local historical society after it had been part of an exhibit.”

  Mick shot Payne a questioning look. “And you believe her?”

  “Not particularly. Right now, operating on what we know from our client, our job is to keep watch on Sarah Jane and if she does anything illegal, document the evidence and turn it over to Chastity so that she can do with it what she will.”

  Flanagan chuckled. “Hell, Payne, she’s already had Sarah Jane arrested once for assault and battery. You know what she’s going to do with it.”

  Mick felt his lips twitch and he flipped the file to the back, where Sarah Jane’s mutinous mug shot stared back at him. She had wide, compelling pale brown eyes--the shade of his favorite toffee candy, Mick thought, and ringed in a darker hue which made them all the more interesting. A single green leaf had gotten tangled up in those long tresses and a smudge of dirt shadowed one rather plump cheek. Her chin was tilted up in a defiant little angle, seemingly daring the person behind the camera to say a word. The fight might have been broken up, but it hadn’t yet left her because every line of her body was tensed and ready for action. Mick recognized that look, that particular brand of energy. God knows he’d felt it often enough--more so than was prudent--and was no small part of the reason his nickname had actually fit.

  It was also no small part of the reason one hellraiser typically recognized another and Sarah Jane Walker looked like she didn’t need a stick to stir some shit with the best of them. Unbelievably, a current of heat snaked through his groin and his palms tingled, itching to wipe that curiously sexy bit of dirt from her cheek. Slip the pad of his thump over that ripe bottom lip.

  Aw, hell. This couldn’t be good.

  McCann chuckled. “According to the police report I read, Sarah Jane mopped the deck with her,” he said. “It’s no wonder Chastity is out for blood.”

  “From the looks of this, the woman has got her home and her inheritance. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Mick asked, secretly pleased that Sarah Jane had gotten the better of his temporary employer. Why? Who knew? Because she was hot? Possibly. Because it sounded as if Sarah Jane were the underdog here? That, too. Not that he should care, because it wasn’t his problem and he had enough of his own deal with it. Still, he’d always been a sucker for both and when he factored in the tool belt and hell-cat items... Well, he couldn’t deny it made her all the more appealing.

  He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t supposed to find his target appealing. Some of that keen Ranger training rearing its head, Mick thought, stifling the ridiculous urge to laugh.

  “I know that it’s a bit dodgy,” Payne admitted. “And this is not our typical case, so use discretion, Mick. If in your observations you discover that your mission is in conflict with justice, then act accordingly.”

  Mick nodded, then looked down at the folder in his hand, flipped back to the front page. Where was he headed again? Monarch Grove, Georgia. Population 2478. He smothered another laugh. It was a damned good thing they’d developed a decent cover for him, because blending in amid a town that small sure wouldn’t be easy.

  “So I’m with Designing Weekly, an architectural magazine based out of Atlanta?”

  “Right. You’re the photographer and you’ve been sent ahead to cover the spread.” Flanagan slid several issues as well as a couple of books on architecture across the coffee table. “You’re new, which explains the absence of a byline or photo credit. We’ve contacted her and set everything up. You’ll be able to follow her around with no problem, which will enable you to learn her routine.” He shrugged. “Naturally we expect her to make her move at night--provided she’s going to--so you’ll want to pay particular attention to her then.”

  “Since there aren’t any motels in Monarch Grove, we’ve booked you into a B&B near the town square,” Payne said. “Luckily, it’s only a couple of blocks from Sarah Jane’s place and it seems to be the morning hot spot for breakfast.”

  He felt a sardonic smile slide over his lips. “It sounds very Normal Rockwell.”

  “And just think,” McCann said, grinning broadly. “You’ll be there during The Fried Pie Festival.”

  Flanagan sighed contentedly. “Apple is a personal favorite of mine. Be sure and bring a few back, would you?”

  Mick stared. It took a moment to realize Flanagan was serious. “Sure,” he said, for lack of anything better.

  “You’ve got two weeks,” Payne told him, bringing a brisk end to the briefing. “Call if you run into any trouble.”

  And just like that, he was dismissed. No “Do you think you can handle it?” No second-guessing him. No handling him with kid-gloves despite the major screw-up he’d recently committed.

  Just sheer genuine trust in his abilities.

  He knew a single second of joy before the inevitable dread settled over his shoulders. He sure as hell hoped their confidence wasn’t going to be misplaced.

  Particularly Huck’s.<
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  * * *

  Troubled, Huck watched his friend gather his things for his new mission and, trademark confidence in place, calmly walk from the room.

  Payne paused a moment, then he looked at Huck and quirked a brow. “Garrett recommended him and Levi McPherson made a personal appeal on his behalf for this job. But you’ve worked with him. What’s your read?”

  “He’s hurting,” Huck said unsurprised that Levi too had spoken up for their friend. “His confidence is shot. He’s ashamed of his mistake, of what it could have potentially cost another soldier.” He shook his head, wishing he could do something to rattle his fellow soldier back into action. He’d thought the Ranger Security position would have made Mick realize that he was still worthy, that while he was no longer a Ranger in Uncle Sam’s Army, he could still use those skills. Still share the mentality and camaraderie with men from his background. It had certainly done wonders for him after his accident.

  McCann’s usually jovial gaze turned serious. “We’ve all been there and survived the worst.”

  Danny Levison’s death, Huck knew. The group had shared their story with him shortly after he’d come on board. Danny had been more than their unit mate, he’d been one of their best friends. And each one of them, in some way, had felt responsible for his death.

  Jamie swallowed. “He’ll come around,” he said. “It’s just going to take a little time.”

  Payne’s cool blue eyes found his. “Is he up to this? I’m not asking if he’s capable--I know that, otherwise we wouldn’t have hired him. But is he emotionally ready for work?”

  Though he admittedly had his doubts when it came to his friend’s state of mind, Huck merely smiled and said the one thing he knew they’d all understand. “He’s a soldier, Payne. He’ll be fine.”

  Frankly, if you asked him, getting his daredevil hell-raising friend right back into the action was the best possible treatment for what ailed him. His lips quirked. And sending him to Podunk, Georgia to tail a hot little she-devil was even better. Sarah Jane Walker certainly looked and sounded like she’d give Mick a run for his money.

  And knowing his friend, the chase would be just what the doctor ordered.

  ABOUT RHONDA RUSSELL

  A New York Times best-selling author, two-time RITA nominee, Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee, and National Readers' Choice Award Winner Rhonda Russell writes hot romantic comedy for Harlequin Books and Firefly Press, her indie press. With more than forty-five published books to her credit and many more coming down the pike, she's thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in.

  Rhonda previously wrote as Rhonda Nelson, but getting married necessitated a name change. She and her husband (aka The Sweetest Badass in the World) and their menagerie of pets happily make their home on a 166-acre farm in the middle of nowhere in a small town in Northern Alabama near the banks of the Tennessee River. If you’d like to see videos of baby ducks, spoiled turkeys who like to ride in the car, guineas who think they’re turkeys, then be sure to check her out Facebook Page Author Rhonda Russell.

  More from Rhonda Russell

  Men Out of Uniform Series

  The Player, #1

  Major Perfect, #2

  The Maverick, #3

  4-Book Romance Omnibus

  Love You More