Warrior Spirit

by Cassie Miles

  She shuddered. Even this childish journal brought back the very real danger Lyle had caused her. Hunting with Perry? Less than a day ago, Perry had been hunting her.

  Farther back in the notebook were several ominous references to the Fortress prison. “He mentions Warden Green by name. In here, he says that Green has the answers.”

  “That might be something we should look into,” Trevor said.

  A return trip to that dank, cold penitentiary wasn’t her idea of a fun outing. “Why?”

  “We have another reason to talk with Green,” Trevor said. “I’m sure that million dollar policy has a clause that invalidates the payout if the death was a suicide.”

  “You’re right. That’s standard procedure.” And Lyle’s death had been ruled a suicide. “I never believed that he killed himself. Lyle was too stubborn and mean to take his own life. But can we prove he was murdered?”

  “We can try,” he said.

  “It would be a shame to deny this million dollar payoff for the families of Galleria victims.”

  “Right.” Trevor looked away from her. “I’ve been wanting to have another conversation with the warden before his retirement.”

  The determined tone in Trevor’s voice worried her. Another meeting with Warden Green, especially if they were questioning the circumstances of Lyle’s death, was sure to be trouble.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Late afternoon at the Militia hideout, Boone glanced up as Perry Johnson crashed through the door. The big man looked as if he’d been in a landslide. His clothes were torn. Fresh blood from a deep scratch oozed across his forehead. His coal-black eyes flared with demonic light. He snarled, “Damn you, Boone. What was so all-fired important that I had to get back here right away?”

  As leader of the Militia, Boone couldn’t allow disrespect. Though Perry was a powerful presence, Boone had to be stronger. He stood slowly, shoulders back. His mouth curved in a sneer. “Sit down, Perry.”

  “Tell me what’s going down. Tell me now.”

  “Sit!”

  Growling, the other man obeyed. “I almost had them. Sierra and her half-breed boyfriend.” His huge hands grasped empty air. “I could have taken them both hostage. I could have—”

  “You didn’t stand a chance,” Boone said. “We were monitoring the police radios. They knew your location and were already closing in.”

  “It wouldn’t have taken long.”

  “I can’t afford to lose you, Perry. Not now. We have another mission. Something big. Am I right, men?”

  They nodded enthusiastically; their excitement was palpable. Raymond edged closer to Perry and held out a glass of water. “You’re going to like this, Perry. It’s big.”

  Somewhat placated, Perry grabbed the water and downed it in one gulp. “I’m listening.”

  “A military base,” Boone said. “We will strike at the heart of the oppressors. We will demoralize the government.”

  Amid murmurs of agreement from the men, Perry spoke up. “Where is this base?”

  “Back east.”

  “I don’t like to leave Montana,” he grumbled.

  “We have to go where the battle lies,” Boone said. “We have to take the fight to them.”

  The logistics of this assault were more complex than anything the Militia had undertaken, but Boone was confident. After their well-coordinated Galleria attack, he knew his men were capable.

  The Puppetmaster would handle transport and provide weapons. The Militia would take care of the rest.

  “Our assault on the Galleria was effective,” Boone said. “Those fat-ass bureaucrats in Washington sat up and took notice. They fear us. They want to strike back. But they can’t find us.”

  “So we attack them first,” Raymond said. “Before they know what hit them.”

  “Who?” Perry demanded. “Who do we attack?”

  “Special Forces,” Boone said.

  According to inside information from the Puppetmaster, the U.S. government was finally ready to act on behalf of Prince Nikolai of Lukinberg. Nikolai wanted troops to take action against the terrorists in his homeland, and the U.S. agreed. They were about to deploy a Special Forces platoon on a surgical strike.

  As a bonus, this Special Forces platoon belonged to the same unit that Cameron Murphy had formerly commanded. They were his comrades and the heirs to his reputation. Attacking them would be a devastating blow to Murphy and his bounty hunters.

  Frankly, Boone was glad they’d be leaving Montana. From his constant monitoring of law enforcement communications, he knew the manhunt was coming closer. If the Militia stayed here, the danger of being discovered was imminent.

  “One question,” Perry said. “What happens to Sierra and the half-breed?”

  “Warden Green will take care of them.”

  “Green? I thought he’d retired.”

  “Not yet,” Boone said.

  Less than fifteen minutes ago, he’d given the order to Warden Green: kill Sierra and her boyfriend. The sniveling warden objected, saying he’d already taken too many risks. But he’d changed his mind when Boone had informed him that if he didn’t follow this order, he would be the next target for the Militia’s revenge.

  WARDEN CRAIG GREEN RESTED his elbows on his desktop and silently cursed Boone Fowler and the Militia. Damn them for demanding one more job, one more risk. It wasn’t fair. Green was only hours away from his retirement. He had cleaned out his office, had already arranged for a charter plane to fly him to Denver, where he’d catch a flight to Costa Rica. The money paid to him by the Puppetmaster for arranging the Militia escape had already been transferred to an untraceable offshore bank account. That sum was more than enough for him to live in luxury for the rest of his life.

  He should have been celebrating. He’d gotten away with everything—the Militia escape and the murder of Lyle Nelson. But now he had one more job.

  Killing Sierra Collins and her boyfriend wouldn’t be easy. There was sure to be an intense investigation—especially from those damn interfering bounty hunters.

  He needed a plan to cover up these murders until he was safely out of the country. Somehow, he had to make sure their bodies would never be found.

  SIERRA PRESSED CLOSE to Trevor as they were escorted by a prison guard through the dank corridors of the Fortress penitentiary. They’d been searched; anything that might be used as a weapon had been taken from them, and she felt particularly vulnerable amid all these armed guards and desperate prisoners.

  In each sector, barred doors were unlocked for them to pass through. As the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, the harsh metallic clank echoed against the stone walls. A chill seeped through her parka and her T-shirt. She had a real bad feeling about this meeting with the warden.

  Trevor had told her that he suspected Warden Green of being involved in the Militia escape and in the supposed suicide of Lyle Nelson. But Green wasn’t about to confess, especially not now when he was on the brink of retirement. Still, Trevor thought the warden might be convinced to point the finger of blame at someone else.

  When she’d asked how he was going to do that, Trevor had given her a quick lesson in interrogation techniques. “The carrot and the stick,” he said. “We promise him a reward. Then we threaten punishment.”

  His system had sounded too simple when he explained it. Now, the idea seemed flimsy as tissue paper. They were walking, unarmed, into a lion’s den.

  Warden Green rose from behind his desk to greet them. Though the desk, chairs and equipment were still in his office, all his personal property had been packed away.

  “Looks like you’re ready to go,” she said.

  “It’s my last day.” When he shook her hand, his palm was clammy. “What can I do for you, Sierra?”

  “We had a few questions,” she said. “About Lyle’s death.”

  “You’re welcome to look over the reports.” He also shook hands with Trevor. “The investigation was pretty much open-and-shut. Lyle couldn’t stand
the thought of being back in prison, and he killed himself.”

  “Is it possible,” she asked, “that someone might have helped him along?”

  “Murder?” The warden gave a hollow laugh. “Not likely. He was locked in a cell all by himself. There were guards watching.”

  “They couldn’t have been watching too closely if he managed to kill himself.”

  “These things happen.” Green returned to his desk and sat, looking contented as a toad. “The guards were reprimanded and suspended for a week without pay.”

  She perched at the edge of a straight-back wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk, unable to think of anything that might cause Green to change his story.

  Apparently, Trevor had an idea. Instead of sitting, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. “There’s a reason we’re interested. A million dollar reason.”

  The warden’s brown eyes flickered with sudden interest. “A million dollars?”

  “Lyle Nelson had a life insurance policy, all paid up until the end of this year. Sierra is the sole beneficiary.”

  “Interesting.” Green leaned his elbows on his desk. “I suppose the policy is invalid in case of suicide.”

  “If you were inclined to reopen the investigation and change the cause of death, we’d be grateful. Say, two hundred thousand in gratitude.”

  This was the carrot. Sierra had to admire the way Trevor dangled it before the warden’s nose.

  “Is that a bribe?” the man asked.

  “A reward,” Trevor amended

  “Even if I were inclined to accept a bribe, that figure sounds low. Unless Lyle’s death is ruled a murder, you’ll get nothing.”

  “How much?” Trevor asked.

  Green cleared his throat and nervously tugged at the knot on his necktie. “Seven hundred thousand seems fair.”

  As Trevor bargained with him, the warden stepped deeper into the snare. The figure they ended up with was half a million.

  Quickly, Green added, “Not that I’m saying I could be bought. That wouldn’t be legal.”

  “Unless Lyle’s death really was murder,” Trevor said. “Then you’d be telling the truth. Righting a wrong.”

  The warden nodded in agreement. “Yes, I would.”

  “This prison is filled with killers. Any one of them might have gotten into that cell with Lyle.”

  Green’s tongue darted across his lips as though he could already taste this newfound fortune. “If I opened an investigation right now, the new warden would have to deal with it.”

  “And he might find Lyle’s killer.” Trevor’s voice held an encouraging note. “There’s no risk to you. And a big payoff. Half a million dollars would make a tidy nest egg for your well-deserved retirement.”

  The warden was practically drooling. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Sierra knew this man could be bought. His ethics and his years of service as warden were no match for his greed. What other terrible things had he done for payoffs?

  “There’s another issue to discuss.” Trevor’s voice had changed from cajoling to accusing. “We found Lyle’s journal. You’re mentioned several times.”

  “All lies,” he said. “Lyle was a vindictive bastard. He showed no respect.”

  “I want your side of the story,” Trevor stated.

  Green backed off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The Militia. Worthless scum, all of them.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “Killers.”

  “Yes.”

  “They threatened you.” Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “They’re still threatening you.”

  The warden shuddered. He looked scared.

  Trevor circled the desk and turned Green’s swivel chair so they were face-to-face. Leaning close, Trevor continued his intimidation. “The Militia is vindictive. You said so yourself. They need to be caught and put away where they can’t hurt you.”

  For a long moment, the warden stared into Trevor’s eyes. “I’ll help you catch them. For half a million dollars.”

  Though it appeared that Trevor had won, he showed no sign of triumph. As he stepped away from the warden, he seemed almost reluctant to continue.

  She sensed that something in his interrogation had gone wrong. When Trevor had been peering into Green’s eyes, he must have seen something that disturbed him.

  “I can show you how they escaped,” Green said eagerly.

  An alarm screeched inside her head. Why would Green show them the escape route? Surely, that would implicate him. She glanced up at Trevor. “I don’t think we need to know how they got out.”

  “Suit yourself,” Green said. “But I’m leaving town tonight on a charter plane, and I’m not coming back. The secret of the Militia escape leaves with me.”

  She could tell that Trevor was curious. “Show us.”

  Green rose from behind his desk. “We’ll need a guard to accompany us. Say nothing about what we talked about in here.”

  In the corridor outside Green’s office, Trevor took her hand and squeezed lightly. He leaned close and whispered, “He’s not going to hurt us.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Green is too much of a coward. He knows he’d be caught.”

  The warden motioned to them. “Come along. I’m taking you to an area that few people outside the Fortress have seen. We call it the dungeon, appropriate for this castle.”

  Certain that they were being led into danger, Sierra tightened her grasp on Trevor’s hand. Her feet felt like they were weighted with lead; she didn’t want to take another step.

  The guard unlocked a heavy wooden door and shoved it open. When they went through, he locked it again and followed them.

  They descended a short stone staircase. The ceiling in the dungeon was low, less than eight feet high. There were no windows. The only illumination came from two bare lightbulbs.

  Green led them to a wall of four cells. Inside one of the cells was the inmate Trevor had spoken to on their previous visit to the Fortress, the Cherokee they called Snake.

  Trevor paused outside the bars and nodded to him, showing respect. “We meet again, brother.”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Green warned. “He’d just as soon kill you as look at you. Mean as a snake.”

  Trevor spoke a few words in a language she didn’t understand. The other man responded by touching the tattoo of the seven-pointed Cherokee star on his forearm, then he turned away.

  “Snake spends a lot of time down here,” the warden said. “The dungeon provides perfect isolation. You could yell or scream for hours, and nobody would hear you.”

  “Why are we here?” Sierra asked.

  “There’s something you need to see.” He motioned them toward the last cell in the row.

  From her peripheral vision, she glimpsed motion behind her back where the guard had been standing. She heard the impact of a blow. With a groan, Trevor collapsed on the floor.

  Sierra whipped around and saw the guard. He dropped the billy club he’d used to knock Trevor unconscious, and came toward her. Before she could think, before she could react, he’d cuffed her hands in front of her.

  Then he turned to Green and said, “That’s all I’m doing. I ain’t killing nobody, Warden. No matter how much you pay me.”

  “Of course not,” Green said smoothly.

  “I’m not proud of the stuff I’ve done for you.”

  Frantically, Sierra appealed to the guard. “You won’t get away with this. People know we’re here.”

  Green scoffed. “Your bodies will never be found. By the time anybody figures out that you’re dead, I’ll be long gone.”

  “What about me?” the guard asked. “I’m not retiring.”

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  The barred door to Snake’s cell crashed open. He leaped on the guard. In one swift, brutal movement, he snapped the guard’s neck.

  Frozen in fear, Sierra stood rooted to the stone floor. Insi
de her head, she heard a high-pitched scream. Her life was over. And Trevor’s. They would die together before they’d even had a chance to live.

  “It’s a shame to kill you,” Green said as he sauntered to the farthest cell in the dungeon. “I was tempted by your offer. But if I admitted that Lyle’s death was murder, I would be implicated.”

  She stammered, “Y-you killed him?”

  “Lyle was threatening me, and I had him taken care of.” He nodded toward Snake. “Much the same way I’m going to take care of you and your boyfriend.”

  At the farthest cell, he yanked hard on one of the bars. It came off in his hand.

  “Crowbar,” he said. “Snake, give me a hand. Bring her into this cell.”

  The huge man roughly grabbed Sierra’s arm and shoved her toward the bars. Her legs were stiff; she could hardly move. There was no chance of escape from this place. If she screamed, no one would hear her.

  Green counted off paces and indicated the place on the floor where Snake should use the crowbar. It took a mighty effort, but one of the flagstones lifted.

  “And this,” said the warden, “is how the Militia escaped.”

  He had freed them. Warden Green had turned those animals loose on the world, and they had killed again at the Galleria. Anger cut through her fear. There had to be something she could do; she didn’t want to give up without a fight.

  “This,” he said, “is where your bodies will be hidden.”

  Sierra knew they wouldn’t be found. After the Militia escape, the prison had been thoroughly searched by law enforcement. None of the experts had located this escape route.

  The warden gave his final instructions to Snake. “Kill them both and put them into the hole. Put the guard in there, too. Your reward is freedom. This hole leads into a mine shaft. From there, it’s open country.”

  The big man lifted his chin and smiled.

  “He’s using you,” Sierra said vehemently. “Don’t you see? He’s going to blame everything on you.”

  “He’s already a prisoner,” Green said. “I’m giving him a break.”