Brotherhood Protectors_STEELE RANGER

by Jesse Jacobson

  “All for the reasons I guessed,” Vandy said. “She had me totally hoodwinked. She’s been jealous of my success for many years and just hid it from me. It’s also coming out that she had made a couple of bad investments and was deep in debt. I also didn’t know about that. Her financial situation was getting bad. When my company came under investigation and she saw her stock options devaluing, it sent her over the edge. I had no idea the level of resentment toward me she harbored.”

  “It just goes to show you that you never really know what’s going on in people’s heads.”

  She nodded, “True that.”

  “Do you think you’re safe here?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? You should see this place downstairs,” Vandy said. “There’s police everywhere, keeping out the paparazzi, the well-wishers, the reporters. It’s the same at my hotel. Every time I leave here it’s by police escort. This town is a three-ring circus.”

  “That sounds like you,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips. “Miss Subtle.”

  “You were right the whole time,” she said. “It was someone close to me.”

  “I figured it had to be,” he said. “Occum’s Razor.”

  She nodded, “The simplest answer is usually correct.”

  He nodded, “What now?”

  “Pam’s been arrested,” she said. “She’s admitted to the whole thing, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she didn’t. The men she hired were singing like little birds trying to strike a plea bargain. That woman is going to prison for a very long time.”

  “That figures. What about the investigation into your company?”

  “That’s ongoing,” she said. “As it turns out, Pam was anonymously feeding the FTC bullshit about our accounting methods. My Uncle Randall insists that we will survive scrutiny. He believes that the FTC will dig and dig and come up with some minor irregularities, but will not find a smoking gun, because there is none. We’ll probably have to pay a hefty fine, but it’s likely we will be back at business as normal. The stock should recover before the end of the year.”

  “You believe him—your Uncle Randall?”

  “I do,” she said. “He’s never lied to me and he’s never let me down. He’s always had my six, including finding Hank Patterson and finding you to watch over me.”

  Sam chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You said, ‘had my six.’ That’s military jargon.”

  “I’ve been reading up on the Rangers,” she said.

  “So, it sounds like things are moving in the right direction,” Sam said. “What about your daughter, Lindsay?”

  “I’ve decided not to fight Cameron over custody,” Vandy said. “I had a long talk with Lindsay. She’s in school in England, now. She wants to live with her father. I’ll see her on holidays and in the summer. Cameron, for all of his other issues, has been a good dad.”

  “I’m sure she loves you,” Sam said.

  “She does,” Vandy agreed. “I hope to completely win her back and I’m going to make special efforts to do so. Hopefully she will like the new me when my life changes.”

  “Changes?”

  She nodded, “A lot has happened during the time you were in a coma. After all this shit went down and Pam got arrested I did some serious reflection. I’ve decided to resign my position at PACNY.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows, “You’re not going to be the CEO any longer?”

  She shook her head, “Nope. As horrific as the experience was with being so seriously injured and men trying to kill me, I have to say I never felt more alive than during the week I spent in Montana. The clean air; the wide-open space; the quiet… I loved it. It made me miss the farm I grew up on. The only thing missing were horses. I was never cut out for life in Hollywood.”

  She paused and smiled at Sam, “And I met someone special; someone I’d like to get to know better.”

  “Do I know him?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

  She chuckled.

  He took her hand, “I’d like to get to know you better, too,” he said.

  “I know we were only together one day, so don’t ahead of yourself, cowboy. Slow and easy. I don’t intend to rush things…”

  “Me either,” he interjected, wondering if both of them were lying or if it was just him. He decided not to push it.

  “…but I had this idea,” she continued. “I got in touch with a real estate agent. Next week I’m flying to Bozeman.”

  “What’s in Bozeman?” he asked.

  “Nothing I care about other than the airport. But Bozeman is 30 minutes west of Livingston. Do you know where that is?”

  “Sure,” he said. “That’s a beautiful area. It’s about 350 miles from here, just north of Yellowstone Park.”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “What’s in Livingston?”

  “333 acres of horse farm and nature preserve,” she said. “Like I told you I grew up on a horse farm. I was never happier than I was then.”

  “Holy shit!” he said. “Are you really going to do it?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Maybe,” she said. “I’m certainly going to check it out. I was hoping to get your lazy ass out of this bed by then to help me evaluate it, but I’m told you are going to require a few weeks of rehabilitation.”

  “Great,” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “More rehabilitation. What do you know about this place?”

  “So far, only what I’ve seen in pictures,” she replied. She pulled an electronic tablet from her briefcase and opened it, handing it to Sam. It was opened to a picture gallery of the property.

  “There’s a gorgeous horse farm on the property with a long-time staff that would like to stay on after the sale,” Vandy continued. “Do you like to fish?”

  “Does a fat baby fart?”

  She chuckled heartily, “The Blue Ribbon River runs along the north boundary of the property. They say the fishing and rafting there is amazing.”

  “I know part of that river well, so I can speak to the veracity of that statement.”

  She ran his hand lightly along his arm, “You know, Sam. If this purchase works out, I’m going to want to build a new home there. I want to build a whole new life. This experience has allowed me to really reflect.”

  “Reflection is good,” Sam said, unsure of where the conversation was leading.

  “I don’t need to make money anymore,” she said. “What I want more than anything is to reconnect with my daughter. I want to be on a farm again. I want to ride horses and I want to do something more meaningful than design Jennifer Lawrence’s next red-carpet gown.”

  “Like what?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said. “Who knows? I could build a hospital; finance cancer research or build a longer-lasting light bulb… I’m not sure. I think I have time to figure it all out. All I know is, I want to make a huge change. I’m committed.”

  “You’ll be out of the public eye,” he said.

  “That’s the best part,” she conceded.

  “Sounds good to me,” Sam replied. “Congratulations.”

  She paused, making eye contact with Sam.

  “You know, I’m going to have a long and difficult transition with the exit strategy from my business. I’ll need to be in L.A. a great deal during the transition. I’m going to need someone I can trust to watch over things for me at the ranch, while the house is designed and built. I was hoping I could count on you to…”

  “Vandy, you don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

  “I know you now a little better than you think,” she replied. “As I was hatching this little gem of an idea, I did a little background checking on you.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded, “Don’t be offended. I trusted you but…”

  “A girl can’t be too careful, right?” he said.

  “Something like that. At any rate, I had a 90-minute conversation with a Captain Doyle, your former company c
ommander. He told me all about you. I’d share what he said about you, but the head injury already caused your brain to swell. I wouldn’t want to see your noggin actually explode.”

  “He’s a good man,” Sam said.

  “He sounds like it,” Vandy replied. “I also talked to Danny Kirwan. I believe he was your EMT trainer and supervisor.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Let’s just say if you start your own fan club, he’d be president.”

  “I see,” Sam replied. “Talk to anyone else?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I did my diligence. I spoke to several people, including a former Ranger under your command, Peter Green. He was one of the soldiers you saved at Haditha Dam that day you were hurt. He was bawling his eyes out describing you.”

  “I’m humbled,” he said. “I know what you’re doing and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Still, what you’re asking of me…”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me or move in, dipshit,” she said. “I’m offering you a job… a trial run… on 333 acres of wide open space in Montana… with a ranch… that has horses and a river, and fish and wildlife. Trust me cowboy, this would not be a free ride. I’m a tough boss.”

  “A ball-buster I hear.”

  “You didn’t hear wrong,” she replied. “You’re gonna have to work for it. You’re gonna have to work… for everything. This is a new chapter and I intend to avoid some of the same mistakes I made earlier in life.”

  “I need to think about this,” he said.

  “You’re unemployed and homeless,” she scoffed. “What is there to think about? The way I look at it, if this doesn’t work out, you can always retreat to your fortress of solitude in the woods.”

  “I’d have to rebuild first,” he said.

  “The reconstruction project on your cabin starts early next month,” she said. “It’s all arranged. In case you turned me down, I thought this was the very least I could do, given all you’ve done for me. I hope you don’t mind. I did a… minor redesign, and I may or may not have made some other improvements.”

  He nodded, “Ahhh, a woman’s touch. Thank you. I trust your judgment.”

  “So, what do you say? Wanna give this a shot? Just take the next step and come out and see the place.”

  “Why would you do this for an old, scarred up, broken down…”

  “You can cut that shit right now, Mister,” she barked. “You’re not old; you’re not broken down and I don’t care about the scars.”

  “Still, Vandy...”

  “You can do this job. I know you can. Everyone I spoke to thinks you can, too.”

  “There’s a lot of guys who could do the job.”

  “But none of the others saved my life and almost got killed in the process, you big dumbass,” she interjected, “And I trust you; and I want to get to know you better and…”

  She paused.

  “And what?” he asked.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it, “Well, when you put it like that...”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  He nodded, “What idiot would say no? Fair warning, though. Once you get to know me there may be things you don’t like about me.”

  “There are things I don’t like about you, now,” she said. “You can’t even put together a coffee maker. You’re all thumbs.”

  “So, you’re gonna throw that in my face,” he jested.

  She chuckled.

  Sam fell silent.

  She leaned forward and kiss him, “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking how life will be much simpler for you…”

  “True, she interjected.”

  “…and more complicated for me.”

  She nodded, “Think you’re up for it?”

  “Only time will tell.”

  Other works by Jesse Jacobson

  Protecting Honor: http://amzn.to/2sHiCrY

  Fighting for Honor: http://amzn.to/2sHtbLK

  Please visit Jesse Jacobson’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/JesseJayJacobson/

  I hope you enjoyed Steele Ranger. The pages below contain a chapter from another Jesse Jacobson novel, Fighting for Honor. I hope you enjoy it, as well.

  Excerpt from “Fighting for Honor” by Jesse Jacobson

  Still in a state of half-sleep, Trevor reached over to touch Honor. He woke completely when he discovered she was not in bed. He glanced at the alarm clock: 8:41 a.m. Her doctor’s appointment was at 8:00 a.m. he remembered. He smiled thinking of her and rolled over trying to fall asleep again, but couldn’t.

  He hopped out of bed, slipping on his boxers. He strolled into the kitchen looking for coffee.

  He found what appeared to be a coffee maker. It was called a Keurig and it made only one cup of coffee at a time. Beside the Keurig he saw little pods of Starbucks coffee. He thumbed through them, scratching his head as he read the choices.

  There was the Breakfast Blend, Café Verona, Pike Place Roast, Veranda Blend, Sumatra, Vanilla, Caramel, Cinnamon Dolce and several others. I just want a cup of plain black coffee, he thought, shaking his head. How the hell is anyone supposed to choose?

  Seattle. What a city.

  He selected Pike Place Roast and after some effort, managed to get the machine going. He remembered that Honor said the Seattle Times newspaper was delivered to her front door every morning. He walked to the door and opened it. The Times was on the floor right by the door, but he also saw a small cardboard box, labeled, “For SEAL Saunders.”

  He instantly sensed horrifying news. He felt the blood rushing from his head, making him a little dizzy. His heart began to race. He picked up the box and rushed back inside.

  He opened the box and pulled out a cellular phone and charger. Also in the box was a single folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it.

  His heart began to race even faster when he read the first line:

  We have your woman, it read.

  Trevor felt bile coming up from his stomach into his mouth. He fought it back. He thought he was going to be sick. He read the rest of the note:

  Do not contact the authorities. This is imperative. We will know if you call the police, the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security or any other law enforcement agency. We have eyes everywhere. You are being monitored. Any attempt to bring in any branch of law enforcement will result in your woman’s instant death. You will bring Chris Carpenter to us at a place and time we will choose. Keep the cell phone charged and on at all times. We will contact you soon with further instructions. Any deviation from our instructions and your woman’s head will be sent to you in a box.

  Trevor dialed Honor’s phone – it rang in the bedroom. She had left her phone at home.

  Trevor then called down to Roger, the doorman, at Honor’s apartment building. She was going to her psychologist’s appointment, Roger said, like she did every Monday. No, Roger added, he had not seen a delivery person this morning coming into the building with a small package. Roger wanted to know if everything was alright. Trevor assured him it was.

  Roger verified that he had called an Uber for Honor earlier. Yes, he recognized the driver. He’d seen him many times. His name was Adam. He had Adam’s number. He gave it to Trevor.

  He then called her doctor’s office. Dr. Haflin, he remembered. No, the receptionist said, Honor had not made it to her appointment. It was most unusual, she told him. Honor never missed a Monday morning session. No, they didn’t have a camera system in their parking lot. They asked, was everything all right? Yes, Trevor said, he was sure it was. He would have her call to reschedule her appointment, he promised.

  He next called Adam, the Uber driver. Yes, Adam had picked Honor up and driven her to the doctor’s office. He’d dropped her off in front of the office building just like usual. No, he hadn’t seen anything unusual. He had not stayed around to see Honor actually enter the building, but then again, he never did.

  Trevor quickl
y formed a theory. Honor had a regular doctor’s appointment she went to every single Monday. Anyone tracking her would know where she would be at that time. Honor was seen getting in an Uber and the driver verified he had dropped her off, so she had to have been taken in the parking lot of the doctor’s office. Her doctor practiced in the suburbs, where few cameras were located. It would be easy for a van to standby, waiting. When Honor exited the Uber, the van would pull up, a couple of bad guys would hop out, slip a bag over her head and off they would go.

  He was now faced with a moment of truth. He could ignore the instructions on the note and call the authorities, or he could try to get help and handle this on his own. He paused, thinking it through. It was Orfali and the Syrian government, he thought. It had to be. There was no other explanation.

  Ahmet Orfali was the head of security for the government funded Syrian Space Agency and the architect of the first kidnapping attempt. He used his half-brother, Adnan Alfassi, to spear-head the operation. It resulted in the deaths of Alfassi and nine other men.

  Orfali was connected to ISIS. We have eyes everywhere, the note read. He had little doubt that was true. He had been part of extensive briefings that the CIA had been experiencing a communication breach. Certain ISIS cells had discovered a way to detect mobilization efforts of the CIA and FBI.

  If Trevor called the authorities, Orfali would know about it and make good on his threat. After all, Trevor and Wolf had killed his half-brother and nine of his men, thwarting his plan and humiliating him in the process. This was more than business. It was personal.

  Instead of making a call, he broke his own phone in two. If the Syrian government was financing this operation, they had the resources to hack and clone his phone. He tossed on jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers and jogged a block away to Denny’s Restaurant. He took the note with him.

  He made up a story about his car breaking down and his cell phone battery being dead. The manager allowed him to use an office phone. He called Wolf, who answered on the second ring.

  “They took her,” Trevor said. “They took Honor.”

  “Okay, bud, slow down,” Wolf replied. “Who took her?”