Marine Proector: Brotherhood Protectors World Read online

  Marine Proector

  Brotherhood Protectors World

  Debra Parmley

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Original Brotherhood Protectors Series

  About Elle James

  Copyright © 2018, Debra Parmley

  Cover art by Sheri L. McGathy

  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.

  © 2018 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 Bride (#12)

  Montana Rescue

  Hot SEAL, Salty Dog

  To the men and women of the USMC, who protect and defend our constitution and our country.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Elle James for opening Twisted Pages Press LLC, for your love and support, and for your patience with this book and me. Thank you to Delilah Devlin, my editor, who jumped in at the last minute, making it possible for me to finish this book. Thank you to my cover artist, Sheri L. McGathy, for the beautiful cover.

  To my husband Mike, thank you for handling things so I can write, and for many years of love and support. Thank you to my sister and PA, Kimberly Lear, for love and support, and all the things too numerous to list here.

  Thank you to Francesca Anastasi aka Sabeya, founder of the annual, international event Shimmy Mob. I’m blessed and honored to have been a small part of your fundraising work. Thank you to all who helped with Shimmy Mob Memphis, and who continue to support our local domestic abuse shelters.

  Chapter 1

  I will be free of Z.

  She thought the mantra again. It was what kept her going when things weren’t going. When it seemed like she’d never be free from him.

  * * *

  Red jumped, staring out the window of the bus headed to Eagle Rock, Montana as five Harleys roared by, startling her. She slid down in her seat and leaned her head away from the glass, forgetting about the blonde wig she wore as a disguise.

  “Noisy, ain’t they?” The gray-haired man sitting in the seat next to her asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  He had no idea. Try riding on the back of one while surrounded by others roaring down the highway.

  “Made me jump, too,” The old guy said. “They cain’t hurt you though. You’re safe in here.”

  Great. Now this old guy will remember me as the woman who’s afraid of motorcycles. We aren’t supposed to give anyone anything to remember us by. And he’s wrong about being safe. If Z found me here, he’d drag me out by my hair.

  She sat up and looked out her window again. Montana, with its clear skies and wide-open spaces, was a perfect place to ride, especially on a sunny day like today. But the motorcycles, though hot and sexy as Harleys always are, no longer held appeal for her. She’d vowed, from now on, to stay away from Harleys and the men who rode them.

  She wasn’t a big joiner, not any more. Joining things was dangerous. Any group you joined had people who expected something from you. But the Triple C Ranch in Eagle Rock, Montana, was the place for her new start, and while there, she’d have to join in and be part of the group. That was part of the deal she’d made with the counselor.

  She’d do the group stuff she had to do but otherwise wanted to be left alone.

  The Triple C, short for Courage and Confidence Center, was the newest retreat center for women who’ve escaped domestic abuse situations or other attacks. The plan was the women would come to the ranch and gain new self-confidence, along with skills to help them in their new lives when they relocated.

  A limo would pick up Red at her final bus station and take her to the ranch. The limo service donated rides for all who went to the center, forming another layer of protection. If followed, the limo would go in another direction, not the ranch.

  The head of the shelter in Chicago had suggested the center to her, and she was lucky to be going. Not every woman got in. There was a waiting list and a bunch of hoops to jump through to even be put on that list.

  First, she’d had to meet each goal. A doctor had to certify she was drug and alcohol free, as well as fit to travel, swim, ride horses, and take a self-defense class. There could be no upcoming court appearances, and her finances had to be in order. Once at the center, she had to stay until she finished the program. If she had to leave for any reason, she couldn’t go back. There was a sliding-fee scale based on income, and women were expected to contribute. Breaking a dependent cycle was part of the center's work with women who’d been attacked or abused—the goal, an independent, self-sufficient woman graduated and walked out that door.

  Red made enough money to get in and to pay for her planned metamorphosis. She could always pick up another bartending or waitressing job, making it easier to move anywhere. She wasn’t worried about that.

  What she was worried about was someone on a motorcycle, like the Harleys that had roared past, recognizing her. Today, she wore a long-sleeved white blouse and ankle-length white skirt. The last thing she’d have worn anywhere, so it was the best way for her to hide. She was well hidden now, but she couldn’t help her reaction to the bikes.

  One of her three tattoos got under her skin in bad ways. She’d developed a habit of scratching at it, as if she could tear if off with her nails. The skin was nearly always red because she couldn’t leave it alone. Now, it itched beneath her clothing, and she regretted pacing and digging at it the night before she’d left.

  Nerves always made her need to move; she couldn’t sit still when she was nervous.

  She’d be changing clothes before getting into the limo that was scheduled to pick her up at her last bus stop. Maybe if she put lotion on the scratches then, it would ease the itching. Then she’d waltz into that limo just like one of those celebrities who visited Montana.

  Damn, skippy, I’m gonna enjoy that. Might as well make the most of it. Of everything. Life was too damn short not to live.

  Out on the ranch, she was going to live free again. No more staying inside, behind high walls and closed curtains, hoping Z didn’t find her.

  Z-bear would kill her if he found her. He might drag her back into t
he gang first, but eventually he’d kill her. She wouldn’t be the first person he’d killed. Z didn’t like losing, and he’d lost respect in the gang by not keeping control of his woman.

  Despite the tattoo on her skin that said “Property of Z”, she belonged to no one but herself. He’d left his mark in visible and invisible places, but she was determined to erase every mark he’d made outside of her, inside of her, and anywhere else.

  I will be free of Z.

  She thought the mantra again. It was what kept her going when things weren’t going.

  She’d been eight months preparing and saving so she could rise again, like a phoenix, after she left the ranch.

  * * *

  Sergeant Timothy, Tim ”Timbers” Watson, formerly of the USMC, stood in the office of the Brotherhood Protectors meeting Hank Patterson in person. This was his first day on the job. He’d been restless after leaving the Marines and second-guessing his decision before the job offer to work for Hank came.

  Even though he’d needed to be home for his dad, who’d been in the last stages of cancer, he’d been torn about leaving the corps and had longings to go back. After months back home, getting used to everyone calling him “Tim” again, he thought he’d adjusted to civilian life as well as he ever would. Still, something was missing.

  Right after his dad passed, an invitation from the Brotherhood Protectors came in. Gunnery Sergeant Jack “Gunny” Barr, with whom he’d gone through basic training, had told Hank Patterson, the founder and owner, that Tim would be a good fit. Though not a Recon Marine like Gunny, Tim, as an infantry squad leader, had quickly made staff sergeant and was known to be an expert marksman.

  When the call had come, he’d jumped at the offer. Now, he stood in Montana starting the first page in a new chapter in his life. He was ready for the adventure.

  “Gunny speaks highly of you. Welcome to the Brotherhood Protectors,” Hank said, shaking his hand.

  “Thanks for allowing me to join you,” Tim said.

  “I’ve got an assignment for you, starting tomorrow. That gives you one day to settle in and to buy what you need. Pick out seven shirts from that closet,” he said, pointing. “We’ll have an I.D. ready for you today. The job is in L.A. You’ll fly out tomorrow. Private plane. You’ll be one in a four-man team. You already know Gunny, and you’ll meet the others tomorrow.”

  Tim nodded. It would be good seeing Gunny again and working with him. Security for some rich celebrity would be a breeze compared to the desert of Iraq. Compared to caring for his dad those last weeks. A break from death was what he needed. Hank would keep him moving. He had no ties anywhere and told his new boss he’d go anywhere, any time he needed him.

  Timbers became part of Hank’s “away team”, although he was based in Eagle Rock, with the others.

  * * *

  Red waited for her turn to get off the bus, deciding to get off last so as to be behind everyone. She preferred that to having people she didn’t know behind her.

  Trusting no one was the way to stay alive on this trip.

  She’d managed to avoid saying more than a few words to anyone, by scowling at everyone. Blonde wig and white outfit aside, she wasn’t going to let the wolves out there think she was a sweet naïve sheep, a tasty treat for some bad wolf. Like her favorite fairytale when she was a kid, she was aware there were big bad wolves in the world. She’d been in the hands of a very bad wolf. The problem was, she used to be attracted to him. And that had landed her where she was today. Now, she didn’t want to be attracted to anybody.

  She got off the bus and moved through the Montana heat rising up in the air, while staying aware of everyone around her as she made her way into the station and then the ladies’ room.

  She needed to be invisible. Just another woman passing through and forgotten.

  Inside the stall, she peeled off the wig, the white blouse, and skirt. Wadding them up in a ball, she removed a black trash bag from her suitcase, and then stuffed everything into it. The white cotton outfit had at least been cool.

  Montana in August is hot as hell. Hotter than anywhere I’ve ever been.

  She fluffed out her short red hair and enjoyed the feel of air against her scalp. Her haircut was new. She’d had hair down her back when she was in the motorcycle club. This new short cut was supposed to be spikey on top but sweat from the wig had matted it to her head. She fluffed it again.

  Taking a pair of jeans and a blue Mickey Mouse T-shirt from her suitcase, she changed, and then added socks and sneakers. Next, came the hat. A light grey ball cap with an embroidered horse on it, so the limo driver could identify her.

  Putting her sunglasses on, she retrieved her suitcase and the trash bag, came out of the stall, and dropped the plastic bag into the trashcan.

  Red moved toward the front door and the limo that was waiting at the curb.

  That has to be the limo. The driver held a sign with the horse emblem.

  She walked toward the limo in a normal gait, without her usual sass. Because that could give her away.

  The driver opened the door for her, seeing her wearing the cap.

  As she approached, he said, “Welcome to Montana. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay and remember to wear sunscreen.”

  Sunscreen. The code word. Good. I’m safe.

  “Thank you. Yes, I packed sunscreen, and I’m ready for sun.” She answered in code, telling him she hadn’t been followed.

  As he held the door, she climbed in. He closed her door and put her suitcase in the trunk, and then went around to the driver’s side to get in.

  The limo driver looked into the mirror, and they made eye contact. “Phoebe Adams, nice to meet you. I’m Sam. Buckle up now and settle in.”

  “Call me Red.” She hated the name Phoebe. Mostly because Z had called her Phoebes. Anything to put her down, once he thought she was completely his and the charming façade he’d worn at first had dropped. She’d be happy if she never heard that name again. Unfortunately, it was her given name. She’d have to keep telling people to call her Red. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You’ll want to know no one has followed you. I circled before I picked you up,” Sam said. “That’s the protocol. I check the perimeter of the bus station, see who might be watching, and check if anyone is following.” He watched his mirrors for a tail as he talked and drove. “There’s cold water and other beverages and cheese and crackers. Make yourself comfortable and try to relax.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What kind of music do you like?”

  “Rock.”

  He turned on a rock station, and she chose a bottle of chilled pineapple juice, which sounded refreshing after the heat. When was the last time she’d had pineapple juice?

  “Out here, in our heat, you’ll need to drink extra water. More than you think you need. Feel free to have as much as you want.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The cool leather seats in the air-conditioned limo felt grand. Red leaned back, listening to the rock station, and enjoyed the taste of luxury she was getting.

  Out the window, Red saw sprawling ranches and long expanses of land with mountains off in the distance.

  “You can nap if you want,” Sam said. “It’s not a quick drive to the ranch.”

  “Thanks.” She said the word but wasn’t about to nap.

  Going to sleep in a car in the middle of nowhere headed to a place I’ve never been, with a man I really don’t know—yeah, that isn’t happening. Not in this lifetime.

  Instead, she watched out the window, thinking of how she’d once wanted to go out west on the back of a Harley behind her handsome new boyfriend.

  She’d been a fool. Handsome as Z had been, and charming, she hadn’t seen through him. Z could sell snake oil to a snake oil salesman. But beneath all that, he was as low as a snake himself. He’d slowly pulled her into his lifestyle until she’d barely recognized herself, becoming what he’d led her to believe she was. She hadn’t understood the patte
rns she was being pulled into until it’d nearly been too late.

  Out the window, she saw only road and large expanses of land on each side with clusters of tall trees here and there, beneath a blue sky. Once in a while, a ranch off in the distance.

  This is wide-open country. That’s good. The better to see him coming.

  She’d hear his bike if he came her way, looking for her. But first, he’d have to know what direction to look. She hoped she’d done a good enough job of disappearing.

  She didn’t need conversation and preferred to keep to herself, so she didn’t talk to Sam, just listened to the radio and watched out the windows. She’d yet to see the ranch.

  Sam pulled off the road and drove the limo up beside a log guard shack with a paneled box on the outside, and then stopped. Rolling down his window, he leaned out, opened the panel door, and then took the phone receiver for a landline off the hook and dialed. “Sam, here. Am I driving all the way in?” He listened for a moment. “Okay. Will do.”

  She wondered who he’d been talking to, but she wasn’t going to ask.

  He rolled his window back up, shutting out the heat again, and then glanced over his shoulder. “Takes about fifteen to twenty minutes for Buck to get here. Buck is the ranch foreman. He’s on his way. I can’t take the limo all the way back there. You can get out and stretch or stay in the air conditioning—or even take a nap. I could turn the radio down. It’ll be quiet ’til he gets here.”

  “Don’t need a nap.” What the hell is it with this nap bullshit? Does this guy really think a woman can nap out here with a stranger nearby? He’s nuts.