Читать книгу: «Her Rocky Mountain Defender»

Chapter 1

Boulder, Colorado.

9:45 PM

May 5

“There you go,” Roman DeMarco said. He poured whiskey into a shot glass and slid the drink to a customer. Moving to the next person, he cast his gaze at the room. It was still early in the evening, but more than two dozen patrons filled The Prow.

No, patron wasn’t the right word; it gave the bar an air of respectability it didn’t deserve. This place was the last stop on a person’s long, downhill slide to the gutter. Only a few recessed lights over the bar illuminated the windowless room. The smell of stale beer, body odor and desperation hung in the air. The constant thump, thump, thump of a rock song pounded through the stereo system, the bass so deep that the sticky floor reverberated with the chords. The occasional cackle of drunken laughter cut through the music—the sound more manic than merry.

Singles hunched protectively over their drinks, while couples cast furtive glances at each other and moved toward darkened corners. The words, The Prow—spelled out in neon letters three feet high—were superimposed on the front of an illuminated sailing ship as it cut through a glowing wave. The sign hung on the back wall and cast a bloody light on a motorcycle club shooting a game of pool.

It would have been easy for Roman to feel disdain for these people, the forgotten of the world. But he didn’t, not at all.

He wasn’t your average bartender. No, as an employee of Rocky Mountain Justice, a private security firm, Roman was at The Prow to gather information about the bar’s owner, Oleg Zavalov.

Five months prior, RMJ had gained information about Nikolai Mateev, a Russian drug lord who was wanted all over the world. The recent intel suggested that Zavalov not only laundered money for Mateev, but employed his great-nephew, as well. But what RMJ needed was proof—and that meant putting one of their people on the inside. With dual specialties in electronic surveillance and languages, Roman was the perfect man for the job.

It was hard to break through, though. Zavalov, mistrustful by nature, kept a tightly knit duo of two Russian nationals with him all the time. One of them was indeed Nikolai Mateev’s great-nephew. Beyond that, in five months Roman had gleaned woefully little information about the suspected money laundering. Yet, he hoped that once he planted that ELD in Oleg Zavalov’s office, all of that would change.

Now all he needed was an excuse to get into the locked basement and plant the bug.

A regular, a cop who drank for free, approached and slammed down an empty glass. “Another beer,” he said, running a hand through his thick blond hair. Worse than anyone else was the cop who turned a blind eye to the rampant crime in this place for free beer.

Roman faked a smile.

“Sure,” he said, grabbing the glass. He turned to the tap and pulled down the handle. Foam spit and gurgled from the tap. An empty keg was the perfect reason to get into the basement.

“This one’s spent, Jackson,” he said to the cop. Jackson. Roman could never figure out if it was a first or last name. “Give me a minute. I need to get a new keg from the basement,” Roman said, turning to the manager as Jackson shifted his attention to a group of women nearby.

The manager held out a ring with three keys and Roman took them with a nod. He unlocked the basement door marked as private, and flipped on the light switch. The golden glow of a single bulb illuminated a set of dilapidated wooden stairs, cinder block walls and a patch of gunmetal-gray concrete of the basement floor.

A hallway with four doors was laid out at the bottom of the stairs. The back door, controlled with an electronic lock, led to the alley behind the bar. On the left there was a locked door to the beer cooler and next door, a storage room filled with cheap liquor and stale snacks. The final door, the one that led to Oleg Zavalov’s office, was on the right.

Roman didn’t waste any time. He quickly unlocked Zavalov’s office door and slipped inside. Using the penlight he kept in his back pocket, he withdrew the ELD and powered up the device. A small green screen began to glow. One word appeared: Acquiring.

“Damn.” He moved closer to the door. Still no connection. He glanced at his watch. He’d been gone less than two minutes, but how much longer before his absence was noticed upstairs?

The inset screen still glowed green as one word scrolled across its face.

Acquiring.

Acquiring.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention. He glanced at the screen one last time. Signal Obtained. Roman placed the ELD under the top of Zavalov’s desk, an imperfect place, but the best option he had. The door creaked open, giving Roman a split second to think up an excuse for being in a room that was unquestionably off-limits.

* * *

Madelyn Thompkins wasn’t in the habit of sneaking down rickety staircases in dive bars. But this was the opposite of habit: according to social media, her sister, Ava had been at The Prow less than an hour before.

No one had heard from Ava since she checked out of rehab in their hometown of Cheyenne, Wyoming, four months ago. So to have her turn up in Boulder, where Madelyn was enrolled in med school? It was an opportunity she couldn’t squander.

Despite the crummy neighborhood and the sketchy bar, Madelyn came straightaway. A quick search of both the main bar and the bathroom turned up nothing. It left her with two choices: give up on her first chance in months to find her sister, or explore the entire building—even the parts that were off-limits, like the basement hallway she was standing in. Then again, when she thought of it that way, Madelyn didn’t have a choice at all.

She pushed the slightly ajar door fully open and peered into the room. A figure, shrouded with the dark, moved. She wasn’t alone. Her pulse spiked and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

“Hello,” she called out. The room swallowed her words. “I’m looking for Ava Thompkins. Do you know her?”

“You aren’t supposed to be here. This place is for employees only,” a man said. “The sign on the door says ‘Private.’ Can’t you read?”

She hadn’t come this way for nothing. She fished her phone from her cross-body purse and pulled up her sister’s latest picture and post. Turning the screen to the room, she asked, “Do you recognize this woman?”

Suddenly the man was in front of her. He had short, dark hair, and was clad in a form-fitting black T-shirt and snug jeans. He was big—well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms. The outline of his pecs and abs were unmistakable.

“I’m the bartender, so I see a lot of people,” he said, giving a noncommittal answer. “What’s she to you?”

“My sister.” Holding the phone at arm’s length, Madelyn continued, “She was here less than an hour ago. You must’ve seen her.”

“Why do you care?”

“Besides her being my sister? Isn’t that enough?”

“Not always.”

Madelyn hesitated only a little before sharing Ava’s history. “She checked out of rehab and we haven’t heard from her since.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” the bartender said.

“I doubt she does,” said Madelyn. “But I’m desperate to find her.”

“Like I said, lots of folks come and go.” He gave a useless shrug. “I don’t remember them all.”

“Are you sure?” Even to her own ears, Madelyn’s voice was tight and thin, like a string about to break. She wasn’t going to let Ava slip away again, not when this man might be able to help. “You’ve never seen her before?”

“You seem like a nice lady, so I’m going to be honest with you. This isn’t a nice bar. Just go home. It’s safer for you there.”

“If it’s not safe for me, then it’s not safe for my sister.”

“Go.” The man pointed toward the stairs.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Why are you being so difficult to get rid of?” The man grabbed her elbow. “Let me walk you to your car,” he said. “If your sister stops in, I’ll let her know that you’re looking for her.”

Madelyn’s joy soared, taking her to a dizzying height. While he might not be the key to finding her sister, the bartender was a link in the chain that led to Ava.

“You know her?” Madelyn asked.

“She’s been around.”

Standing on the threshold, it occurred to Madelyn that the man hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in the darkened room behind him. Was he trying to hide something? She eased around him, entering the room. “Where is she?”

The man stepped in Madelyn’s way, blocking her from gaining further access. “I don’t know where your sister is now,” he said. “But I do know that she’s not in this office.”

Madelyn narrowed her eyes.

He held up two fingers and said, “Scout’s honor.”

“You? A Boy Scout? I thought you said that nobody nice came to The Prow.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I made Eagle Scout by the time I turned sixteen years old?”

For an inexplicable reason, Madelyn did. “So, Boy Scout, why won’t you help a hardworking doctor find her ill sister?”

“You’re a doctor?”

She corrected herself, “Well, I’m not a doctor—not yet, anyway. But I am a medical school student at the University of Colorado.” A flush crept from her chest to her cheeks as Madelyn realized she’d rambled.

Maybe it would be for the best if she just went home.

The bartender closed the space between them. His spicy scent surrounded her and she drew in a deep breath.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light and for the first time she looked at his large frame closely. His short hair had lighter streaks throughout and Madelyn wondered if he spent time in the sun. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, and still she could see the cleft in his chin. The collar of his black T-shirt was frayed.

“So, what kind of doctor are you?” he asked.

Madelyn didn’t want the flirtation to continue, yet she found herself saying, “I’m thinking of specializing in psychiatry.”

“Because of your sister?” he asked. “And her addiction.”

“Who sounds like a shrink now?” Madelyn joked.

“Listen.”

Madelyn tried to think of something charming, or at least witty, to retort. But she stopped. The bartender held himself as if he were forged from iron and not flesh and blood. He had not been teasing, he truly wanted her to listen. Then she heard them—male voices speaking, but not English. Ukrainian? Or Russian, maybe?

The man placed his mouth next to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “Those men are going to walk through that door in one minute and neither one of us should be in this office. I want to protect you, but to do that I need to give them a reason why we’re trespassing.”

“Protect me?” His words were more confusing than menacing. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on your side,” he assured her, “but what’s your name?”

“Madelyn,” she said. “My name is Madelyn Thompkins.”

“Madelyn,” the man said, pulling her closer still, “I’m Roman.”

“Why do I need to know who you are?”

“Because as an Eagle Scout, I’m honor bound to introduce myself to any distressed damsels that I kiss.”

* * *

Roman wrapped his arms around Madelyn’s waist and pulled her to him. She gave a little mew of surprise. The kiss was for show and at the same time, blood pounded at the base of Roman’s skull with his desire for more. He didn’t mind all the hours spent alone, but damn—holding Madelyn felt good, like he truly had come home.

Even though it hadn’t been part of his plan, Roman slid his tongue into her mouth. She pushed at him, her hands splayed against his chest. Yet as the kiss deepened and she returned the ardor, the tension in her arms relaxed and her body formed to his.

Overhead, the light blazed to life.

“Roman Black.” The alias always sounded foreign to his ears, yet he recognized the person who spoke as The Prow’s owner, Oleg Zavalov. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Roman broke away from the kiss. He did so reluctantly—as if forced to stop something he enjoyed—and it wasn’t exactly an act.

Oleg Zavalov stood in the doorway. Hair slicked back, he wore a tailored suit, along with a button-down shirt, open at the throat. He was flanked by his two underlings from Russia, Anton and Serge. Both men were tall and broad and stupid, a complete contrast to Oleg. And Roman was certain that one of them was Nikolai’s great-nephew.

“Oleg.” Roman pulled Madelyn into his chest. “Sorry about using your office. We just needed a moment of privacy and the beer cooler didn’t seem like a classy place to take a lady.”

Oleg always had a beautiful woman or two hanging off his arm. So Roman knew that he’d never begrudge anyone a quick hookup.

With a shake of his head, Oleg clapped Roman on the shoulder. “I knew you’d eventually find someone you liked. Next time use the stockroom like everyone else.”

“Sure,” said Roman. His eye went to the place where he’d hastily planted the ELD. He forced himself to look away. Grabbing Madelyn’s hand, he led her to the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, Black,” Oleg called.

He turned. Oleg sat on the edge of his desk. His leg swung lazily back and forth and his rear was settled right above the ELD.

Roman began to sweat. “Yeah?”

“They need a keg upstairs. Get the beer to the bar and then if you want a break, take one.”

Silently, Anton and Serge slipped into the office. Like twin pillars of brute force, they took up positions at opposite sides of the door.

“Sure,” Roman said. “I’ll take care of the beer right away.”

Roman’s hand remained on Madelyn’s back. Her muscles tensed under his touch. He assumed she was sensitive to the implication of what a break entailed and he hated that she might see him as creep.

For the first time in months, Roman wanted to explain himself to someone—to Madelyn, specifically. To hell with his undercover work, he needed her to see him as the good guy and not a part of all this, the criminal underbelly of Boulder.

His hand still on Madelyn’s back, he led her to the stairs. That ELD wasn’t going to stay hidden for long and the best Roman could hope for was another chance to reposition it later in the night.

But first, he needed to get Madelyn out of the bar and make sure she was safe. She ascended the stairs. One. Two. Three. He followed close behind. As her foot landed on the fourth step, a metallic thunk filed from the office and swept into the corridor.

The ELD really hadn’t stayed hidden for long.

“Run,” he whispered into Madelyn’s ear.

She took the remaining steps two at a time, Roman on her heels.

“What the hell?” There was a moment of silence and then Oleg began to curse. “Roman!” he bellowed.

Roman didn’t bother to slow his stride or answer.

“Get back here.”

Roman felt an invisible target between his shoulder blades. He imagined one on Madelyn’s, as well.

“Roman!”

Roman had very few options. Run, and get shot in the back. Or stay, and be murdered in Oleg’s office. Neither appealed, but he refused to be taken down without a fight.

With the door just two steps away, Roman reached around Madelyn to grip the handle. A familiar click resounded through the hallway. Such a small noise, insignificant and yet so momentous that it reverberated in his chest. It was the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being released.

* * *

Madelyn’s thoughts were disjointed and jumbled all at once. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. The men. Their guns. Icy terror clawing at her throat. A strong arm pushing open the door. Rushing into the bar, she stumbled on the last step. The same strong arm lifted her and ushered her forward. She ran, stumbling again as she heard a crack, the whiff of sulfur, followed by buzzing in her ears.

She looked over her shoulder, and the continuum of time began to flow again. The men with the guns were right behind her. One stood, his weapon drawn, a tendril of smoke swirling from the barrel. Roman, the man who’d kissed her—warned her about this bar—turned back. He lifted a bar stool and brought it around. It crashed into the man with a gun. He teetered. The firearm flew from his grasp. The second man lifted his arm, gun in hand. Roman delivered a kick to his knee and the shooter crumpled to the floor. Frightened bar patrons scattered to the corners of the room.

“Roman,” she screamed.

The first man had risen to his knees and was reaching for his gun. Roman planted one foot on the outstretched hand. His other foot connected with the man’s chin. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head snapped back. The second man was unsteady, but up. He leveled his gun with Roman’s chest. Without thought, Madelyn lifted a glass from the bar and threw. It hit the man in the shoulder. There wasn’t adequate force to knock him down, just enough to ruin his aim.

“Get the hell out of here,” Roman said to her.

Madelyn didn’t need to be told twice. Pivoting, she sprinted to the door. She pushed it open and took in one gulping breath of clean, fresh air. But then...

An arm encircled her waist. Her lungs emptied in a gasp and her feet dangled above the floor.

“Hold on there. You aren’t going anywhere.” The stench of beer breath and cologne washed over her. Acidic fear rose in the back of her throat.

Madelyn grabbed the hand that held her, wrenching back the fingers. They didn’t budge. She bucked and kicked, swinging out legs and arms. Sweat trickled down her back. The grip around her middle tightened.

“Let me go,” she said. “You can’t do this. I’ll call the police.”

“Police?” The man who held her snorted. “I am the police.”

The door was still so close. If she reached out, she could graze the handle. But even if she did, it would do her no good. Like a pinprick in a balloon, the fight leaked out of Madelyn.

“Let her go,” said another man. Madelyn recognized Oleg, the guy who found them in the basement.

The arm around her middle released and Madelyn fell to the floor. She looked over her shoulder. Roman, bloodied and bruised, knelt a few feet away. One of the thugs held his shoulder. The other pointed a gun at Roman’s head. The rest of the people in the bar only stared, not bothering to offer aid or even turn their impassive gazes away.

“Just a little misunderstanding,” said Oleg with a wave and smile. “We’re going to go downstairs and clear it all up. Until then, the next round is on the house.”

This pronouncement was greeted with a weak cheer.

The man who had caught her, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the basement door. Madelyn searched every face in the bar for one person who would help—do something, anything. Speak up or call the police. Then she remembered, the person who now held her was a cop. Dear God, this could not be happening. All she wanted to do was find her sister.

Oleg stopped at the door and placed his hand on the middle of the cop’s chest. “Thanks for your help, Jackson,” he said. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Sure,” said Jackson, “no problem. I’m on duty soon, anyway.”

Jackson. Madelyn would never forget his name. She studied his face and memorized every detail—his height, six feet three inches, or maybe six foot four, athletic build, the exact shade of his blond hair. How his right eye was slightly bigger than his left, and one tooth on the bottom leaned a little on its neighbor. The more information she had, the better a description she could give later.

Oleg grabbed her arm, his fingers dug into her flesh. He pulled Madelyn across the threshold and the door closed with a crack. A thought snapped into place and her mouth went dry. None of these men had hidden their appearance. They weren’t worried about what she might say, because as far as they were concerned—she wasn’t leaving The Prow alive.

Madelyn yanked her arm free. Escape. Escape. Escape. Her fingertips brushed the cold, metal handle. Oleg grabbed her arm again, pulling her away. She pitched back. Her skull slammed into the stairs, turning everything dark and then filling her head with light and pain. Her feet flew up, sending her somersaulting downward. Her shoulder hit the concrete floor and her vision flashed with red. Her body ached with each beat of her heart.

“Madelyn.” Roman placed a strong hand under her elbow, helping her to sit up. “Madelyn, are you okay?”

She was as far away from okay as she could get. “What’s happening? Why is this happening?”

Roman lightly rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “She’s got nothing to do with us, Oleg. Let her go.”

“Nothing? She shows up and I find this.” Oleg reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, plastic box. He knelt in front of Madelyn. “Who do you work for? How’d you get him to betray me?”

“I’ve never seen that thing before in my life. I don’t even know what that is. Roman?”

“She’s nobody, just a girl,” said Roman. “It’s me, all along, it’s been me.”

“Search them both.”

One of the thugs pawed through Madelyn’s purse and patted her roughly from shoulders to feet. From Roman, they got a set of keys from his pocket.

Oleg held the keys in his palm. “So, you use my own business to betray me? After I brought you in and gave you a job.” He threw the keys to one of the thugs. “Who turned you, Roman? It’s not the cops. Jackson would’ve told me.”

Roman helped Madelyn to her feet. She felt light-headed and sick to her stomach. She leaned into Roman for support.

“I’m not going to say anything until you let her go,” Roman said.

Oleg snorted. “I’m going to ask you once more—who got you to plant this thing?”

Roman wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s shoulder. “Let her go and I’ll tell you everything. She’s innocent, man. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Wrong place? Wrong time? Isn’t that the truth. She’s not leaving here, but I bet you’ll talk to make her death quick and painless.” Then to the thugs, he muttered, “Bring them into the office.”

“No. No. No. Please, let me go,” she begged. Like a mouthful of spoiled fruit, humiliation for having to plead left a rotten taste in her mouth. Yet what other choice did she have? She knew little of self-defense, and doubted that jabbing one of these men with her keys would do anything to change events. “I swear, I won’t say anything.”

“Go,” said Oleg.

“I’m not going into that office,” said Roman. “Neither is Madelyn.”

His words gave her enough resolve to disregard Oleg’s order.

Oleg hitched his chin to one of the thugs. He withdrew his gun and pressed the barrel into Madelyn’s temple. The metal was cold and hard.

Oleg said, “I’m tired of playing games. If her well-being matters to you, tell me what I want to know and she’ll die quickly. You have my word of honor.”

The thug released the safety of his gun with a click that was deafening.

“No, no, no,” she wept. There were so many things Madelyn had yet to do. She needed to finish med school. She needed to say goodbye to her parents. Her sister. “Please, Roman, help me.”

“Okay.” Roman held up his hands. “We’ll negotiate.”

“Call it what you want. Get into the room.”

The barrel bore a hole into Madelyn’s temple and she was shoved forward by the pressure of the gun.

A metal chair sat in the middle of the room. The thug pressed on her shoulder. “Sit.”

Her knees buckled and she sank to the chair. Fear made her useless, paralyzing her mind, her spirit and her body.