Colorado Wild - Colorado Heart 1 (3 page)

"
Are you okay, Billy?" Grant asked.

He stared at Grant for two beats before nodding and moving to the door. The reaction wasn't normal for a trained solider. Billy shouldn't be flustered, unless there
was something more going on.

Duff came out
of the room, his face red and his lips pressed together. "They lost Tucker."

"What happened?" Grant asked.

"He set up across the street. They were all in place—Marshal and Zander on top of the building. Then hell broke loose. Another group was after our target. They attacked, set off a bomb in the hotel. Zander and Marshal hightailed it out of there. They were supposed to rendezvous with Tucker two miles away. He didn't show. They backtracked his route and found his clothes scattered through the park. There was blood, a significant amount from what they said."

Grant drew in a slow breath. "Did they find his body?"

Duff shook his head. "No, no body, they did retrieve the clothes though."

"He's out there."
Grant grimaced, his gaze settling on Billy.

"Maybe, maybe not." Duff turned to Roger who'd been taking it all in but saying nothing. "Sorry, we're going to have to cut our dis
cussion short. We'll talk tomorrow. We'll get your decision in the morning."

"Wait, is there anything I can do to help? I can't
just sit around here while you're searching for your team member—my team member."

"It's going to be an intense couple of hours. We need to get our guys out of the country safely."

Roger placed his hand on Duff's arm and glanced a Billy. "Please. I'll do anything."

Duff shook his head. "I don't see how—"

"I'm good with computers," Roger offered.

"
He's already decided he's going to stay, Duff. We could use someone combing through the city's cameras, searching for any sign of Tucker."

"Fine, but first." Duff turned to the folder he'
d given Roger earlier and pulled out a piece of paper, the contract, which spelled out the dangers and the restrictions Roger would have to live with for the rest of his life. They were a team and that meant complete loyalty. Even though they didn't know each other, they had to have trust. "Sign the contract. Then you're in."

Roger too
k the sheet of paper, his eyes roving from left to right, taking in the stipulations. Grant had read the sheet of paper twice before signing. Some guys spent minutes staring at the contract, others just seconds.

"Grant, bring him to the command center once he's signed."

"Yes, sir."

Grant spun around, finding the signed piece of paper
in his face. "Let's get to work." Roger strode to the door, waiting for Grant to follow. Grant gathered the sheets of paper, sticking them back in the file. He glanced around the room, wondering if Tucker would ever see this place again.

"I'll make the introductions quick. You've already met Billy. Mike and James are here too. All three guys are some of the best men I've ever served with.
Tucker is an amazing man. I sure as fuck pray he turns up alive. Then there's Marshal and Zander. Every man at Wild Bluff is top quality—the best. You're lucky to have been asked to join us."

"Thank you. I'm honored."

Sincerity shone in Roger's eyes and Grant believed that the man meant it. The honor of belonging to this group hit Grant again as he led Roger to the command center. When he opened the door, activity buzzed around them. Each man was at a computer, their fingers flying across the keys. Grant led Roger to a monitor in the corner. "Everyone, this is Roger. Not much of an intro, but we'll talk after we find Tucker."

"I'm Mike," a tall guy with dark hair waved. Roger nodded to him, then turned his attention to the guy next to him.

"I'm James. We'll have a drink around the fire later."

Roger liked this crew. Though he hadn't been around them long enough to make a judgment, he
appreciated what he saw. Each man was intent on the computer in front of him, competence seemed second nature in this crisis. Grant handed him a photo. The man stood over six feet tall, had reddish-blond hair and blue eyes. His skin was pale and freckles dotted his cheeks.

"This is
Tucker. Search through the images from the cameras around their target."

"What city?"

"Moscow. We don't have authorization to use their traffic cameras. That's not going to bug you, is it?"

"I'm fine with it. I'll start digging and see what I can find."

"Mike, give him the access codes." Grant took off across the room, stopping to talk to each man before taking a seat next to Duff. After entering the access information, Roger scrolled thorough the list of cameras available to him, picking a few that were close to the intersection where the operation was supposed to happen. He looked for about five minutes without success when he shook his head and turned to stare at Grant.

"Do you need something?" Grant asked.

"The VK. You know, Europe's answer to Facebook, do I have access to an account?"

Grant jumped up, shaking his head as he grabbed an
iPad, scrolling through screens. "Do you read Russian?"

"Yes. I'll see if there are any images uploaded. We might stand a better chance finding him there.
" Roger looked over Grant's shoulder, glad to see that they had a profile already established on VK. Grant handed him the device and he took it, scrolling through the feed, finding what he wanted. Two pictures had been snapped in the last thirty minutes that led him to other people who'd snapped photos. Twenty-five photos later he thought he spied Tucker. He uploaded the photo to the computer sitting in front of him, displaying the image on the large monitor. Tucker was dressed like all the other protesters, white T-shirt underneath a dark sweater and a knit cap covering his head.

Roger stared at the guy's jaw line then flipped to another photo on the
iPad, uploading this photo to the computer too. With the larger image he could see more details. The man looked like Tucker, but he was very pale and his eyes drooped.

"Hey, I think I have him,
" Roger called out.

Billy was first behind him, his sigh full of emotion. James and Mike reached him when Grant did. Duff was last. It took three seconds for Duff to pull out h
is phone. Roger looked around at their faces, wondering if he'd really identified Tucker.

Grant's gaze locked with his and he nodded. "It's him. It's
Tucker."

Everyone
was silent as they listened to Duff. "We've found him." Silence hung in the air. "Let me see what we can figure out."

Duff turned toward him. "I need a location."

"It's near the Kremlin in Red Square. There's a small glimpse of the surrounding buildings. It makes sense. The hotel was near. This protest could have sprung up because of the bomb," Grant said.

"I'll send Marshal and Zander into the mix. Hopefully they'll find him.
"

The wait was excruciating. Billy stared at the computer, his fingers laced in his lap so tight Roger wondered if he'd be able to unclasp them. James and Mike sat off to the side, neither one speaking. Duff paced and Grant sat with his head in his hands. Roger wished he
were out in the field. Sitting here in this ranch house felt like he was doing nothing. From the news feed running in the background, he figured out he was still in the United Sates. He let his gaze roam over the room, taking in little hints as he tried to decipher where they were.

James caught him staring at a map and came over. "We're in Colorado."

"What?" Roger glanced at the other men, relieved that none of them were upset.

"South of Colorado Springs. We'll go over more details in the morning. Thanks for your help. Hopefully they can get
Tucker out."

"Sure." Roger relaxed for the first time since he arrived. Colorado wasn't bad.
It could be worse, and now he knew a little bit more about the men and the place, which seemed to be his new home. Now, if he could figure out Grant, he'd be happy.

Chapter Three

Zander wove through the crowd. It was barely eight and already hundreds of people were gathered, protesting the bombings, the weather, Russia, and homosexuals. He cringed, hating that he could never travel to Russia and be open about who he was. They hated the homosexuals but the straight men were pigs, using women like doormats then throwing them out when they were done. It disgusted him that they could be so stupid about their morals and yet when you looked deeply, they had none.

He pushed away his hatred for Russia and focused on finding
Tucker. Duff had sent them a photo of Tucker in his new clothes. Zander moved around the crowd, searching for the angle of the building from the photo. After ten minutes he was about to give up when he saw a man he recognized.

Zander called Marshal. "I've got him."

"Good. Meet me on the southwest corner."

The line disconnected and Zander swooped in, chanting in Russian so he didn't attract attention.
Tucker didn't look good, his cheeks had no color and he seemed out of it, mumbling in English instead of Russian. "Shit."

Zander looped his arm around
Tucker, noticing the dark stain on his sweater. Hopefully no police would notice. If he found a coat lying around, he'd take it. Tucker allowed him to lead him across the plaza to the south. He spied Marshal but didn't go directly to him since the cops were swarming in that area. They walked two blocks and the traffic cleared enough for them to catch a cab. Marshal had caught up to them by that time and they all three piled into the back of the taxi, Marshal handing Tucker a coat that he used to cover his arm.

The hotel
where they were currently staying could have been compromised so Zander rattled off the address for another hotel, their backup, and the driver zoomed off, driving like most crazy Russian cabbies.

When they arrived at the new hotel, Zander helped
Tucker out of the car while Marshal checked in, using fake IDs he had concealed in the bottom of his bag. They immediately headed upstairs. Once in the room, Zander closed the door and helped Tucker to the bathroom.

"Fuck,
Tucker, what the hell happened?"

"Shot, it fucking hurts. I thought they followed me but I got lost in the crowd after I
stripped and put on new clothes."

"Hell, let's get you out of
them. Marshal, do you have the kit?"

"Of course." Marshal unzipped the b
ottom of his bag, pulling out the medical kit they always traveled with.

"Okay, off with that shirt."

Zander pulled off his shirt, wincing as Tucker cried out. Zander readied a syringe with fentanyl citrate, shoving the needle in Tucker's arm before he could raise any objections.

"Ouch."
Tucker tried to rub his arm but he stopped when he saw the blood.

"Sorry." Marshal shook his head. "Not really. You went off and got shot, you're lucky you lived."

"Did he die?" Tucker asked.

"No clue, we've been
too worried about you to check." Zander scrubbed his hands, hating that he was going to have to operate on his friend in this dingy little motel room.

"This is going to hurt, don't curse in English. I don't want the neighbors to get
any ideas that you're American."

Tucker dipped his chin, his eyes looked feverish
and his cheeks hollow. They needed to transfuse some blood and he knew from experience that he wouldn't be a match. It would have to come from Marshal. "Okay, I'll try to remember," Tucker whispered.

"Marshal, come hold him down."

Zander stared at the wound, shaking his head. There was an exit wound, but it was acting as if foreign debris were lodged in the hole. He pulled on gloves and looked at the instruments. Operating wasn't something he enjoyed. Never having gone to medical school left him feeling inadequate. Of course, Tucker would die if he didn't do something and going to a hospital was out of the question. They could go to the embassy, but they'd never be allowed back into Russia. They were more than just undercover, they were ghosts and the US government didn't claim them and wouldn't.

With as much care as he could muster, Zander probed the hole. Nothing hard drew his attention. "I need this washed. Marshal, pour
some vodka over the wound."

Tucker
cringed as the wound was flushed with alcohol, sweat popped out on his face. With the blood gone, Zander could see into the hole. He poked around, spying a piece of something. After grabbing a long instrument that looked like scissors but was really tiny pinchers, he reached in carefully, grasping onto the foreign object. It came easily but more blood flowed.

"Looks like part of the tree blew into you when you were hit. More alcohol, Marshal." After cleaning the wound a second time, Zander declared it good enough. He stitched the vein that had been nicked, stopping most of the bleeding.
Tucker's breathing was shallow and Zander didn't like what he saw, but there wasn't much he could do other than transfuse which added a whole new level of difficulty.