Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Read online

  Reviews for the series In the Company of Snipers

  ALEX, Book 1

  “If you are looking for a sweet and sappy romance, this is not it. This book is very real, very emotional, and very raw. These characters were so well written at times I felt like I was feeling the love, the loss, and the triumph right along with them.” --Tabitha, (Amazeballs Book Addicts)

  “The story line was heart wrenching. So much tragedy! Emotional scenes with profound dialogues were inserted, life wisdom shared. Excellent! What a wonderful love story!” --Book lover, (Athens, Greece)

  “Alex, by Irish Winters, is one of those books that rips your heart out, breaks it into pieces, duct tapes and super glues it back together, and then somehow puts it back looking better than it did to start with!” --My Secret Book Spot

  MARK, Book 2

  “Irish Winters does it again with this one. Mark and Libby are made for each other, but the trials and tragedy is so heartbreaking. This story will grip you from page 1 and then make you cry when it’s over.” --Tabitha, (Amazeballs Book Addicts)

  “I loved Mark and how devoted he was to Libby even when she was engaged to his best friend. ***spoiler alert*** I especially loved how they both saved themselves for the one. I found it endearing and I was cheering for their relationship from the beginning. ***end spoiler alert***” --T. Graczykowski, TnT Reviews (Wisconsin)

  “Irish Winters has outdone her first book, Alex! I don’t know how she makes you care so much for her characters, but she simply pulls every emotion from you and has you needing to finish the book because you can’t leave the characters stuck in limbo. It’s THAT kind of book!” --My Secret Book Spot

  ZACK, Book 3

  “This is my first book by Irish Winters and I have to say I’m sold! I was teary eyed and horrified within the first couple of pages. I love the characters, I think the author did a great job developing them and I loved the brotherhood between the members of the team. I can not wait to read the first two books and learn more about Alex and Mark.” --Janett Gomez

  “Fantastic. Around every corner it just keeps getting more intense. You can’t put it down. I couldn’t read fast enough yet I didn’t want it to end cause the wait for the next book is too long. I wasn’t sure she could top her first books and yet Ms. Winters has done it. I’m reading it again and I love it even more.” --Susan Sims

  “OMG OMG OMG OMG!!! I am speechless! Amazing book, amazing story, amazing characters, secondary characters. You want an emotional, raw, action packed read? Then Zack is for you!” --Confessions of a Booklovinjunkie, Lexington, NC

  “There is just something about Ms. Winters’ heroes that sucks you in and makes you want to love them as much, if not more, than the heroines. Zack does not disappoint. Women want him, he loves his job, and he drives a drool-worthy car. Then he runs into the epitome of a mama bear on the hunt. Mei is living every mother’s worst nightmare. Winters walks the fine line of a strong woman doing everything she can and one who feels overwhelmed and beaten down by her obstacles with finesse, leaving you empathizing with the heroine in a visceral way.” --Abracken, Salt Lake City, Ut.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated

  To the men and woman who have served our country

  And come home to live with

  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

  Every. Single. Day.

  I’ve written a fictional romance where my hero suffers from PTSD.

  It was easy to make his story end the way I wanted it to,

  But it pales in comparison to those living the real nightmare.

  For more information: go to the National Center for PTSD at www.ptsd.va.gov

  Thank a veteran.

  Be a friend.

  Most of all – NEVER forget.

  They can’t.

  Table of Contents

  Blurbs

  Dedication

  About the Series

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Connor; In the Company of Snipers, Book 5

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Other Books by Irish Winters

  IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS

  This multi-book series revolves around the efforts of one exceptional man, ex-Marine scout sniper, Alex Stewart, and his covert surveillance company, The TEAM, home-based out of Alexandria, Virginia. An obsessive patriot and workaholic, he draws his strength from his wife. Book 1, ALEX, is the story of how Alex and Kelsey met, fell in love, and fought all odds to stay together.

  His company is not just another security company of mercenaries and hired guns. The TEAM reflects his belief that the world is comprised of three types of people—sheep, wolves, and shepherds. The men and women of The TEAM are all ex-military snipers, those rare individuals he sees as the shepherds, willing to stand between the predators of the world and the innocent and weak.

  In the Company of Snipers is a collection of love stories. Each book is a complete tale in itself. By the end of the telling, all warriors begin to realize...

  Love changes everything.

  Prologue

  “Remember, the idea is to grab her. Don’t punch her. Don’t hurt her, and for the love of Mike, don’t let her scream. You gotta clamp her mouth shut or you’re gonna get caught. Got it?”

  Raymond nodded at the old woman, his gaze fixed on the hamburger in her grimy hands. No pickles, ketchup, or mustard. Just the way he liked ’em. He felt like a big, old lap dog, drooling and panting with the fast food so close to his nose like it was.

  “And then what? What’s next? Tell me. Oh, hell, never mind. You’re dumber than dirt. You can’t do it.”

  “I kin do it,” he muttered, rubbing his extra large tennis shoes together beneath the extra small table.

  Her reflection glared back at him in the window. “Then do it. Tell me the plan. All of it.”

  His nostrils flared. This particular no-kidding hamburger was a rarity and had been made just for him. Its aroma teased his taste buds with promised deliciousness. He’d do anything to get it into his mouth—if he could only remember.

  “Hey. Dummy.” She snapped the back of her grimy index finger right between his eyes, jolting him out of his daydream. “What’s the plan?”

  Raymond gulped, determined to get it right and the hamburger inside his mouth. “Ah, the first thing is, ah, I gotta be real quiet so’s I don’t disturb nobody. And then, and then, I gots to be real quiet when I grabs her, so’s I don’t hurt her cuz you don’t want me to squish her. That’s real important cuz you said so. And then I gots to run faster than fast, so’s I don’t get us all caught. And then... And then...” He scratched the top of his head, scraping together enough courage to look her in the eye. “I dunno. I forgot.”

  “You forgot? All you gotta do after that is throw her bony ass in the truck!” She smacked the side of his head, but it didn�
��t hurt much. “You don’t get nothing ’til you remember the whole thing, or it ain’t gonna work. None of it.”

  “But I almost got it, huh?” He shuffled his feet again. Them kids in the next booth were staring, so Raymond ducked his head into his shoulders and tried real hard not to make a peep. Big guys got laughed at when they cried.

  “Stop kicking!” The toe of her boot made hard contact with his shin. “For the love of Mike, keep your big feet off me.”

  “Sorry.” His lower lip stuck out as his eyes dropped. Raymond wanted to please his new friend, but she was always angry. The bag of greasy food was off the table and he couldn’t see the hamburger either.

  “Get it right, or I’m gonna find someone smarter, and you won’t get nuthin’.”

  Embarrassment crept up his neck. His feet itched to move, but Raymond concentrated on making them hold still like that one time when he was little. The neighborhood kids called it freeze-tag. He held perfectly still like a statue. They said they’d come back and play with him if he didn’t move a muscle, so Raymond made his whole body freeze, and he almost didn’t even breathe either. He was good at that game, but they didn’t come back. Some bigger, meaner kids came instead. They laughed and punched him and said he was a big, stupid dummy. And he cried. Those big kids were kinda right. He wasn’t very smart in his head.

  “Stop staring like you got someplace to be.” His mean friend smacked his head again. “Pay attention. Do what you’re told.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and tried one more time, watching her mean eyes so he could tell if he was on the right track. His brain hurt he was trying so hard. “Okay, so’s I be real quiet, and then I grabs her. And then I be real careful, so’s she don’t scream or nothing, and then... and then...”

  The old woman cocked her head as if she were going to get mad again. Then it came to him the way one of those light bulbs flashed over Bugs Bunny’s head. Or wait. Maybe it was Mickey Mouse’s head. Or wait....

  “Ray-y-y-mond.”

  “Oh yeah! I runs for the truck and then I gets another hamburger.”

  “Finally.” His new best friend blew out a nasty breath, rolled her mean eyes, and tossed the hamburger across the table at him.

  The second that greasy grilled pattie touched his tongue, mouth-watering rapture rippled all the way to his toes. He closed his eyes and chewed and chewed, afraid to swallow. A fresh hamburger was a mighty rare thing for a kid on the streets, especially a big kid like him. He wanted it to last forever, but eventually, he had to swallow. Bit by salivating bit slid over his tongue and down into his cavernous stomach.

  The old woman stared at him with those mean, black eyes. He almost remembered why she scared him, but no. Not going to happen. ’Sides, she had fries in that bag. He could smell ’em.

  “Now listen.” Her voice turned kinda sweet but kinda conniving too. “You get the fries when you can tell me the whole plan without stopping one single time.”

  His eyes glazed over at the expectation of his very own bag of greasy potatoes. It was super-large. His bestest dream come true—ever. “Mmm-mmm.”

  She hit him again.

  One

  Ambushed!

  “Rick! Can you hear me?” US Army Corporal Harley Mortimer bellowed, his voice lost in the grinding noise of battle. “Kent? Snakes? Anyone?”

  Rick didn’t answer. No one did. Only the roar of the fire came back to him. Acrid fumes poured off his overturned and now obliterated Humvee. Smelled like the whole damned Iraqi oilfield was burning again. He rolled for cover.

  The chopper overhead sounded odd for a Blackhawk. Maybe a Cobra? Combat Rescue? Already? No way. He knew better. They’d be here eventually, but not this soon. Had to be one of Saddam’s. Even that conclusion felt hollow. USAF owned the sky. Every one in the world knew that. Saddam’s Air Force was rubble.

  Enemy bullets zinged too close, kicking up plugs of dirt and razor sharp bits of stone that perforated his face and arms. Blood filled his ear where his earpiece should have been. The link with his men must have blown clear when the Humvee exploded. Panic climbed up his throat. Blood gushed down the back of his neck. Damn, I’m cut off and injured too.

  Could things get any worse? He slapped his palms to his chest pockets and thighs. Sure enough, they could. He didn’t even have an empty holster where a pistol might have been. No tactical vest, no headgear. No knife. Nothing. I’m screwed.

  Time to leave. American soldiers alone had better keep moving or face certain capture. Not going to happen. Pumped full of fight or flight, he crept around the front of the MRAP, the Mine Resistant Armored Personnel Vehicle that accompanied his Humvee on this foray into hell. Yeah, right. It didn’t look very mine resistant now, not spewing its guts the way it was. Looked worse than his ride, both piles of steaming crap.

  Fumes and smoke seared his eyeballs, making it impossible to see. What kind of an IED could have caused this much damage? Scrubbing both hands over his face, he muttered a quick Hail Mary. And then he saw them. All six of them. His men. His friends. Kent. Snakes. Carlton. Robbie. Rick. Garth. Their bodies in pieces and bleeding chunks. He faltered. Who to run to first? Should I run at all?

  One second he was debating how to rescue body parts; the next he was kneeling at Corporal Rick Cross’s side, his body stabbed through with a huge shard of metal. So much blood. Harley ripped the dead man’s belt off. Every soldier knows how to wrap a tourniquet. Adrenaline pushed his shaking hands.

  “I got you, man. You’re gonna be fine. Promise.” His mouth would not shut up until his ruthless brain engaged and squashed the hope rolling off his tongue.

  There’s nothing to tie off.

  He backed away, choking at the eerie sensation of déjà vue creeping up the back of his throat. This was not happening. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Rick wasn’t dead—again. Was he? A long lost memory invaded what sure felt like reality.

  I am here, aren’t I? Sure smells like Iraq. Sounds like Iraq. But didn’t I already—leave?

  Panic sucked the air from his lungs. Like a stupid frog on a hot plate, he jumped to Specialist Robbie Smith next. Blood gurgled from the fist-sized wound in his friend’s neck. Suddenly, Harley was with Corporal Carlton Jenner, still and lifeless on the ground, his body twisted in an impossible-to-live-through position. Without walking or running to get there, Harley crouched over Sergeant Kent Roosevelt, and then Kent’s arm, which until then had been in a black-red pool of coagulated blood a yard away.

  He didn’t remember taking a step. Logic failed when he needed it most. He scrubbed the smoke and dust out of his stinging eyes. Dazed. Afraid. Scared he’d lost his ever-loving mind.

  Abruptly, Kent’s unattached hand jumped from the oil-covered ground and clutched Harley’s sleeve, tugging him back to his men. “Save us,” Kent snarled with the grotesque lip twitching of the dead.

  “What the hell?” Harley crab-scrambled backward, inhaling disbelief instead of air. The dismembered limb fell, four fingers tapping the dusty ground as if waiting for an answer. He shook his head to clear his vision. No way! I’m seeing things for sure.

  “You gotta do something.” Bloody words gurgled from the dead man’s mouth. Harley lunged back, but Kent persisted with mercurial eyeballs instead of the once deep brown. His stare brimmed with unsaid accusation. You lived, you bastard. I died, but you got to live.

  Just as quickly, Carlton sprang to a ninety-degree angle, his hips twisted in the opposite direction to his shoulders. He cocked his head sideways and taunted. “You gotta save us, man. You got to.”

  Harley groaned at the frightening quandary of seeing is believing. Kent and Carlton were obviously dead with a capital D, but they were talking?

  Rick joined the ghostly moan. Robbie sputtered. Captain Snakes Flynn growled. Then Corporal Garth Schnidt. Their voices rose in an eerie chorus of condemnation, while six pairs of unseeing eyes stared him down for help. For rescue. For anything. “You gotta save us this time. All,” they chanted. “All. All. A
ll.”

  “But you guys are... dead.” Harley was sure of his words not his eyes. “I can’t save you. You already... died.”

  Are you sure? He shook the demon of doubt away. It was lying to him. It had to be. Misgivings prevailed. Why are you talking to them if they’re dead?

  “I don’t know,” he answered himself.

  “Don’t leave us behind again,” the six-man chorus whined over the hissing fire. Even the twisted carcass of the Humvee groaned in haunting accompaniment. A tire exploded. Hard rubber ripped past his head, leaving stifling fumes and heat in its wake.

  He watched the horror show, unable to save the men he loved any more than he could save himself. His dead buddies waited, their tongues flicking over their lips from the same thirst in his mouth. But just in case.... He crawled back to assist.

  A veil of fumes descended upon the stage, encompassing wounded and would-be rescuer alike. His windpipe constricted. Harley choked until he could choke no more, spitting to clear his throat. Air would not come. When unconsciousness threatened, he bowed his forehead to the dirt and wished to wake the hell up—or die with his men. Like he should have.

  As quickly as it came, the haze lifted. He could breathe, but his friends were gone. Not even limbs remained. No puddled blood. No tapping dismembered fingers. Nothing.

  It dawned on him then. The Iraqi’s fought dirty. Sadaam was a bastard. They’d used nerve gas on him. Either that or his men really spoke to him. No. Nerve gas explained everything. It had to be.

  Thunder shook the ground. Shrapnel and bullets pinged too close and personal, pushing him to act. So that’s the way it was, under fire and his men had been forced to leave him behind. He was alone. Instinct kicked in. Training took over.

  Move it, soldier. Move it. Move it. Move it!

  He steeled his jaw, stiffened his spine and secured his belt around his own bleeding leg, padding it with a rag from the dirty ground. The chemicals in the smoke provided an acid eyewash that would not quit. He could barely see to stagger away. His feet would not follow. No matter. He carved a drunkard’s path into the desert and away from hell. One more step. Then another. Time and distance. All he needed now. Three things were sure. He wouldn’t be taken alive. He’d live to fight another day. And he’d catch up with his men.