Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13) Read online

  KY

  IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS

  Book 13

  IRISH WINTERS

  COPYRIGHT

  Ky; In the Company of Snipers, 13

  Copyright ©2016 by Irish Winters

  All rights reserved

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogues, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover design and author photo by Kelli Ann Morgan,

  http://www.inspirecreativeservices.com

  Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Editor: Lauren McKellar, McStellar editing,

  http://mcstellarediting.blogspot.com

  Editor: Rocky Palmer, RVP the Man Editing,

  mailto:[email protected]

  ISBN Paperback: 978-942895-36-7

  ISBN eBook: 978-1-942895-35-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016950172

  Irish Winter’s websites: http://www.irishwinters.com

  and irishwinters.blogspot.com

  DEDICATION

  To those who serve

  Thank you for walking the walk

  IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS

  This series revolves around 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 created the company to give ex-military snipers like him a chance at returning to civilian life, a chance at normal, with a decent job.

  This is not a serial with each book ending at a cliffhanger. I wouldn’t do that to you. I hate cliffhangers! In the Company of Snipers is a collection of passionate love stories involving strong men and women who are tough enough to take on the world alone. Each is a stand-alone read, complete in itself.

  Spoiler alert: Every story contains adult scenes including sexual situations (some explicit), language, and violence. I don’t write sweet romance, so be forewarned.

  Book 1, ALEX, reveals how The TEAM came to be, as well as how Alex met Kelsey, how they fell in love and fought all odds to stay together. Each of the following books is a complete romance in itself where, in the course of an active TEAM operation, one agent comes face to face with his or her demons. The men and women I write about are all patriots and warriors, dealing with what they’ve lived through or the mistakes they’ve made.

  It’s my hope that you will come to realize along with my heroes...

  Love changes everything.

  Prologue

  A man without hope will pray to die.

  USMC Lance Corporal Ky Winchester had.

  It was five days since Coalition Forces had sent him and his squad to track down Hasim Nizari, to bring him to justice. The United States Army wanted the monster dead or alive for his crimes against Afghan women and military prisoners. The ANA, the Afghan National Army, wanted him, too. They’d hunted him for months, but the Teflon-coated degenerate had managed to stay one step ahead of the game. Until a couple of ANA soldiers had betrayed Ky and his men, leading him and his RTO, his radio tech officer, down a dead end and straight into hell.

  Ky had taken one round to his body armor, just enough to knock him down. Not kill him, damn it. He didn’t recall how he’d gotten from that stinking alley to this modern day pit of despair. He only knew that since he’d come to, torment visited him daily in the ways of cruel men. Fists. Leather belts with sharp buckles. Metal rods. Knives for sport. And worse.

  Now Ky knew exactly where the bastard was. Nizari. The treacherous, cold-blooded banker to the Taliban commandeered his own torture chamber. Always dressed in a business suit, a linen shirt, and a clean silk tie when he soiled his victims, he retained cool, aloof control while he worked his dark designs on human flesh. He never lost his composure that Ky could recall. Not once.

  What Ky didn’t know was how many men were in this place with him. He’d heard screaming. He could only imagine. God, the depravity of man.

  Nizari had yet to make his appearance for the day, but that didn’t mean Ky hadn’t been sorely tried. Hell, no. Nizari had plenty of soldiers in his band of merry men. They’d left Ky hanging so long he’d lost all feeling in his arms. He hadn’t eaten in days—was made to endure at the edge of death until he broke.

  “Ky.” The single word came to him softly, too quiet to be real, but too loud to be imaginary. He strained to hear it one more time. Dared to believe it was real. His broken nose twitched, and despite the dried clots stuffing it closed, the poor thing still detected a cooling hint of menthol. His nostrils flared, drawing the scent in along with another that was—good. Distinctly female. No man in this hellhole smelled like that.

  “Ky.” His name again. He had heard it. He had! The shiver of hope raced up his spine and over his sweaty scalp. Was this his descent into delirium or the onset of death?

  A vision materialized that would’ve made his eyes water if he could’ve opened them. An imaginary angel he guessed, more blur than shadow, more light than darkness. A hazy halo of gold. Cool, green eyes. Not Kelly green. Not emerald. But a clear, mint green that refreshed like the brisk bite of wintergreen in cold December. He did see her. He did. Maybe...

  She drifted toward him, those green eyes too big for her face, and that was the cruelest nightmare of all, because he could—not—see. His heart thumped at the awful paradox he was caught in. His eyes were too swollen and bruised to work. If seeing was believing, what was she? Another nightmare? Torture could certainly drive a man crazy. But then...

  That same drift of menthol and camphor filtered up through his tender nostrils and into his throbbing sinus cavities. He sniffed it in, as painful as the effort was, relishing the calming scent of eucalyptus as it soothed the damaged membranes in his skull. That he knew the distinctive fragrance only proved how close he was to losing his mind. But then...

  She. Touched. Him.

  Silky, soft fingertips traced his broken orbital bone. Warm palms cupped his bloody chin. Impossible. He swallowed hard, not ready to believe the end had come, that his brain was shutting down, offering hallucinations during his transition from life to death. Just wait. There’ll be a tunnel of light. The pain will cease. My time will end, and I’ll be free, and...

  The light-as-breath brush of delicate arms encompassed his ragged, sweaty body. Another heartbeat echoed against his ears as if this gentle apparition cradled his head to her breasts, his ear to her heart, and God! This hallucination felt so good. He would’ve cried if he could have.

  Perhaps it was merely the onset of his dying heart begging to be set free from torment, but it seemed so real. Greedily, he turned his face into the softness and warmth of that imaginary female body, seeking the comfort she offered. Wanting so much to believe. Needing her to—please, God! Be more than a wish and a prayer, more than his slippery descent into insanity.

  Her warm breath caressed the curl of his ear. He didn’t understand how it worked; he only knew that his dream whispered loud enough he could no longer doubt her. “I’m here, Ky. I’m not leaving you.”

  She’d no more than stopped speaking when the wooden door to his sweatbox banged open. The sharp metallic tang of a lighted propane torch s
truck his nostrils. Oh, God. Another twist to the torture.

  “Hold onto me,” she commanded, her grip tighter.

  God, he wanted to, but frantic panic crawled up his spine like a living thing, a sinister ice-cold dragon with serrated talons, an icicle tail that wrapped around his neck. It came with the despair of reality, the shuddering fear of the living damned. He clenched the chain instead of his imaginary angel and prepared to meet his maker.

  “You talk now?” Nizari’s brutal lackey asked, smacking something against his open palm with an intimidating thwack, thwack, thwack.

  That was why his angel had asked Ky to hold on. Somehow she’d known. This was it. His last moment on earth.

  His soon-to-be murderer landed a sharp fist to his gut. The unexpected impact sent Ky spinning into the wall. He wouldn’t cry out, not to this bastard, but he did want to tell that patient angel, who lingered at the edge of his mind, “Thanks for trying. Leave now. Never look back. Save yourself.”

  Instead, the menthol scent grew stronger. Her hands grew tighter. “I won’t let you go.”

  Yes. You will.

  His captor muttered a bizarre gurgling curse. It sounded as if someone had joined the guy with the torch, no doubt both licking their chops for the despicable pleasure they derived from torturing Americans. Bastards. Every last one of them.

  Ky bowed his chin to his chest and prepared to die. He didn’t dare guess which appendage this bastard would burn first. Toes. Hair. His face. It didn’t friggin’ matter. He could take no more. Just get it the fuck over with! Kill me!

  But then a hand steadied Ky’s trembling body. A big hand. A kind hand. “You gonna make it?” a gentler voice asked. Strong and clear. An American.

  The chain lowered Ky to the floor, but his feet couldn’t support his own weight. He collapsed, even as his ears strained for another word, needing to know for certain this was no trick or dream, that this person was not Afghan. Not Mideastern. Not even from this part of the goddamned world.

  “You okay?” The man spoke again, softer this time. Tenderly. Definite West Coast accent.

  Thank God. Ky groaned a raspy, “Hell, yeah.”

  Careful fingers travelled over his neck and shoulders, down his arms and across his ribs, physically checking without leaving pain in their wake. How odd that he flinched anyway. That it took the last of his willpower not to scream after all—that.

  Freedom hurt so damned good.

  He gave West Coast the best answer a jarhead knew. “Ooh-rah,” he choked, his tongue parched, his lips swollen and ragged. “God bless... America.”

  “Whatever,” the guy muttered. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes,” Ky ground out through clenched teeth. I can run, just get me the hell out of here!

  But rolling to his side took his breath. His mouth filled with blood. Drawing his arms down to his sides hurt like a mother. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “What’s your name, Marine?”

  Ky faced his rescuer like a man. “USMC Lance Corporal Ky Winchester, sir.” Damn, he’d mumbled like he had a mouth full of marbles.

  West Coast didn’t seem to notice. “Damned good to meet you, Ky. I’m USMC Corporal Lee Hart, buddy.” Lee pushed a knife handle into Ky’s bloody fingers. “You kill the first bastard that lays a hand on you, understand? Gut him like a fish. Make him pay for everything he did to you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ky clutched the knife, but he shook so hard. Every bone and muscle screamed as he was no longer forced to stand on his toes. No longer stretched to the point of breaking.

  “I’ve got another person to rescue. I’m coming back for you. You hear me?”

  The knife slipped to the floor. His heart spoke before his brain could rein it in. “Sir.” Shit, he was bawling like a baby. “Please don’t... don’t leave me here.”

  And there in the dark, USMC Corporal Lee Hart did what any brother would do for another brother. He lifted Ky off the filth of rot-gut Afghanistan and gathered him into his strong arms like a damned kid. Lee’s fingers spread wide. He cupped the back of Ky’s bobbing head to hold him still, as if Ky was the weaker baby brother. As if Lee wasn’t going to leave.

  Ky fought for restraint and lost it. He pressed his forehead to Lee’s collarbone, shaking and breathing hard. Nothing felt as good as this American-born shoulder. Don’t go!

  He dug his shredded fingernails into this brother’s bare arms and struggled to hang onto what little dignity he had left. Not much. A guy who’d been made to dance on the short end of a rusted, iron chain was a damned humble man. Please don’t leave me!

  “How long you been in here, son?” Lee Hart, God bless him, had the rumbling voice of an older, wiser angel. Brought tears to a guy’s eyes, not that Ky knew what dripped down his cheeks. Could’ve been blood.

  “F-five days, I think. Maybe more.” Seems like forever.

  A growl rumbled deep in Lee’s chest. “Marines never lie, do we?”

  Damned sneaky question. Get me to feel valiant and brave when I’m—not. “N-no, sir. W-we never lie. We never quit. We never f-f-fucking forget, either.”

  “Good answer. I’m not lying to you now, Ky. I will be back, but you gotta let me go. I’ve got more folks to save than just you.” He pressed the knife handle back into Ky’s palm and made sure his worthless fingers wrapped around it. “Hang onto this. There’s others in this shithole who need my help. I can’t leave them here any more than I’m gonna leave you. You understand?”

  “Y-y-yes, sir,” he replied, an obedient jarhead to the bitter end. Hell, he wanted to bawl like a baby. Instead, he sucked up a deep breath of freedom and remembered who he really was. What he stood for. Nizari couldn’t take that.

  “Ooh-rah,” he declared from the depths of his American-born soul. He willed his fingernails to release his rescuer. He clasped the knife handle to his chest, his bloody little finger snug against the finger guard, his crushed thumb stroking the butt-end like it was a long-lost friend. The next murderer through that door would die, and Ky meant to die with him rather than endure another round of fun and games.

  Lee Hart got him situated upright with his back to the wall beside the door.

  “Sir?” Ky asked, not sure he whether wanted to know or not. “Was I... was I... alone?”

  Lee grunted. “Except for that dead guy with the torch over there, yeah. Why?”

  Ky shook his head, working his throat muscles to drum up enough saliva to swallow. “No lady with green eyes?” He hated the hopeful quaver in his voice.

  Lee’s solid hand gripped Ky’s shoulder. “I sure as hell hope not. Stop dreaming. You’ve already got it made. Ladies like guys with scars. Now shut up and sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  Something lethal in his tone brooked no further discussion. Ky reached for him, but he was gone, and Ky was alone again.

  Marines didn’t lie and that was the gospel truth. But sometimes, they cried. Sometimes, the darkness got the best of them. Ky shook when his savior left. Tears oozed like molten lead between his mashed eyelids. They ran down his face, and he let them. There was no woman. No angel. None of this was real. He was all by himself. Blind. Scared. And losing his friggin’ mind.

  But just when the night seemed blackest...

  Just when Nizari’s evil spirit whispered that Lee wouldn’t return...

  That all was lost...

  “No!” Ky spat his contempt at the darkness. “No! No! No!”

  He sucked up the last of his courage, and he chose to believe, Goddamnit. He had seen a green-eyed woman. Okay, so he was blind, but she was there. It didn’t make sense and it didn’t have to. He knew it, damn it. He had seen her. She was real, and Lee would return. He would!

  The cooling breath of menthol wafted into Ky’s poor wrecked nose. Another miracle that made no sense. “Ky,” she breathed his name into his soul. He could’ve cried. She hadn’t left him. He wasn’t crazy.

  “I... I tried to hold onto you,” he choked out unashamedly.

  Th
e peace that surpassed all understanding invaded his wrecked soul. He couldn’t explain how it worked. Didn’t even try. Just leaned into the warmth of her heart and thanked God for miracles and angels.

  And hope.

  Chapter One

  Two and a half years later

  Junior Agent Ky Winchester spun a circle in the air with his index finger, signaling the Royal Canadian Mounted Police chopper pilot. Adjusting his tinted goggles, he activated TEAMshield, the built-in display that linked him with his partner, Junior Agent Tate Higgins, while it provided a wealth of intel. Temperature. Altitude. Latitude. Longitude. Compass. Wind speed and direction. Distance. In other words, just about everything.

  Current position: longitude: fifty-one degrees, forty-five minutes, thirty-nine seconds; latitude: eighty-nine degrees, three minutes, nineteen seconds. Temperature? Damned cold. Frozen Hudson Bay lay a couple of hundred miles to the northeast, the Wabakimi Provincial Park to the south, and a whole lot of frozen lakes, rivers, and evergreens between. The five-miles-per-hour wind from the northwest barely buffeted his descent, but it also pushed wind chill down to three below zero. Yeah. Damned cold.

  TEAMshield was the brainchild of Ky’s boss, ex-Marine and current CEO, Alex Stewart. The flick of an inset button on the right temple of his goggles could convert Ky’s view to night-vision. Another button controlled thermal imaging. Complete with Wi-Fi, crisp digital graphics, and a heavy-duty solar battery, about the only thing the goggles didn’t do was pop corn.

  He stepped to the edge of the open helicopter door, secured the thick, plaited drop-line in his gloved grasp, and ducked out of the chopper. Standing at the edge of the hatch, he clenched the rope between his knees and sturdy Caribou boots, and down he went. Fast-roping dropped a man quicker than rappelling, but Ky gripped the line tighter to slow his descent, dodging branches while he scanned the LZ, his landing zone, making sure all was as it appeared.

  He didn’t need to hurry like he had in the past. No terrorists waited below to murder him the second he touched down. No enemy snipers or improvised explosives were hidden from view—not there in Canada. Nothing moved. He took it slow and easy, enjoying the view. Only the crystal snowflakes dislodged by the whirring blades above showered down around him as he dropped. Just evergreen trees and winter white as far as the eye could see.