The Hell-Raiser : Men Out of Uniform Book 5 Read online

  THE HELL-RAISER

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  RHONDA RUSSELL

  Text Copyright © 2017 Rhonda Russell

  All Rights Reserved

  2nd edition, Rhonda Russell.

  Published by Firefly Press

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally and without intent of slander. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental.

  More from Rhonda Russell

  Men Out of Uniform Series

  The Player, #1

  Major Perfect, #2

  The Maverick, #3

  The Loner, #4

  4-Book Romance Omnibus

  Love You More

  Dear Reader,

  Thanks so very much for downloading THE HELL-RAISER, the 5th title in the Men Out of Uniform series. (No worries if you’ve missed previous books--they’re all stand-alone titles--but characters from previous books often make encore appearances.)

  For news about upcoming books—and day-to-day life on the farm with my hubby (AKA The Sweetest Badass in the World) in The Middle of Nowhere, Alabama—be sure to check out my Facebook Page, Author Rhonda Russell.

  Happy Reading!

  Rhonda

  For my Randy, my own Hell-Raiser. Lord knows I’m never going to be bored.

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  EPILOGUE

  LETTERS FROM HOME - Sneak Peek!

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  ABOUT RHONDA RUSSELL

  CHAPTER 1

  Nice ass, Mick Chivers thought, staring at one of the multiple pictures he’d been given of his target. Hardly appropriate given the circumstances--first assignment, new job at Ranger Security, chance to start over, yada yada yada--but he’d never given a second thought to appropriateness before and wasn’t about to start now. He absently rubbed his temple and slouched lower in his chair, seemingly unconcerned, confident and unaware of the four pairs of eyes currently trained on him. He smothered a snort.

  As if.

  But Sarah Jane Walker did have a nice ass. Even in this out-of-focus sorry excuse for a photograph. Who took this? he wondered, irritated. A monkey? Granted he was only a hobby photographer, but he knew his way around a camera well enough to do better than this. His moody gaze slid back to her face. She had a nice mouth, too. And that hair. Long, thick and wavy, well below the back of her bra, a pretty dark blonde with wide caramel highlights. He almost smiled.

  And he had to admit, the tool belt was a nice touch.

  “An architectural salvage expert, eh?” he asked no one in particular. “What exactly is it that she does?”

  Though he didn’t look up, Mick could feel Brain Payne’s intense blue gaze. Good construction prevented the noisy downtown Atlanta sounds from seeping into the room, but Mick imagined he heard the occasional honk of the horn.

  Seated in the lounge area of their office, the other three men in the room had taken a chair around a big coffee table laden with a variety of snacks. Jamie Flanagan nursed a high energy drink. Guy McCann idly flipped through a sports magazine. Hands dangling between his knees, Lucas “Huck” Finn--his good friend, former unit mate and no small reason he’d been offered this job after his hasty exit from the military--leaned forward and studied him closely, those keen grey eyes probing for answers Mick was disinclined to give.

  What was there to say really, other than he’d screwed up and nearly cost another soldier his life?

  It was Payne who finally answered. “In a nutshell, she goes into old houses--usually ones that are slated for demolition--and saves everything of value. Mantles, crown molding, built-ins, stained glass, doors. Those sort of things.” He leaned against the back of Flanagan’s chair. “Interesting work for a woman, but our research says she’s very good at what she does. Her father was in the construction business. Apparently, she apprenticed under him.”

  So she learned her trade from her father, Mick thought. How novel. The only thing he’d ever learned from his old man was how to leave. His mother, too, for that matter. He’d certainly gotten used to watching their tail-lights disappear every time they dropped him off at Mars Hill Academy, a beautiful, rigorous old military school located in the beautiful hills of North Carolina. Far enough from their eastern Kentucky home to put enough distance between them, but drivable in the event of an emergency. Or so he’d overheard his mother say once to a friend.

  Deemed “a problem child” at an early age, Mick had been shipped off to military school after the sixth grade--probably would have been sooner if his parents could have found a school to accept him--and had only been allowed home over the Christmas holidays and summer break.

  And since he’d spent the latter with his paternal grandfather, Charlie--usually repairing the barn or building a new addition onto the old house--instead of his parents, he could honestly say that he typically spent two weeks out of the year at what other people actually called “home.” He inwardly shuddered at those awkward holiday memories. The forced smiles, the fake happiness, when it was all too plain they couldn’t wait to send him back, to be rid of him, as though his being born and screwing up their lives had been his fault. He passed a hand over his face and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth.

  It was no damned wonder he hated Christmas.

  Water under the bridge, Mick told himself, releasing a shallow breath. Hell, they’d actually done him a favor. Despite the somewhat harsh and uber-structured format--and the occasional thrashing for mischief--he’d thrived at military school. He’d learned to love his country, to revere the men who founded it and more importantly, to honor the soldiers who’d died for it by becoming a Ranger and taking up their cause. He’d learned that honor was rewarded, deceit punished, that hard work tested the measure of a man and boundaries were meant to be pushed. Another almost smile flirted with his lips. Actually, if you asked any of his former instructors they’d probably say he’d learned that lesson best of all. He hadn’t been nicknamed The Hell-raiser for nothing.

  One of these days you’re going to go too far, Chivers.

  Regret and disgrace formed an enormous ball in his gut and sank to his feet. The one-of-these-days warning had come true recently, much to his shame and horror, and was the single most reason he’d left the military. A vision of Carson Well’s agonized face rose in his mind’s eye, tormenting him with an image he’d never forget. If that bullet had been an inch higher and to the left, it would’ve surely killed him. Too close, Mick thought, because as predicted, he’d gone too far.

  He’d made the call and the mistake.

  Never again.

  Fortunately--or at least that’s what he was telling himself--Colonel Carl Garrett had referred him to Ranger Security. Landing a job with the elite agency of former Rangers--men from his background--was a coup, one he was certain he would celebrate when he was less inclined to hate himself. At the moment, it was all he could do to sit here and pretend he wasn’t losing his mind right along with his life and career. That he wasn’t the eternal screw-up his father had always claimed.

  Furthe
rmore, he honestly didn’t have any idea why they’d hired him. He’d made a monumental error--had almost cost another soldier his life because his reckless judgment. How could they possibly think he deserved this job? Could he do it? Certainly. But he imagined the only reason he’d scored the hire was because Huck had gone to bat for him. And at the moment, that little bit of knowledge was the only thing that would ensure that he did a good job.

  He’d be damned before he let another friend down.

  Speaking of friends, he should really call Levi, Mick thought, ashamed that he’d avoided contact with his unit mate. Mick had met both Lucas “Huck” and Levi McPherson during Jump School and somewhere between the grueling training and commiserating beers, the three had become especially close friends. Having been in an all-guy environment for most of his life, one that by its very nature fostered a unique blend of competition and camaraderie, Mick had made some great buddies over the years. But the dynamic between the three of them had always been more like brothers.

  Other than his grandfather, they were the closet thing to a family he’d ever had.

  When things had gone south recently, it was Huck he’d helped him find a job and, while Levi had had his back as well--he’d actually been a member of the team on that ill-fated mission--Mick was having a harder time facing him, hell even talking to him. Levi had personally witnessed his mistake and knowing that made it too damned hard to look him in the eye. In short, Mick was ashamed and until he figured out how to cope with the screw-up, he was better off avoiding him. Cowardly? No doubt. But necessary to his questionable sanity at the moment.

  Rather than linger on things he couldn’t change, Mick exhaled a short sigh and mentally reviewed the mess of his first case. And it was a convoluted quagmire of personal crap he’d just as soon stay out of. Unfortunately, staying out of it wasn’t in his new job description.

  “So let me get this straight. We’ve been hired by Chastity Walker--“

  “Sarah Jane’s stepmother--” McCann interjected.

  “Who is also Sarah Jane’s age and most hated enemy,” Flanagan added with a wry look.

  “--to catch Sarah Jane trying to steal some of her deceased father’s possessions.”

  “Possessions that Sarah Jane claims are part of her inheritance,” Payne added.

  Mick frowned. “There’s no will?”

  Payne shrugged. “Not according to Chastity, and with the absence of a will, everything goes to the next of kin. As the wife, that’s her.”

  “What about according to Sarah Jane?” Mick asked, smelling a rat. Something about this didn’t sound right. Why would Chastity go to the trouble to hire their services for something so small? So petty? He knew women were like that, of course, and there certainly didn’t seem like there was any love lost between these two, but... He was rocking a weird vibe on this one.

  “Sarah Jane insists there was a will, but neither Chastity nor the attorney who supposedly drafted it has produced it.” He grimaced. “Like I said, I’m not sure about this one and we won’t be a party to witting party to anything illegal. Right now we have the facts according to our client. If she’s lying, then naturally that will change things and you can respond however you see fit.” He paused. “As it stands, we know that Sarah Jane, in particular, is after a pipe that had belonged to her father and her mother’s antique wedding dress.” He grimaced, looking uncomfortably skeptical. “Chastity will not give up the pipe and insists that she donated the dress to a local historical society after it had been part of an exhibit.”

  Mick shot Payne a questioning look. “And you believe her?”

  “Not particularly. Right now, operating on what we know from our client, our job is to keep watch on Sarah Jane and if she does anything illegal, document the evidence and turn it over to Chastity so that she can do with it what she will.”

  Flanagan chuckled. “Hell, Payne, she’s already had Sarah Jane arrested once for assault and battery. You know what she’s going to do with it.”

  Mick felt his lips twitch and he flipped the file to the back, where Sarah Jane’s mutinous mug shot stared back at him. She had wide, compelling pale brown eyes--the shade of his favorite toffee candy, Mick thought, and ringed in a darker hue which made them all the more interesting. A single green leaf had gotten tangled up in those long tresses and a smudge of dirt shadowed one rather plump cheek. Her chin was tilted up in a defiant little angle, seemingly daring the person behind the camera to say a word. The fight might have been broken up, but it hadn’t yet left her because every line of her body was tensed and ready for action. Mick recognized that look, that particular brand of energy. God knows he’d felt it often enough--more so than was prudent--and was no small part of the reason his nickname had actually fit.

  It was also no small part of the reason one hell-raiser typically recognized another and Sarah Jane Walker looked like she didn’t need a stick to stir some shit with the best of them. Unbelievably, a current of heat snaked through his groin and his palms tingled, itching to wipe that curiously sexy bit of dirt from her cheek. Slip the pad of his thump over that ripe bottom lip.

  Aw, hell. This couldn’t be good.

  McCann chuckled. “According to the police report I read, Sarah Jane mopped the deck with her,” he said. “It’s no wonder Chastity is out for blood.”

  “From the looks of this, the woman has got her home and her inheritance. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Mick asked, secretly pleased that Sarah Jane had gotten the better of his temporary employer. Why? Who knew? Because she was hot? Possibly. Because it sounded as if Sarah Jane were the underdog here? That, too. Not that he should care, because it wasn’t his problem and he had enough of his own deal with it. Still, he’d always been a sucker for both and when he factored in the tool belt and hell-cat items... Well, he couldn’t deny it made her all the more appealing.

  He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t supposed to find his target appealing. Some of that keen Ranger training rearing its head, Mick thought, stifling the ridiculous urge to laugh.

  “I know that it’s a bit dodgy,” Payne admitted. “And this is not our typical case, so use discretion, Mick. If in your observations you discover that your mission is in conflict with justice, then act accordingly.”

  Mick nodded, then looked down at the folder in his hand, flipped back to the front page. Where was he headed again? Monarch Grove, Georgia. Population 2478. He smothered another laugh. It was a damned good thing they’d developed a decent cover for him, because blending in amid a town that small sure wouldn’t be easy.

  “So I’m with Designing Weekly, an architectural magazine based out of Atlanta?”

  “Right. You’re the photographer and you’ve been sent ahead to cover the spread.” Flanagan slid several issues as well as a couple of books on architecture across the coffee table. “You’re new, which explains the absence of a byline or photo credit. We’ve contacted her and set everything up. You’ll be able to follow her around with no problem, which will enable you to learn her routine.” He shrugged. “Naturally we expect her to make her move at night--provided she’s going to--so you’ll want to pay particular attention to her then.”

  “Since there aren’t any motels in Monarch Grove, we’ve booked you into a B&B near the town square,” Payne said. “Luckily, it’s only a couple of blocks from Sarah Jane’s place and it seems to be the morning hot spot for breakfast.”

  He felt a sardonic smile slide over his lips. “It sounds very Normal Rockwell.”

  “And just think,” McCann said, grinning broadly. “You’ll be there during The Fried Pie Festival.”

  Flanagan sighed contentedly. “Apple is a personal favorite of mine. Be sure and bring a few back, would you?”

  Mick stared. It took a moment to realize Flanagan was serious. “Sure,” he said, for lack of anything better.

  “You’ve got two weeks,” Payne told him, bringing a brisk end to the briefing. “Call if you run into any trouble.”

  And just like t
hat, he was dismissed. No “Do you think you can handle it?” No second-guessing him. No handling him with kid-gloves despite the major screw-up he’d recently committed.

  Just sheer genuine trust in his abilities.

  He knew a single second of joy before the inevitable dread settled over his shoulders. He sure as hell hoped their confidence wasn’t going to be misplaced.

  Particularly Huck’s.

  * * *

  Troubled, Huck watched his friend gather his things for his new mission and, trademark confidence in place, calmly walk from the room.

  Payne paused a moment, then he looked at Huck and quirked a brow. “Garrett recommended him and Levi McPherson made a personal appeal on his behalf for this job. But you’ve worked with him. What’s your read?”

  “He’s hurting,” Huck said unsurprised that Levi too had spoken up for their friend. “His confidence is shot. He’s ashamed of his mistake, of what it could have potentially cost another soldier.” He shook his head, wishing he could do something to rattle his fellow soldier back into action. He’d thought the Ranger Security position would have made Mick realize that he was still worthy, that while he was no longer a Ranger in Uncle Sam’s Army, he could still use those skills. Still share the mentality and camaraderie with men from his background. It had certainly done wonders for him after his accident.

  McCann’s usually jovial gaze turned serious. “We’ve all been there and survived the worst.”

  Danny Levison’s death, Huck knew. The group had shared their story with him shortly after he’d come on board. Danny had been more than their unit mate, he’d been one of their best friends. And each one of them, in some way, had felt responsible for his death.

  Jamie swallowed. “He’ll come around,” he said. “It’s just going to take a little time.”

  Payne’s cool blue eyes found his. “Is he up to this? I’m not asking if he’s capable--I know that, otherwise we wouldn’t have hired him. But is he emotionally ready for work?”