Hot Combat. Elle James

      “I don’t like it, but I can’t get a search warrant if I don’t have a name or location.”

      “That’s what I figured, but that isn’t all.”

      “What else have you got for me?”

      “While I was searching through the social media site, a message popped up.”

      “A message?” he asked.

      Charlie read the messages verbatim from her laptop. “He has my picture.”

      “Hmm. That he was able to determine you were looking at the site and then able to take command of your laptop long enough to snap a picture has me concerned.”

      “You’re not the only one.” She scrubbed a hand down her face, tired, but too agitated to go to sleep. “I was using the library’s Wi-Fi. He won’t be able to trace back to my computer.”

      “That’s good. More than likely he’s near the state capital.”

      “Are you willing to bet your life on that?” she asked.

      “My life, yes.”

      “What about the life of your son or daughter?” Charlie asked. She knew he had two kids, both under the age of four. “Would you be able to sleep knowing someone is threatening you? And by threatening you, they threaten your family.”

      “Look, can you make it through the night?” Kevin asked. “It’ll be tomorrow before I can do anything.”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “Do you want me to come over?”

      She shook her head, then remembered she was on the phone. “No. I have a gun. I know how to use it. And I really don’t think he’ll trace me to my home address so quickly. We don’t even know if he has that ability.”

      “He snapped a picture of you,” Kevin reminded her. “I’d say he’s internet savvy and probably pretty good at hacking.”

      “Great.” Charlie sighed. “I’ll do okay tonight with my H&K .40 caliber pistol. But tomorrow, I might want some help protecting my daughter.”

      “On it. I’m expecting reinforcements this week. As soon as they arrive, I’ll send someone over to assess the situation.”

      “Thanks.” Charlie gripped the phone, not in a hurry to hang up. As if by so doing, she’d sever her contact permanently with the outside world and be exposed to the potential terrorist on the other end of the computer network.

      “Look, Charlie, I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

      “No, really. I’ll be fine.” And she would be, as soon as she pulled herself together. “Sorry to bother you so late.”

      “Call me in the morning. Or call me anytime you need to,” Kevin urged.

      She ended the call and continued to hold the phone so tightly her fingers hurt.

      What was supposed to have been an easy way to make a little extra cash had just become a problem. Or she was overreacting.

      Just to be safe, she entered her bedroom and opened her nightstand where she kept the pistol her father had purchased for her when she’d graduated college. She could call her parents, but they were on a river cruise in Europe. Why bother them if this turned out to be nothing?

      She found her pistol beneath a bottle of hand lotion and a romance novel. The safety lock was in place from the last time she’d taken it to Deputy Frazier’s ranch for target practice six months ago. She removed the lock, dropped the magazine full of bullets and slid back the bolt. Everything appeared to be in working order. She released the bolt, slammed the magazine into the handle and left the lock on. She’d sleep in the lounge chair in the living room so that she would be ready for anything. She settled in the chair, her gun in her hand, hoping she didn’t fall asleep, have a bad dream and shoot a hole in her leg.

      She positioned herself in the chair, her gaze on the front door, her ears tuned in to the slightest sound. Not that she expected anyone to find her that night, but, if they did, she’d be ready.

      * * *

      JON “GHOST” CASPAR woke to the sun glaring through his windshield on its early morning rise from the horizon. He’d arrived in Grizzly Pass sometime around two o’clock. The town had so little to offer in the way of amenities, he didn’t bother looking for a hotel, instead parking his truck in the empty parking lot of a small grocery store.

      Not ten minutes after he’d reclined his seat and closed his eyes, a sheriff’s deputy had rolled up beside him and shone a flashlight through his window.

      Ghost had sat up, rolled down his window and explained to the deputy he’d arrived later than he’d expected and would find a hotel the next day. He just needed a few hours of sleep.

      The deputy had nodded, warned him not to do any monkey business and left him alone. To make certain Ghost didn’t perform any unsavory acts, the deputy made it his sole mission to circle the parking lot every half hour like clockwork until shift change around six in the morning.

      Ghost was too tired to care. He opened his eyes briefly for every pass, but dropped back into the troubled sleep of the recently reassigned.

      He resented being shuffled off to Wyoming when he’d rather be back with his SEAL team. But if he had to spend his convalescence as a loaner to the Department of Homeland Security, it might as well be in his home state of Wyoming, and the hometown he hadn’t visited in a long time.

      Seven years had passed since the last time he’d come back. He didn’t have much reason to return. His parents had moved to a Florida retirement community after his father had served as ranch foreman for a major cattle ranch for the better part of forty years. Ranching was a young man’s work, hard on a body and unforgiving when it came to accidents. The man deserved the life of leisure, soaking up the warm winter sunrays and playing golf to his heart’s content.

      Ghost adjusted his seat to the upright position and ran a hand through his hair. He needed a shower and a toothbrush. But a cup of coffee would have to do. He was supposed to report in to his contact, Kevin Garner, that morning to receive instructions. He hoped like hell he’d clarify just what would be entailed in the Safe Haven Task Force. To Ghost, it sounded like a quick path to boredom.

      Ghost didn’t do boredom well. It nearly got him kicked out of the Navy while in rehab in Bethesda, Maryland, at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. He was a SEAL, damn it. They had their own set of rules.

      Not according to Joe, his physical therapist. He’d nearly come to blows with the man several times. Now that Ghost was back on his own feet without need of crutches, he regretted the idiot he’d been and had gone back to the therapy center to apologize.

      Joe had laughed it off, saying he’d been threatened with far worse.

      A smile curled Ghost’s lips at the memory. Then the smile faded. He could get around without crutches or a cane, but the Navy hadn’t seen fit to assign him back to his team at the Naval Special Warfare Group, or DEVGRU, in Virginia. Instead he’d been given Temporary Duty assignment in Wyoming, having been personally requested by a DHS task force leader.

      What could possibly be so hot that a DHS task force leader could pull enough strings to get a highly trained Navy SEAL to play in his homeland security game? All Ghost could think was that man had some major strings to pull in DC. As soon as he met with the DHS guy, he hoped to make it clear he wanted off the assignment and back to his unit.

      The sooner the better.

      He’d left Grizzly Pass as a teen, fresh out of high school. Though his father loved the life of a ranch foreman, Ghost had wanted to get out of Wyoming and see the world. He’d returned several times, the last to help his parents pack up their things to move to Florida. He’d taken a month of leave to guide his parents through the biggest change in their lives and to say goodbye to his childhood home