MAKING SURE HE didn’t let off the gas pedal of the Jeep, Grayson “Gray” Carlisle kept it straight as the large tires rolled at a steady speed through six inches of unplowed snow in the Wyoming mountains. He’d been on the road for almost an hour and his knuckles ached from squeezing the steering wheel. Where the hell was it all coming from? It was as if Mother Nature was having one last hoorah before she blessed earth with spring.
It was coming down fast. Unlike anything he’d seen in a few years.
Twenty miles ago he’d heard the weather report warning motorists of the hazardous driving conditions and some areas would be impassable, but no way in hell would he turn around now. Not when he was so damn close that he could taste triumph. He’d done crazier things than being out in a blizzard. Some things he wanted to forget. This wasn’t where he expected to be today, but when duty called, he had to follow the clues.
He’d returned from working an undercover assignment with plans to take a few days off at the family ranch, but plans were thwarted by another criminal. When Gray told his dad he’d complained, but in the end, he understood. Gray lived and breathed his career. His father had been after him a lot lately to take over the ranch, Silver Carlisle, but the time wasn’t right.
In his twenties, Gray was enlisted in the Navy, the last seven in the SEALs then he retired and right after joined the elite force Ghost Hawks and that’s where he’d been since. There wasn’t much difference in serving on domesticated soil than foreign soil except he no longer had to carry a seventy-pound pack on his back while navigating abandoned towns and war-stricken danger zones while searching for and disabling bombs. Now he was fighting war criminals in his backyard, but still finding and disabling bombs, although they were a lot easier to find without enemy fire buzzing overhead.
Some things would never change though. One, he’d always have the desire to serve his country in one way or another. Two, he would always pack heat. He never went anywhere without his Glock 19 9mm. Serving in the military had embedded a wariness in Gray that he’d never been able to shake. There were times he’d wake up from a dream or because he’d heard a sound, reach for his gun and then realize where he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t slept with one eye, and ear, open. Because of this, he never invited a woman to sleep over. Not just anyone would understand his poor sleeping habits.
Gray thought back to the day he came home, barely had a foot in the US, when he was met by war hero Gage Carson. Gray knew of him. After all, who didn’t? The four-star admiral was a hero who’d saved the lives of dozens of men while in Iraq. There were no words to describe meeting someone like Carson so when he came to see Gray to discuss the Hawks, he’d been all ears.
It hadn’t taken much for Carson to convince Gray to join the elite force that specialized in counter-terrorism, and intelligence, human and drug trafficking and any cases the government sent their way. There was a very careful line between the Ghost Hawks and local law enforcement and the FBI, but they worked to have a good relationship.
The Ghost Hawk team was more like family and comprised of eight highly-skilled men that were all revered for their time in combat across the pond. Gray, Jamison, Riddle, Briggs, Cowboy, Abel, Crow, and Cade. All ex-Navy SEALs and each the best of the best.
Several months ago, they’d had a farewell party for their chief, Carson. Although the Hawks hated to see the man who’d formed the team leave, Carson had wanted to go while he was still strong, before the cancer had time to wreak havoc on his body. A man knew when it was time to hang up his hat. Jamison had taken over the leadership role and crime-fighting was as usual.
Gray switched the headlights to high, which didn’t help much when visibility was less than thirty feet, but he wanted to inspect the road. At first, he thought he must have imagined the tracks ahead, but sure enough, someone else was just as foolish as he was out in this snow storm at nightfall. He sure hoped the other driver had a vehicle capable of staying on the road in these conditions, but from the narrow tire tracks and the way they veered erratically, he guessed it was a small vehicle and an unsteady driver at the wheel. A combination of the wind, drifting snow, and how fast it was falling made conditions dangerous. If a driver didn’t know the curvy road, they could easily drive off into the ravine. It happened a handful of times each year when the elements were bad.
Thankfully, he knew the road like the back of his hand because he’d been surveilling here more times than he could count. So, he prepared for the sharp curve ahead by lifting his foot off the gas pedal and steering the Jeep into the center of the road. Too far on one side or the other could be treacherous. To his left was a jagged rock wall and to the other was a flimsy guardrail separating the road from a drop into the gorge. Whispering Mountain was known for its isolated cabins placed along the upper ridge with magnificent views and privacy. However, as beautiful as the landscape was, it could be dangerous in weather like tonight. Getting stuck meant being at the mercy of the weather until it let up enough for cars to pass. Most visitors either hunkered down in their cabins or stayed off the mountain until the snow lifted. It was odd that another vehicle was taking the risk. Could it be the very person he came up here to find?
The back tires swerved, but he managed to keep the Jeep on the road, hoping conditions didn’t get worse before he made it to his destination—wherever that was. He knew the vicinity of where he headed but didn’t have a specific location.
After receiving a tip from an anonymous informant that morning, he’d had no choice but to brave the blizzard. Although he’d been led on a wild goose-chase by tips in the past, Gray had a hunch this one held water. Usually there would be at least two team members with him, but the roads were shut down around the perimeter and Jamison and Cowboy were stuck off Whispering Mountain. Fortunately, Gray had been heading to Silver Carlisle when he’d received the information. Jamison had warned him not to place himself in danger, to wait for his team, but Gray couldn’t risk losing the trail of the bastard they called “Phantom.”
From the last mile marker Gray could make out, and calculating about how many miles he’d gone since, he was within ten miles of the location where the informant said the target would be. This was the closest the Hawks had been to Phantom in months. All Gray needed was one chance to get close to the terrorist and he’d nail him.
About two years ago, Phantom had gone completely off the radar after Gray had shot him, but six months ago he’d come out of retirement when he’d set off a bomb at a church, killing five innocent people. A nearby business camera caught a blurred glimpse of Phantom, but it was like the other few blurry pictures the Hawks had of the terrorist. He seemed to cover his every step and had the ability to vanish without a trace—and why the name Phantom was fitting.
Right after that church explosion, the team started receiving anonymous informant tips on Phantom’s whereabouts from a woman who didn’t give her name and used an untraceable phone. In his line of business Gray had to weed out the fake tips from valuable information and a hunch after the last tip led Gray on a wild goose chase.
The interesting thing about Phantom was he didn’t belong to any terrorist groups, instead called himself a lone wolf which told Gray that the man was above average in intelligence, and skilled in explosives and evading capture when he committed violent acts without the support of an organized structure. Lone wolves were on the increase in number, but sometimes it was questionable if the terrorists were actually working alone or were affiliated with a group that was orchestrating the acts from the outside.
Once they caught Phantom, he could help identify terrorist wings, so his capture would be like winning the lottery. The sticky part, the team had to bring Phantom in alive.
Until then, the Hawks would stay on the tail of the terrorist. After recently taking down a cell that had been the culprit of a murderous path through Cheyenne, the Hawks were sending a loud message and terrorists were on the run. Men like Phantom though believed they were untouchable and enjoyed playing the master of a puppet show. Hell, Gray knew there was a chance this pursuit would be just another empty chase, but he had to rely on is gut, and his instincts told him the bad guy was here on Whispering Mountain.
Now if the damn weather would cooperate.
Gray was a Hawk and they never let anything, not even a blizzard, dictate where they went.
The reconnaissance operations team put their lives on the line each day to bring down criminals like Phantom who were ranked among the most dangerous in the country. They had linked him to bombs not only in Wyoming, but previously throughout the country, targeting mostly churches, but not always, of all different faiths.
Gray wanted to catch the terrorist now more than ever. The man had been in the Ghost Hawk’s crosshairs for too long and it seemed like just when they had him on their radar, they would lose him at the eleventh hour. They had been so close to nailing him that particular day a few years back. He had set off a series of bombs that exploded inside numerous trash cans throughout the city, killing several and wreaking havoc. The entire city had been in an upheaval.
Being at the right place at the right time, Gray had spotted a suspicious man standing near one of the bomb locations when everyone else had taken cover. Even now, Gray wasn’t sure what led him to that spot, maybe pure instinct, but when the suspect took off running, Gray knew he had his man.
He chased Phantom for almost two miles, even managed to get a shot off, hitting him in the leg, but the pursuit ended when a car came out of nowhere. Gray had managed a glimpse of the driver, a red-headed woman wearing sunglasses, before the car sped off, leaving him sprawled on the pavement. He lived to tell about it, but his knee now gave him fits, especially in weather like this. Docs told him they couldn’t guarantee what the long-term damage would be, but recently he was told he needed to have surgery. He didn’t have the time to take off work. It took a lot more than an aching knee to keep him down.
This only made Gray that much more dead set on catching Phantom. Too bad the bullet didn’t stop the bastard—too bad they wanted to take him alive to debrief, otherwise Gray would have blown his head off.
Why the terrorist had disappeared for a while couldn’t be figured out, but he was back with a vengeance.
Phantom had left a trail of bodies in his wake, and although what seemed like random hits were really thought out targets and carefully planned bombings. The team had the blurry camera shots and not one damn fingerprint. Over the course of his career, Gray had seen criminals shave off the skin of their fingers to prevent leaving any prints. Terrorists who weren’t on suicide missions went to major extremes to keep from being caught, even self-mutilation.
The higher in elevation, the greater the snow picked up, and Gray had to slow the accelerator more, which only irritated him. Each minute counted.
Through the ice crystals he saw something ahead. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, and as he drew closer he realized a car was stuck in a snow drift. The boot end blocked the road. What the hell? He jerked the wheel just in time to miss hitting the car, breathing a sigh of relief, but his respite was short lived. He saw a distorted silhouette through the thick snow, then the image of a woman dressed in all white materialized. Gray had no choice but to slam his foot onto the brake causing the wide tires to lock up, crunching the ice and sending the Jeep sliding across the snow-covered road. Keeping the steering wheel in his tight grip, he played tug-of-war with the vehicle, but was losing the battle.
Don’t hit her. Don’t hit her.
Oh God please, don’t let me hit her.
His hands weren’t clean of blood. He’d killed men in the line of duty, but never by accident, and certainly not an innocent woman walking on the road in the middle of a snowstorm. He was now second guessing his decision to drive through this storm. What the hell had he been thinking?
His body went into rescuer mode and he pumped the brakes, swearing at his Jeep to slow down, but because the road ahead was nothing but an ice rink, the tires continued to slide out of control and he knew there was no correcting the wheel.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he careened down the white abyss. Through ice crystals, he saw her turn to face the headlights that caught her shocked, wild-eyed expression. It was amazing how clear things seemed in times of distress. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go out and he certainly didn’t want to hurt anyone because of his poor decisions.
She looked like an angel, so beautiful with white-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. The gown enveloped her like a puffy cloud. Was he imagining things?
Her hands came up in defense mode, her mouth opening in what he guessed would be a scream of fear as he sped toward her. His chest tightened and he could only manage to stare helplessly as he slid closer. He was certain she did the only thing she knew to do and jumped to the side of the road in a flash of white. As if some unseen force took the wheel, the Jeep fish-tailed across the ice and passed the spot where the woman had been.
He could no longer see her as he continued skidding sideways. He couldn’t make out anything except the side of the mountain. This could be the end for him. All the enemy gunfire he’d faced, all the bad guys he’d put behind bars, and this was how he’d go out. It didn’t seem quite fair. He closed his eyes a second before impact. The crushing sound of metal and breaking glass shot through the quiet, jerking him forward as the seatbelt slammed into his body.
The force of hitting rock deployed the air bag and it hit him in the head, similar to how the baseball bat had struck him when he was ten, giving him a concussion and leaving a cut on his cheek that had needed ten stitches. The power of the blow knocked him hard against the back of the seat, the air deflating from his lungs and the seatbelt so tight he couldn’t breathe in.
A whistle and a sudden burst of steam shot up from the hood and he watched the ice crystal explosion through the broken front windshield. He blinked against the pain in his temple and the burning sensation in his knee where he’d struck the dashboard. Why hadn’t he listened to his buddies when they told him to hang tight until daylight? Because Gray was a stubborn man, never listening, even when he should. He’d always been this way. Always facing challenges.
Unlocking the seatbelt, the restraint loosened and some of his pain eased. He lifted his body slightly, making a mental note of any other aches or pains that could signal a broken bone or pulled muscle. Although his legs were shaking and sore, his head hurt, and his wrists ached, he believed he’d made it out without doing any serious damage. Except for his Jeep. It was totaled. And so was his Black Cobra. The screen was smashed. He removed the watch and tossed it onto the passenger seat in frustration.
Thank God he hadn’t hit the woman, but she’d shot over the guardrail. Could she have rolled down the mountainside?
Pulling on the door handle, it wouldn’t open, but with a little force, he knocked out the already cracked glass with his fist and climbed out, falling into a bed of snow. Gray knew if his adrenaline wasn’t racing he’d be freezing because the temperature was well below zero. His breath formed a cloud in the air and the tip of his nose tingled. Thankfully, the Carhartt jacket kept some of the bitter cold out, but he had more important things to concern himself with than frostbite.
The woman. She could be seriously injured.
Ignoring the resistance in his stiff knee, he raced around the back of the Jeep, searching all around just to make sure she wasn’t lying in the road, but he didn’t see her. Thank God.
His heart hitched as he trudged through the deep snow to the other side of the road. If something happened to her, a stranger, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Racing along the edge of the road, his boots slipped and slid, his legs threatening to give out, but luckily, he stayed upright.
Gray stopped, looking for any signs of the woman’s footprints. “Hello?” he yelled, trying to see through the snowflakes that melted on his eyelashes. “Hey? Can you hear me? If you can, holler and I’ll find you.” His voice sounded like it was passing through a covered bridge as everything around him was insulated by snow. The only sound he heard within miles was the hissing and cracking of the Jeep’s busted radiator.
He headed to the spot where he thought he saw her last. Where the hell was she? She couldn’t have just vanished into thin air. If it wasn’t for the sportscar stranded in the snow almost two hundred feet back, he’d almost think he’d imagined her. After all, he thought she was wearing a wedding gown. How ridiculous was that? Who in their right mind would be out in this weather, walking and wearing a gown of all things? Hell, he’d like to think it was impossible, but he’d seen some unbelievable things in his lifetime.
Bracing himself against the strong wind whipping around his neck and ears, he pulled up the collar on his jacket to protect his skin against the frigid wind and continued along the side of the road, looking for any trace of the woman.
Wasting no time, he picked up the pace, wishing he had a flashlight. His boot struck something which sent him off balance. He flailed his arms, trying to catch his balance, but his boots were no match for the ice and he fell, smacking his face into the snow. Spitting out the slush and swiping his cheeks with the arm of his jacket which didn’t help much, he pushed himself up and looked over at what he’d tripped over. The woman! She was lying on her back and seemed to blend in with the drift of snow. He scurried over.
“Hey? Are you okay?” he asked as he looked down at her. Her eyes were closed and there was a smudge of blood on her forehead, and her blonde locks were wet. The light from the moon lit up her face enough that he could see there was a cut along her hairline where she must have struck her head when she jumped. Trained in first aid and rescue, he quickly started mentally listing what he should do to help her. Any other time he wouldn’t move a victim for fear of hurting her worse, but if he left her in the snow, she might very well freeze to death. There was no way an ambulance could make it through the snow and his Jeep wouldn’t be going anywhere. He wasn’t sure how stuck her small car was in the drift, but from what he saw during his fly-by, it looked like it wasn’t going anywhere without a shovel.
Feeling her pulse, it was a little slow, but she was alive. Doing a quick visual exam and then running his hands down her arms and legs, hindered by the fluffy material of the dress and thick coat she wore, there didn’t appear to be any broken bones or major injuries. Although he figured there must be a long and sad story behind it, she was indeed wearing a wedding gown. At least he felt a little better knowing he wasn’t losing his mind.
He had to figure out something fast. Her car was the best bet.
Lifting her into his arms, he carefully scaled the incline that took him to the road. He was panting and his heart pounded hard against his ribcage. He looked down at the beautiful woman, feeling a stab of guilt. Blood left a crimson trail from her hairline down her temple and over her cheek. Although the moonlight made her complexion a pale blue, he had a feeling her skin would be porcelain. White-blonde wavy tendrils of hair were misbehaving and unwinding from the thick mass held in a clasp. Although she was breathing, she was so eerily still and appeared so fragile. Her skin was even cold to the touch.
Gray looked down the white blanketed road and focused on her car. Although the front was buried in snow and probably wouldn’t be useful, at least it had heat and he could figure out who she was and why the hell she was in the middle of a mountain at night in a snowstorm wearing a wedding gown.
He had to work his legs to manage getting through the snow while keeping her safely tucked in his arms. He cradled her slight frame against his chest, protecting her against the frigid breeze and snow. The passenger door to the sports car was unlocked, which wasn’t surprising. She probably wasn’t worried about a break-in. He placed her in the seat, making sure she was settled and the train of the dress was inside before shutting the door and rounding the back of the vehicle to the driver seat. The fit was a bit snug and he was entirely too large, even with the seat pushed back as far as it would go. Shifting his body in the leather, he leaned over and slid his fingers along the woman’s slender neck, checking her pulse again, which seemed stronger.
The keys were still in the ignition and he turned the engine and thankfully it fired. Once the heat had warmed up the space, he adjusted the vents so that all the air was directed on her.
What the hell do I do now?
Searching through her pockets for some form of identification, he found a cell phone. It was dead. Figured.
He cursed and tossed the phone onto the dashboard, swiping a hand down his tight jaw. They were stranded in a snowstorm in the middle of a mountain at dark with no way to reach the outside world because his own phone didn’t have service. And she was hurt. Things couldn’t get any more screwed—unless she died and he wouldn’t let that happen.
Looking over at her, he touched her chin to bring her head toward him. The bleeding had stopped, although she’d have a nasty bruise. Shrugging out of his wet coat, he tossed it into the backseat, feeling claustrophobic in the small space.
Opening the glove compartment, he found nothing but an owner’s manual, not even a registration. He searched the console and again found nothing that would help him identify the woman. The backseat was empty except for his jacket. What woman would leave from where she came without a purse or identification?
Someone who was running from something…
Was she a runaway bride?
Sliding his hand into the other pocket of her coat, he found a key attached to a plastic ring. He read the address on the label. Now they might be getting somewhere.