Game of Fear (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

S
AMMY
’
S
B
AR HADN
’
T
changed much since
Gabe Montgomery had turned legal almost five years ago. The clink of bottles on glass, the hearty laughter, the strike of a cue against the ball, cops and wannabes talking smack and reliving adventures over a few stiff drinks at the end of the day.

The door whipped open and the bite of the November air assaulted the room. “Shut that thing, would you?” he shouted to the new customer.

Winter had started off vicious this year. At least the warmth of the fire in the corner cut the ice lacing the air. This was exactly the place where Gabe had imagined himself after a shift—drinking a round with the deputies from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office, easing the stress of the day before.

He sure as hell hadn’t seen himself getting knifed, kicked off the SWAT team, and becoming the guy behind the bar pouring drinks, though. Even if he was deep into an undercover operation.

An op going nowhere at the moment.

This investigation had to move off point zero, and soon. With it stalled, his brother Luke would be retired before he and his family were truly safe.

Luke had poked at rumors surrounding corruption in the sheriff’s office in a series of articles for the local paper, but he fought to remain low-key now, after nearly losing his wife because of his digging.

If Gabe’s investigation could keep his brother’s family out of danger, the deception would be worth it. But he needed a break in the case to walk through that door, and he needed it bad.

A couple of regulars pushed into the bar wearing blue and orange.
Sunday Night Football
. His bartender, Hawk, strode over to the television above the bar and flipped it on so they could check out the Broncos.

“Hey, Gabe. T
hat show you’ve been waiting for is coming on.”

At the bellow, Gabe glanced up at the muted screen over the bar.
America’s Most Wanted
was covering an eight-year-old cold case.

Shannon Devlin’s case.

Not that Gabe had forgotten a single minute of that night. Probably the worst night of his life, which was saying something considering in the last few months he’d nearly died at the hands of a gangbanger and was almost blown up by a traitor.

Some would call him charmed for surviving. Gabe knew better.

Images of the Denver bus terminal flashed onto the screen. Every few years, the show reran the episode near the anniversary of Shannon’s death, the producers hoping this time a witness would grow some balls and step forward with information to solve her murder.

Gabe didn’t intend to miss the show, even if it came at the dinner hour. Maybe this time he’d remember something more. Maybe this time there’d be some new lead he hadn’t heard about. “Take over the bar for me, Hawk. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Got it, boss.”

Gabe weaved his way through the kitchen, the scent of barbecue and frying oil permeating even the walls. He nodded at the dynamic duo throwing together sandwiches and prepping buffalo wings and potato skins for football night, grabbed his coat, and stuffed his arms in the sleeves before zipping it up. Bracing himself, he ducked his head down and stepped outside. The frigid wind howled, nipping his face with pricks of ice.

Yep, winter had definitely arrived.

He hurried past the basketball hoop behind the bar and across the small add-on parking lot to his house. Made going to work convenient. Especially now that he was the pseudo new owner of Sammy’s Bar. At least for this op.

Gabe unlocked the door, strode into his kitchen, and flicked on the television sitting on the counter. The segment had already started. Within seconds, the sounds, the images, the words, threw him back to the night Shannon’s life had ended.

The night Gabe’s life had changed forever.

The shooter had never been caught.

He knew the segment by heart. A road between Angel Fire and Taos, New Mexico, five hours south of Denver. Shannon Devlin’s car had broken down while she was driving to meet her teammates for a state math competition. She’d flagged a car down. The driver had brutally attacked her, nearly killing her. When another car had pulled up, the predator took off. The case might have been ignored as a teenager making a bad decision, except none of her other team members had made it to Taos, either. They’d never been found.

Shannon had survived the first attack, but not the second. The shooting that night played out across the television screen. Jumpy black-and-white footage from the bus terminal’s surveillance system. The gunshots. The spattered blood. The screams. The broken bodies ripped apart by a long-range weapon.

Gabe eyed the reenactment. The more he watched, the more the base of his spine tingled. Even at seventeen he’d recognized Shannon was the target, but tonight he saw something new. Shots fired at exact intervals. And more. The shooter’s hits were well placed, back and forth, clearing a path to Shannon, injuring but not killing those in the way. Why had he never seen it before? Gabe leaned forward and touched the screen. Each shot deliberate, accurate. Not random like the cops thought. Maximum chaos and only one dead.

Not murder. Assassination.

Like Patrick Montgomery.

Gabe reeled back. Also just like his father’s death five years ago, there was no motive. No suspects.

With a sharp curse, Gabe hit the “Off” button on the remote. He should let the past go. His small flash of insight wouldn’t change a thing. He was SWAT. He was no detective. When this job was over, he’d have to face reality. He wasn’t a cop anymore, not the kind he’d wanted to be.

The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Yeah?”

“I got somethin’.”

Gabe blew out a breath. Ernie the Rat. Slimy little guy who acted as one of Gabe’s informants. “Hope it’s better than last time.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, you wanted the scoop on cops in bed with Jeff Gasmerati. I got some news.”

“Fine,” Gabe muttered, still not convinced, but he refused to ignore a lead. He hadn’t followed his gut when his best friend, Steve Paretti, had started acting strange. The guy had turned out to be the worst kind of cop. Gabe wouldn’t let another dirty cop get away with it. “You know where.”

“Got it. Usual time?”

“Yeah, make it good. I’m in no mood for crap tonight, Ernie. I’m warning you.”

“I won’t let you down, big guy.”

Gabe hung up. He felt dirtier than pond scum, dealing with the likes of Ernie Rattori. But Gabe would stoop to any depth to do this job.

Hell, the assholes in Internal Affairs looked like choirboys next to him.

With Gabe’s bum leg, undercover vermin catcher was the only help he could offer the sheriff’s office anymore. Everyone thought he’d quit and bought the cop bar on a whim when the owner had retired. Captain Garrison was the only one who knew the truth—that this undercover op’s sole purpose was to bring down the Gasmerati organization and its ties to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office.
If
Gabe could find the proof.

He headed back to Sammy’s to finish out his shift before meeting Ernie after the place closed. The sooner he got this investigation wrapped up, the sooner he could come clean with everyone—his old teammates, even his family.

Eight years ago he’d promised he wouldn’t become his father, and here he was, lying to everyone he cared about.

Just like his dad.

The whirr of
the circling Bell 212 helicopter rotors echoed through the cockpit. New Mexico’s Wheeler Peak, barely visible in the dusk, loomed just east, its thirteen-thousand-foot summit laden with snow. Deborah Lansing leaned forward, the seat belt straps pulling at her shoulders.

Far, far to the west, the sun was just a sliver in the sky.

“It’s almost dark, Deb. We have to land,” Gene Russo, her local Search and Rescue contact, insisted.

“The moon is bright enough right now that I can still see a little, and we have the spotlight. Those kids have got to be here somewhere!”

Deb squinted against the setting sun; her eyes burned with fatigue. They’d been at it for hours, but she couldn’t give up. Not yet.

“All the other choppers have landed, Deb. This is too dangerous. Besides, do you really think your spotlight’s going to find a snow-covered bus on the side of the mountain with all these trees?”

“Five more minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

A metallic glint pierced through a thick carpet of snow-packed spruce.

“There! I saw something.” Deb’s adrenaline raced as she shoved the steering bar to the right and down, using the foot pedals to maintain control.

“Holy crap, Lansing. What are you doing?” Gene shouted, holding on to his seat harness. “You trying to get us killed?”

He didn’t understand. The bird knew exactly what Deb wanted, and she didn’t leave people behind to die. Not after
Afghanistan. She had enough ghosts on her conscience. She tilted the chopper forward and came around again, sidling near the road toward Taos Ski Valley where the church bus had been headed before it had vanished.

She dipped the chopper, scouring the terrain with the spotlight. A metallic flash pierced her gaze once again. “Gene, did you see that? Just south?”

The gray-faced spotter shook his head. “No, I’m too busy trying not to puke all over your windows.” He swallowed deeply and adjusted his microphone. “Could you fly this thing steady for a while?”

She sent him a grimace. “Sorry. I really think I spotted something. I had to go closer. I didn’t want to miss it. I need to swing by one more time. Really look this time, okay?”

Gene groaned. “Deb, I know you’re used to Denver terrain, but you can’t treat the Sangre de Cristo Mountains this way. These gullies and drafts can buffet a chopper, especially in some of the gorges. Your lift will disappear, and you’ll fly into the mountain.”

A peak rose toward them, and Deb pulled up on the collective control stick. The Bell followed her lead easily, but the sun was gone now. The near-total darkness made flying treacherous. The moon was the only thing making the deadly terrain remotely visible outside the spotlight’s range.

“At least there aren’t Stingers or RPGs shooting at us,” she said.

Gene shot her a look. “You were in the military?”

“Flew rescue missions,” Deb said. She shifted the steering bar. “I know I saw something down there, too. I’ve got that buzz. Come on, baby,” she urged the chopper.

Below, a blanket of snow covered a valley peppered with spruce, fir, and pines. The frigid temperatures, blowing snowdrifts, and icy roads had made the ground search difficult.

If Deb couldn’t find them tonight . . .

“Return to base, Search 10,” the order crackled over the radio. “It’s too dark. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Negative,” Deb said. “I have a possible.”

“This is Search Command. Give us the location. We’ll add it to the coordinates to check first thing in the morning.”

“By morning, those kids might freeze to death,” Deb said. “If it’s them, the least I can do is drop supplies.” She flipped off the microphone.

“Uh, Deb,” Gene pointed out, “they can pull your license for this.”

She shifted in her seat. “I know. Keep an eye out. I’m going in as close as I can.” She rounded another hill. “Come on, baby, come on,” Deb begged the machine.

She skirted the tops of the trees directly next to the road, flying a lot closer than was sane. Suddenly, down the slope, a hint of dark blue appeared. She hovered, sweeping the area with the searchlight. The beam glinted off broken glass and chrome. Several figures stood on and near a big school bus, waving. Others lay on the ground, some suspiciously still.

“Damn it,” Gene said. “You were right.” He radioed in the location and stared at her, his expression awestruck. “You’re good.”

“Lucky is more like it,” she said.

“No, that was dogged determination. You just wouldn’t give up. You might be crazy, Deb Lansing, but you’re a hell of a chopper pilot.”

All-too-familiar guilt twisted inside her. “I have my
moments.”

She hovered over the downed bus and Gene dropped blankets, first-aid supplies, and food. Below, figures scrambled to the drop zone.

Banishing from her mind the haunting image of the desperate soldier she’d been forced to leave behind, Deb turned to Gene. “I can land in that valley we passed earlier. It’ll be tight, but if there are any kids seriously injured, we may be able to transport some of them to the helicopter with the sled.”

“What the hell. You’ve already pulled off one miracle tonight.” Gene grinned. “Go for it.”

Deb eased down the control stick and, with careful precision, guided the helicopter lower. Another glint of silver flashed in the spotlight, far enough away from the bus that it wasn’t likely to be debris from that wreck.

“Do you see that reflection?” she asked. “Is it another vehicle?”

Gene peered through the windshield. “I don’t know. I saw something, though. I’ll call in the position for that, too. They can check it.”

The chopper touched down, and Deb jumped to the snow-packed ground, ignoring the cold around her. For now, she had people to save. As Deb and Gene yanked out the sled to transport the wounded, two men ran toward her, one whose forehead was caked with dried blood.