Moving Target

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Twisted Page Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Brotherhood Protectors remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Twisted Page Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.

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  Moving Target

  An Unknown Identities novella

  Regan Black

  About Moving Target

  Scott Blackwell proudly served the U.S. Army until he was accused of murder, court martialed, and imprisoned. When a covert team pulls him out of his cell things go from bad to worse with an impossible ultimatum: kill one target and go free or go back to jail for life.

  Jaime Castle is headed home to Montana for some much-needed vacation time. Wrestling to change a flat tire on a deserted road, she’s grateful for the help of a stranger—until she finds herself caught up in a world of trouble and danger she didn’t know existed. Now she must decide who to trust and what to believe before it’s too late.

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  With special thanks to Elle James for inviting me to her world of Brotherhood Protectors!

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  Visit ReganBlack.com for a full list of titles, excerpts, and release dates. For early access to new releases, exclusive prizes, and much more, subscribe to her monthly newsletter.

  Chapter 1

  Scott Blackwell was well and truly screwed. He was also tired, hungry, and trying to warm up before going back out into the cold, winter night. Being followed by a pair of strangers with orders to certify he was compliant with the terms of his current freedom was no help at all.

  When he closed his eyes he could still feel the jolt as the SUV was hit, the momentary weightlessness before the horrific tumbling as the big vehicle rolled over and over. Three times or four? Scott wasn’t sure. Everyone inside had been buckled in, but the actual wreck on a rural Texas road was worse than any of the Army’s pre-deployment training simulations. Worse even, than the day their MRAP met an IED during a typical patrol in Iraq. Though it hadn’t been a fun day, it had been what passed for normal at the time.

  If he thought about normal—overseas or stateside—for too long, he wanted to step out into traffic. Three months ago, life had been normal. Not today. Sadly, he suspected he’d never feel normal again.

  A dead woman on the Forward Operating Base in Afghanistan where he’d been stationed had changed everything. He hadn’t known her, no one on his team had met her before, yet he and two others had been charged with her murder, accused of supplying her drug habit, and hustled back to Fort Hood, Texas.

  Nightmare wasn’t a strong enough word for this twist in the path of his life. Calling it hell was a lazy description. Over—his life was over—that was the simple truth, the most accurate term for the pear-shaped situation.

  He snorted an edgy half-laugh into his coffee and checked for any movement in the parking lot on the other side of the window.

  Truth. If there was anyone up or down the chain of command who cared about the truth he and his teammates had yet to meet them. No matter how many times they told their story and laid out the facts, they’d been ignored. They’d been court martialed, found guilty, and imprisoned.

  Dishes clanged in the kitchen and he jerked in his seat, expecting guards to appear and shuffle him off to his cell. But he wasn’t in prison, he was sitting in a booth with cracked vinyl seats in the corner of a scuffed up diner at the truck stop.

  His current guards didn’t wear uniforms, just blank expressions. If he veered too far from the designated path, they made sure to put him back on track. His kidneys still ached from the last time he tried to sneak away.

  Better to do as they asked, without overthinking it. ‘One life for three.’ That was how the man in the charcoal suit had phrased it.

  The expensive wardrobe had only underscored the bastard’s cold, calculating nature. He’d radiated above-the-law government power from the neatly trimmed hair graying perfectly at the temples all the way down to the flawless shine on his shoes.

  Who could keep a shine like that in rural Texas at the scene of a crumpled SUV?

  He’d given Scott a name, explained he would get Scott into the proximity of the target, and ordered him to make the kill. Do this one thing, a minor task considering his training, and he and his teammates would be cleared of all charges. Free to go out and live life however they saw fit.

  One life to save three.

  Scott had questions, wanted promises in writing, but the man in the suit didn’t offer answers or guarantees. One dies, three live. Scott had to choose.

  The bell over the door jingled and Scott’s shadow team walked in, glaring hard. Time to go.

  He knew better than to make them repeat themselves. He tossed back the last of his coffee and walked out to the parking lot to find his next ride north.

  Chapter 2

  John Noble, previously known only as Bulletproof, stepped into the motel room and leaned back against the closed door. His wife, Amelia, was leaning in close to her laptop screen, engrossed in some story or research. It was a sight he would enjoy the rest of his days.

  “All clear?” she asked, her gaze locked on the screen.

  “Yes.” If his reply had been ‘no’ she would have shifted into action and been ready to leave the room in less than a minute. A year ago, hell, just last week, that would have filled him with pride. Now he was just weary.

  They’d been running for years, zig-zagging across the country, and occasionally the globe, to stay ahead of the vicious team hunting them. It wasn’t all bad, they’d been making a serious dent in the questionable activities of UI—Unknown Identities—the black-ops agency that ended his military career and twisted up his life.

  Much as Amelia immersed herself in keeping track of stories and incidents that might lead to UI operations, John had been searching for a place they could call their own. He wanted to find somewhere safe enough that they could stick and settle down without fear of retribution. With cell phones in every hand and closed-circuit cameras on every corner, he wasn’t sure there was such a place anymore.

  “I found the chips you wanted.” The chicken and waffle flavor sounded hideous to him, but she’d seen an advertisement and decided she had to try them. Tonight. For a man whose previous last-minute ops typically ended in violence, making a snack run was an easy, pleasant change. And they both knew he’d do anything to make her happy.

  He set the six pack of beer and the small bag of groceries on the dresser by the television and shrugged out of his jacket. Taking a beer for himself, he put the remainders in the mini-fridge, then carried the bag of chips over to her.

  Knowing better than to interrupt her when she was this focused, he brushed a kiss over her lovely red hair and put the bag where she’d see it eventually.

  She startled him when her head popped up and she reached for his hand, keeping him close. “Look at this.”

  The screen blurred momentarily as she scrolled back to the headline at the top of the page: Soldiers Found Guilty Escape Prison, Dead After Vehicle Accident.

  The byline read Fort Hood, Texas and was dated not quite two weeks ago. “That’s a crock,” he said, skimming the initial facts. “Three soldiers escaping at one time? They wouldn’t be able to get off the post.”

  “They were court martialed and found guilty for a murder on a FOB in Afghanistan,” Amelia said. “I’ve been looking up the related articles. John, I don’t think they escaped,” she added air quotes. “And I’m pretty sure none of them are dead.”

  “You think Unknown Identities
is recruiting new blood?”

  “Or trying to.” She saw the chips and opened the bag. When the sweet and savory aroma of chicken and waffles hit her, she blanched. “Nope.” She pinched the bag closed and fanned her face.

  “But—”

  She shoved the bag at him. “Get them out of here. Hurry.”

  “—that’s what you asked for,” he finished.

  “I know.” She gulped her herbal tea. “I’m sorry. Please, please toss them out.”

  He took the bag of chips and left the room, heading to the trash can at the opposite end of the hall near the defunct ice machine. If they had another seven months of this he might lose his mind. Then he imagined how she’d look in a few weeks as her belly rounded with their child and he recognized the bluster. He’d make as many grocery runs as necessary to keep her and the baby happy.

  Hearing a scuff of a boot on the tile, he held his ground and took a long pull on the beer.

  “How’s she feeling?” The disembodied question came from the man who was basically invisible, thanks to UI’s signature experimentation. UI called him Chameleon and tallied him as a program loss since he’d turned on his handlers to work with John and Amelia. John and Amelia used his given name, Ben, and counted him as family.

  “She’s all right,” John replied. “Craving of the day didn’t work out, that’s all.”

  “You think chocolate doughnuts would help?” Ben asked.

  “Don’t they always?” John started back toward the room. “Come on. I picked up a six pack for us.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She’s got her teeth into a new story,” John warned as he dipped the card into the reader. The light flashed green and he opened the door. “Honey, we’re home,” he said, leading the way.

  She was pacing by the window, chewing on her thumbnail. “Hey, Ben.” She smiled in his general direction. Her nose twitched. “Did you bring chocolate?”

  Ben made himself partially visible and held out the box sporting the bright logo from the bakery down the street. “Hopefully you and the little one will agree on these.”

  “We do so far.” Her smile bright and eager, she hurried over. “Have you brought him up to speed?” she asked John.

  John shook his head and led Ben over to Amelia’s computer for a quick rundown on the situation with the escapees while she devoured a doughnut.

  “What do you think?” She brushed the crumbs from her hands and reached for another doughnut.

  “Sounds like classic UI crap. UI gets them in hot water, then breaks them out of prison and they manage to escape,” Ben said. “Though that wouldn’t explain the remains at the accident. Maybe they are dead.”

  John looked to Amelia, who was gaping at Ben.

  “Come on,” Ben said. “This is a no-brainer. If there had been a prison break originated by prisoners from Ft. Hood that would have made big news.”

  Brow furrowed, Amelia set aside her second doughnut and returned to her computer to reassess the vague information.

  “Keep going,” John encouraged Ben.

  “We both know we only put a dent in things when we wrecked that lab and raided that string of bank accounts.”

  Well, yeah. That’s why they were still looking over their shoulder as they tried to locate the remaining UI operatives Ben knew about.

  “I may not be on the inside anymore,” Ben continued, “that doesn’t mean I haven’t been peeking in windows.”

  “Ben!” Amelia’s face was awash in worry. “You can’t take that kind of risk.”

  “I’m careful,” he promised.

  She clearly wasn’t convinced, though she resumed her analysis.

  “She’s cute in maternal mode,” Ben muttered, nudging John with an elbow.

  Any agreement would only land him in hot water. “I heard that,” Amelia said.

  John found her adorable in any mode. “What do you know about this?” Thanks to the UI’s experimentation, Ben could go just about anywhere unnoticed. Like many of the enhanced soldiers UI created, Ben was faster and stronger than most men. He’d also embraced the benefits of being invisible. Spending years with little more than his own company had warped his outlook more than a little. Both his sense of morality and humor were slightly off center these days.

  “I don’t know anything. It’s just common sense. Best guess. Three soldiers accused of murder over a drug deal on a remote FOB? They insist they’re innocent, but wind up on the wrong end of life sentences and then escape to die in a car crash. Who else but UI could make that comprehensible?”

  “He has a point,” Amelia said. “Their service records are stellar, right up to the commission of the crime. More than one journalist has shared the opinion that the soldiers snapped.”

  “Or someone snapped them on purpose,” Ben suggested. “Chances are those bodies at the scene are John Does the team managed to scrounge up for effect. If the authorities believe they’re dead, UI can do whatever they please.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s good news or not.” John admitted.

  “The good news is if they’re on the run, UI doesn’t have them,” Amelia pointed out. “Working off of Ben’s theory, if we go looking, we need a better lead. They have a solid head start on us by now.”

  “Do any of the three have assets or ties in Texas?” John asked.

  “Not at first glance,” Amelia said. “Even if they did, would they stay in the area?”

  “Not likely.” In their shoes, John would want to get as far away from prison and the team who’d captured them as possible. “What’s the latest on Messenger’s position?”

  A few years back, they’d managed to corner the ruthless bastard in charge of UI, code name Messenger, and inject him with one of UI’s state of the art tracking devices. It wasn’t as reliable as it had been at the start, but they still got a hit on his actual position occasionally.

  “No readings on him for a month now,” Amelia said, auburn eyebrows knitting into a frown.

  That was cause for concern, but not the end of the world. If he was involved in this as John suspected, they’d be seeing him soon enough.

  “Where do you want me?” Ben asked.

  John made a snap decision. “Go back to Ft. Hood and see if you can catch a whiff of where UI was taking them. Amelia and I will stay here another day on research. Maybe we can pinpoint a likely place one or all of them would hide.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” By the time Ben reached the door, he was invisible again. Anyone in the hallway would have assumed the room’s occupants had opened the door and let it fall closed.

  John pulled the other chair around to her side of the table so he and Amelia could search together.

  Chapter 3

  In the storm drain set back from the road, Scott hugged his knees to his chest and thought about hot deserts and warm, sunny beaches. This time of year in northern Colorado the weather could turn foul from one hour to the next. He refused to walk any further on this desolate ribbon of highway. If the team shadowing him wanted to put him in the target’s path, they could damn well give him a coat and a ride. Days ago he’d tried to go south when he thought he’d slipped away from the team only to get caught within an hour.

  The beating had been so fierce they’d left him in the trunk of a sedan for almost twenty-four hours to recover. It was sufficient incentive to keep him playing along until he found a way to make sure the team wouldn’t be capable of following him or calling for back up. At this rate, every border patrol in the United States had probably been briefed with a list of his crimes and his photo and their weapons were locked and loaded, just waiting for him to step into their sights. Scott held no illusions that he’d get the chance to explain himself before bullets shredded his chest. On his own, death-by-border patrol was preferable to letting the team who’d kidnapped him finish him off, but his buddies were counting on him. He failed here, he failed them.

  Which left him with the obvious option to cooperate. Take the life of a stranger and t
he three of them could walk free. A rock and a damned hard place.

  When he’d been offered the chance to live after the SUV rolled, he’d been told to head north. On foot. They hadn’t given him any further direction or assistance, just waited for him to decide between immediate, certain death and a hope for freedom. Common sense and self-preservation kicking in, he’d started walking. He’d nabbed jeans, worn boots, a ball cap and a flannel work shirt along the way, wishing he could’ve left cash for the items. The Army had accused him of crimes he couldn’t fathom and now to survive, he’d become a thief and probably a cold-blooded killer.

  But survival was the name of the game. If he made the kill, his buddies lived. Assuming the bastard in the suit didn’t renege on the arrangement. Walking for miles between truckers willing to give him a lift he’d had plenty of time to think about his eventual exit strategy. He had no intention of letting the man in the suit control him beyond this one untenable mission. Then all he had to do was reach one of the Indian Reservations in Montana. There, his odds of escaping this situation increased dramatically. He could trade work for shelter and food. Bulky and fair-skinned, the stiff-lipped men watching him would be easier to spot when they were in the wilderness he knew best.

  Once he crossed the border, he could find a remote spot and remake his life. It wouldn’t look like anything he’d planned, but it would be living. It would be freedom.

  A gust of bitter wind swirled through the pipe, heavy with potential snow. Scott rubbed at his cold ears. The regulation high and tight hair cut was brutal in this weather without good gear. The hat helped, but not nearly enough.

  He’d thought of bleaching it, but that required money or more stealing. It wasn’t as if changing his hair would fool the team that kept him in line. He turned his back to the wind and waited out the last of the light. How much longer would they leave him out here? Until the target was in reach, obviously. He didn’t think they’d let him freeze to death, not until the job was done, anyway. He could pick up food and probably some water from the garbage bins at the next truck stop or diner he came across.