Soldier's Promise by Cindi Myers

Author:Cindi Myers [Myers, Cindi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-10-16T15:05:54+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Daniel Metwater paced the length of the conference room at Ranger Brigade headquarters, his dark, curly hair in disarray from continually raking his hands through it. He stopped and turned to face Jake and Carmen as they entered the room. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

“You could have returned to your camp, and we would have come to you there,” Jake said. Metwater didn’t look so in control of himself today. Dark circles beneath his eyes testified to a lack of sleep, and he stood with his shoulders hunched, as if anticipating a blow.

“It’s not safe for me there.” He jerked his head toward the door. “I’ve been trying to tell your colleagues, but they said I would have to wait for you.”

Carmen pulled a chair out from the conference table. “Mr. Metwater, sit down, and we’ll discuss this,” she said.

He scowled at her. “If you’d been doing your job instead of spying on me and my followers, you could have prevented this,” he said.

“Prevented what?” Jake sat across from the chair Carmen had pulled out for Metwater. “Sit down, and start at the beginning. We can’t help you if you’re not making sense.”

The scowl deepened, but Metwater dropped into the chair. “I need protection,” he said.

“Protection from what?” Carmen filled a paper cup from the water cooler by the door and slid it across to Metwater, then sat beside Jake.

“The people who killed my brother. They’re after me now.” He drained the cup, then crumpled it in his fist. “Killing Reggae was a warning to me.”

“Who are these people?” Jake asked.

“Organized crime. Russian organized crime. The Bratva.”

“The Chicago police suspected they were responsible for your brother’s death, but they never found any proof,” Carmen said.

“They killed him,” Metwater said. “He was into them for too much. He was so reckless and stupid—he thought nothing could ever touch him. He embezzled almost a million dollars from our father, but it wasn’t enough. He owed even more—gambling debts, women, drugs. If there was a vice, David had it.”

“And you were the good brother,” Jake said.

Metwater’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wasn’t a saint but, compared to David, I looked like one.”

“Why do you think your brother’s killers are after you?” Carmen asked. “They took their revenge out on him, and they’ve left you alone until now.”

He raked his hands through his hair again. “I don’t know why now. I thought that, after all this time, they were satisfied, that David’s blood was enough for them. Then they killed Reggae...”

“We haven’t found anything to link organized crime to Reggae’s murder,” Jake said. “It’s more likely that he died because he was involved with a man or men who are smuggling rare cactus off public land.”

Metwater stiffened. “What men?” he asked.

“Do you know a man named Werner Altbusser, a German?” Jake asked.

“Do you think he killed Reggae?” Metwater asked.

“We don’t know. Do you know him?”

Metwater’s shoulders relaxed, though sweat beaded his forehead. “Not well. He came to my camp and asked my permission to recruit some of my followers to hunt for cactus for him.

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