Gabe
Gabe
Shadow Soldiers, Volume 2
Rose Middleton
Published by Rose Middleton, 2021.
GABE
Copyright © Rose Middleton, 2021
First published 2021
Published by Rose Middleton
URL: https://www.rosemiddleton.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Cover art Angela Stevens
ISBN 978-0-6450767-1-4
Readers are advised that the following work contains portrayals of elements such as violence, sex scenes and themes that require a mature outlook.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also in the Shadow Soldier Series: | RILEY – Bk 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Epilogue
A note from Rose:
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Further Reading: Hollywood
About the Author
Also in the Shadow Soldier Series:
RILEY – Bk 1
Chapter One
In a small town like Bourke’s Ridge, population 500, everyone knew everyone. Located in the Great Dividing Range, the Ridge—as everyone affectionally called it—sat deep in the heart of a mountain range in Australia’s southeast that was remote and difficult to access. Famous for its high-country cattlemen, the legend of Banjo Paterson’s The Man from Snowy River had been entrenched in its folklore.
It really wasn’t much of a tourist attraction.
But it was a great place to disappear.
And Kate Smith’s home.
By the time she arrived in the town center at nine on Friday morning, the sleepy hamlet was abuzz with talk of a stranger. Though the outsider had been and gone, there was no stopping the gossipmongers, least of all Harry Wilson, who eyed her with an air of suspicion when she entered his supermarket to pick up her winter grocery supplies. He’d given her that same look when she first rolled into town all those years ago. Today, it sent a cold shiver up Kate’s spine.
“Morning Harry,” she called, forcing cheerfulness into her voice she didn’t feel.
It didn’t pay to be rude to Harry Wilson. At thirty-five years of age, he was one of the most influential members of the town. Harry had the power to make or break you. If he didn’t like you, the town didn’t like you.
“Kate.” Harry nodded at her. “Your order’s in back.”
She tugged off her gloves in the warm air of the shop. It was the same every year. When the first snow fell, she called up Harry’s store and placed her order. Days later, she’d drive the battered old Ford pickup into town and park it around the back for his employees to load. The difference this year was that the snows had come early and were falling with a vengeance.
“I hear there was a visitor?”
Standing behind his counter, a wry smile curled Harry’s lip. “Yeah, some guy came in enquiring about a woman. Had to send him on his way,” he shrugged, stepped up onto a small ladder and returned to stocking the cigarette shelf behind him. “Nobody by the name of Emily MacIntosh out here, is there?”
A second cold shiver rattled through her, settling in the center of her chest. Emily MacIntosh? Someone had come looking for Emily MacIntosh? Dread churned in her stomach and a terrible sense of déjà vu tightened her throat. This call was far too close for comfort but she needed to shrug off the fear whispering at her ear. Her cover had held for this long, it would hold a good deal longer. Kate shook her head and made herself smile.
“Nah,” she said, removing an envelope from her jacket pocket. Harry stepped down from the ladder and moved closer to her.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. He didn’t believe me too much but went on his way anyways. He came in early though,” Harry glanced at his watch and a swathe of blond hair falling across his forehead. He eyed the offending lock of hair and blushed, reminding her that despite his gruff exterior, Harry Wilson could be sweet and kind when no one was looking. He tossed his head to set his hair back in place. “Came in about eight o’clock I’d say. I’d just opened the doors.”
Kate chuckled. “Eager, huh?”
Harry frowned, his eyes connecting with hers. As much as she wanted to pull away, Kate couldn’t. Something in those brown eyes held her attention like never before. Deep and dark, it almost served as a warning. “Wouldn’t say eager, as such. I’d say he was desperate actually; as if he had to find this Emily woman right now.”
Kate’s heart stuttered. “Oh well, he’ll be disappointed then. Probably move on to Wills Crossing.”
Her mention of the next town along the ridge didn’t change Harry’s expression. With his eyes still boring into hers, she sensed he looked at her with newfound knowledge. Not good. So far, the entire Wilson tribe had accepted her presence. Grandma Wilson especially welcomed her with open arms.
At first, Harry had taken a long time to warm up to her. Over the years he’d opened up more and made a point to let her know that she wasn’t unwelcome. For the last eight years, she’d lived in Bourke’s Ridge knowing that, just or not, the Wilsons could make her life a living hell.
Of all the towns to choose to start her life over, she still couldn’t remember how she’d settled on this place. Picturesque in winter and delightfully peaceful in summer, Bourke’s Ridge seemed to be in the clutches of an unsightly war of families. She had tried to understand it, really, she had. Her brain just couldn’t wrap itself around the intricacies of small-town politics.
Even after eight years, she still didn’t have it all mapped out.
“No,” Harry shook his head. “I have a feeling that he’s going to stick around. He seemed pretty adamant that this Emily MacIntosh was here in the Ridge.”
Again, she sensed an air of warning in Harry’s tone but didn’t ask why. He seemed to expect a response from her, maybe even ask about it. Kate didn’t trust herself and stayed quiet. She’d pop into the pub and ask Morgan what he knew about the stranger. Choosing to accept Harry’s tale and move on, she stretched her shoulders to ease the tension and beamed him a smile. It did the trick, melting Harry’s menacing scowl into a warm, liquid grin.
“I’ll return for the truck in a moment,” she said, turning to go. “I need to collect a few other things as well.”
“Kate,” Harry called, causing her to stop and turn back to him.
“Yes?”
His eyes softened. That expression convinced her Harry Wilson wasn’t half the scoundrel he pretended to be. “Reports are that there’s a monster snowstorm on the way. You might want to get back to your cabin soon.”
“Thanks,” she nodded before leaving.
She’d heard the reports too. The early arrival of winter seemed intent on biting them hard this year. Being caught in town would leave her no alternative but to hunker down in a room at the pub. A suitable option, but not one she wanted to take. The privacy of her home was far more appropriate. If the road to her cabin disappeared under a blanket of snow, she’d have to ski home, collect the small sled and come back for the groceries.
Whatever she’d seen in Harry’s expression left Kate on edge. Crossing the road, she took a little longer to look for more than the usual traffic. She searched Main Street for anything unusual, any sign of something—or someone—that shouldn’t be there.
Living up to its picturesque repu
tation, Main Street glistened under a light sprinkling of fresh snow. It looked like a fairy tale, but Kate couldn’t shrug off the feeling of being watched. Pulling her collar high to protect against the biting wind, she hunched lower in her heavy coat and tugged down on her woolen beanie. Kate sensed danger in the air.
Stop being ridiculous.
Stepping into the pub, Buckley’s Chance, Kate quickly scanned the bar room. At half nine in the morning, it sat empty. She found nothing out of the ordinary, and gratefully removed her woolen headwear. Running a hand through her short hair, she smiled when she saw Morgan standing behind the counter. Striding over, she rested a hip on a tall bar stool, tucking her gloves into the beanie.
“Good morning,” she said softly. The atmosphere of the pub was usually quiet and somber, except when they held a community event and then things got loud. Very, very loud.
Morgan nodded at her. “Breakfast?”
Chuckling, Kate shook her head. “You know me better than that.”
He smiled. His fair skin always seemed too light for this kind of living. Where everyone else wore their tanned, leathery skins as a mark of hard work and dignity, Morgan and his family wore their delicate coloring with honor. Still, it clashed remarkably with his black hair and deep green eyes.
“I know, I know,” he laughed, wiping the bar down with a softened rag. “Up at the crack of dawn.”
“Wouldn’t mind a few leftovers for lunch though,” she said with a smile. “If you have them?”
Nodding, Morgan motioned for her to follow him back through the swinging doors to the kitchen. She made a point of dining here once a week, weather permitting, just so the locals didn’t think her anti-social. Over time, she’d developed a close bond with the young Morgan who, at twenty-six, was ten years her junior. Her womanly senses warned her that he was smitten, but she wouldn’t turn her back on friends in this town.
The big ovens were still hot after breakfast and in readiness for the lunchtime regulars. Even in a small town like this, many popped into the local tavern for a bite to eat, justifying the Buckley’s desire to stay open for as many hours during the day as possible. Leaning against a heavy wooden bench, Kate watched Morgan collect some foil trays from the big industrial fridge and set them on the island in the center of the kitchen.
“How are things, Morgan?” she queried, partly to make small talk and partly to find out about the stranger.
“Oh,” he said with a shrug. “No dramas here, Kate. Life is as it has always been.”
His daily quips and slightest hint of an Irish accent gave Morgan the air of being an old soul who’d seen much of what the world had to offer. Even though he’d never left the Ridge.
“I suppose you’ve heard already?” He glanced sideways at her with a raised eyebrow as he lifted half a roasted chicken into a dish for her. “About the visitor?”
She nodded. “You know Harry.” She stole a sliver of chicken and popped it into her mouth. Delicious. “He’s already informed me of the latest gossip.”
“It’s not gossip, Kate,” Morgan insisted. She wished he would look up so that she could see, and read, his eyes. “There was a stranger in town, early. Dropped in for some breakfast, too. Enquired about a woman.”
Kate nodded. “Emily MacIntosh. Who is she?” she asked, avoiding eye contact. The tight smile she threw his way felt stiff, even to her.
At the sound of her question, Morgan set his spatula on the bench and looked up. Fixing her with a worried expression, he frowned. “I think you know the answer to that.”
Her heart rate sped up but she stayed silent. Morgan rarely left anything unsaid. She waited.
“He was a pleasant enough fellow,” Morgan continued. “A bit quiet—reserved you might say. Paid his bill upfront, in cash, with a generous tip. Seemed dressed for the coming storm, too.”
Oh no. Worry clawed at her insides. Harry had been right, the stranger had prepared to stick around to find his target. Identities ran through her mind, the names of anyone from her past who could be here to seek her out. But they all belonged to ghosts.
“Kate?”
Morgan’s voice jerked her attention back to the present. “Sorry, just the mention of the snowstorm means I need to hurry my trip along.”
He nodded, understanding. “This stranger, he produced a piece of paper with a photo of the MacIntosh woman.” Morgan shook his head sadly. “Pretty lady. Sad that she disappeared like that.”
Curiosity piqued; Kate allowed herself to play into Morgan’s suspicions. “Disappeared?”
His head bobbed as he concentrated on adding roast potatoes and pumpkin to her chicken. Lunch looked very good indeed. “Yes. Nearly ten years ago. Poof, into thin air apparently. Last place seen was Devil’s Canyon.”
Glad that he didn’t watch her, Kate felt the blood drain from her face. She remembered that trip to Devil’s Canyon—an hour south of the Ridge—as if it happened yesterday. She hadn’t meant to cause a scene, but the drunk lumberjack refused to take no for an answer. She’d pushed him away from her with enough force only to put a foot between them, except he tripped over his groggy feet and tumbled apex over ass down the steps.
At the time, she’d been naïve enough to provide her real name to the cops when she’d made the statement. She hadn’t taken the precaution of changing her appearance either. Needless to say, sticking around in Devil’s Canyon was an option dusted by her stupidity.
“I see, so he couldn’t find her there and figured that she would have driven along until the next town?” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “If a girl wanted to disappear, she wouldn’t have made such an obvious move.”
Which explained why Kate did exactly that, driving along the road until she’d come to Bourke’s Ridge. Innocence had led her to think that anyone trying to find her would expect her to take a more complicated route, perhaps even double back and head towards the big smoke. She should have known better.
Her thoughts stilled when Morgan raised his head to stare at her. His green eyes held fear and worry. Where Harry observed her with suspicion, probably silently assuming—accurately—that she was Emily MacIntosh, Morgan’s gaze held fierce determination and a desire to protect.
He gazed at her patiently, as if he knew it was her in the photo and knew she was Emily MacIntosh and was waiting for her to own up. She could be anyone—a psychopathic killer running from the most hideous of crimes—and yet his compassion encouraged him to help. He really was an old soul because she’d never known any twenty-six-year-old men who possessed such empathy.
“Obviously,” he agreed with a flirty wink. “But, I told him the truth and said I didn’t know anyone by the name of Emily MacIntosh. Told him he should try Wills Crossing. It’s a bigger town that thrives on the tourist dollar, where no one really cares who moves in or out. Told him he’d probably find his Emily there.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. Thank you seemed too much of an admission that she was Emily MacIntosh, while good thinking appeared too much like a psychopathic killer on the run. “What did she look like?”
He frowned and then turned his attention back to the dishes of leftover food on the bench. A small foil tray held bright green peas. He tipped those in to fill in the gaps between the chicken, potatoes, and pumpkin. Her mouth watered when he drizzled gravy over the entire lot. Done, he peeled the lid off a small cardboard box to reveal a chocolate cheesecake with mounds of strawberries and curls of rich, dark chocolate on top. Kate nodded enthusiastically at the cake, deciding not to ignore her sweet tooth.
“Like I say,” Morgan spoke absently, his concentration focused on keeping the cheesecake in one piece for her. “Pretty lady. Looked a little you in the face, though her hair was much longer and strawberry blond. Funny,” he said, straightening and admiring his culinary handiwork. “She looked rather sad in the photo.”
“And did the stranger give you his name?”
“No.” Morgan flashed her a wry smile. “I suppose once he figured she wasn’t here, he didn’t need to make nice with the locals. He finished off his scrambled eggs and toast, sculled the last of his coffee and bid me farewell. Left in that canary yellow SUV. Looked all fancy and expensive. Kind of stuck out like a sore thumb around here, what with our run-down rust-buckets. All the same, he seemed well prepared for a winter in the mountains.”