THE SAVIOR: COLTER
Cover Six Security #6
Lisa B. Kamps
THE SAVIOR: COLTER
Copyright © 2020 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
Cover Six Security™ is a fictional security company, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art
https://www.simplydefinedart.com/
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other titles by this author
Prologue
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
Epilogue
. PLAYING THE GAME preview
About The Author
Other titles by this author
Dedication
For Nancy and Stewart.
Always.
Other titles by this author:
COVER SIX SECURITY
Covered By A Kiss, A CSS Novella, Book 0
The Protector: MAC, Book 1
The Guardian: DARYL, Book 2
The Defender: RYDER, Book 3
The Warrior: DERRICK, Book 4
The Rescuer: WOLF, Book 5
The Savior: COLTER, Book 6
The Hero: ROMAN, Book 7
THE NEW ORLEANS BOURDONS
Rule Breaker, Book 1
Troublemaker, Book 2
Heartbreaker, Book 3
Risk Taker, Book 4
THE YORK BOMBERS
Playing The Game, Book 1
Playing To Win, Book 2
Playing For Keeps, Book 3
Playing It Up, Book 4
Playing It Safe, Book 5
The York Bombers Boxed Set 1
Books 1-3
Playing For Love, Book 6
Playing His Part, Book 7
Playing It Cool, Book 8
THE BALTIMORE BANNERS
Crossing the Line, Book 1
Game Over, Book 2
Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3
Body Check, Book 4
First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story
Break Away, Book 5
Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Delay of Game, Book 6
Shoot Out, Book 7
The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy
Books 1-3 Boxed set
The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy
Books 4-6 Boxed set
On Thin Ice, Book 8
Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
One-Timer, Book 9
Face Off, Book 10
Game Misconduct, Book 11
Christmas Interference, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Fighting To Score, Book 12
Matching Penalties, Book 13
THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES
Winning Hard, Book 1
Loving Hard, Book 2
Playing Hard, Book 3
FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN
Once Burned, Book 1
Playing With Fire, Book 2
Breaking Protocol, Book 3
Into the Flames, Book 4
Second Alarm, Book 5
Feel The Burn, Book 6
Coming Soon
STAND-ALONE TITLES
Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)
Finding Dr. Right
Time To Heal
Dangerous Passion
Dangerous Heat
Illicit Affair
Coming Soon
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Prologue
It was too good to be true. Mr. Bug and Trey and Reggie had taught all the girls never to believe the people who told them they could help because they were nothing but a bunch of liars.
She knew Mr. Bug was telling the truth because Mr. Bug knew things. He knew people. How many times had he proved that to the girls? Too many times.
So when to told her not to believe the people who said they wanted to help, she did.
But she wanted to believe the woman standing in front of her. She didn't look like the others, with their pinched faces and wary eyes that made her think of the ugly trolls in some of the stories she used to make up with her. The woman standing in front of her wasn't ugly at all.
Even more surprising was the fact that the woman didn't want anything from her. At least, that's what the woman said. She wasn't sure what to believe
She stared at the hat in the woman's hands, wondered if it was as warm and soft and fuzzy as it looked. It was a stupid color—pink. Pink was a color for a little girl. But that didn't make her want the hat any less, even though she wasn't a little girl anymore.
She took a hesitant step closer, still wary even though the woman hadn't moved at all. Her eyes shifted from the hat to the bag in the other woman's hand, wondering what was in it. Food, she knew that much, she wasn't stupid. But what kind of food? Maybe it was just a cold sandwich but even that would be better than nothing.
As long as it didn't have mayonnaise. She didn't like mayonnaise. Not that she couldn't scrape it off—
The woman raised the bag and she took a quick step back, ready to turn and run if the woman got closer. But she didn't move and there was something sad in her eyes when she spoke.
"It's just a cheeseburger and some fries. They're probably still warm if you want them." The woman sat the bag on the cracked marble steps of the vacant rowhome, placed the hat next to it, then stepped back.
She looked at the bag, her mouth already watering, then slid her gaze to the hat. She
finally looked back at the woman and frowned. "What do you want for them?"
"Nothing. They're all yours."
The woman was lying. She had to be. People didn't just give stuff away for nothing. "Why?"
"Because I thought you might be hungry. And because it's cold out and you should have a hat to keep you warm."
The woman took another step back, that look of sadness still in her eyes. "My name is Allison. If you ever need anything—"
"I don't."
"If you do, you can come to me. I can help you."
Now she knew the woman was lying. Help? Nobody could help her. Nobody could help any of them. Mr. Bug made sure of it. And even if the woman could, why would she?
But still, she had brought the hat—
She darted forward and grabbed the hat and the bag off the steps, then turned and ran, not stopping until she was sure the woman wasn't following her. She ducked into an alley and crouched next to a bunch of trash cans then jammed her hand into the bag.
It was a cheeseburger, just like the woman had said. She scarfed it down, along with the fries, then threw the bag away.
She looked down at the hat, staring at it for a long time. She turned it over and over in her hands, her fingers playing in the fuzzy material. Then she jammed it onto her head, got up, and walked away.
Who cared if pink was a stupid color meant for little girls? It was her hat now.
And she liked it.
Chapter One
"What the hell?"
Colter "Ninja" Graham pulled the sunglasses from his face and stared at the small crowd of three on the street corner up ahead. Night was falling fast, even though it wasn't yet six o'clock, so the faces weren't clear. Even if the nearby street light had been working, he wouldn't have been able to make out the details of their faces with any clarity, not as far away as he was.
But he didn't need to be up-close-and-personal to the trio standing half a block away to realize he knew one of them.
Her brown hair was darker in the shadows and several inches longer than it had been the last time he'd seen her. The strands hung loose, swaying against the middle of her back instead of being contained in the messy ponytail she'd always worn when they'd been on the island. A frayed scarf protected her neck from the cold air and a heavy jacket hid her build, but he got the sense that she'd lost weight since he'd seen her last. Would her beautiful brown eyes widen in surprise if he told her that? Or would her eyes narrow in disbelief and frustration a split second before she verbally flayed him for being such an ass?
Maybe both. No, definitely both.
What the hell did it say about him that he didn't care which one she did, as long as he could see those eyes again? Those eyes had been haunting him for the last fourteen months, both day and night. He should have never touched her back on that island. And he sure as hell should have never kissed her. Kissing was all they'd done, and only that one time, but that had been enough to permanently sear everything about her in his brain. No, he shouldn't have kissed her but he had—
And he hadn't stopped thinking about her since.
Allison Hess.
His biggest regret.
Colter just didn't know which regret was biggest in the long line of regrets that all revolved around Allison. Regret that he'd gotten too close? Regret that he hadn't gotten close enough? Regret that he'd walked away? Regret that his own damn sense of honor had hurt her, when all he'd wanted to do was protect her?
Guilt stabbed him at the thought, even now. Allison was Boomer's kid sister, and Ryder "Boomer" Hess was one of Colter's teammates. They both worked for Cover Six Security, a private security company that provided more than your average security. They were all former military, every single one of them, forged by a bond that most people didn't understand. They were a family of sorts. Dysfunctional as hell, maybe, but still a family, held together by loyalty and honor and duty.
Which put Allison firmly in the Do Not Touch column. As much as Colter had hoped he could make the alternative work, she wasn't even in the friend zone. Not because she was Boomer's sister, but because they'd just sort of fallen out of touch. He couldn't put all the blame on her for that because he could have kept those communication lines open if he'd really wanted to. And yeah, he'd wanted to—too much, if he was honest with himself—but he'd sensed her pulling away so he didn't push.
Just another damn regret in a long line of them when it came to Allison.
But what the hell was she doing here, in Baltimore? Boomer would have said something about his sister being in town if he knew. More precisely, what the fuck was Allison doing on this particular street corner in this particular section of the city? This wasn't a tourist area, like the Inner Harbor or Fell's Point or Canton. This area wasn't close to the football stadium or baseball stadium or hockey arena. This wasn't a part of the city where people came on purpose—this was a part of the city where people came when they were up to no good.
The shrill blast of a car horn jerked Colter from his rambling thoughts. He glanced in the rearview mirror, frowned when he saw the driver behind him throwing him a middle-fingered salute. He tossed his own hand in the air in a dismissive wave and pressed one foot on the accelerator. Instead of going straight the way he'd planned, he cut the wheels and slid the truck into the left lane, earning another horn blast from the car he cut off.
He waved at the driver—more as a grudging acceptance that yeah, it was an asshole move on his part—then eased the truck forward. The trio was still standing at the corner, their body language screaming tension and anger and confrontation. What the fuck was going on? Was Allison in some kind of trouble? And who the hell was with her? They were still mostly in shadows but Colter was close enough to tell that the other two people with Allison were a man and a woman—or maybe it was a young girl, she was so damn tiny. Allison was standing between the man and woman—girl—and Colter couldn't shake the feeling that Allison was somehow protecting her, or even shielding her.
What the fuck?
Every instinct sharpened, jacking his awareness level up to DEFCON 2. He had no idea what the hell was going on but he didn't like it. And he especially didn't like the fact that Allison was involved.
Unless it wasn't Allison and he was just seeing things.
Whether it was her or not was a moot point because trouble was ten seconds away from erupting. Colter shot a quick glance in his mirrors then pressed down on the gas and made the left turn with a rubbing of tires against asphalt. Several horns blared in response but Colter ignored them, his focus one-hundred-and-fifty percent on the trio at the corner.
Whatever the guy had been ready to do—and he had been ready to do something, Colter was positive of it—had been interrupted by Colter's dash across two lanes of oncoming traffic. All three of them were now looking at him, their expressions ranging from worry to impatience to anger. And yeah, now that Colter was closer, he could see that it really was Allison.
Except this Allison looked so different from the woman he remembered that he simply sat there for a few seconds, his mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing. By the time his gray matter kicked in and he threw open the door, all three of them were taking off—and each one of them was heading in a different direction.
"Allison!" He called her name, fully expecting the running woman to come to a stop. And she did—sort of. The stop was more of a stumble as she glanced over her shoulder, a look of confused surprise filling her face.
Colter dashed across the street and stepped onto the curb, his long stride already closing the distance between them. "Al!"
He wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe for Allison to run toward him. Maybe a smile. Maybe nothing more than an acknowledgment of his presence. He got none of those things. Instead, she spun on the heel of one worn-out shoe and took off, damn near in a dead run, her hair fanning out behind her. Colter started to move after her then came to an abrupt stop.
Was he wrong? Did the woman only remind him of Allison? Was she
running because some big guy, a man who was a total stranger, was coming after her? Colter could blend into the shadows and remain unnoticed when he wanted to but now wasn't one of those times. Any woman in her right mind—hell, any man in his right mind—would take off running if she saw Colter coming after her. Was that why she was running? Because she wasn't Allison and he was nothing more than a stranger who posed an imminent threat?
No. It was Allison, he was positive of it. So why the hell was she running like the hounds of Hell were after her?
He took another step forward then halted midstride, coming to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Life moved on around him, unaware and uncaring of his own uncertainty and confusion. The sound of traffic, tires humming against asphalt, horns blowing in frustration and rage as cars fought to make it through the lights long after they turned red. The handful of pedestrians, impatient strides carrying bodies huddled against the damp chill of the February night, heads down and eyes deliberately avoiding contact with passersby. The short wail of a siren and the eye-piercing strobe of red and blue as a police car slid to a stop next to Colter.
Shit.
The police officer opened the door and stepped out of the car, his wary gaze focused on Colter. That cautious gaze moved from Colter to the truck parked at an odd angle against the far curb then back again.
Colter waved a hand in acknowledgment then backed toward the truck. "Yeah, sorry. Thought someone was in trouble."
The cop didn't look like he believed him but he didn't say anything. Colter held his breath, wondering if he was going to be stopped and read the riot act—or worse—but the cop simply stood there, watching as Colter returned to his truck and climbed back in.
He gave a final wave to the officer then pulled away from the curb and aimed his truck in the direction Allison had taken. She was on foot, she couldn't have gone too far.
Except she had because she was nowhere in sight. He drove up one block then down the next, fighting traffic as he widened his search, but with no luck. She was gone, completely disappeared from view. There were a hundred different buildings she could have gone into, but none that made sense. This was a mostly residential area, with a few small businesses mixed in among the mixture of occupied rowhomes and abandoned houses. The businesses—like the rest of the area—were struggling to survive. Bars and grates covered splintered windows and signs blinked and faded into the darkness. The trash-strewn sidewalks were cracked, some of them missing entire chunks of concrete. The marble steps of the rowhomes were chipped and stained, the brick fronts streaked and dirty and painted with graffiti.