Zack (In the Company of Snipers Book 3)

ZACK

IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS

Book 3

IRISH WINTERS

Praise for In the Company of Snipers Series

ALEX, Book 1

“If you are looking for a sweet and sappy romance, this is not it. This book is very real, very emotional, and very raw. The characters were so well written at times I felt like I was feeling the love, the loss, and the triumph right along with them.”

--Tabitha, (Amazeballs Book Addicts)

“The story line was heart wrenching. So much tragedy! Emotional scenes with profound dialogues and life wisdom shared. Excellent! What a wonderful love story!”

--Book lover, (Athens, Greece)

“Alex, by Irish Winters, is one of those books that rips your heart out, breaks it into pieces, duct tapes and super glues it back together, and then somehow puts it back looking better than it did to start with! What an angst filled, incredibly heart wrenching, beautifully written romantic drama about two people who have been damaged and scarred by life.”

--My Secret Book Spot

MARK, Book 2

“Irish Winters does it again with this one. Mark and Libby are made for each other, but the trials and tragedy is so heartbreaking. I literally felt pits in my stomach and cried a few times. This story will grip you from page 1 and then make you cry when it’s over.”

--Tabitha, (Amazeballs Book Addicts)

“I really enjoyed Mark. I loved the fast pace of the book. I loved this second book in the series and am looking forward to the coming stories of the other Team members.”

--T. Graczykowski, TnT Reviews (Wisconsin)

“Irish Winters has outdone her first book, Alex! She pulls every emotion from you and has you needing to finish the book because you can’t leave the characters stuck in limbo. There is a place where Mark and Libby are standing on the porch and he’s leaving to go back to Afghanistan and in reality it’s time for dinner...but you just have to let your family starve for a few more minutes because you just don’t care to eat. You NEEEEDDD to know what they say, you can’t just leave them standing there in a state of paralysis while you eat. It’s THAT kind of book!”

--My Secret Book Spot

ZACK; In the Company of Snipers, 3

Copyright ©2014 by Irish Winters

All rights reserved

Second Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogues, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Edited by Cas Peace http://www.caspeace.com

Cover design and author photo by Kelli Ann Morgan,

 http://www.inspirecreativeservices.com

Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-942895-07-7

ISBN eBook: 978-1-942895-08-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014937535

Irish Winter’s author website is

http://www.irishwinters.com
or irishwinters.blogspot.com

(This information is provided as a public service. It was taken directly from the FBI web-site.)

“It’s sad but true: here in this country, people are being bought, sold, and smuggled like modern-day slaves. They are trapped in lives of misery—often beaten, starved, and forced to work as prostitutes or to take grueling jobs as migrant, domestic, restaurant, or factory workers with little or no pay. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is working hard to stop human trafficking—not only because of the personal and psychological toll it takes on society, but also because it facilitates the illegal movement of immigrants across borders and provides a ready source of income for organized crime groups and even terrorists.”

Contact Your Local FBI Office

Call 1-888-373-7888

www.fbi.gov

To Bill, the incredibly handsome warrior in my own love story.

You are and always will be my first hero.

Where to begin?

For my mother, Mary Rose, who opened my eyes to the world of books, imagination, and flights of fancy. I have travelled the universe and beyond, all because of you.

For Sister Annette at Saint Leo’s High School in Tacoma, Washington, who taught AP English and insisted her students delve into authors the likes of Chaucer, Dickinson, Hemingway, and Thoreau, not to mention such works as
The Iliad
and the
Odyssey
, and
The Aeneid
. The school is gone now, but your inspiration lives on.

For my sisters who told me I could do it, my girlfriends who said I should do it, and a dear friend, Katie King Dodge, who did do it. She’s the one who took the first brave steps into the scary world of agents, publishers, and critique groups. I just followed. It’s been the ride of a lifetime. What a rush!

For my beta readers, Nancy Richardson, Lynn Hill, and again, Katie King Dodge. Your support goes much deeper than catching punctuation and grammatical errors. You’ve kept me believing in my dream.

For Cas Peace who sets me straight and helps me get it right. I enjoy writing with you in my corner. You’ve helped Zack tell his story.

For Kelli Ann Morgan, my friend and the artist I wish I could be. My covers rock because of you!

For Bob Houston. You’re so good to work with. I’m thankful for all you’ve done to help me with my books.

Each of you has been a point of light along the way. I could not ask for more. You have my profound gratitude.

Schools out already?

Mei Xing glanced at the clock in her kitchen. Time to hurry. Another day of first grade done and no doubt another crayon treasure ready for the refrigerator door. She used to watch for LiLi’s school bus from her small balcony. No more. Not since her precocious six-year old had sternly informed her, “Mommy, all the kids can see you.”

The bus screeched to its first stop. Mei had just enough time. Out the door and into the open elevator she went, smoothing her hands over her hips just as the bus pulled to the curb. LiLi already held a sheet of bright yellow construction paper to the window, her sweet eyes blazing with excitement.

“Hey, lady.”

Mei turned to a man in dark glasses and a dirty denim jacket walking toward her, his steps quick, like he knew where he was going and he was late. He didn’t look like a parent, certainly not any of the children’s fathers she recognized.

“Yes?” she asked, while she waved another small mommy-kind of wave to her daughter. LiLi waved back, a big grin with her two front teeth missing. She never looked prettier.

“That your little girl?” he asked.

Mei’s hackles rose. Protective instincts flashed to the surface. She didn’t know this guy. It was none of his business which little girl was hers, not like anyone could miss the distinct American Chinese traits of mother and daughter. The rank combination of sweat, booze, and cigarettes filled her nose. He’d gotten too close for comfort. Too fast.

“What do you want?” She glanced back at LiLi, smiling and bouncing down the steps of the bus, her crayon picture in hand.

“Mommy,” she squealed. “Look what I made for you!”

“Excuse me.” Mei turned away from the stranger, determined to get LiLi into the safety of the apartment building. “I have to get my dau—”

“Not yet you don’t.” He grabbed her wrist, jerking her backward and off balance. She nearly fell, forced to rely on the pressure of his hard hand to right herself.

“Mommy!” LiLi screamed.

Mei’s heart lurched. Another man had taken hold of her daughter. Same get-up. Dark glasses. Denim jacket. He ran around the front of the bus with LiLi kicking in his arms. The bus driver scrambled after him. “Let her go!”

“LiLi!” Mei launched all of her venom at the man restraining her, fingernails aimed for his eyes.

He grabbed her jaw in his dirty hand, twisting her to view the man who’d taken LiLi. “Take a good look, bitch. You’re never gonna see your brat again.” With one last twist, he shoved her to the sidewalk and ran around the back of the bus.

Mei scrambled after him, her arms and fingers outstretched to grab his jacket. She reached too late. He jumped into the open passenger door of a mini-truck, slamming the door in her face. She hit the window with frightened, angry fists. “Give me my daughter!”

“Mommy!” LiLi climbed over him, her face blotched with fear, both palms flat to the window and crying, “Mommy!”

“Please!” Mei pleaded for a miracle, pounding the glass with all of her strength. She jerked the door handle, determined to pull the thing off if she had to. “Give her back!”

He grinned, his index finger and thumb turned into a gun. Bang. He shot her with his imaginary bullet.

She wrapped her hand through the door handle. That’s exactly what they’d have to do to get away—shoot her. The truck was a piece of junk vehicle. Its handle had to give! As the truck picked up speed, she refused to give up. These guys were not taking LiLi!

The driver applied more speed. Mei stumbled. Her knees hit the roadway. Pain jolted up her legs.
I don’t care! Drag me. I’m not letting go!
When the passenger door swung open, she dared to hope. The man jerked it back and forth, slamming it into her.

“Stupid bitch!” he cursed. “Get off!”

“No,” she ground out. “Give her back!”

“Mommy!” LiLi’s frantic scream spiked another rush of adrenaline. A glimpse of him elbowing the girl off his back caught the corner of Mei’s eye just as his boot kicked her full in the face. For one split second, her fingers relaxed. Just barely. Just enough.

Tires engaged once more. The vehicle swerved down the street and away.

Mei dug into the asphalt with her fingernails and pushed to her feet. She ran, but there was no way to catch it. Two blocks down the street and the truck kept going.

God, help me!

When it screeched around the corner and vanished, she crumpled to her bloody knees.
This can’t be happening! Who were they? Why LiLi? Why my baby?!

“I called the police,” the bus driver said, one hand to her sweaty shoulder, the picture LiLi had been so proud of in his other hand. “Here. Your little girl dropped this.”

Mei hugged the construction paper to her heart, a desperate scream climbing up her throat. Blackest black reached up from the depths of Hell and strangled her. She couldn’t even cry. The imaginary bullet had struck true.

LiLi was gone.

Damn. Who’s singing in my shower?

Zack Lennox peeled a bleary eye open. Had to be Jake. Only he could get away with singing this early and make it sound good - well, halfway good. The problem was not the pitch or tune, but the depression. The man was good, but he could turn
You Are My Sunshine
into a dirge.

Today was no different. Zack recognized the words to one of the heartrending scores from
Les Mis
. He laid there, his arm over his face to block the early morning light. If only it blocked the song. One hurt his eyes; the other hurt his heart. Yeah. The anguish of every man who’d ever been deployed echoed through those pleading lyrics.
Bring Him Home.

Singing was the way Jake vented his heartache. He’d come home messed up from his last tour in Iraq, not able to go back to what Americans who’d never been to war called a ‘normal life’. Most people didn’t realize ‘normal’ was not an option once a man had been to Hell. Movies and television made ’em look like heroes, but Zack knew better. They were all messed up. Some just hid it better.

The man in the shower roared the last words of the tragic, hopeful song.

Zack growled.
Give me a break.

“Hmmm.” A woman’s throaty moan sounded a little too close for comfort. He glanced to his left as a feminine ass plastered itself against his naked thigh. Time to move. He had to get to work, and Jake had to stop singing. Still...that backside was warm and soft. He hesitated. It was early enough. He might have just enough time to—

No. Making love to a sound-asleep woman was not in the cards today. No way. No how. He eased away from...Who was she, anyway? Leaning over her shoulder he brushed the brassy curls aside.
Oh. Carol. Good to know.

Alcohol might dim a man’s senses the night before, but they’d better be sharp when
‘good morning, umm, whoever-you-are’
rolled around. She didn’t wake up when he leveled his weight off the bed. He stood and looked for his briefs in the dim bedroom light. Not finding them, he opted for a naked stroll to his guest bathroom. After all, it was only Jake in there.

Traipsing down the hall, he stepped over the debris from a damned good time with, by the looks of his place, a lot of friends. Beer and wine bottles littered the living room floor. Cardboard pizza boxes with sauce and cheese wagon-wheel imprints lay discarded on the coffee table where the festivities had begun. He kicked a red and grey hoody he didn’t recognize as he shuffled his way to the coffee maker. What he needed now was hot, black, and strong enough to kick-start the week. A maple-glazed donut wouldn’t hurt, either.

The first verse of
Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall
pealed forth from the bathroom. Zack dumped in the two scoops of Kona’s best, filled the coffee maker with enough water, turned it to brew, and headed for the first and last verse of the too-loud drinking song. Jake had to be stopped. That’s all there was to it.

Billowing steam poured from the bathroom door as soon as he cracked it open. The song ceased. He snagged a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

“That you?” a tremulous voice asked.

“You’re bellowing loud enough to wake the dead.” He swiped a hand over the fogged-up mirror.

“Yeah, well.” Jake didn’t finish. He always sang when he was depressed, and he was always depressed. All his friends knew that.

“Coffee’s on.”

“Thanks. You going in today?”

Zack grunted around the toothbrush in his mouth. “It’s Monday, isn’t it?”

“Thought maybe you could take a day. Maybe we could hang out.” The shower stopped.

“Not going to happen. One of us needs to work.”

“Yeah, well.” Jake’s favorite words when faced with reality.

Zack didn’t mind. They’d been friends long before the war messed in Jake’s head. He wasn’t going to turn his back on his buddy now. “Need a favor, though.”

“Like?” Jake stepped one foot out of the shower, rubbing a towel over his too-skinny body. He didn’t do drugs, Zack was sure of that, but living on the streets was hard on a man. The hot shower had to feel good. He didn’t get one often enough.

“Like I need you to make sure my friend, Carol, finds her clothes and makes it to her car some time today. She’s still buzzed. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure. Did all the pizza get eaten?”

“Don’t know, but there’s a box of breakfast biscuits in the freezer. You know how to work the microwave.”

Jake wrapped the towel at his waist. “You got a clean shirt around here?”

“Hanging in my closet. Help yourself.” Zack smoothed a layer of shaving gel over his head and around his chin. The mirror kept fogging up. He swiped it clean again before taking the blade to his three-day’s growth.

“Remember the time you woke up with two chicks in your bed?” Jake made himself comfortable on the closed toilet seat, his knobby knees bouncing with his usual hyperactivity. “That was funny.”

“Not my brightest idea.” Zack focused on not nicking himself. Stupid things like two hot babes in the same bed caused three times the trouble the next day when he had to tell them he wasn’t that kind of interested. He’d made it rule number one to never be that dumb again.

“What’s on your docket today?” Zack waited for his buddy to answer. It was a stupid question. A homeless man didn’t have a docket.

Jake stilled. “Nuthin’.”

“If you’ve got time, I could use a little help. Remember Lillian?”

“Oh. Her.” Yeah. Of course, Jake would remember. She lived two doors down in Zack’s singles-only gated community, and she was hot for Jake. Neither of them knew why. Lillian was high-end merchandise; Jake wasn’t even in the parking lot of the same mall. It had to be the whole opposites attract thing.

“Relax. She’s been in Hawaii. She spends every September there. I’m supposed to pick up Tiki from the vet. They’ve been boarding her until—”

“Lillian’s coming home today, isn’t she? You want me to take her dog to her.” Jake sounded accusatory. He had a soft spot for the prissy poodle, not the owner.

“Relax. Just get Tiki from the vet and kennel her in Lillian’s backyard. It will give you a chance to play with the mutt. You don’t have to hang around unless you want to.”

“She’s not a mutt. When’s Lillian getting in?”

“Six p.m.” Zack wiped a hot washcloth over his head. Women liked his shaved skull look. Who was he to argue? “Don’t worry. You can be out of there before she gets home.”

He eyed his friend. A bossy woman like Lillian might actually do Jake some good, but Zack was no matchmaker, another line he did not cross. If a man was going to make a mistake with a woman, well, rule number two came into play. Never stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Folks get to screw up their own lives.

“Sure. I’ll get Tiki. She’s smart.”

“I’ve got to get moving.” Zack glanced at his friend. “You’re welcome to stay, but I might be gone awhile. Keep the place halfway clean, will ya? Lock up when you leave.”

“How long?”

Zack slung his towel over the shower door before stepping inside. “Don’t know. It’s a combined effort with a lot of feds–DEA, FBI, ATF, and a few others.”

“’Kay,” Jake muttered on his way out of the bathroom.

Zack lingered in the shower as long as he dared, which wasn’t long. After a quick toweling, he paused to look at himself in the mirror, trying to see what it was women saw. Besides the mocha-colored skin he’d been blessed with from his Jamaican father and his beautiful, green-eyed Irish mother, he didn’t see much special.

His nose was crooked from flying over the handlebars of his bike while still in training wheels. It should have taught him to slow down. It didn’t. A small curved scar on his chin testified that flying a Humvee over an Iraqi sand dune was not the smartest idea, especially when the top-heavy rig rolled. Speed always enticed him. Life was meant to be lived fast and hard. So far, so good.

He flexed one arm, proud of the rippling effect the taut bicep had over the rest of his upper body. He didn’t do steroids, but when he flexed into one of those weightlifter-type power stances, it looked like maybe he used. Truth was, he didn’t have to. Genetics supplied the basics; he’d supplemented with a steady bodybuilding program and, voila. There stood the man in the mirror he was today.