Cassie Miles - Warrior Spirit

When she’d first come to Montana, Sierra hadn’t known what to expect. In the back of her mind, she might have been thinking she’d find herself a man who was nearly as spectacular as the landscape. A handsome cowboy with tight jeans and broad shoulders—a man like Trevor.

Last night, when she’d looked out her front window before going to bed, she saw him standing watch. In his shearling coat with his arms folded across his chest, he was the very archetype of a cowboy. Strong and silent. A man’s man.

Still, an aura of danger surrounded Trevor that made her uneasy. She’d already allowed herself to be swept away by cowboy fantasies once. Look how badly that turned out!

There would be no more volatile cowboys in her life. Not now. Not ever.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Here’s to Thursday nights with the Vietnam vets

and the mariachis.

And, as always, to Rick.

From the balcony of her Denver high rise, Cassie Miles has a view of the gold dome of the Colorado State Capitol and the front range of the Rockies. If she could figure out a way to add the ocean, she’d have the best of all possible worlds. Though a typical day is all about writing and reading, there’s always time for a walk in the park or a longer trip to the foothills for a hike or to watch the rock climbers and para-sails.

Recently voted Writer of the Year by Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, Cassie attends critique groups specializing in mystery and in romance, the perfect balance for Harlequin Intrigue. One of her daughters once described her writing this way. “Romantic suspense. You know, kiss-kiss, bang-bang.” If only it were that simple.

Sierra Collins—Transplanted from Brooklyn to the wide-open spaces of Montana, Sierra was once engaged to Lyle Nelson, a lieutenant in the Montana Militia for a Free America. She has reason to hate the Militia, but will she betray them?

Trevor Blackhaw—The former Special Forces commando is legendary for his fierce interrogation tactics. What secrets will this half-Cherokee loner draw from Sierra?

Lyle Nelson—Though engaged to Sierra, there’s no room in his cold heart for anything but the Militia.

Warden Craig Green—For years, the warden ran the inescapable Fortress Prison with an iron fist. He’s days away from retirement.

Snake—So mean that nobody remembers his real name. Snake is the warden’s favorite enforcer in the prison.

Boone Fowler—The leader of the Militia plots a horrible and spectacular act of terrorism.

Perry Johnson—Sadistic Militia lieutenant who wants to take slow revenge on Sierra.

Cameron Murphy—This highly decorated former Special Forces colonel is head of the Big Sky Bounty Hunters, determined to recapture the Militia after their jail break.

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

Lyle Nelson strained against the shackles that chafed his skinny wrists and ankles. Under armed guard, he was being returned to the Fortress, the most impregnable penitentiary in the state of Montana. A hellhole.

White-hot rage burned inside his chest. The only way he could contain his fury was to remind himself that his stay at the Fortress was temporary. He’d be back outside. Soon. And he’d take bloody revenge on every soul who got in his way. It didn’t matter who died. Cops. Feds. Women and children. They would all be sacrificed for the Militia’s sacred cause.

The guards shoved him into a special isolation cell. No windows. Heavy iron bars. The walls were stone, and voices echoed.

Though Lyle knew it was cold in here, beads of sweat collected on his forehead and upper lip.

“I want to see the warden,” he yelled. “And I want to see him now.”

“You’ve got no right to make demands.”

“Tell Warden Green that I’m here,” Lyle snarled. “He’ll see me.”

The guard snapped his billy club against the bars. “Shut up.”

If Lyle had been free, he’d strangle this moron guard with his bare hands. “Get the damn warden.”

“I’m here.” The warden strode across the concrete floor. “I want a close look at the man who thought he could break out of the Fortress and get away with it.”

For a moment, Warden Craig Green stared into the flat blue eyes of Lyle Nelson, knowing that he was face-to-face with pure evil. The recapture of this fugitive was the worst possible thing that could happen to Green.

He turned away from the bars and gestured to the guards. “Leave me alone with him.”

Grumbling, they filed out of the room.

Lyle stood close. His white-knuckled fingers clutched the iron bars. “I want out of here, Green.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Only a few weeks ago, Green had arranged for all the imprisoned Militia to escape. He’d been well paid, but he couldn’t take that sort of risk again. “I can’t pull off another prison break.”

“You’ve got no choice,” Lyle hissed. “If you don’t break me out, that cushy little retirement you’ve got planned is going to blow up in your face.”

Green had been afraid of this threat. “You can’t—”

“The hell I can’t. I’ll squeal. I’ll tell everybody about your part in the escape.”

“Okay, Lyle. Hang tight. I’ll take care of you.”

He turned on his heel and marched from the room. On the way back to his office, the warden made a detour through cell block A. As he passed the inmates, he paused outside the cell of a hulking, dark man. Nobody remembered his real name. They called him Snake because he was the most vicious and feared inmate in the Fortress.

Warden Green had a special relationship with Snake. They exchanged a nod.

THE NEXT MORNING, Green sat behind his desk in his office. He wasn’t surprised when the door was flung open and one of the guards darted nervously inside. “Sir, we have a situation.”

Calmly, Green asked, “What kind of situation?”

“It’s Lyle Nelson, sir. We found him hanging inside his cell. He’s dead.”

Green lowered his head to hide the grin that curled the edges of his mouth. “Notify the coroner.”

It was a beautiful day for a funeral.

At the edge of the pine forest overlooking the only cemetery in Ponderosa, Trevor Blackhaw reined in his dappled mustang stallion. He gazed into clear blue October skies. Beyond the western edge of the wide valley, distant peaks glistened with new snow, but the fields were dry. The wheat and alfalfa had been harvested.

Trevor heard the crunch of hooves on dry pine needles as Mike Clark expertly maneuvered through the old-growth forest. His sweet little gray mare nuzzled up beside Trevor’s mustang. The stallion—a ladies’ man—gave an appreciative snort.