got two kids to think of and now you’re their dad. You can’t afford to risk winding up dead.”
“You’re right, so I’m not gonna argue. Colt Wheeler’s in town. As I recall, you guys went through spec ops training at Fort Bragg together.”
“Colt’s a good guy,” Bran said. Big and blond and good-looking, a real ladies’ man. At least he had been before he’d been wounded in Kabul and lost his right eye. “Now that you mention it, I remember he came from Denver.”
“That’s right. I gave him a call, told him you might need backup. He’s looking for something to do. Colt’s even more bored than I am.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. “You got a number?”
“I’ll text it to you.”
Bran got the text and phoned Colt’s cell. They scheduled a meet an hour later at a café in Aurora called the Chuckwagon, not far down the road from Mack’s.
Ty was sitting in a booth near the back when Colt walked through the door. The black patch over his eye and the scar along his jaw caught the attention of every woman in the room. Apparently his injuries hadn’t lessened his appeal to the opposite sex.
Bran rose to greet him. “Hey, buddy, long time no see.” They leaned in and gripped each other’s shoulders.
“Been a while for sure.” Colt sat down across from him. The waitress appeared, and they both ordered coffee and a piece of apple pie.
While they waited for their order, they caught up on each other’s lives, both of them still single, neither seriously attached.
Bran didn’t mention Jessie though he wasn’t sure why. Just that he wasn’t interested in sharing, and he didn’t want a guy like Wheeler sniffing around his woman.
His woman? He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but still...
The waitress returned. The coffee was hot and strong and the apple pie tasted homemade. Bran explained why he was in Denver and the strategy he hoped would net him the information they needed from the big fish in ADMAX, a guy known simply as Weaver.
“ADMAX. The worst of the worst. You really think you can flip this guy, Tank, to get to Weaver?”
“If I can nail him for murder, I’d say there’s a solid chance.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Colt took a drink of coffee.
“Not sure yet. I need to find him, get a handle on the situation. I’ll have to figure it out as I go.”
Colt leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Sounds interesting. Count me in. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
* * *
It was after 9:00 p.m. when Bran walked back into Mack’s Roadhouse. He figured Tank’s weekly pool game would either be in progress or just getting started—if the guy showed up to play.
Wearing a dark green down vest in concession to the weather, he sat on a stool at the bar, same as before, and ordered the same drink, a Lonestar and a shot of Jack. He tossed the whiskey back and set the glass down on the bar. The clatter of pool balls on a table in the rear caught his attention. Bran picked up his beer and wandered in that direction.
A group of men stood around the table, one with greasy hair to his shoulders, another in a frayed denim vest and camo pants. A guy in black leather chaps turned around, and Bran caught the symbol of a 666 inside a shamrock on the back of his leather jacket. The letters A-BOYZ were printed in an arch above.
One man stood out from the rest, tall and thick-chested with a head the size of a cannonball covered by a shaggy mane of thick blond hair. Biceps the size of tree trunks stretched the sleeves of his long-sleeved black T-shirt. From the way the hard-looking women in the bar were watching him, he didn’t lack for female companionship. The men deferred to him, marking him as the alpha dog. Bran had a bad feeling the big guy was Tank.
Pool balls clacked against each other and rolled across the green felt table. The four, six, and ten all went into side pockets.
“Hey, Tank, you think you still got a chance?” The guy with the greasy hair grinned at the shot he’d just made.
“You better hope you run the table, Rider, or your ass is mine.”
Yup, the guy with the cannonball head. With a name like Tank, Bran wasn’t surprised. He was big and rough, and like every guy around