Authors: Cheyenne Meadows
Tags: #contemporary action crime erotic romance
Ghost's Treasure
A Silver Publishing Book
Ghost's Treasure
Copyright © 2013 by Cheyenne Meadows
E-book ISBN: 9781622320783
First E-book Publication: November 2013
Cover design by Reese Dante
Editor: Jason Huffman
Logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to [email protected]
This book is written in US English.
PUBLISHER
www.SPSilverPublishing.com
Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.
Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form. Authors depend on sales and sales only to support their families.
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Thank you for not pirating our titles.
Lodewyk Deysel
Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.spsilverpublishing.com
Dedication
For everyone who felt for Ghost, recognized his tortured soul, and asked for his story. I hope you enjoy.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Anschutz Fortner
: J.G. Anschutz GmbH & Co. KG
Barrett M82
/ M98B
: Barrett Firearms Manufacturing
Energizer Bunny
: Eveready Battery Company, Inc.
Mary Poppins
: Disney Enterprises, Inc.
McMillan TAC-50
: McMillan Firearms Manufacturing
Mission Impossible
: Paramount Pictures Corporation
SIG P239
: Swiss Arms AG / SIG Sauer Inc.
Superman
: DC Comics E.C. Publications, Inc.
Chapter 1
Ghost hunkered down in the dark, surveying the bleak landscape and watching for activity from the stout cement building just ahead. Now and again, a shadow would slink, sprint, or twitch. The Wind Warriors. All former special ops men and one woman who made up a ragtag, highly skilled, and top secret mercenary team who worked for the government to wipe out the nastiest vipers around.
Checking his watch, he moved into a ready state. From his vantage point hiding under an evergreen tree on top of a small hill, he could take out anyone that threatened his comrades and provide cover as they moved in close. While he preferred his primary occupation as assassin much better, the Wind Warriors paid well and kept his sniper skills at their peak.
Without his night vision glasses, he'd be blind in the deep black of the moonless night. Silence reigned across the land as he lay in wait.
He recalled another night, a replica of this one. His Navy SEAL Team Six drew the assignment to sneak in and rescue an American physician held by radical terrorists in the Middle East after being captured on a volunteer mission. The man donated his time, skills, and equipment to help the common local families that had no medical care. Instead of praise and gratefulness, he'd been nabbed and paraded around in a celebratory fashion as if the large terrorist group had captured the president himself.
A chopper had dropped the team a distance away. Slowly, but surely, they crawled, dashed, and dove until they reached their destination, staying well under the radar of the terrorists, relying on stealth instead of sheer firepower for fear that, at the first glimpse of the approaching team, the guards would execute the doctor. As a unit, they surrounded the small house that served as a jail, blocked the exits, took out a couple of guards, then together, kicked in the doors, rushing in with guns locked and loaded.
The physician survived the incident unscathed, unlike the one and only love of Ghost's life.
At the very same time that was happening, a drunk driver had slammed into his wife, killing her instantly along with the beloved unborn child she carried. The man's car erupted in a ball of flame, leaving nothing but cinders by the time the fire department arrived to put out the fire.
Damn bastard, may he burn in hell.
A repeat offender, the man had no business behind the wheel, let alone killing innocents, like Ghost's wife and child, with his reckless driving.
He needed someone to beat to a pulp, to focus his rage on, to take the drunk driver's life just as he'd taken sweet Lindsay's. Only the powers above took the choice out of his hands, leaving him with unequivocal and unrelenting fury without an outlet.
Rage flamed in his gut. Quickly, he bottled the volatile emotion, tamping down on the intensity. In a few short minutes, he could release the potent brew, using the explosion to fuel his determination, his focus to wipe out each and every scum from the earth before his own demise. Not that he worried about death. Hell, he'd challenged the Grim Reaper more times than not, holding no fears, or illusions, with the probability that he would die in the line of duty, sooner rather than later. After losing Lindsay, life held little appeal anyway.
He smirked in memory of the officer who labeled him suicidal right before he turned in his resignation from the elite military squad. The decorated idiot didn't have a clue. Just because he no longer had anything to live for didn't mean he was ready to allow evil in the form of power hungry humans to shorten his lifespan. Not before he managed to destroy more than his fair share.
The Wind Warriors allowed him to do that. Take out top-ranking drug lords, chase them into their dens, and commence with whip ass before blowing the whole operation sky-high. A chance to take out the devil incarnate on his road to eventual salvation or hell. He didn't care which.
"Ghost?"
The name, whispered over the communication tool next to his ear, brought him back to the present. "Mark."
Kaboom.
Mass chaos ensued. His rifle barked as he laid down cover for the small band of mercenaries as they swarmed the building, daring the enemy to provide the smallest target so he could hasten their trip to hell.
Chapter 2
"Let's see what goodies we have here." Josie kneeled on the old sheet she'd draped across the floor a couple of minutes before, her attention fixated on the cardboard box sitting in the middle. Leery of spiders or other creepy crawlies, she hesitantly reached in, plucked the first book from the top and turned it over to read the front. Nothing rang a bell, so she used a dishrag to clean the spider webs and dust from the novel, then set it aside.
She had impulsively decided to attend an estate auction that morning after she woke up early and yearned to get out of the apartment to do something different for the day. Like many others, she had walked through aisles and aisles of tables laden with glassware, trinkets, and toys. Nothing caught her attention. Until the auctioneer began selling boxes of unsorted stuff. Once he'd announced a hefty box full of old books, her interest piqued enough for her to move in front of the portable stage. An inner voice had nagged her, demanding she purchase the container, take a chance. Besides, if all else failed, she could donate the books to the library she worked for and receive a tax donation in the process. For the selling price of ten bucks, she couldn't lose.
Reaching in, she pulled out one hardback book after another. The titles and authors failed to jar her memory or step up to the level of a rare classic. Nonetheless, she refused to be discouraged. People made startling finds in estate auctions all the time. While she might not come up with an original copy of the Declaration of Independence worth millions, finding an old second or third printing of a piece of fine literature remained in the realm of possibility.