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He repeated the exercise until Breely joined him. Breathing in and then out.
After several minutes of this, the tightness in Breely’s chest eased, and her hands stopped shaking.
One more breath in, and she let it out. “Thank you,” she said into the mic.
“You’re welcome. I think you’ll like the lodge and all the people in it. You’ll meet the other members of my team, every one of them prior military special forces. Our leader, Stone Jacobs, along with Ben Yates, Carter Manning and Dax Young, are Navy SEALs. Hunter Falcon is Delta Force, and I’m the lone PJ. We’ll have more come on board soon. Stone’s father, John Jacobs, a prior service Marine, owns the lodge. Cookie’s the chef and prior Navy. He runs a tight ship in the kitchen. Tinker, the handyman, is a former Army motor pool mechanic. The man can fix anything. Then there are the ladies. Kyla is Stone’s woman, a real badass and former assassin.”
“What?” Breely blinked, her heart skipping several beats. “Did you just say assassin?”
“Yeah. Kyla. She gave up her assassin’s life to work the computers with Hank’s tech guy, Swede. They’re always on a video conference trying to get past some firewall or another. Best damned hackers around.”
“Assassin?” Breely shook her head. “What are you getting me into?”
“The best protection you’ll find. Ben’s lady is Chelsea. She’s a wolf biologist. Another badass. She’s in and out of the lodge all the time. Dax and Carter’s women don’t come around as often. They live and work in Wyoming. Amanda is a counselor on the Wind River Reservation. Lilianna is the US Congresswoman for the state of Wyoming.”
Breely’s head spun with all the names. “Am I going to be tested on all this information?”
Moe’s face was poker-straight; not a muscle twitched around his mouth. “Of course. We require all our clients to memorize the names of all our protectors.” His blank expression cracked, and he chuckled. “You only need to remember me. I mention the others so that you know you won’t be alone. Not all the guys on my team live at the lodge, but you might run into them on occasion. Hank had the hay loft in the barn behind the lodge converted into our office, murder room or war room—whatever we want to call it. It’s where we meet to go over assignments, to work a case or use the computers.”
Listening to Moe talk about the people he worked with had a calming effect, taking Breely’s mind off the future she hadn’t wanted but was destined to have.
She had to admit she was excited to meet the other members of Moe’s team. Like Moe, they were combat veterans with a laundry list of skills they brought to the Brotherhood Protectors. Each man was a war veteran, had been in the thick of the action, had faced life and death situations and more.
When she thought of all they’d been through, her troubles were minor in comparison. She’d classify her issues as poor little rich girl whining. The least she could do was suck it up, be brave and be prepared if her attackers made another attempt to grab her.
Maybe she could ask the lady assassin to show her a few moves she could use to defend herself.
Panic attack averted, Breely sat back and tried to remember the names Moe had shared with her.
They had barely gotten up in the air when Moe began their descent into the airport at West Yellowstone on the border of Montana and Wyoming.
Moe brought the plane down, the wheels practically kissing the runway. Once firmly on the ground, he applied the brakes, taxied to a hangar and parked in front of a huge door.
“Stay right here,” he said as he got out and disappeared through a small door on the side of the hangar. Moments later, the huge door folded upward. Moe drove out in a gas-powered cart and parked in front of the aircraft’s nose. He hooked a bar to the front wheel, climbed back onto the cart, towed the plane into the hangar and turned it around, facing outward.
Moe unhooked the towing cart and parked it against the side of the building. Then he came back to the plane and helped Breely to the ground. He reached into the plane for his backpack and the two garbage bags, laying them on the ground one at a time.
Breely carried one of her bags while Moe led the way to a truck carrying the other bag and his backpack.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Moe opened the back door and deposited his bag and backpack on the leather seat. He took the other bag from Breely and added it to the pile.
While he loaded their things, Breely walked around to the passenger seat, climbed in and buckled her seatbelt.
The drive to the lodge took them less than fifteen minutes. West Yellowstone wasn’t a large town. Most of the people there were tourists who’d come to visit Yellowstone National Park on the other side of the border in Wyoming.
They entered the town from the north and turned right, driving all the way to the western end of town where a grand old lodge stood as it must have a hundred years ago.
Breely got out of the truck before Moe could come around and open the door for her. She grabbed her bags and met him at the front of the truck. Together, they climbed the porch steps to the front entrance.
A man with black hair graying at the sides stepped through the door, his hand thrust out. “Moe.” He gripped Moe’s hand and pulled him into a back-pounding bear hug. “Glad you made it back.”
“Thanks.”
“Your trip to Bozeman and Denver turned out a little more complicated than expected.” The man released Moe and advanced on Breely. “Breely Brantt. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Let me get those for you.” He took the bags from her hands.
She stood on the porch, her hands empty. Not knowing what to do with them, she stuck them in the back pockets of her denim skirt. “You know my name, but who are you?”
