Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)
Susan Stoker
Chapter One
Lowell “Black” Lockard was bored.
He leaned back in his office chair, linked his hands behind his head, and stared unseeingly out of his window.
The occasional pop-pop-pop from a weapon penetrated through the insulation in his office. It was a comforting sound, one that Black had gotten used to over the years. Owning a shooting range wasn’t exactly what he’d seen himself doing after getting out of the Navy, but here he was.
He enjoyed the work. Enjoyed getting to know the men and women who came to practice their shooting skills. He took pride in the gun and personal-safety classes he taught. But the fact of the matter was that, lately, his life seemed to be missing something.
It wasn’t just that the Mountain Mercenaries hadn’t been called to go on a mission in a month. It was more. Seeing his friends and teammates falling in love brought attention to the saddest fact of his life—it was routine. Normally he liked that, but with all the stories from his friends about how their women kept them on their toes . . . he couldn’t help but wish he had something similar to fill his time.
Black figured a good, hard mission would break him of his ennui. And he knew that made him an asshole. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman or child to be kidnapped or abused, but anytime someone in need reached out to Rex, their handler, for assistance, Black had a clear purpose. He felt most useful and fulfilled when he was helping others. He’d spent his entire life rushing in when others needed aid—and sitting around an office definitely didn’t make him feel needed.
His cell phone rang, tearing Black out of his musings, and he sat forward to look at the screen.
Unknown.
He almost didn’t answer it. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to a telemarketer or scammer, but since he was bored, he figured he may as well pick up.
“Hello?”
“Is this Lowell Lockard?”
Black didn’t recognize the voice. “Speaking.”
“Hi, Lowell. This is Harlow Reese. We spoke a few weeks ago?”
At the sound of her name, Black sat up straight in his chair. Anticipation churned in his gut. Harlow was exactly what he needed . . . in an entirely different way. “Yeah. I expected you to call sooner,” he playfully chided.
The woman on the other end of the phone chuckled, and Black smiled at the sound. He liked her voice. It was low and husky. Even her laugh was attractive.
He shook his head at his insane musings. He wasn’t looking for what Gray, Ro, and Arrow had. He was perfectly happy simply dating, though he hadn’t done even that lately.
He couldn’t imagine settling down with one woman for the rest of his life. He wasn’t a manwhore, but he enjoyed the dating game. Getting to know someone. Flirting. The anticipation that led up to taking her to bed for the first time.
He tried to concentrate on what Harlow was saying.
“—didn’t call. I figured I was overreacting. But . . . the situation has changed, and I was wondering if you might be willing to come back and teach more personal-safety classes for all the women here at the shelter.”
The seriousness of Harlow’s voice and the implication of her words hit Black hard and fast.
He’d last been to the First Hope Women’s Shelter about a month ago on the Mountain Mercenaries’ usual rotation. Around once a month, one of them would go to the shelter to interact with the women and children who resided there and make sure all was well. The men also did odd jobs and taught the women personal safety. First Hope was a transition shelter, where women could live until they found affordable housing, got a job, and basically got their feet under them again after whatever life situation had landed them there in the first place. Loretta Royster, the building owner and shelter director, did what she could to keep everyone safe.
Black knew Harlow from high school. It was crazy that they’d both ended up in Colorado Springs after growing up in Kansas. She was a year younger than him, but they’d been in the yearbook club together his senior year. Seeing her at the shelter was a surprise; she’d just been hired on as the chef.
She’d told him a month ago that she was being harassed, and she had inquired about a gun-safety class for herself. Black had mentally vowed to call her if she didn’t get in touch with him, but he hadn’t.
He regretted that now.
In his defense, he sort of figured that her not calling meant the harassment had stopped. That wasn’t a good excuse, however. He should’ve followed up, and not just because he’d been intrigued by seeing a woman he knew from his past.
“The situation has changed?” he asked. “In what way?”
“Well, when I saw you last, I was the only one the men were harassing. But it’s now come to my attention that it’s everyone.”
“What do the cops say? You have been to the cops, right?”
“Of course,” Harlow said with a huff. “I’m not an idiot. Loretta has talked to them several times, but since the guys haven’t actually done anything to us, there’s not much they can do.”
Black was confused. “Then what are they doing?”
“Stupid stuff. Catcalling when any of the women come and go from the building. They sometimes follow us to the parking lot when we leave. They haven’t put their hands on us or come very close, but they’re there, watching, mocking us. Things like that. It’s freaking out the women and kids, and I hate to see everyone so upset.”