The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Ernest Dempsey (top 10 books of all time txt) 📖

"That burger should be out in a couple of minutes," the waiter said.

"Thanks." Dak pulled the glass a little closer.

"Can I get you anything else while you're waiting?"

"Actually," Dak said. "I was curious. I'm from out of town."

Merrick chuckled. "Most people who come through here are. Not sure if you noticed, but this isn't a big town."

Dak allowed a grin to part his lips. "Yeah, but I like it. It's quiet here, not too many people around. And this valley is breathtaking."

Merrick looked around at the walls as if he could see through them at the natural beauty surrounding the building. "Yeah," he said proudly, "it's the reason I live here. Not many people to bother you if you know how to keep your head down."

That last addition caused Dak's ears to prick.

"What do you mean?"

The server backtracked, twitching his nose as he shook his head. "Oh, nothing."

"Ah. Well," Dak shrugged it off. "I'm actually curious about a couple of the abandoned ski resorts around here. I heard about them when I was in Denver and thought it might be fun to take a look around—if that sort of thing is permitted."

Merrick nodded. "Yeah, I mean, you can visit one of them. If you're wanting to hit the slopes you'd have to get permission from the organization that bought it, but the other one was purchased several months back."

"Purchased?" Dak feigned being impressed. "That had to be an expensive buy." He drew a sip of beer from his glass, keeping his eyes on the server's reaction.

"You'd be right to assume that. I don't recall the amount, but it wasn't cheap." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Local person or someone from out of the area?"

The young man's face blushed, and he looked around over his shoulders, growing more uneasy by the second. "Out-of-town guy." He lowered his voice. "His name is Tyler Mumford. Just… forget about that place. If you want to see the old abandoned resort, it's just up the road. You can't miss it. The runs are still there, big trails through the trees you can see for miles."

"Thanks for the tip," Dak said, his own cheeks burning—for an entirely different reason.

"Sure thing. I'll go check on that bison burger for you."

Merrick turned to leave, and Dak stopped him.

"Just out of curiosity," he said, holding the beer close to his lips again. "What was the name of the place the stranger bought?"

Merrick glanced over at the bartender. She busily poured a whiskey into a tumbler on the other side of the counter, well outside of earshot. Merrick leaned subtly and spoke with uncertainty. "It's called Purgatory Peak."

Four

Cuchara

Tyler shoved the door open and stepped into the county police department building. He ignored the receptionist to his left and kept walking, leaving the woman licking her lips as she wondered what she should do.

"Um, Mr. Mumford?"

"The sheriff knows I'm coming, Amy," Tyler said without so much as a backward glance over his shoulder.

Amy pressed her lips together and nodded before returning to her computer work.

Tyler passed a couple of offices and a corridor leading into the holding tank, then stopped at a wooden door with a reinforced glass window in the center. A placard just below the window was imprinted with the name Sheriff Craig Sanders. The door was cracked open. Tyler took that as an invitation to enter.

He eased the door forward and tilted his head inside.

Sheriff Sanders was hunched over his desk, writing something with a black ink pen on what looked like an official form.

"You're not exactly making things easy for me, Tyler," he said without looking up from the desk.

He finished scribbling on the page and slid it to the side. Tyler stepped into the room and closed the door shut with a click. He shifted sideways to one of the twenty-five-year-old vinyl chairs opposite the cop and plopped into it.

"We weren't doing anything wrong, Sheriff," Tyler defended. "Just having a few beers, killing some bottles."

"With a rifle that some people would deem an assault weapon."

Tyler snorted and rolled his eyes. "You and I know better than that. It's a hunting rifle, Sheriff. Plain and simple."

Sanders leaned back and laced his fingers together atop the desk. "Sure it is, Tyler. But perception counts for a lot these days. Always has, but more now than ever. You know that."

"I do." Tyler slouched in the chair with his hands folded in his lap. Back in his military days, he never would have considered sitting that way. But these people didn't know his past. No one in Cuchara did. The best they knew, he was some rich guy who hit it big with an online business and decided he wanted to buy a mountain for himself.

Along with not knowing his real identity, the townsfolk also had no clue about what he'd been up to for the last eight months—accruing a vast amount of wealth with some well-played investments in the stock market. He doubted any of his other Delta Force teammates fared so well with their share, not that they needed to. The amount of money they made from the German's purchase of the Iraqi loot was more than enough to sustain someone for life. Billy, however, had always known that if he really wanted to be safe, he'd have to grow that initial cash pile into something more substantial.

When he arrived in Cuchara under the alias of Tyler Mumford, his net worth was a whopping thirty million, far more than any individual in the entire county as far as he knew. With such a hefty collection of assets behind him, Tyler set things in motion to get the cops on his side, along with a new set of friends he could ply for everything from information to enforcers.

He'd been surprised at how easily they all caved. Though, to be fair, he'd never been rich before.

Billy grew up in a small town with poor parents. The military had been the best chance for him to do anything with his life. Now that