I Can Hunt: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 2)

by Angela Kay

  “Okay, as you wish,” Jordan said. He wondered if there was a deeper reason why Van Camp wouldn’t allow him to interview his sons. Did he know one of them is the Scavenger Hunter? Was he trying to protect them?”

  “Would your ex-wife be willing to talk to me?”

  “It’s possible. She blames the judge and the doctor,” Van Camp told Jordan. “For years, she told anyone and everyone who would listen that Bryce was murdered by the system. She doesn’t just blame those kids. She blames everyone. But no one seems to listen.”

  “I assure you, sir,” Jordan prompted. He kept his tone serious. “They’ll have no choice but to listen to me.”

  A surge of pride erupted through him when he noticed the flicker of a smile come across the older man’s lips.

  As he spoke, Jordan reflected on what Van Camp had said, trying to think of how he wanted to phrase the next question.

  “Mr. Van Camp,” he began, “The Scavenger Hunter appears to be targeting the children of those involved in Bryce’s death and the trials. It’s quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? These killings? And the tragic loss of your son?”

  Mr. Van Camp stared down at a dark stain on the floor and sighed, but did not offer an explanation.

  “Why do you think that is?” Jordan pressed. “Do you by any chance have any guesses on who is behind these killings?”

  Van Camp looked up at Jordan, but instead of answering, he leaned toward his coffee table and picked up his can of Bud Light. Van Camp took it to his lips, downed the alcohol, and crushed the can in his hand. He tossed it toward an overflowing wastebasket in the corner. It bounced off a brown paper bag, falling to the floor with the other collection of cans.

  “No, Mr. Blake, I don’t. I think I’ve answered all your questions. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”

  Jordan paused, realizing he’d overstepped. However, he could tell there was something Linus Blake wasn’t telling him.

  “If you had to venture a guess, who would want these people dead?”

  Van Camp stood. “Please leave, Mr. Blake.”

  Jordan rose, then asked if he could use the bathroom before he headed out. After receiving the approval, he walked down the hallway and stopped at the first door on the left, where Van Camp told him the bathroom was located.

  He stopped at the door and turned to see Van Camp going into the kitchen.

  With the coast clear, Jordan went into the next room. A twin bed rested underneath the window on the far wall, accompanied by one nightstand. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked midnight. He looked through the drawer of the table and the dresser on the opposite wall but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  After a glance into the living room to see Van Camp was sipping a fresh can of beer, Jordan hurried into the next room. The bed haphazardly made, he assumed it was Van Camp’s. On the dresser were stacks of paper, surrounding a framed photo of two teenaged boys and a much younger one, along with a younger version of Van Camp. He picked up the photo and studied it. All four had the same sandy colored hair, each of the three older Van Camp’s holding a rifle in their hands.

  Sure enough, Jordan mused, they resembled one another. He assumed the photo was taken shortly before Bryce Van Camp passed away twelve years ago. Using his cell phone, he took a closeup of the photo, then focused on the background. Off to the side was a log cabin with a sign cut off from the snapshot. He couldn’t read the full sign—only the last few letters: —land Lodge.

  But Jordan didn’t need to see the entire name. He knew the place well. A few years ago, he and his former cameraman had done a news story per his uncle’s request.

  Highland Lodge.

  It was almost a three-hour drive, but still, it was possible they’d know something to help in finding the Van Camp brothers.

  Jordan riffled through the scattered mess on the dresser, seeing mostly unpaid bills until something caught his eye—pictures of a woman and a man. If memory served the reporter correctly, the faces were of Jessie Barcliff and Ryan James. He picked them up, thumbing through the photos with a frown.

  What was Van Camp following them for?

  “Mr. Blake?” The sound of Van Camp’s voice startled him. Not having the time to take pictures with his cell phone, Jordan slipped the photos into the back of his pants, positioned his tee to cover them, and he stepped out of the bedroom, where he faced Van Camp, eyes narrowed as he looked the reporter up and down, then toward the bedroom.

  “What do you think you’re doing in my room?”

  “Sorry, I, uh…I must have missed a turn,” Jordan stammered.

  “You need to leave, Mr. Blake,” Van Camp said, his voice turning darker. “Now.”

  “You’re right. I am sorry, sir. Thank you for your time.”

  Jordan didn’t wait for a response. He pushed past him, grabbed his shoulder bag, and made his way to his car, hurrying before the other man could realize anything was missing.

  51

  “Linus Van Camp has a secret,” Jordan told Aidan and Shaun.

  They sat in the briefing room at the FBI residency office, going over the brief interview Jordan had with Van Camp.

  During the drive back to the office, he replayed the conversation over, mentally kicking himself for becoming too pushy in picking Van Camp’s brain on who the killer may have been. He’d gotten too self-assured in his ability to get information.

  Yes, he was trying to show off while Aidan O’Reilly listened in.

  Unfortunately, it backfired, and Jordan knew it.

  Aidan hadn’t made mention of it yet, but Jordan had a feeling a comment of sorts would slither its way out of the agent’s mouth. On one hand, Jordan was happy knowing he’d gotten under Aidan’s skin yet again. On the other, there were so many ways to do so without getting chased out of Van Camp’s house.

  “I just couldn’t get him to divulge it,” Jordan continued, attempting to hide his frustration. “Even when you want something to get out in the open for the whole world to know, a montage a lot of people have is to never trust a reporter.”

  Aidan muttered underneath his breath, words sounding like “no truer statement.” Shaun flashed a warning glare, and Aidan cleared his throat before speaking up.

  “He was definitely stalking Jessie and Ryan. Van Camp could have been the man who spoke to her at the soup kitchen.”

  “Ryan’s roommate didn’t give a description?” Jordan wondered.

  Shaun shook his head. “They never saw him. They only knew what Jessie had told them.”

  “Too bad,” Jordan replied. “It’d make the job easier.”

  “If the job was easy,” Aidan pointed out, “then most of us would be out of a job.”

  His large arms crossed over his chest, Shaun remained out of the debate, staring down at the photos of Jessie Barcliff and Ryan James, his eyebrows scrunched together with concentration. They were together in most of the pictures, surrounded by other people, possibly at an outside party.

  “Anyway, I have to say Jordan’s right,” Aidan said.

  Shaun’s eyebrow shot up with curious surprise, but he remained silent as his friend continued.

  “Van Camp knows something. And his wife knows something. Exploring all possible options, what would make a couple who could no longer stay married keep a secret?”

  “Their kids,” Jordan answered without a beat. “If they know their sons were involved in the killings, or if they even think they’re involved, they might want to cover it up.”

  “Exactly,” Aidan agreed. “If Linus Van Camp is the Scavenger Hunter, his ex-wife probably wouldn’t contact him. But if they think one or even both of their sons is the offender, then she’s going to want to talk to her ex-husband and devise a plan to keep the boys out of jail.”

  “So, we’re going to have to be prepared for anything,” Shaun suggested.

  “We’ll go downtown to the soup kitchen and question the volunteers,” Shaun said. “Surely someone will remember seeing Jessie ta
lking to someone strange, someone who may not have belonged.”

  “Don’t you think they would know how to blend in?” Jordan wondered.

  “Yes, but if Jessie pointed out the guy who gave her a strange vibe, then maybe we can get them to describe the guy to a sketch artist. We will have a general idea of where to go from there.”

  “We’re still trying to locate Max and Elijah,” Aidan told them. He glanced at Jordan. “And if you hadn’t pressed Van Camp’s hand, you’d be able to go to Norma Van Camp and interview her and get something useful. With your getting yourself thrown out of Van Camp’s house, I’m sure he’ll be putting out a warning to the family to watch out for you. Can’t blame him for that one. That better be your one and only slip up.”

  Ignoring Aidan’s rant, he thought of the photo he’d taken on his phone of Van Camp and his sons at Highland Lodge. If he took the drive, would he find some answers? He had made a friend when he was there last, but Jordan had failed to keep in contact with him. He didn’t know if he still worked at the lodge. As the thought entered his mind, he decided to chance the drive. Highland Lodge was in an area where it was almost impossible for cell phone service, so he didn’t want to waste time calling. The main problem Jordan faced, however, was getting away from Henderson and O’Reilly. He knew that Aidan, especially, would be watching him like a hawk. If worse came to worse, however, Jordan could take the trip to the mountains when night fell.

  “Something on your mind, Blake?”

  Jordan blinked at Aidan, seeing both he and Shaun were staring at him.

  He shook his head, returning his attention to the discussion in the room. “Nah, I’m good. There was a second bedroom I saw. I couldn’t tell if anyone had stayed there recently or not. But with his house being seclusive and protected by that gate of his, there’s a possibility one of them would stay with Van Camp.”

  His eyes still narrowed at the reporter with wonder, Aidan spoke slowly to Shaun. “Let’s go ahead and talk to the victims’ families again. Maybe someone will give us a lead on Max or Elijah.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jordan said, clapping his hands together once. “Let’s get going. But can we get a bite to eat, first? I’m starved.”

  “You get to stay here,” Aidan answered.

  “What?” Jordan scoffed. “Why? I thought I was supposed to be coming along wherever you go?”

  “No, you’re supposed to be helping us find the offender,” Aidan corrected. “And you can do that right here. With your reporting expertise, maybe you’ll manage to do something helpful for once and locate the Van Camp brothers.”

  Jordan glanced at Shaun, who shook his head. “Sorry, dude. I agree with Aidan. I don’t want you anywhere near the victims’ families.”

  “Man,” Jordan groaned. “All right. Fine. Have it your way.”

  “Come along,” Aidan told him with a tilt of his head. “I’ll introduce you to your next babysitter.”

  52

  Highland Lodge was a large resort in the Blue Ridge Mountains, allowing for hunting, fishing, and scenic tours, depending on the seasons. When Jordan first came to the lodge six years ago, his uncle had asked him to do a story on the oldest living Indian who lived there his entire life. Jordan didn’t want to admit it to anyone, much less his uncle, but he had found the man’s story quite interesting.

  At a hundred and three, he had seen generations come and go, outliving children and grandchildren. Jordan learned just a few weeks after he interviewed the old man, he had passed away. A part of him had been honored to meet such an interesting person.

  He had made his escape from the Augusta FBI office to the lodge by feeding the young, pretty redhead agent a lie about needing to go home and letting his dog out. He was half surprised that she hadn’t been insistent on going with him. Sweet FBI Agent Annie seemed to have been lapping up everything Jordan said.

  Of course, Jordan planned to coax her into his bed one day soon. Maybe even after he got back into town. He chuckled at the look on O’Reilly’s face when he would find out that Jordan slept with one of his agents.

  But that would have to wait. Jordan had more important things to do.

  He climbed out of his car, the cool mountain air nipping at his skin. After getting a jacket out of the trunk, Jordan slipped it on as he made his way inside the building. The smell of the embers from the burning fireplace greeted him.

  Jordan walked up to the counter. There was no one available, so he rang the silver bell and waited for assistance. Jordan picked up a brochure of the lodge, skimming the contents. Not much had changed in six years. The prices of activities seemed to have skyrocketed, and they added another ski resort, but the hunting and camping, the two things Highland Lodge was named for remained true to its name.

  “Jordan Blake!”

  He looked up into the face of a young man, his bleached blonde hair down to his shoulders and matching beard hanging down to his chest. It took a minute for Jordan to realize who he was looking at.

  “It can’t be,” Jordan gaped. “Caleb? Is that you?”

  “The one and the same, dude!” Caleb grinned as he walked around the counter, arms wide. He pulled Jordan into a tight bear hug and lifted the reporter off the ground.

  “Dude, it’s been years since I’ve seen you!” Caleb finally released Jordan and took a step back.

  “Right?” Jordan laughed. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d still be hangin’ ‘round here.”

  “Oh, I don’t see myself ever leaving,” Caleb sighed, glancing around the cabin-like room. “It’s home.”

  “Hey, dude, how’s Kent?”

  Jordan paused a beat. “Kent and I parted ways. Long story. I’m actually here for a reason.”

  “Oh? Another story?”

  “In a way. Do you have a minute?”

  Caleb glanced around as if looking for something. “I think this crowd can wait a bit for an old friend. Let’s take a seat by the fire. Want a beer?”

  “That’d be great,” Jordan said.

  “Two beers coming up. Make yourself at home, man. I’ll be back.”

  Jordan did as suggested.

  When Caleb returned, he said, “Not much has changed around here.”

  “Not really. We’re working on expanding, even adding different locations. We get more and more crowds as the years come.”

  “That’s great.”

  “So, tell me what I can do for the magnificent Jordan Blake?”

  With a brow raised, Jordan opened his beer. “Magnificent, huh? You’ve managed to finally see one of my segments.”

  “Nope,” Caleb replied as if he was proud of the fact. “I’ve only heard the ladies talk about you from time to time. I think the adjectives they’re known to use are ‘hot,’ ‘gorgeous,’ and ‘sexy.’”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes, looking him up and down as he slowly shook his head.

  “Nope. Don’t see it.”

  “You’re looking at me in the wrong light,” Jordan countered with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I see.”

  Jordan set his beer on the table. “So, I’m looking for information.”

  “A news reporter wanting intel. Shocking,” Caleb said, eyes wide.

  “Right,” Jordan muttered. “Well, I’m trying to find some people.”

  He took his phone out of his pocket and found the photo he’d taken of Linus Van Camp and his sons.

  “Have you seen this family? The photo is pretty old, about eighteen years.”

  Caleb took the phone and studied it, using his fingers to enlarge the picture.

  “Eighteen years, huh? Long time to remember faces. Especially since they’ve likely changed.”

  “Well, the kids have,” Jordan replied. “But the man, not so much. Picture beer gut and ragged clothes.”

  “Can I ask what your interest in them are?”

  “There’s been a series of murders in Augusta,” Jordan explained. “They’re linked to the death of a guy named Bryce Van Camp.”

&nbs
p; “Bryce Van Camp…” Caleb set the phone on the table, still eyeing the photo. He began to drum his fingers on the table. “Name sounds familiar. Bryce is an unusual name. One you’d remember.”

  “Yes,” Jordan agreed. “His parents are Norma and Linus Van Camp. Bryce’s brothers are Elijah and Max.”

  “Ah, yes,” Caleb muttered. “I do remember them. It’s vague, but I know the names. I think they’ve been here a few times. This kid, here…” Caleb tapped his finger to the photo of the middle Van Camp brother. Do you know who he is?”

  Jordan craned his neck to view the photo better, then nodded. “I believe that’s Elijah. The next oldest son after Bryce Van Camp.”

  “Elijah…,” Caleb echoed. “I do remember him. “He gave off some strange vibe.”

  “How?” Jordan pressed.

  “He refused to make eye contact. He always stared at the ground, never spoke. And then there was my dog, Bandit. Remember him?”

  Jordan nodded. “He and Duke were best buds.”

  “Yes, he’s a great dog,” Caleb said. “He’s eighteen years old now and I’ve never…never…had problems with him. He’s the kind of dog that would put Lassie to shame, you know? So, when he starts attacking someone, you remember.”

  “He attacked Elijah Van Camp? What did he do?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Nothing. That’s what was so strange. Elijah and his family came into the lodge. Next thing I know, Bandit’s going nuts. Barking, growling. You know, for a small dog, it was difficult dragging him away. I have never seen Bandit act that way. The dad was totally red-faced.”

  “And you know for certain that it was Elijah Bandit was after? Not the dad?”

  “Dude, the kid was scared. I remember thinking that something was up with him. The whole situation was…off.”

  “I get that,” Jordan said. “Have you seen them since?”

  “Nah, man. I think the kid’s father blew a gasket and stormed out.”

  “Were there any other witnesses?”

  “Yeah, dude, my boss. He heard the commotion and came out to see what the deal was. I was told to keep Bandit locked up until they left.”