Killing Game (Veritas Book 2)
Page 4
“Thanks.”
As he walked away, he heard Preston say, “Look, I don’t give a damn how long you’ve known Mike. This is my job, not yours. How do I know you can handle this tour?”
“Kia told you this is how it’s going down. I don’t like it any more than you, but if that’s what Mike wants, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“You have no clue what you’re doing,” Preston argued.
“Actually, I do. So when you’re done nursing your butthurt, come join us and let’s get this tour on the water,” she replied, heading toward the office.
Brannon smirked. Maybe this mission wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Cait walked away from Preston, counting slowly to ten. The little prick had gotten in her face the moment he’d heard the news, even though Kia had no doubt patiently explained the situation, which meant Preston was going to be a giant pain in the ass if she didn’t get him on board quickly. Sadly, she wasn’t in the habit of ego stroking, and wasn’t particularly good at it.
As she walked toward the tour group, she couldn’t help but notice the fine butt on the Hardegree guy. At least that was a plus. He was at least six foot three, probably weighed two-twenty. All muscle, but not buff just for vanity’s sake. This was working muscle, the kind that kept you alive in dangerous situations. His face was angular, but not so much that it overwhelmed his good looks, with trimmed dark hair and a hint of a beard. She noted that his brown eyes were highlighted by a touch of rust.
Like her, he wore a T-shirt and cargo pants. She’d already made note of his worn rucksack and how it seemed to be part of him, not just something he’d bought the weekend before. The combat boots, properly bloused, told her he was probably ex-military. She doubted an active-duty soldier would bother to take a tour like this one. Most guys on leave, unless they were married, headed for the nearest bar and a horny female, or male if he swung that way. Once upon a time, Hardegree would have been the type she’d take for a spin, but not now.
If her guess was right, this man already knew wilderness-survival techniques, could probably teach a grad-level course on the subject. Why saddle himself with a group of clueless newbies? In so many ways, he reminded her of the men on her team, Special Forces hunters the country sent to handle the dirty and dangerous jobs. The kind that rarely made the evening news, because they were off the radar or top secret.
She pulled her attention away from Hardegree and checked out the remaining members of the group. A couple of them appeared nervous, others were trying to act like this was no big deal. Once Preston chilled down, she needed him to give her the skinny on each one of these people. A successful mission required intelligence, and this one was no different.
When she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, she gave one last look at her Jeep, the desire to take off colliding with her responsibility to an old friend.
All of the campers were watching her now.
You can do this. At least here, no one was shooting at her.
“Hi. I’m Ser—” She stumbled, nearly revealing her rank. She started over. “I’m Cait Landry and I’m filling in for Mike Montgomery on this tour. Mike had a car accident this morning, and he’s laid up in the hospital.”
“What?” one of the men said. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes. “I decided to come on this tour just because of him. He knows everything about the swamp.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to handle everything just like he would.”
Preston joined them now, still sullen, but trying not to look like he’d been sidelined.
Time to throw him a bone. “This is Preston. He’s Mike’s assistant and he’ll be helping me on the tour. If you have any questions, ask either of us and we’ll get you what you need.”
That seemed to mollify Preston, and he nodded solemnly.
“You qualified to take us into the swamp?” the older man asked, frowning now.
“Yes, I am.” The Hardegree guy chuckled quietly, which she thought was odd. She ignored him and eyed the skeptic. “How many varieties of snake are in this swamp, Mr. . . . ?”
“Adams. Bill Adams. And I don’t know.”
“Thirty-six. The water moccasin, or cottonmouth, is the deadliest. It’s a pit viper, like a rattlesnake. You get bitten, things go bad very quickly. But it isn’t aggressive until you get in its face.” The man stopped looking angry, pulled out a notebook, and began penciling notes. “What do you know about alligators?”
“Not much. Go on.”
“Are you a reporter, Mr. Adams?” she asked, confused.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I’m an author. I’m working on a novel.”
Of course you are.
“Then let’s make this a learning experience for all of you.” She turned to include the others. “You will encounter alligators during the tour. To keep from losing your arm like Captain Hook, your body parts must remain inside the boat. If you come across a gator on dry land, slowly back away. Those things can move a whole lot faster than you’d think, and they can weigh up to nine hundred pounds. I repeat, no leaning over a body of water. Alligators lurk just under the surface and will reach up and make you a meal.”
“But wouldn’t you be able to see them?” the teenaged girl asked.
“No. The swamp waters have a mirror effect, so you can’t see below the surface. The gators take advantage of that. They’re very well adapted predators. They’ve had eons to learn how to hunt.”
“Is it true they eat you alive?” She sounded fascinated, not afraid.
Cait looked over at Preston now, giving him the stage and hoping she wouldn’t regret it.
“Sometimes they do,” the man said. “Sometimes they drown you and stick you in their larder for a snack later.”
“Yuck,” Bill said, but he kept penciling notes.
The cookie needed to ensure the author’s good behavior? Feed him information. For Preston, it was the opportunity to show off his knowledge. That, she could do. Now all she needed was to find what fueled the others, and this trip would be much easier.
“How many of you have been in a canoe before?” she asked. There was a show of hands; only the author was a virgin when it came to that skill. Better than I expected. When she looked at Preston he nodded his approval.
“Okay, that’s good. We’ll pair you up with a buddy. The majority of your backpacks and sleeping bags will go with me and . . . ” She checked over her potential canoe mates. “Hardegree.” Because she had no doubt the man knew his way around a canoe. If she was lucky, he might not talk her ears off. That wouldn’t be the case with the author.
“I’ll keep an eye on the two younger ones,” Preston murmured.
“Thanks.” She turned back to the group. “The first day is light—four hours before we make camp. There will be a bio break about two hours in, so use the latrine . . . uh, the restroom before we leave. We’ll take it easy today. Tomorrow we’ll push harder.”
“What if we have to go before we get to the toilet?” the girl asked.
“Then you better be able to hold it. Unless you’re a guy, that is.”
That got a few laughs, which seemed to reduce some of the unease.
She turned toward Preston. “How’s about you give them a refresher on how to board the canoes?”
“Okay.”
Cait lowered her voice. “Before we head out, I need an idea of who these folks are and what they do in real life.”
“Can do that too.”
Since he wasn’t being a jerk . . . “Look, I know this isn’t great for either of us, but we’ll get through it.”
He didn’t reply, but at least he wasn’t arguing with her. As she walked off into the office, she wondered why he’d suddenly become helpful.
It sure as hell isn’t my charming personality.
Chapter Five
Susan, the secretary, smiled over at him and he made sure to return it. The other girl, Patti, was glowering at nothing. The distance she’d put between her and the guy named James promised trouble.
“Any of you been in a swamp before?” Preston asked.
Brannon zeroed back in on the conversation and raised his hand. He noted that Susan did as well, but no one else.
“Okay, then, take your gear down to the dock and we’ll get you loaded,” the assistant ordered. “Stay alert and you’ll stay healthy. Zone out and you could get hurt.”
There were mumbles in the group and they set off as ordered, except for the younger couple.
“You lied to me,” Patti hissed to her companion.
“No, I didn’t. I said we’d be camping in the swamp,” James replied.
“But for six days? Are you crazy? No way I want to do this!”
“Come on. Don’t be a wuss. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
Brannon shook his head as he headed toward his car. When someone said “it’ll be fun, you’ll see,” it was always time to walk away.
His buddy Cort had used that line to get them out into the Gulf one summer day. A storm that seemingly came out of nowhere had pushed their kayaks miles away from shore, and it’d taken another twelve hours before the Coast Guard found them. They’d been sunburned, dehydrated, and as scared as two eleven-year-olds could be.
But that half a day spent in watery hell had revealed a toughness Brannon didn’t know he had, and that few possessed. He’d kept Cort from drowning, kept him from giving up. That “I refuse to die” mantra had gotten Brannon through Ranger School. Cort had become an inner-city high school teacher, which required a different kind of raw courage and discipline. They remained friends to this day. In fact, his eldest son was named after Brannon. But Cort had never set foot in the Gulf again.
While the others gathered their gear and got to know each other, Brannon walked to his rental car, surreptitiously taking photographs of each vehicle’s license plate as he walked by them. He would forward them to Veritas, and then it was just a matter of waiting. Sooner or later, his contact would reveal himself—or herself—and it would be time to take this game to the next level.
*~*~*
“Is everyone for real?” Cait asked as she scanned the roster. Preston gave her a confused look, so she rephrased her question. “Does everyone have the skill set they claimed they had, especially when it comes to being in a canoe?”
He gave a half nod. “Keith, the photographer, and James are fine. Susan is pretty good, and the girl? I don’t know. I can’t get within three feet of her without getting some lip in return.”
“Not a willing participant?”
He shook his head. “I think this is her boyfriend’s idea. And she smells like weed. Or at least her clothes do.”
Cait sighed. “Great. How about the author guy?”
“Bill doesn’t have a clue which end of a boat is up. What about Hardegree?” he asked.
“He’ll be fine. I just can’t figure out why he’s on the tour.”
“Picking up chicks?” Preston suggested.
“I’d think a bar would be a better hunting ground, but who knows?”
“Any word from Kia?”
“Not yet.”
“Let’s pray it goes well,” the man replied, then walked away toward the group.
“Hardegree?” she called out. He turned toward her and for a moment, she swore she saw him in desert camo, an M4 rifle in hand. Cait blinked her eyes to clear the vision. “Help me load our canoe?”
“Sure.”
The packing went faster than Cait had anticipated. He handed down the backpacks and other supplies as she pointed to each one, never second-guessing her placement inside the canoe.
“Why are we carrying so much of the gear?” he asked, sounding only curious, not annoyed.
“The first couple of days, we’ll have some of the others’ gear just in case someone decides they should flip their canoe. Mike warns them about ensuring their stuff is waterproof, but some don’t listen. Once I know they’ve got a handle on things, everyone will have their own gear in their own canoe.”
“Makes sense.”
Cait checked out the other canoes and found them ready to go. “Load up, we’re outta here,” she called out. She hesitated. “You’ve been around boats, right?” Brannon nodded. “You up for steering, so I can focus on the group?”
“Sure.” He nodded again, taking his place in the stern. “I was raised in Florida. Spent almost every waking hour on the water.”
“That explains it.” But it doesn’t explain why you’re here, mister.
It didn’t matter. After six days she’d never see this guy again. As long as she could keep her personal demons in check, this trip would just be a quick detour.
*~*~*
The first hour or so was filled with the nearly silent rhythm of oars cutting through the water, with the occasional motorized boat passing them, leaving eddies in its wake. As Brannon and Cait’s canoe led the others single-file along the broad canal that led into the swamp, she set a slow pace, apparently wanting to break in the newbies as easily as possible.
The water acted as a dark mirror, reflecting the trees and the brilliant blue sky above, dotted with a few airy clouds. The farther they went, hardwoods gradually gave way to cypress trees, their broad bases narrowing to tall trunks as they reached high above the canal. Cypress knobs clustered around the base of those trees, like wooden stalagmites. Birds were in motion, sometimes quickly, sometimes in a leisurely glide over the water. Brannon had already spotted a pair of ibis, an anhinga, and what might have been a sandhill crane.
He savored the silence, and he found himself relaxing more than was prudent. The same could not be said about the woman sharing his canoe. Cait’s tension bled through every move. Why had she, in particular, agreed to take Montgomery’s place? Why hadn’t the assistant taken lead? Knowing the answers would come eventually, he turned his attention to a pair of Florida cooters resting on a log as they paddled by. One of the turtles raised its head to study them. He caught a quick glimpse of an alligator tail sliding into the underbrush.
“Did you see it?” Cait called out.
“Yeah. Smaller one. Probably a couple years old,” he replied. Growing up in the Sunshine State had taught him a lot about gators, especially that they ended up in his family’s swimming pool.
As the afternoon passed and the day grew warmer, he kept working the oar, switching sides effortlessly when Cait signaled a change. Behind him, he heard quiet conversations and the occasional faint click of a camera shutter. No doubt Keith, who was right behind them, sharing a canoe with Susan. She wasn’t as deeply tanned as Cait, which made sense as she worked in an office. Behind them was the younger couple, then Bill and Preston carrying up the rear.
His attention returned to Cait as they paddled along the canal. She didn’t chatter, but kept focused on the water, constantly assessing the situation around them. Definitely military, and most likely someone who had seen action.
As if she’d known he was thinking about her, she ceased paddling and turned around. “Let’s wait here a moment, give the others a chance to rest for a bit. I’ve been pushing them pretty hard.”
“If anything, you’ve been easy on them,” he said, placing his oar inside the boat. Since they had some time, he fetched his refillable water bottle and took a long swig, clearing the dryness in his throat.
“Not all of them are water babies from Florida,” she replied.
He chuckled. “Where are you from?”
“Everywhere. Nowhere,” she said.
“You were in the
military?”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”
He pointed at her bloused pants.
Cait glanced down at them as if it had never occurred to her that she did it differently than anyone else. “My mom was Navy, my dad is active-duty Army.”
Which doesn’t explain what branch you were in. Because he doubted she’d blouse her pants just because of her parents. “Married?”
Cait frowned. “Pretty personal with the questions, Hardegree.”
“Brannon. Since we’re about to spend a week together in the middle of God knows where, I figured I should get to know you better.”
“If that’s a come-on—”
“It’s not. It’s just being polite, like my mother taught me.” She relaxed a notch. “So, married or not?” he pressed.
“Divorced. You?”
It was time to pony up some info, or she’d close down. “I was engaged once, but she called it off. She didn’t like what I did for a living.” That gained him a puzzled look, as if she didn’t believe him. She appeared about to follow up on that, then closed her mouth as the other canoes slowly drew closer.
“Are we there yet?” James joked, as he and his girlfriend floated up to join them.
Patti groaned. “No kidding.”
“Not even close,” Cait replied.
The other two canoes circled around them.
“We’re about half an hour out from the toilet so rehydrate yourselves, but don’t overdo it,” Cait warned. “While we’re resting, Preston, can you give them a bit of history about the swamp?”
The man perked up. “Sure.” Then he launched into a well-rehearsed account of how the canals had been carved into the wilderness, the alligators decimated for their hides, and how the swamp had finally become a national wildlife refuge.
“It’s really big, right?” Susan asked.
“Hundreds of thousands of acres,” Preston responded, “a lot of which isn’t accessible unless you’re in a canoe or willing to hike across some of the islands. Me? I stick with the regular routes. You get hurt out there and no one’s around, you’re in deep trouble.”