Killing Game (Veritas Book 2)

by Chandler Steele

“Same thing happened when you were showering. You’re a beautiful lady.”

  She snorted, which wasn’t at all ladylike. “Right.”

  “No, I’m serious,” he said, slowly moving the towel over his broad chest. She followed every movement. “You’re for real.”

  Their eyes connected. “Bran . . . we . . . ”

  “There’s no one around for miles. We’re both adults, and I want you, Caitlyn,” he said softly.

  Cait opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. Because she wanted him just as badly.

  I can’t.

  He moved closer, not reading the answer in her eyes. “No strings attached, just you and me. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you loading the gear into the canoe. I know whatever happens here tonight will be incredible.” He hesitated. “Even if my back hurts like hell.”

  Brannon hadn’t gotten all the water dried off and it still beaded in his chest hair. She longed to touch each bead.

  He took her hand in his, caressing it. “If you don’t want us to be together, just say so, and I’ll back off.”

  Cait looked up into those deep eyes, saw the heated desire. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I want to, but . . . ”

  He gently touched her cheek and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Understood, Caitlyn. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  That, she hadn’t expected. Resisting the magnetic pull he seemed to generate, she fell back on her training. “We should plan our mission.”

  Brannon didn’t move, just gazed at her like she was the only woman in his world. It was sincere, not just designed to get her in the sack.

  “I like it when you call me Caitlyn,” she admitted as tears pricked at her eyes. “Jeremy used to call me that before he—” She turned tail and vanished inside, like the coward she was.

  There’d been fear in her eyes. Not the stark dread of combat, but the deeper, more personal panic of allowing someone too close. With a sigh, Brannon followed her inside, rubbing the towel down his chest and arms, not only to dry off, but also to warm up. His shower had proven colder than he’d anticipated.

  As he pulled on a clean T-shirt, Cait hunted for a pen, then dismantled a brown grocery bag to create a makeshift sheet of paper. Flattening it with her palm near the map, she looked up at him from the table.

  He saw the plea in her eyes: Please let it go. Please don’t push me, or I’ll take a step I might regret. So Brannon played the gentleman and took a seat opposite her at the table, knowing that he’d rather be in that bed making love to her. Showing her that life could be good again, that he was the one who could guide her back from the darkness.

  “Like I told your people, it’ll take at least three hours to get to the island where the tracker is located.” She pointed at the map. “I recommend we land here and hike in. Less likely to run into any of Ellers’s patrols that way.”

  “What is the terrain like?”

  “I’ve never been that far south, but I suspect it’s much like this island.”

  “If the compound is there, Veritas will pass on what we know to the FBI. We’ll have to sit tight until they arrive. None of us want another Ruby Ridge.”

  The siege at Ruby Ridge in Idaho had cost three lives and broken open a hornet’s nest of anti-government sentiment, fueling the growth of militia groups like New America. Almost every one of the federal alphabet agencies had screwed the pooch on that one, which meant they’d be extra skittish about taking on Ellers and his people.

  “On the plus side, we’re both highly trained,” Cait said. “You were Special Operations and I worked with them, so I know how you think. We’re both stealthy. But we’re going up against an armed camp, and I’m guessing there’re women and kids in there as well, besides the hostages.”

  “So no explosives,” he said. “Too high a chance of taking out friendlies. Of course, no guarantee the women or kids won’t come after us themselves.”

  “Yeah, we learned that one in the sandbox, didn’t we?” she said.

  He grunted. “What time do you want to leave?”

  “We should be on the water by 0400. That way we’ll be under the cover of darkness until we hit the island.”

  “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a mission,” he said. “So you know, I’m pleased you’re along on this one.”

  Cait nodded. “I feel the same about you.” Then she rose and left him behind to stand on the porch, staring out into the downpour.

  *~*~*

  As time passed, the rain grew lighter, a soft patter on the roof. It was calming, and the frog chorus added to the natural symphony. They cleaned what weapons they had in companionable silence. Cait found Brannon watching her, his expression thoughtful. Hopeful. As if he hadn’t yet realized she wasn’t for him.

  Sunset came early and after a meal of MREs—she’d opted for the beef stew and he’d chosen the chicken with noodles—Cait dug out the whiskey.

  Brannon’s eyes brightened. “I’m loving these accommodations of yours, Sergeant.”

  “Thought you would.” She poured them each two fingers. “To victory,” she said, touching her plastic glass to his.

  “To good friends and a long life,” he said.

  “Those too.”

  She took a good slug of the liquor and felt the burn. When she set the glass down, she found Brannon nodding his approval.

  “You drink like a Ranger.”

  “No, I drink like a Marine. And a woman.”

  He blew a stream of air through his lips. “You smoke cigars too?” She nodded. “God, where have you been all my life?”

  That sounded like a come-on, so she ignored it. “How many hostage rescues have you done?”

  He followed her change of topic without a hitch. “I’ve lost count. Well over a dozen.”

  “I’ve been on three.” His expression indicated he was surprised at that admission. “Of course, you didn’t hear that. Those missions were all off the record. I was only on them because I speak fluent Pashtun and some of the hostages were women.”

  “Understood. If this mission implodes, secure the hostages and I’ll take care of Ellers. Unless I’m out of commission, in which case he’s all yours.”

  By “out of commission,” he meant dead. Cait barely suppressed the shudder.

  Brannon ripped off a piece of the paper sack, and after writing a phone number on it, he pushed it to her. “Worst-case scenario, Veritas will get you out, one way or another.”

  “I’m not going anywhere unless you’re with me. I don’t leave anyone behind.”

  He didn’t answer for a time, taking a long sip of his whiskey. “Neither do I. Especially someone who is smart, brave, and has the heart of a lioness.”

  Cait felt herself warm, and it wasn’t just because of the liquor. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  He nodded solemnly. “When this is over, you might consider applying to Veritas for a job. We need people with your integrity and skills.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m tired of watching people die, tired of killing. I want to build something. You know, help make things better, not tear it all down.” Then she realized what she’d said, how disrespectful it’d sounded. “Sorry. I’m not dissing what you do. I’m not. I just don’t have it in me anymore.”

  Brannon caressed her hand, running a finger over the knuckles one by one. It was both reassuring and sensuous. “You want to make things better in your own way.”

  “Dad keeps pushing me to become a military contractor. That’s the last damned thing I want to do. If I never see the Middle East again, I’ll be happy.”

  “So what does Caitlyn want to do?” he nudged.

  She knew the answer, because she’d put a lot of thought into it when the darker emotions weren’t filling her brain. “I’m good at teaching
, and I love animals. I was thinking I could learn how to train service dogs. You know, the kind that are paired with vets who are suffering from PTSD.”

  A warm smile bloomed on his face. “I think that’s a great idea. You’d be good at that. You’re patient, and you know exactly what those folks are going through. It’ll give you an edge in helping make their lives better.”

  Cait looked away for a second, then back. “There has to be a reason for all we went through, right?”

  “There is. I’ve found mine; you’ll find yours. Besides, training service dogs is a lot less dangerous than what I do. That way I won’t worry so much about you.”

  That confused her. “Why would you worry about me? We just met.”

  “I know this will sound corny, but it feels like I’ve known you for years. What about you?”

  She pulled her hand away. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. You mess with my head, Bran, and that scares me.” It was a tiny step forward, that confession. One she hadn’t wanted to make.

  “I’m right there with you,” he admitted. “You intrigue me, Caitlyn. I want to find out why.”

  “I . . . we should get some sleep.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and then he sighed. “I’ll take the floor,” he said.

  Cait shook her head. “Things have been known to creep in at night. Things that are poisonous. If you promise to behave yourself, you can share the bed with me.”

  “Behaving myself is the last damned thing I want to do.”

  “I know.” Because I’m right there with you. “But I also know I can trust you.”

  “True. Our weapons have to be on the table, out of reach. We’re both under a lot of stress, and sometimes that causes trouble. At least for me.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She looked at her watch. “It’s a little after twenty hundred hours now. I’ll set my watch for 0300.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Once Brannon was in bed, Cait secured the cabin for the night. She knew he was watching her every move, from closing the front shutters to locking the door and jamming one of the chairs under the doorknob.

  “Thinking we might have visitors?” he asked.

  “No, but just in case we do, we want time to react.”

  “Then we’re on the same page.”

  “On some things,” she replied, not wanting him to think she was falling for his charm. Or his rugged face, or the rest of him lying under a thin blanket with that “come here, baby, and I’ll make your night explode” gaze. A gaze that seemed to strip her naked with little effort. Then she spied his trousers hanging on the chair. “Are you commando?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got boxers on. I put them on during that last bio break.”

  Now she felt like some sissy schoolgirl.

  “What about you? Do you sleep in the nude?” he asked, those bedroom eyes still tracking her.

  “Usually, but not tonight. Don’t want to upset your delicate sensitivities.”

  He laughed, causing the bed to shake. “Oh honey, you’re already there. Let’s get some sleep. We got a heavy day tomorrow.”

  She set their boots on the table so nothing would creep into them overnight, blew out the candles, and crawled in beside him, causing the mattress to dip. It had always felt like a big enough bed, until now. Not with a large and muscular man lying right next to her, their hips touching.

  It’s just for one night.

  She turned on her side, pointedly giving him her back. He sighed, as if he’d expected that, then settled in. To her annoyance, she was still awake half an hour later. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one.

  “You awake?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “What day is it? I’ve lost track.”

  She worked it out. “We left on the thirteenth, so it’s the sixteenth. Why?”

  “Not sure. Just something I need to think through.”

  She turned her back to him again. If she didn’t, they wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  Brannon listened as Cait’s breathing finally evened out and she fell asleep. She smelled of fresh air and orange shampoo. So did he, but luckily, none of his squad was around to give him hell about the orange bit. No matter how hard he tried to think through what they faced tomorrow, his attention kept wandering back to the woman lying next to him.

  Maybe when this is all over . . .

  He was kidding himself. Once Ellers was neutralized, she’d vanish like a mirage in the desert. If not back here in the swamp, then somewhere else. Cait craved solitude, or at least thought she did. Until she craved him more, he would always come out the loser. He’d seen the look of resignation in her eyes, and he knew it well. He’d seen it in others and at one time, in himself. He knew how close she was to giving up. He wanted to be the reason she didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brannon came awake instantly at the noise. It wasn’t the sound of someone outside the cabin, but of his companion murmuring in her sleep. The murmuring grew more intense, more filled with terror.

  “No!” she cried out. “God, no!”

  He took her in his arms. “Ssh. It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. It’s okay.”

  “Jeremy . . . ” she whimpered, her eyes coming open now. He saw the instant she was fully awake, the realization that her best friend was still dead and there was nothing she could do to change that.

  “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She stopped struggling and then began to cry. It was soft, like she didn’t want to admit she was human.

  He hugged her close. “Go on. It’s what you need. We all need to cry sometimes.”

  “Even you?” she whispered.

  “Even me. Some nights, I wake up and my face is wet from tears. It doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re strong enough to grieve for those you lost.”

  The tears continued, but at least she’d stopped shaking now.

  “One minute he was laughing, the next he was . . . dead. It was like the angels just picked him up and took him straight to heaven.”

  “Maybe they did. He’s still watching over you. You have to know that.”

  He felt a faint nod against his chest. “He loved Irish whiskey. And hot dogs. It’s why I eat them, to remember him by.”

  “You loved him.”

  “Yes. He was like a brother. He left behind a girlfriend and a little boy. He looks just like Jeremy, at least in the pictures.”

  “Have you seen them yet?”

  “No. I couldn’t make myself . . . ” She sniffled. “God, I’m a damned wuss. He died, and I don’t even have the guts to go see his lover and his kid. What kind of friend am I?”

  “One who loved him very deeply,” Brannon said. “One who will never forget him.” He swept away a few strands of her hair. “You better now?”

  Cait nodded, then pulled out of his arms and crawled out of the bed. It took her a bit to hunt up some tissues. She blew her nose, then rinsed her face in the wash basin. He didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were red from crying. He knew that sense of loss, the feeling that you’d failed somehow.

  When she turned, he said, “I’ve been there. I still go there sometimes, depending on how bad things get. But I always know that it’ll be better in the morning, that it’s worth waking.”

  Cait walked to the bed, then stopped. Her eyes met his, and he saw her wavering on the point of a decision. In that moment, he felt something change within her.

  “You said one night, no strings attached, right?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

  “No strings, just a chance to forget all the sadness and pain. A chance to truly feel alive again.”

  “I want to forget it all, if only for a short time. I want that with you.”

  Brannon knew how much trust
it took for her to say that. He sat up, ignoring the ache in his back, and extended his arms. “Then come here, and I’ll make it good again. I promise you that.”

  He swore he could almost hear her thoughts: One good night’s scratch and the itch will be gone. He suspected that was a lie, that the moment their bodies united, it wouldn’t be enough. Or at least, that’s what he hoped would happen.

  Why her, out of all the women he’d met? He didn’t know. As his mother had once explained, ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ Right now, he wanted Cait’s body and more, which meant every touch, every kiss, every second of this night had to be perfect. It was his only chance to prove himself to her.

  She slowly stripped off her T-shirt, revealing a plain, navy-blue sports bra. No lace this time. He found it as arousing as anything he’d ever seen.

  Brannon ran a finger along the upper seam. “What do you like when a man makes love to you?”

  “You mean, what kind of sex?”

  You’re still distancing yourself. He changed tactics. “What turns you on?”

  “A man like you. Strong, virile . . . kind.”

  He hooked his finger in the bra at the point between her breasts and lightly tugged her forward. Cupping her face with both hands, he ran his tongue across her lips. She moaned in response.

  “I want a man who is as strong as me, who takes as much as he gives when I’m with him,” she whispered. “Are you that man?”

  He laid her on the bed, his lips on hers. His hands curled around her hips, pulling her tight against his erection. She pressed herself into him, making his head spin. With her help, he pulled off the bra. Trailing kisses down her neck, he lightly bit just above her left breast, then took the tight nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over it.

  Cait arched into him, her eyes closed. His hands skimmed down to her waist, then deftly removed her shorts. He cupped her, feeling the heat spread through his fingers. Dipping one inside her briefs, he sought the center of her pleasure and began to stroke it lightly. This time she nearly came off the bed with a gasp of surprise.

  “Like that?”

  “Hmm . . . yeah.”

  He continued his attentions, stroking her, then suckling a breast. She cried out again. This time, Cait dug her fingers into his neck, pulling him closer. “Now, Bran.”