Killing Game (Veritas Book 2)

by Chandler Steele

  As Cait turned to lob the grenade inside the copter, Ellers regained his feet. He stared at her in confusion for a split second, and then it registered what she held in her hand. Even before she could pull the pin, he fired at her. The round barely grazed the top of her left shoulder, making her lose hold of the grenade in her bid to keep from falling. She cursed as it tumbled out of sight.

  A sudden burst of speed pitched her enemy onto his knees and forced her to cling to the skid with both hands. Her way forward was clear now, and somehow, Cait had always known it would end like this, that fate would stack the deck against her. Once it was over, the darkness would no longer stalk her. No more nightmares, no more hoarse screams in the dead of night, no more Jeremy forever dying in her arms.

  The microseconds ticked down, agonizingly slow. She knew Brannon was on the shoreline now, even if she couldn’t see him, and she knew he was watching her through his field glasses, caught in a hell from which there was no escape. Would her death haunt him for the rest of his days? Would he see her in his dreams, fragmenting into a bloody cloud?

  The darkness licked at her again, tasting her indecision, making her hand cramp around the Glock. One shot into the barrel of Tannerite and it would all be over.

  Looking toward the man on the shore, she mouthed. “I love you.” It was a pity he’d never hear it from her in person.

  NO! It was as if he’d shouted in her ear.

  NO! Suddenly, that became her word. She didn’t want to die. She craved Brannon’s love, his endless light, and to have it, she needed to live.

  As Ellers came to his feet, sighting down at her with his weapon, she arched up, sending a single bullet into the center of his forehead. As he fell, his trigger finger tightened and his fully-auto Glock barked repeatedly.

  On instinct, Cait threw herself back into the air, tucking into a cannonball. She plummeted toward the dark water, she prayed she’d been given a little more time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Brannon’s field glasses tracked the copter from the shoreline as it headed across the water. Someone jumped. He followed the body and when it surfaced, reported, “The girl, Patti, she’s in the water. Caitlyn’s still on the landing skid.”

  “I can disable the copter, but time is running out,” Neil warned.

  Brannon swore. “Get the hell off that copter. Jump, damn you, jump!”

  But he knew she wasn’t thinking of life, only of stopping the enemy. She turned toward him now, wind blowing her hair in all directions. He saw her lips move, and though he wasn’t sure what she said, he knew what it meant.

  “No!” Brannon shouted.

  A gunshot, then more, followed by a sharp, primary explosion that rent the air.

  “Get down!” Neil cried. They sprawled on the shoreline, covering their heads. The secondary explosion was deeper, nearly deafening, as the C-4’s concussion wave rolled outward from the copter, spraying them with dirt, branches, and other debris. Closer to the site, trees splintered and uprooted, their trunks falling with solid thumps as they fell.

  Brannon pulled up the field glasses with quaking hands, watching as the helicopter disintegrated into hundreds of flaming metal shards, roaring outward like an exploding star. The rotors sheared off and sliced through the air like scythes. He was on his knees even before the wreckage plunged into the water.

  “No, Caitlyn! No!” He pounded the dirt with his fists, furious. How could she do this to him? Why hadn’t she given them a chance?

  Neil’s hand gently touched his shoulder. “Jesus, man,” he said. “I can’t believe she did that.”

  His breath heaving, he shook his head. “She said she was afraid of living.”

  “Too many of us are,” his friend replied. He looked out onto the water. “We gotta get the girl before some gator does. If she’s still alive. That was one hell of an explosion.”

  His friend was right, and the realization that Patti needed them forced Brannon to his feet. No more bright smiles, no more touching her face, holding her, loving her. He knew what it took to go on, hiding the grief, saving it for later. But this time, it was Caitlyn. Her loss might be more than he could bear.

  Neil took the field glasses from him and searched through the thick smoke in the distance. “The girl looks uninjured.” He hesitated. “At least one of them made it.”

  “Yeah, at least one.”

  They’d just reached the closest undamaged boat when there was a loud splash. Brannon jerked his gaze toward the water. “Gator?” he said, his hand reaching for his weapon.

  Neil hunted through the field glasses. “No,” he said, a smile appearing. “Something much better.” Another splash.

  “Ooh-rah!” a voice shouted, followed by a hearty round of coughing.

  “Caitlyn?” Brannon desperately tried to find her through the smoke and burning patches of aviation fuel on the water.

  “There!” Neil said, handing him the field glasses.

  Brannon scanned the distance and found her. She treaded water, then flipped onto her back, floating and kicking her feet as if she were on vacation at the beach. He knew what she was feeling: the joy of life.

  They were in the boat and crossing the water before Brannon could even catch his breath. First, Patti came on board, and then they headed toward Cait’s location.

  “Is she okay?” Patti asked. She sat near Neil, a sizable bruise on her right cheek and her hair plastered to her face.

  “We’ll find out. What about you?”

  “I’m good. Did you see her? She blew them right out of the air. Take that, you assholes!” she said, executing a fist pump.

  The rare sound of laughter came from Neil and Brannon couldn’t help but join in. Then, as they came closer to the woman he loved, his eyes filled with tears. He could probably blame it on the burning fuel later, but in his heart, he knew the truth. She’d chosen life. Now it was up to him to make sure she’d never regret that.

  Despite the burning fuel nearby, it was oddly peaceful on the water. Cait hadn’t expected to survive the blast, but luckily, the water had shielded her from the worst of the explosion. Even then, the concussion wave had rammed into her, churning up mud and other debris.

  Once it had ended, it’d taken time to determine which direction the surface was, since it wasn’t clearly visible. A civilian would have panicked, but the Marines had trained her for this, in full gear no less. Cait readily fell back on that training—and survived.

  She relished each breath, each ache, each lap of the water against her body. It all meant she was alive. The dark voice inside her head was oddly silent now, cowed into submission. She made a vow to try to keep it that way.

  The sound of a boat engine intruded on her tranquility. When it abruptly cut out, hands pulled at her and she let them do what they wished. As she was helped inside the boat, she caught sight of Patti. They’d both made it. Cait’s rucksack was removed and then she was cradled by arms she knew as well as her own.

  “Sit rep?” Neil called out.

  She coughed. “Wet, sore, but Oscar Mike.” Operationally mobile.

  “You got a death wish, Marine?” he asked.

  This time there was no derision, only respect. Though Neil had asked the question, she looked up into Brannon’s deep brown eyes. “No, not anymore.”

  With that admission came a curiously light feeling, like shaking off a heavy pack at the end of a thirty-mile forced march.

  “Damn glad to hear it,” Brannon whispered in her ear.

  “Cait?” Patti said. Cait turned so she could see the girl. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “Sure thing.” Other than a large bruise on her cheek and being soaking wet, Patti didn’t look any worse for the wear. But sometimes outward signs didn’t tell the whole story. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Honest? He didn’t hurt you, did he?�
��

  “No,” she said, even as she touched her face. “Not like that.”

  “Thank God.”

  “That was an impressive jump, young lady,” Brannon said.

  Patti shrugged as if it’d been no big deal. “I’m on my high-school swim team. I’m really good at diving.”

  “That was still one helluva jump,” Cait replied. “How’d James get you out of the camp?”

  “It was right after the shooting stopped. I was helping one of the women who’d been hurt, and he put a gun in my back. Told me if I didn’t go with him, he’d kill me and the poor lady. I believed him.”

  “Why didn’t she tell us he took you?”

  “He hit her on the head. I hope she’s all right.”

  “I thought he left before Ellers did,” Brannon said.

  “The dickwad came back for me. He seemed to think I was his personal possession. His uncle was way pissed, but James refused to leave me behind.” She sighed. “You know, I’m not the least bit upset he got his ass blown up.”

  “You’re not going to find anyone in this boat who’d argue with you on that,” Brannon replied.

  They fell silent for a time as they returned to the landing. The debris in the water made it difficult to keep from fouling the prop, but Neil had it handled.

  “You didn’t give up,” Brannon whispered in Cait’s ear. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you. You gave us a chance. I promise not to screw it up.”

  Hopefully she could do the same.

  Unaware of their private conversation, Neil asked, “Any chance Ellers survived that blast?”

  Cait eyed the former SEAL. “Not with a bullet in the center of his forehead.” Neil frowned. “Surprise! The gyrene didn’t fuck it up.”

  This time he grimaced. “Sometimes, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”

  “Already figured that one out. But apology accepted anyway.”

  He huffed, then ignored her.

  Cait wondered what had caused Neil to retreat behind those walls of his, and if anything, or anyone, would ever break them down.

  *~*~*

  Once on shore, Brannon stepped away from the others and phoned Veritas, knowing it might not be wise to call Susan directly. He didn’t want to generate any more flak for the agent; she’d risked enough on his behalf.

  “That’s damned fine news,” Morgan said, relief coming through every word. “You guys okay?”

  “We’re good.” His eyes tracked the billowing smoke. “The park rangers are going to be majorly pissed, though. We made a big mess down here.”

  “Far better than having Ellers get to Atlanta. God knows what he had planned.”

  “Thanks for sending the Iceman as backup. He made all the difference.”

  “Good. What are you going to do about the FBI?”

  “I’ll turn myself in. I don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Actually, you do.” A lengthy pause followed. “Crispin will ensure that you get a new identity and sufficient funds to start over wherever you want.”

  Jesus. The man always had their backs.

  “That’s too dangerous for him, and for Veritas. I don’t want this to compromise what we do. It’s too important.”

  “He told me you’d say that. Then you’ll get the best legal support we can find.”

  “That works.” He stepped away from the others. “There’s another thing you could do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  He explained what he’d like done for Cait.

  “I’ll take care of it personally.”

  “Thank you. That means so much to me,” Brannon said, his heart heavy with unspoken emotion. “She’s very important to me.”

  “Sounds like it, Bran. You stay safe.”

  “See you soon, Valkyrie.”

  Or at least, he hoped so.

  Brannon returned to the others and was greeted by curious expressions. Patti was sucking down a bottle of water and Cait had her boots off, wringing out her socks. The wound to her shoulder was minor, so she ignored it for the time being.

  “The FBI should be arriving at the compound right about now,” he announced. “Morgan will call our favorite FBI agent, so she knows that the tangos are neutralized and Patti is safe. And she’ll call the Park Service about the helicopter crash so they know about the fire.”

  Neil looked up at the cloud of dense black smoke ascending into the air. “Like they could miss it.”

  “Hey, ‘mess with the best, die like the rest,’” Cait said.

  “Right, but ‘Rangers lead the way,’” Brannon replied, egging her on.

  “Ha! Only after a Marine shows them how to read the damned map.”

  Neil snorted and slapped Brannon on the back. “You are screwed, my friend. So screwed.” He quickly shifted back to business. “I’ll hang here, find our missing pilot, make sure he’s okay.”

  “There’s a case of grenades in the cabin,” Cait said. “Might be best if they don’t go wandering off.”

  “Roger that.”

  Brannon removed his rucksack, stored his sheathed knife inside, then offered it to Neil. “Keep it for me, will you? I’ll need it down the line.”

  Neil hesitated, then hefted it onto a shoulder. “I take it this means you’re turning yourself in.”

  “Have to. I’m not going on the run. I just hope the boss man is able to work out a miracle.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Thanks, Iceman. I owe you.”

  “Yes, you do.” Neil gave a nod to the women, then walked off into the woods.

  Once he was out of earshot, Patti gasped. “Ohmigod! Is he cute or what? I didn’t know guys like that were for real. Now there’re two of you. Just. Wow. Nobody is going to believe me when I tell them about all this.”

  Brannon smiled at the compliment, but couldn’t help but notice that Cait’s eyes had saddened.

  “Veritas will do everything they can to keep me out of jail,” he said as they loaded back into the boat.

  “They damned well better,” she said tersely. “If not, it’ll be up to me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  From the moment they’d heard the blast, felt the ground shudder underneath them, Susan had feared she’d lost them all. It’d been even worse after she’d learned that Patti had vanished. She knew the girl hadn’t taken off on her own, and eventually that had been confirmed when one of the wounded women told them what had happened to the teen. Now, as she ended the call with someone named Morgan at Veritas, Susan sagged in relief, far closer to tears than she had been in a long time. Ellers was dead and so was his nephew. Patti had been rescued and the explosives were history. Cait and Brannon were unharmed and Atlanta was safe.

  “Susan?” Preston asked. “What’s happened? What was that explosion?”

  She smiled at those crowded around her. Her eyes sought out Rafferty, the man who’d taken a huge gamble on their behalf. “That was the sound of true freedom,” she murmured.

  Then she told them what had happened, and there were cheers—at least from the campers. For some of those in the compound, the news was sobering.

  “Now what?” Rafferty asked.

  “Now we pick up the pieces and start over,” she said.

  *~*~*

  Susan took a deep breath, issued a silent prayer, and waited as the advance team walked up the path toward the compound. Behind her were Ellers’s people, and they were still armed. She hadn’t expected to go any other way: Their leader had taught them that trust came at a high price, often one involving the death of a loved one. Now it was Susan’s job to convince the FBI to treat them like victims, not enemies.

  She walked out the front gates of the compound, holding up her badge, trying not to shake. The lives of so many people depended on her, and that scared th
e hell out of her. One wrong word, one wrong move, and this place could descend into a war zone. The advance team halted as she approached. They were all in tactical gear, except for one. A familiar face smiled back at her.

  “Britelli,” she said, nodding at her partner.

  “Driscoll. Good to see you in one piece.”

  Joseph Britelli was a second-generation Italian and the best partner she’d ever had. The fact that he was here gave her hope.

  An older black man stepped forward. “I’m Special Agent McDonald from the D.C. office. What’s the situation here?”

  “You know about the shootings?” The man nodded. “And that Ellers is dead?” Another nod. “The current situation is volatile. We have multiple wounded, some dead. These people were ambushed by their own leader. Right now, they wouldn’t trust God Himself if He came down in a flaming chariot.”

  The agent blinked.

  “So this can go bad in a heartbeat,” she continued, “as in Waco or Ruby Ridge bad, if you get my meaning.”

  The agent nodded curtly. “So what do you suggest?”

  “We send in the medical team first so they can treat the wounded, evacuate them. While they’re doing that, you, Britelli, and I will talk to the folks who are in charge of this group. I think that if we do this carefully no one else has to die.”

  McDonald raised an eyebrow. “How do I know they won’t come down on us the moment we’re in there?”

  “The fact that they have wounded family members. I’m not saying we shouldn’t stay vigilant, because there might be one hothead in there somewhere, but the rest of them are scared out of their minds. They’ve watched their husbands, their wives, their kids die. They just want to get out of here.”

  McDonald heaved a sigh. “What else did you promise them?”

  She couldn’t stop the grin. “How do you know I did?”

  “We’re not being shot at . . . yet.”