Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “Coonther?”

  “Half raccoon, half panther.” He reached for the antibacterial ointment and gauze. “I swear, you ask more questions than any of the kids I’ve told this story to.”

  She raised a brow. “I’m sorry if I’ve never heard of this elusive coonther. Continue with your story. I promise not to interrupt.”

  “The coonther isn’t as harmless as it looks, but it’s nowhere near as deadly as the giant mutant albino alligator,” he continued, and squeezed the ointment onto the gauze. “According to legend, the vet took alligator eggs to his secret lab, then he began injecting them with mutated genes. When the eggs hatched, all the babies were normal, except for one. That one tiny gator was ghost-white and had bright pink eyes. Fascinated by this albino gator, the vet kept her in a cage and fed her siblings to her.”

  Lola frowned, then quickly smashed her lips together as he began to gently apply the gauze to the open wound.

  “Doing okay?” he asked, and rubbed her calf with his free hand. She had nice calves, and he’d bet she would look hot as hell in a short skirt and heels.

  “I’m fine. All the holes in your story are keeping me distracted.”

  Realizing he could use a little distraction himself, he removed his hand from her slender calf. “Normally, my audience is on the edge of their seats,” he said, then used his teeth to cut off a piece of tape.

  “And how old would this audience be? Nine, ten?”

  “I’ll have you know that there have been a few adults who’ve believed me.”

  “Did they speak English?”

  “Not much,” he said with a grin, then began wrapping her foot in tape to keep the gauze in place. “Do you want to hear what happened to the vet?”

  “Of course. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

  “Smart ass.” He chuckled, double-checked her bandage, then plucked the sock from her boot. “The vet kept feeding the albino gator, and it grew a foot a week. It’s said that the gator’s pink eyes hypnotized the vet and drove him to the brink of madness. Before the man went insane, he realized what he’d created was too deadly and needed to be destroyed. So the vet decided to poison the gator. He crept into the room, only to find the gator had used her razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaw to break free from her cage.”

  He finished replacing her sock, then assisted her with the boot. “How does that feel?” he asked, helping her to her feet.

  She bounced on her foot. “Surprisingly good. Thank you,” she said, touching his arm and meeting his gaze.

  Damn, talk about hypnotizing. Her golden eyes held gratitude, amusement and…interest? Don’t go there. Once this hunt was over, she’d be heading back to Chicago. Hopefully with her mom and Ian. But he couldn’t help going there. He liked Lola. Not only was she beautiful and sexy, she was smart, funny and easy to talk to. Plus, she was strong and could kick ass. He’d love to see some of her Jiu Jitsu moves, naked would be cool. If only she could handle being on a boat without throwing up, she’d be the perfect woman.

  “No problem.” He checked his watch and took a step back. She needed to stop being so damned touchy-feely. Otherwise, one of these times his willpower might snap, and he’d give in to temptation and haul her into his arms for the kiss he couldn’t stop imagining. “We’ve lost about fifteen minutes, we should get going.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat your protein bar?” she asked, picking up her pack.

  “Not after touching your gross foot,” he said, grinning, then laughed when she gave him the finger. “I’m kidding.” He tore part of the wrapping from the protein bar and took a bite.

  “So what happened to the vet?”

  He finished the bar, shoved the wrapper in his pocket, then began repacking the first aid kit and water jug. “The gator bit off both of his arms.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s not like the story’s real,” he said, pulling on his pack.

  “I know that. But children might not.”

  “First off, I let the vet live. Second, kids aren’t stupid. Even they can sense a line of BS.” He shrugged. “For the record, I’ve never had a kid try to stick his hand in the water after that story.”

  “I suppose that’s one way to get a point across.” She frowned. “So, other than giving her kids nightmares, why was the mom offended?”

  “She called me a bigot for using the term albino in a negative way.”

  “Come on.”

  “It’s true. If Sadie could talk, she’d back me up.”

  “Oh, I believe you. Using albino to describe a fictitious white alligator isn’t bigotry, being called half-chink is.”

  Anger settled deep in his chest. He knocked saplings aside with his forearm, holding them steady until Lola moved by him. “Who called you that?”

  She ducked under a leafy, low hanging branch. “I didn’t bring it up looking for sympathy. I’m only proving a point. Thanks to technology, which I do love, we now have so many ways for people to express themselves—in a way that gives them anonymity. People boast about going to church, post their righteous crap on social media, then turn around and act like a jerk to the guy who’s struggling to merge into their lane on the freeway.” She shoved another branch aside. “And I think that feeling of anonymity has bled out into everyday life for some people. It’s like they’ve gotten so used to saying whatever they want online, they think nothing of saying what’s on their mind to someone’s face.” She blew out a breath. “Never mind. I think the heat and these stupid trees are getting to me. I’m not even making sense to myself.”

  She made absolute sense to him, and he completely agreed. He’d been called cracker more times than he’d like to remember. The difference was, he could leave Florida, move to a city like Chicago, probably find a decent job and no one would call him cracker again. For Lola, she couldn’t change how she looked, no matter where she moved. “You didn’t answer my question. Who called you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Yes. For whatever reason, he couldn’t help being protective of her. “I suppose not.”

  They continued along in silence. After they hiked about half a mile, she shifted to the right, knocking branches out of her way. “Do you see that?” She stopped and pointed ahead. “There, on the tree.”

  He moved behind her and looked over the top of her head. A scrap of beige material hung off a broken branch.

  She half turned and smiled. “My mom was wearing a cream-colored robe during the Skype call,” she said, excitement brightening her eyes. “Since we lost their tracks, I’ve been so worried. Come on, maybe we’ll pick up their footprints by that tree.”

  He grabbed her arms. “Don’t move.”

  “But the material—”

  “Remember the tripwire? We need to be cautious. Jackass could have planted that there.” He let go of her, then shrugged out of his pack. After he found a long stick, he took a few careful steps. “Stay here for a second and let me take a closer look.”

  He slowly moved the stick along the ground, hoping that if there was another tripwire, the stick would snag it before his boot did. This time around, Jackass might have found the time to add an explosive.

  He moved several feet. The plants and leaves covering the ground were thick and dense, making it impossible to find a thin clear fishing line like the one used on the last tripwire.

  He stepped over a harmless rough green snake slithering over the leaves, then came to an abrupt halt when the stick connected with the transparent fishing line. His stomach tightened as he ran the stick along the line, following it to where it had been tethered. After taking a dozen or so steps, he saw the line had been tied to a tree. Using the stick to keep track of the line, he retraced his steps.

  “He set up another tripwire,” he called over his shoulder. “Stay back.”

  In less than a minute, he located the other end of the tripwire in a leafy bush. Instead of a clothespin, though, the fishing wire had been attached to a tube-shaped object wrapp
ed in thick layers of black electrical tape. On the opposite end of the tube, another string had been tied to one of the bush’s branches. He’d seen this before. Hell, Barney’s grandsons rigged the same type of tripwire a bunch of times for paintball wars and had learned how to do it from a YouTube video. But the sound wasn’t all that loud unless—

  He pulled his gun from his holster, then stood and scanned the area. His gaze touched on the small piece of material hanging on the branch.

  “Well?” Lola asked, her tone anxious. “Is it an explosive?”

  He noticed she’d lost her pack, too, and was also holding her weapon. “No, just a noisemaker.” Not too noisy, unless you were the person who tripped the wire, or if you’d set the trap and had remained hidden in the general vicinity. The latter concerned him the most. He looked to the scrap of material again. “He’s baiting us.”

  She took several, tentative steps forward. “Come again?”

  “He made sure that piece of your mom’s robe was visible, then set the trap. This device is nothing more than a combination of party poppers and the powder from a sidewinder’s firecracker. If one of us, or an animal, triggered it, there’d be a little noise. Nothing more.”

  “He knows we’re here.” She rushed toward him. “The last tripwire. You thought he ran out of time and couldn’t set up an explosive, then you wondered what he used as a receiver. What if the whole purpose of the tripwire was to let him know someone was following him? What if, when you pulled the wires from the clothespin, you killed all signals to his receiver? An animal couldn’t unscrew and unwire the clothespin.”

  Shit. If she was right, and his gut told him she was, he’d totally screwed up that one. “I’m sorry, Lola.”

  “I’m not blaming you, or anything. But now I’m curious.” She jerked her head toward the bush with the hidden device. “If you’re telling me that’s a noisemaker, then who’s around to hear the noise besides us? I’m standing here with my gun, freaking the freak out that he might be watching us, but my mind refuses to wrap itself around that idea. Unless he grew wings and flew up to the tops of the trees, there’s no place for him to hide or ambush us. And, let’s face it, his objective is to hunt my mom and Ian. If I were him, I wouldn’t be hanging around here hoping we would take the bait. I’d be going after my prey.”

  Damn it. She was right. “Then why bother with the noisemaker?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s messing with us or wants to let us know he knows we’re out here.”

  That idea didn’t make sense to him. In his experience, if the enemy knew you were following, they didn’t mess with you, they tried to kill you. But Jackass wasn’t a terrorist or an insurgent. He was out for revenge. So, if he was screwing with them…why?

  “He made it clear that if anyone from CORE set foot in Florida,” she continued, holstering her weapon, “that he would go after their families and make them suffer. Maybe he’s keeping us alive so he knows who to go after.” She knocked a few errant strands of hair from her face. “Or, maybe we’ve given him new prey to hunt.”

  He walked over to the tree where the scrap of robe hung. There was a tear in the material, yet that tear didn’t coincide with the way it laid on the branch. Yeah, Jackass had definitely baited them. Only, how could he hunt Ian and Cami and them at the same time?

  His stomach dropped. Damn it. He knew what he’d do. Like Lola said, Jackass’s main objective was Ian and Cami. She’d also brought up—in so many words—that Jackass wouldn’t make this quick after all the trouble he’d gone through to make the hunt happen. If he were Jackass, he’d distract his main objective. He’d—

  “Ryan.”

  He looked away from the dirty piece of robe. Lola knelt on the ground, a piece of paper shaking in her hand.

  Dread gripped him by the balls and had him swallowing hard. “What’s it say?”

  “‘You should have listened’.” She looked up at him. “‘Now I’m coming for you’.”

  Chapter 10

  Elaine Weir’s Home, Westchester, Illinois

  Thursday, 1:39 p.m. Central Standard Time

  SNOW COLLECTED ON the windshield. John turned on the wipers and slowed the sedan in front of Elaine Weir’s brick Georgian style home. “Outside Christmas lights are on,” he said, shifting into PARK. “Wreath on the door…looks like there’s a light on in one of the second floor bedrooms.”

  “That makes me optimistic.” Hudson unbuckled his seatbelt, then pulled on his gloves. “No cars in the driveway, but they could be parked in the detached garage.”

  “Or, they could have gone somewhere else for Thanksgiving.” John also put on his gloves, then killed the ignition. “Let’s find out. If we can be on the jet by four, we’ll be in Florida around seven-thirty their time,” he said, opening the driver’s side door. The cold wind had a bitter bite to it. As he rounded the car, he pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck.

  Hudson met him on the sidewalk. “That doesn’t leave much daylight, but we can at least attempt to meet up with Lola and Ryan.” He looked to the gray sky. “I hate this weather. One of these days I’m going to talk Eden into moving to a place where there’s not a chance in hell I’ll see another snowflake.”

  “And miss out on all the fun we have at CORE?”

  “You know I’ve been thinking about getting out of the business.”

  “Right. So you take up golf and mow grass. How’s that going to pay the bills?”

  “Eden’s book sales have been great. I don’t mind playing Mr. Mom.”

  He grinned and pictured Hudson wearing a leather jacket and his shit kickers, as he took his daughter, Hannah, to a play date. “You wouldn’t last a week.”

  “That’s what Eden says. She thinks I’ll get bored and start some sorta militant neighborhood watch just so I can get my chasing bad guys fix.”

  John chuckled as they approached the walkway leading to the front door, but grew serious when he noticed a pile of newspapers on the porch. “Maybe they went out of town,” he said, bending down to check the dates on the papers. “The oldest newspaper is from three days ago.”

  Hudson rang the doorbell. “The mailbox is full, too.” When no one answered he knocked. After a half a minute, he stepped off the small porch. “Let’s see if there are cars in the garage.”

  They peered through the service door window and saw two cars. John tried the handle. “Locked. They could have taken a cab and done the smart thing—flown south for the holiday.”

  “We should try the back door before we go,” Hudson said, pulling the lock pick kit from his coat pocket.

  “Try knocking, or breaking and entering?” John asked, looking to the neighboring yards. Both neighbors on either side, and behind the Weir house, had six-foot privacy fences. But if any of those neighbors looked out their second floor windows, they’d be able to see them attempting to break into the house. “I don’t feel good about doing this.”

  Hudson glanced to the house on the right. “Windows are dark.” He looked the left. “They can’t see anything unless they climbed on their roof.”

  “The people behind—”

  “Are too busy eating turkey and pie. Come on, it’ll only take a minute. I don’t know about you, but after the way Steven cut the eyes in his ex’s picture, I want to make sure she and her kids are okay.”

  “I drove us here, so what do you think?” John asked, nearing the back patio. Blinds had been drawn at the kitchen window and door, but lights glowed from inside.

  Hudson opened the screen door, then gave the storm door a hard knock. “When you go out of town, do you leave this many lights on?”

  “No. Celeste is the electricity police. She’s always yelling at me about not turning off lights when I leave a room.” A shiver tore through him when a strong wind blasted him with more cold air. Or maybe the chill wasn’t just from the wind, but from the dread balling in his stomach. He wanted to believe Steven’s ex had gone out of town. The lights were one thi
ng, but why hadn’t she stopped the newspaper or mail? “Get us inside.”

  Hudson pulled the torque wrench from the lock pick set, crouched, then gripped the doorknob. He looked over his shoulder and raised a brow. “It can’t be this easy,” he said, and turned the knob. “Do you keep your doors unlocked when you go out of town?”

  “This isn’t a good sign.”

  Hudson gave the door a slight push, then, holding the doorjamb, leaned inside. “She’s not on vacation.” He jerked away from the door and wiped a hand down his face.

  That chill moved through him again. “Dead?”

  He nodded. “It’s bad. We better call Dante.”

  John quickly put on boot covers. “Go ahead. I’m heading inside. The kids, remember?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Hudson said, as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  While Hudson placed the call, John took a cautious step onto a small rug, then glanced to the kitchen floor. Dried blood was smeared along the tile. He shifted his gaze, following the trail, then looked away when he found the source.

  “I told you it was bad,” Hudson said, and now wearing boot covers, moved next to him. “I have Dante on the line.”

  “How many victims?” Dante asked.

  John swallowed back the acid climbing up his throat and stepped over the blood trail. “Two.”

  “Is Elaine Weir one of them?”

  He stared at the female victim. “I’m assuming so. It’s hard to tell since he burned her.”

  “Burned her?”

  “And the male victim.” John moved closer to the bodies, avoiding the char marks and dried pools of blood on the tile. “Both have their hands behind their backs. The clothes on the front of their bodies are burned away, and…” He drew in a deep breath through his mouth, hoping to keep from vomiting. “Both victims sustained third degree burns. The female was cut across her pelvis.” He glanced to the male and cringed. “Christ, he mangled the man’s penis.”