Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) (7 page)

Chapter Nine

It was about an hour out from dusk when they finally made it to the campground on one of the smaller islands. The instant they reached shore, the other campers swarmed down to meet them.

“Patti!” James called out, appearing relieved she’d returned to the group.

“Hey,” she replied noncommittally.

“So where’d you go?” Bill asked.

“She decided to check out the wildlife,” Brannon said. “Take a moonlight cruise. No harm, no foul.”

Good answer
.

The look the girl gave him said he’d made a new friend. Hopefully the gentle lecture Brannon had delivered on the return trip would do the trick. In the end, Patti had promised to tough it out and not cause any more trouble. Cait hoped that was the truth.

“So what’s for supper?” she called out.

“We got stew,” Preston called. “We saved some for you.”

“As long as it’s not made out of squirrel, I’m starved.”

Once the canoes were secured and the packs unloaded, she looked up to find Patti glaring at James, who was giving her an earful of grief. She headed that way, remembering how uncomfortable the girl had been about the kid.

“Who do you think you are, running off like that?” he demanded, gripping her arm hard enough that Cait bet it would leave bruises.

“Back off,” Patti said, yanking her arm away. “I don’t answer to you.” She hurried away even as he made another grab at her.

“Patti,” he warned.

“Stop getting in her face and let her work things out in her own time,” Cait said.

“This isn’t your business,” he snarled.

“It is as long as I’m heading up the tour. So chill out, and put the drama in neutral. Got it?”

He swore under his breath and stomped off in the opposite direction.

“Males. They’re always trouble,” she muttered.

“Present company excluded, right?” Brannon said as he joined her.

Cait gave him a long look. “I suspect you’re as bad as the rest of them.” Then she hesitated. “Thanks for helping out with the kid. She won’t listen to me, but then, I didn’t listen to my mom either.”

“No problem. Let’s get some food.”

To Preston’s credit, he’d arranged the camp in an orderly fashion, the tents pitched on higher ground in case of rain and the area around the fire pit cleared of debris. In the center of the pit, on an old metal grate, sat the bubbling stainless-steel pot of stew.

Once she’d gotten herself a big bowl, she sat near her gear. Preston joined her.

“Everything looks great,” Cait said. “Thanks for taking care of the others.”

The assistant nodded. “Girl going to toe the line now?”

“She said she would. You know how it is at that age—sometimes the brain just doesn’t work right.”

Preston huffed. “Happens at any age.” He lowered his voice. “What did you find out about Hardegree? What’s his story?”

Why would you care?
“We didn’t talk much,” she lied. “We were too busy looking for the girl.”

“Okay. I just wondered.”

“Our photographer ever start being sociable?”

“No. But he couldn’t get a word in edgewise with the Townsend woman or the writer yapping all the time. Gonna be a long week.”

“That’s for sure.”

As he walked away, Cait couldn’t help but wonder if Preston had messed with Mike’s truck. Had he wanted to lead the tour so badly that he’d risked his employer’s life? But what would be the point?

If not him, then who?

Her attention tracked back to Brannon where he sat by the other two women, eating his supper. If she kept it up, she’d be seeing enemies everywhere.

*~*~*

After supper, though it was pure busywork, Cait reorganized her rucksack. It was soothing, in a strange sort of way. She’d always done the same right before a mission.

Trust your instincts
. That had been Mike’s mantra for as long as she’d known him, and right now her instincts were twitchy. A sidelong glance proved that it was only her: Brannon leaned back against a tree, seemingly mellow. Maybe she was imagining things.

One of the shrinks had cautioned that she was probably hooked on the adrenaline rush. She could easily find that in the swamp, especially when she was camping solo. Get hurt? She was on her own unless she could reach someone by phone. That part, she could deal with because she liked trusting her skills to keep her alive. But she missed her team as well. They’d been like a family, watching each other’s backs, joking, sharing life—and death.

Occasionally, there had been some jackass who thought the women had joined up solely to keep his dick happy. That was until whoever was in charge got in the guy’s face, told him if he didn’t straighten the hell up, his life was going to get very unpleasant, very quickly. Most of the dudes got a clue and fell in line. If not, the women took care of the situation themselves. In one case, a private had learned exactly how brutal Cait could be when cornered.

She reluctantly pulled herself out of her memories, because too often, they led to that dark voice whispering to her. Instead, she tuned in to the others’ conversation and found they’d moved from swamp life and history to politics.

“No way you can trust this government,” Preston said. “If you think you can, you’re not paying attention.”

She couldn’t resist. “Why don’t you trust them?”

“You see what’s going on. Our liberties are disappearing, more each day.”

In some ways, Preston was right; post-9/11 America had seen an erosion of personal rights, courtesy of Washington—some of which she didn’t think served any purpose. The new laws had been too heavy handed in some cases, a knee-jerk response to a horrific attack, one that security analysts had been sounding warnings about for years. The politicians had decided they didn’t want to scare the public with what
could
happen. Then reality had bitch-slapped the nation and people had died.

“What about you, Hardegree?” she asked, intentionally trying to push a button to see how he’d react.

“We’re losing control,” he said evenly. “Makes one wonder where it’s all headed.”

“But what can you do about it?” Susan asked. “Other than sit around a campfire and complain?”

“There’re ways to make it right again,” Brannon said. “Just depends on whether you have the balls or not.”

Then he closed his eyes and shut all of them out, though she knew he was listening intently. She’d met disgruntled military folks over the years, some who hated the government, others who were gung-ho patriots. Most of them just bitched, but a few of them took it too far. Was he one of those?

God, I hope not
. She turned her attention back to the group. They’d moved on to discussing the military.

“This government, they’re crazy,” Keith said. He’d spoken so infrequently that everyone’s attention swiveled in his direction. “All this
politically correct
bullshit. Now they’re talking about having chicks in the Special Forces. No way that should happen.”

“Combat experience helps you advance rank,” Cait said, surprised she was even bothering to explain. “Right now, women are at a disadvantage.”

“That shouldn’t even be an issue. Women have no place in the military,” Keith said. “They just don’t. Can’t handle the stress, can’t handle any of it. They fall apart when the first few bullets go flying. They get people killed.”

“You’ve been in combat then?” she asked, suspecting he hadn’t. The people who tended to run their mouths hadn’t had bullets coming at them.

“No, but I heard it from some of our vets. It’s God’s honest truth.”

“It’s only a matter of time before a woman qualifies for Special Operations,” Brannon said, his eyes open again. “They’re getting close to it now.”

“Then the government’s bending the rules for them.”

“Not if they want to become Rangers.”

“No, I’m not buying it,” Keith said.

Hardegree rose and poured another cup of coffee. “A buddy of mine got shot in Fallujah. The medic crawled fifty feet through enemy fire to get to him, pulled him back to safety,” he said. “My friend is home now and has a brand-new baby. He wouldn’t have lived to hold his son if it hadn’t been for that soldier.”

“See?” Keith said, nodding. “No woman could have done that.”

Brannon looked up, pinning him with his eyes. “The medic’s name was Corporal Alice Meyers. She took a round in her shoulder, but she still saved my friend’s life. So I suggest you rethink your position about women in the military, because it’s complete bullshit.”

Patti whistled under her breath. “Slap down,” she murmured.

Keith rose. “It’s not bullshit. It’s the truth, but you just don’t want to hear it.” He stalked off to his tent and crawled inside. The sound of the zipper closing caused sighs of relief to run through the group.

“Nothing quite like the peace and quiet of nature,” Preston said.

Cait snorted as Brannon retreated to where he’d been sitting, squatting down to drink his cup of coffee. Cait gave him a nod of respect and he returned it. Then he reached for his phone to check his messages, as he did frequently.

Must be a girlfriend
. For some inexplicable reason, that made her sad.

*~*~*

Later, Cait did her usual rounds before heading to her tent. She’d made sure that Patti’s was on the far side of hers, away from James. That hadn’t gone down well with him. The girl had looked pointedly relieved and crashed early, no doubt still nursing a hangover.

Cait glanced over as Brannon passed her on the way to his tent, which sat just next to hers.

“’Night,” he said.

“’Night.”

Cait stripped out of her coat, then unzipped the flap and began to crawl inside. A faint rattle began, followed by a hissing sound. With a yelp, Cait rolled to the side as the snake struck at her. She flung her coat on top of it and it whipped underneath the garment, hissing louder. Slowly, she tugged the garment outside, praying it would keep the creature confined.

“Something wrong?” Brannon said, leaning out of his own tent now.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Cait carried the wriggling coat to the edge of the platform and shook it out. The snake dropped into the water.

Brannon leaned over, watching it swim away. “Canebrake rattler?”

“Yup.”

“You get bit?”

“Nope.” She frowned back at the tent. “I always keep the flap zipped. How did that thing get inside?”

“That’s a damn good question.”

He held the flashlight while she carefully removed everything from inside the shelter, verifying there was nothing else waiting to harm her. The rattler’s bite wouldn’t have immediately killed her, but she would have had to be evacuated to a hospital for treatment.

Leaving Preston in charge
.

Brannon quietly called out her name, beckoning to her to join him at the back of the tent. She joined him as he shined the flashlight along the base of the shelter. There was a long, smooth slit in the nylon, like a knife would make.

“Hell,” she muttered. This had been deliberate. “I guess I’ll have to duct tape it.”

Brannon stared at her. “Someone just tried to kill you,” he said evenly. “You’re awfully casual about this.”

“No, I’m angry, but I’m not going to waste that anger until I know who did it. Then I’m going to rip that person apart, slowly and with considerable malice.”

His lopsided smile said he understood now. “Ooh-rah!!”

“Exactly.”

As he crawled into his tent, he said, “Goodnight, Caitlyn.”

“Goodnight, Hardegree.”

“Brannon.”

After fixing the hole, Cait pulled all her gear into the tent and lay down on her sleeping bag. She had an enemy on the tour, one who wanted her incapacitated, or dead. Problem was, it could be almost any of them.

Even the Ranger
.

*~*~*

Come morning, though Brannon watched each one closely, none of the group seemed surprised that Cait was unharmed. James remained surly, which seemed the norm now, especially when Patti insisted on sitting as far away from him as possible. As for Cait, you’d never know she’d come face to fang with a poisonous snake. The lady was a very cool customer.

The morning also brought more e-mails. Brannon made a quick read through them, fired back a few questions, then turned off his phone. With the drizzling rain, his solar charger wasn’t going to work so he needed to conserve the battery.

Cait had juggled the configuration in the canoes. He was still her partner, and that pleased him, though he wasn’t sure why. Susan and Patti were paired now, which put Bill and James together: Cait’s attempt to diffuse the tension between the couple. The younger man hadn’t been pleased, but he made the shift with a minimum of bitching. Brannon knew a hothead when he saw one and James fit the bill. He was first on Brannon’s suspect list for the snake incident. According to Sanjay, the kid’s initial background check had come back clean, other than a DWI conviction a year before.

Keith Rockwell was indeed a photojournalist, more known for gritty inner-city work than nature photography. Nothing on his blog or other online interactions tagged him as being part of the sovereign-citizen movement. He was going through a nasty divorce, which had no doubt fueled his anti-female rant of the night before.

Bill Adams’s last book had been about the Mexican drug cartels. Like Rockwell, he had no interactions with anti-government groups. That left Susan Driscoll and Preston Taylor. Sanjay had run into a dead end when it came to the secretary, at least so far, and he was still trying to obtain her rental car record. She’d continued to chatter about this and that, but had grown quieter as the trip had progressed. Was her earlier behavior because of nerves, or was something else at play?

Brannon suspected that Preston was his likely contact, what with his political leanings and his inside access to the tour. But if he was Brannon’s contact, why hadn’t he taken him aside and told him that?

Cait’s cell phone rang and she set her oar aside and answered the call. “Hey. How’s it going?” He saw her tense, and then she half turned and looked back at him. “Okay. I got that.” She slowly turned away, but something in her demeanor had changed. “How soon?” Cait listened for a time, gave whoever it was a thank-you, then put aside her phone.