The first time she knew he’d gone off and enlisted was the day after Christmas when she’d run into his mom at the grocery store. Meredith hadn’t been feeling so good herself that morning. She’d needed something to settle her stomach and her head, but Mrs. Christian had kept dabbing at her teary eyes.
One friendly comment led to another until the truth spilled out, and then Meredith was sick at heart. She’d wanted to cry. Hunter had always talked about running off to the far ends of the Earth to live the adventures of Kipling and Hemingway, Melville and Dickens. He’d wanted to see the world, but badly enough to join the Marines? It had been a devastatingly mindboggling development in the drama her life was then and so not like him.
Hunter was no fighter. He hadn’t even done ROTC in high school or college. He didn’t like guns. Heavens, he hadn’t owned so much as a pocketknife that she knew of, much less a rifle. He was her best friend, her confidante. She’d wanted him as her lover. Her only. But then along came Eddy, and Meredith had swallowed her foolish college dreams the same way she’d swallowed so many other dreams—with one hard, disappointing gulp.
Shifting to her feet, she scanned the dark jungle around her. For the moment, they were hidden. She felt safe until he spoiled it.
“I’m leaving.”
Her heart began to race. “Why?”
“I need to find Eric and the guys. Teague’s still out. You’ll be okay until I get back.”
She bit back her next question. Why does he think his guys are alive when mine aren’t? “W-wait,” she stuttered. “At least let me spray you with insect repellant. You’ll… you’ll need protection.” And I don’t want you to leave.
His lip curled. “No, I won’t. Stay here. I won’t be long.”
She gulped. She’d be alone in the jungle with a wounded man.
“You’ve got a gun. Use it.”
Her mouth dropped. She had a gun, only—
Dark brows angled to a severe and incredibly sexy V when his eyes darted from the crate to her feet and up to her face. He took a menacing step toward her, his lips thinned, his teeth bared, and his fists clenched. “You said you shot one of them, right? You had to have a gun to do that.”
“Yes, but it’s... it’s...” She looked to her side and back to Hunter, glowering like a storm cloud over her. Dark. Ruthless. Bursting with electricity that made the hair on her arms stand up. She couldn’t help the magnetic pull between them, the way her fingers itched to soothe those hard edges, to gentle that hostile male’s perpetual temper. “I don’t know where it is right now. I must’ve left it behind when I dropped my stuff or maybe when—”
“You what?” snapped out of him.
She raised her palms to placate him. “I had it when I tried to help Teague, but then you showed up, and I must’ve set it down, and I—”
“You left your damned weapon behind like a—”
“Go ahead. Say it. Like a woman,” she bit out, shaking but not going to put up with his perpetual nasty attitude.
“No. Like a damned girl scout!” he hissed, his pupils gone flat and merciless. Cruel. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. “You of all people should’ve known better. We need all the help we can get, but no, you trot off and leave your piece behind like it’s nothing but a tube of cheap lipstick. Shit, Meredith. What were you thinking?”
She lowered her head in shame and took it. Okay. He was right. She knew better than to forget where she’d set her weapon. It was an unforgivable rookie mistake, and one she’d never made until this night. Her concealed weapons instructor would shake his head in disgust if he were here. She practiced gun safety religiously at home. Honest, she did. Her pistol always went into the holster at her back when she was carrying or into the lockbox when she wasn’t. No ifs, ands, or buts. And even at three, Courtney knew to never touch Mama’s gun, not like he could’ve reached it. She kept the lockbox on top of her six-foot tall bookshelf in her living room.
“It’s just that everything happened so fast. I was trying to help Teague, but then those guys came back, and I’m... I’m sorry.” Useless tears threatened. Meredith turned her back so Hunter wouldn’t see, but then she got mad. “I’m sorry, already!” she hissed, facing him again and resorting to defiance instead of apology. Let him be mad. Wasn’t he always? She was pretty mad at herself, too.
He paced in a wide circle around her and Teague. Once. Twice. The third time around the circle with the bamboo enclosure, he blew out a deep breath and stuck one knee to the ground at her side, the other cocked, and a clenched fist on his kneecap. “I took off in a hurry, too. I’m not angry with you for leaving the pistol behind. I’m just pissed we’re in this predicament to begin with. Whoever’s trying to kill us is still out there, and they’re well-armed.”
That helped. She lifted her lashes and risked a look at him. Genuine light shone in his eyes. “I really am sorry, Hunter. I got so flustered. I’ve never shot at anyone before, and—”
“Forget it.” With one quick motion, he lifted his rifle from beside the supply crate and handed it over. “Keep this with you until I get back. Don’t set it down, got it?”
“Okay.” She accepted the compact weapon, resting it across her knees so he wouldn’t see how badly her hands shook, or how much he’d gotten to her. “Do you have another? A pistol maybe?”
He scowled. “Don’t worry about me. Have you ever shot one of these before?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. I’ve used a rifle at the shooting range, but what will you use? You’re unarmed.”
Another scowl. Another snark. “Marines are never unarmed. Remember that.” He wiped a hand over his face before he stared her down again. A puzzled frown shifted across his brows, as if he were trying to decide if he could trust her. “Listen up. When I come back, I’ll give you a signal. Hotel Charlie. That way you’ll know it’s me. Answer back with Mike Foxtrot, you got it? That way I’ll know you’re still safe. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone get close without that code.”
His gaze had become a steel trap she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. She nodded, her throat gone dry, unable to speak. Secret codes. Assassins on the prowl. Wow.
“Keep quiet, Meredith, I mean it. If you hear footsteps or anyone rustling through the bamboo without giving the Hotel Charlie signal first, shoot to kill because it won’t be me.”
“But it might be Eric or the guys. I could let them in, right?”
Dark lasers pierced her gaze, stabbing straight to her heart. “I doubt you’ll see them. Be tough. Keep your head, and let whoever’s snooping around come to you before you open up and fire. Can you do that?”
She nodded vigorously. “Hotel Charlie. Mike Foxtrot. Our initials. Got it.”
That seemed to do the trick. Hunter took a deep breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Now you’re talking. Good girl.” He tapped her thigh just one time with the tip of his index finger, his focus already on the jungle behind him. “Take care of our guy. I’ll be quick.” With a quick shove, he was off the ground and gone. The jungle silenced except for the muffled clatter of bamboo canes as he walked away in the dark.
“Wait,” she called out to him. “At least take the flashlight.”
But he was gone. Meredith pulled the rifle strap to his weapon over her head and positioned it behind her back with the barrel pointed down, as she’d seen him do. Teague needed her, and she needed both hands to help him.
Since he was drenched in sweat again and still dirty from everything he’d lived through, she took the time to clean him, using several wipes. Over his face and down his neck she went. Very gently, she cleaned the blood off his chest and away from the bandage Hunter had applied. Teague never made a sound, but he was breathing easier. Her nerves settled. Service for another was a welcome diversion.
Wrapping the soiled wipes into a tight bundle, she lifted to her feet and inspected the contents of the supply crate. Stocked with bottled water, a portable water filtration system, MREs, energy bars, more insect repellan
t, several sealed plastic boxes, and another medical kit, as well as a single olive drab sheet, the container was a rolling godsend. She deliberated over cutting a hole in the center of the sheet and using if for a poncho, but no. Teague might need it more. She couldn’t risk his recovery for vanity. Still, a change of clothes would’ve been nice. A shirt. Pants. Shoes. All of those little things a person took for granted.
Her fear subsided as she realized she wasn’t completely without means or protection. When Hunter came back, all would be well. Hopefully, he’d have his guys with him. She doubted it with her men murdered, but he had to try. She would have.
Tucking the soiled wipes into a loose piece of plastic, she stuffed the garbage into the container before securing the lid again. The first rule of every good camper: If you bring it in, you pack it out.
“Meredith,” Teague rasped, his eyes mere slits, a line of spit eking over his stubbled cheek.
“I’m here,” she said as she knelt at his side and took his hand.
“Lyle? Dan?”
“Shhhhh. Don’t talk. You need to rest.”
“I need answers.”
“They’re dead,” she admitted softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Who? How?”
“I don’t know.” Meredith stalled telling him everything for fear he’d think he needed to defend her. “But Hunter’s alive, too. He’s gone back to camp to find his men. He’ll be back soon.”
“Ky? Eric too?” Teague rolled his eyes and groaned. “Everyone?”
“I really don’t know, but you need to rest. We can talk about this later.”
He inhaled a long, shuddering breath. “There’s something... you need to know.”
She edged her knees in closer, squeezing his hand gently to her breasts. “What, Teague? What do you want to tell me?”
He squeezed back with one hard clench that didn’t last but seconds before his grip went limp. “There’s more than one,” he whispered weakly, his strength fading.
She leaned closer, her ear to his lips. “More than one what?”
His voice dropped lower. “Eric knew. There’s more than two.”
She smoothed her hand over his forehead. Teague was on fire. His words made no sense. He had to be delirious, and yet his sentences were not the garbled rant of a crazy man.
“What are you talking about, Teague? One what? Two what? What did Eric know?”
“There’s...” He coughed up a clot of dark red. “Meredith, there’s...”
Meredith snatched up another wipe and ran it gently around his mouth to remove the blood. His eyelids flickered shut. Instead of providing another piece to the puzzle, Teague drew in a long wheeze that ended in a hissing sigh. His head lolled to the side. His features relaxed as the wrinkles of anxiety faded.
“I don’t know what you were trying to tell me, but you need to rest now. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll feel better. We can finish this conversation then,” she whispered.
Because there wasn’t anything else to be done, she methodically finished wiping him down, then sprayed him with insect repellant and covered him with the sheet. She stayed beside him in their dark little hideaway, her arms wrapped around her knees, hoping the trail of busy ants several feet away didn’t deviate from their single-file formation around the supply container. They were big, their bodies shiny in the dim light. She didn’t have enough bug spray for an ant army.
At last she turned the flashlight off. The jungle night was dark and deep around her. A bird squawked in the canopy overhead, but other than that, her bamboo fortress remained silent. Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, enough that when a centipede as big as her hand decided Teague was in its way, she brushed it aside. Her ears strained for the sound of Hunter’s return. A footfall. A rustle. Anything.
But nothing answered.
So, she analyzed her predicament and thought hard. She had distinctly heard the murderers in the MI camp say that some guy named Burdette wanted her dead. Why would anyone want her dead? Maybe her ex, but that seemed a fantastical stretch of the imagination. There were times Eddy had been rough with her, but he wouldn’t kill her.
Besides, he was back in Maryland or Virginia. She didn’t know which at the moment, but wherever, he was most likely still living the high life. For a guy who’d barely finished college, he’d certainly thrived at what he did best. Hunting failing businesses down. Coercing financially depleted small business owners to sell at bargain basement prices, and just generally ripping them to shreds until they gave in and gave him what he wanted—everything.
But what good could her death possibly offer him? Eddy was already filthy rich. Their only remaining link was their son, Courtney, and oddly, Eddy had always maintained a decent, though distant, relationship with that little boy. He’d kept up with his child support payments, if only because his timeliness gave her no reason to go after him in court again. He hadn’t once considered joint custody.
No one else came to mind. As far as she knew, her coworkers liked her. She had no male friends in her life. There was no jilted lover in her past. Pulling her legs in tighter to her chest, she leaned her forehead to her kneecaps. Always the popular girl since kindergarten, it was hard to imagine anyone disliking her enough to want her dead.
A sudden gasp from Teague jerked her out of her reverie. She rolled to his side. “What can I do for you?” she asked, her hand on his forehead.
His fever warmed her fingertips. Easing off her knees, she retrieved a bottle of water. The man was on fire. She needed ice, not lukewarm water, and he needed a doctor.
“Flynn.” His voice grated. “Why are you still here?”
“Because you are,” she replied evenly. “Now rest easy and—”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist, his breath hot in her face. “You need to run. Now.”
“Why would I leave you like this?”
“Because...” He sucked in a rasping breath. “There’s… there’s three.”
His body went limp but his vehement declaration stopped her heart. “Three what? Teague, wake up. What are you talking about?”
Meredith froze, sure she’ d heard the crunch of a heavy footstep outside the bamboo.
CHAPTER SIX
Efficiency—another mark of the sniper. Right behind sharpshooter eyes and cold heart.
Hunter moved quickly now that Meredith and Teague were hidden safely behind him. He’d come full circle to his camp, or at least where it had been. One of the LED torches still stood where the tent door used to be, the other busted in the dirt. Smoke now seeped from the remains of their heavy-duty nylon tent.
The place was deserted. Whoever’d been there had destroyed both camps, forcing any TEAM or MI survivors into the dark jungle. Like McCormack’s men, his guys had been dropped off in this god-forsaken jungle with three rigid containers on wheels full of enough supplies to last the week. All of those containers were missing. What the hell did those murderers want? What were they looking for?
Kicking through the burning debris of his tent, he found the extra backpack that had served as his pillow. No Marine kept just one weapons cache. Jerking the bag out of the charred debris, he dusted the scorch away and lifted the flap. None of the rounds inside had cooked off. That meant the fire hadn’t been hot enough. Whoever torched the tent didn’t use an accelerant. Good deal.
Removing his knife and its holster from the mesh pocket inside the pack, he dropped to one knee and strapped the knife onto his ankle. His extra shoulder holster and loaded pistol went over one arm next. All spare magazines went into his pants pocket along with a pocket pistol. Armed once more, he stood, alert and ready for war.
He seethed looking over the blackened shapes his buddies’ cots had been reduced to, tough. A pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses caught his eye. They were dirty but not broken. Ky’s. Hunter stuffed them into his shirt pocket on his way to where Eric’s cot had been. There was a scorched metal box the size of an iPad on the floor. Two pictures and a folded letter fluttered o
ut when he picked it up.
Hunter crouched to retrieve them. The larger photo was a slightly scorched family portrait of Eric with his parents on graduation day from boot camp. Damn, look at him. That goofy young man grinned from ear-to-ear. His parents looked just as proud.
The corners of the other photo, that one of a dark-haired girl, maybe ten or twelve, were dog-eared and burned. Hunter peered closer. That little girl sure resembled Eric. A lot. Same dark eyes. Same smile. Lots more dark hair, and longer, but yeah. She was a mini version of Eric.
Hunter flipped the image over. In neat, childish script, Love you, Daddy scrawled across the back. A line of three red hearts with arrows through them underscored the sweet sentiment.
Interesting. Eric had a kid? He’d never said a word, never once let on he’d been married or had a girlfriend. Holy shit. More interesting was the man’s ring and the brass key, both stuck to the bottom of the box with a strip of now-melted tape.
Hunter secured Eric’s private belongings back in the box, and stuck it inside his gear bag with Ky’s glasses. Let the man keep his secrets. One last scan of the area verified everything flammable had burned, including his few extra clothes. Rising to his feet, Hunter made Eric, Seth, Ky, and that pretty little girl a promise. He would find his men. God help whoever stood in his way.
He’d no more than shook off the dire assessment when flashlight beams pierced the jungle opposite where he stood. A single shot ricocheted past him. Instead of returning fire, Hunter ducked into the cover of vines and brush to wait on the advancing idiots. He had Meredith and Teague to think about. He couldn’t engage until he knew for certain what he was up against and he wouldn’t lead these guys back to her.
Two black uniformed men advanced warily into the clearing, both with compact rifles. The narrow-beamed flashlights on their helmets announced exactly where their heads were. Un-fuckin’-believable. Hunter could’ve sniped them right there and then, both headshots. They’d certainly made it easy, but he restrained his itchy trigger finger and hunkered low to watch and learn. There were too many unanswered questions.
Hunter (In the Company of Snipers Book 14) Page 5