Hunter (In the Company of Snipers Book 14)

by Irish Winters

  Hunter stuck his chin out. “Lee’s bigger than I am.”

  “Yeah, but he’s light on his feet. You’re just... big.”

  Meredith agreed. She’d seen the ropes of coiled muscle across Hunters shoulders and down his arms. His back. She didn’t know who Lee was, but no man could hold a candle to Hunter.

  He punched Eric’s bicep hard enough that he sagged backward, but still smiled. “Damn, Hunter. Don’t go breaking my arm. I might be your only ticket out of here.”

  “You might get me killed, too.” Hunter punched him again. “Meredith, I’m going to catch another fish to tide you over ‘til we get back. You want me to bring back a couple of those fruity things you caught? I hear they float real good.”

  The wickedest gleam leapt right from his eye straight into her heart. He’d actually teased. She lowered her lashes, planning for the second she had Hunter all to herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Team confidence turned high once Eric arrived. Teague drifted between a deep sleep and a drowsy slumber. Meredith had insisted Hunter and Eric situate both injured men, so they faced the cave entrance and could better defend themselves. The poison darts were off their offensive line-up though. Eric hadn’t secured the tree frog, damn it. He’d let it get away, and along with it went a surefire way to neutralize Burdette’s men.

  “It’s not like I had a safe place to store it,” Eric grumbled. “Give me a break, Hunt. It wasn’t a pet.”

  “Strategy, man,” Hunter shot back at him, wishing he had a smoke. The craving gnawed at quiet times like this. “Winning a war is all about strategy and foresight.”

  “Hell if it is. The little bugger was poisonous. What’d you want me to do, stick him in my shirt pocket? If I’d ended up dead because I was playing with a frog—”

  “I’d laugh my ass off,” Seth murmured from the dark where he was supposed to be sound asleep.

  “Shut it, McCray,” Eric hissed. “Hunter doesn’t need a wing man.”

  Hunter crouched near Teague’s litter, lining up his arsenal of confiscated weapons. Not counting the stainless-steel revolvers, the tactical ARs and all the ammo, several walkie-talkies, one garrote, and miscellaneous flash bangs and grenades, he was feeling pretty secure.

  He also had an impressive array of streamlined, folding, or fixed-blade knives. Too bad none were as good as the one he carried. Titanium-coated. Serrated blade. Perfect grip. And all that in a package that came in just a hair over eight ounces, and fit a man’s pocket perfectly. Or his hand. Definitely his pride. Endowed with the USMC emblem for The Magnificent Bastards, there was no better blade in the world. And to think, he used to read literature. Sometimes, those days seemed like forever ago, and that guy with stars in his eyes? Another animal all together.

  There was an exquisite, though primitive, art to combat and war, to strategy, and converting that strategy to mission success. Maybe combat didn’t have the precise rhythm of the iambic pentameter of John Keats’ prose, but it was poetry nonetheless. A fluid dance between enemies. A fierce sort of ballet between sniper and headshot.

  From his first drill on the parade field, Hunter sensed the resounding steadiness and the cohesive beat in the marching boots of a USMC battalion. There was an innate beauty in flying cover for his brothers and sisters in the field, a camaraderie and an adrenaline rush the likes he’d never gotten from reading Chaucer or Tolkien.

  “You want me to look at that hole in your chest?” Eric asked, nodding toward Hunter’s collarbone.

  He shot an evil brow at Meredith. “Who told?”

  She shot an equally evil glare back at him. “Not me.”

  “Knock it off, Hunt, I’m trained to spot tough guys like you who don’t think they need medical help when they really do.” Eric winked slyly. “Want me to look at it, or not?”

  “Not.” Hunter let it go. He didn’t need anything a smoke wouldn’t cure.

  “Where do you think Ky is?” Eric shifted the subject. “I haven’t seen a sign of him since the first night, have you?”

  Hunter nodded toward the entrance for them to take the conversation outside. “Be right back, Meredith. Stay put.”

  She looked up and smiled. Her hair caught the glow from the flashlight. It was one of those picture-perfect moments that took a man’s breath away. There she was in the spotlight again, his reason for living. He had it bad.

  Hunter grabbed an extra pair of boots and the compact fishing pole he’d found in the supply crate. Once outside, he answered Eric. “Meredith and I came across a body dump earlier today. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Seth, but I saw four bodies for sure. There may be more. I hope not, but Lyle was there. We might find Ky if we poke around.”

  Eric grimaced. “Poke or puke?”

  Hunter had no answer. All body dumps were disgusting.

  “God, I hope he’s not there.” Eric blew out a long-suffering sigh. “That would kill Eden. They’ve been through enough.”

  Despite his gentle nature, Ky Winchester was one tough SOB who’d survived torture at the hands of some madman on the outskirts of Kabul, then found the woman he’d fallen for while on another crazy TEAM op. He’d married into the FBI family, a first for The TEAM. Until now, life had turned around for Ky and Eden. They’d just had a baby boy. Things were looking up.

  “Let’s hit the dump first thing in the morning,” Hunter replied. At the beginning, they’d all thought this op would’ve been more fun than work. So much for that thinking. “Knowing if Ky’s there or not will give us the motivation to storm Burdette’s camp and finish this crap shoot.”

  “Storm?”

  Hunter nodded. “I’m not going in soft. We’re going to hit ’em hard and leave ’em bloody. Or dead. It’s all the same to me.”

  “I saw it going another way,” Eric hedged, a devious lift to his brow. He and Hunter were at the edge of the river by then. The full moon overhead created a shimmering mirror of silvery water in the shallows. “You’ve still got all the hypos you confiscated, don’t you?”

  Hunter grinned. That was why he liked Eric Reynolds. Two-timing, sneaky snitch or not, the man knew his way around the human body, and maybe a little bit of the brain, too. “What are you thinking?”

  “You know me. I like turnabout being fair play.”

  “Revenge,” Hunter restated the euphemism.

  “Not necessarily,” Eric clarified. “Think of it as a fully loaded dose of karma. What goes around—”

  “Comes around.” Hunter grinned. “You’re thinking of brainwashing them like they planned to do to us?”

  Eric shrugged. “There’s one way to find out. At least I can inspire them with the desire to not lie, which hopefully will get the truth out in the open, maybe even indict them. That ought to throw a wrench into what’s behind this mess. Did you know some guy named Roger Teach owns Brinkman EX now?”

  ”So I heard.” Something about the name still bugged Hunter.

  Eric bumped him with his elbow. “You still got your sat phone?”

  “It’s in my gear bag. I took the batteries out of it after I thumped Masters, so Burdette couldn’t track us. Alex is already checking into Burdette and Teach.”

  Eric sighed. “I hope he had time to pinpoint our location before you unplugged.”

  Hunter clapped his buddy on the back. “It’s the boss we’re talking about. Of course, he did. Are you going back inside?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been on the run since this started. I’m beat. How about you?”

  “I’ll sleep when this is over. Tell her I’ll be in shortly.”

  “Her?” Again with the devilish eyebrow lift.

  “Knock it off, Reynolds. I told Meredith I’d catch another fish, that’s all. We might be gone a while tomorrow.”

  Eric crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “It’s not like you to take a shine to one of the ladies we bodyguard, Hunt. What’s up? Is this one special?”

  “No,” shot out of Hunter’s mouth before he co
uld think, but this was Eric, his buddy. “Yes,” he admitted. “She’s a friend from college.” Kind of.

  Eric had the quirkiest smile on his face. “I’ll tell her you won’t be long. Happy fishing. Don’t fall in.”

  Falling in wasn’t the problem. Tomorrow’s mission was. If things went south and Hunter didn’t make it back alive, Meredith would need plenty to eat until Alex and the guys showed. She would survive, damn it.

  “Hey, I almost forgot.” Hunter nodded at the waterfall. “Something of yours survived the fire. It’s in my gear bag.”

  Eric spun on his heel, the moonlight washing his face. “What?”

  “It’s a small metal case. Go ahead and take it.” Enough said. Hunter wasn’t going to pry. If Eric wanted to share the story behind that little girl in the photo, it was up to him.

  “Thanks Hunt,” came out tight and emotionless. “I owe you one.”

  Hunter let his best buddy off the hook. Some things were hard to talk about. “I found Ky’s glasses, too, but don’t tell Seth his National Geographics didn’t make it.”

  Eric nodded, still facing the cave. “’Night, Hunt.”

  “G’night.”

  He waited until Eric disappeared behind the waterfall. Whoever that little girl in the picture was, Hunter had never seen Eric so uptight, so closed off. There was a sad story there. It might come out someday, but it might not. Hunter let it go.

  Kicking out of his boots, he shed his shirt and pants, and doused himself with a mist of the industrial-strength bug spray he’d carried in his pants pocket. Donning the extra pair of boots, Hunter prepared to get that relaxing stroll, maybe a swim in the river.

  He snagged a handful of berries from a bush along the riverbank and selected the calm pool for his midnight fishing hole. It had already proved its worth when he and Eric had successfully wrangled a couple slippery ten-pounders before. It would work again. Still waters ran deep, and he knew hands down that more big mouths lingered below the rippling surface, waiting for something to fall their way.

  He tossed the berries in first, then cast his lure into the middle of the silvery moon’s fractured reflection, tugging the line to make sure it wasn’t dragging bottom. The pole was nothing fancy, just a hollow plastic grip that held extra hooks and lures, a telescoping rod, and a fifty-pound line. The concept was simple. Bait ’em, hook ’em, and eat ’em.

  It wouldn’t take long now. The line vibrated as something nibbled, tasted, and tested. Good enough. He reeled the line in, teasing his prey, and cast again along with another handful of berries, baiting the underwater life with nothing more than water disturbance.

  An old Scottish verse ran through his mind. The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley… Robert Burns. “To a Mouse.” Wasn’t that the truth? Like this vacation operation. Like joining the Corps. Like falling in love again...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Holy shit!

  Meredith couldn’t think of another way to describe the breathtaking scene laid out before her. She’d carefully crossed the river to speak with Hunter in private, not expecting the dazzling sight that met her eyes. This crazy, angry, wonderful man was fishing. In the river. Stark assed naked. Who does that?

  His strong back was to her, every last muscle delineated by the silvery touch of moonlight on his skin. The tattoos on his biceps and back rippled. Meredith licked her lips, wanting to run her tongue over every last swirl of that ink. Just because.

  Edging closer like a stalker, her pounding heart sapped the strength from her knees at the sight of the twin moons smiling at her. The man’s backside was hard muscle. The hollows of his butt cheeks rippled with shadow when he pulled the line taut and high.

  “There you are,” he muttered, his deep voice washing over her. “Come to daddy.”

  Oh, I am so coming.

  Her feet moved forward in automatic response, but her faltering steps were no match for the long-legged stride of the alpha male in the river. The sinews in his calves flexed the farther he ventured from shore. What fish could refuse his command? She couldn’t, not with her brain atwitter like it was. Hooked. She was hooked. Heck, she’d be flopping on shore just for the sheer joy of being caught—and landed—by him.

  Make that bedded.

  Stout thighs, thick and marked with power, drew her eyes once more to the tight backside of an aesthetically endowed man. At least Hunter hadn’t had that part of his anatomy inked. Adonis wished he looked so good in the buff.

  The sheer size of Hunter’s shoulders made her think of football and all those beefy workhorses at the fifty-yard line. Only they were encased in pads and protection. They had no necks. Hunter had an elegantly straight neck atop rippling shoulders, made more masculine with the inky definition of a tribal tattoo and that obscene boot print. Even the snake curling around his arm seemed somehow tame in comparison to that boot.

  Hunter didn’t need protection from anything in the river, but she might.

  “Got you now.” He twisted sideways as the silvery creature at the end of his line surfaced, thrashed, and sent a hearty splash heavenward. While Hunter reeled it in, Meredith crossed her legs and eased to the ground. I can’t take this. He’s beautiful. Every last inch and crevice and... I can’t take this.

  This perfect male specimen, her friend and past rival, had become her guilty pleasure. The hastily made bandage was missing from his chest, but he seemed none the worse for wear. The only way he could possibly top this strip show would be if he—

  Oh. My. God.

  Hunter turned around, holding the wiggling trophy in the moonlight, his other trophy aimed directly—at—her. “You thought you’d get away, didn’t you? Forget it. Tonight you’re mine.”

  Meredith flopped to her back, careful that her holster didn’t stab her. Yes. Yes. Yes. I’m all yours. Tonight. Forever.

  “Merry?”

  Her body cringed all the way to her toes.

  He stood over her with both hands on his hips, grinning like a very naughty boy. The fish flopped at his feet, and—what was that man thinking? The mischievous dimple was back in full force. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was nude and damned proud of himself, but that amazing arousal between them wreaked havoc with her pulse, her heart, and her eyeballs. Especially her eyeballs.

  “Hi,” she squeaked, busted for looking, guilty as sin, and ready to do it again.

  He extended a hand to pull her to her feet. The tattooed snake came with him, its red eyes dark and watchful. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I. Don’t. Know.” She latched onto the tips of his fingers, below the knife in the snake’s head. The brat had to know what his state of undress did to her. What DO you say to a naked man?

  In one quick instant, Hunter lifted her high above him, his hands strong at her waist and Meredith was breathlessly, happily caught. “You... you didn’t come,” she breathed down at his handsome face. The man looked good with moonlight in his eyes, but—gah! Heat flooded her cheeks at her poor word choice. “I mean, you didn’t come in, and I... I wanted to say goodnight.” Or something a little more brilliant.

  He groaned as he let her body slide down his chest and abdomen and thighs. The friction of his naked body against her ignited a trailing wildfire from her tingling breasts to her core when she landed with his knee between her legs.

  “Goodnight, Merry,” he said softly, his smirky lips close enough to taste.

  As if there was any way she was leaving now.

  Unbidden, her hands reached for her naked warrior. There was nothing soft or gentle about Hunter’s body, only hard edges and angles, sheer strength that fueled her feminine softness with a scorching need to never let him go. She’d become a wet and willing sheath for the weapon he was.

  “You should go back. Get under cover.” His voice dipped temptingly deep. “It’s not safe out here.”

  Meredith leaned toward him, her chin raised, and her fingers gentle on his chest. “But you’re the one who’s hurt, not me
.”

  His eyes flickered to the branches overhead. “I have an idea. Let’s go topside where we’ll be out of sight.”

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly how she saw her night going. Topside? As in up into the mammoth kapok tree whose trailing branches she’d been hiding under? He wanted to climb trees? Now? The man might be part Tarzan, but she wasn’t Jane.

  Before she knew it, he’d climbed onto the hefty branch hanging over the riverbank, completely comfortable with his nudity. Once seated a good ten feet above her, he locked onto the branch with both legs, tilted forward. She reached for him, and…

  Swoop! She found herself sitting on the wide branch next to him. But this jungle was no place to play around. He was mighty dangerous too, but they should be inside the cave, not up in a tree like a couple of monkeys. Only this was Hunter. Crazy, risk-taking, murderously protective, and very naked Hunter.

  He wrapped his arms around her with a sexy, “Come here, you.”

  Meredith barely had time to blink before his mouth crashed into hers with a ferocious hunger, his teeth nipping, his lips pulling, and his tongue lapping at her as if she were edible. The feel of his bulging pectorals beneath her fingers and the scant brush of chest hair made the sensual attraction stronger.

  She wrapped one wrist around a wandering vine for balance and the other around his neck, tasting his moist mouth and lips, his tongue. Loving the sting of his whiskers on her skin. The smell of him. The warmth of him. Her appetite for him grew with every touch and nuzzle.

  His very adept fingers popped the buttons on her borrowed shirt. “These have to go.”

  There was no chance of them falling. The branch they were on was smooth-barked and wide enough to stand up and walk across. Other branches stretched and vines dangled nearby, but talk about a crazy place to be necking or petting or whatever they were doing.