Killing Game (Veritas Book 2)

by Chandler Steele

  “Will we have cell phone service once we’re ‘out there’?” Bill asked. He earned a few stares. “I’ve got a manuscript on submission at a few of the major publishers, and I’m dying to find out if I’m going to get a contract.”

  “The cell phone service is spotty,” Cait said. “Some places it’s fine, others not so much. Like Preston told you at the beginning of the tour, keep your phones on vibrate; that way we can enjoy the quiet out here.”

  “You know, it’s kinda creepy how quiet it is,” Bill replied, looking around.

  “In time you’ll crave it,” Cait replied. Her eyes met Brannon’s, then darted away as if she’d revealed too much.

  She pointed back the way they’d come. “See that bird?” Heads swiveled. “That’s a great blue heron.”

  “Wow, it’s huge,” Patti said.

  “They eat small fish, rodents, and reptiles, and are all over North America, not just in this swamp.”

  As if not pleased by all the scrutiny, the bird took wing and swooped low over the water in a blur of gray-blue, heading down the canal.

  “Beautiful,” Brannon murmured. That earned him another glance from Cait, who nodded in return.

  “Okay, let’s head out. We’ll stop for the bio break, then continue on to the first night’s camp. Don’t worry, you won’t regret all this exercise.”

  Patti groaned again. “Riiight.”

  As they set off, this time the two middle canoes lined up, side by side. James chatted with Susan, which didn’t seem to make Patti any happier.

  Tuning them out, Brannon found himself watching Cait’s back, her muscled arms and her firm butt. If he’d met her anywhere but on a mission, he’d definitely be trying to get her in the sack, despite her aloof behavior.

  She stopped paddling, then stripped off her hat and T-shirt, revealing a sleeveless camo tank top beneath. She replaced the ball cap, pulled her ponytail through the back, and began paddling again.

  Now, not only was the tattoo completely visible, but Brannon could see a long white scar running down the side of her shoulder to the upper portion of her left arm.

  A knife wound.

  His eyes moved to the tat again, and he realized what it represented: the distinctive tread on a pair of combat boots. Between the treads, running vertically, were the initials JDS, and a small red heart. He knew what it was in an instant: a memorial for a soldier who had fallen in service to his country. Or her country, because death didn’t respect one sex over the other.

  JDS. The last of the initials didn’t match Cait’s last name. Maybe she hadn’t kept her married name after the divorce, or this was in honor of a family member. Was this an indication that she had an axe to grind with the military or U.S. government?

  Cait looked over her shoulder to catch him staring at the tat. When she recognized what he was doing, she turned back toward the water without offering an explanation. Her way of saying it was none of his business. Brannon knew when to back off, so he refocused on the journey, paying attention to the snippets of conversation behind him. So far, everyone was acting as he’d expect. But he knew it was only a matter of time before someone made contact; the fifty thousand dollars in his rucksack would prove the ultimate lure.

  Chapter Six

  Even though Cait had rested the group as often as possible, it’d been a long four hours for those unaccustomed to exercise. She could have easily covered three or more times the distance and still not been tired. The slow pace drove her nuts. She found herself gritting her teeth more often than was healthy as the others talked amongst themselves. It was everyday chatter, the kind she normally didn’t have time for. The kind that usually had her bitching at someone to shut the hell up.

  The problem wasn’t them, it was her. This was what real life was like, and she worried she’d never be able to find her place within it, despite Mike’s assurances that she would. To her relief, Brannon had willingly switched to the front of the canoe after the bio break. Steering might take more mental energy, but it took way less physical energy, and her arms were pleased with the rest.

  Cait found herself watching the man more than was necessary, trying to figure him out. He was quiet, observant, like a coiled snake. Maybe he was an outdoors junkie and this trip was just another chance to unplug from his day job. Or maybe he had some other reason for heading out into the swamp. Something to do with shipments of guns, perhaps? Or Mike was being overly paranoid and the accident was just bad luck. No matter what, Hardegree was too much like her, which meant he was a helluva threat.

  “Are we there yet?” Patti called out, for what had to be the third time.

  “Yes!” Cait called back, pointing toward the wooden platform in the distance. That announcement spawned hearty cheers from the others. Despite her not wanting to be out here with these people—near anyone for that matter—the group had done well for their first half day out.

  “Thank you, God!” someone said. It sounded like Bill. He’d been the most fidgety of the group, but not everyone was cool with sitting for hours at a time, even if they were paddling.

  “Race you!” James shouted.

  “Go!” Cait shouted, and they dug their paddles into the water, working in tandem, never breaking rhythm. No surprise, she and Brannon reached the platform way ahead of the others. She found herself grinning, and that didn’t happen very often.

  “You miss it, don’t you?” her companion asked. “The team spirit, the competitiveness.”

  She stilled, caught by what he’d said, and how he’d known that. “Yes, I do.”

  God help her, she did miss the team. Being on her own sucked, though being around people who didn’t understand was worse. Disturbed by the revelation, Cait maneuvered the canoe up to the platform where she could tie it off. The wood structure sat over the water, abutting a small island. After hefting herself up, she did a quick walk around to ensure the platform was solid, that there were no rotting boards or loitering snakes or alligators. Satisfied it looked safe, she gestured for Brannon to start handing up the various tents, packs, and other supplies. As each load came her way, the muscles on his tanned arms and chest worked with smooth efficiency. Damn, he had a lot going for him.

  Their eyes met and he smiled up at her, but Cait made sure not to return it. It was better she kept her distance until this tour was over. If Mike’s worries were for real, it’d be unwise to trust anyone, even Hardegree.

  The others arrived and their gear was transferred onto the platform in short order. As Preston assigned each of them a place for their tent, Brannon called out a warning.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  For a second Cait thought he was talking to her, but then she saw his attention was directed toward Patti. The girl had stripped off her socks and shoes, and was about to dangle her feet in the water. She jolted at his voice, looked down, then whipped her feet back.

  “I forgot,” she said, frowning.

  “Trust me, gators never do,” Brannon replied. “They love toes with pink polish.”

  That gained him a coy smile from the teenager.

  As Cait had predicted, Hardegree had his tent set up and secured to the platform before anyone else had even begun to dig into their own luggage, her included.

  Military. Gotta be. When they’d been talking about her family, why hadn’t he fessed up to his own service?

  Cait kept the eye roll to herself when she spied the sales tag on Susan’s new tent and wasn’t surprised when Brannon had to help the woman set up her gear. Cait had been camping since she was eight—The Major had insisted on it. He’d sent her and her older brother Jared out to hunt squirrels for supper when she was ten. She still hated squirrel meat to this day, partly because biting down into buckshot was never pleasant.

  Once she was sure everyone had their gear set up properly, she asked Preston to do the “here’s how we deal with the
trash” lecture.

  “Alligators steal trash?” Bill asked, his pen and notebook out again.

  “No, but raccoons do. They might swarm us tonight. They are ambitious little bastards,” Preston said.

  “But they’re way cute,” Susan said.

  “They are, but they’re a pain,” Preston continued. “Keep your tents zipped shut. You can’t be sure if one of them is rabid or not.”

  Throughout Preston’s lecture, Cait watched the young couple. James appeared to be paying attention, but Patti kept eyeing the strip of land behind the platform, like she was going to bolt. Or she needed to have a smoke. Timing it perfectly, Preston moved on to fire safety.

  “It’s not like it’s going to burn or anything,” Bill said. He gestured around them. “I mean . . . water?”

  “Actually, besides the trees and bushes, the swamp is composed of peat beds, and those do burn,” the assistant said. “There was a major fire a few years back, and it scorched three quarters of the park. And it’s not out yet. The fire keeps burning underground because of the peat. Yeah, underground. Really.”

  “Huh,” Susan said, while Bill furiously scribbled notes.

  “So if you’re going to smoke,” Preston continued, “douse the match and the cigarette when you’re done. Once a fire gets started here, it’s hard to put out.”

  Cait’s phone vibrated. She walked a few steps away and took the call. “Landry.”

  “It’s Kia. Mike’s out of the recovery room. The doc says he’ll be fine after some PT. One of the fractures wasn’t as bad as they thought.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Is that Kia?” Preston called out.

  Cait nodded. “Mike’s out of surgery and doing fine.”

  The assistant smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “Great news!” He turned back to the group. “Okay, people, let’s cook some supper.”

  “There’s more,” Kia said, her voice somber now. Cait walked out onto the island for privacy. “The cops checked Mike’s car and they found that the brake line had been intentionally tampered with. They’ve opened an investigation.”

  Cait slowly turned back toward the group. “You’re saying that someone didn’t want him on this tour?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Holy shit. “But why?”

  “Mike’s not sure, but he feels better knowing you’re out there. He wants you to send me reports twice daily. He says to include something he’ll recognize as a code word. That way he’ll know everything is okay.”

  Mike was never that paranoid. Cautious, excellent in the sixth-sense department, but not paranoid.

  Cait barely suppressed a shiver. “Okay. Tell him I’ll always make a reference to the St. Louis Cardinals. I know how much he loves them.”

  “Don’t get me started.” She paused. “If we or the cops figure out what’s going on, I’ll let you know.”

  Hopefully before things go to hell.

  “Until then,” Kia continued, “best to act like everything’s normal. We don’t want to tip off whoever’s behind this.”

  “What do you know about the people on the tour?”

  “Their applications looked routine, what I can remember of them. Preston handled them for me. The only one that was weird was the Hardegree guy. He took another guy’s place. Preston should have had him fill out an application and sign a waiver.”

  “He did. Has anyone else done a substitution before?”

  “A couple times, but not very often,” Kia replied.

  Cait’s attention zeroed in on the man in question now, who had set up a camp stove and was emptying cans of beans into a pot.

  “Tell Mike I’m thinking of him. Preston is too.”

  “I will. You stay safe.”

  Cait disconnected the call. As she set up her tent, she thought through the conversation. Someone hadn’t gone to the hassle of trying to kill or injure Mike and Kia just for fun. Someone had wanted Preston to lead the tour. Now she stood in that someone’s way.

  *~*~*

  Brannon stretched out on the platform, letting his supper settle. It hadn’t been anything fancy—hot dogs and baked beans cooked on a portable camping stove—but it beat an Army-issue MRE, a Meal Ready to Eat, any day.

  He’d kept an eye on their guide because she’d been eyeing him, and not in a friendly way. Whatever had been said during her phone call had spooked Ms. Landry, rattled her enough that once she ate her supper, she’d moved to the far end of the platform, away from everyone else. Knowing he’d have to tackle that issue later, Brannon chose to sit near the photographer. Keith was taciturn, at best, and spent a lot of time texting back and forth on his phone. Brannon had dated a woman who was a professional photographer, and they’d been together for a few months before splitting up. Last he’d heard, Shelly was somewhere in the Middle East, photographing refugee camps, which sounded like complete hell to him. Because of her, he knew how to get a shutterbug talking.

  “So what kind of gear do you use? Nikon? Canon?” he asked, partly out of curiosity, and mostly to vet the guy.

  “Whatever works,” the man replied, and then pointedly rose and moved away from the conversation.

  Whatever works?

  Professional shutterbugs were fanatic about what type of cameras and lenses they used. Usually they’d rattle off the brand, the model, then go into all the features, like they were an infomercial. But not this guy. Rockwell had just earned himself a slot on Brannon’s people-to-watch list.

  Susan took the photographer’s place. She smiled over at him, and he knew that kind of smile. Had been the recipient of it time after time, usually at a bar after a few beers.

  “How you doing?” he asked, taking a sip from his water bottle. It was warm, but that didn’t trouble him. If he ran out, he had an adequate supply of purification tablets to get him through the tour. Truth be told, he’d drank far worse.

  “I’m good. Thank you so much for helping me put up my tent. I had no clue how to do it.”

  Which is why there are directions inside the carry bag. “No problem.”

  “I’m so tired. My arms are really sore.” She looked over at him now, her eyes wide and her lips parted. “I really need a shoulder massage. Do you know anyone who could help me out?”

  That was more blatant than he’d expected, especially since they weren’t at a bar. Or alone. It felt off in some way, as if she was acting like a fluff bunny for a reason.

  “I’m sadly lacking massage skills.”

  “I bet you could learn,” she said.

  “Probably not.”

  Susan frowned at him, but the expression seemed more like she was studying him than upset. “Got it,” she said and set off in search of someone else to charm.

  This time, she zeroed in on Preston, who seemed pleased by the attention, however Brannon noted she didn’t make the same massage request of him. A glance over at their tour guide indicated that Cait had witnessed the exchange. Her eyebrow rose as she returned to sharpening her knife on a whetstone. Her distance from the rest of them clearly said she didn’t want to be the center of attention, unlike her assistant, who was holding court a short distance away. Brannon had also noticed her sharp jerk when Preston had accidentally dropped a cooking pot during the washing up.

  He remembered being that on edge. Some of it had faded in the last eighteen months, but not all of it, another bit of baggage he’d brought home from the war, like the back injury and the nightmares. Given her reactions, he bet she hadn’t been “back in the world,” the U.S., for that long.

  Though he knew she wanted to be alone, Brannon decided to push her, see how she’d react. When he joined her, Cait looked over at him and then back at the knife. It was a black KA-BAR, and he knew it was razor sharp even before she’d begun working on it. She handled the blade like a pro, which told him it
wasn’t a prop. A Kydex sheath sat near her leg.

  “So which branch of service?” he asked quietly.

  Cait didn’t reply, like it was a state secret or something.

  “I’m betting Marine. You guys have a certain way you hold yourself. Like you’re better than the rest of the world.”

  Her eyes caught his again, but this time he thought he saw amusement. She flipped over the knife to reveal the initials “USMC” stamped on the hilt.

  “I knew it,” he said, smiling. “You’re a lot prettier than most of the jarheads I’ve met.”

  He’d been half joking, half serious. He’d learned long ago never to assume a woman couldn’t be a warrior. Cait stared at him, looking for something, perhaps clues about who he really was.

  “So why keep it a secret?” he asked.

  “It leads to questions.” She frowned at him now. “You know that as well as I do.” Another four heartbeats. “SEAL or Ranger?”

  It was his turn to feel uncomfortable. “Ranger.”

  “Sniper?”

  “Better with explosives, but I’m a decent shot.”

  Cait stared out over the water for a time, as if thinking it through. “You’re right, I am nicer looking than most Marines. Some of those guys are butt-ugly.”

  “Rangers, however, are all smoking hot,” he said, waggling an eyebrow.

  “And not the least bit egotistical.”

  “No, that would be the frogmen. SEALs believe the sun rises and sets on their golden little heads.”

  Cait began to laugh and he joined in. A few of the others stared at them, but Brannon didn’t care. The sound of her laughter was rusty, like it’d been a long time since she’d last succumbed.

  “I knew you were military,” she said, wiping down the knife. “I figured you were regular Army, but then I got thinking you were Special Operations. I’ve been around too many of them not to recognize one when I see one.”

  She’d pegged him pretty close, which was uncanny.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “You’re deadly quiet. It’s like you go invisible. It’s what those guys do best, besides killing, that is.”