“If your definition of dry ground are more of those ugly mangrove trees, we’re in trouble.” She glanced to his feet as she removed her slippers. “How’s the cut on your foot?”
Too bad Cami hadn’t learned how to weave a shoe with leaves and tree bark in one of her Evil that Lurks movies. He’d sliced the inner sole of his right foot on one of the many jagged tree roots they’d climbed over. The tender wound hurt, and he worried about infection. “It’s fine.” He took her hand in his, opting for the left one since her broken pinky had doubled in size. “Are you ready to do this?”
“Wait,” she said, removing her hand from his and untying the sash of her robe. “It’s starting to get hot.”
He’d noticed a change in temperature once they’d exited the shade from the mangroves. Now out in the open, the midmorning sun beat down on his back, and he once again wished he’d had the foresight to grab a shirt before leaving their bedroom. But the sun wasn’t the only thing that would mark his skin. “Leave the robe on.”
“Why?”
“I told you sawgrass isn’t real grass. What I didn’t mention is there’s a reason they call it sawgrass.” He reached into the marsh, tore off a blade, then showed her. “I learned about this the last time I was here.” He pointed to the edge of the blade. “See these tiny ridges? If you’re not careful, they’ll cut you.”
“How bad?” she asked, readjusting her robe.
“Like a paper cut.”
“God, I hate this place.” She took his hand again, then stepped into the marsh. “Explain to me again why you love it here?”
After what they’d already been through, he began to wonder himself. “You can’t see the beauty of this place?”
“It’s been kind of hard to stop and smell the roses. Honestly, I feel like we’ve traveled back in time. The Everglades reminds me of what the world might’ve looked like when the dinosaurs were around. Or, like God didn’t know what to do with a bunch of the plants and animals He made and decided, the hell with it, I’ll just put them right here and see what happens.”
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I think it’s the uniqueness that draws me here. It’s raw and beautiful, and unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. When I was here last year, I went for a hike and fell in love with the solitude.”
“You obviously didn’t hike through sawgrass,” she said, knocking a few blades with her elbow. “Is it me, or is this stuff getting taller?”
From where he’d stood on shore, it had looked as if the blades were only three or four feet high toward the center. He’d estimated wrong. The further they moved away from shore the thicker and taller the sawgrass had become, which would make it difficult to see anything moving through the shallow water, but would cloak them, should the bastard reach the shore sooner than he’d anticipated.
“Yeah, it’s getting taller,” he said, using the stick to help them plow through the sawgrass and keep the tips of the blades out of their faces. After a few feet, several blue-gray birds flew from between the grass, cawing and beating their wings.
Cami gasped and jerked back. She held her injured hand to her throat, drawing his attention to the slight chafing from the cord that had held them to the bald cypress tree. “I hope to God we’re the only ones who disturbed those birds and it’s not something else.”
“I’m sure it’s us. I think gators like to stick close to shore near their nests.”
“And you know this how, Crocodile Dundee?” she asked, ducking when several insects he couldn’t name rose from the grass.
“Obviously we’re talking gators, not crocs, and—”
“Same difference in my book.” She let go of his hand to shoo away more emerging bugs. “It’s ridiculous we’re even doing this. We should’ve turned around and fought him.”
They’d been over this while they’d crawled through the mangroves. Earlier, he’d given Cami credit for being able to maintain her sense of humor, despite the situation. But with each passing hour, she’d grown irritable. Before they’d made it through the mangroves and reached the sawgrass marsh, she’d once again suggested they try to arm themselves, hide until the bastard reached their location, then attack. If it had only been him, or he’d been with one of his agents, he would have done just that hours ago. But he wasn’t willing to risk her life. A stick and rock were no match for a gun or knife.
Even if they’d managed to take the bastard down and unarm him, what then?
He’d killed only one man, and that had been in the line of duty. He’d shot a few others, but only to stop them during a criminal pursuit, not send them to the morgue. In his gut, he knew he’d have no problem killing this man. But how would Cami react once the deed had been done? Or worse, what if he was injured or incapacitated and she was forced to react? Cami wasn’t a killer. Even if she had to kill out of self-defense, he wouldn’t want her to live with the guilt of taking another person’s life.
“You have nothing to say?” she asked. “I mean, come on, Ian. You worked for the FBI and run an agency. Fighting back should be in your nature.”
“Either your memory is short, or you’re purposefully pretending we haven’t been over this before.” He used the stick to maintain his balance when his foot became stuck in the mud. “I’m not going to take the risk of fighting him. Not yet.”
“Not yet,” she repeated with heavy sarcasm, and knocked blades aside with her arms. “Then when? Before or after we’re eaten by an alligator or bitten by a snake? Or maybe you want to wait until we can’t see straight because we’re too dehydrated.”
“The human body can last a week without water before—”
“A week? I’ll be damned if I’m staying in this godforsaken swamp for that long.”
He momentarily closed his eyes and tried to rein in his patience. “I told you that we’ll probably come across someone or at least a road leading to—”
“A resort?” She let out a huff. “Please don’t bullshit me.”
“Would you stop interrupting me? It’s getting old.”
“This sawgrass is getting old. Listening to you is getting old. We should be sitting on the beach, toes in the sand and—” She jumped and did a little dance. “Something just touched me,” she said in a rush, her eyes wide, panic etched on her dirty face.
He looked down to where the dark water came to his knees. Several small silvery fish sliced past his legs. “Fish. Nothing more.”
“The only fish I like comes from a can.”
They continued forward, thankfully in silence. This bitchy, whiny side of Cami was something he’d never witnessed before. He had a feeling that what they were going through would test their relationship. While she was starting to irritate the hell out of him, he also knew she was acting out of character. He loved Cami and wanted to spend the rest of his days loving her. She made him laugh, softened his rigid edges and reminded him that life should be lived. He’d spent so many years dedicating his time to either the FBI or CORE, he hadn’t given himself the chance to enjoy even the smaller pleasures. Cami, on the other hand, was all about living life to the fullest. She’d once told him that she planned to go to her deathbed exhausted, not from sickness or disease, but because she’d spent her days playing hard and having fun.
Too bad they weren’t having any fun now.
Cami had moved behind him a while back, allowing him to cut the path through the marsh without the sawgrass springing back into her face. “Doing okay?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Sweat had carved a clean path through the dirt coating her forehead and cheeks. She kept her gaze locked on the water and nodded.
He looked past her to the shore. “It looks like we might be about halfway there.”
She glanced up, then gasped. “Oh, Ian,” she said, her eyes softening with concern. “Your chest and arms…give me the stick and let me take the lead.”
He examined his arms and chest where tiny droplets of blood formed over his skin. After the first dozen cuts, he’d grown numb
to them and hadn’t realized how badly the sawgrass had sliced him. “I’ll be fine. I’d rather have you behind me.”
“Stubborn fool,” she said, grabbing the stick from him. “My skin is protected.” She held the stick with both hands and knocked the tall grasses aside. “If you didn’t get the memo, women are strong and capable.” She kicked the water. “Damn, I hate these stupid fish.” She looked up when a screech came from above.
He did, too, and watched as an eagle soared toward the trees they were trying to reach. “Almost there. And for the record, I know women are strong and capable. All I have to do is look at my daughter. And Rachel. Then there’s Lola, and of course, you.”
“I love Celeste, but I’m not sure how she feels about me.”
The sun began drying the tiny cuts on his skin, making them tighten and itch. “She’s happy we’re getting married,” he said, rubbing his arms. “I’m not sure I can say the same for Lola.”
“Don’t worry about her, she’s fine with it. I think she has a hard time separating that you’re her boss and future stepfather, though.”
That made sense, especially because most of his team was unaware that he and Cami had been dating, let alone engaged. Maybe he should have been upfront with his agents and told them the truth. But he hadn’t wanted them to look at Lola any differently from the next agent. He certainly didn’t favor Lola, but he had made her job easy for her. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, either. Lola knew what she was doing when he’d hired her, and had proven she could protect herself in the field. Hell, he’d wanted his own daughter to work for him and would have given her assignments that could put her in danger. Case resolution was something CORE was known for and he’d do just about anything to maintain his reputation.
God, he was a bastard. What father would risk his daughter’s safety to make his company look good?
“I’ll have to talk to Lola about it once we’re home,” he said, instead of acknowledging the guilt punching him in the chest. “Has she told you how she feels about working for CORE?”
She shrugged. “She hasn’t said much about it.”
He wished Cami was facing him so he could read her face and eyes. Not for a minute did he believe that Lola hadn’t confided in her mother. The two were extremely close and, often times, acted like best friends rather than mother and daughter. Since they were talking and not arguing, he’d broach the subject some other time. His goal right now was to reach dryer ground and put them back into the cover of the trees.
“The grass is thinning,” she said, her voice filled with relief. “Look how close we are to shore.”
Ian edged around her, shoved some grass aside and endured another prick to his skin. The sawgrass no longer coated the marsh, but sat in random clusters in the open, brackish water. The shore Cami had referred to wasn’t much of a shore at all. Leaves and branches from the mangroves lining the marsh hung over the water. While he’d prefer actual ground, climbing over the trees’ roots beat the hell out of wading through the water. The bastard had mentioned trench foot, and aware of the consequences once the condition set in, he wanted to give his feet a break. He’d seen enough maps of the Everglades to know this wouldn’t be the last marsh they’d walk through.
Cami stopped and grabbed his arm. “Listen,” she whispered.
After a moment, and only hearing crickets, other insects, frogs and birds in the distance, he glanced over his shoulder to the sea of sawgrass. For a split second he imagined the hunter cutting through the grass, black ski mask covering his head, eyes filled with hatred as he pointed a rifle at them. “I don’t hear anything. Come on, we need to get under cover. Going through the marsh slowed us—”
He quickly shoved her behind him and scanned the water, honing in on the many clusters of sawgrass.
“Sounds like a motor cycle idling at a stoplight,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “I can’t tell where’s it’s coming from.”
He couldn’t either, but suspected what caused the sound.
The mangroves shadowed the edge of the marsh. The sun reflected off the water, hiding what lay in wait in the sawgrass. The low grumble came again, causing his muscles to tighten. Heart pounding hard, he looked to the left, then sucked in a breath. An alligator lay amidst the grass, its olive-green skin blending with the blades. The gator arched its head, raising it inches above the surface. Water droplets fell from its snout and partially opened mouth as it let out another growl.
“Cami?”
“Do you see something?” she asked, looking around his shoulder.
He pointed toward the gator.
“Oh, my…do you think it sees us?” Her nails bit into his skin. “Can it smell the blood on you like a shark would?”
“Don’t know. Move to the right without making too much noise. I think they hunt at night, so maybe we don’t have anything to worry about,” he said, hoping to reassure her as much as himself.
Cami hung on to him as they waded closer to the mangroves. He kept his gaze locked on the alligator, then pushed Cami forward when it turned in their direction. Its eyes and snout remained above the water, then slowly submerged, leaving only the ridges on its back visible.
Panicking, he grabbed Cami by the waist and ran. Water splashed around them as they moved. The muck and mud beneath his feet grew as thick as wet cement, slowing his pace.
The gator’s head rose to the surface again.
“It’s coming,” Cami panted. “Hurry, hurry.”
His lungs burned as he pushed his body harder. Another ten or so feet and they’d reach the mangrove roots.
The gator edged closer and closer. Its pace was slow, graceful, and unlike the cumbersome sprint they were making through the knee high water.
Five more feet.
Almost there.
A gunshot pierced the sky and echoed throughout the marsh. He quickly looked back. A bevy of birds flew from the sawgrass in a fury of wings and squawking. He glanced to the gator which swiftly submerged again.
Another bullet blasted, then another.
He cracked his toes against one of the hard stems below the water’s surface, then shoved Cami up and over the gray scaly mangrove root. She quickly scrambled back and clung to the tree. “He’s right behind you. Hurry.”
Who? The gator or the hunter?
Winded, exhausted, he latched onto a thick root and rolled on top of it. The knobby wood dug into his spine. Ignoring the pain, he pulled his feet from the water and launched backward, knocking into the tree trunk.
Cami shoved her hair from her eyes before her face crumpled and she started to cry. He pulled himself up, and balancing on the precarious roots, hauled her into his arms. Sobs wracked her body. He rubbed a hand along her back and quickly kissed her temple. “We have to go. He’s right behind us.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she cried. “God, this is too much.”
“You have to do this. Think about Lola. Think about us.” He gave her a slight shake. “Remember, I got that memo about strong women. You’re one of them, honey. Now come on and go.”
She swiped her cheeks, leaving smears of tears and dirt, then nodded and started climbing over the mangrove roots.
As he followed behind, he looked over his shoulder. The gator lifted its head and stared at him for a heartbeat, before swimming back to the clusters of sawgrass. They’d managed to evade one predator driven by instinct, but how could they evade the predator driven by vengeance?
His confidence sank as fast as the alligator in the water.
*
Lola fought to keep her sobs quiet and gripped the trunk of the nearest mangrove to keep from slipping between the gangly two-foot-tall tree roots. No matter what Ryan had said about the gunfire they’d heard, she couldn’t stop thinking the worst.
Three gunshots. Three… Oh, God.
Her throat constricted as if a Burmese python had her in a chokehold and she drew in ragged breaths. Had the bastard aimed for Ian and her mom, missed or wounded one of them, t
hen gone in for the kill shot? The not knowing ate at her, but it also gave her the strength to push forward. Maybe Jackass had missed. Maybe her mom and Ian were wounded but still on the run. She had to believe that. She had to—
The sunlight grew stronger. Thrilled to finally be free of the suffocating mangrove forest, she squeezed between slender tree trunks and hopped to the next set of roots. Then stopped. A narrow canal stood between them and another forest of mangroves.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, as Ryan bounced onto the roots next to her.
“At least the canal isn’t wide.” Water splashed around his boots when he hopped off the root. “It’s shallow, too.”
He held out his hand to help her into the water. She could have done it herself, but right now, she welcomed physical contact. This place had become the epitome of isolation, and those shots were an ugly reminder of why they were here. Ryan’s strong, warm hand didn’t take away her fears, but at least brought her some semblance of comfort. That she wasn’t alone and had someone by her side, ready to go to battle with her.
Her stomach clenched at the thought of engaging with the hunter, or finding Ian and her mom— No. She would not go there. She would shove her fear aside and stop thinking about the worst possible outcome.
“Talk to me,” she said, keeping her hand in his as they crossed the shallow canal.
“About what?”
“Anything.” She suddenly recalled his dog lying at her feet while Ryan showed them the map. “Tell me about Sadie.”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, then helped her out of the water and onto another damned mangrove root. “She’s awesome. Sweet natured. Loves just about everyone.”
“How long have you had her?”
He climbed onto the root, then began moving to the next with the ease of a tightrope walker. “Almost seven years. I adopted her from a local woman who breeds Goldens. Sadie was the runt, and the breeder knew from the start my girl wouldn’t make a name for herself as a show dog, so she sold her to me for next to nothing. I didn’t know anything about that sort of stuff, and had no interest in what awards my dog’s mom and dad had won. I just took one look at her and knew she was the one.”
Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 14