Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

As he entered his office, the two hostages behind him, Quinton Ellers felt the need to hurt someone. His nephew in particular.

Lying little bastard
. That was the problem with James—he couldn’t be trusted. He wouldn’t even be at New America if it weren’t for his unique skills. So what had really happened between the kid and Hardegree? How had James managed to kill an Army Ranger? No, he’d have sent others to do his dirty work, and it would have been an ambush. There was more to that tale than his nephew was admitting, and Ellers would have to weed out the lies to get to the truth. But first, there were other matters that needed attention.

He sat on the old folding chair behind his desk—not that two planks spread across a pair of sawhorses was a real desk. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for the long term.

Two campers stood in front of him now. The writer was nervous, opening and closing his fists at his sides. Ellers had read the man’s last two books and knew he’d be adequate for the task. The photographer wasn’t as scared, or just better at hiding it. Rockwell’s eyes were sharp, focused. His biography had put him in war zones, so this reaction was to be expected.

Time to fuck with their minds. “You know why you’re here?”

“No,” Rockwell replied. Adams just shook his head.

“I’m about to make history, gentlemen, and I need someone to document that moment. That would be you.”

Rockwell blinked. “What kind of history?”

“The kind that will be spoken of in awe for decades to come. The tree of liberty needs to be watered, and I’m the one to do it. It’s the only way the tyrants in Washington will know we mean business.” He let that sink in. “You know anything about Timothy McVeigh?”

Adams frowned. “Yeah, he bombed that building in Oklahoma, killed all those people.”

“He struck a blow for liberty.”

“I’m sure the kids he killed would disagree,” Rockwell said.

Yeah, this one’s got balls
. “Not McVeigh’s fault. The feds never should have put a day care in that building. They had to know they were a target. That blood is on their hands.”

Rockwell gaped at him. “You really believe that?”

“Of course I do.”

“And you’d do the same, blow up a bunch of babies just to make your point?”

“Yes, I would.” He kept the smile to himself. “I was there that day. Not near the federal building, but in Oklahoma City. I was visiting a buddy of mine. I wish I’d been closer to see the explosion.”

The photographer clenched his jaw, but managed to hold his silence. The bastard was learning.

“Did you have something to do with the tour owner’s accident?” Adams asked.

The writer was smarter than he looked. “Sure did. I didn’t want a battle-hardened Marine anywhere near my operation. And if you think the FBI are going to rescue you, you’re wrong. The last agent who tried to infiltrate this organization is buried out in the swamp. It took him a
long
time to die. I enjoyed every damned minute of it.”

Adams swallowed hard. “So what do you want with us?”

“Every great general has someone who writes his memoirs, makes sure the truth is known after the battle is over.
You
will do that for me. He,” Ellers said, gesturing at Rockwell, “will provide the photos.”

“And if we tell you to fuck off?” the photographer asked.

“Then I take you two out by the flagpole, make you kneel, and put a round in the back of each of your skulls. I can always find someone new. It’s that simple.”

It wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that. He was on countdown-to-zero hour, and the overnight delay delivering the tour group to the compound had nearly compromised his plans.

The two hostages traded looks and Ellers knew what Adams would say before the words left his mouth.

“Looks like we’re writing your memoir, Commander.”

Yes, you are
.

He retrieved the two hundred-plus manuscript pages and the laptop, handing them to Adams. Three spare laptop batteries went on top of the pile, because there was no electricity in the lockup.

“Clean this up,” he said. “It needs to be ready by 0700 two days from now.”

“Two days!” the author blurted. “That’s impossible.”

Ellers only had to touch his weapon to get the man to sputter an apology.

“Sure, sure. Two days. Okay.”

“What am I to do?” Rockwell asked, his tone indicating that he was barely reining in his anger.

“When I’m ready, you’ll walk around with me so you can photograph the camp. If I tell you not to take a photo of something, then don’t do it. You do, you’re dead.”

Rockwell gave a curt nod, his jaw locked again.

“Will our names be on this book of yours?” Adams asked.

“Of course,” he lied. It’d be damned hard for them to argue the issue after they were dead. “Any other questions?”

When there were none, he waved them off. As the guard ushered them outside, Ellers called out, “Tell Rafferty I need to talk to him.”

When the man arrived, Ellers could read the worry on his face. That was smart. He had reason to be worried.

“What happened with Hardegree?” Ellers demanded.

Rafferty shook his head. “From what I could tell, he and the tour guide went up to the campsite.” He stalled out, growing more agitated. Ellers smiled to himself. His reputation as a hard bastard worked wonders with his people. They feared him, and that was what it took to be a leader.

“And?”

Rafferty looked down at the floor now. Anywhere but at him. “James sent a couple of our men inland. I just figured they were going to round up Hardegree and the woman. Instead, I hear gunshots and the guys come hot-footing it back with their gear, telling me they’re dead.”

“Did you check the Hardegree’s rucksack like you did the others?”

“No. James had it. Wouldn’t let me touch it.”

The little prick thought he could outfox his old uncle. The kid didn’t have a fucking clue. “That’ll be all.”

Once the door closed, he rose and made his way to the window, looking out on the parade ground. Maybe it was good the Ranger was dead. Hardegree had been too perfect. One of Ellers’s contacts in the Army had said as much, claimed the man didn’t seem to be the kind to cross over to the other side.

Still, Hardegree had gone on the robbery, hadn’t even hesitated that much, according to Clarke. Now that he was gone, Wiley would have to handle the explosives, and he wasn’t a pro. But you did what you had to get the job done.

Ellers still remembered the rumble under his feet, the sound of the car alarms, the shattering of the window glass, and the piercing screams that day in Oklahoma City. At the time, he hadn’t understood what it meant or what it stood for. Now he did. McVeigh had done his best; so would he. And by the time he was done, Tim’s strike would look like child’s play.

“It all comes down to body count,” Ellers muttered. “That’s the only thing those assholes respect.”

*~*~*

About half an hour had passed since they’d arrived at Ellers’s compound. During that time, Susan had inspected their “jail” and determined there was no way out except through the bolted door. There were also no hidden microphones or cameras, which meant their conversations would be private. Down the line, that might become important if they plotted an escape.

She curled up on one of the bunks and stared at the ceiling rafters, her hands laced behind her head. Patti slept on one of the other bunks, worn out, while Preston sat near the woodstove. He looked lost, like he’d found the most perfect diamond in the world, only to realize it was a fake.

“I have no damned idea what this is all about,” he murmured.

“So what do you know about this guy?”

“Only what I read on the Freedom Network. It’s an online community. We share stories about how the government is trampling on our freedoms. Some of those stories are pretty scary.”

“So you think Ellers is a good guy?”

He sighed. “Well, I did. Now that I’m inside this little world of his, I’m not so sure.”

“Any idea why he took us hostage?”

“No.” His eyes moved to Patti, sleeping peacefully through their conversation—the girl must have needed it. “I don’t think any of us are important enough to warrant a ransom. And that kid, James? I figured he was just a horny pain in the ass. Certainly not Ellers’s nephew.”

There were voices outside the building, and then someone threw the bolt. The door swung open and Bill entered, followed by Keith. Both looked exhausted. Following them were two armed men and a young boy. The boy staggered under the weight of the tour group’s packs, which he dropped by the door.

“You going to feed us?” Preston asked.

“Not until we get the order,” one of the men replied tersely. Then their captors were gone, the bolt sealing them off from the rest of the world. Patti yawned and headed over to the pile of gear, rummaging through to find hers.

“The bastard is nuts!” Bill sputtered, dropping a stack of papers on the table, followed by a battered laptop and batteries.

Keith retrieved his camera bag and slumped into a chair. “He wants Bill and me to ‘tell his story.’ Says he wants it all down for posterity, so they’ll know just what a patriot he really is.”

“How would he know you’re on this tour?” Susan asked.

“Keith and I both received free vouchers, but only for this week’s trip. When I got it, seemed odd, but I figured what the hell, why not?” Bill replied.

“Same here,” the photographer said.

Patti gasped. “We were kidnapped because of you two?”

Keith actually looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m guessing that’s the reason.”

Maybe not the only one
.

“Shit, guys,” Preston said. “I sent out those vouchers. I just figured they were gifts or something. People do that every now and then. I had no idea the commander was behind all this.”

“Any idea what he’s up to?” Susan asked.

Keith shook his head. “Just that he’s going to ‘water the tree of liberty.’ He was talking about that bastard McVeigh. How it was the feds’ fault all those kids got killed. How he’d do the same. The man is a freaking psychopath.”

Preston whistled under his breath. “He didn’t come across as batshit crazy on the message boards, just really intense.”

“I bet he’s been planning this kidnapping for some time,” Bill added. “He told us he made sure that Montgomery wasn’t on this tour. He even confessed to killing an FBI agent. He boasted about it.”

Susan lowered her gaze to the floor so they couldn’t see her reaction. “Does Ellers have a timetable for this blow for freedom?” she asked.

“It felt that way, but he wouldn’t tell us what it was,” Keith said.

The author nodded his agreement. “These,” he said, gesturing at the pile of papers and the computer, “are his notes. He has written a rough draft, and now he wants me to edit it into some sort of order. And he wants it done in two days. Like I said, the man is nuts.”

Two days?
Was Ellers just being pushy, or was that deadline tied to his plans in some way?

“You guys, he needs. What keeps him from killing the rest of us?” Patti asked, her voice shaking. She was back on her bunk now, her hands knotted around the strap of her backpack.

“Nothing,” Bill admitted. “Though I think your boyfriend will want to keep you around.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” the girl replied. “He’s too weird.”

“Then why did you come out to the swamp with him?”

Patti hitched a shoulder. “I was bored.”

Teenagers
.

Susan’s attention swung back to Bill and the pile of papers. “How’s about we help you sort all that out. It might tell us exactly what Ellers is up to.”

Bill was nodding even before she finished talking. “Works for me. All I want to do is get the hell out of here and not get dead like Brannon and the tour guide.”

“Just like the rest of us, then.”

Chapter Eighteen

At Cait’s request, Brannon stripped off his shirt, feeling the fabric pull against dried blood.

“Yeah, you got a wound back here. You land on something?” she asked.

“Must have. How bad is it?”

“Don’t know yet.” She pushed on the area and he grimaced. “It’s getting infected. Turn around and straddle the chair for me.”

Brannon did as instructed while she retrieved the first-aid kit. As Cait pulled supplies out of the kit, placing them on the table, he couldn’t help but check out her honey-wheat hair, still mussed from the trip. Even with not a lick of makeup, she looked beautiful to him. A real woman, through and through.

What would she be like in bed? Probably as take-charge as she was a soldier. He could imagine her astride him, moving at her own pace, making him suffer until she made him come. He groaned at the images in his mind, his groin tightening.

She touched his back near the wound. “That hurt?”

The discomfort was much lower, but he didn’t dare admit that. “A little.” When her hands began to probe the area, his hard-on faded. Nothing like pain to overload that part of his anatomy.

“You had a tetanus shot recently?” she asked.

“About six months ago. A mission went wrong and I took a knife in the thigh.”

“Youch.”

“Yeah. The Iceman and I got even. We took down the drug lord responsible for wiping out an entire village in Mexico.” Looking over his shoulder now, he saw her respect.

“Damned fine job. Thank you for what you do.” Then she grew solemn. “Me? I’m just . . . coasting.”

“No, you’re recharging, like a battery. You’ve been through hell, and it takes time to deal with all that. I have no doubt that once you’re back at full capacity, you will kick ass at whatever you do.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You sound so sure of that.”

“You will kick ass at whatever you do,” he repeated. “I’d bet money on that.”

Cait returned a soft smile. “Thanks. I just have a lot of stuff to work through.”

“I’m doing the same. Meanwhile, I get to hang out with a pretty warrior woman in a remote cabin. That doesn’t suck.” His eyes strayed back to the pre-packaged food on the table. “Well, except for the MREs.”

She laughed as she picked up a set of tweezers. “You really hate them, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Back when we were paddling here, you were going to tell me about what happened in Tangiers. Now would be a good time to tell that tale. It might keep your mind off what I’m about to do.”

“Which is?”

“I’m going to dig around in this wound to make sure you don’t have anything embedded in it. It’s not going to feel good.”

“Oh shit. All right. My story is about a monkey with a very wicked temper. It started when a working girl hit on me. I turned her down.”

He gritted his teeth as she dug in the wound. “Next thing . . . I know, the monkey comes out of nowhere, trying to bite the shit out of me. It chased me down the street, and I found myself taking refuge . . . in a brothel.”

“Nice excuse,” she said, chuckling.

“Actually, I hadn’t intended to go there. Since I couldn’t leave the place, not with that evil beast waiting for me, I stayed.” He looked over his shoulder again. “I stayed all weekend.”

Her reaction proved worth the discomfort as Cait paused in her digging, her eyes widening. “
All
weekend?”

He grinned. “Yup. Since I stayed that long, I got a special rate. I finally quit when I ran out of condoms.”

“Damn,” she replied, then mock-fanned herself.

He laughed. “I found out later that the girl had trained the monkey to herd potential johns to the whorehouse. I thought that was so smart that I wasn’t upset at all.”

“I bet you weren’t. Not after a whole three days of
personal attention
.”

“I was young and stupid. What can I say? Doing that kind of thing lost its appeal when I got older.” He paused, then blurted, “What about you? How did you scratch the itch?”

She dug some more before answering, making beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. It also made him wonder if he’d gone too far with that question.

“I didn’t scratch that itch,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep with anyone in my squad because the other guys would think I was easy, so I went without. Lots of cold showers.”

“What about when you were on leave?”

“There were a few hookups when I was back in the States,” she admitted. “Nothing long term. My career came first.”

“I understand. How long were you married?”

“Three years. The husband didn’t seem to comprehend that marriage vows meant he was supposed to keep it in his pants when I wasn’t around. I caught him and an ensign going at it in our bed, so I kicked their asses out and filed for divorce that same afternoon.”

Brannon huffed in disgust. “You should have introduced him to my fiancée. They would have gotten along just fine.”

“She cheated on you?”

“Yes. Repeatedly. Dammit!” Brannon said in response to a particularly deep probe with the tweezers.

“Found it.” Cait held up a long sliver of wood. “That seems to be all there is. I have some antibiotics. If you’re not allergic, I’d suggest you start taking them.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Her eyes held his for a time, then went back to the wound. “I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

“I’m sorry about your husband.”

“So all around, we’re just sorry.”

Brannon reached over and lightly touched her cheek. “Not so much anymore,” he said.

A faint blush spread across her cheeks.

He hoped that simple gesture would convey how much he appreciated her. Respected her. Wanted to get to know her better.
Way better
.

“Let’s get you bandaged and then make us some food.”

Outside the cabin, the sound of a light rain began. Then it grew heavier. She looked toward the window and smiled. “Change of plans. I’m getting a shower first.”

“You have one rigged up?”

“No, I do it the old-fashioned way—I strip and stand in the rain. When it’s this heavy, it’s just like standing under a real shower.”

His mind conjured up what Cait would look like nude, raindrops running down her tanned skin. Down her breasts, down her thighs.

“Brannon?”

He thought of the water beading on her nipples.

“Bran?” she repeated.

“Huh?”

“I’ll put on your bandage unless you want to bathe too.”

We could share the rainstorm together and then
 . . .

“Leave it off for now. I need a shower,” he said, though he knew it’d be solo.

The pressure south of his belt buckle edged up a notch. The missions had been coming so close together, he hadn’t had time to deal with that issue, and being alone with this alluring woman wasn’t helping.

Cait gathered her shampoo, a bar of soap, and a microfiber cloth. “This heavy a rain is great for washing clothes. Just in case you need to.”

He heard the clump of her boots hitting the porch, and then she was out in the downpour. He imagined her getting all wet, then using the soap to wash her clothes, even as she was wearing them. Then stripping down to her smooth skin.

Brannon groaned at the images in his head. To keep himself occupied, he inventoried the food and found two cans of ravioli. After rinsing out a saucepan, he fired up the camp stove and began heating the food. At least one meal would be decent. As he moved to set the table, he caught a glimpse of Cait through the window, even though he hadn’t meant to do so. She was naked, looking up, catching raindrops on her tongue like a child, her face filled with joy. Her breasts were small but firm, and her butt curved in the most blood-firing way.

Damn, you’re smoking hot
.

Brannon made himself look away in case she saw him. He hadn’t meant to violate her privacy; it had just happened, and now he’d always have the image of her in his mind. With a groan, he adjusted his trousers and made a mental note to get laid once he got back to civilization.

*~*~*

Cait toweled off on the porch, then dressed in clean clothes. Winding her hair in a towel, she began drying it. She could have sworn she’d felt Brannon’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t be sure. If he had been watching her, she suspected it’d been by accident. But then, most guys could not resist the temptation to check out a naked female.

She entered the cabin to find her companion stirring something on the stove. “You can cook. I’m impressed.”

“I hardly call opening a can a major culinary feat.”

“It would have been for my ex. He claimed to be clueless when it came to feeding himself.”

Brannon stopped stirring. “How’d you get hooked up with him?”

“I was young and stupid,” she said, echoing Brannon’s own words. “He was funny, good in the sack, and I thought that was all I’d need. I was wrong.” Cait sank onto the bed, then carefully dried her feet. Fresh socks came next. It felt great to be clean again.

“At the time,” Brannon said, “I didn’t understand what my fiancée saw in me. I was messed up big time.”

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, Bran? You’re handsome. You’re ripped. Any woman with eyes would go for you.”

“Even you?” he asked.

Cait blinked, realizing she’d set herself up for that question. “Ah . . . ”

“No need to answer right now. The food’s ready,” he said, giving her an out.

Time to set the boundaries
. “I’d be dead not to notice you,” she said, “but I’m not interested in making things more difficult right now. I’m too screwed up.”

“Maybe not as much as you think,” he said, laying paper plates of ravioli on the table. “So, will it be white or red wine for the madam this evening?”

She rolled her eyes because they had no wine. “I’ll go with water, thank you.”

They ate in silence, the ravioli, cheese and crackers, and canned peaches disappearing at a quick rate.

“God, was I hungry,” he said, leaning back.

“Funny how some meals stick in your mind. This one will, for sure.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, smiling. “I remember the first pizza I ate after I left the service. It was deep dish, Chicago style. And there was beer. Lots of it.”

“I went to the closest hot-dog place and loaded up. Onions, chili, you name it.”

“A woman after my own heart,” he said. She smiled. “You know, I wasn’t entirely honest. My fiancée wanted me for a couple reasons.”

“Besides the fact that you’re handsome and ripped?”

“Besides that. Her dad owns a string of sporting-goods stores. It wasn’t until after we broke up that I realized he’d intended to use me as his ‘mascot.’ Army Ranger, all-American dude, God and Country. He wanted was a ‘hero’ to brag about, put me in his store’s ads.”

“What an asshole. I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “That had to hurt.”

“It did,” he said, standing now. “I need to wash up while it’s still raining.”

Then he was out the door to take his own shower, as if somehow the past still had the power to wound him. In Brannon’s wake, she felt disappointment. Not in herself, but in the stupid woman who’d treated him like that. Then she frowned. Her ex hadn’t deserved her, either.

As she cleaned up the plates, burning them in the fireplace, she made sure not to sneak a look out the window. Her imagination was good enough to guess what he looked like standing in the rain. The strong muscles on his arms, his six pack, his strong thighs, and what rested between them.

Why wasn’t she out there, seducing this virile man? Was it because she was afraid?

Yes
.

Brannon Hardegree was the real thing, and the more she opened up to him, the more power he’d have to hurt her. Especially when he found out exactly how many pieces of her soul were missing.