Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (24 page)

John looked to the dirt floor and noticed large boot prints. He withdrew his flashlight, then aimed the beam on them. The prints led to another room at the back of the barn. This door also had a heavy-duty lock on it and required Hudson to work his lock-picking skills again.

Once inside and sure they were alone, John gave the overhead light chain a quick pull. The single bulb lit the small room, exposing a small cot covered in wool blankets, a large cooler and a gun cabinet. He shifted his gaze to the opposite wall, which had been plastered with photographs. Some were of a teenaged boy and girl, the rest were of a woman and a man. In several shots, the eyes of the woman had an X slashed through them.

John fingered one of the photos with his gloved hand. “Isn’t this Steven’s ex-wife?”

Hudson stepped next to him. “I think so.” He shrugged. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and I only met her a couple of times. Do you think those are his kids?”

He remembered the picture of Steven standing next to his dad and the orange Mazda. “The boy looks like Steven.” He studied the picture of Steven’s ex-wife, Elaine. “The girl favors her mother. We should contact the ex and see if Steven’s been in touch.”

“Dante won’t like it.”

“And I care. Steven has her pictures all over these walls. Based on the car she’s driving in this one, this is recent.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was thinking about trading the Infiniti for this particular Cadillac. I actually drove the car two weeks ago.”

“Does Celeste know?”

Money had been tight since his wife had started her business. He was all about upgrades, while she was about keeping them thin, tossing money into savings when they could, and paying down their debt. “No, and I’m obviously still driving the same car.”

“She won’t find out from me.” Hudson moved away from the wall. “No lock on the gun cabinet. Let’s see what’s inside here,” he said, opening the doors. “Holy shit.”

John turned, then rushed to the cabinet. A paper firing range target, with a photo of Ian’s head taped to the top of the black neck and torso, hung on the interior wall. Bullet holes riddled the center of Ian’s face. John looked to the bottom of the cabinet, where a digital camera and a folded piece of paper rested. He picked up the paper and opened it. The letters
RIP
were scrawled at the top of the paper. Along the bottom was a single sentence.

Let the hunt begin.

He handed Hudson the note. “We need to leave. Now.”

After Hudson read it, he folded the paper, then put it in his pocket. “We should call Dante.”

There was no need to contact Dante. John knew what needed to be done. “We will, once we’re back on the road,” he said, ripping the firing range target, along with Ian’s head shot, from the inner wall of the gun cabinet, then picked up the digital camera.

Hudson nodded, and moved to wall where the photographs of the ex-wife had been pinned. “Do you think we should take these, too?”

“No. They won’t link back to Ian or CORE. If anything has happened to Elaine, the police could use the pictures as evidence against Steven. I’m taking the digital camera with us, though.”

“I think you’re right. We should stop at the ex-wife’s on our way back to the office. Could be Steven paid her a visit before he headed south.”

“Let’s hope not,” John said, exiting the room. “If Steven did visit the ex, I doubt it was friendly.”

When they were back in his car, he called CORE. “Rachel, if Dante’s in the room, put us on speaker.”

“I’m here,” Dante said. “What’d you find?”

As John drove out of Wilmington, he explained what they’d discovered at the house and in the barn.

“You took the note and Ian’s photo with you?” Dante asked.

“Camera, too. You know, Harrison finding the fuck you note in place of Jordan Marquette’s license plate was one thing, but this message…it’s as if he knew we would come for him.”

Hudson let out a deep breath and slipped off his gloves. “Why do I feel like we’re being set up?”

“Set up?” Dante echoed. “Ryan confirmed Steven Weir is in the Everglades, hunting Ian and Cami.”

“No,” Hudson began, “Ryan confirmed he found the car Ian rented and boot prints.”

John glanced to Hudson. “Are you suggesting Steven isn’t in Florida?”

“Not at all. What I’m suggesting is that he might be setting us up to fail—even if we succeed in stopping him.”

John gripped the steering wheel. “Right. Steven could be baiting us.”

“Isn’t that what some hunters do to lure their prey?” Hudson asked.

“Just head back to Chicago,” Dante said, weariness in his voice. “The company jet is still in the Everglades, but I’ll hire another. I think we have all we need to justify a trip to Florida. How long before you two will be back?”

Although anxious to climb on the jet, instinct told him to stop at Elaine Weir’s first. Elaine had divorced Steven months after he’d been sent to Stateville. She’d taken his kids from him and left him with nothing. If the man with her in the photographs was a lover or boyfriend, that knowledge might have sent Steven over the edge. If Steven had the balls to hunt Ian and Cami, why wouldn’t he go after the ex, too?

“About an hour and a half,” John answered. “We’re stopping at Elaine Weir’s. She’s still living in the same house she’d shared with Steven, which is twenty minutes outside of Chicago.”

“Then I’ll schedule the jet for four o’clock.”

“Sounds good. We’ll call after we meet with Elaine.”

“When you speak with her, how do you plan to explain why you’re at her house on Thanksgiving?” Dante asked. “She can’t know what’s going on in Florida.”

“I’ll come up with something,” he said, then after signing off, he ended the call.

“Dante’s right.” Hudson leaned his head against the leather headrest. “We’re going to have to come up with a valid excuse for speaking with her.”

“Steven’s acting like a man with nothing to lose.” The image of Elaine with her eyes replaced with an X made him uneasy. “Right now, I’m hoping Elaine can speak, period.”

Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

Thursday, 2:31 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

Ryan dropped his pack. “Let’s take a quick break. We need to refuel.” He’d been pushing them hard, and during the last half mile he’d noticed Lola had lost her footing several times while they’d climbed through the mangroves. The tight black pants she wore showed off her toned legs and rear. Her tank top exposed the muscles lining her slim arms. Although she was fit, the Glades had a way of challenging the body…and the mind.

She shimmied out of her pack, then sat on top of it and began pulling off her right boot. “Do we have a first aid kit? My foot is killing me.”

He pulled the jug of water and several protein bars from his pack. She hadn’t been happy when she’d realized the field they’d come across hadn’t been a field, but a marsh. When he’d explained about the sawgrass, he’d been ready for her to start complaining. Instead, she’d put on her sweatshirt, taken off her socks and boots, then had tackled the sawgrass as if it were an everyday occurrence.

“Did you cut yourself in the marsh?” he asked. She’d proven to be a stubborn, determined woman. Now he worried he’d pushed her to the point she hadn’t wanted to admit to being hurt—which didn’t work for him. They were a team, and she needed to be able to trust him. Without trust, they might as well move in separate directions.

“No, but when I put my sock back on after we got out of the marsh, it bunched up and—” She winced when she yanked of the sock. “I shouldn’t complain. Ian’s walking around barefoot, and whatever my mom has on her feet probably isn’t much better.”

“Here.” He handed her the water and protein bar. “It’s not a Mai Tai and steak, but it’ll do the trick for now.” Remembering she was from LA, he added, “If you’re vegan, replace the steak with, I don’t know, alfalfa sprouts?”

She grinned and rested her blistered foot on a leafy fern. “Why would you think I was vegan?” she asked, then took a long drink.

“Just trying to be politically correct. Any more, I feel like I have to watch what I say to people. A few years back, I was taking a family on an airboat tour and the mom ended up all bent out of shape over a story I’d told.” He shrugged when she looked at him. “When I take tourists for an airboat ride, I like telling them tall tales to enhance the adventure and all that BS.”

Her smile grew as she unwrapped the protein bar. “You’re putting on a show. I get it.”

“Only I can’t count on the gators to always act their part. I know I joked about feeding them sheep to keep them around, but I do know tour guides who throw scraps in the water to ensure the gators are seen during tours. People love feeling like they’re in the wild.”

“Take them on a hike like this and they’ll change their minds.”

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone,” he said, disappointed she didn’t appreciate the beauty around her. He loved the raw and, yes, deadly beauty of the Everglades. When he’d been overseas with his SEAL team, he’d spent time in Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan. He’d hated the dry barren landscape of Iraq, and had longed to see green and loads of it. Pakistan and Afghanistan hadn’t been much better. Less sand, more mountains…endless fighting. He’d missed the Gulf coast, and would lie on his cot at night remembering the smells and sounds of his home here in the Glades. He’d picture himself on his airboat, cruising through the mangrove channels and sawgrass marshes, or fishing with his dad and brother off Chokoloskee Bay.

“So what kind of tall tale did you tell that offended the mom?” she asked, handing him the water.

After taking a drink, he grabbed the first aid kit from his pack, then opened it. “It was about a giant mutated albino alligator.” He dropped to a knee in front of her bare foot. The open blister stretched from the side of her foot to the bottom pad below her big toe. About three inches in diameter, the wound would take a while to heal, especially because the skin had completely torn. “That’s one hell of a blister.”

She turned her ankle and looked to her foot. “It’s not my first.” She reached for the kit. “I’ll just clean it and—”

“Eat. I’ve got it,” he said, taking her ankle in his hand.

She flinched. “Please. I can do it. I don’t like people touching my feet. They’re ugly.”

“For whatever it’s worth, the pink nail polish makes your foot less ugly,” he teased, and pulled antiseptic wipes from the kit. “I take it you don’t have a foot fetish.”

She half-laughed. “Hardly.”

“You’re in luck, because I don’t either.” He gripped her rough calloused heel, then quickly met her gaze. “Damn, woman, you could walk on hot coals.”

A pretty pink blush made her cheeks glow. “It’s from years of training in
Jiu Jitsu
.” She looked away. “Seriously, I can take care of the blister.”

He didn’t plan to make another stop for several hours and wanted to make sure her wound was properly dressed. Plus, he liked touching her. Ever since he’d instinctively shielded her body, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way her soft breasts had pressed against his chest, or how well he’d fit between her outstretched thighs. When they’d crossed the marsh, instead of concentrating on what might lay ahead, he’d been checking out her behind. Her black pants drove him crazy, and not being able to find a single panty line—he was dying to know if she wore a thong, or nothing at all.

God, he was a jerk. He shouldn’t be having any thoughts of her rear or her breasts, or how much he’d love to peel off her clothes. With the SEALs, he’d been on dozens of missions, and this one was no different. Except, she
had
hugged him. And damn if it hadn’t taken every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from kissing her. From the way she’d stared at his mouth, her eyes hungry, he probably could have. Fortunately he’d had sense enough to walk away. He’d been in plenty of life-threatening situations, and each time had walked away wanting to do something, anything, to remind himself that he was still among the living. A hot make-out session would have been an excellent reminder for both of them, but then what?

He hadn’t had an answer then, and still didn’t have one now. “I have you covered,” he said, applying the antiseptic wipe to the blister.

“That stings.” She jerked her foot and exhaled on a hiss. “Distract me. Tell me about the politically incorrect albino alligator.”

He rested her heel on his leg, then reached into the kit for scissors. “Legend has it that back in the forties, a vet who was part of one of the many logging crews populating the Glades, became obsessed and curious with the local wildlife. Especially the alligator. In his secret laboratory, he would—”

“And how did this vet create a secret lab in the middle of the Everglades?”

Careful of the open sore, he cut away the torn skin. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“Whatever.” She grinned. “Go on.”

He looked away from her smile before he became lost in it. “Anyway, the vet developed several new species that, to this day, still roam the Glades. If you’re lucky, you might get a glimpse of the elusive coonther.”

“Coonther?”

“Half raccoon, half panther.” He reached for the antibacterial ointment and gauze. “I swear, you ask more questions than any of the kids I’ve told this story to.”