Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (34 page)

After he hung up, he pocketed his phone, then made his way to the dock. At this point, he hoped Ryan and Lola were unsuccessful and wouldn’t find Steven without them. He didn’t want them to capture the man. Instead, he wanted Steven shooting at them and giving them a reason to shoot back. Killing a man in the line of duty, he could justify. But holding him hostage to await an unlawful execution was murder.

“Don’t go too close to the water. Night is when the gators do their best huntin’.”

John turned, just as Barney came down the back steps leading to the dock. “Vlad already warned me about albino alligators.”

Barney let out a bark of laughter. “That boy is funny. Notice how he looks like Ivan Drago from
Rocky IV
?”

He hadn’t, but now that Barney had mentioned it, there was a striking resemblance.

“Yeah, Vlad cracks me up with the way he talks. I’ll tell you what, though. I think that boy is smart as an axe. You’re taking him with you in the morning, right?”

What was with these guys and their screwed up idioms? “That’s the plan.”

“You’ll leave Harry behind.”

“Sounds like an order, not a question.”

Barney stepped closer. “One afternoon with the kid and I can’t help feelin’ a little protective. He ain’t cut out for what y’all are planning.”

He stared at the way the light from the lamppost reflected off the black water. “What do you think we’re planning?”

Barney drew out a cigar from his t-shirt pocket. “I served two tours in ’Nam, but ended up going home after I lost my eye midway through the second one. While I was there, I couldn’t tell you how many times I fired my rifle. If my unit was winding its way through the jungle in column formation and I was at the front, yeah, buddy, I was shootin’. If I was at the tail end, I couldn’t see the men in my unit and worried about putting a bullet in them. There were times I was disoriented and confused, and didn’t know if one of my own was in front or behind me, or if it was Charlie.”

John had absolute respect for any man who’d served their country, but had no idea where Barney was heading with this. “Are you trying to tell me something or just shooting the shit?”

“No pun intended, right?” he asked with a grin. “I gotta point. Just not sure if you’ll like it. See, before Ryan headed into the Glades with your pretty agent, he filled me in on what happened to your boss and his girl. Harry and Vlad wouldn’t tell me what they did in Lauderdale, but I overheard them talkin’. Then y’all bring back a busted door from the rental house. Don’t take a genius to figure things out.”

“Barney, I’m tired,” he said. “Say what’s on your mind, or I’m heading in to sleep.”

“Good luck with that. Vlad’s snoring up a storm.” Barney rolled the unlit cigar between the fingers on his right hand, drawing attention to his missing pinky. “Nothin’ on my mind, but it’s obvious there’s plenty weighing on yours.” He stuffed the cigar back in his pocket. “Like I said, I couldn’t tell you how many times I fired my rifle. In all honesty, I don’t know how many men I killed, or if I tagged any at all. The not knowing helps me sleep at night. Ever killed a man, John?”

“One,” he said, his stomach and chest suddenly tightening with the same fear that had run through him when he’d thought Celeste was dead. “Before he tried to kill my wife.”

Barney nodded. “Now that’s a reason if I ever heard one. Except I hate my ex-wife,” he said on a chuckle. When his smile fell, he took another step closer. “Don’t do what I think you’re gonna. It ain’t right and makes you no better than the man you’re after. If you don’t want to listen to me, then don’t. What the hell do I know? But if you do go through with it, keep Ryan out of it. He’s like a son to me and carries enough guilt as it is.”

John held the man’s gaze for a moment, before looking away. “Will you still take us out to meet with Ryan and Lola?”

“That’s the plan.”

John walked a few steps back. “For the record, the man we’re after brutally tortured two of his victims, before setting them on fire.”

Barney shook his head and started for the steps. “Boy, you ain’t listening,” he said, stopping in front of him. “I’m not saying the man don’t deserve to die. All I’m saying is make sure you do it in a way you’ll be able to sleep at night.” He narrowed his eye. “And keep Ryan out of it.” He gave his shoulder a pat, then walked away.

John stood on the dock and thought about what Barney had said, then quickly reached for his cell phone. He unlocked the screen, then opened up the photos. When he came across the one he’d taken yesterday, he made the image larger and stared at his wife and daughter’s beautiful blue eyes. He didn’t want to lose sleep over Steven. He also didn’t want Celeste and Olivia to look into the eyes of a murderer. Because if he went along with Dante’s plan, whether he pulled the trigger or not, that was what he’d be.

A vigilante murderer no better than the man they were hunting.

Chapter 13

Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

Thursday, 9:52 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

STEVEN SPUN IN a circle, the night vision monocular made the world around him a monotonous shade of bright green. He directed the monocular to the ground, only to find his overlapping boot prints. With frustration and rage tearing through him, he ran west searching the lower half of the trees, looking for his notches. He stopped and checked his compass again.

This should be the spot. He didn’t understand. Yes, he’d overshot the trail he’d made while carrying the screamer by more than a mile, maybe two, but he’d rediscovered Ian’s footprints twenty minutes ago. How could he have lost them again?

Those righteous CORE bastards
. They must have picked up his Ian’s trail, as well. Maybe they even brushed the boot and footprints so that they would blend with the dirt.

He placed the monocular to his right eye and scanned the ground again. This time he walked south. With his vision nothing more than a small circle of green, and his sightline limited, it was difficult to take the trees and the ground in without sweeping his head from side to side like a lumbering elephant.

As he moved along, he wondered if Ian had found Cami. If he had, his plans could be screwed, especially if Ian’s agents came to the rescue and carried them away from this shithole. He’d left his only means of transportation back at the rental house, but he could steal a car. Hell, he could catch a bus to Fort Lauderdale and pay his old buddy, Jordan, another visit. Jordan no longer had use for the Impala sitting in the garage.

Too bad the man hadn’t had more money on him. He’d blown through most of the two grand he had taken from Elaine’s safe, spending it on the hunting pack, the monocular, ammo, food and the inflatable kayak, which now appeared to have been an unnecessary purchase. Now he wished he had taken Elaine’s jewelry and the money his kids had stashed in their bedrooms. But his issue hadn’t been with his kids, it was with the bitch who’d spawned them.

Movement in the overgrown ferns had him slowing. He aimed the monocular, then took a quick step back. Tiny glowing slits rose through the plant leaves as a snake coiled, then slowly slid back to the ground. He switched the monocular to his left hand, then keeping it pointed on the snake, he pulled the machete from the sheath attached to his belt. He took a careful step, then swung. The snake’s head rolled. He kicked its squirming body aside, then continued along.

When he’d begun the hunt, he had considered getting lost in the Glades, once he killed the little prick and the screamer. Not anymore. He hated it here. Hated the dense foliage, the soppy wet earth, the mangroves and everything else about this shitty jungle. A part of him wished he could go back to the farmhouse and continue his dad’s dreams of renovating it. His dad had started the process, knocking down walls, gutting the bathroom. But he’d become too sick to continue. The medical bills ate up the money his dad had saved for the reconstruction project, and the house had been heading for foreclosure before he’d received his release papers from Stateville.

He’d tried to stop the bank from taking the house. He spent hours combing through his father’s files hoping to find an investment or stock his dad might have forgotten about. But there had been nothing. If Ian hadn’t sent him to prison, he could have helped his father realize his dreams. Together they could have brought the house back to its former glory and, on the weekends, hunt the deer and wild turkey abundant on the land.

Could haves no longer mattered. Righting every wrong done to him did.

Rustling came from above. He quickly aimed the monocular at the trees. Raccoons, with eyes like demons, stared down on him. Rodents. He moved the monocular downward, then back up and grinned.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, bent in front of the tree and ran his fingers along the notch he’d made hours ago. He turned the monocular toward the ground in front of the tree and found both his and Ian’s prints, along with…
two other sets
.

He clenched his jaw so hard, it popped.

They were dead. He wouldn’t even toy with them like he’d originally planned. A bullet to each one of their heads and he’d leave them for the animals and insects to eat.

Determined to find them, he followed the trail. As he walked, he pictured them camping for the night. Imagined coming upon them, aiming his rifle and shooting. Only after he’d put at least five rounds into each of them would he bother to turn on the flashlight and see who had been stupid enough to disobey him. Likely John and that righteous prick, Dante. Since Dante had held him down while John had slapped the cuffs on him, maybe he
would
make them suffer. He’d never killed a person with the machete. After how easily the tip of the blade had cut Cami’s skin, it would be interesting to discover if the machete handled human bone.

The multiple tracks grew faint, but after a few feet they become more prominent. Several yards farther, and the monocular exposed the reason why.

The marsh. The same goddamn marsh that had cost him hours of time.

While the distance across hadn’t been far—maybe twenty-five or thirty yards—he’d seen an alligator leisurely swimming in the area both times he’d crossed. But, thanks to his error, he knew it rounded out if he went far enough west. He could stay along the shore, take the long way around to the other side, and then pick up his old trail again.

Anticipation swam through his stomach, which was quite empty. He’d burned a lot of calories today and could use an hour or two of sleep. First, he’d walk around the marsh, which he estimated would take him about a mile out of the way. Then he’d eat, rehydrate and rest.

As he hiked along, the grass grew taller and thicker. Thorny brush snagged his pants, pricking his legs. The ground had gone from dirt to sludge in most places, forcing him away from the shore.

The sounds of the night grew annoying. Animals chattered, an owl screeched, frogs croaked, and the insects…damn, they were annoying. If he had to endure more than a night or two out here, he might go insane from the high-pitched whines that sounded like a fax machine on steroids. Although he was a hunter, and normally loved sitting in his tree stand while he waited for the perfect buck to show himself, this type of nature had proved too foreign for his liking. He couldn’t stand—

His boot connected with a fallen limb. He flailed his arms, trying to right himself, but his heavy pack knocked him off balance. He threw his hands forward and braced for the fall, but still landed on his chest. His heart rate high from the sudden shock to his system, he drew in a deep breath and pushed to his knees. The grass behind him swooshed and crackled, followed by a low growl that reminded him of Lurch from
The
Addams Family
.

Fear squeezed his chest as he tightened his grip on the machete. He’d heard that same growl earlier today when he’d encountered the alligator in the sawgrass marsh. He needed to—

The straps of his pack suddenly jerked, dug into his shoulders and threw him onto his back. He dug his boots into the mud, dropped the monocular, then drove the machete into the ground to slow him. Panicking, he twisted his body and tried to shimmy the left strap of the pack off his shoulders. The alligator tugged and pulled, its strong jaw and body hauling him toward the marsh.

He yanked the machete from the ground and drove it toward the gator’s head. The blade connected. The reptile released the pack, then sank its teeth into his left forearm and dragged him through the mud. Fighting the pain and letting adrenaline take over, he scooted his feet toward the center of his body, raised his arm and swung the machete again.

The son of a bitch didn’t release its hold on him, but stopped moving backward. He took advantage and drove the blade into its skull, again and again, until he was panting, sweating and the gator had stilled.

A wave of dizziness took hold of his head as he grabbed the gator’s jaw and jerked it back. He pulled his arm free, then the machete. His entire body shook as he felt around the ground for the monocular, then he gave up, slipped the other strap of his pack from his shoulder and searched for the flashlight. The Glades were so damned black, the light would give his location away, but he’d take the risk. He needed to find the monocular and assess the damage.

He turned on the flashlight, immediately located the monocular, then swept the beam onto the dead alligator, which looked to have been a twelve-footer.

Killing the flashlight, he placed the monocular to his eye, then inspected his arm. Two deep gashes, three inches apart, ran from below his elbow to above his wrist. The jagged lacerations were about an inch deep and would require medical treatment.