Killing Game - Chapter Five

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Cat's Paw
​Chapter Five

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​Brannon only half listened to Preston’s list of canoeing dos and don’ts. He’d been in and around watercraft since he was a baby. In fact, his mom had gone into labor on a boat.

​Susan, the secretary, smiled over at him and he made sure to return it. The other girl, Patti, was glowering at nothing. The distance she’d put between her and the guy named James promised trouble. ​

“Any of you been in a swamp before?” Preston asked.

Brannon zeroed back in on the conversation and raised his hand. He noted that Susan did as well, but no one else.

“Okay, then, take your gear down to the dock and we’ll get you loaded,” the assistant ordered. “Stay alert and you’ll stay healthy. Zone out and you could get hurt.”

There were mumbles in the group and they set off as ordered, except for the younger couple.

“You lied to me,” Patti hissed to her companion.

“No, I didn’t. I said we’d be camping in the swamp,” James replied.

“But for six days? Are you crazy? No way I want to do this!”

“Come on. Don’t be a wuss. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

Brannon shook his head as he headed toward his car. When someone said “it’ll be fun, you’ll see,” it was always time to walk away.

His buddy Cort had used that line to get them out into the Gulf one summer day. A storm that seemingly came out of nowhere had pushed their kayaks miles away from shore, and it’d taken another twelve hours before the Coast Guard found them. They’d been sunburned, dehydrated, and as scared as two eleven-year-olds could be.

But that half a day spent in watery hell had revealed a toughness Brannon didn’t know he had, and that few possessed. He’d kept Cort from drowning, kept him from giving up. That “I refuse to die” mantra had gotten Brannon through Ranger School. Cort had become an inner-city high school teacher, which required a different kind of raw courage and discipline. They remained friends to this day. In fact, his eldest son was named after Brannon. But Cort had never set foot in the Gulf again.
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While the others gathered their gear and got to know each other, Brannon walked to his rental car, surreptitiously taking photographs of each vehicle’s license plate as he walked by them. He would forward them to Veritas, and then it was just a matter of waiting. Sooner or later, his contact would reveal himself—or herself—and it would be time to take this game to the next level.

* * * 
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​“Is everyone for real?” Cait asked as she scanned the roster. Preston gave her a confused look, so she rephrased her question. “Does everyone have the skill set they claimed they had, especially when it comes to being in a canoe?”

He gave a half nod. “Keith, the photographer, and James are fine. Susan is pretty good, and the girl? I don’t know. I can’t get within three feet of her without getting some lip in return.”

“Not a willing participant?”

He shook his head. “I think this is her boyfriend’s idea. And she smells like weed. Or at least her clothes do.”

Cait sighed. “Great. How about the author guy?”

“Bill doesn’t have a clue which end of a boat is up. What about Hardegree?” he asked. 

“He’ll be fine. I just can’t figure out why he’s on the tour.”

“Picking up chicks?” Preston suggested.

“I’d think a bar would be a better hunting ground, but who knows?”

“Any word from Kia?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s pray it goes well,” the man replied, then walked away toward the group. 

“Hardegree?” she called out. He turned toward her and for a moment, she swore she saw him in desert camo, an M4 rifle in hand. Cait blinked her eyes to clear the vision. “Help me load our canoe?”

“Sure.”

The packing went faster than Cait had anticipated. He handed down the backpacks and other supplies as she pointed to each one, never second-guessing her placement inside the canoe. 

“Why are we carrying so much of the gear?” he asked, sounding only curious, not annoyed.

“The first couple of days we’ll have some of the others’ gear just in case someone decides they should flip their canoe. Mike warns them about ensuring their stuff is waterproof, but some don’t listen. Once I know they’ve got a handle on things, everyone will have their own gear in their own canoe.”

“Makes sense.” 

Cait checked out the other canoes and found them ready to go. “Load up, we’re outta here,” she called out. She hesitated. “You’ve been around boats, right?” Brannon nodded. “You up for steering, so I can focus on the group?”

“Sure.” He nodded again, taking his place in the stern. “I was raised in Florida. Spent almost every waking hour on the water.”

“That explains it.” But it doesn’t explain why you’re here, mister. 
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It didn’t matter. After six days she’d never see this guy again. As long as she could keep her personal demons in check, this trip would just be a quick detour.

* * * 
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​The first hour or so was filled with the nearly silent rhythm of oars cutting through the water, with the occasional motorized boat passing them, leaving eddies in its wake. As Brannon and Cait’s canoe led the others single-file along the broad canal that led into the swamp, she set a slow pace, apparently wanting to break in the newbies as easily as possible. 

The water acted as a dark mirror, reflecting the trees and the brilliant blue sky above, dotted with a few airy clouds. The farther they went, hardwoods gradually gave way to cypress trees, their broad bases narrowing to tall trunks as they reached high above the canal. Cypress knobs clustered around the base of those trees, like wooden stalagmites. Birds were in motion, sometimes quickly, sometimes in a leisurely glide over the water. Brannon had already spotted a pair of ibis, an anhinga, and what might have been a sandhill crane.

He savored the silence, and he found himself relaxing more than was prudent. The same could not be said about the woman sharing his canoe. Cait Landry’s tension bled through every move. Why had she agreed to take Montgomery’s place? Why hadn’t the assistant taken the lead? 

Knowing the answers would come eventually, he turned his attention to a pair of Florida cooters resting on a log as they paddled by. One of the turtles raised its head to study them. He caught a quick glimpse of an alligator tail sliding into the underbrush. 

“Did you see it?” Cait called out.

“Yeah. Smaller one. Probably a couple years old,” he replied. Growing up in the Sunshine State had taught him a lot about gators, especially when they ended up in his family’s swimming pool. 

As the afternoon passed and the day grew warmer, he kept working the oar, switching sides effortlessly when Cait signaled a change. There were quiet conversations and the occasional faint click of a camera shutter. No doubt Keith, who was right behind them, sharing a canoe with Susan. Behind them was the younger couple, then Bill and Preston bringing up the rear. 

His attention returned to Cait as they paddled along the canal. She didn’t chatter, but kept focused on the water, constantly assessing the situation around them. Definitely military, and most likely someone who had seen action.

As if she’d known he was thinking about her, she ceased paddling and turned around.

“Let’s wait here a moment, give the others a chance to rest for a bit. I’ve been pushing them pretty hard.”

“If anything, you’ve been easy on them,” he said, placing his oar inside the boat. Since they had some time, he fetched his refillable water bottle and took a long swig, clearing the dryness in his throat. 

“Not all of them are water babies from Florida,” she replied.

He chuckled. “Where are you from?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere,” she said. 

“You were in the military?” 

Her brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

He pointed at her bloused pants. 

Cait glanced down at them as if it had never occurred to her that she did it differently than anyone else. “My mom was Navy, my dad is active-duty Army.”

Which doesn’t tell me what branch you were in. 

Because he doubted she’d blouse her pants just because of her parents. “Married?”

Cait frowned. “Pretty personal with the questions, Hardegree.”

“Brannon. Since we’re about to spend a week together in the middle of God knows where, I figured I should get to know you better.”

“If that’s a come-on—”

“It’s not. It’s just being polite, like my mother taught me.” She relaxed a notch. “So, married or not?” he pressed.

“Divorced. You?”

It was time to pony up some info, or she’d close down. “I was engaged once, but she called it off. She didn’t like what I did for a living.” That gained him a puzzled look, as if she didn’t believe him. She appeared about to follow up on that, then closed her mouth as the other canoes slowly drew closer.

“Are we there yet?” James joked, as he and his girlfriend floated up to join them.

Patti groaned. “No kidding.” 

“Not even close,” Cait replied. 

The other two canoes circled around them. 

“We’re about half an hour out from the toilet so rehydrate yourselves, but don’t overdo it,” Cait warned. “While we’re resting, Preston, can you give them a bit of history about the swamp?”

The man perked up. “Sure.” Then he launched into a well-rehearsed account of how the canals had been carved into the wilderness, the alligators decimated for their hides, and how the swamp had finally become a national wildlife refuge.

“It’s really big, right?” Susan asked.

“Hundreds of thousands of acres,” Preston responded, “a lot of which isn’t accessible unless you’re in a canoe or willing to hike across some of the islands. Me? I stick with the regular routes. You get hurt out there and no one’s around, you’re in deep trouble.”

“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. 
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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. 

​​​Killing Game
​Veritas Book 2
(c) 2016 Jana G. Oliver
 All Rights Reserved.

Available on Amazon