Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (22 page)

“Enough,” John shouted, his patience wearing thin. “Let’s worry about how we didn’t follow protocol when it matters.” He moved toward the door. Screw protocol. He needed his father-in-law home. “I’m heading to Wilmington.”

“Wait,” Dante called, as John walked into his office to grab his car keys. “About what Owen said…I’m doing what I think is best for not only Ian, but for the agency.”

He’d never had an issue with Dante, and didn’t have one with him now. As for Owen, John agreed to every one of his points, as well. But they’d all been running on little sleep. Between worry and exhaustion, he’d figured tempers would eventually flare. And if anyone stopped him from finding Steven, they’d discover he had a mother of a temper.

He scooped up his car keys. “And like Owen said, we all agreed to let Lola and Harrison go. But Owen’s also right. We’re screwed when it comes to police procedural.” He bypassed Dante and met Hudson in the hallway. “Are you coming with me?”

“If Steven is in residence, you might need backup.”

Since Ian had ordered him to slap the cuffs on Steven, and the man had just spent the past six years in prison, there wasn’t a chance in hell this would be a happy reunion. But as he and Hudson took the stairs to the parking garage, he suspected there would be no reunion. Steven
had
to be the hunter. Everything pointed in his direction. And once John had confirmation, the next direction he would take was south.

Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

Thursday, 1:02 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

“I’m so thirsty,” Cami said, tripping over a fallen tree. She fell before Ian had the chance to reach for her and landed on her hands and knees. “Damn it.” She leaned back on her slippered heels and examined her broken pinky.

Ian looked around the dense, wet thicket. “What if I use one of these thin vines to tie your pinky to your ring finger?”

“God, no. Just blowing on it hurts.” She stood and drew in deep breaths. “You know what else I hate about this place? It’s made me realize how out of shape I am.”

After he helped her to her feet, they started walking again. “What are you talking about?” he asked, eyeing her curves. Her filthy camisole accentuated the cleavage of her full breasts, along with her tiny waist. Even covered in dirt and mud, Cami was still one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen. “You’re on the treadmill all the time.”

“No amount of walking or running on gym equipment could prepare anyone for this nonsense,” she said, shoving leaves from saplings aside and kicking at large overgrown ferns. “I wish we could rest, just for a few minutes. I’d give anything to close my eyes.”

“I know, but we can’t take the risk. We’ve put a lot of distance between us and the sawgrass marsh. I don’t want to lose what we’ve gained.” He looked to his feet, which were coated with dirt and blood, and wished they
could
stop for a while. “Actually, I think we should pick up our speed again.”

When her torn robe snagged against a branch, she plucked it free and retied the sash at her waist. “Let’s just wait for a bit. I’m still trying to catch my breath from our last sprint.”

Up ahead he noticed the sunlight spilling onto a clearing of some sort. “Okay,” he said, pointing to the open area and hoping it wasn’t another marsh. They could use a break from the dense wet woodland, and needed the opportunity to run faster and farther. “When we reach that spot, though, we start running again.”

She groaned her disapproval, but didn’t disagree. “Have you been trying to come up with who this guy is?” she asked. “You were a profiler for the FBI. Can you…profile him?”

He’d been trying for hours. “He’s clearly psychopathic.”

“Meaning?”

“He disregards laws and social standards, as well as the rights of others. He feels no remorse or guilt, and has displayed violent tendencies.”

“I could have told you that,” she said, then swore and quickly jerked her arm from a tree wrapped in a thorny vine. “Damn, that hurt.” She rubbed her arm, where blood droplets darkened the sleeve of her robe, then looked to the ground. “Oh, no. Look.”

He followed her gaze. Amid the decaying leaves and dirt were pointy thorns varying from three-quarters to one inch long. Cami might have on slippers, but those thorns would easily impale the thin material, just as they would his bare feet. “Let’s go this way and try to avoid them.” After they backtracked slightly, then walked west, they found a patch of thorn-free ground. “Since you could have defined a psychopath,” he said, picking back up on their conversation, “why don’t you finish profiling the bastard for me?”

“I’m sorry if I was underwhelmed, but you have to admit that you stated the obvious. A sane person wouldn’t hunt a human being. He clearly feels no guilt over what he’s putting us through. And as for violent tendencies?” She held up her injured hand. “I think he’s covered that, too.”

Smartass. “Then I guess you know it all, don’t you,” he said, not hiding the bitterness in his tone. Did she think he could easily profile the man and give her a definitive description of who he was and why he was hunting them? With more information, he could. At this point, he could, without a doubt, classify the bastard as a revenge killer. Whether he’d killed others, he couldn’t be sure, but with what he’d planned and how he’d executed that plan, it was clear to him that the man would not stop until the object of his anger was destroyed. And that object of hatred was him.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You know damn well I didn’t say that.”

“Let’s see…you said you were underwhelmed and that I stated the obvious, which gives me the impression that—”

Splinters of wood burst from the tree near Cami’s head. She jumped, then ducked. “What the hell was—” Leaves hanging above her rustled as a branch hit the ground, followed by another.

He crouched and rushed for her. Keeping their bodies low to the ground, he forced her to move. “Go,” he ordered, hoping to God the next shot didn’t hit its mark.

“Were those bullets?” she asked, her voice laced with panic. “I didn’t hear anything.”

More tree bark splintered above them. Birds he hadn’t realized were around them began squawking. The clearing they’d been heading toward would have them sitting in a fish bowl, leaving them without cover. He led Cami to the right, then shifted to the left when another bullet knocked leaves off a tree, sending them fluttering to the ground.

“We need to hide,” she said, breathless.

Where? Without knowing where the bastard had fired from, or at what distance, he had no idea in which direction to go except forward. “No place to hide,” he panted. “Keep running.”

A bullet buzzed past, moving the air next to him. Terror ripped through his body, giving him a boost of adrenaline. His feet grew numb to the pain as they hurried through the thicket. In the distance, he saw another small canal leading into more mangroves. He looked to the left, searching for a way to evade the predator, then to the right.

“We can hide there,” she said, pointing to a large tree with Spanish moss hanging off the branches in thick layers. The tree was at least thirty yards away on the other side of the canal. From this distance he couldn’t be sure if there’d be enough moss to cover them both. Worse case, he’d hide Cami and lead the bastard away from her. Without having to worry for her safety, he might find an opportunity to unarm the man. He might even—

Another bullet whizzed past. Cami suddenly slumped against him, and quickly covered her mouth. She groaned, and gripped her right arm with her free hand where blood oozed from the tear in her robe. Son of a bitch. The bastard had shot his woman. Spurred by fear and hatred, he half-carried, half-dragged Cami toward the water, then rushed them to the opposite shore. He looked over his shoulder, didn’t see the man, but noticed large bushy weeds and smaller mangroves intertwined along the edge of the canal, giving them natural cover. To avoid leaving tracks, he sloshed them through the calf-deep water. After about ten or so yards, he hoisted Cami onto shore, making sure she stepped on the huge ferns growing along the edge.

“Stay with me,” he said. “Try to stay on anything green and avoid the mud and dirt.”

She uncovered her mouth and arm, and grabbed onto his shoulder. Her hand, slick with blood, slid along his bare skin. Hatred, primal and unlike nothing he’d ever experienced, rushed through him. He wanted to kill. He wanted to drain the life from the bastard’s body. Make him bleed. Make him suffer.

“I need to stop,” she panted on a quiet sob.

The tree blanketed with Spanish moss loomed ahead. “Almost there. You can do this.”

Her soft cries added to his hatred. Cami shouldn’t be crying, she should be laughing and smiling. Enjoying her vacation, enjoying her time with him. She should hate him for what was happening to them. In the end, she very well might. But she needed to be alive to hate, and he’d rather that than the alternative.

When they finally reached the tree, he realized the side they couldn’t see had a dense layering of the moss that brushed the ground. Next to it were several bushy plants that came to chest level and could easily help hide them. Unsure if an animal used the plants as a nest, he went first, knocking the leaves and flimsy branches, hoping to scare what might live there. When nothing moved, he took Cami’s hand, led her into the bush, then pushed her to the ground. He quickly moved some of the Spanish moss, blanketing the plants and them, then joined her on the ground. The fit was tight, and forced them deep into the bush, where he held her and shielded her with his body.

She pressed her head against his chest. He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. “Stay still,” he whispered.

Seconds passed. The bushes and moss grew suffocating. Sweat trickled down his spine, while Cami’s warm body and hot breath made his skin slick wherever she touched him. His fingers were coated in her blood and he wished he had the chance to look at her wound and see how badly she’d been shot.

His toes began to itch. He shifted his gaze to where his feet pushed into the soft ground.
Fuck me.

Dozens of tiny ants moved over and around his toes. Knowing Cami hated bugs, he imagined her leaping from the bush in hysterics and giving away their location. He shifted his mouth against her ear. “There are ants on the ground. Don’t look at them or move. We’ll get out of this soon.”

She nodded against his chest, just as a splash came from the water. Since the canal was a good twenty-five to thirty yards away, either the bastard thought he’d lost them or, in his arrogance, he didn’t care how much noise he made. But Ian had the element of surprise. Without moving his head, he shifted his eyes to a small opening between the bush and the moss and watched the ground. Maybe when the bastard neared their hiding spot, he could attack and unarm him. At fifty-nine, he was in good shape, but the bastard was bigger and stronger, and it had been years since Ian had been involved in a physical altercation. Plus, he had Cami to consider. The shots fired hadn’t been aimed at him, but her. Why the bastard chose to go after Cami, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t allow her to be left vulnerable if something were to happen to him.

Indecisive over how he should proceed, he stayed still and kept his breathing shallow. The ants continued to tickle his feet in a way that bordered on torture, while his heart raced and sweat cooled his skin.

Sticks cracked. Leaves rustled.

Cami dug her nails into his bicep. In a matter of seconds he could be right on top of them.

Ian drew in a deep breath when the bastard stomped near the tree. Keeping his eyes locked on the sliver of the ground he could see, he waited. On a slow exhale, he tried to drown out the other sounds in the forest and focused on only one.

The thump of the hunter’s boots neared the tree, then stopped. Cami burrowed her nose against his chest and he prayed to God she’d remain silent, especially when the footfalls shifted to the opposite side of the tree, near the bushes where they hid.

A number of images rushed through his mind. Him jumping from the bush and knocking the bastard onto his ass. Ian countered that image, and added the bastard ready and waiting, then plunging a fifteen-inch hunting knife into the center of his chest. What the man would do to Cami afterward…he refused to consider. As much as he hated cowering in the bushes, he had to keep Cami safe. He had to—

She tensed. He did, too. It sounded as if the man was urinating against the tree. Would he do that? Did he know they were there and was taunting with them?

Cami nudged him slightly, but he didn’t dare acknowledge her or make a move.
If
the bastard knew they were there, he could be draining water instead of urine. But, if he
was
peeing, this would be the opportune time to rush him. Only, what if he wasn’t and the hunting knife was ready and waiting for him. Damn it, he didn’t know what to do. Go for it or stay in the bushes, like a scared and cowardly rabbit?

Piss, water…whatever the sound was, it stopped. Heavy footfalls suddenly moved in the opposite direction. Still tense, still unsure, he held Cami tighter and waited.

The ants had crawled up underneath the bottom of his jeans and progressed to his calves. The urge to move was so damned strong, but not worth giving away their hiding spot.

Time passed, how much, he didn’t know, but it had been long enough that his confidence slowly returned. He brushed his lips against Cami’s forehead, then shifted, causing the ants to move farther up his leg. She tightened her hold on his arm and met his gaze, then shook her head and mouthed, “Don’t.”