Shadow of Death, page 24
“I’m more worried about Aidan than me. They prefer female sacrifices.”
He nodded.
Then he stood suddenly, striding to her. He smiled, swept her up in a dramatic stance and said, “My dark-haired beauty, we’ve but a night...a night before the day.”
“I think you usually just get one night before the day,” she said, laughing.
“True! But we have this night. Hey, no chocolate or flowers for you! Where’s the ridiculousness of romance in your soul?” he teased.
“I don’t like flowers inside—they die. And I’m particular and don’t like most of the chocolates they put in those romantic bundle things,” she told him.
“Alas, no romance.”
She shook her head. “I’m extremely romantic! All I require is a gentle touch and... Well, not always gentle, you know. Your eyes. Just your eyes. And waking up beside you, feeling your arms around me when I fall to sleep.”
“I take it all back,” he told her. His leaned closer, his lips covering hers, his touch a sweet and truly gentle tease at first, and then something so much more.
“But shower, shower,” she murmured against his lips.
“Oh, yeah.”
Discarding their clothes on the way, they headed into the bath where Hunter played with the spigot while still trying to keep his lips locked with hers. They laughed, broke apart, stepped into the spray, and felt the steam surround them. For a few moments, they held each other close. Amy leaned her head against his chest, just loving the feel of his heartbeat against her cheek and the heat and fall of the water all around them.
Then she broke away. They scrubbed and soaped gently, laughing and teasing before simultaneously deciding it was time to step out. Still laughing, they dried off, then fell back on the clean sheets and encompassing softness of the bed.
She wondered later if he had been worried about the day to come, worried this night would become the day, and the day might lead to a nightmare rather than the rest of their lives.
He was hungry, passionate, urgent. His touch was sensuous and then wild, sweeping her senses to new heights, holding her all the while, as she held him.
They lay together at last, just curled around each other.
She smoothed her fingers through his hair and said softly, “Hunter, it’s going to be all right. Have faith in me.”
“I do. I swear, I do. I just know...no matter how good we are, things can go south.”
“We won’t let them.”
“Deal,” he said softly.
He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. She lay with her head on his chest, her arm around him. They slept, and when she woke, he was already showered and dressed in green and beige, ready to blend in with the elements.
“Aidan is coming for you in twenty,” he told her. “I’m heading out—Ryan and Sean will be with me, and both Mickey and Garza have other teams out in various areas. But we don’t want to spook anyone. We just want to make sure we’re covered if there are any twists and turns getting to wherever those thugs meant to bring their victim yesterday.”
She bound out of bed, knowing she needed to hurry.
“Oh, I brewed you some coffee. It’s still in the pot over there,” he said.
“Thank you! Coffee in the morning is much better than chocolate and flowers, I promise!” she teased.
She headed for the bathroom but he caught her. They exchanged one long kiss and an even longer look. He half smiled and half grimaced and walked out the door.
Amy hurried to get ready, trying to replicate Ryan’s ability at makeup. When she was done, she was all prettied up with flattering colors and rich long lashes. She’d planned her wardrobe well, too. She wore khaki trousers with secret pockets, a knit shirt, and a khaki jacket also with a hidden pocket. She wasn’t going to carry her usual service weapon—it was too large and could too easily be discovered and recognized as a law enforcement weapon. Instead, she slid a G42 Glock—less than four inches—into an inner side pocket of the shoulder bag she’d chosen to bring for the outing.
She wasn’t planning on any bullets flying, but if they did, she didn’t want to be defenseless.
She was ready, dressed, hopefully presentable enough to be enticing to a killer, and prepared with her handgun and a lipstick tube that wasn’t lipstick at all—rather a tube that contained several shots of pepper spray.
Her nail file could double as a knife if necessary.
Her phone rang; Aidan was waiting downstairs in the car.
Amy hurried outside to meet him.
Aidan, too, had dressed for the day. Jeans and a light T-shirt that advertised a local band, a jacket to tie around his waist, and a baseball cap.
“So, am I lecturing to you, or are you lecturing to me?” she asked.
He smiled. “Special Agent Larson, I will play it any way you like.” He hesitated and shrugged. “I’m just grateful they twisted the red tape they needed to twist in order to allow me out in the field. I can’t help but want this to end. I know it’s often a long haul. I know some criminals are never caught—but with our technology today, we are doing a hell of a lot better. I know that once you know who a criminal is, you do everything you can to get your hands on them, but...” He glanced her way. “You do know who this is, right? You two figured it out in Colorado. I’ve been briefed, of course, on those we’re looking for.”
“Of course. We have our three suspects—one of whom is just missing. I think we’re supposed to believe he was kidnapped. Another one we’re definitely supposed to believe was kidnapped. And one who was still in his office in Colorado yesterday morning. But I’m willing to bet that one of our suspects lived here or had family here at some point. They also recruited someone who knew the area, but that’s not a surprise. We’ve had so much upheaval in the world lately, I imagine it’s even easier to cater to people’s fears or hatreds regarding society and laws now more than ever.”
They reached the parking lot quickly. When they were in the airboat, Aidan asked Jimmy to make sure he didn’t come after them.
“Stay with your airboat for three hours. If we don’t return after that, just get the hell out of here, all right? If we’re both seized, neither of us will return, but you can’t panic—it’s part of the plan,” Aidan told him.
“I’ll do what you ask. But it’s a dumb plan if you ask me,” Jimmy said.
Amy smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re not asking you!”
The motor revved. They reached the point on the embankment where they wanted to be. Aidan made a point of helping Amy from the airboat. He held her hand and laughed with her as they walked through the grass and foliage to a point between the water and the road—where it had been determined Aidan would act as the tour guide.
“I know I’ve explained this to you before,” he said, grinning with an exaggerated sigh. “Along the Tamiami Trail, you’ll find the Miccosukee village, and at Big Cypress and in other areas in the state—”
“But the Seminole and the Miccosukee were both Creek, right?”
He let out another of his sighs. “Two different language groups. Okay, whatever remained of all the earlier tribes became absorbed as the people who are now the Seminole Tribe, and the Miccosukee Tribe moved south, fleeing into the Everglades. There are, even among Seminole scholars, different thoughts on the true originations. Some believe the Seminole truly absorbed the remains of the more ancient tribes. Some Seminoles—more often those above Lake Okeechobee—still speak the Creek that came before throughout the centuries, and it’s complex. The Miccosukee language developed from the Lower Creek, and the Seminole developed from the Upper Creek—but they are both Muskogean languages. That’s kind of like the way the German and English languages are related. Like how and .in English is und in German. Or Spanish and Italian and Portuguese. Perfecto! Hitchiti-Mikasuki is spoken by the—you guessed it—Miccosukee of Mikasuki. The Seminole language—sometimes here, more mainly in the north of the state—is Creek, or Muskogee. Yes, yes, yes, many of the tribes in the south before the Trail of Tears were close, separated sometimes by something so small as a body of water.
“Ah, like the Irish and the Scots—so similar and yet not!”
“Not so sure that would go over well with an Irishman or a Scot!”
Amy laughed and made a pretense of circling around Aidan. She thought she had sensed it or seen it—movement in the brush ahead of them.
They were far from the road.
They were far from the river.
They were in a clearing, surrounded by the voluminous trees and brush that could grow so thickly in the hammocks that rose between waterways.
Then they appeared. Three men, rough-looking, with overgrown beards, shaggy hair, jeans, and T-shirts—and black masks that covered the majority of their faces.
“Hey!” one cried.
Aidan looked at Amy. “This is it,” he whispered.
“Do not get shot!” she commanded under her breath.
“Don’t intend to,” Aidan said.
“Aidan! I mean it, please—”
“Amy, have faith in me!”
“I do, Aidan, I do.”
He lifted a hand. “Hey!” he called back. “Why the masks? I mean, heck, we all had ’em on for COVID, but...hey! You boys in trouble? Can I give you directions or anything?”
“Yeah!” the blond one said, producing a gun he aimed at Aidan. “The girl. You can give us the girl. Well, we’re taking her whether you give her to us or not, so...hand her over!”
16
Hunter saw the men come forward. He heard Aidan’s casual shout.
And he saw as the three men came forward and grabbed Amy.
Aidan didn’t try to stop them physically, but he announced that wherever the men were taking her, he was coming, too. That brought about laughter from the kidnappers, but they told him he could do as he pleased—except cause trouble.
“One bit of trouble and I shoot you!” one of the men warned.
“No trouble! I just go where she goes!” Aidan said.
“We’ll see about that, Tonto,” one of them said.
Hunter was ready to leap forward at the blatantly racist remark; Aidan showed remarkable restraint.
“Please,” he said simply.
“Then come along,” another of the men said. “We need to just get away from here, right? No trouble today,” he said to the others.
“So, let’s go,” another of the men said.
Hunter noted they hadn’t taken Amy’s bag away from her. She was still armed. And she looked terrified as she perfectly played the part of a stunned victim.
He guessed he wasn’t doing so perfectly himself.
He felt Ryan’s hand on his arm. “Hunter, you could pick off those idiots in seconds flat, three shots while they were still trying to aim, but that’s not the plan. Amy is good. Aidan is surprisingly good for a forensics guy! We follow. And don’t forget, there are others out there. Now is the time when we’re going to stop this horseman!”
And Ryan was right. Hunter lifted his hand, letting Ryan know he wasn’t going to leap out of the brush and throttle the men who had taken Amy and Aidan.
“We give them another thirty feet. I’ll skirt to the left. You and Sean go right.”
They had already covered the ground here, and Hunter knew where they were going to reach water, low and high, and where a hammock would rise out of the muck. He also knew he’d run into a huge field of sawgrass if he didn’t swing into the side of one of the hammocks.
But he did know where he was going. At one point, to avoid the saw grass, he would be close to the group ahead of him. A buzzing sounded in his ear but he didn’t dare slap at the mosquito threatening to feast on his blood. He waved at the persistent creature; as he did, he saw one of the captors was swearing and swatting at an insect as well.
“I am roasting! I am being baked in this thing!” the man cried out.
He ripped off his mask and wiped at his face.
Hunter had never met Don Blake, but he had seen his picture. The man had never been missing. He hadn’t been taken by the murderous group at the mud pits in the caverns in Colorado.
He was, indeed, part of the group.
But...as a leader?
That question was quickly answered. One of the other men turned, furious. “What the hell? We were told we couldn’t show our faces!” he said.
“Why not? Who the hell cares? These two will be sacrifices tomorrow—who the hell are they going to tell and what would they tell if they could? They don’t know me,” Blake said.
Carey Allen had wasted time worrying about the man, that was certain. He had probably seen to it in some subtle manner that she had ended up in the pit.
The tallest of the men stepped back. “You’re missing the point. We were given orders. We follow what the archangel tells us. I will not miss my chance for being among the chosen because you’re an idiot who can’t take a little heat!”
“Oh, go to hell!” Blake said.
The other man pulled out a gun—and shot Blake point-blank in the chest.
Hunter tensed, afraid that they might turn and do the same to Amy and Aidan.
Amy would never let it go so far. She was prepared, if need be, to produce her own weapon.
He had to believe that; he knew he couldn’t move now. They would be no closer to the truth than they had been.
Amy didn’t reach for a gun. She cried out, throwing herself in Aidan’s arms. He held her as the armed gunman turned to the two of them.
“That’s what happens. Step out of line once, and you die. And when you die, you will go to Hell. We’re trying to save people too stupid to know our time on earth is nothing and the war is coming. Ah, what am I trying to do? You’ll never understand. You’re not the kind of people with the balls to understand anything. Start moving!”
“Wait!” the third man said. He indicated Don Blake’s corpse. “Can’t leave this here.”
“Drag it to the water over there.”
“There were cops out here yesterday, I swear! They found half of Ned’s body, and they’ll be wondering—”
“Weight him down with some rocks. Do it now.”
The masks the men wore were muffling their voices. Hunter strained to determine if he could recognize the sound of either voice.
He could not.
He held still, willing himself not to walk out, shoot both of the so-called chosen men and take Amy and Aidan out of the depths of this place.
He knew Ryan and Sean were not far away.
Watching. Following. And they needed to continue to do so.
The one man dragged the corpse of Don Blake to the water’s edge. He searched for rocks, but there were none. Instead, he gathered broken branches and vines and tried his best to make sure the corpse would sink in the muck.
Then, they started moving again.
Hunter glanced to the water.
He remembered the event that had led to him telling his parents it was all wrong; they’d had to get out of the cult they had joined once they started believing they were the saviors of humanity.
He remembered the body of a friend. A friend who had dared to become a dissident.
Stay the course.
He was enough of a highly experienced agent to fulfill the objective.
He was also deeply involved on the human level with Amy and Aidan.
But the men were moving again, prodding Amy and Aidan ahead of them. They walked, carefully, avoiding marsh, the occasional moccasin in the road and once an alligator.
Then finally, deep back behind a field of shoulder-high saw grass, they came to a cabin. It was truly hidden from any roads, from any waterways used by fishermen or airboat guides. It appeared to be falling apart.
They were nowhere near the Lost City, Hunter knew. And yet this might have been another such area, perhaps used by an enterprising bootlegger once upon a prohibition—and now little more than a derelict shack remained with vines and trees creeping over the walls and shadowing the roof.
They knew where they were going.
He held his distance, watching, waiting.
When he was sure they were inside the cabin, he made his way to it, mindless of the rip and tear of the saw grass on his clothing and hands.
There were no windows. Time had long since rid the place of windowpanes had they ever been part of the structure.
Hunter made his way silently to the wall, knowing he didn’t dare stay long, but anxious to look within.
There were a few chairs in the place around a poor excuse for a table. To one side of the room was a single bedroll, to the other, a set of children’s bunks.
Amy had been ordered to the top bunk.
Aidan was on the bottom.
The man who had wielded the gun and shot his companion in cold blood was on the phone speaking with someone.
Hunter was surprised he’d managed a signal this deep in the Everglades, but a booster in the shack might have provided for better communication.
He rose just by the window and was straining to hear.
“We have not failed you, Archangel!” the man said, his voice filled with respect and maybe even awe. He clearly believed what he was being told about the Apocalypse, sinners, and sacrifice with his whole heart. “Todd and I have not failed you. We have not one but two for you, and you will be pleased. Young as the sacrifice demands, and certainly, together as sinners. They are secure here—we will guard them through the night, giving them nothing but water. Tomorrow is the day! Despite the work of the Devil, we have prevailed. We will bring them to the place of glory tomorrow for the full rise of the sun. No, Archangel! You will lead the great battle for us, and you must stay where you are in comfort and safety until tomorrow!”
The call ended and Hunter hunched down lest one of the men glance out the window.
