Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (30 page)

Elaine Weir’s disfigured face pushed into his mind.

And suffer.

Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

Thursday, 4:48 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

Ian stumbled and fell. Dragging in deep breaths, he pressed his head against the cool dirt and prayed the dizziness would subside. When he’d awoken and realized the bastard had taken Cami, he’d quickly scrambled to his feet to search for her. The moment he had stood, he’d fallen right back onto his ass. Blood from the head wound he’d received, courtesy of the butt of Steven’s rifle, had coated the right side of his forehead and had dried along his eye and cheek. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but based on where the sun now hung in the sky, it had to have been hours.

He forced his aching limbs to move, then pushed himself to his feet. He swayed as another wave of dizziness assaulted him. Chances were, he had a concussion. Based on the constant cramping throughout his body, he was also dehydrated. But he couldn’t stop moving until he found Cami. Only then would he allow his body the break it needed.

With his head somewhat clear, he took a few steps, then stopped. Damn it, where did Steven’s boot prints go? Keeping his gaze on the ground, he moved backward, then to the left. Nothing. He moved to the right, stubbed his toe on a tree root. “Son of a—” He bent and ran a finger along the bark where it had been cut, then looked at the dirt and found a partial boot print. “Steven,” he murmured. Why would he mark the tree? To find his way back to the road, or back to where the bastard had left him lying half in the dirt?

He crawled along the dirt, pursuing the prints like a hound dog. When he came across a large stick, he grabbed it, then raised himself from the ground. Lightheaded, he used the stick to steady himself and continued following the prints, periodically checking his surroundings. If Steven had planned to return this way, he needed to be ready. He was in no shape to fight the man. Even if he had a gun on him, he couldn’t be sure his aim would be steady enough to put a bullet in the bastard’s head. Right now, his main objective and only plan was to find Cami. After that?

He swore and rubbed his left side where a rash had begun to develop. God, he was starting to hate the Everglades. Once he had Cami out of here, he’d definitely take her on a vacation of her choice. The cost and destination wouldn’t matter. Right now, his money meant nothing to him. His personal net worth was over two hundred and fifty million dollars, and that didn’t include the value of CORE. Thanks to his great-grandfather, a shrewd businessman, who’d made his wealth in the steel industry during the early 1900s, and his grandfather and father’s smart business choices, he had more money than he knew what to do with, except that money meant nothing here. He couldn’t buy his way out of the Glades. And he most definitely couldn’t bribe Steven Weir into letting him and Cami go.

Steven fucking Weir.

Why in the hell hadn’t he been notified of his release? When he returned to Illinois, he would pay a personal visit to Dennis Keplinger, the warden of Stateville Correctional Center. They’d had an agreement, one that had been solidified with a chunk of change large enough to pay for Keplinger’s son’s private school tuition. Keplinger was to call him if Steven had a parole hearing, or if plans had been made for his release. If Ian had known Steven was free, he could have been prepared. He could have prevented any of this from happening. He would have warned his agents, Cami and his daughter. He would have increased security and put a tail on Steven.

But would he have really done all that?

The moment he’d had Steven sentenced, he’d washed his hands of the man. Other than paying off the warden, he hadn’t give Steven a thought. Not once in six years had he wondered about the man and how he was surviving his prison sentence. He’d been too busy building his business and watching it shine to care. Deep down, he still didn’t care. He couldn’t give a shit what the man had endured while incarcerated. Whatever had happened to him wouldn’t have been bad enough. After Steven had been arrested, Ian had learned the truth behind his discharge from the Marines. As he’d suspected, Steven had killed women and children, but Ian hadn’t realized how many or how brutally. If he’d known, he never would have hired him. Yes, he’d wanted a hunter, a skilled marksman who took risks and showed no fear. But unsanctioned kills that involved innocents hadn’t been something he looked for on a resume.

He slowed when he discovered another marked tree. Spurred on by hope, he forced his aching feet to move faster, made his strides longer. After a long while, the woodlands opened up to a marsh. Tall reeds, sawgrass and cattails shot up from the edge. He neared the muddy shore, then dipped the stick into the water. It was only a few inches deep. Hopefully it would stay that way as he crossed it. Before he stepped in, he scanned the area. To the right, about a half a football field away, he noticed the snout of an alligator protruding from the water. He looked across the marsh and guessed the distance to be about twenty-five or thirty yards.

Although he didn’t want to lose the cover of the trees, he had no choice but to cross. Going around would take too long, and the last print he’d found led in this direction. Plus there was the mark on the tree. And, now that he was out in the open, he realized the sun had dipped lower in the sky than he’d originally thought. Which meant he had to hurry before he lost daylight.

He stepped into the marsh and used the stick to maintain his equilibrium. Yesterday, they’d arrived around five-thirty, just as the sun had set. By the time they’d picked up the rental, then driven to Everglade City, ninety minutes had passed. When they’d reached the vacation house, twilight had been on the verge of segueing into total darkness. God, had it only been yesterday when they’d arrived? It seemed as if they’d been here for days, not hours and—

The stick plunged deep, throwing him off balance. He flapped his arm to keep steady and clung to the stick, but another wave of vertigo hit him hard. The sounds of the marsh, frogs, insects, birds…became tinny and muffled. His vision tunneled. He fell face forward into the water, then jerked up, dragging in deep breaths. Although not fully rejuvenated, the cool water had given him the kick he’d needed. He rose up, pulled the stick free, then moved forward.

Another one of those damned cottonmouths swam near the shore. He’d eat it if he had the luxury of a fire. His stomach growled. Hell, he’d eat just about anything right now. He’d read somewhere that termites, grubs and crickets were packed with protein. To think, two nights ago he and Cami had dined on lobster and steak. Now he was considering eating bugs.

The shore grew closer with each step he took. The cottonmouth had thankfully moved in another direction, but that didn’t mean another wasn’t hiding in the reeds and cattails. He kept his attention on the grasses, looking for anything that could bite him, then stumbled back when a small turtle surprised him and swam past.

Turtle soup was supposed to be good, too.

God, he must be delirious. Every animal he looked at had now become a menu item.

He climbed out of the water and quickly searched for either Steven’s boot print or another mark on a tree, only to realize a half-dozen leeches covered his feet. “Damn it,” he mumbled, then plucked one off his right foot. He considered the slimy worm-like creature, then tossed it over his shoulder. He was hungry, but not starving enough to eat a leech.

Once he’d checked his ankles and freed himself of all the blood-suckers, he searched for Steven’s trail. When he didn’t find anything along the shore, he traveled several feet to the right, but couldn’t pass through unless he went back into the water or into another stretch of wet woodlands. Since there wasn’t any sign that Steven had been here, he went left. He didn’t know how long or how far he’d walked, but the treetops had begun to touch the bottom of the sun.

His head throbbed where he’d been hit with the rifle. Maybe the concussion, if he had one, had addled his mind. Maybe he’d overlooked the prints. Maybe he—

“Yes,” he hissed when he spotted two sets of boot prints. No. That couldn’t be right. He knelt and studied them. Both sets were the same pattern. He looked over his shoulder across the marsh and tried to remember where he’d entered. Based on the setting sun, he’d obviously come in from the east, but how far east? He looked back to the prints, noticed that they both went in and out of the water, then he started laughing.

“What a fool,” he said, then laughed so hard it made his head hurt. Some hunter Steven had turned out to be. If there were two sets of prints here, there should have been two sets across the marsh. The man had lost his own markings. Now Steven would be forced to cross more territory to pick up his own trail. His confidence returning, he stood, and followed the tracks Steven had made. He hoped to God he was right, and that the bastard became so damned disoriented he would be forced to stop for the night. But he wouldn’t count on it. Steven was a natural born predator. Since he’d revealed his identity to him, Steven would have to do everything possible to make sure he died in the Everglades.

But Ian had no intention of dying anytime soon. There was a strong chance time was on his side. Although every part of him ached and his head was killing him, he would push forward.

His feet crunched over dead leaves. As he moved deeper into the woods, it grew darker. The crickets’ songs became louder. Birds fluttered above and called out to one another. He kept his gaze locked to the ground, and anxious to see where Steven’s tracks would lead, he walked faster.

“Ian?” Cami sobbed.

Heart racing, he looked up. “That son of a bitch.” He dropped the stick and ran to the tree the bastard had strung Cami to, then quickly gripped her around the waist, careful of the slice along her stomach.

“My arms… Hurts so bad,” she said, panting hard.

He used what little strength he had left in his reserve to hold her up and take the pressure off her shoulders and arms. “Listen to me. I can only hold you for a few seconds. I’m going to have to climb up and loosen the knots.”

She nodded, then sucked in a breath when he released her.

He wanted to check her injuries, but needed her down from the tree in case Steven had given up and turned back. After he untied the rope around her legs, he looked to the tree. The branch she was bound to was taller than him by five or six inches. “I might bump into you and cause more strain on your arms. Try to hang on as tight as you can.”

It took him several jumps before he grasped the thick limb. After gaining a firm hold, he swung his legs against the tree trunk, then used his bare feet to hoist himself high enough so he could wrap his arm around the branch. Breathing hard and digging deep, he forced his arms to move across. Once he had enough clearance, he strained his stomach muscles and hauled one foot over, then twisted his body until he lay like a bear resting in a tree. The bark scraped his chest and caused the rash to flare up and itch. Sweat stung the gash along his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Worried he’d lose his balance and fall, he ignored the itching and sweat and reached for the first knot. He worked quickly and just before he completely untied it, he warned Cami to keep her hold strong. “I’m almost done with the other one,” he reassured her, as he loosened the knot. “Got it.”

She landed on her feet, then fell to the ground and curled in a ball. Her cries broke his heart, but right now he needed to make sure he didn’t break his neck. While keeping his arms wrapped around the limb, he carefully slid his leg over until both of his feet hung inches from the ground. Then he let go.

As soon as his wounded soles hit the dirt, he rushed to her side. He didn’t know where to start first. Her forearm, calf, thigh, stomach…blood had turned sections of her clothes, and even the top part of her slippers, a dark brown. Fortunately, it didn’t look like she’d lost too much blood. He raised her forearm and winced at the tiny gnat-like bugs feasting on the slice along her skin.

“Come here, baby,” he said, lifting her from the ground and cradling her to his chest.

She hugged him tight, then leaned back and smacked him in the arm. “You son of a bitch.”

“What the hell? What did I do?”

“This is all your fault.” She winced and pushed to her knees, then gripped her thigh, which had begun to bleed. “Look at me. Look at what he’s done to me because you destroyed his life and made him crazy.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “He was crazy long before that. What’s crazy is the bullshit coming out of your mouth. Do you think I wanted this to happen?”

“Of course not. But because of what you did to him, he…he…” Tears streamed down her face, streaking the blood and dirt along her cheeks. “He murdered his ex-wife and her fiancé.”

Rage invigorated him. How dare she blame him for the actions of a madman bent on vengeance? “Fuck that, and fuck you for even going there.” He stood, then offered her his hand. “We need to get away from here.”

She glared at his hand, then ignoring it, pushed herself off the ground. “Fuck me, huh? Not a chance. When this is over, consider us over, too.”

“Fine,” he shouted, and started walking. “After listening to your bitching all damned day long, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life having to deal with you.”

She limped next to him and rubbed her shoulders, then sucked in breath when her fingers touched her upper arm where the bullet had grazed her. “Yeah, like you’re such a prize catch.”

Although guilt ate at him, he couldn’t help being angry that she would turn what had happened to them into a personal attack against
him
. “There are plenty of women who would love the chance to be with me,” he said, unable to come up with the name of one. But, damn it, she had no right to act as if this was his fault. Yes, he’d had Steven arrested and he stood by his call. The man had been in the wrong. Franklin Dixon was a murderer who had deserved the death penalty, but that hadn’t been for Steven or him to decide. That sentencing should have come from a judge. Chances were, due to the number of men Dixon had killed, several of whom had been government employees, Dixon would have likely been tried in a federal court and given the death penalty. Thanks to Steven’s brutality, they’d never know.