Read Online Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) by Chandler Steele - Free Book Online

others stared at them, but Brannon didn’t care. The sound of her laughter was rusty, like it’d been a long time since she’d last succumbed.
    “I knew you were military,” she said, wiping down the knife. “I figured you were regular Army, but then I got thinking you were Special Operations. I’ve been around too many of them not to recognize one when I see one.”
    She’d pegged him pretty close, which was uncanny.
    “Why do you think that?”
    “You’re deadly quiet. It’s like you go invisible. It’s what those guys do best, besides killing, that is.”
    He suspected that description could easily fit her as well. “How did you get to know special ops so well?” he asked.
    “Just do,” she replied. He realized she was shutting down again, and he didn’t want that. It felt important to keep her talking.
    “How long have you been out?”
    “A little over six months. You?”
    “A year and a half. You been doing the VA shrink thing?”
    She nodded as she sheathed the knife. “Yeah. Does it get . . . any better?”
    It was his turn to stare into the distance. “Yes. It takes time though. A lot of time. I’m not there yet.”
    “It’s why I like the swamp,” she said. “It’s quiet out here.”
    “No sudden noises, right? At least not the man-made kind. Out here, things are trying to kill you, which means you feel right at home. Back in the real world? Not so much.”
    Their eyes met again. “That’s it exactly. Because all the real world does is mess with my head.”
    She was up and moving away before he could comment.
    A Marine, one who hadn’t found a way to adjust to civilian life . At least not yet. There was sadness and anger in her eyes. Hopefully that anger hadn’t found a home in one of the anti-government groups, because if she had joined up with them, he’d have to take her on. One thing he knew for sure, Marines never went down without one helluva fight.

Chapter Seven
    One by one, the exhausted campers turned in about an hour after sunset. Even Preston called it a night after yet another warning about the raccoons. Cait sat on the platform, listening to the night sounds and watching the stars come out.
    In the distance, a bull gator bellowed. Another joined in. In contrast, an owl hooted nearby, as the heavy dampness of the swamp blanketed the air. She’d already picked out a few reflective eyes in the water as the gators trolled around the platform. That might keep the raccoons at bay. Still, she and Preston had made sure the food was secured in the rafters, along with the trash.
    Her nerves were still on edge, like fire ants racing up and down her back. She wanted to be anywhere but here, and the urge to jump into one of the canoes and take off was nearly overwhelming. And if she didn’t want to be found, Cait knew how to hide, even from a Ranger. Learning that Hardegree was one of them had helped fuel that desire. Those bastards were deadly—she’d seen them in action. Disabling a car would be child’s play to him.
    The sound of deep, slow breathing came from the tent next to hers. His tent. Hardegree had wished everyone a good night, zipped up the flap, and was asleep in a few minutes. Another sign he’d spent time doing special-ops work: You slept when you had the chance.
    75th Ranger Regiment . The elite of the elite. What were the odds? Too unlikely to be coincidence. The ex-soldier wasn’t the only one who made her skittish; the photographer was closemouthed, not fiddling with his camera gear nearly enough. Susan’s constant prattling had nearly driven her nuts, until Cait realized it was far too targeted for the woman to be an airhead.
    Patti was bitchy, slinging biting comments at her boyfriend anytime he came near, and James looked nervous if you caught him just right. Only Bill was oblivious, writing reams of notes on a legal pad. He, of all of them, seemed true to character.
    Why would someone want Mike off the tour? Why did they think he was a threat? What