Twenty-Two
They followed the two-lane road south, moving farther and farther away from Egansville, through a flat landscape of low-lying farms and wetlands. For the first ten miles, there was only a smattering of houses. The next ten were almost completely uninhabited, just miles of farmland on one side, marshy green swampland on the other.
The narrow, overgrown Black Snake River wound along on the west, slithering through a heavy tangle of leafy plants and deep woods like the serpent it was named for.
Ben hadn’t spent much time in Louisiana, but he knew his way around a jungle. The Philippines had been his last mission, a major clusterf*ck that had gotten one of his teammates killed and landed him and two other SEALs in the hospital. He’d been there for three months, managed to recover from his injuries, but ended up leaving the teams.
The bayou was a different kind of jungle. And still a lot the same. He’d rather not think about that.
Beside him, Claire sat up straighter in her seat and pointed off to the right. “Look, Ben, there’s the turn to Black Snake Lake.”
He slowed, turned down a bumpy dirt road lined with low-hanging trees and spotted another sign. He took a right that led to Uncle Buster’s, a row of tidy-looking cabins right along the water, each with a small boat dock on piers out in front.
Ben slowed to a stop in front of a wooden building with a sign that read Old Fishermen Never Die, They Just Smell That Way, and climbed the porch steps to the rental office.
“Ben Slocum,” he said to a short, bald-headed man with a round face and a big beer belly. “My wife called and made a reservation.”
“Buster Pascal. Got it right here.” He pulled a registration form out from beneath the counter.
“My wife and I are on our honeymoon,” Ben said. “Any chance we could get the cabin at the far end of the row?”
Buster smiled. “Congratulations.” He shoved the form across the counter. “Cabin’s yours.” He winked. “A man needs privacy on his honeymoon.”
“Thanks.” The weather here was good, warmer than it was back home. Ben filled out the form and paid the bill in cash for a two-night stay.
Buster counted the money, smiled and shook his head. “A woman who likes to fish. You’re one lucky SOB, my friend.”
Ben flashed him a man-to-man smile. “Won’t be a lot of fishing on this trip—if you know what I mean.”
Buster rumbled a laugh. “Smart man.”
“I see you have boats if I can manage the time. I may want to rent one for a couple of days.” He’d know more about where he was going after he downloaded the area maps Sol was sending.
“Nice aluminum flat-bottoms. Comes with a pole and gear. Take you up into the bayou. Great fishing there—bream, catfish, crappie. But I wouldn’t go far. Easy to wind up lost in there.”
“Bushytail Bayou?”
The owner shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t bother. You can get there from here, but you’d have to know the way. There’s lots of twists and turns. Real overgrown. You’d get lost for sure.”
“Glad you warned me. I think I’ll go ahead and take that boat, though.” He pulled his wallet back out, paid for the boat and fishing gear. “I get up earlier than my wife. Bound to get in some time to fish.”
Buster grinned. “My wife hates fishin’. Like I said, you’re a lucky SOB.”
Ben got two keys to cabin nine and headed back to the car. The lie about him and Claire being newlyweds had come easier than it should have, since he wasn’t a marrying man. He wished to hell he could spend his made-up honeymoon in bed with her, but that wasn’t going to happen.
He started the engine and drove to the cabin farthest from the office. As Claire had said, the place wasn’t too bad, a small wooden structure on stilts about two feet off the ground with a covered porch out front. It had two full-size beds, a tiny kitchenette and bath.
“Look, there’s a coffeemaker and bag of coffee.” Claire practically swooned. “Coffee in the morning and an amazing view of a beautiful lake. This is heaven.”
“Yeah, it’s a regular five-star. Nothing but the best for my woman.”
Claire looked over at him, and he realized what he’d said. She wasn’t his woman. She didn’t belong to him. She never would. He didn’t say that, though, just brought his duffel and her suitcase in from the car and tossed them up on one of the beds, stashed the weapons bag and ammunition underneath.
He took his laptop out of his duffel and set it up on the tiny kitchen table.
“No internet, remember.”
He turned on the machine. “I’ll be on satellite. I can tether the computer to the sat phone.”
One of her dark eyebrows went up. “High-tech. Very impressive.”
“Glad you approve.” Before he cranked up his email, he phoned Sol, gave him their current location and told him that from now on they’d be communicating via sat phone.
“I’ve pinpointed the target’s location,” Sol said as he studied satellite photos of the area on his computer screen. “A big open space in the middle of the swamp a little north and west of you. Hang on a minute.” Ben could hear him pounding the keyboard. “Satellite shows a cluster of houses...more like cabins.”
“How many?”
“Looks like eight or nine. Hard to tell exactly what they’re being used for.”
“Can you see Black Snake Lake?”
Silence for a moment. “I see it. Looks like it’s maybe three or four miles from the compound.”
“I need to know how the lake connects to the location. I’ve got a boat, little four-stroke outboard. Unless you’ve found a better way in, looks like I’ll be going in by water.”
“I’ll find the best route. Your computer up and running?”
“I’m hooking up the tether as soon as we’re finished. “You come across anything new on the Braggs?”
A brief pause. “I was just getting to that.”
“I don’t like what I’m hearing in your voice.”
“They call themselves the Bayou Patriots. Looks like about thirty members. The father’s dead. Mace Bragg’s the leader. He’s the oldest brother. They’re headquartered in the compound, but only three of the Bragg brothers live there full-time. Troy lives there off and on. The other two, Jesse and Si, live in double-wide trailers in a wide spot farther down the road. Both of them are married. They’ve each got a couple of kids.”
“Odds are brother Troy is in the compound with Hutchins.”
“And Sam.”
“Yeah,” Ben said gruffly.
“Believe it or not, these guys have a webpage, BayouPatriots.com. Most of the members are local, some in Egansville. One of them runs the website, posts articles on survival, how to arm and defend yourself in case of a natural disaster, or if the government tries to take away your liberties.”
“A website. Twenty-first-century swamp rats.”
“You got it. They hold meetings at the compound every week. From the articles on the website, these guys are heavily armed and they mean business. If they have to, they’re ready to fight to the death to defend themselves against anyone they think is against them.”
Ben didn’t have a problem with people who believed in learning how to stay alive in a bad situation, men who could take care of themselves and their families if the need arose. Hell, he was one of them. He knew better than most that in this crazy world, anything could happen.
But taking a child without any legal right, thrusting him into a life that was completely foreign to him, was immoral as well as against the law.
Ben looked over at Claire. From the paleness of her face, he figured she was hearing enough of the conversation to understand what was going on.
“Check out their website,” Sol said, “and watch your email for the intel I’m sending.”
Ben hung up the phone.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Bad enough. “Come here.” When he opened his arms, she went into them and just held on. “It’s going to be all right, angel. I’m trained for this. I know what to do to get Sam out safely.” He’d done dozens of extractions in the SEALs. Except for the shit storm in the Philippines, all of them had been successful.
She looked up at him. “You’re not calling the sheriff, are you? You never planned to call them in the first place.”
“I was waiting to see how things lined up. If the cops go into a situation like this, people are going to get killed. One of them could be Sam. If I go in alone, I can get him out and back to safety before they even know he’s missing.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. He tried not to think how good it felt to have her there.
“I’m scared, Ben. I’m scared for you and Sam.”
He smoothed a hand over her shiny dark hair. “If I believed the cops could get him out without him getting hurt, I’d let them handle it. But I can’t take that chance. I won’t, Claire. Not with Sam’s life.”
She swallowed, started to pull away. Ben caught her face between his hands, bent his head and kissed her. “Trust me, okay?”
She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I do trust you, Ben.”
Wishing he could sweep her up and carry her over to the bed, spend the night making love to her, he turned away and went to work on his computer. If Sol came through with the rest of the information he needed, he would be going in late this afternoon to recon the target. There would be a quarter moon tonight, enough to light his way out of the swamp, assuming he made no wrong turns.
Tomorrow, if luck and the weather stayed on his side, he would be bringing out his son.
* * *
As the afternoon sun moved toward the horizon, Claire watched Ben prepare to leave. He was taking the aluminum boat he had rented, following the map Sol had sent of the area around the lake. There was another map showing the route from the fishing camp across a portion of the lake into Bushytail Bayou and the Patriots’ compound deep in the swamp.
Since they didn’t have a printer, Ben had transposed the map by hand onto a sheet of paper. It showed the main waterway narrowing to a thin channel through a tangle of narrow twists and turns. It showed most of the little tributaries that could lead him in the wrong direction. Most, but not all.
Ben would be marking his way with small pieces of orange neon tape fastened to overhanging trees and vines, the kind hunters used that wouldn’t be completely out of place if they were spotted along the muddy waterways of the bayou.
She walked out to the porch as he fired up the small outboard engine and pulled away from the dock, her chest tight with worry. She hadn’t even considered asking him to take her with him. She would be a detriment, not an asset, to both him and Sam. Besides, he wasn’t bringing Sam out until tomorrow night.
As the time slipped past, Claire went back inside and picked up the book she’d brought with her, sat down and tried to read. When that didn’t work, she set the book aside and began to pace the cabin. Finally, feeling claustrophobic and wishing she had something productive to do, she went back outside and sat on the tiny porch to watch the sunset, a flashy, beautiful display of gold, orange and pink that gave her some idea of why the people who lived out here put up with the heat and humidity of a stifling Louisiana summer.
There was always good to offset the bad.
As darkness descended and the moon came out over the lake, her worry increased. What would the Braggs do if they spotted Ben? Was Duke Hutchins there with Troy? Hutchins had tried to kill Ben at the cockfight. If he got the chance he might try it again.
And what about Sam?
If Sam was there, tomorrow night Ben was going after him. Claire wasn’t sure the boy would go with him. He had left willingly with Troy in the first place. Maybe he would want to stay.
She couldn’t make that scenario work in her head. She didn’t know Troy, but she knew Sam. He was a smart kid, smart enough to realize the kind of life he would have if he stayed in the swamp with Troy. A kid who would figure out fairly quickly the kind of man he’d aligned himself with when he had left the relative safety of the Roberson household.
Sam loved school. He made friends easily and he loved playing sports. Still, there was no way to know for sure what he would do when Ben appeared like a specter from the dead. Exactly what Laura had told Sam his father was—a soldier killed in the war.
Claire glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight and still no sign of Ben. Rubbing her arms against the faint chill coming in off the lake, she listened to the sound of a bullfrog croaking somewhere in the distance. A fish jumped, leaving ripples on the surface of the water.
She didn’t hear Ben come up the steps, just felt his presence behind her and knew he was there. Her heart beat softly as she turned and looked up at him. He was dressed completely in dark green camouflage, his face covered with black greasepaint, making his pale, piercing blue eyes stand out even more. A band of ammunition crisscrossed his muscular chest. His knife was strapped to his thigh, his shotgun slung across his back, his pistol clipped to his web belt.
He should have looked like a stranger, and yet he seemed more familiar than any man she had ever known.
“I’m glad you’re home and safe,” she said softly.
Wordlessly he took her hand, led her into the cabin out of sight and closed the door. One by one, he began to remove his weapons, setting each of them down on the kitchen counter. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped some of the greasepaint off his face.
“Sam was there. I saw him, Claire. He was there with the black Lab you talked about. I didn’t even have to see his face. He walks like me, moves like me. Jesus, it was eerie.”
Her heart squeezed. “He seemed okay? He wasn’t hurt or anything?”
He clenched his jaw. “He’s lost a lot of weight. He didn’t look skinny in the pictures I saw.”
Worry trickled through her. “No, he wasn’t thin the last time I saw him.”
“They’re working him hard, Claire. They had him digging a new latrine out behind the one they’re using. I think it’s good for a kid to do chores, develop good work habits, but they’re working him like a laborer. The woman—I figure it’s Aggie—she’s the only one who talks to him like he’s a person.”
His hand unconsciously fisted. “It was all I could do not to go in and clean house, take Sam out with me by force if I had to. I knew I couldn’t take the chance. I want him out safely. I need to play this right.”
“How...how many were there?”
“I counted fifteen men. All camo’d up. The place is like a fortress. Twelve-foot hog-wire fences. Some kind of alarm system that runs off a generator. The men take turns walking the perimeter. They’ve got a shooting range, smokehouse, root cellar, meat-drying rack, vegetable garden. They’re definitely self-sufficient. Aggie was the only woman I saw.”
She read the turmoil in his face, his fear for Sam. His anger.
“The good news is, the bayou side is open. They see it as a line of defense, kind of like a moat around a castle. It’s part of their food source, their way of life. And they’re right. It’s practically impenetrable. It was a bitch getting in and even harder getting out in the dark. But it can be done.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t see how you can do it alone. I think we should call the sheriff.”
Ben shook his head. “No way. Not until Sam’s out of there. After we’re out and he’s safe, they can go in after Troy and Hutchins.”
“You saw Hutchins in there?”
“I saw Troy but not Hutchins. I overheard a couple of guys talking. Apparently a few of the men were out hunting. One of them could be Hutchins.”
He took her hands, colder than they should have been. “You okay?”
She wasn’t. But Ben had enough on his mind without worrying about her. “I’m better now that you’re home.”
His eyes remained on her face, then he turned away. “I’m going in to take a shower. I smell like a swamp.”
She watched him walk away, his face still streaked with black, his features hard. He had never looked more in command, more a soldier, more a virile male, than he did tonight. She had never been more aware of him as a man.
She watched as he stripped off his clothes, noticed the puckered scar low on his back, the one on the opposite side that was pale and barely healed, the long legs, narrow hips and round buttocks. Naked, he walked into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower.
She shouldn’t have been aroused, but she was. Her mouth felt dry, her skin tingled, moisture collected between her legs. If the shower had been bigger, she would have joined him.
It was a bad idea. Ben was exhausted. He was worried about what would happen tomorrow, just as she was. She reached back and unfastened the gold clip at the nape of her neck, shook out her hair, took off her clothes and pulled on her nightshirt. The shower went off as she walked barefoot over to the counter and turned on the tap, poured herself a glass of water.
When she turned, she saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low around his hips. Water beaded in the dark hair on his chest, glistened on his pecs, thick biceps and six-pack abs.
Her heart was beating, drumming in her ears, her breath coming fast and shallow. His eyes were the color of hot blue flame as he strode toward her, and she knew he’d read the hunger she felt for him.
He stopped in front of her, caught the hem of her nightshirt and peeled it off over her head. He was still in battle mode, all hot-blooded male. She felt a surge of arousal so wild and wanton it made her dizzy.
“If I take you tonight, it won’t be easy. I’ll be rough and hot.”
She looked up at him and couldn’t breathe. Her heart was hammering, her body throbbing. “Yes...please.”
He didn’t wait, just fisted a hand in her hair and dragged her mouth up to his for a fierce, erotic kiss. The towel fell away as his tongue slid in, delving deep, bending her to his will. He moved to her breasts, cupping them, taking each one into his mouth, suckling her hard. Her nipples throbbed. The muscles across her stomach quivered.
There wasn’t much room in the tiny cabin. He backed her up against the wall, kissing her hard again, then turned her toward the bed. “Put your palms on the mattress.”
She understood what he wanted and heat roared through her. He bent her over the bed and she went down on her elbows as he came up behind her, reached around and touched her, found her wet and more than ready.
He stroked her, gripped her hips as he drove into her, took her in a deep, pounding rhythm, took her until she came with a hollow moan and cried his name. Ben didn’t stop. Just drove into her until she came again, then turned her around and eased her onto her back on the mattress, came up over her and filled her again.
“You’re so hot and wet,” he said. “You feel so damned good.” Grabbing her wrists, he drew her hands up over her head and began to move. Faster, deeper, harder. Heavy, unrelenting thrusts that stirred her toward climax again.
It was too much and not enough. Too hard, too fierce and not fierce enough.
She needed to touch him. “More,” she whispered, freeing her hands, digging her nails into the muscles across his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist. “More...Ben...please.”
He growled low in his throat, and took her deeper, pushed her to the edge and over. Her climax hit hard, sucking her under, dragging her down like storm waves on the lake. Ben followed her to release, his muscles rigid, his jaw clenched against the fierce orgasm that shook him.
For moments, he didn’t move, just kept the weight of his powerful body on his elbows, his hard length still inside her. Then he levered himself off and lay next to her, drew her into his arms.
He didn’t apologize for his roughness. She didn’t want him to.
The tiger had broken free of its cage, and he was amazing.