Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lone Ranger, but we’re here to back you up.”
    Brannon rolled his eyes at the nickname. Everyone who went out on missions had one. Well, except Crispin Wilder, the head of Veritas. No one had the balls to call him anything but “sir” or “boss.” It was never smart to jack around with a former international arms-dealer.
    “How’s Iceman doing?” Brannon asked. One of his fellow operatives had been on an undercover mission in South America.
    “He’s good, headed back to the States. He’s your backup if things go bad.”
    “That works for me.” Brannon was originally going to be lead on the South American mission, but the plans hadn’t worked out right. Now he knew he was where he needed to be. “Let them know I hope to bring home the goods soon.”
    “I will. Keep safe.”
    “Always. Thanks, Sanjay.”
    The moment Brannon stepped out of the car, his back twinged. Stretching his arms over his head, he heard a satisfying pop. It sucked to be an “old man.” At least that’s what some of his fellow Rangers had called him, ribbing him about being the graybeard on the team. As if thirty-two was old.
    Sometimes it feels that way .
    It was only after his thirtieth birthday that he began to be aware of the passage of time. Before that, he’d been focused only on the missions and the “downtime” in between. Something had shifted, and it made him pensive.
    Once his back cooperated, he gave a slow look around, checking out the scenery. The smell of the swamp immediately filled his nose, but he didn’t find it unpleasant. Earthy maybe, but not bad. The vegetation was shrugging off a chilly winter, enthusiastically embracing the warmer temperatures. At least it wasn’t full-on bug season yet or he already would have been bitten to death. In the distance, he could see Spanish moss hanging from sprawling oaks and bald cypress trees, hear the lazy calls of waterfowl. Overhead an egret winged by. In any other circumstances, he’d love to spend time here, just enjoying nature, but this mission was too critical. Especially now that his future hung in the balance.
    Brannon stowed away his phone and grabbed his rucksack from the passenger seat. Despite the extra couple of pounds the money added, the ruck felt light in comparison to the seventy-five-plus pounds he’d carried on his Ranger missions.
    Once the car was locked, he set off for the building. As he passed the rear end of the Jeep, he spied a Marine Corps bumper sticker—the signature eagle, globe, and anchor. Probably Montgomery’s car.
    The tour office was a nondescript structure, weathered, but the roof was in good shape, indicating someone had spent money on the place. He thought it a curious business venture for a retired Marine, but then you had to do something when you reached your “twenty and out.” It was better than sitting at home or comparing war wounds with your buddies down at the VFW.
    A knot of people stood on the building’s porch, unevenly split between the sexes: two females, four males. One of the females appeared to be in her late teens, with pale-blond hair slashed with a thick streak of blue. Tall and thin, she was accompanied by a young man of the same age. His hair was less outlandish, just everyday brown, a little on the short side.
    The other woman was older, prettier, probably in her early thirties. Her light-brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she wore shorts and a pink T-shirt. The remaining men were nothing out of the ordinary, and Brannon guessed at least one of them had a desk job, if the guy’s spreading middle was any indication. Any one of these people might be his militia contact, the person who would lead him deep inside the organization. With a heavy sigh, he put on his happy tourist face and joined them.

Chapter Four
    Cait had avoided the group and headed directly to the dock to check over her canoe in preparation for the trip. Mike kept an eye on it when she was gone, and as usual, it had its cover on.