Storm Force

“That’s the good part,” Bannock said. “It ain’t the news. It’s Clyde. And when other media agencies call you, and I guarantee they will because the story’s a good one—‘Local Woman Hero,’ Raymond Jolly, and the unsolved nature of the Desiree Martini kidnapping—you’ll be able to tell them that you’ve granted an exclusive to Clyde.” He paused. “That’s guaranteed to get him picked up on every stringing service across the nation.”

Kate didn’t doubt that. As she recalled, the Desiree Martini kidnapping had been huge news a few months ago.

“How’s that going to help me get to my site?” Kate asked.

Bannock sighed. “I have to do the math for you too? And here I was believing your daddy when he said he raised a bright girl.”

Not too bright, Kate thought sourly. I married Bryce Colbert and didn’t see him for the louse that he is.

“Just tell Clyde you’re willing to do the interview in the car on the way to your site. He’s taken all the pictures of a wrecked bus that he can publish. What he needs is a bigger story. Something with a little more homegrown flavor, and a personal look at the ‘hero’ of this little shindig. And Tyler Jordan’s driving one of your trucks, isn’t he?”

Kate nodded.

The sheriff spread his hands and smiled. “There you go. You can drop Tyler off at home and keep the truck so you can pick up your kids at the airport. I’ve even provided you transportation. Problem solved.”

Kate had to admit that the arrangement would work out fine. She wasn’t even surprised that Bannock knew she was picking up Steven and Hannah. It was a small community, and Bannock kept a close watch on things.

She took a deep breath. “Let me know when you find my Jeep?” It was a point of pride more than anything. She didn’t want Jolly and Shane to get away scot-free.

“You bet. I’m going to have to keep it in impound for a few days. It’s evidence now.”

“Sure.” Kate thanked him again, then walked over to Clyde Burris and laid out the deal. The reporter quickly agreed and guided her to his car, changing tapes in his microcassette recorder as they walked.

By the time she reached the site, Kate felt all talked out. Clyde, slim and nervous and a chain-smoker, had kept at her the entire trip, somehow managing to change radio channels and keep up with all the local breaking news at the same time.

There was a lot of speculation about what had caused the bus to wreck, from an organized prison breakout all the way to a terrorist attack.

Clyde had kept returning to that too, but Kate hadn’t been able to tell him any more than she already had. She’d been curious about the blond man with Jolly, though. According to Clyde’s sources, Shane Warren was pulling a thirty-year shot on a drug charge and second-degree-murder rap. Supposedly the Atlanta district attorney was even looking at him for killing an undercover narcotics agent.

“Not a good guy,” Clyde had summed him up. But the reporter had been curious as to why Shane Warren had ended up with Raymond Jolly.

When they arrived at the site, Kate thanked the reporter for the ride and got out looking for Tyler. The young man was sitting sullenly in the guide truck listening to a Toby Keith CD. His auburn hair hung down to his shoulders. Aviator sunglasses covered his eyes. His skin stayed red all the time and was covered with freckles. At eighteen, he was short and skinny like his father, but still in possession of out-of-control hormones and way too much male attitude.

“I’d about given up on you,” Tyler said. His stained straw cowboy hat was more crumpled than creased, and had bright-blue peacock feathers jutting from it. His black T-shirt was festooned with marijuana leaves. Not exactly the kind of message Kate wanted to send out to clients. She could imagine the T-shirt showing up in pictures people showed their friends and family back home.

“Where’s Mathis?” Kate asked, walking by him. She checked her watch. Damn, but the time was getting away from her. She was going to have to hurry if she was going to pick up Steven and Hannah on time.

“The cabin. Got back about twenty minutes ago and started drinking. Him and his buddies.” Tyler uncoiled from the four-wheel-drive pickup and got out.

“Bring the video camera.”

Remaining sullen, Tyler asked, “Why?”

“Just do it,” Kate commanded.

Tyler cursed. For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to do what she said. Then he reached into the truck to get a compact video camera. He reluctantly followed her.

Kate held a stun baton in one hand. So far, Tyler hadn’t seen it. The weapon was one Kate had learned to use out in the bush. It was an Asp Electroless Tactical Baton specially made for a humid environment like southern Florida. When closed, it measured only nine and a half inches, but the release button expanded it to twenty-six inches of carbon steel guaranteed to stand up under repeated impacts. The weapon only weighed a pound and a half.

Her father had introduced them to her when she’d been fifteen, and even made her take courses with it at a martial arts dojo till she knew what she was doing. You’re a woman, baby girl, her dad had said, and you’re workin’ in a man’s world. Some of them guys you take on are gonna show a mean side ever’ now an’ again. No matter that you can scuffle an’ fight, you’re likely gonna be givin’ away a hundred pounds or more an’ maybe a few inches of reach. It’d be stupid for you to work in them conditions an’ not be able to properly take care of yourself.

Over the years, Kate had worn the weapon out in the bush. She’d used it more on snakes, wild pigs and alligators than men. But she’d used it on men before too. It usually shortened the fight any belligerent drunk might want to provoke to a matter of seconds, with no one getting seriously hurt.

“Did you take video of Mathis shooting the wildlife?” Kate asked. That was why they kept the camera. Sometimes as an added feature to the hunt, and sometimes to shoot evidence of poachers.

“Yep. Lotsa footage.” Tyler shook his head. “Dumbass. He wants a copy. Even paid me in advance.”

Kate breathed out in an effort to stay calm. Guys like Darrel Mathis just didn’t understand that shooting video of what they were doing was for a court case, not a vanity recording they could show their friends later.

“We booked five buddies,” Kate said. “How many are still with him?”

“Three.”

“What condition?”

“About as drunk as Mathis.”

“Any idea what set him off?”

“They’ve been drinking since last night,” Tyler said. “I don’t think they’ve come up for air or been to bed.” He was silent for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

“Ask them to leave.”

“Great.” Tyler snorted. “I’m sure they’ll just pack right up and go. Is the sheriff sendin’ somebody around?”

“They’re tied up with the escaping convicts.”

“Goin’ up there is stupid. He’s just gonna laugh in your face.”

“Just make sure you keep the camera on.” Kate willed herself to go cold inside. Sometimes a paying customer went willingly, maybe feeling remorseful about what they’d done, and sometimes they were so drunk they were easy to handle. And sometimes Sheriff Bannock had a deputy that could stop by when Kate pressed charges and produced a digital recording.

The camp was a neat, compact affair, one of the permanent sites she maintained under contract with the landowner. Keeping the guests from shooting up the wildlife—and sometimes the landowner’s livestock—fell under Kate’s purview.

There was a single log cabin with three small bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and two bathrooms with shower facilities. An outside patio provided a brick grill and oven so any game taken could be cooked and prepared fresh instead of packed away and frozen for transport back home.

All of it sat in a hammock of broad-leafed oak trees that looked alien against the backdrop of the cypress trees that were generally the norm this far south in Florida. Most of the hardwood trees never ventured into the wetter climates near the coastal areas.

Shade covered the gleaming SUVs and luxury cars parked under the carport. Any one of them would have cost more than what Kate made in a calendar year as a guide, but she didn’t owe for anything. After her divorce from Bryce, she’d been very careful with her money, saving as much as she could before giving it to attorneys to fight the impossible fight for more time with her children.

Kate didn’t resent her moneyed clients the income they had, but it did remind her of Bryce and the fact that she’d never be able to match what Bryce was able to give Steven and Hannah on what she was doing now. But there was something to be said for being free.

She’d built her cabin in the off-season, after securing the lease. She’d felled the timber, cleaned it up and negotiated furnishings, plumbing and kitchen appliances from building contractors she worked with when hunting and fishing was slow. She’d taken pride in her work. And in the fact that her dad had helped her put it together these past few years.

She only had three sites with permanent housing. The rest were campsites. Permanent housing was a plus. The clients didn’t have to drive in every day from Everglades City or one of the outlying areas, and they didn’t have to rough it in a tent. Being able to get drunk, bring women out or watch satellite television if the hunting trip turned into a lazy vacation made the difference to a lot of clients.

At the door, Kate hooked the Asp to her belt, took a deep breath, then knocked.

“Who is it?” a male voice demanded.