Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,76
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