Dangerous Pursuit (OSI Dark Ops #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Calliope Daniels’s big four-wheel-drive truck bounced over the ruts in the road, splashing muddy swamp water all over the sides. She clicked off the air-conditioning and lowered the windows. A warm, damp breeze blew through the cab of her truck, causing wisps of blond hair to tickle her nose. She inhaled a deep breath and smiled.

Home.

She’d grown up here, in the swamps of southwest Florida—a place most would consider uninhabitable and undesirable. A far cry from the crowded amusement parks that came to mind when people thought of Florida.

Calliope loved every cypress tree, every piece of Spanish moss hanging from the trees, every snake, spider, gator, all of it. Thanks to her dad, Gabriel, and granddad, Jacob, she knew this land like she’d created it with her own two hands.

Her paternal grandma, who died before she was born, had been a devout Christian. She’d intentionally chosen that particular biblical name for her son because it translated to strong man or hero . Calliope’s granddad said she’d wanted her son to have a head start toward the kind of man he would become.

By most standards, Calliope’s upbringing would be considered unconventional, but her life was all the richer because of it.

Those two men taught her how to be independent, live off the land, and thrive in an environment where most would perish. They made sure she knew how to hunt and fish, how to grow her own food, and she could pilot an airboat through the swamp in the inkiest blackness of night when the only thing lighting her way was a full moon. She could use a blade to defend herself and knew how to shoot pretty much any firearm handed to her.

Early on, they’d discovered she had an almost magical connection to rifles. No matter what kind she picked up, she could shoot a knothole from hundreds of yards away. One time, she’d been up a tree messing around—something she did often—and when she looked down, she spotted a snake coiled up behind her granddad and ready to strike. She’d pulled her rifle from where it hung over her back, took aim, and killed that old snake without so much as kicking up dust on her granddad’s pant leg.

They never made her feel like she couldn’t or shouldn’t do something just because she was a girl. When she stopped growing and topped out at a measly five feet two inches, instead of listing her limitations, her granddad emphasized all the benefits of being small.

Calliope loved both of them and owed them so much more than she could ever repay.

Sunlight trickled down through the high branches of the cypress trees, flashing specks of light everywhere. Ahead of her, a dip in the road had turned into a small stream of brackish water. Her truck was plenty high enough to easily navigate the somewhat treacherous terrain, so she sped up and splashed her way to the other side.

She rounded the bend and welcomed the sight of her favorite climbing tree on the right side of the gravel and dirt road. The old, massive cypress had to be at least ten feet wide where it entered the water and was well over a hundred feet tall. What she loved most about it was the beautiful purple orchids that crawled along its trunk and across the branches overhead to spread to neighboring trees, creating a sort of floral archway over the road.

Her dad once said, “Calliope, cypress trees are just like you—resilient, resourceful, and uniquely beautiful.”

Beneath her dad’s tough exterior beat the heart of a kind, gentle poet. He might not have been rich in the traditional sense, but he was rich with words. He’d said it was what had first attracted Claire Johnson to him. Unfortunately, the poetry hadn’t been enough to keep her mom around, and she’d left them all behind right after Calliope’s second birthday .

“Her loss.” Calliope shoved aside the confusing mash-up of feelings that tried to encroach on her serenity whenever she thought about her mom abandoning her.

She drove for another five or so minutes, and the homestead she grew up on appeared in the clearing ahead of her. After almost two years away, an overwhelming sense of calm washed over her.

The clapboard house was built up on a wide rise of dirt and stood on stilts about five feet high for when the waters rose during the rainy season. There were three bedrooms, one bathroom, a decent-size kitchen with a massive, porcelain farm sink, and a big front room where they would sit and read or watch television. The clapboard siding was rugged but always in need of paint, and the tin roof made its own special kind of music that lulled her to sleep whenever it rained.

Her favorite part of the house by far was the covered, wooden porch that wrapped all the way around it. They would sit out there in the evenings sometimes. Her granddad would smoke a pipe; her dad was always reading a book on some deep topic. Calliope would close her eyes and listen to the sounds of the swamp: water gently lapping against the trees, the screech from scrub jays, the chirp chirp of crickets, the snap when mosquitos met their doom in the bug zapper at the far end of the porch. She could hear the deep, throaty grunts from alligators letting potential rivals or mates know how big and badass they were. No doubt overcompensating for the fact their brains were only the size of three olives.

Calliope pulled up next to her granddad’s beat-up old truck and parked. She pressed the button on the dash of her fancy new pickup, and the engine shut off. She swung the door open and hopped down. There was a built-in step bar, but she seldom used it.

The front screen door swung open and slapped shut behind her granddad. He smiled, and his boots clunked on the steps as his long, lanky form jogged down them like a man who was much younger than his seventy-eight years. He spread his arms wide, and Calliope ran and jumped into them. He wrapped her up tight, lifted her off the ground, and spun around—it was sort of their thing . It always made her sad to think about the time he would no longer be able to do it, so she simply chose not to think about it.

“Callie Girl.” He’d called her that as far back as she could remember. “You’re finally home.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, comforted by the familiar scent of cherry tobacco and hard work.

“Hi, Granddad.” She’d missed him so much while on back-to-back missions.

Calliope was an elite operator/sniper with the Dark Ops division of O’Halleran Security International, one of the top security organizations in the world. OSI was founded by Beck O’Halleran and specialized in close protection, private security, national and international hostage retrieval, tracking, and cybersecurity, just to mention a few.

They added the Dark Ops division about a year ago. Their mission was to identify, locate, and liberate victims of sexual exploitation and human trafficking, and to destroy the individuals and organizations responsible.

OSI got the jobs the government couldn’t or wouldn’t take, and they weren’t bound by the typical restrictions that hamstrung most government agencies.

Somehow, they’d heard about Calliope’s expertise with a rifle and other things and recruited her to come work with them. She’d been hesitant to leave her dad and granddad behind, but they’d encouraged her to go for it. Both of them were former military and knew the importance of committing to something bigger than yourself.

Her dad, in his typical wise way, had said, “If your talent and skill can save just one person’s life, then you have to do this.”

“Let me look at ya.” Her granddad set her down, curled his gnarled hands over her shoulders, and held her at arm’s length. His hands fell away, and he rubbed his chin. “Hmm, ya look tired, Callie Girl.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.” She shook her head. “But you’re right. I am tired. ”

“Well, then, let’s get you inside so’s you can lie down for a spell.” He looked at her truck over her shoulder, then walked over to it. “Hoo-wee, look at this beauty.”

His scarred hand ran along the side of the dark gray exterior as he circled the truck. He spent the next few minutes grilling her about towing capacity, weight load limits, square footage of the truck bed, engine size, durability rankings, etc.

“Sounds like you did your homework on this one.” Apparently, he was satisfied with her responses.

“This ain’t my first rodeo, ya know.” She swung the driver’s door open and swept her hand toward the seat. “Go ahead and climb inside.”

“I don’t think I should. I’d hate to dirty up those new seats.”

“Don’t be silly.” She nudged her elbow to his side. “You know you’re dying to check it out.”

“You’re right.” He let loose one of his raspy laughs, brushed off the seat of his jeans, and slid behind the wheel. He let loose a long, low whistle. “Look at all these fancy buttons. And what’s this big screen for?”

Calliope was in the middle of showing him all of the high-tech features of her new truck when the rumble of an engine and crunch of tires on gravel drew her attention. She turned and smiled when she saw her dad approaching. His truck was only slightly newer than her granddad’s. The Daniels men believed in drivin’ their rigs till they were dead.

He pulled around to the other side of the house, out of sight. The engine quieted, and the driver’s door groaned, then slammed shut. Her dad came around the corner and fast-walked toward them.

Calliope ran to meet him halfway, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed the side of her face against his chest. At the same time, he curled his long arms all the way around her.

“My girl is home.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

Her dad had always been kind of ropy and lean, but he felt thinner than usual. He started coughing, and before he released her and stepped back, she was sure she’d heard a slight rattle in his chest. He pulled his trusty handkerchief from his back pocket and covered his mouth until he stopped coughing.

“Sounds like a pretty bad cough ya got there.” She kept her voice light, trying to hide her worry.

“Nah, I’m just getting over a cold.” He stuffed the hanky back in his pocket. “So, you gonna show me your fancy rig, too?”

“Sure.” She watched him carefully as he walked over to her truck, then joined the two most important men in her life .

Later, after she’d had a chance to rest up, she would get a straight answer out of him. Because if something was wrong with her dad, Calliope would deal with it the same way she did everything else—head-on.