The Heart of the Hunter

By Natalie-Nicole Bates

After a devastating accident, Barret Atkins has accepted a quiet, solitary existence. His life is turned upside down when he finds the badly injured Kansas Smith, left for dead in a case of mistaken identity. As Kansas begins to recover, Barret must face some deep scars of his own. When the couple begins to fall for each other, their lives spin into a revival of past hurts, jealousies, and betrayals, causing Barret to put a halt to their budding relationship.

Barret's hesitation causes his best friend-turned-vicious rival, Duncan Craig, to pursue a friendship with Kansas.

Where will this leave Barret?

 

Can they all hold on long enough to escape Kansas's attacker, and will they ever conquer their own inner demons intent on keeping them apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paperlate Press
• Release date: Sep 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223654001

Natalie-Nicole Bates

Natalie-Nicole Bates is a book reviewer and author. Her passions in life include books and hockey along with Victorian and Edwardian era photography and antique poison bottles. Natalie contributes her uncharacteristic love of hockey to being born in Russia. She currently resides in the UK where she is working on her next book and adding to her collection of 19th century post-mortem photos.    

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chapter Separator

Autumn never really came to South Florida. It was more a summer that never really ended. Day after day of sunshine and humidity.

It was the first day of September, and for Barret Atkins, these first days of what almost anywhere else would be Autumn meant the start of alligator hunting season in South Florida. Hunting was his love since a boy. Now it was more a diversion from the mundane day-to-day existence of his so-called life.

He would give anything to have his old life back, even just to have his job back—long hours, lousy boss—all of it. His friends, who hated their jobs, called him a lucky bastard, and a man of leisure. They had no idea what they were talking about or what he was going through on a daily basis.

It was a year now since the accident that had halted his career as a police detective, and still, he was healing…mentally, at least. His body healed itself the best it could.

His thoughts drifted back to that dark night last September. He, along with several other detectives and a dozen officers had been serving a search warrant on a piece of scum named Gunnar Riley. Riley allegedly harbored a cache of illegal weapons in an old, dilapidated mobile home on the outskirts of West Palm Beach.

What they found instead was a clandestine methamphetamine lab.

In the ensuing mayhem, the mobile home exploded putting Barret in the hospital for near on a month, commencing his life in hell.

He drew to a halt in front of Jake Conroy’s airboat rentals, returning him to the present. It was four in the morning. Jake didn’t usually rent his boats, especially to people fishing or hunting on their own, but Barret had been a long-time customer. A friend of Jake’s since his father had brought him here three decades earlier. Now, at thirty-eight, he still knew where he could get a good boat for the day. But lately, he considered buying his own boat. If this was to be his life, he might as well enjoy it the best he could.

The sun had been up for several hours, an angry orange fireball that turned the swampy area into a virtual sauna. The mosquitoes buzzed furiously around his face. He slathered himself in bug repellant and sunscreen, but his skin still reddened and his blue eyes burned. He dragged the brim of his baseball cap lower onto his forehead and adjusted the neck of his white t-shirt. Sweat soaked his nape, and trickled down his back.

Just as he thought of turning the airboat and heading back for the day, something on the bank caught his eye. Maybe his luck changed. He raised his crossbow and then frowned. What he thought an alligator was something entirely different. Setting the bow down, he maneuvered the boat for a better look, before pulling into the bank.

Finally seeing nothing else out of the ordinary, he drew the boat along shore, grabbed his father’s old service revolver, tucked it into his belt, and stepped out onto the land. He picked his way across the damp, spongy earth, it took several seconds for his mind to register what he was seeing.

There was a human body lying among the tangle of weeds.

At first, he thought it was a hunter who collapsed or was accidentally shot. However, hunters wore blaze orange, not bright red and white.

He heard of bodies being dropped in the swamps for the alligators and wildlife to devour—no body, no crime—but for him to actually come across a human body, was surreal.

Palming his revolver, he did a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn scanning the surrounding vegetation, checking if someone still lurked.

Nothing.

He dropped to his knees beside the body. Although it was bruised, bloody, and covered in mud, it was clearly a woman. Her feet were bare, but pink nail polish remained on her bare toes. Her red T-shirt and shorts were in rags.

Barret went to roll the woman over, and she groaned. She was still alive! Her breathing was shallow and her pulse weak, but while she breathed and her heart beat, she had a chance. There were no obvious signs of a gunshot or stab wounds, but there was no way of telling what lurked beneath all the blood and mud. However, he was certain of one thing. He had to get her out of the swamp before she went into cardiac arrest and did die.

There was no way an ambulance would be able to get to their location; the medical helicopter would have nowhere to land. If she were moved, he risked paralyzing her if she suffered a spinal cord injury. If he went back for help, she’d surely be dead when he returned. He had no choice, he had to get her into the boat and back to Jake Conroy’s Airboat Tours.

Slipping his gun into its holster, he reached under the woman’s shoulders and knees and lifted her into his arms. She was tiny and light, and he didn’t have much trouble getting to his feet. As she began to moan, his heart thumped harder in his chest. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, he kept repeating as he made his way back to the airboat.

The tricky part was to get her into the boat without both of them ending up in the water. It was difficult, but he managed and laid her body onto the bottom of the boat.

He owned a first aid kit, but it was only minimally stocked with a few Band-Aids, an elastic bandage, some tape, a tube of antiseptic cream, and a bee sting kit. There were no gloves, and he hoped she wasn’t HIV positive or had hepatitis. She bled from cuts and gashes all over her body, and Barret didn’t know where to start trying to help her. He worked as an ambulance driver before going to college, but he rarely did more than use his muscle to move patients. The first aid training at the police academy wasn’t much more than he had already known from the ambulance.

One thing he knew he had to do was try to lower her body temperature before she started having seizures. Reaching for the cooler of soda he’d brought with him, he grabbed two handfuls of ice and pressed them into her skin around her chest and belly. She suddenly jumped, her torso lurching upward, and gasped for air.

It’s okay, said Barret, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Even though her eyelids were swollen, she managed to open them slightly and looked at him.

He smiled. You’re safe now. My name is Barret. I was hunting for an alligator and found you. I’m going to get you to the hospital, don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. The truth was, he didn’t know if she was going to be fine, but he wanted to comfort the girl in any way he could.

She tried to speak, but only managed a raspy whisper through her swollen purple lips.

He bent closer to her face. What is your name?

She tried to say something, but he couldn’t understand, it sounded like Karen or maybe Karie. Is your name Karie?

Not reacting to the name, she tried to speak again, but it was incoherent and garbled.

His heart ached for the poor dying girl. What is it, angel?

Kill me, she whispered.

He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. You…you want me to kill you?

Kill me, she repeated.

Heat swamped his face, and he glanced down at the poor pitiful creature on the floor of the boat, then at his own trembling hand. He knew he could cover her nose and mouth and easily end her suffering, and then push her body into the water and let nature take its course. No one would be the wiser.

A sudden bout of nausea overtook him, and he leaned over the edge of the boat and jettisoned his lunch into the water. Even if it were a mercy killing, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Catching his breath, he fumbled for the cell phone on his belt and dialed 911. After his momentary lapse of sanity when he actually considered euthanizing her, he couldn’t look at the girl.

911, what is your emergency?

My name is Barret Atkins. I’m…a detective with the Palm Beach Police. I’m somewhere on the border of Broward and Palm Beach Counties, not sure exactly where. I’m in the swamps, alligator hunting, and I found a girl…a woman dumped in the swamp.

Is this a homicide, Detective Atkins?

No, she’s still alive, but she’s extremely critical. There’s no way an ambulance can get back here. I’ll transport her back to Conroy’s Airboat Tours on Powerlane Highway. Have the medics and the Medicopter from Twin Palms Regional Hospital meet us there.

Is the Medicopter necessary, Detective Atkins?

Yes, she’s critical. She must be transferred to the Twin Palms trauma unit. It’s her only chance.

Sending her to Twin Palms Regional also had the advantage that his sister, Sharon, was an emergency room physician there, and his other sister, Lizzie, was a nurse.

How far are you from Conroy’s?

Fifteen minutes, maybe quicker. Have someone call Jake Conroy and let him know what’s happening. I’ve gotta get this boat moving or this girl is going to die.

Disconnecting the call, he grabbed the cooler and dumped the ice into the boat before heaving the cooler out onto the bank. The cooler would serve as a marker for the detectives and forensic crew to find later.

The engine wailed noisily when he started it. Before pulling away, he put several more armfuls of ice on the girl’s arms and legs. She was motionless now, he had to get her to help fast.

Barret made it back to Conroy’s Airboat Tours in record time. Jake was waiting for him, as well as an ambulance and two police cars. Where’s the Medicopter? he called, lifting the girl into his arms.

It’s on its way, Jake said helping him off the boat.

The police and ambulance crew swarmed him, and Barret was immediately concerned. Don’t hurt her, she’s already hurt enough, he said handing her over to the paramedics. He silently watched while they loaded her onto a stretcher and moved away. He had softened since leaving the job.

In the distance, he spied his former partner, Duncan Craig moving toward him. Immediately, his stomach burned. Once upon a time ago, he regarded Duncan as his best friend. They’d attended the police academy together, rode together on street patrol for several years, and were both simultaneously promoted to detectives. Now, they were barely on speaking terms.

I’m sorry, Barret, but I’m gonna need a statement from you.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his grimy bare arm and nodded. He followed Duncan to Jake’s office and relayed exactly what happened from the time he started out in the airboat early that morning until he sat down for the interview. Pulling off his baseball cap, he pushed his damp, dark hair back from his face while his mind continued to replay the events of the last hour, over and over again.

Barret, do you still have a change of clothes in your locker back at the precinct?

Finally, he looked at Duncan. The big bastard sat there all proper in his hand-tailored suit and tie, with his badge around his neck. His blond hair was short and perfectly coiffed.

What?

Forensics is going to want your clothes and shoes. It’s just policy, it’s nothing personal.

Of course, he was a suspect, he realized.

They would comb over every inch of his clothing and his body, looking for some evidence that he kidnapped and attempted to murder the girl. Whatever you need, he countered with little expression.

I’ll drive you to the precinct. I’m sure Jake can arrange to have your Jeep driven back. It’s all just formality, Barret. No hard feelings, okay, buddy?

Barret smiled inwardly. Duncan was not his buddy. Still, it was best to go along with what he wanted. He was innocent, and no matter how much they tested him and his clothing, they would find nothing. The sooner they finished with him the sooner he could get to Twin Palms Hospital.

***

At the precinct, a forensics officer swabbed Barret’s hands, took his clothing, a DNA sample from the inside of his mouth, scraped under his fingernails, and yanked out a sample of his hair. Barret grew weary as he sat in his old precinct across from his desk that now sat vacant.

Finally, Duncan told him he was free to leave and handed him his car keys. Sorry, Barret. Really I am. If I didn’t investigate everything, the boss would have my ass. You know how it is?

He snatched his keys. Stop apologizing, Duncan, you were only doing your job.

Why don’t you hang around for a while and I’ll take you to dinner?

Barret shook his head. No thanks. I want to head over to Twin Palms and check on the girl.

A drink then.

I’d rather not. He rolled his car keys between his fingers and looked away.

Duncan took a tentative step toward him. Listen, Barret, we were friends for so many years, like brothers…I miss that.

Barret’s lips thinned. Yeah, well you should have remembered that when I was in the hospital with burns, pneumonia, and a collapsed lung, and you decided to start banging my fiancée.

Can’t we go on from here?

Barret laughed shortly. You live with my ex fiancée! What am I supposed to do? Come over and play Monopoly with the two of you on a Saturday night?

Molly is back living with her parents.

Barret raised a brow. He was only mildly interested. He was over Molly and realized some time ago that if she could have an affair with another man—his best friend—while he was near death in a hospital bed, then he was lucky to find out what she was really like before they married or had children. That’s too bad, Duncan, he said, his insincerity evident.

No, it’s not too bad. She is grasping and demanding…. I was not ready for marriage or kids—not with her anyway. I’m not going to let anyone force me into anything I don’t want.

Barret only nodded. Well, I’ll speak with you soon. If you need me to answer more questions, you’ve got my numbers. He turned for the door.

Hey, don’t forget that drink! Duncan called after him.

Barret kept walking.

***

Driving the few miles to Twin Palms Regional Hospital, he parked his blue Jeep in the multi-story lot. Finding the ER, he spoke to a nurse and asked for his sister.

Dr. Silverton is with a patient, but I will let her know you are waiting.

Thank you. Is the girl from the swamp here? She came in by the Medicoptor?

Yes, she is. Do you know her?

I found her.

The woman’s eyes lit up. Wow, that was you? The alligator hunter?

He gave a small chuckle. Yes, I’m the alligator hunter, Barret Atkins. Dr. Silverton is my sister.

Sliding her chair back, the nurse came to her feet. I’ll find Dr. Silverton and let her know you are here.

Sitting in the empty waiting room of the Emergency Department, Barret closed his eyes and tried to relax, but visions of the girl from the swamp filled his mind. He must have drifted off, for the next thing he realized, someone was tapping his face.

He opened his eyes to find his sister smiling at him with her bright blue eyes. Hi, hero.

Sharon was the oldest in a family of five girls and he was the only boy. She was married to another emergency room physician.

I must have fallen asleep. Is she okay?

Come on into my office while it’s quiet, and share a cup of coffee. We’ll talk in private.

He didn’t like the sound of his sister’s noncommittal tone. Rising from his chair, he followed her through the double doors that separated the waiting area from the emergency room. Her office was a small, spotless side room, with a metal desk and shiny white floors and walls. All about the room were photographs of Sharon and her husband, Marco, had taken on all of their vacations around