Trackers by J.W. McKenna

Author:J.W. McKenna
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: 2013-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Amy was up at 6:30, nervously pacing the room. She had slipped on the dress she wore the night before, leaving the underwear on the bed. She felt more comfortable with some clothes on, at least for a while.

Bollinger came in at 7, as promised, and brought her a plate of food. He paid no attention to her dress. “Are you ready for the hunt, my dear?”

“Yes, as ready as I’m going to be.” She looked at him sharply. “This contest had better be like we agreed.”

“Of course, my dear. I have a reputation to maintain.” He excused himself.

The group ate breakfast silently, thinking about the hunt. Truth be told, they were more worried about running naked than winning. What seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment last night now caused acute embarrassment. Most felt like a schoolboy who had agreed to appear in a play, only to develop severe stage fright on opening night.

Three of the four men had dressed for breakfast. Only Jake, “Mr. Green,” came dressed in a robe and tennis shoes. Everyone assumed he was naked under it. The other men felt he was showing off a little because he was the youngest.

Bollinger tapped his empty orange juice glass with a spoon. “Gentlemen, we’re going to draw for weapons. Because of the agreement last night, we’ll only be drawing for the net gun.”

Jake, Jackson, and Dirk put their names in the coffee can. Bollinger picked a net gun out of the rack and held it up, then reached into the can with his free hand. “Jackson,” he said.

Jake and Dirk breathed sighs of relief. Jackson, however, wasn’t concerned. Now that Amy was going to have a weapon, they all had to change their plans of attack. Jackson wanted to make sure she ran out of ammunition before he moved in. The net gun wouldn’t be a disadvantage. Besides, I may end up using it on Dirk anyway, he mused.

Bollinger passed out the bolo guns, then took out a paint pistol for Amy. He counted out eight paint balls and loaded them into the hopper. He looked at his watch. “It’s 7:30. I suggest you all get undressed for the hunt and return here. We still have to outfit you with the video gear.”

The men nervously retired to their rooms, except Jake, who simply dropped his robe, unabashed. “I’m ready when you are, Mr. White.”

Amy was escorted out of her room about 15 minutes later. She was again naked, dressed only in her running shoes. Just before Bollinger arrived, she had looked down and said a silent goodbye to her downy hair.

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