Free The Killing Game by Toni Anderson

his wrist and her eyes softened. Up close they were a deep rich brown edged with ebony, so dark her reactions were hard to read. She’d make a talented operator—assuming she wasn’t one already.
    Her throat convulsed as she choked up. “Someone’s shooting them.”
    “Tell me what’s going on.” He disengaged her hand, even though he liked it on him, maybe because he did like it, and urged her to sit on the bare rock.
    “I don’t have time for this, I have to…” She looked at his widened stance and huffed out a frustrated breath when she realized he was serious. “Look, I get it. British soldier, national security and all that, but this is the Wakhan Corridor and there’s no conflict here.”
    “This,” he corrected with considerable patience, “is the Hindu Kush and a regular hangout for Al Qaeda and Taliban fighters.” He shot her a look that told her to shut up and start talking.
    Her jaw worked as she lowered herself to the ground. “Last fall we collared ten snow leopards, and we have been tracking them remotely from our home base at Montana State University—that’s in the US.”
    He resisted rolling his eyes because she obviously considered him a total moron.
    “A few days ago we started seeing signals that were stationary.” The line of her throat rippled. “We figured out someone’s using the collars to track the cats before shooting them.” There was a strain to her voice, a fine pitch of anxiety even though she was trying to control it. “We flew in to try and deal with the problem as quickly as we could.”
    Dempsey raised his brows. The country was under strict lockdown, so getting here that fast showed a hell of a lot of initiative and some solid contacts.
    Bits of intel began to fall into place. The man his squad was hunting was a former communications specialist for Vympel—an elite Spetsnaz unit. Not only that, he’d mapped these mountains for the Russians prior to the Soviet invasion. And though MI6 though him dead—caught in one of his own explosions while trying to destroy the British embassy in Yemen—ten days ago he’d been spotted buying a hunting rifle in Pakistan.
    “The pelts are worth a lot of money, right?”
    “That’s no reason to kill them.” Her eyes flashed.
    “It’s reason enough for someone.” Because, unless Dmitri Volkov had developed an irrational hatred of snow leopards during his years in exile, nothing else made sense. The man needed money. Why? Or rather, why now?
    “We’re trying to trap the cats and release them before this sonofabitch shoots them all. What are you doing here? This is way out of the war zone.”
    The whole fecking planet was a war zone.
    When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer because name rank and number were the only information he was allowed to divulge, Axelle Dehn, rose to her feet.
    “Anyway, I’m sorry about the gun thing.” She stared at his pocket as if she expected him to hand it back— I don’t think so —before marching off to untie her horse. “I don’t have time to sit around chatting.” Something about her demeanor suggested she never sat around chatting. It was ironic because as a Special Forces soldier he spent much of his time sitting around, waiting, and chatting.
    But she was a woman of action. Seemingly fearless.
    What was she scared of? What was her weakness?
    The sun had started to dip in the sky but if they headed back now they might make camp before dark. He pulled his pack on his back and watched Axelle retrieve her receiver and antenna from where she’d stashed it before she’d ambushed him.
    That’s right, Dr. Dehn. Mount up. Move out. Let’s go home.
    She didn’t even look around as she led the horse up the hill after the leopard.
    He sighed, scanned the ridgelines and exhaled a resigned breath. He had his first real clue in the hunt for one of the world’s most notorious terrorists. The only obstacle was hiking along the path ahead of him, hips swaying with a grace no man