THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! by J.T. Brannan Read Free Book Online Page A

prettier when you smile.’
    My own confidence was starting to trouble Hatfield, I could see.
    It was a test really, to see what sort of operation they had going on here. Innocent, and they’d just ask me to leave – politely and without any trouble. Anything else, and . . . well, I’d just have to wait and see.
    ‘I think it’s time for you to leave,’ Hatfield said simply.
    ‘I still don’t have answers yet,’ I replied, still twisted in my seat so that I could see him.
    ‘There are no answers,’ he said.
    ‘Oh?’ I asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Then what are you doing here, Hatfield?’ I saw the reaction at the mention of his name, despite himself – an involuntary twitch of the eyebrow. ‘What’s Vanguard protecting?’
    ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Who are you really?’
    ‘I’ve already told you.’
    Hatfield shook his head, even as I saw him depress a button on the radio by his side. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘But as head of park security, I’m going to have to find out.’
    The door to the office opened then, and four security guards entered the room, looking to Hatfield for orders.
    ‘Please escort “Mr. Hudson” here to our offices for a little interview,’ he told them, and I could see the looks of satisfaction on their faces. If they were Vanguard contractors, ex-military, I knew exactly why; it was the thrill of some action at last, what they were born for, what they craved.
    They moved toward me past Hatfield, who was still sitting comfortably in his chair by the door, and I assessed them all quickly.
    They all moved in a similar way, well trained and agile; their body types were also similar, hard and athletic and primed for action. They wore the dark uniforms of park security, and I could see that their utility belts held Tasers, pepper spray, extendable batons and – worst of all – Sig Sauer P226 .40 S&W handguns. Again, a bit of overkill for safari park security guards.
    I could see that they were confident, though professionally cautious. The first two men approached me, one to each side, while the other two hung back, hands near their gun belts in case something happened.
    I knew that if I went with them, the ‘little interview’ would take the form of a severe beating and possibly – like TJ before me – my mysterious disappearance.
    So I really only had one option left.
    As the first two men got to my chair, I stood and turned hands raised, trying to relax them.
    But then, as they reached for me to take hold of an arm each, I burst forward, ignoring them completely; and a second later I had reached the two at the rear, too surprised to have yet reached for a weapon.
    But I already had mine out, the baton extending quickly as it swung toward its first target; it reached its full twenty-one inch length just as it connected with the head of the man to my right, the thwack of the cold metal audible throughout the entire office.
    He dropped instantly to the floor, and the baton was already moving again. I’d followed through with the first strike, and now reversed the swing and came back the opposite way, smashing the second man up underneath the nose, the whiplash cracking his head back and knocking him out immediately as his broken nose geysered blood all over the polished wooden floor.
    I’d checked Hatfield out when he’d entered the office, and he didn’t appear to have any weapons on him, which made him – at this stage at least – the least dangerous of the Vanguard men. He was also the furthest away, and to target him would give the other men time to draw their guns and shoot me dead.
    And so before the second man’s body had even hit the ground, I’d whipped back toward the two ex-soldiers by the desk, burying my right boot into the gut of the guy to my right. As he bent double, I saw the second man going for his Sig, and I instinctively moved in, my left hand trapping his right on the holster, gripping tight so he couldn’t make