Deadly Touch - Heather Graham Page 0,1

forever.”

There was silence. Raina, wedged between her friends, stared at him. He was smiling—secretly pleased, she imagined, that he had brought them all to silence.

The campfire snapped and crackled.

He looked at them, still waiting. “Hey, they’re ghosts. At least they don’t get mosquito bites!”

Someone giggled. The stories were over. They could head to their tents for the night.

“That was a bit of fun, folks!” Axel Tiger reminded them as they burst into applause and began to rise. “There’s so much more about this amazing ecosystem you’ll be learning tomorrow. Yeah, we have mosquitoes, alligators, crocs and snakes—but it’s still amazing. Tomorrow, you’ll learn how these wildlands saved a people—and how the Native Americans came to be here, and how we all finally came to be at peace today.”

He moved on, talking to a small group of men, including one of the tribal members who had taught them about culture and ecology that day, Jeremy Gray.

She stared after him a minute and then—not wanting to hear about having a crush on the man—she quickly turned to her friends. They were all talking about him, though, comparing him to various movie stars.

She was in one of the little pup tents at the campground with her friend Lucia, who was laughing with Mya and Elly. Mya had a crush on Tate Fielding, who was standing with some of the other boys, including Jordan Rivera—another slightly older guy beloved by almost every girl at school. Jordan and Tate were two of the coolest guys and best friends. Tate’s dad was a partner in a law firm, and both Tate and Jordan planned on being big-time lawyers one day.

Raina thought being Jordan had to be easier than being Tate—Tate’s dad could be exceptionally hard on him. And Tate was sometimes embarrassed by him. His dad tended to be around a lot. Tate had grumbled to Raina once that his dad didn’t ever seem to trust anyone—he’d even driven out to the school encampment, as if he didn’t trust the school, the United States government, the state of Florida or a soul within the Miccosukee tribe.

“There are some intriguing young men over there. Smokin’ hot for sure! We could slip into that conversation,” Mya whispered.

“Yes!” Elly said. She giggled. “And look—there’s Mr. Fielding. Tate’s been ignoring him—but he’s finally leaving. Guess he’s not a fan of the mosquitoes!”

But Mrs. Oster, their science teacher, came hurrying by, shooing the boys into their tents for the night. She was giving Mr. Peters, the gym teacher, a very stern look, indicating he had to get his young charges under control. Mrs. Oster was vivacious and usually fun, but she could be stern, too.

It had been a long day; they should have been tired. They were, but all a little bit frightened, as well. Being in the Everglades made them wary, even if they did have mosquito protection and adults guarding them, not to mention Timothy, the massive rottweiler, a dog that—so they’d been told—somehow knew to warn people about snakes and alligators, should they come too close.

Personally, Raina found the dog to be wonderfully warm and cuddly. But she could see how snakes and alligators would feel different.

They giggled more but then obeyed. They were attending a magnet school and those who didn’t follow the rules could be easily replaced. In the tent, Lucia brushed her hair, hoping she wouldn’t find too many bugs in it, and swore she’d never sleep.

But just minutes after Lucia’s head touched the pillow attached to her sleeping bag, she was very softly snoring.

Raina couldn’t sleep so easily. For a while she stared at the tent’s ceiling, watching the way the fire danced on the canvas of their tent.

But then Timothy let out a little “Woof!” and she sprang to her feet, staring at Lucia.

Lucia softly snored on.

It was nothing, Raina was sure. She didn’t want to wake Lucia, but she knew she wasn’t going to sleep herself. She hesitantly stepped from her tent.

* * *

Axel saw the group of men standing just down from the camping area. His good friend, Jeremy Gray, was among them, along with two Miccosukee patrolmen and an older officer from the Miami-Dade County Police.

He glanced around the campground. The kids had been ordered to bed by their chaperones. They’d been a good audience, interested in ecology, culture and the Miccosukee and Seminole tribes of Florida. He’d enjoyed working with them.

There were always guards on duty when groups like this camped out. The Miccosukee force always managed a few