J Saint - Collateral Damage

"And?" Andreas stood, barely choking back the accompanying yell that went with his question. Why should he have to pull information out of his own assistant?

"C-C-Collins's l-l-l-left you a m-m-message on it."

Andreas blinked. "?QUE?" He almost shouted when Fidel didn't say a more. Instead he bit his tongue until it bled.

George immediately went ape shit, jumping up and down, holding his ears and crying.

"The n-n-note s-s-says that proof of your involvement in the terrorist acts h-h-has been sent to a n-n-number of sources along with the f-fuel formula."

"?Madre de Dios!" Andreas screamed.

George went for Fidel's face first, ripping skin, biting off ears and then Fidel's fleshy lips. Fidel screamed and flailed in horror and shock, thrusting his hands out to stop George. George only ate them and ripped them off the man. The Turkish bath ran red with the spewing blood. Andreas breathed in the acrid scent, remembering times when the smell meant his power and rule were supreme. He didn't intervene. It was time for a new Fidel anyway.

When Fidel was nothing but pieces, Andreas calmed George down. He cleaned them both up in the mint showers. Then he sent George off with his nanny to rest. After shoving Fidel's remains into a garbage chute that would be jettisoned over the Atlantic, Andreas went to find Guru with his usually soft spoken calm restored and the tones of "Eine kleine Nachtmusik" bolstering his resolve. He supposed he shouldn't feel too bad about losing his control and yelling. After all, the Godfather had had his moments as well.

Dios, whatever diabolical double cross Collins had set in motion had to be stopped dead in its tracks immediately. And so did everyone else the bastard had involved. Nothing and no one was going to interfere with the legacy of safety that economic and environmental justice would bring to his son. No matter what the cost.

When Guru heard that Fidel was out of a job, the man worked like a genius on steroids and soon produced emailed confirmations from Collins's account of packages delivered just two days ago. The names and addresses of the recipients were conveniently included. One to Lauren Collins. One to Matt and one to Mitch Collins. One to Conrad Gardner. One to Thomas Ettinger. One to Edward Weiss. One to Bob Cantrell. And one to Ray Branson. Assassins were immediately dispatched.

Buford, Georgia

0900 hours

"Thomas's house is the next one on the left," Laruen directed as Jack drove. The morning was bright and peaceful and at complete odds with the hellish night she had spent. Violence from the day, the heat of Jack's kiss and his haunted words afterward had run roughshod over her mind, making her shiver in fear, sweat with need, and writhe in pain for him until she'd given up trying to sleep and spent the rest of the night sitting in the desk chair, staring at the letter Bill had written.

She still didn't have a clue as to what Bill meant. Now she was sleep deprived and feeling self-conscious over her complete abandonment of everything beneath Jack's potent kiss. Kiss? It was more like a rehearsal for a grand slam home run. He'd conquered second base, had touched on third, and there had been nothing to stop him from scoring.

Fire filled her cheeks again. How had she let it happen? Angie and her sons were in the other room. She'd only met Jack less than ten hours before. To hell with the whole quality verses quantity crap. That amount of time compared to the strength of her desire was pure insanity.

Could be worse, a little voice said, much like her son's would say when they were caught being bad. What if you didn't regret it?

She didn't.

Could be worse, the little voice said again. You could want a repeat and more.

She did. Every single moment of it and every bit of him. His demanding tongue, his hard erection, his hot hands. His intoxicating scent, powerful muscles and gripping passion. The whole damn package.

"Lauren, hello, are you with me?"

Lauren blinked and focused her eyes on Jack, whom she had been apparently staring at as she recalled him and his kiss. She shifted her gaze as a knowing gleam flickered through his green eyes. He knew. He knew what she was thinking and OMG, he knew she wanted more. "Sorry, I was thinking about Bill's letter," she said, primly. "What did you say?"

Well, it was partly true. She had thought about it for a brief moment.

He snorted his disbelief. "I asked you if Ettinger usually kept his security gate open."

Lauren sat upright, her gaze riveting to the open gate looming ahead of them. "No. The man is a stickler for security. He has Conrad Gardner's security company upgrade his system every year."

"I don't like it." Jack hit the gas and rushed on past Thomas's driveway.

Lauren gripped her seat as Jack quickly snaked around several curves before bringing the car to a stop just inside another driveway on the left. He edged the car to the right of the road so others could pass and killed the engine.

"I don't know what I was thinking." He pressed his palm to his temple. "I should have left you safe at the hotel with Rico."

Rico was an army buddy of Jack's who had shown up early this morning after Jack called him in the middle of the night. Even with his right arm in a sling, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man looked extremely capable of handling any safety issue that might arise and made Lauren feel immensely better about leaving her sons with Angie at the hotel this morning.

Rico stood several inches above what she'd guesstimated to be Jack's six-foot height and had studied her intently when introduced. She'd met his gaze head-on and waited for him to pass judgment. He obviously knew of Bill's terrorist activities and she wanted to cringe inside. It hit her that people would think she was involved in what Bill had been doing.

She hadn't thought of it but Jack figured the men after her would know who he was by now from the rental car left on Angie's street and would then find record of the second car he'd rented. He had Rico bring him a car and they'd left the old rental car at the mall this morning.

"You think something has happened to Thomas, don't you?" Lauren shifted sharply in her seat to face Jack and tugged on his free hand to break his reverie. "We need to hurry to him."

She opened the car door.

"No." He grabbed her arm. "You're staying here."

"Like a sitting duck? No, thank you. I'll take my chances hiding behind some trees while you check on Thomas, so don't waste your breath arguing now."

Jack cursed his displeasure, but still grabbed his backpack and exited the car with her. He guided her into the forested terrain. Though the air had a touch of fall to it, the southern sun was still warm enough to bring a sheen of perspiration over her skin, dampening the blue baby-doll T-shirt she'd bought last night and her jeans. The scent of pine, dense woods and lake water filled her nose. Jack stopped the moment they were out of sight of the car.

"If you're going to go any farther then you do exactly what I say when I say," he told her. "That doesn't mean move five feet and take a shower when I tell you to stay in one spot."

She blinked at him and nearly tripped over a root. "Getting rid of the tear gas-"

"Turned out to be the right logical decision to make in that circumstance," he interrupted her, his expression grim. "But it could have just as easily been the wrong decision too. It wasn't following orders and we don't go a step farther unless I have your word that you will do as I say. I've got enough blood on my hands. We clear?" His direct gaze held the ghosts he worked hard to keep at bay.

She swallowed the rising lump of emotion his stark words and expression caused. War never left a man unscathed and she could see that Jack bore scars, deep ones. "Roger that," she said, repeating her brother's favorite response. "You have my word, Jack."