J Saint - Collateral Damage

"Open the gate for me. I'm coming up the drive now."

Thomas agreed and hung up the phone.

When Conrad arrived, they knocked knuckles as usual and went to the back deck of the three story mansion for a beer. Thomas's wife had left him a few years back. Ran off with her tennis instructor and reamed Thomas for half of everything, but the man was still rich. It boggled Conrad's mind. Both the wealth Thomas must have and the fact that he'd let the bitch take any of it.

If it had been Conrad, he would have figured out a way to keep what was his no matter what. Far below the deck, Lake Lanier's green waters rippled with boats and jet skies. Tree tops swayed in the pine-scented breeze and the late afternoon-evening sun bored holes in his head. His blood pressure rose with every word Thomas spoke until he thought he would explode as they argued more about Bill's letter and the waiting fortune.

Forty minutes and three beers later, Thomas had completely entrenched himself in doing the right thing. But before calling the police, Conrad had talked Thomas into calling the others-Ray, Edward and Bob-to get their opinion about it. The numerous calls were met by voice mail and completely dashed Conrad's hope of swaying Thomas to keep the cops out of it. The dirty-cop bastards would likely keep the money for themselves.

Head pounding, Conrad raged inside as the thought of five million escaping his grasp edged him closer toward desperation. He studied Thomas intently, wondering if the asshole was waiting for him to beg. Out of all of the men in their group, he'd always thought Thomas the most compassionate. The others often teased Thomas too, just not as often or as bad as they did Conrad.

"At least let me look at the letter Bill sent before we call the cops." Conrad wiped the sweat from his brow, his fist clenched with rage. "How do we know this isn't another one of Bill or the other guys' pranks? The shits are always making me or you the brunt of a joke."

Thomas's eyes widened as doubt hit and he pulled a folded letter from his back pocket. He went to hand the letter over, but then shook his head and jerked the note back. "No. This just goes too far for Bill or even the others. And if you read my part of the clue for the money then you'll take off and end up in trouble. Believe me, Con, I'm doing this for your good as well as my own."

"To hell with that. This is millions you're pissing away with your righteous dick." Conrad snatched the letter, moved back from Thomas, and held his friend at bay as he skimmed the letter. His six-two height made keeping it out of five-nine Thomas's reach doable. Still, Thomas kept jumping and yelling for the letter until he'd backed Conrad to the deck's rail. Conrad was in the middle of reading the clue for the hidden money when Thomas caught the bottom of the letter and ripped it.

Roaring in anger, Conrad lashed out and slammed his fist into Thomas's face then watched in disbelief as his friend pitched through the splintering rail to the rocky ground thirty feet below. Conrad quickly grabbed the rail post and regained his balance, keeping himself from the same fate. He had to take several deep breaths before he could look down. Thomas must have landed on his head because he lay unmoving with his neck at an odd angle. His eyes stared blankly up toward the sky as blood flowed from his nose and busted lip.

Conrad descended the steps in a surreal haze and found the torn part of Bill's letter lying on the ground.

After staring at Thomas's body for a long few minutes, Conrad realized the upside of the situation. He now had the clue and he didn't have to deal with Thomas's righteous shit ever again. The sense of relief flooding him was akin to escaping a death sentence. He finished reading the clue then tucked the pieces of the letter away before he erased evidence of his presence. The clues on where Bill had hidden the money didn't make sense yet.

There once lived a king. He died on a throne.

Hopefully with a third letter, Conrad could piece the whole of it together.

Selling security systems to his best friends turned out to be worth something after all because he knew exactly how to erase his tracks at Thomas's and getting into Bill Collins's house tonight would be a breeze. It shouldn't be too hard to find the letter Bill sent to Lauren and once he did, Conrad would already be halfway to five million dollars and never have to put up with the others' shit ever again.

Atlanta, Georgia

"Watch out, Matt!" Lauren Collins grabbed her son from the proximity of the pony's hooves in a harried rush. Hank, the pony ride handler, was more focused on the moms than the kids. At what appeared to be twenty-something he was an Alan Jackson look alike with country written from his boots to his curled hat and milked that for everything it was worth. He treated every woman as if he were Mr. Irresistible who could satisfy their every want, making it obvious he was a cub looking for a rich cougar.

"Go, Mitch! Go faster and shoot the bad guys!" Squirming against her hold, Matt egged his brother on, his blue eyes as bright as Christmas stars. They were identical in looks except for tiny moles on their temple. Matt's was on the left, Mitch's was on the right. In everything else, they were different. One liked chocolate ice cream, the other vanilla. One liked the color blue, the other green. Mitch took things slow whereas Matt charged full steam ahead and wasn't happy until he'd pushed everything to its limit-even his brother.

"Let me go help him, Mom. We're soldiers like Uncle Jason, and we're taking over the enemy camp. Please!"

Lauren braced against the pain in her heart and bit back the "Like Uncle Jason had been" that cut through her mind. A year ago, her brother had gone missing in action and her hope of him being found alive had dwindled with every passing day.

Matt wiggled harder. "Please, Mom?"

"Only if you promise to stay beside the horse and not get behind it again. It could kick you."

"I pomise," he said. "It's not a real horse, though. It's a pony."

She let Matt go. "Ponies know how to kick too." But she spoke to empty space. He'd already taken off, wind ruffling his golden hair as he scrambled to dodge enemy fire.

"Giddy up! Shoot 'em! Go!" Mitch yelled, practically standing in the saddle and jumping as he pointed his finger at an imaginary foe.

"Sit down, Mitch!" Lauren squinted against the low hanging sun. If she survived the last few minutes of the boys' birthday party, she'd count it a miracle.

"You're the one who needs to sit before you fall down." Angie Freemont, best friend and official birthday bash photographer, joined Lauren. After snapping a couple of pictures of Mitch on the pony, she grabbed Lauren's elbow and steered her to a nearby shaded chair then brushed her red curls back from her face and sighed. "Man, it's hot."

Lauren nodded. "You can say that again." The summer sun and humid heat were still powerful forces to be reckoned with despite the evening hour. She melted into a chair and picked up her sweet tea, brushing her forehead and cheeks with the icy glass before taking a long, cool drink. There were a number of things one could always count on having in the South, like grits and biscuits and gravy, but steamy weather and sweet tea were at the very top of the list.

Holding an outdoor birthday anytime between ten and four would have been scorching. So Lauren had gambled for a five o'clock party time, hoped it wouldn't thunderstorm, and won. Few trees shaded the expanse of rolling green grass that surrounded the Southern plantation-style home. She'd have preferred to keep the sprawling oaks and blooming dogwoods that had covered the lot when they'd bought it, but Bill had wanted an unhindered view of the world-class golf course. That was before he'd traded his family and eighteen classic holes to tango with Double-D's in and out of bed.