J Saint - Collateral Damage

Jack's instructions had been to wait in the car at the populated marina with the engine running, the doors locked and her windows up. On the off chance that anyone approached the car, Jack had told her to drive away and to call him. Now she hesitated on what to do next. It seemed really dumb that she couldn't walk twenty yards in a public place with a number of people around to find out what had everyone's attention. But then, she'd promised Jack that she'd do as he directed and she'd already compromised her word.

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she got back into the car, locked the doors and turned on the engine. After scanning the area carefully, she called Jack.

"What?" he answered in a low whisper that tingled in her ear and had her mentally smacking herself. Was there no part of her he didn't stroke?

"Something's going on," she told him. "Police and rescue are at the marina, and everyone is lined along the shore, looking out at the lake. I'm going to find out what."

Jack exhaled. "Fine. Keep me on the phone. I have Gardner's house trailer in sight, but have yet to move in. For a security guru he doesn't live high on the hog and he's got zilch protecting his own home."

Lauren frowned. "That's odd. I always thought he lived in a big estate house like the others. Maybe this address is a family member's. His grandfather owned a lot of property off the lake."

"Maybe. So far everything on the perimeter check appears normal, but my gut is screaming."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not liking the situation at all and even less now that you've called. Find out what's up."

"Okay. Hold on." Lauren had parked as close as she could to the crowd and was quickly able to reach the lakeshore. What had everybody enthralled was immediately obvious. The smoldering hull of a boat rocked on the water not too far from the shore. It looked as if it was being kept afloat by ropes tethered to the surrounding rescue boats.

"What happened?" she asked the group of boys next to her. They all carried skateboards and sported low-slung shorts, Billabong tees and spiky hair cuts.

"It was like a movie, man. The dude's boat blew up."

"Yeah. Smack was in the middle of a tight trick on the steps over there when whammo."

"We all hit the deck. Pieces of the boat flew way up into the air."

"It was rad. Shame too. They're looking for the man's body. Heard somebody say the dude was a football legend or something like that."

"Thanks." Lauren reeled as the blood drained from her head. It had to be Conrad. He'd probably gone to his boat, thinking he'd be safe on it. She turned away and put the phone to her ear. "Jack, we're too late-"

"I heard. Get in the car and head this way. Once you're rolling I'll hang up and check the house. Do not come up his drive until I call and give you the okay."

Conrad glared at his watch. Sweat trickled down his back and his chin. Still wet from the lake, he'd stuffed himself up in the storage area above the rafters of his carport and it was hot in the airless space. It gave him a clear view of the front door of his trailer and set him up for the perfect shot, though, so he wasn't about to abandon it. Once Lauren and her muscle showed, he'd nail the guy with his rifle and get her, then maybe torch his place to say good-bye to all of the shit that had tried to bury him all of his life.

Lauren had better hurry, though. He only had so much time before the authorities would likely appear, looking for someone to tell about his untimely demise. He was thinking he'd have to be gone by then, but maybe not. Maybe he could tie her to his bed and be enjoying her while the cops knocked on his door.

The thought had his heart racing with excitement. Doing her like that right under their noses with her dead muscle stuffed under the porch they were standing on. He practically laughed out loud. Who'd have known how much fun being his inner self could be? He glanced at his watch again.

Damn. It had been a good thirty to forty minutes since Lauren had tried to call him. Surely, she'd come looking for him, all worried about Bill's bud andTires crunched gravel. Someone was coming up his driveway. He could see Lauren in the driver's seat as she turned the car around and faced back down the drive. She was alone. He couldn't believe it. This was going to be a piece of cake with ass as a reward. He set down his rifle, about drop from his hiding place when a man exited from his house!

What the hell?

Conrad squinted and stared hard, reaching for his rifle. How had the SOB gotten inside without Conrad having a clue? It was Lauren's muscle. The man reached the steps and motioned her inside, clearly expecting her arrival. Had she sent the guy to kill him? Was she scheming to have the five million all to herself?

They went back inside his house before he could get the rifle in place.

After sitting stunned for a moment, he settled back into place, ready to nail the guy when he walked out the door.

Lauren didn't know why but her skin crawled as she navigated Conrad Gardner's drive. So much so that she swung the car around and pointed it back down the drive. Somehow the shadows lurking beyond the surrounding net of trees made her feel almost trapped. It didn't make sense. She'd grown up rural and was more accustomed to isolated areas than most people who lived in the city. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the few times she'd interacted with Conrad, she'd always gotten the impression he was much more affluent than the scrubby drive and run down trailer indicated.

Not that she was a snob. She'd grown up on the side of the have-nots. She supposed it had more to do with finding out one more thing that she believed was in fact false. The ill thoughts made her feel even worse. Good God, the man could be lying in a watery grave right that second and she was questioning his social status. Maybe she had become a snob.

Jack met her on the porch. Once glance at his strained expression and his constant scanning of their surroundings told her he was ill at ease too.

"I've tried to call Bob and Ray again and got no answer. Do you think they're dead too? I can't take any more of this." Half of her wanted to say to hell with finding out what Conrad might know about Bill. She and Jack just needed to get the hell out of there and do what? Sit in a hotel room until someone hunted her and her sons down? That didn't sit well with her. And until they had feedback from the information Jack had given his commander, she really didn't see another option.

"I don't know, Lauren. If you had said to me yesterday that I'd still be this much in the dark about Bill's activities, I never would have believed you. I'm sorry, but here may be our only chance to search for clues."

"I know. Just ignore me."

"No, you're right. Brace yourself," he told her before he opened Conrad's front door. Her jaw snapped open and she was sure she would have swooned from the stench alone had Jack not had a grip on her arm.

"Oh my God."

"Can't see where God could possibly have a hand in this death trap," Jack said. "I had hoped that you knew Gardner well enough to be able to see a clue in this mess."

Lauren shook her head. "This is just beyond comprehension. The man has to have been seriously ill."

"A hoarder. I've heard of them before, but had never really seen it manifested. It gets worse the farther back you go. Since we're looking for a letter, I suggest we start with the kitchen area. From the empty envelopes in there, Gardner must have opened his mail during mealtime."

Jack led Lauren through the sorry rooms to the kitchen and dining area. Even before she arrived, he wondered if they were just wasting their time. Finding anything here would be a miracle. He'd seen hovels all over the world and nothing seemed to match Gardner's place in terms of years of junk just laying everywhere. Even the ground surrounding the back porch of the trailer was knee deep in the plastic containers, the kind the microwavable dinners came in. Mixed with those had been buckets of dirty engine oil, overflowing with water and scum. Recreational paraphernalia was spilled from an attached storage shed where expensive water skis, scuba tanks, gear and a top brand set of forged golfing irons lay scattered about, and all of it beaded with water-a waste of quality equipment that didn't match the rundown, low-income hovel. There'd been a puddle of water on the back porch he'd had to step over so as not to leave any prints. And after seeing the inside, he wondered if it really was water or if Gardner had tossed some other liquid out the back door before leaving the house. He'd seen no evidence of rain on the terrain he'd covered coming to Gardner's.