J Saint - Collateral Damage

She trembled so badly inside that she could hardly breathe and she desperately needed a place safe from a bullet bolting out of the blue. She punched the gas, heading for the Interstate, and answered Jack's question. "I shot the ski-masked man in black, who wanted me for his Sex Slave. He dropped down from someplace inside the carport after he shot you."

"What?" Jack jerked his head and then groaned miserably. "Jesus, Lauren. How long have I been out? How did you get out of there? Did he-?"

"He didn't get even remotely close to me thanks to you." Lauren told Jack what had happened and how having his pistol saved them both. She pointed to his gun that now rested on the floorboard and he slipped it back into the waistband of his jeans.

"I knew something was off." He cursed at himself. "The ground was dry except for a puddle of water on the back porch and in the carport. But there was so much clutter everywhere that I let the detail slide. The guy you shot, was he wet?"

Lauren frowned, thought back and realized Jack was right. "It's possible, he kinda had the look."

Jack cursed. "What do you want to bet the bastard killed Conrad, set the boat on fire, swam ashore and came here, positioning himself long before I arrived. If he'd been hiding in the woods, I would have picked up on him. Same with the house. He hid where I would least likely look. The rafters of an empty carport."

"Which means he knew we were coming. He knew we were together. And he waited for me to show up before trying to kill you."

"You got it."

Lauren shuddered. "That makes what he said to me worse."

"What?"

"Don't ask. Just know it would have been bad. And none of what he said had anything to do with Bill, but sounded like a seriously crazed rapist stalking me." She looked in her rearview mirror, searching for reassurance. Her heart pounded when she saw a non-descript black sedan approaching, but its turn signal flashed and it made a right. She focused back on the road ahead, unable to avoid the horror of the day.

"You're not going to like this, but I don't think we should go back to where the boys, Angie and Rico are. Not until we figure this out. Someone seems to be a step ahead of us and the farther we are from your children, the safer they are. In fact, they probably need to leave Atlanta."

"You're right." Tears stung Lauren's eyes and her heart ached with both pain and frustration. She was abandoning Matt and Mitch when all she wanted to do was to hold them close and keep them safe at her side, but that might be the most dangerous place for them. She was torn and holding on by a thread.

She listened as Jack called Rico, using her throw-away cell phone in case his had been compromised, and explained what happened at Gardner's. Jack made light of being shot, but she'd expected he would. He suggested to Rico that Angie and the boys needed to go someplace a little safer and whatever Rico said had Jack frowning. "I don't know about that. You're right. You couldn't ask for better cover, still there are so many people, control over the environment would be toast. I'll let Angie talk to Lauren."

Jack handed her the phone. "Angie's wanting to take the boys to Disney World instead of keeping them cooped up in a hotel room."

Lauren took the phone, her heart skydiving at the thought of Matt and Mitch traveling hundreds of miles away from her. She had no question over their safety in going to the amusement park. She'd trust Angie with her life. Jack trusted Rico with his. And since she'd entrusted Jack with her life, by default, she could rely on Rico as well. Angie got on and gave her spiel about going to Disney World, a Fairy Godmother treat as she called it and Lauren, heart in her throat, agreed. If she couldn't be with them, she would much rather know her sons were being distracted by a world of fun than miserable in a hotel room. It still left her feeling hollow and adrift in a stormy sea.

An hour later she didn't feel any better about the situation. They had tried to call Bob and Ray again with no results. Had something already happened to them? She and Jack checked into a motel south of Fair Play in Lavonia, Georgia. She'd given the clerk a false name and had paid cash for the room. It was as safe as she could get at the moment.

She didn't draw a deep breath until the room's door closed and she slipped the security lock on. Jack glanced about but didn't say anything about the one-room two-bed set up, and she didn't mention it either. She wasn't about to leave him alone after being hurt and they didn't have connecting rooms. He set the pizza they'd collected on the mini-table, dropped his duffle bag, and sat down on the bottom of the closest bed, looking like death warmed over.

She put the first-aid kit on the bathroom sink, the Coke by the pizza, and walked over to Jack, moving in close so she could examine his wound. "Let me see."

He bent his head and inhaled sharply as if the movement pained him.

She bit her lip, gut knotted that he'd been hurt at all. But in truth, the wound didn't look as bad as she expected. The gouging scrape started above his right ear and angled toward his forehead, slashing across the previous, vertical scar at his right temple. Once healed, he'd have a permanent cross marking his temple.

"Come in to the bathroom and let me clean you up, then we both can relax," she said past the emotion clogging her throat. What almost happened was still too fresh in her mind for her to be anything but overwhelmed.

"I can do it." He stood, coming so close to her that she had to take a step back. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. He searched her gaze for a moment as if trying to assess her mood.

"So can I, and right now I need to make sure you're all right more than you need to be Mr. Invincible." She marched to the bathroom and pointed to the closed commode, determined to ignore the effects of his close proximity on her senses. "Sit."

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he sat. "What's next? The Terminator?"

"Sponge Bob Square Pants," she said briskly as she turned on the water.

He snorted and winced. "Can we stick with Superman?"

"Depends on how cooperative you are, Dudley Do Right." More like Studly Do Right.

He laughed, then groaned. "Okay. You win. Just don't make me laugh again. No more torture."

She opened the first-aid kit and he reached for the Ibuprofen, downing a handful of them before pulling off his stained T-shirt. The bathroom shrank to the size of a pea pod, a very warm pea pod. And the torture had just begun because ignoring him and the effect of his chiseled in stone physique became impossible. His every muscle was perfectly defined, supple and vibrant with life. Thank God for that.

This man had put his life on the line for their country numerous times. And he'd put everything on the line for her without question.

Taking the wash cloth, she gently cleansed away the dried blood then dabbed some antibiotic ointment to his wound and left it open to air at his insistence. She turned her attention to cleaning his neck and chest as well, lingering more than she had a right to, but unable to stop herself from relishing every touch. A touch he was clearly far from indifferent to, a reaction that filled her even more with want, with need, with excitement. He seemingly watched her every move with his heated gaze, but then she swore he'd stared at her mouth, her breasts, her sex so long that it was a wonder she didn't burst into flames.

She surprised herself on how quickly she finished, then again, he had a way of warping her perception of time. It could have been five minutes, it could have been fifty, whatever it was, it wasn't enough. She wanted more of him, needed to give more to him in so many ways.

That bullet had shot to hell any barriers or pretensions, leaving a raw need that only he could fill. She slid her palm against his hard-edged jaw and eased his gaze up to hers. His skin had become burning hot, his pulse raced beneath her finger tips, and his respirations had quickened considerably. "Are you sure you don't need the hospital?"