J Saint - Collateral Damage

Jack landed on his back as they hit the TV credenza. He was running out of time as the effects of the tear gas took a toll. Jack roared in frustration, reared his hips up, slamming the man's head into the hard wood of the credenza.

Then suddenly, through the growing fog, he saw Lauren. She swung something thick and white, hitting the man on the side of his head and the guy keeled over. Knockout punch delivered.

Coughing badly, Jack pushed the man off, secured the knife, and flexi-cuffed the bastard with his own cuffs. Lauren dropped what Jack now realized was a heavy ceramic toilet tank lid, and pulled at Jack to escape the tear gas.

She had a clear plastic shower cap over her face, and likely needed to breathe. The woman was resourceful with a capital R.

Practically strangling from the tear gas, he rushed Lauren outside. She pulled off the plastic and drew deep breaths of air. She'd put on her jeans that had been left in the bathroom and still wore his T-shirt. The whole encounter had lasted no more than a few minutes.

Jack popped the car open, grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over his face, gaining a small amount of relief from the tear gas. He opened the trunk and gave Lauren the keys. "Get in. Lock the doors. Back the car up to the room's door and wait. If anybody approaches drive off without me. You can pick me up on the highway just down the road."

She nodded. He took the shower cap from her, using it as he went back into the room. He wrapped the attacker in a sheet and stuffed him into the trunk of the car, grabbed a wet towel, then collected the computer as well as his and Lauren's other belongings before joining Lauren in the car and they hit the road.

Weston wasn't going to be happy. Jack just hoped the guy in the trunk didn't off himself in the five hour drive to Fort Bragg. They didn't need another dead end.

2200 hours

Miserable and in pain, Gardner crouched naked and chilled in the palmetto shrubs outside Ray Branson's multi-million dollar digs. Located on Skidaway Island, the luxury community offered the best golfing and yachting to be had in the Savannah area. The salty ocean breeze coming across the marshes was heavy with moisture and made the night cool. Getting past security had been a challenge, but he'd waited outside the service entrance for just the right truck to hide beneath. They were having some big shindig at the club house tonight, which afforded him a little more freedom to move around, but not much.

He'd had to wait outside. Ray had cheated on Conrad and had replaced the security system Conrad had sold to him. Gardner wasn't sure how to disable it so had been forced to sit in the yard to wait for Ray's return, like a dog.

That burned.

The carbon steel of the K-bar tactical knife he clutched in his right hand was solid and powerful enough to overcome his handicap. He was generally left-handed, but the bullet wound Collins's bitch had nailed him with hurt like hell. He'd packed the wound with gauze and had downed as many over-the-counter pain meds as he dared.

He'd given a lot of thought during the drive on how to take care of Ray and had decided on a knife. The damn rifle he'd used on Lauren's muscle had left Conrad deflated. He'd waited forever for the shot and then it had been over too soon. And he wasn't even sure if he'd offed the guy or not. Clubbing Edward had been much more satisfying. He could feel the death, smell the blood, hear and see Edward's terror and pain.

Guns had their place but not for meting out justice.

The knife would do well, but would also be messier, which is why he had his clothes in a bundle under his arm. It would make clean up easier.

Across the small cove was the club house. He could see people in gowns and tuxes, milling around, drinking champagne, completely uncaring that there were folks like him who had to fight to have a dollar in their pocket. They were just like Edward and Bill and Ray and Bob. Thomas not so much, but then, his death had been an accident.

Somebody needed to go rig the gas to that place and send them all packing to their heavenly reward. Conrad shifted, thinking he'd really enjoy seeing the place blow, and who knew, it could be hours before Ray returned. But what if Ray was there? What if Ray had Bill's letter on him?

Pissed and deprived, Conrad settled back into his spot to watch and to burn inside. He'd always been on the outside of anything good in life, looking in as if he were a lowlife unworthy of anything more. Except for one brief time. Then he'd been everyone's hero. The magic of the game, the feel of the ball, the cheer of the crowd, the whole shinning glory that had gilded him football's golden boy. It had all been his.

He tightened his grip on the knife and tensed as an expensive sports car pulled into Ray's drive and the streetlight illuminated Ray in the driver's seat. A woman in red sat in the passenger's seat. Conrad smiled; she came dressed for his party. As the garage door opened, and Ray slid the Jag-U-R inside-Conrad hated those commercials-he rolled inside, clothes tucked and knife ready. He waited until Ray disarmed the security system before he attacked the couple on the steps leading into the house.

From the first slash until the last, Conrad felt the satisfying rush of blood both in his veins and from out of the veins of his victims washed over him. The surrounding scents were earthy and dark. The wild energy and terror that had permeated the air was electrifying. The euphoria better than any orgasm he'd had in a long time. The mud room was just inside and Conrad showered, hating to wash away the blood, but realizing now more than ever he couldn't be caught. He had the perfect set up as long as everyone believed he too had been a victim. But were he to leave any evidence then he'd lose his anonymity.

Once he was clean, dry and redressed, he covered the shower, knife and towel he used with bleach, then he went in search for the letter Bill sent to Ray. He found it unopened inside a bin filled with mail and packages. Conrad quickly opened the letter and scanned it for the next clue to piece together with the others.

There once was a king. He died on a throne. In his land of Grace, did the whole world mourn. Buried like a bone, by the water's spray. He reigns supreme until this day.

The jackpot lies as does he, but the real prize will be-

Cold steel pressed into the back of his neck. "Don't move. Drop the letter and put your hands behind your back or I will blow your head off."

?Mierda! Andreas stormed into his operations room on the Airbus A380. They were less than two hours from home. He couldn't believe Fidel's emergency call and had to see the live feed immediately. George barked his irritation at the interruption of their picnic among the clouds. He'd had his top chef deliver a number of delicacies that both he and his son enjoyed and they'd just settled down on a checkered table cloth on the floor of the Magic Carpet room for the feast when Fidel called.

The British office building that housed both GreenWorld Corporation and BioLogics's European headquarters was being raided. Guru had video of the invasion streaming in via a backup security system. The ten of his employees gathered about the screen scattered, looking at George with fear.

Andreas ignored them and set his gaze on the unfolding scene. Men in black, dressed in special ops tactical gear and carrying MP5s swarmed every floor of the building, confiscating everything from computers to files to phones. Andreas was stunned. Why hadn't any of his moles in any of the world's top intelligence agencies informed him of the danger?

Guru switched from camera to camera, showing that every business in the building was being targeted to a search, but only BioLogics and GreenWorld Corporation's equipment was being taken. No audio could be heard along with the feed. The men were either working in complete silence or had a high tech inter-communication system.