by J. L. Saint
"Mom?" Mitch cried out again.
"Mitch, don't worry," Lauren said. "I'm here. Just hold onto your seat tight." She was scared too, and the tight emotion in her voice was clear.
The Shepherds whined then barked, worried about their charges.
The pressure of keeping everyone safe was heavier and more intense than he'd ever experienced before in his life. The cop hung a right at the light, just as Jack had. Jack moved around the side of the gas station then.
Delta operatives were trained to operate in chaos. Practically any takedown of an enemy, no matter how precisely planned, was nothing more than controlled chaos. Unexpected elements always appeared. Yet, the crunch of trying to escape in a minivan from two assassins with two dogs, two kids and two women in tow was worse than any mission he'd ever tackled.
"We're okay," Jack reassured the kids. "We're going to outsmart them. Make them disappear like I made the quarter go away." He watched as the black sedan took the right turn on two wheels. Then Jack pulled back into that intersection the moment the light turned green and made a left. The Lincoln he'd passed earlier was once again behind him. He had about sixty seconds before the cop and the sedan figured out his maneuver.
Signs for Interstate 85 appeared, but just past that was a large shopping mall.
Jack weighed the odds and accepted Providence's helping hand. He sailed past the Interstate and turned into the megatropolis mall, going to the far side of the packed parking lot beneath a row of fat pear trees.
Glancing at the cars entering the Interstate, he saw a cop car with flashing lights whizz into the traffic, making cars swerve wildly to get out of his way. No black Sedan followed the cop, which meant that sucker was still close by and looking for them. The men in black probably already had the license number to the mini-van, which meant as long as they were in it, they wouldn't be safe. Six pairs of eyes stared at him from the backseat, four human, two canine and all of them frightened and worried.
He took a bracing breath and set a reassuring smile on his face. His entire focus had shifted in a matter of an hour. Keeping the innocent safe took precedence over unraveling the mystery behind Bill Collins's death.
"What are we doing here?" Lauren leaned forward in the middle seat.
"Shopping," he muttered under his breath, as he shifted in his seat to see her. He hated like hell that he was going to have to steal in front of the kids.
She blinked at him, genuine surprised slacking her jaw. "Shopping?"
"For a car."
"But there isn't a dealership… Oh God." Realization dawned, and it wasn't pretty.
"Better than the high-speed alternative that would put all of you and other folks in danger."
She exhaled. "Okay. I'll take the 'better than' then."
"Reminds me of the Could Be Worse books. Right, Matt? Right, Mitch?" Angie asked, clearly trying to distract the boys.
"What books?" Jack asked absently as he scoured the surrounding area for the biggest, most accessible vehicle. Behind him was a carwash and detailing service called CleanSmart with the slogan, "Clean while you shop". The keys for the cars would likely be hanging on an unattended rack near their business shack. He could steal the Lexus the workers were putting the final buff to, but stuffing everyone in would be rather tricky. The other cars in line to clean were smaller.
"Matt's favorite bedtime stories," Lauren said.
"They're the bestest," Matt said. "A real grandpa says it all the time."
Lauren explained. "He says 'could be worse' after anything wrong happens."
"Good philosophy." Jack continued his search. Beyond the CleanSmart was a collection of tour buses, school buses and retirement center vans with several drivers smoking in the parking lot. One of them wore a tattered cap with Vietnam stamped on it.
"I thought so too, until I heard, 'could be worse' every time after the boys got in trouble."
Jack smiled, thinking Lauren's position as mother wasn't much different from his as a Delta team leader. He'd heard something similar to those words many times when dealing with his men. He also had another idea that might avoid grand larceny.
"I'll be right back." He opened his car door.
"You're leaving us here?" Something besides fear laced Lauren's tight tone and drew Jack's attention back to her angel face and sinner mouth. He could readily see her worry of the situation, but he also caught a hint of doubt, as if she thought he might abandon them. How Bill Collins could have walked out on her and his two young sons was incompreYou let Livy go. His conscience slapped him. His divorce from Jill, though welcomed in the face of her infidelities, hadn't been Jack's choice. He'd let his wife go and she'd snatched every bit of his daughter away from him that she could. He shoved the searing thoughts aside for now.
"See those buses over there?" He nodded in to the right, his tone strained. "I'm going out in the open. You all are safer here under the trees. You can move to the front seat. If you see our man in the black sedan, hit the panic button on the keys. I will likely see him before you do and be back in seconds, okay?"
"All right." Lauren unbuckled her seat belt. Jack exited the car and opened the side door for her. He kept a sharp eye on everything happening around them as she transferred to the front. Even so he was still all too aware of her fresh lavender scent and the radiating warmth of her body mere inches from his. Her face was pale, her features drawn with stress and her lush bottom lip was even fuller than before, likely swollen from where she'd worried it between her teeth.
This shouldn't be happening. The kids should be laughing and playing in the pool. She should be… He axed that thought from his mind. Visions of how to get her relaxed and happy were too damn vivid. After assuring the doors were locked, he left the van, stomping on the gripping need in him to be immediately at their side to protect them. He kept scanning for any sign of a roving black sedan as he crossed to the buses, forcing himself to walk when all he wanted to do was haul ass.
He approached the vet who split off from the group to speak as Jack requested. Jack quickly learned that Stan Brady was a grizzled, five-nine, sharp-as-a-tack gent who'd flown copters in 'Nam. He still kept his hair buzzed and his boots to a high shine. A short conversation and a handshake later, the vet pulled in front of the mini-van with a Serenity Village passenger van.
Lauren and Angie both had armed themselves with a golf club during his absence and looked ready to use it when he reappeared. Still, they looked more than relieved to see him. They ushered the kids in to the van and he loaded the dogs. Quick and competent, Stan left the mall area. He noticed the twins' Dale Earnhardt, Jr. race cars and began telling the boys how he got to ride and drive Earnhardt's car. Eyes wide and attention riveted to the man's story, the boys were soon distracted from the upset of the situation. Within five minutes of leaving the mall, Stan's bus driving pals phoned, reporting two men in black had found the mini-van and were canvassing the area. Only then did Jack let himself take a deep breath and ease some of the tension gripping his gut.
They were all safe for the moment but a long way from being out of danger.
Now he needed answers. ASAP. He slid his gaze over Lauren. Her eyes were closed at the moment, as if she were silently praying. She sat in the row of seats behind the driver, Matt on one side, Mitch on the other. She had a hand resting on each of their shoulders, holding the most important people in her world. Kids whose father's actions had likely thrust them into harm's way.
If he hadn't already shot Bill Collins he'd do it now. He sat behind Lauren. Angie was opposite, closest to the motorized doors. The dogs were parked in the center aisle between.
Jack leaned closer and tapped Lauren on the shoulder. "These men know a lot about you. And some of the facts aren't adding up."
She shifted to see him, blue gaze a stormy sea of vulnerability and resolve. She'd go to the ends of the earth for her kids and protect them with her last breath. "What do you mean?"
"They'd blocked your car in. Mine wasn't touched, mak
ing me sure we weren't followed from your house. It also indicates they may have the resources to track you via your cell phone signal."
She exhaled sharply. "God. Are you sure?"
"Let's consider I was wrong, and they did follow you to Angie's house today. How did they know which house was Angie's? You didn't park there, and we didn't approach the house from any observable position. I'd keep your cell phone turned off. Use mine for any calls you need to make. And I wouldn't leave any sort of electronic trail either. No credit cards, ATM's, et cetera."
"I see what you mean. Either they already knew Angie's my friend and I'd stayed there last night or they tracked me somehow."
"We can't forget about the muddy prints in Angie's kitchen."
"If the men in black arrived after us then whose footprints are they?"
"Good question." He looked over at Angie, sitting across from them. "The back door was left open. Do you know for sure that you had shut it?"
Angie rolled her eyes. "With Matt and Mitch leading the posse, I don't think there can be a for sure, but I thought I had." She shivered. "You can bet from now on the door gets locked and I'm getting a security system."
"Buy a big dog instead," Lauren advised. "The elaborate system Bill had his buddy Conrad install wasn't worth a fig. They disabled it."
"I think I hear a Great Dane or a Mastiff calling my name," Angie said.
"So who left the footprints in the kitchen if the men hadn't arrived yet?" Lauren frowned.
"Good question," Jack said.
"You said Bill was involved in something. What and who?"
"I'm not sure yet, so it's best if I keep that to myself right now."
"That's not an answer I can accept." Lauren shook her head. "You want me to trust you enough to talk. Keeping things from me will make that impossible."
Jack nodded, expecting that from her, but somehow still feeling a twinge of what would never be. "I understand." Aside from the fact that he'd killed her husband, the father of her kids, his job was nothing but secrets. Something Jill couldn't tolerate. "For right now, Lauren, just think global and radical, and as soon as I can say more, I will. You can't go back to Angie's and you can't go home. I wouldn't contact anyone you know until we can get a handle on who is after you and why."
"How are we supposed to figure out who they are?"
"First, you and I are going to talk and see if any of the pieces fit the puzzle. Second, you can help me get into Bill's life. He had to live somewhere. He had friends, an office, any person or place where we might find clues to what he was involved in. I don't think I have to tell you just how serious this is. Just how much of a life and death situation this is turning into."
"No. You don't."
"I suggest we stay at a hotel until we can sort this out."
"I still don't know you."
"No worries, Laur. I'm staying with you. We can drop Sasha and Sam off at my mother's house and camp out at the Ritz for a few days," Angie spoke up, making Jack blink with surprise, something that didn't happen often.
"The Ritz?" He mentally calculated what two rooms would cost per night for who knew how long. He had money in his account but that could eventually stretch his limit.
Anyone ever hear of Motel Six?
Chapter Seventeen
Atlanta, Georgia
1800 hours
Conrad Garner drove slowly past the elaborate stone and fountain entrance to the St. John's Country Club. He only dared to make one pass and tried to absorb as many details as possible-motorized heavy-iron gates, alarm system, video cams and a cop-wanna-be in the guardhouse. He would be a problem, a witness Conrad couldn't afford to have.
He continued around the ten-foot stone-walled perimeter, noting any changes and weaknesses in security system as the forested areas grew denser the closer he came to the Chattahoochee River. At the service entrance to the world class golf course, he found no guard, but a card key gate and standard video surveillance. Passable if he wanted to go to the effort. So would entering via the river side, but he had a better idea.
Edward Weiss had taken the silver spoon he'd been born sucking and had turned it into solid gold in Atlanta's real estate market. He lived in high style. Spent most of his time playing golf or traveling and showed up at the office every now and then to close on the multi-million dollar deals his assistants put together. Edward constantly claimed that he'd made more real estate deals doing eighteen holes than most executives did by hours in boardrooms. He had a trophy wife with Pamela Anderson implants who spent her time either in the spa or shopping, two daughters off at boarding school, and not a care in the world. The bastard had it all.
Why in the hell had Bill even bothered to cut Edward in on the five million? Why hadn't Bill realized that he, Conrad, needed it more than all of the others in the group all together?
Growing more pissed by the minute, he checked his cell phone again. Not a peep from any of the guys.
Which meant one thing. They had cut him out of the picture so they could have all the money for themselves. Were they behind either of the men at Collins's house? Did they now have Lauren's letter from Bill? If they did, then they had three of the six clues. He only had two.
His teeth ached from the pressure of his anger.
They didn't need the money. They went on international golfing trips. Dined in uppity restaurants and camped out at five star hotels. In fact, now that he really thought about it, the whole Vegas tradition, being one of the guys and all that stuff was nothing more than a pity fuck for good old Con.
Poor Con, he would have been NFL's first pick if he hadn't have blown his knee so bad.
You would have been great!
Better than the best.
Tough luck.
His ears rang from the sympathies.
Not wanting a traceable electronic trail, Conrad paid cash at a nearby pro golf shop then made his way back to the St. John's Golf Course. He looked like the ultimate leisurely golfer, cap, khaki's, pullover, shoes, gloves, the works. He parked about a mile away in a shopping area and strolled at a leisurely pace. Conrad knew for a fact that the forested acres edging the perimeter of the course relied on wireless video cameras. For Edward, it had been the one negative aspect of buying a house on the golf course. Years ago he'd laughed about his paranoia over some psycho getting into the community.
Conrad chuckled, thinking it apropos that he'd be the one proving Edward was right all of these years later. Within ten yards of a particularly shaded area of the high stone fence, Conrad turned on his wireless jamming device guaranteed to send WiFi, Bluetooth and video feed on the fritz in a twenty meter radius for as long as he wanted. He'd be a roving blackout for the security cameras. Getting over the wall wasn't as much of a breeze as Conrad first thought. His bum knee gave out on him and started aching like an SOB.
First, he found a stray ball. Next he pilfered a golf club from a cart parked near the trees with the owners absorbed by a ball in the sand. Then he made his way to the back of Edward's house. Finding no one at home, he disabled the security system that he'd sold to Edward long ago and slipped into the basement with a strategic stroke of the club that sent the golf ball through the glass French doors.
As he made his way inside, he wondered why he'd never thought of doing this before-breaking into places he'd armed. He could have easily picked up some extra cash over the years. A little redistribution of wealth from the haves to the have-nots. Not stealing really. Just skipping the government middleman was all and avoiding the bureaucratic waste Edward always complained about.
He found the hot water heater on low, which told him that Edward and his wife were slumming-it in some ultra resort. Of all the piss poor luck. He doubted there was a chance in hell he'd find the mail for the past few days upstairs but it would be worth a look.
He entered the main part of the house via the kitchen and the "servant's stairs"-hallways that kids, hired help (usually illegal), and rare pets were allowed to tread upon. Every inch of t
he place was decorated to a posh museum-like T that made Conrad itch to either smash it or get outside so he could breathe. He found no mail but the calendar on the refrigerator door sang a sweet song for him.
Edward's flight was due back at seven this evening. Conrad had plenty of time to fix himself a meal then get ready for his pal. Five million was at stake.
A little while later, all cozy in his hiding place, Conrad watched Edward walk into the kitchen from the garage area. Edward wore a casual sports coat, khakis and a tie. His hair, always on the thin side, had become sparser over the years. Gray rode high on his temples, and a healthy tan shined any developing bald spots. He hummed some offbeat tune as he set his briefcase and a box of mail on the counter. Then his cell phone rang.
"Ray. You dog. Bob and I will never forgive you for ditching us. Pebble Beach dragged without you. How was the yacht? What? You're still cruising." Edward whistled. "Nice. Yeah, I got the same message from Thomas. Don't know what letter he's talking about or why he sounded so grave. I just picked up a mountain of mail, but haven't been through it yet. Hmm. I tried calling him too. He didn't pick up." Edward sighed. "No. I haven't spoken to Con, either. Did something about him seem odd to you in Vegas?" Edward dug through the mail and pulled up a FedEx envelope.
Conrad's mouth watered and his heart hammered.
Edward laughed. "He's always been crude, but good for a laugh or two every now and then. Sort of a Fred Flintstone/Andrew Dice Clay wanna be. This time though, he was as touchy as a live wire after that blond with the jumbo tits dropped him. Shit, we were just joking about him taking Viagra with the Viva Viagra toast. What? You dog! You nailed her in the bathroom while we were at the table? Damn. Just damn. No wonder she dropped Con flat. I'm envious. Hey, I've got Bill's letter in hand. Let me take a piss, I'll read it and call you back. Better not soak up all of the sun while you're out there. Save some for us poor bastards who still have to work for a living. I'm closing a mega-deal tomorrow. Talk to you in a sec."