Collateral Damage sw-1

by J. L. Saint

  "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.

  The front porch had been a surprise as well as the carport. No clutter there.

  He wished that were true for the kitchen and dining area. Mail and things from tool sets to bar soap were piled amid dirty dishes on every surface without any apparent order to the overwhelming volume of junk. Another year or two and Jack doubted there would be a navigable path through the place. The place was a health and fire hazard.

  Lauren was a trooper. She didn't murmur a word of complaint as she searched. After a bit, he looked up at her. "I hate to say this. But if Conrad Gardner was blown up on his boat today, he is better off dead than living like this. Hell, it doesn't even look as if he has thrown anything out in a long time."

  "If ever," Lauren added. "I know for sure Bill and the others never knew Conrad lived like this. None of them would have associated with him in any way if they had. Not even to help him. They'd have dropped him cold if they knew."

  "Given the degree of illness here, it was a wonder he hid it from them. I'm not sure what I would do if I found a friend was as messed up as this. But do you really think it would be as bad as you say? You do charity work, didn't Bill or his friends contribute?"

  "Sure they dumped money
into things, which isn't something to be denigrated. Funding is essential. I raise money to help cover the cost of having and raising a premature baby. I just know that Bill and the others would have never tolerated or understood this level of illness- Hey, there's a FedEx envelope on the floor over by the refrigerator."

  Being closer, Jack picked it up from the pieces of a broken coffee cup. "It's empty and it's from Brazil."

  "Which only confirms what we suspected. Bill's girlfriend mailed things to Bill's college buddies."

  "I hate to say this, but Brazil looks to be the next ticket."

  Lauren's expression changed and he suddenly realized what it would mean for him to follow Bill's trail to Brazil. He'd have to leave her, and that sat the wrong way in his gut as well as heavily on his shoulders. Damn.

  "Can't say that you're wrong." Her voice was thick with the fear he saw in her eyes. "Though the woman didn't know why Bill was missing or where he was, she did know enough to be worried about him. And he had to have seen her after leaving here. Otherwise, he would have left the packages for his housekeeper to mail."

  "Let's go." Jack didn't see the point of wasting any more time here. "Finding any clues in this mess will take a team of investigators months."

  "You're right." She sighed.

  Jack moved ahead of Lauren to the front door, checked the area out then slipped onto the porch. He was unable to shake the feeling nagging his gut. Conrad's whole set up revealed a somewhat unbalanced psyche. It surprised him to see how neat the front porch was as opposed to the back, the way he'd entered the trailer. The woods beyond the rock driveway were heavy with brush, which had hindered him when he'd circled the perimeter of the mobile home. It wasn't surprising to see the man didn't believe in yard work. No landscaping or grass covered the ground, only gravel, pine needles and scrub. Jack noted the empty double carport to his right. The place was roofed and had one wall, where hooks held ropes and life jackets for boating. Grease spots dotted one side of the concrete floor and a puddle of water as well. Odd. From Conrad's boat maybe? Apparently he'd left here not too long before Jack arrived otherwise the day's heat would have evaporated…

  He frowned and fisted his hands, feeling as frustrated with his current situation as he did with his flashbacks to Lebanon.

  With Lauren before him, they moved down the steps to the car. He opened the driver's door. She reached in for her purse that she'd left on the seat. Then looked up at him. "You're serious about going to Brazil?"

  "I think I'll call her first, see what she says, how she reacts to my questions, okay."

  Lauren nodded, her relief evident.

  Suddenly pain stabbed a hot dagger into his brain follow by a loud pop. The bullet plowing into his skull had come out of nowhere. His knees buckled and a dark tunnel swallowed him alive. "Lauren," he cried out, reaching for her through a dark mist. He thrust his weapon into her hand as he went down, doing his best to push her back into the car and cover her with his body. His last thought was of her, want of her, need of her, fear for her. Fear for what would happen to her without him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mari couldn't seem to stop the tears. From her cramped huddle on the floorboard, she cried for Neil and she cried for her unborn baby, certain she would never be able to hold him in her arms. Never see his sweet smile or suckle him at her breast. Never be able to love him, sing to him or watch him grow into an honorable man. It seemed Allah had decided on her death and she had no idea when and where her execution would be, only that it would come. What else was she to believe?

  Anyone around her was in danger. People at the hospital had been hurt and Mr. Weston…Roger…he'd missed getting shot by seconds. The bullet meant for her would have killed them both. She'd seen the gore and the harsh realities of war and death in her village among those less fortunate than her family. With her father being a very important person among the ruling religious leaders, she and her sisters had been somewhat protected.

  But not always. The men who had attacked her had hated her father.

  Her body screamed at her to escape, but she couldn't seem to move, too afraid that the man with the gun would try and shoot her again and this time succeed in killing her baby or Roger. That brought more tears streaming from her eyes. Visions of Roger, memories of Neil, and the horrors of her shame all jumbled together in her mind, leaving her in a very dark place where time and anything good in life abandoned her.

  "Mari, you're safe now. Do you understand?" Roger had stopped the car. He now was next to her. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her toward him. "We're just outside Fort Bragg and need to go through security. I need you to sit up on the seat. Please, look at me. I am so sorry I let this happen. God, can you forgive me?"

  Mari looked up to find Roger's face only inches from hers. He had crouched down on the ground outside and leaned in through the passenger's doorway to reach her. A deadly grimness had consumed his rugged features. She touched his roughly stubbled cheek with her icy hand. "Not your fault. It's mine. I hurt the man."

  "No." Roger looked even fiercer. "It isn't your fault. You have to believe me."

  She shook her head. Roger wouldn't be able to understand unless she told him of her sin before. Of the men who had used her. She had been violated, taken by force, but apparently that didn't change the fact that she was now impure. She thought it had, had believed Neil, but now that Allah had taken him away, now that an executioner hid in the shadows, she couldn't believe any more. But she couldn't tell Roger all of that. She just couldn't.

  "Damn it. The man is evil, and you aren't responsible for evil being in this world are you? Were you around at the very beginning of time and brought that horror upon mankind?"

  Mari sucked in air, shocked at Roger's question and forced herself to answer. "No, but-"

  "There are no buts. Evil exists and evil preys upon the good. You aren't responsible for its existence nor are you responsible for its manifestations, unless you choose to become evil yourself. Understand?"

  She blinked and found herself nodding, surprised that he made sense. Then he did something that wiped everything from her mind. He kissed her tears on her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers. "I won't let it happen again, Mari. I promise. That man's evil will never touch your life again. I vow my life on it."

  She grasped his arms, feeling the tense bulge of his muscles and the strength and rage teeming within him. She meant to push him away from her. His life? He'd vowed his life. She could never let that happen. She had to leave him to protect him. But instead of distancing herself from him she buried herself into the warmth of his embrace.

  Shot. Jack had been shot. Lauren saw the barely healed wound on his temple rip open and the bullet whizzed over her head before it clunked into the roof of the car. It all seemed to play out in slow motion right before her eyes and every core emotion she possessed-love, fear, anger, hate-coalesced into a gut wrenching cry. "Jack!" she screamed.

  Blood splattered her face and gushed down the side of his head. She grabbed him as he fell and did the only thing she could think of, use all of her weight to shove him farther into the car and out of harm's way. She didn't know how badly he was hurt, and every fiber of her being hurt too. She gasped for air as the world careened around her. Somehow his gun ended up in her hand and she tightened her grip on it.

  Dear God! She prayed for a miracle and latched onto the only lifeline she had at the moment-the bullet had grazed his skull rather than bore a hole through his head.

  He fell on his side, head in the passenger's seat, the console crushing his ribs, his hips in the driver's seat and his legs sticking out the door. The pistol he'd shoved into her hand was still warm from his skin and bolstered her strength as she crouched behind the car door. Her purse still hung from her arm and swayed with her every movement. She was wedged between the car door and Jack's legs with her heart beating so hard that she thought her chest would split open from the force. Two things consumed her now.

  She was damn
ed determined to protect Jack.

  And she would kill to do it.

  A man dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask dropped into view in the carport. He carried a rifle and stopped to grab some rope draping from a hook on the carport wall before he moved. He didn't seem to be in any hurry and obviously thought she'd be easy pickings. He even shifted his rifle under his arm so he could loop the rope as if preparing a special knot just for her.

  She shivered hard and aimed the gun at him, using both hands to hold it. Her body shook from head to toe, making it hard to focus and steady the pistol, but she knew enough to keep the gun out of sight as she concealed herself behind the car door. The man didn't know she was armed, which increased her odds of getting herself and Jack out alive. Instinctively, she waited for him to come closer, knowing her chances of hitting him with a bullet would be greater.

  Surely she could aim, pull the trigger and kill the man. She gulped for air, her hands sweaty, her skin freezing.

  "I'm calling the police," she yelled, voice warbling with fear. She would have been on the cell phone already if it wasn't buried under Jack.

  The man didn't hesitate, but kept coming her way, slowly as if relishing every moment. "Go ahead, Sex Slave. Cops can't help you now." His guttural voice cut like a knife. "You're mine for as long as I want."

  Sex Slave? It was the last thing Lauren expected to hear. What in the hell? What did this have to do with terrorists and Bill's coded letter? Was this some sort of nightmare that she'd soon awaken from? The wetness of Jack's blood on her face told her it was more real than she could imagine.

  Dear God. The man coming after her seemed almost maniacal, as if he belonged in some B-rated horror flick. Still, his manner was more than effective. His complete assurance and total lack of fear for the authorities had her freaking out, despite the lethal gun in her hands.

  "Guess what I'm going to be doing to you when the cops arrive at the door, Sex Slave? Your ass was made for my dick." He laughed and her stomach wrenched. He made her feel violated already. She tightened her grip on the pistol, waited a moment longer, then brought it up and took aim. He was too far away to reach her and too close to avoid her. She pulled the trigger several times. The unexpected force of the gun flung her arms upward, and sent her back into the car. The man yelled, falling backward.