by J. L. Saint
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 the 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.”
Edward hung up the phone. With Bill’s letter in hand, he turned from the counter. Conrad was waiting for him.
“Fore!” Conrad yelled as he slammed the five-iron against the side of Edward’s head. Edward screamed. Bill’s letter dropped to the floor, bone cracked, blood splattered, the scent of urine filled the air and Conrad’s pent up rage found a sweet release as he stroked a round of golf bar none.
Chapter Eighteen
Pizza and chaos Chuck E. Cheese style reigned. Lauren had left Sasha and Sam at Angie’s mother’s house. Mitch and Matt were wreaking havoc in the play area after scraping the cheese off their pizza and declaring to save the rest for later. Their abandoned cups and plates scattered the table. Their Dale Earnhardt, Jr. cars, which had been practically glued to their hands since Bill sent them, were being raced over every conceivable surface in the restaurant. Angie followed them around like the dedicated, indulgent godmother she was. The boys no longer wore their damp bathing suits and tank tops, but sported sneakers, jeans and different colored T-shirts—so Jack could tell them apart. A trip to Walmart on Jack’s dime had provided essentials for everyone for the next few days, plus a computer and ammunition—lots of it. Jack insisted on Lauren not using her credit, debit or ATM cards, concerned that any electronic transaction would pinpoint her location.
Lauren shuddered, finding it surreal to be in the situation she was in while other lives marched normally on.
Jack was another element in that unreal world she found herself struggling to comprehend. She didn’t know what to make of him and she didn’t know what to make of her reaction to him either. Right now he had his intense gaze focused on her. His sharp question ripped at her, bringing up painful memories. Not that she was still hung up on Bill, but because the past mattered and she found the mistakes she’d made hard to face.
“So you’re saying Bill began acting strangely two years ago, after accepting a job with BioLogics, an international company that does what exactly?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. All I know is they develop green technology. Bill refused to tell me anything more. His job became a major point of contention between us. He had to travel frequently and wasn’t allowed to disclose where he was going due to company policy.” She paused, needing a moment to gather herself from the memories. “I wanted to know what about his job required him to keep secrets. He always said that it had to do with the revolutionary, energy saving projects BioLogics was assisting in the development of and no one could know where their research facility was until the product was ready for public scrutiny.”
“Odd.”
“I thought so. Our marriage deteriorated, maybe it had already been on the rocks, but I was so absorbed in assuring that Matt and Mitch were on the right developmental track that I didn’t realize it. They were born very premature and until recently were behind. Anyway, when other women entered the picture months later, I reached the end of the line. I concluded he’d used his job as an excuse to jet-set with bimbos and made up that cloak and dagger scenario to keep his adultery secret.”
“He was a fool.” Jack’s voice was rough with anger and his green eyes flashed unadulterated heat—a mixture of outrage and frank male interest that he didn’t try to hide. “You deserve better.” He nodded toward the boys. “They deserve better.”
Lauren bit her lip as warmth tingled over her nerves and centered in her breast. She knew that truth in her mind, it had been reinforced by close female friends, but to hea
r it with such forceful conviction a from this man bore a hole right through an underlying layer of what’s wrong with me doubt she had to constantly fight.
“What exactly did he do for BioLogics?” Jack asked after clearing his throat.
Lauren set her mind back to facts, leaving behind her roiling emotions. “That’s even more puzzling. He was hired to be their PR person. If the company is so secret he couldn’t tell me where it is, then why would they need a public relations expert? I asked Bill that.”
“What did he say?”
“That the company would be so big once their product hit the market they would need an army of PR people to cover the globe. Bill’s job was to put everything in place so it would be smooth sailing when the product was launched.”
“Do you know when he left the States this last time?”
Lauren frowned, counting back the days. “The fourteenth of July. It was kind of sudden. He was scheduled to see the boys and canceled.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed and she could practically see his mind latch onto something significant.
“What?” she asked. “Does that mean something?”
“Maybe. What about his friends, business associates?”
“He has some college pals he goes to Vegas with every year. His office secretary. His accountant. Then there’s his current flavor of the month, a Brazilian model.” All the events since the boys’ birthday party ran through her mind and she pressed her palms to her eyes, almost overwhelmed. “She might be a resource, but when Angie spoke to her the woman didn’t know where Bill was. She doesn’t know about his death. I’ve only told Angie. Nobody else. Right now I’m waiting for them to find Jack’s body, so I—”
“What? Explain.”
Lauren went through her conversations with the embassy in Sao Paulo, watching Jack’s expression become more and more taut with irritation and determination, maybe? She didn’t know. She had a hard time settling on what emotion fueled his grim look.
Driven to know more, Lauren set her hand over his fist. “Now, tell me what you know.”
He twisted his wrist and clasped her hand in his, but none of the heated warmth of his skin and the anchoring strength of his grip helped her absorb what he said next.
“Two weeks ago I saw Bill Collins in Lebanon actively participating in a terrorist act with a radical group. I believe they’re behind what is happening to you now.”
The blood rushed from Lauren’s head and dizziness had her reeling in her seat. An icy chill gripped her from head to toe. “I…oh…my…God. You’re saying…a terrorist? Like a 9/11 bomber? When you said radical group, I pictured green-loving environmentalists lying prostrate before bulldozers. But what you’re saying is that Bill was involved in…that he committed treason?”
“I’m sorry. Every man is innocent until proven guilty, but—”
“You saw what?” She pulled her hand from Jack’s and he let her go, looking as if what he had to say was as painful for him as it was for her. She pressed her fingers to her numb mouth, searching for the words she needed to speak. “What did he do?”
Jack exhaled harshly. “That I can’t tell you.”
She studied him a moment, once again taking in his capable bearing, his fresh scars and suddenly another piece of the puzzle behind why Jack had come to her fell into place. “He played a part in what happened to you, right? Whatever he was involved in was responsible for putting you in the hospital.”
“Indirectly, yes. But that’s not important. What I need to find out, what I need to know, is why he was there and who he was involved with. The fact that his body is missing is very significant.”
“Before you appeared at my door, I wondered if Bill had faked his death because he’d gotten himself into some serious trouble. It’s part of the reason I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“No.” Jack met her gaze head on and let her see just how deadly serious he was. “You don’t have to wonder. I saw Bill die.”
Lauren shook her head as she shifted back in her seat, putting more distance between her and Jack. Her mind was too punch-drunk to even calculate if it was possible time-wise. “You were in Sao Paulo last night?”
“No. I was in DC in Walter Reed Medical Center last night.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Jack started his sentence three times before he finally said it. “I saw him die two weeks ago in Lebanon, then his body disappeared.”
She gripped the table edge until her nails ached. “You’re serious.”
“Yes. Is there anything you can tell me that might explain why he was there?”
“No.” Lauren exhaled hard, a harsh, bitter sound escaped from her. “But he has a condo downtown. Had it before we married. I have a key.”
“We’ll go tonight, okay?”
She followed his glance toward the play area. Her sons were racing toward the table, happy and excited, without a clue to their father’s crimes. “Yes.”
“I win! I win!” Matt shouted as he zoomed his race car over the food littered table top.
Mitch came up behind him, trying to push his brother aside. “No fair! I called yellow flag! I tripped. You didn’t win!”
“Yes, I did! Yellow flags are for crashes. You didn’t crash!”
“Yes, I did too crash,” Mitch cried, tears springing into his eyes.
Before Lauren could get a word in, Matt pushed Mitch. The table rocked and all of the drinks tipped over, pouring Jack’s way. Lauren braced herself for Jack’s irritation, already hearing Bill grumble about how little control she had over the children. She jumped up, searching for napkins, but Jack was faster than lightning. Not only had he removed his lower half out of harm’s way, but he managed to stop the flood by tipping over the napkin dispenser and using it as a large sponge.
“Whoa!” Jack reached out and steadied the table as the boys kept scuffling. “The problem is neither of you can honestly race each other yet.” Jack caught their attention. Lauren had reached the end of her rope. She was amazed at Jack’s calm control and easy manner. He took the boys in stride and guided them in a positive direction, easing the tension and chaos rather than adding to it.
Matt and Mitch frowned, glanced suspiciously at each other and then looked outraged at Jack, clearly upset.
“Why not?” Mitch demanded.
“Why not, sir?” Lauren prompted.
“Sir,” the boys both said together.
Jack was undaunted. “First, you can’t have an official race unless you have a judge for it. Second of all, I bet you didn’t even set up a predetermined course.”
Mitch frowned so hard that Lauren’s brow ached. “What’s that?”
Angie arrived, carrying Mitch’s shoe. “You lost this when you crashed, kid.”
Her remark set off another argument between Matt and Mitch over the legitimacy of Matt’s win.
“Between the birthday yesterday and the excitement today, you two are over-tired and need to go to bed a little early tonight.”
“Mom!” they cried together.
“That chimp is behaving better than you boys at the moment.” Angie pointed to the big screen TV. Everyone looked toward the CNN broadcast.
Unable to quite hear what was being said, Lauren read the typed feed scrolling up the screen. “Due to the destruction of the world’s oil market, Andreas Miles, owner of GreenWorld Corporation, announces his company will go to the ends of the earth in order to put their revolutionary new biofuel, GXP, on the market sooner than planned.”
“He has the chimp dressed exactly the same way as he’s dressed,” Lauren said.
“I know, sort of weird isn’t it?” Angie said. “A friend of my mother’s, Candace Latimoor from the CNN show Latimoor Live, is doing a live tour of GreenWorld’s research and production facility in Peru later this week. She says he’s a real nutcase when it comes to the chimp. Treats him just like a son. Probably even better than.”
“GreenWorld?” Lauren frowned. “I’ve heard that name before.
”
“Where?” Jack turned, studying her, his gaze sharp.
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temple. Looking back up at the screen, the man and the chimp were gone, replaced by pictures of what people were now calling the Hell Zones, the burning out-of-control oil fields, reservoirs and refineries in the Middle East and the remnants from last week’s attacks in the US. “Everything is running together and I can’t think.”
“I know what you mean,” Jack said. “The past two weeks have been like that for me.”
Lauren nodded. Somehow as bad as things were, it would be worse were it not for Jack.
Two hours later, Angie babysat the boys at a hotel where Jack paid cash for adjoining rooms under a false name and Lauren led Jack into Bill’s upscale condo. Located in downtown Atlanta in a premium community of shops, restaurants and office buildings, the third floor rooms overlooked a park. With a housekeeper three-hundred-and-sixty-three days a year, Bill kept everything looking like a showcase.
Lauren couldn’t breathe, a combination of too many emotions bombarding her all at once, shock from the intruding violence, and Jack’s growing presence. The longer she was with him, the more aware of him she became.
But how could she not? He’d been a human shield for her and everything she held dear. She could also be over-reacting as well. She paused in her search through Bill’s mail the housekeeper collected each day. Her nerves were on super alert, amplifying everything. The muffled clank from the upstairs tenet had made her jump. Jack opening drawer after drawer had her on edge, worried over what other secrets Bill harbored. A siren speeding by on the street outside had made her heart race. They were all normal sounds, but her responses kept escalating, clawing at her spine, eating at her mind. At every turn she expected a bullet to be waiting for her.
Memories of when she first met Bill were strongest at the condo and they’d collided with the facts she’d learned today the moment she’d walked into the door, turning her life into a train wreck.
