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There was no doubt of that, and Jack had already figured it into his plans.
He gave Ian a mocking look before pouring himself another drink. “Is this all it took for you to become such a worrywart or some sort of micromanager? Or are you becoming a babysitter in your old age?”
Ian’s lips quirked with an edge of amusement as he acknowledged that accusation.
“Operating funds came in earlier,” Ian informed him, his voice low. “As we meet, said funds are being slipped into the saddlebags of your bike. Weapons and other needed supplies will be delivered as agreed on tonight.”
Jack gave a slow nod. No doubt the weapons were procured from the Fuentes Cartel, one of Ian’s favorite suppliers, it seemed.
No one was certain who the Richardses worked for, the Fuentes Cartel or Homeland Security; Ian showed up occasionally with agents from both sides. There was rumor that his father, Diego, was dead, but Jack doubted it. It was also rumored that Ian was the actual head of the cartel while the supposed leader, a distant cousin of Diego’s, was merely a figurehead.
Who the hell knew what was the truth. Jack didn’t really care. The man didn’t mess with drugs, neither selling them nor attempting to use agents to transport them. Until he did, Jack was prone to trust him.
“Have you managed to contact Mac Porter yet?” Jack asked, aware that Poppy’s brother could become a nail in his coffin if he returned before Ian had a chance to meet with him.
“I talked to him personally,” Ian reported. “He’s not happy with any of us, mind you. Sent you a message, though. If she gets so much as a scratch, he’ll kill you.”
Jack expected nothing less.
“Now I’d like to know how your message to him convinced him to hold back?” The query was more a demand. “What do you have on him, Jack?”
What did he have on him? Jack didn’t have shit on Mac. They just had an understanding based on their mutual determination to keep one little redhead out of trouble, living and laughing.
“I don’t have a damned thing on him.” Jack shrugged. “He knows me, and I know him. That’s enough for both of us.”
They both knew exactly the extremes they’d go to for Poppy.
“Talk to him in a while?” Ian asked.
Jack gave a brief shake of his head. “Year ago maybe.”
“He’s on medical discharge. He’s taking care of some family business in Ohio and expects to be back in a week. If she calls him, he’ll answer the call, but says he doubts she will. She’ll wait on his return to come to him.”
She’d handle it herself.
Yeah, that was Poppy. She’d made a horrible decision eight years ago, choosing to remain silent about what had happened to Wayne Trencher rather than have him face charges in connection to Trencher’s death.
And he would have, Jack knew. There wasn’t a person alive that would have believed Poppy killed Trencher. Especially once that knife was identified. Jack had bought it in Barboursville and hadn’t mentioned to a soul that he’d given it to Poppy.
He would have lost his commission, and he would have faced prison time. He’d known it, Poppy had known it. But he would have done it rather than see her face such a thing.
“He know what’s going on?” Jack asked.
Ian sighed heavily before a tight grimace pulled at his expression and he rubbed at his jaw. “That’s need-to-know, Jack. You think he needs to know?”
Medical discharge, friends with Crossfield and Dawson, and incredibly protective of Poppy. No, he didn’t think Mac Porter needed to know any more than was absolutely necessary.
“He’s going to shoot both of us, though,” Jack warned him.
“He won’t be the first to try,” Ian grunted, sliding his chair back before extending his hand to Jack. “Give me a call if you need me.”
Jack rose as well, accepting the brief handshake before nodding to the bodyguard, then stepped away from the table and made his way to where his men sat.
The damage had been done, though. He caught the look of suspicion on Poppy’s face as she glanced at him. It wasn’t the first time her gaze had slid to him. Along with the suspicion was a stubborn intention of interrogating him at the first opportunity.
He flashed her another wicked grin and watched the flush race over her creamy expression again as her friends laughed and teased her. What they said he wasn’t certain, but it deepened the flush and caused her to flash him a look promising retribution.
And he was looking forward to it.
