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The message was sent from an encrypted number, the sender unidentified, but no one had known they were arriving to check into the job, either, according to Candless.
“We’re walking away from this one,” Candless informed him. “We stopped in for dinner while the pilots prepped our plane. There are large payouts with far fewer complications elsewhere. This one has my balls itching. And I don’t like it when my balls itch.”
Jack stared around the darkened, vehicle-filled parking lot, the sound of the music easily heard, giving added cover to the conversation.
“How did you hear about the job?” he asked the other man. “Nothing’s come through any of my channels concerning it.”
They’d known word had gone out that there was a paying op in the area, but where it had gone, Ian hadn’t managed to learn. So far, they’d found no avenue for Jack and his team to apply for it.
And it was pissing him off, he admitted.
Mick stared back at him for long minutes, his expression bland, though his eyes were intent, watchful.
“Through our booking agent. I’ll have Coye send you the details,” he stated. “A message was sent to our board and he made a query into it. We were in the States and rather at loose ends, so we thought we’d check it out.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head a bit to the side as he watched Jack. “Funny there, Bridger. Hadn’t heard you’d placed yourself out for jobs. Did I miss something?”
Jack let a mocking smile tug at his lips. An icy curl no one could mistake. “You didn’t miss a thing,” he responded. “This is my town, and I figure if we’re careful, there’s just enough work here for my team. And I’m possessive. Territorial, so to speak.”
Mick actually chuckled at that one. “I’d never imagine you were otherwise. But I get what you’re saying. Your town, your job. But how do you intend to make that hold when lower, less business-minded groups show up?”
Effectively, Jack thought. Very effectively.
“I’m sure you’ll hear about it if anyone’s that intent on playing in my territory,” he drawled. “You know me. How do you think I’ll handle it?”
It was no secret that Jack didn’t mind playing dirty if playing fair didn’t work.
“Understood.” Mick nodded. “I have my own territory I keep an eye on. I don’t tolerate poachers either.” He looked back at where his men waited in a small group not far from Jack’s.
When he turned back to Jack, his expression was warning. “Be careful. As I said, this job doesn’t feel right once you’re contacted. And I’ve learned to walk away when that happens.”
Jack reached out his hand. “Warning taken. It was good to see you again.”
Mick gripped his hand and nodded to him. “Watch your ass, Bridger,” he warned again. “And your woman’s. I hear there’s a bit of interest in her.”
He turned and strode back to his team before Jack could question him on that one. But it didn’t surprise him that in what little time the man had spent in the bar he’d heard of Poppy and the fact that Jack was claiming her as well.
Jack allowed that possessiveness he tried to keep bottled up to slip a bit. Poppy thought it was okay to cover the marks he’d left on her, the ones that would warn any other male that she was claimed, and let some bastard attempt to charm her while he was away?
Evidently, he’d been far too subtle in letting everyone know how unacceptable he might feel that was.
Especially Poppy.
Giving his men the signal to follow him, he entered the bar again and strode to the table with determined strides. He rounded it until he stood directly across from Poppy but behind Dawson, crossed his arms over his chest, and met her wary gaze as it lifted to him.
Next to her, Mark Fieldman, a lawyer with the DA’s office, shot him a nervous look.
“Bridger, that’s my six,” Dawson sighed, not bothering to turn. “It’s a bar, not a war zone. It doesn’t need protection.”
“Yet,” Jack drawled, his smile tight, a show of teeth and little more.
It was enough to have his men moving to strategic positions, though.
“You weren’t invited, Bridger.” John David Porter rose halfway from his seat, his hazel eyes sparking with anger as he glared at Jack.
“I invited him,” Dawson told the other man without looking at him.
Surprising, because it was a bald-faced lie told with all apparent honesty. He’d have to find out why Dawson thought he needed to protect the little fucker.
Jack ignored them both, his gaze flicking first to Poppy’s neck, then to the other man’s hand on her shoulder. As his gaze lifted to meet Fieldman’s eyes, he saw the concern that shadowed them.
