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Surprise almost widened Crossfield’s eyes, but he held the response back. He was out of practice, Jack thought. It was hard for a killer to maintain that ice when he stopped killing.
All shit aside, spec ops, including SEALs, killed. That was part of their job. They excused it as justified, and most of the time, it was. At least, in the sense that they went where they were ordered, accepted command’s version of the conflict, and killed in completing their assignments.
Didn’t change the fact that they were killers. That Crossfield too had been a killer. One out of practice, definitely, but still a threat.
“You don’t think you’ll stay in Barboursville?” he asked.
Jack shrugged. “Lot of memories here.”
The memories were all but forgotten, deliberately so. Jack knew he’d never get rid of the farm or the house. The basement alone was worth more than any other house he’d seen in a long time. And he’d seen some really nice places.
“If that’s all…” Jack took a step toward the door.
“Actually, no,” Crossfield told him, his voice hardened.
Jack took a backward step, the weight of his weapon at his back, concealed beneath his shirt, inviting him to pull it and get the upper hand. He ignored the impulse.
And he waited.
Sometimes, it was best to just wait, let the other man wonder what you were thinking rather than the other way around. Impatience wasn’t something Jack had ever been known for, and he didn’t display it now.
“It’s hard to step out of the life, isn’t it?” A smile tugged at Crossfield’s lips. “Especially when you keep your hands bloody.”
Blue eyes swept over Jack’s hands. Jack didn’t follow. He knew his hands were clean, just as he knew exactly what the other man was doing.
“Your hands bloody, Crossfield?” he asked softly, never taking his eyes off the man.
When dealing with a cobra, one didn’t look away, or he found himself dead.
Crossfield’s lips quirked at that. “Stained, perhaps. Fresh blood is another story. I learned it’s best to let others do the dirty work.”
Jack arched his brow slowly but didn’t speak.
It was evident Crossfield was waiting for a response.
“I have a job for whoever took out that merc team the other day,” Crossfield finally stated, and Jack had to admit, it surprised him. “I also heard there was an explosion by the river—another possible team. I’m going to bet the same men took them out. If you hear who they are, I’d like the courtesy of a meet.”
“And I’m supposed to know who it is?” Jack guessed.
“I think we both know who’s responsible,” Crossfield said softly. “Like I said, I have a job, if they want it.”
“And what kind of job should I let them know they’re looking at?” He put just enough mockery in his voice that Crossfield was still forced to play the game.
“Nothing too taxing if they do the job right.” The other man gave a negligent lift of a shoulder. “But I’d only be willing to discuss it with the team I’m looking for.”
Jack let Crossfield turn and slowly make his way to the door. And there, just as Jack knew he would, he paused.
“Whether you have fresh blood on your hands or not, you’ll always be a risk to her,” the man stated, keeping his back to Jack. “You’ll always be the reason she’s in danger.”
He opened the door and left, closing it gently behind him.
Pursing his lips, Jack strode to the door and set the locks, thankful now that he’d spent years remodeling the inside of the house. A strong steel door, steel between the brick and drywall of the house. The window frames were reinforced, the glass bullet-resistant.
It had taken a decade to complete the work without anyone becoming suspicious.
The basement was even more secured. A hidden safe room, the door to the tunnel secured against anyone who might accidentally find it, or anyone searching for it.
If anyone made it into the basement, they wouldn’t find anything of any value. And damned sure nothing they could use against him.
