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They were thick files.
“Kira and I have a house in Barboursville for the summer,” Ian told him, the fact that Jack’s answer didn’t sit well with him apparent. “We’re your and your team’s backup. You’ll meet your team once you reach Barboursville. Lucas Royce from Huntington, Hayes Granger from Ashland, and Hank Brady from Kenova. You’re team lead. They’ll contact you once their agreements are signed and they’re released and reach their home locations. Once you’ve gained enough notice, I’ll set up a meeting. My known affiliation with the Fuentes Cartel and as the head of that cartel, Diego Fuentes’s son, will only give credence to your cover and the story that you’re not above breaking the law. Whoever’s involved in this won’t accept anyone with an appearance of loyalty to their country. They want killers, so let’s give them what they think they want. Or at least the appearance of it.”
His cover.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t so much a cover as that it simply aligned with the facts of his life. He was a troublemaker even before he’d killed that team of agents with his bare hands after he’d walked in on the scene of their crimes. He questioned authority, didn’t heel worth shit, and had “accidentally” killed more than a few detainees known for crimes so heinous they should have never been left breathing.
The killing didn’t bother him. Monsters breathing did. He’d made it this long because he was damned good at his job and got along great with his team. He’d just been kept on assignment and away from other teams whenever possible. That last operation was just the stick that broke the camel’s back.
“I know Poppy’s a friend…” Ian began.
“Sir, I’ve been considered a functioning sociopath without the ability to form friendships or emotional attachments since the age of fourteen when I sliced open my father’s throat,” he reminded the other man with chilly politeness, knowing it was best if the world believed every word of the unofficial diagnosis. “According to Navy psychologists, my patriotism, sense of boundaries, and respect for my country are the only reasons I wasn’t in prison before now. Or dead. Friendships denote emotional attachments, of which I have none. What I do have is a knowledge of honor and decency. Right and wrong. And that’s my law. Plain and simple.”
He wasn’t a sociopath—he was realistic, and liked to think he knew right from wrong. His own self-interest wasn’t all that drove him. He felt compassion, though he wasn’t big on empathy. He could be manipulative if he had to be, though he wasn’t narcissistic. He was confident, certain of his abilities, and determined.
He had his own code he lived by, and Poppy was the only person in the world he’d willingly sacrifice himself for.
He’d die for Poppy. He’d sacrifice for her. Because when it had mattered, she’d been the only person who gave a damn about him. She’d been the reason he’d been fostered with a good family after he’d killed his father—because Poppy had cried when she’d seen his arrest on the news. Because she’d asked her father to allow the bruised, bloodied boy she’d found hiding in the garbage to be allowed to spend the night in an empty bedroom. And her father had refused. To ease his daughter’s tears, her father had ensured that Jack was given a chance at a good life.
Because of Poppy.
He was aware of the other two watching him carefully, intently, for any signs of weakness or “attachment” where Poppy was concerned.
“You’re extremely well qualified and trained, and the perfect personality type for this job.” Ian sighed. “But this is home, people you grew up with. That changes things sometimes. And I’ve been advised to tell you to watch the body count. We don’t need a bunch of dead criminals. A few live ones for trial would be nice.”
It was a waste of taxpayer money, if anyone wanted his opinion. He was fine with killing the monsters of the world. Killing those monsters kept the world a safer place for Poppy.
“Yeah, it can change things for other people.” Jack nodded, ignoring the warning and focusing on the first part of Ian’s statement. “But think of it this way. My way, no one gets off on a technicality. Your way, it happens, often. Why don’t I just promise to hide most of the bodies if needed, and we’ll call it even.”
“Thing about hiding bodies, they eventually turn up,” Ian warned him.
“Not the ones I hide,” he snorted. “I promise you: They’ll never be found anywhere except hell. And the devil’s a jealous old bastard.”
Even the dust from those bodies would never be found—he’d make certain of it. He could play the gentleman when needed. Death wasn’t always the best punishment, just more effective in some situations. Destruction could come in any number of ways.
CHAPTER THREE
BARBOURSVILLE, WEST VIRGINIA
ONE WEEK LATER
Jack’s home…
Bridger was seen in town…
Damn Jack Bridger’s back…
There goes the neighborhood, Bridger’s back…
OMG Jack Bridger is looking fine, girlfriend…
Poppy stared at the countless messages on her smartphone as she tried to make her sleep-deprived brain work.
Jack was back.
It was too early on a Sunday morning to force any semblance of rationality to actually work. She hadn’t even had that first cup of coffee yet. She needed a lot of coffee to make sense of the myriad of messages still popping across her phone.
Poppy! Stay away from Bridger until we talk! her brother’s text popped up as she swung her legs out of the bed. He’s trouble now.
