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“I apologize, sir.” Gabe rolled his eyes at the formal title and the sullen attitude. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m expected online for aCall of Dutytournament. Unless you have more orders for me. Sir.”
The line went dead, and Gabe was left alone with his thoughts.
“Hell.” Alone with his thoughts was the last place he wanted to be. He put his clothes back on and went to talk to the pilot. It looked like they were headed to Boston.
* * *
Jack whistled tunelessly as he made his way through the dark streets of Westminster. His body was relaxed and his muscles thoroughly stretched. It turned out her name was Larissa, and it was time to cut her loose. In his mind, after a couple of nights together, a woman started to think in terms of relationships. And he didn’t do relationships. At least not anymore. He’d learned his lesson. And wasn’t one for repeating his mistakes.
Unlike Gabe and Grace. He shook his head as he thought of his friends. They were both just begging for more heartache, and by the looks of Grace, she looked like she could tip over the edge at any moment.
It would be best for everyone if Gabe and Grace could put their problems on hold until after the mission was over, but Jack knew them too well. He just hoped they were both still standing once the dust cleared.
He breathed in the night air. His thoughts were clear and his eyes alert. Sex didn’t muddle his brain—it made everything come into sharp focus. So he noticed immediately when he picked up the two tails. They weren’t trying to be subtle. They were big bruisers, but he’d faced down bigger.
He kept his pace steady, and his eyes saw everything. He was only a couple of blocks from headquarters, and he had to assume the Worthington Financial cover had been compromised.
One of the men split off, and Jack assumed he was going to try to loop around and take him from the front. Jack kept his hands loose at his sides and almost welcomed the fight. It had been a long time since he’d gotten into a good brawl. His fists ached for the contact.
He turned off the main street into a narrow alleyway. The smell of rotten garbage was overwhelming, and rats scurried from dumpster to dumpster, looking for food. Jack leaned back against a brick wall and waited patiently.
The two men didn’t disappoint him. They blocked his escape, one on each end of the alley, and moved toward him. They were scruffy and sported black leather jackets. The one on his left was just shy of six feet, but was thickly muscled. He had a tattoo that snaked up his neck and scrolled around his eye. The other guy was taller and leaner. He had dirty-blond hair tied back in a tail and carried a crowbar like he knew how to use it.
“What can I do for you boys?” Jack asked with a lazy smile. He made sure his posture was relaxed but kept his feet spread for balance. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”
“We’re going to ask you a couple of questions, mate,” Tattoo said. “If we don’t like the answers, then you’re going to suffer.” Brass knuckles gleamed in the streetlight, and he flexed his meaty fingers. His accent was thick enough that some of his words were unintelligible, but Jack got the gist.
“Well, you’re certainly welcome to ask,” Jack asked. “When you’re done, I’d like to ask you guys some questions too.”
The guy with the ponytail came up on him fast. The crowbar grazed his ribs just before Jack grabbed the guy’s wrist and squeezed. He felt the bone give beneath his fingers, and the guy sucked in a silent scream. The crowbar fell to the ground with a clatter.
Tattoo rushed him from the opposite side, and a fist in the gut with those brass knuckles stole Jack’s breath. The flash of silver had him dodging on instinct, and a wicked blade cut into the flesh of his arm instead of burying itself straight into his heart.
“Hey,” Jack said. “This is my favorite shirt.” He gave two short jabs to the guy who’d stabbed him, bringing him to his knees. He snapped his neck with a quick twist of his hands and watched the guy slump into the garbage where he belonged.
Jack put his foot on the neck of the other guy and grabbed his broken wrist. His eyes were pain filled, and his breath came in shallow pants. “Now, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, mate, and you’re going to answer me. Do we understand each other?”
The guy nodded, and his eyes glazed over as Jack squeezed his wrist. “Yeah, man. But I swear I don’t know anything.”
“Wrong answer.” Jack squeezed a little harder, and the man squealed. “Who hired you?”
“He’ll kill me.”
“I’m going to kill you a lot slower if you don’t answer, so you might as well tell me.”
“His name’s Kimball. He’s American.”
“Description,” Jack said.
“I don’t know.”
Jack squeezed again, and the man blacked out for a few minutes, so he slapped him across the face until the man came to. Jack waited until his eyes gained focus before asking again.
“Please, man,” he whimpered. “I need a doctor.”
“You’re about to need an undertaker. Give me a description of Kimball.”
“Big guy. About your size. Military. Or at least he looks that way. Scary.”
