Page 174 of Summer Heat
He put his hands on the steering wheel and ratcheted down his breaths the way only a good sniper could. Very slowly, very calmly, he began to say her name.
“What? Are you even listening to me?”
“Nicola. I’m at the Granville bar in Fauquier County.” He spoke as evenly as possible, trying not to move his mouth, his lungs. “I just activated a detonation trigger tied to my ignition. Most likely there’s a failsafe under my seat. I need you to call Jared. Now. The Granville in—”
“What?”
“His number is—”
“I have his number. Don’t move.”
He didn’t respond. Slow breath in. Slow breath out. Slow my pulse. Slow my heart rate.
“I only have one phone. I could ask Dav—”
“No. Hang up. Call Jared.”
This place was deserted enough. He’d parked away from other cars and the building. He would wait with his thoughts, until Jared and God knows what army showed up to get him out of this hot seat.
“Wait. Nic?” What the fuck? Don’t stop the savior brigade. What did he even want to say anyway? Maybe he needed more oxygen to his brain. The line was dead anyway. She’d disconnected. “I’ll miss you, sweet girl.” Except she wasn’t there to hear it.
***
Jared’s blacked-out, chromed-up Expedition screamed into the parking lot a long-assed thirty-five minute wait later followed by two similar looking vehicles. No lights and sirens. Thank God Nic’d listened and let Titan take care of this situation in-house. No police, no freakin’ FBI profilers nosing into the who and why in search of a motive.
For a Saturday night, the Granville was empty. Maybe that’s why’d he stopped in for a brewski and pizza. As company went, Cash was of the worst variety. He was pissed off, angry at the world, and more than he wanted to admit it, hurt. Here in the Podunk bar, he’d had no worries about the ladies. They’d all shown up on the back of their men’s Fat Boys and certainly weren’t looking for a piece of action like him.
; The Expedition door opened, and out stepped a grizzly of a man. After surveying the parking lot, Jared marched toward Cash’s truck, seemingly unfazed that Cash likely had C-4 strapped to his ass.
“Don’t move,” Jared said through the half-open window.
He didn’t move his head. “No shit. Thanks for the survival tip.”
“Ass. I was neck deep in two broads until this shit popped up. We’ll put this in the you-owe-me-huge column.”
Cash would’ve laughed if he could. If his life weren’t on the line and all, it’d be funny shit to pull his boss out of a three way. Knowing Jared, he probably took Nic’s call mid-fuck, then pulled up dick and walked out. No way he had the ladies at his place. No way he said, “thanks, see ya later.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Cash saw Jared duck down out of view. Time ticked by. There was definitely something attached to the undercarriage if it took that long to inspect. Finally, Jared stood, turned around, and waved toward the two unfamiliar vehicles.
“You’re not going to like this. I’d guess the secondary’s set on a pressure switch, so you can move your head. But don’t move from your torso down. I mean it.”
“Yeah—”
“I suggest you at least turn your head and compartmentalize your shit before you accidently blow up. And it’s not like I have another sniper on standby, so do me that favor. I’ve got you booked for a while.”
Cash turned his head a fraction and caught a glimpse of a man. Are you fuckin’ kidding me? “No—”
“Shut up, Garrison.”
Towel boy? There was no mistaking that pretty boy face and shiner beating feet toward his truck. From the neck down, the man was in bomb tech gear, helmet in hand. Cash wanted to rage, but he forced his muscles to obey. “What the—”
“You had Nic call. She said she knew a guy, then gave me a rundown of your day. I’m concerned that you’re stupid enough to move. Don’t. Rocco and Brock are out on a job tonight, so I didn’t have a choice. Plus, from the sound of it, he’s one of the best in the world. Your lucky night.” Jared shrugged, not looking concerned enough to back away from the truck. “I’ll hold both your hats if you want to go to blows after this shit is over.”
Towel boy arrived next to his door and stood three feet away. The urge to kill was a live wire. Live through this and it’s game on. Kill or be killed, although towel boy might be slightly harder to take down if he expected an attack.
Jared gestured to the man. “Jackson, here you go. Don’t kill my boy, or I’ll kill you. Slowly.” With that, his boss stepped aside, and Jackson, AKA towel boy, stepped up to the window.
