Loose Ends - By Tara Janzen Page 0,52

think?” Scout asked. “Five stars?”

“At least four.”

“It looks like a place Lancaster would stay,” she said, and he agreed. The man was used to high living. It disgusted him, the way Lancaster had made his money, selling the best of America’s war-fighters to the highest bidder.

“And there goes Karola,” he said, watching the man pull into the hotel’s underground parking lot. At the barrier, Karola handed the attendant a card, and after a moment, the barrier was raised, and Karola drove in and disappeared from view.

“We’ve got him.” Scout’s voice was edged in excitement.

Jack understood. He felt the same way. The bastard was in there.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

“Go in and take him out,” he said flatly.

“I’ll need a weapon.” She was succinct. If they were going in, she needed to be armed.

And if they had been going in, Jack couldn’t have agreed more, but her statement cleared his head like a cold north wind. He wasn’t taking her into the line of fire—ever.

“We can’t do it without Con.” It was a flat-out lie. He could do it, clean and fast. That was the best way. Drop her off at the Star Motel first. Come back and get the lay of the land at the Kashmir Club. Find out how many men were with Lancaster and plan accordingly, including a foolproof escape—good to go.

But not with Scout.

Never with Scout.

“Yes, we can.”

He shook his head. “Con has questions. He deserves answers. If we kill Lancaster before Con can talk with him, he may never get those answers.” He shook his head again. “It’s too much to risk.” All true, but he still liked the idea of dumping Scout at the motel and just taking care of business.

Liking it and doing it were two different things, though. Tactically, killing a guy was pretty damn easy. Abducting a guy wasn’t, and Con did have a lot of questions for Lancaster. He wanted to know names, dates, missions. He wanted to know if there was anybody else out there who needed help, some guy like him who hadn’t survived as well as he had.

Scout seemed to mull his explanation over for a moment. Then she agreed.

“So we go for the long shot.”

The perfect solution, of course, and he agreed with it one hundred percent. There was only one hitch.

“What’s the long shot?”

“Give me your phone,” she said, and he complied, taking it out of his pocket and handing it over, curious as to what she thought she could do that he hadn’t tried.

They finished cruising by the parking garage entrance, and he picked up some speed. By the time she’d keyed a number into his phone and gotten an answer, they’d traveled a couple more blocks. He turned the corner and pulled over into the first available parking space.

“Miller,” he heard her say. “It’s Scout. I need a favor. Hold on.” She looked over at him. “What’s the number on the phone Con’s using?”

He gave her the number, and she repeated it to Miller. Jack liked the U.S. Army vet. Miller had been in Special Forces before he’d been wounded. Now he lived in Nevada with a girlfriend named Carlotta Aragon, a buxom, dark-haired beauty, and between them, they had five kids, a passel, a posse, a bunch, all of them cuter than bugs on a milkweed pod. Scout loved them.

She’d make a good mother. Jack knew it in his heart, but it was the last damn thing he wanted to think about, except when he’d been drinking too much and got all maudlin. Then he thought about it plenty. The girls would be gorgeous, mixed-race beauties with brains like their momma, and the boys would have his and Garrett Leesom’s blood running through their veins—warriors all, cunning and skilled. He’d make damn sure of it.

“I need you to ping that number off a cell tower if he makes a call, and don’t tell me you can’t do it. We’re in Denver,” she said, still talking to Miller.

Great plan, Jack thought, except for one obvious fact.

He made the time-out gesture.

“The only person Con is going to call is me,” he said, when he had her attention. “And if he does, I’ll be sure and ask him where in the hell he is.”

To his credit, he managed the news flash without so much as a hint of sarcasm—for all the good it did him.

“I’m fully operational, Traeger,” she said, giving him a look that said he was an idiot for thinking otherwise.

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