gaze fell on Frank Boggs next. Sams had found Boggs or rather, relocated his old military buddy. Boggs would be supplying them with everything they would need for the weekend.
He shifted uneasily in his seat. Johnson and Sams had both told him that they were afraid the man couldn’t cut it in the clinch. But Gregor felt Boggs could handle his end. The job wasn’t going to be that complicated. Besides, the payoff was irresistible. And in their present legal circumstances, absolutely necessary. Gregor had a strategy for making everything work.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror as he swung open the door and nodded. With iron-gray hair and cold blue eyes, he knew he looked formidable. The look was one he had cultivated over the years. He was fifty-two, but his six-foot frame looked like that of a much younger man.
This was his last mission, so to speak. Afterward, he would be retiring to some place tropical and out of the country—where the women wore thong bikinis and were more than willing to accommodate his…unique preferences. He could practically taste the piña coladas as he strode up the paved brick sidewalk.
“All right. Let’s do this,” he called over his shoulder.
The three men didn’t answer. Accustomed to taking orders, they simply swung open their car doors with military precision. Moments later they stood on the tremendous porch at the front of the bed-and-breakfast along with their boss.
Gregor growled, “Smile, damn it. You look like you’re about to face a firing squad. We’re supposed to be having fun.”
Tension rose along the back of his neck. The taste in his mouth no longer reminded him of the tropics. He focused on the large rush welcome mat as he rang the bell.
A stout-looking black woman in a maid’s uniform opened the massive paneled door with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Williams. It’s good to have you back again. Y’all come on in. Welcome to River Trace.”
Gregor dismissed his second thoughts and turned on the charm. “Hello, Luella. It’s good to be here. I’ve been dreaming about your collard greens and buttermilk biscuits for a month.”
“You’re puttin’ me on, sir.” Luella’s smile grew wider as she shooed them all inside like a mother hen. “Let me get you gentlemen checked in. You have perfect timing. I just got back from dinner. Did you have a pleasant drive?”
Gregor spoke for all of them. “Yes, we did. I’m looking forward to showing my friends the casino. We’re hoping to have a profitable weekend.”
Luella bustled her way over to the large antique secretary and proceeded with the paperwork and showing them to their rooms on the second floor. Gregor’s was the master bedroom with a fireplace and large sitting area. Luella was turning to go downstairs when he asked, “Is Mrs. Burnett home this evening?”
The big woman nodded. “Cally’s here. I believe she’s checking another guest in. She cooked up some hors d’oeuvres for you and the other gentlemen earlier if you’d like a late cocktail hour. Y’all come on down whenever you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”
“None of your fried okra?” he teased. “I was really looking forward to that.”
“No sir, we haven’t picked any okra out of our garden this week. But if you like, I’ll have Bay do it in the morning and fix you up a mess of collards and some okra for dinner tomorrow night.”
Gregor nodded and laughed out loud, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Oh, it really is good to be back at River Trace.” He was surprised to realize he truly meant that. “I’m looking forward to my time here.”
MARCUS CLIMBED into the steaming enclosure and let the hot water pelt his face. He wanted to wash off the stink of the dive he had been in earlier. His contact had never shown, but he’d met with the people he came to see. Now he reeked of cheap liquor, cigarettes and God only knew what else. He was surprised Mrs. Burnett hadn’t noticed, but she’d been distracted by the kid.
Cally Burnett was unexpected. Curvy in all the right places, she intrigued him with that mane of auburn curls and big blue eyes, not to mention those lips that made him think of ice cream and X-rated movies. He shook his head. No more than five foot five, what there was of her was extraordinarily well packaged.
When she’d answered the door, he’d been almost embarrassed by his response. She looked more like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest than a mother and widow. But she certainly wasn’t his type. Forget about sex. It had been so long since he’d had an extended conversation with a woman who wasn’t a cop, a snitch or a victim—he wasn’t exactly sure what his type was anymore.
Not that his body’s response was any indication; it had no real discernment in these matters, especially given the timing. Celibacy was a bitch. Doing without wasn’t his first choice and had more to do with the fact that his love life had been nonexistent lately.
Marcus consciously pushed thoughts of the lovely Mrs. Burnett out of his mind. He had little time to himself to socialize outside of work, and he no longer got involved with the women from this side of his life. It was entirely too complicated and dangerous. Tessa had taught him that lesson the hard way.
He wished Gregor had picked different lodgings. This wasn’t going to be as clean as the man claimed. That worried Marcus for the widow’s sake as well as his own.
Gregor Williams was a dangerous man. Marcus suspected some mental instability. Boggs had confirmed those suspicions last week when he told a story about Williams “roughing up” a hooker in New Orleans. Later Asa did some checking and found the woman had been hospitalized. It should have caused quite a stir. But for some reason the woman didn’t press charges. With the high-profile job Gregor had in Iraq as a private security contractor, a significant amount of money must have changed hands to keep that incident quiet.
Marcus had met Gregor and his mercenaries for the first time a little over a month ago. Things had progressed rapidly from there, once they found out about his position at the casino. And tonight, he’d been at the Tonk where Gregor had spelled out his entire plan.
The bar sat on a gravel back road between two cotton fields. During the day it was hardly more than a shack. At night, with half-burned-out Christmas lights strung around the door, the Tonk looked like an old whore on Bourbon Street determined to sell her worn wares and show the world she still had what it took.
Marcus heard music blaring as he pulled into the potholed dirt parking lot. Three motorcycles and a half dozen trucks were haphazardly parked out front. A light crowd for a Saturday night, but it was early yet. Things didn’t start rocking here until after midnight.
The scent of spilled beer, stale sweat and cigarette smoke assaulted him as he cruised inside. The bikers were at the bar with a couple of women Marcus recognized from previous visits. The hookers working here on weekends were a sad lot. The Tonk was the last stop on the food chain. Marcus could never imagine being so desperate to get laid that he’d take up with one of these “ladies.” An STD or worse was in a john’s future. But, apparently, the women did a booming business—especially on a holiday weekend.
Manny, the owner—a massive black man with two gold front teeth and an attitude—was tending bar. Marcus gave him a nod.
Manny didn’t need bouncers in his place. Instead, he kept a sawed-off shotgun behind the counter and a snub-nosed revolver in his belt. Oh, fights
