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Chapter 11

THE DOOR LEADING TOthe interior of the house swung open and Jackson stood there, his dark, imposing silhouette filling the frame. He flicked one switch and the garage door rolled down; flicked another and the room flooded with light.

He was a tall guy, built like a bulldozer, with muscles on top of muscles and a freshly shaved head that gleamed under the lights. He wore baggy jeans, a black T-shirt that barely contained his enormous chest, and no shoes. The tattoos on his arms were the only ones visible, but Nate knew more covered almost every square inch of his chest, abdomen, and back.

Jackson also had one of the best don’t-fuck-with-me glares that Nate had ever seen. He wore it constantly when working a personal protection detail, but tonight he was at ease.

“Evening, boss.” The smooth, deep resonance of Jackson’s voice filled the garage. He smiled, a slash of white against his dark skin.

As Nate approached, he noticed a bulge beneath Jackson’s shirt. Most likely, it was his weapon of choice, a Sig Sauer P220. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No worries; it’s cool. Me and the boys were just chilling.”

That explained the extra cars in the yard. Still... “At three in the morning?”

Jackson shrugged. “None of us got to work tomorrow. We’re pulling an all-night movie marathon.”

Ah, Nate had heard about these. Actually, he’d been invited to a few, but each time he’d already made other plans and couldn’t attend. From what he’d been told, the guys usually picked the cheesiest, most god-awful films they could find. “Any particular theme to the movies?”

The corners of Jackson’s mouth twitched. “Sharknado. We’re up to the third one.”

Nate was familiar with the low-budget films. They were campy, cheesy, totally unrealistic, and they seemed to revel in it. “I take it there’s a lot of alcohol involved.”

“Of course. That’s what makes them watchable.” Jackson’s gaze slanted to Dorcas. He extended his right hand. “Since my boss doesn’t have any manners, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jackson.”

“Dorcas. Nice to meet you.” She shook the hand he offered. “Thank you for letting us come over so late.”

“The pleasure’s mine, dear lady. Why don’t you come in? Make yourself comfortable.”

Jackson stepped aside, giving them room to enter, and then led them down the hall to the living room.

Pinto and Hatch, also employees of Six Points, were on the black leather couch, talking shit about the movie. Each had a beer in their hand, and a huge bowl of popcorn was wedged between them. Navarre, Jackson’s roommate and co-worker, was passed out on one of the recliners. Someone—Nate bet it was Hatch—had drawn a penis on his forehead. And on the giant wall-mounted television, sharks were attacking a space shuttle as it orbited Earth.

When the guys noticed them, all conversation stopped.

Not wanting to get busted twice for bad manners, Nate assumed the duty of introductions. “Hey guys, this is Dorcas Otero. Dorcas, this is Hatch, Pinto, and the dude with the artwork on his face is Navarre.”