Page 52 of Shrapnel

“Which one was Donahue?”

Owen glared at him. It wasn’t very threatening. “The second murder victim, the chemist.”

“A chemist working for big pharma makes sense. But none of the other victims had qualifying skills.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Owen corrected smugly, bringing up a photocopied paystub. “Dalton Enterprises was hired to paint the interior of Satex Pharmaceuticals offices eight months ago.”

It was flimsy, but it was the only connection they had between any of the victims so far. “How likely is it that a chemist and a contractor ran into each other?”

Owen pursed his lips. “Not very likely. Satex is massive—it employs 1/3 of the people in this county alone.”

Jamie rubbed his face. He was tired, and not in the good physically drained until he passed out way. He could already tell by the way his brain was buzzing that it was going to be a stare at the wall and not acknowledge the shifting shadows in the corner of his eye kind of night.

“I know it’s not much but…”

“No, it’s good. You found something that no one else did.” Jamie smiled tiredly. “What did I say, Owen? You’re fucking amazing.”

He moved to the bag he had brought, unzipping it and withdrawing his shoulder holster. Sliding his arms through it, he pointedly ignored the cute way Owen blushed and stammered excuses about his skills.

Sliding Chicken Nugget into his holster, he looked up at Owen.

“What do you say? Up for one more mission, O Face?”

Jackson stared at the taser on his hip in disgust. It wasn’t that he thought he was too good for a non-lethal weapon, it was the exact opposite. He had been tased before and he would rather be shot before doing that again. Dismissing the ‘weapon’ as part of his new uniform, he stretched his arms above his head and continued with his rounds.

Spending his nights guarding a pharmaceutical company wasn’t usually his schtick, but Jackson wasn’t the kind of person who could be idle. After a few more days of sitting around his shitty motel, he began contemplating driving by the Sunspot. Just to get a little peek, make sure his brother was all right.

The second that thought had solidified Jackson was on his feet, taking Sticky Assed Whatever-the-Fuck-His-Name-Was’ job offer. It was boring. And he was ninety percent sure he could rob the place without ever being caught, but it was something to do. And the pay wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t a baggy full of cocaine, either.

Thinking of that night brought up all sorts of unpleasant thoughts for Jackson. What kind of booty call shows up with tequila, painkillers, a decapitated head, and enough cocaine to buy several yachts? Jamie, little assassin asshole extraordinaire apparently.

Jackson was getting that scratchy feeling. The one that set in after he had spent too long in a single place. It was a choking kind of scratch. The only cure was distance and speed.

Russia could work. He hadn’t been there since that whole arms depot thing in Bashkortostan, but that was years ago. Russia was always good for jobs. And vodka.

He had a few contacts in Poland that could help get him across the border. Scratching the back of his head, he debated his next move while he meandered around the building.

Satex Pharmaceuticals was an ugly building. The massive warehouse took up most of the lot. Acres and acres of dusty shelving units as far as the eye could see. Jackson had looked into some of the boxes during his first shift, but he couldn’t read half the labels. He was half convinced they named drugs by letting a cat walk across a keyboard.

The offices were separated from the bustle of the warehouse. Wrapped around the building in a winding hallway, the offices were decorated in clean-cut lines and chrome finishes. Jackson dragged his fingers across a wide leaf of a potted plant. He huffed when he realized it was plastic.

His entire body stilled when he heard a loud clang from coming up ahead. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked and he grinned. Maybe this job would be interesting after all.

Jackson wouldn’t say stealth was his best trait, but he could move quietly when he needed to. Fingers flexing, he gingerly set his rubber soled boots against the brushed concrete floor as he peered around corners. An office door was open that heknewwas closed the last time he made a pass. Snorting in amusement, he didn’t even bother to pull the gun he wasn’t supposed to have.

This was anunarmedguard position.

Too bad Jackson was never unarmed.

As he crept closer to the open office door, he could hear keys tapping. The glow of a computer monitor spilled out in the hallway, the only light besides the moon filtering through the plate glass windows on the opposite wall.

Crouching, he pulled out the small shatterproof mirror he always kept in his pocket. Jackson twisted it until he could get a good look at the office’s interior. A dark-clad figure was bent over one of the computers. His face was obscured by the monitor, but Jackson could see he was alone.

Suddenly the man stopped tapping on the computer. His entire body froze for a tense moment before he came to life. Before Jackson could blink the mirror exploded from his hand. He swore and fell back, snatching his hand to his chest. It stung and he could feel warm blood seeping down his wrist. The tang of gunpowder was thick in the air, and he swore again, surging to his feet to catch the guy as he made a run for the door.

With his thick arm, he clotheslined the thief, grabbing him by the front of his dark sweatshirt and slamming him back into the room. The man’s gun clattered to the floor, spinning towards the open door. Lithely the intruder rolled to his feet, stumbling backward into the desk with his momentum.