Fell For Jack

By DT Ward

What would drive a man to kill for money? What would make a woman fall for a man like that? Miranda fell for Jack. Could he keep her safe? Could he make her happy? Or would his past be her undoing? Fell for Jack is an epic thriller wrought with smart action and sexy romance.

After leaving the military, Jack Egan is a nice guy whose only skillset is killing. Desperately in need of cash, Jack decides to “kill for money” on his own- not just following orders anymore.
Miranda fell for Jack. Unfortunately when she finds out what he does for a living, she splits. But not before Jack inadvertently sets off a mafia killing spree of which Jack, Miranda, and an innocent thirteen-year-old girl are to become victims. Now Jack’s new mission in life is to save his ex-girlfriend, protect a frightened kid, and deliver some payback to the mafia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DT Ward
• Release date: Mar 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476459530

DT Ward

DT Ward currently lives in Wyoming Ohio.DT Ward has been published in Hunting and Fishing Magazine as well as a few Sporting eZines. The Epoch Scheme is his first published Novel.

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FELL FOR JACK

By D.T. Ward

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 D T Ward

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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We’re devils and angels

Which one will I be today?

—Social Distortion

Chapter 1 – Aftermath

Central Street – Bangor, Maine

Burnt gunpowder had mixed with the mist in the air and created a thick smell that stuck to the inside of my nostrils. The street lamps seemed to glow an odd shade of yellowish-white, like stars mixed with rotten eggs. The temperature had ironically warmed after the sun had dropped below the snow-covered buildings, streets, and earth, and the slowly melting snow had seeped into vapor. I always wondered what caused mist as opposed to fog and when to call each one what it truly was, but standing here looking at the blood splattered face of a thirteen-year-old girl, it didn’t really matter right now.

Hurry, I told her, and started to jog. She kept up.

We reached the Jeep and I let her in with the lock remote.

I drove. We went back towards her uncle’s house as fast as I could drive in the conditions. The highway was fine but the unplowed back roads were thick with slush because of the odd temperature change.

She didn’t ask where we were going. She didn’t talk at all. She just stared out the window.

I looked at her for the first time. I knew she was thirteen from the file I had been given. She had on a nice purple dress and a black velvet coat, her hair was strait and long and she let it cover her face. It was too bad, she had a pretty face.

She was a cute kid, normal looking. She was probably one of the most messed up people on the face of the planet right then, but she looked like every other teenager. Well, except for her Uncle’s blood splattered across her face and the brain matter in her hair.

I opened the center console and found a yellow Wendy’s napkin. I handed it to her and she took it and blew her nose. I laughed and pulled out another one, telling her to wipe her face. She looked at me quizzically and pulled down the vanity mirror to inspect herself. She didn’t even blink at the blood, just started wiping her face with the napkin.

The blood had dried and it smeared a little but was not coming off so I pulled out a half empty water bottle from my sack in the back seat and handed it to her.

Here, use this, I said to her. She blotted water on the napkin and started working on the blood spots, Out damn spot. I said.

She looked at me with little expression, then gave the slightest of smiles, but said nothing. She went back to cleaning her face and I went back to watching the road.

I pulled into a gas station to fill up and after pumping the gas I asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head. She had just eaten a few hours ago with her aunt and uncle, so I figured she was good. Then, as if I had mentioned the food aloud, she leaned forward and puked all over the passenger side floor of the jeep. I walked around to her side and opened the door. She got out with a look of shame.

Here, I handed her a twenty, Go get a Sprite to settle your stomach, and some crackers or something. I’ll clean this up, okay? She nodded but said nothing, and walked towards the store.

I cleaned the vomit up the best I could and she was back by the time I was done with a Sprite, a Coke, two Hershey bars, and a pack of peanut butter crackers. She handed me the Coke and one of the chocolate bars. I thanked her and we both got in the jeep.

It was strange. This kid that had been through so much; molestation, the death of both parents, and now had just witnessed her uncle and his wife die right in front of her, had just given me a candy bar.

We arrived at her uncle’s house and I told her to go inside and gather her things and put them in the jeep and wait. I went around and collected all the equipment I had left around the property when I’d had to leave so quickly.

You alright? I asked her before starting out. She said nothing but gave me a look that said I should know she was not alright, Okay then. Here we go.

I explained to her that I had another car waiting for us at a rest area not too far from where we were. Then I called John and left a message for him to call me back.

We arrived at the rest area and quickly changed cars. The equipment all went in the trunk of the Lincoln I had rented through a fake ID and had someone pick up and drive here for me.

I decided I needed to clean up a bit so I went into the empty rest stop’s bathroom and did the best I could at getting blood off everything. The bathroom had one of those revolving cloth dispensers for drying your hands and I cut off a decent length and wrapped my wounded arm after cleaning it out well. My ribs were bruised badly, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I looked around and was happy to see a machine on the wall that sold condoms and aspirin. I bought three packets of pills and downed the six pain relievers using water from the sink. For now, it would have to do.

The trip back to Chicago was filled with frustration and pain. First and foremost, I had lost a lot of blood and had not slept in a long time. It was getting dangerous to drive. I was also dealing with a number of gunshot wounds, and although only one had drawn blood, the others were more painful. I needed a drink, bad, but I could not allow that in my current condition. Unfortunately, when I had pulled over to sleep for a bit, John called and ruined my day even worse.

He’s dead, John told me. It took a few moments for me to figure out who he was.

What happened? How did they track him down? I asked.

They just did. I don’t know. But they killed him, and now they are after everyone involved. Is the girl safe?

Yeah, her aunt and uncle are gone, but she’s right here sitting next to me. I informed him.

What? She is with you? In your car? He was astounded.

Yeah. What was I going to do, leave her there? I was sucker-punched, already thinking I had killed them all. The last fucker posed as an employee and I didn’t make him. There coulda been more, and even if there weren’t, they will more than likely come after her again right?

You are crazy, you know that? he sounded tired, So what are you planning to do with her now?

I hadn’t really thought about it. and I hadn’t. I had just acted. I knew I could not leave the kid standing there over her recently departed aunt and uncle. Plus she didn’t

seem like she much wanted to stay there.

Well, you might want to start worrying about your girlfriend. If they found him, they sure as hell will connect you to her and then she’s toast.

Jesus Christ I was an idiot! I had not even thought about Miranda ever getting hurt. She was kept separate and had nothing to do with any of this in my mind. The kid’s stupid mother had come to my home and ruined both our lives. But I couldn’t put the blame for Miranda being in danger on her. It was totally my fault. I had put her life in danger the second I met her. I should have never gotten involved with her, or anyone else for that matter. How could I be such a fool?

My heart rate increased and my speed did as well. I had been staying at or under the speed limit until then. Getting pulled over for speeding would be a bad thing with the arsenal in the trunk and the kid who may or may not be on a police BOLO (Be On the Lookout for). But the thought of anyone hurting Miranda was enough to make me ignore caution. I needed to get to her, and fast. I could live without her, but I could not live with getting her killed! That was not going to happen! I would die before I let that happen. She loved me and trusted me (well, before she found out I was a killer anyway), and she didn’t deserve to be involved in any of this.

You there? John was still on the phone.

Yeah, sorry, I said, What are you going to do now?

Disappear, my friend. It is something I am rather good at. So if you need anything, now is the time.

So am I out of a job then? I asked.

You still want to continue in this line of work?

Maybe. It’s all I know. You going to change careers or something?

Give me a few months, I’ll get in touch with you and we can discuss going into business together, He said, It could work out nicely. That is, if we are both still alive.

Right, I smiled, Well, I’ll see you later, man. I hung up.

The snow had stopped and the salt trucks had been over the roads. The side of the highway looked like it was covered in piles of coal instead of snow. Everything was grey and white at the same time, and it wreaked cold. I was not certain if my blood was thin or I was just cold or if I was tired of all this killing. The red blotches of snow in the street in Bangor remained in my vision as I drove.

I turned to the kid and said, So what’s your name? and I knew what it was already. I just had not heard her speak, ever, and it was bugging me. Unfortunately she just looked at me.

Bob, I said, I’m going to call you Bob, She still just looked at me, You know, like ‘Silent Bob’. She smiled and looked forward, Bob it is then.

I continued to talk to the kid for hours as we drove. I called her Bob the whole time. It kept my mind off the dead people and the pain. She never said a damn thing and I was getting used to it. She was responsive, though. Usually it was a shoulder shrug or a smile or frown or her classic quizzical look with a side-glance, one eyebrow up, hair in her face.

I called Mike and told him to meet me at an El parking lot with new armor and 8 full clips of ammo for the Springfield. I thought for a brief second about trying to pawn the kid off on him, but I knew better. It would get them both killed.

When we got into town I told the kid I had work to do and she nodded her head that she knew. We checked into the Hyatt and I left her in the room with orders to stay there. I told her she could order room service, but it would require her speaking. She just flicked me off. I laughed and told her I would bring pizza back with me.

I had written down the address to my warehouse and information on how to locate the money I had stashed there in case I never came back, and put it in an envelope. I told her not to open it unless I didn’t come back by morning. I wrote the number to the room down in case I needed to call her but I figured she probably wouldn’t answer it if I called.

Chapter 2 – Machinate

Chicago, Illinois – Previously

I sat at my cheap Ikea computer-desk looking at a sealed black folder I had been given by a man I had never met before in a warehouse I had never seen before and would probably never go to again. I knew the folder contained death and money and most likely jail time, but I was in no position to be worried about jail. I would end up there anyway if I didn’t come up with some money soon. To me it contained sweet liberty.

There was fifteen-grand front money and the promise of another thirty-five in that folder, or so I had been told. The front money was to buy things I might need to kill a man I didn’t know. At least I thought it was a man. I hoped so. I had never asked. That thought gave me enough motivation to finally open the file.

It contained five black and white pictures of the mark, (a man- thank God) his bodyguards, an itinerary for their stay in Chi-town, the guard’s credentials, and the front money.

I read the entire file three times. The guy would be in a specific hotel from Friday around 9 PM until Sunday morning and if he lived past Sunday I was probably a dead man.

Killing him would be easy. But the more I reviewed the information the more I realized that this was something I had never done before. I had been trained by the army to kill, but I had always killed for the army. I had killed out of self-preservation, and I had killed to save the lives of those around me, and I had even killed just because I was ordered to do so – but this was different. The man was a civilian. I was not in the army. I was not just following orders here, I was making a conscious decision to take a life, no matter how bad or worthless that life may seem.

Another thought was bothering me: the possibility of other civilians interfering, Police getting involved, people in the hotel, mothers, fathers, innocent civilians. The thought pummeled my brain.

I got up and poured myself a drink. Ice and Tully. I swirled the ice around in the double old fashion glass for a moment to get the whiskey cold. Then I downed it and poured another without renewing the ice. It was not harsh. It was comfortingly warm and I realized the irony of that since I had cooled it down with the ice and was now enjoying the warmth. The thought made me swirl the glass a few times and sip some whiskey into my mouth and hold it there. It was cold, and then warm, and then it burned my tongue. I swallowed and sat down again.

I suddenly realized I was truly going to do this and it gave my legs a strange tingle, a paralysis of sorts. I realized I had to use the bathroom but found it difficult to get up from the chair. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go forward with this plan. What would happen if I just forgot all about it and went on with my life as it was?

But that was not an option, and the thought itself was enough to force me quickly up out of the chair. I gave a shake of my head to try to clear that thought, the thought of my miserable existence as a civilian until now, out of my head.

Okay, I could do this, and nervous or not, I would need to be able to force myself to move when I needed to and not freeze up like this. Hell, I was sitting in my own apartment drinking. What would happen if I froze up standing in front of the mark with a gun raised at him? That would be the end of me. That could not happen, and I knew right then I needed to get used to pulling a trigger again.

I knew that practice grew muscle memory, and that muscle memory could save your life. The more you did something the more it became an instinct. I needed to gain as much muscle memory as I could in the week I had available.

I set the drink down on the desk and left it there while I went to relieved myself. Once in the bathroom, a hot shower seemed like a marvelous idea to me.

The water warmed me and I lost track of time. I was seriously not myself and I knew it. This was somewhere I could only go with the knowledge that it could not be undone. If I was going to chicken out, I had come to that spot in time and needed to do it now. There was no later. This was not an easy decision, but it had to be made. As the water got slowly colder, a song popped into my head. It was The Judas Lament by a band called The Gravel Pit. The chorus of which was, I sold my soul for 30 bits of silver.

There was no ice in the glass on the desk, just wet whiskey. I drank it anyway and poured another glass with new ice. I stood next to the chair and looked at the open folder sitting there with its contents spilled out like a gutted fish. Then I sat down and went to work.

There needed to be a place in the hotel that I could get the mark alone. An elevator, a bathroom, or even his hotel bedroom could work. I eliminated the elevator idea on the grounds that I had to leave the elevator and there could be witnesses. Not to mention he would more than likely have his bodyguards with him. His hotel room was my best bet. I would need to scout out the hotel and see if any new ideas came to me. I would then decide what equipment I needed as well. I would make a list and burn it later. Lists always helped put things into perspective and made sure you didn’t forget anything. As this was my first job as a hired killer, I wanted to make sure I did it right. I had to be careful in my planning and allow myself room for errors. I didn’t want to end up in jail, or dead.

I had no idea why the mark was coming to the City of Big Shoulders. It was a factor that I needed to eliminate. I had to do a little social hacking in order to control the situation. I’d need a credit card that was not tied to me. I’d need to be able to bribe someone on the hotel staff and I’d need to know if the mark had room reservations or not. I’d need to know if he had dinner reservations.

I looked at my watch; it was 2:40 AM. I decided to make a call to the hotel and after a 3-minute conversation with a desk clerk who didn’t seem all that concerned about confidentiality; I found the mark had no reservations. That could work in my favor.

I about kicked myself after realizing I had just called the hotel from my home phone. I needed to be more careful. From that moment on I would be paying attention to the details. Fingerprints and phone calls and anything I did online would all need to be untraceable.

I got up and grabbed my jacket and keys, went down to the street and drove my crappy Saturn to the closest Wallmart where I purchased a bunch of items I thought I might need. I wore driving gloves so the items would never be touched by me. Amongst the items were a box of latex gloves, four pre-paid cell phones with minutes for them, envelopes, and twine.

Back home I plugged in the phones to charge and looked up the hotel’s web site. They had a place to register online and even allowed you to choose a room number to see if it was available. Now I had to wait. I hated waiting.

I went to the bedroom and invaded the closet. I had a number of handguns and rifles that were in my name, but the two cases I removed were untraceable simply because they were used guns I had purchased from private parties. It was perfectly legal, and I had not even thought about wanting to have an untraceable weapon at the time I had purchased them, but was glad I had them now. The first was a Ruger MK II .22 target pistol. It was an older target pistol that was worn and heavily used, but it worked well and was very reliable. I had 2 clips for the gun. They both held 10 rounds.

The second gun was a new (although I had bought it second hand) Springfield XD-45. I had never fired it, but could not pass it up at the price it had been offered to me. First of all it fired .45 ACP ammunition. That meant stopping power. Secondly, it held 13 rounds. It was an excellent side arm that had won awards for its reliability. But it was not something I would want to use inside a hotel. This would be my backup in case things went awry and I had to shoot my way out of there. I hated the thought of shooting a police officer and would do everything I could to prevent that, but if it came down to them or me, I’d more than likely choose myself to live. The bodyguards were more of a concern and I wouldn’t have a problem putting them down.

I had three boxes of .45 ammo and tons of .22 rounds. For this job I would want to use subsonic.22 ammo in order to remain as quiet as possible. I searched through the boxes and found three types. One box had 50 rounds of rare copper-jacketed slugs. The second had hollow-points, and the last was simply