Page 39 of Jacking Jill

“Lucky side-effects are my specialty,” Benson cracked, looking up as Nancy entered the war-room with a laptop in her hand and a frown on her face. “Speaking of lucky side-effects, aren’t we all thrilled that Nancy is back?”

Nancy didn’t grace him with a smile. She deposited her butt in the chair next to Benson’s, flipped open the laptop lid, adjusted her tortoise-shell reading glasses, then turned the laptop screen so he could see what was on it.

“That’s too many numbers.” Benson didn’t bother trying to decipher the spreadsheets and screen-shots and whatever else Nancy—a former agent for the United States Department of the Treasury—had been digging up. “I’m a big picture guy, Nancy. Give me the highlights.”

“Romeo Carmine was one of Northrup Capital’s big investors.” Nancy’s face tightened, her blue eyes darkening. She’d been on board the Rivington when Kyle and Kenneth Northrup and their wives had all been killed in that crazy Hogan-and-Hannah mission. That mission had been the last straw for Nancy. She’d had enough of the darkness, and Benson worried that the loose ends from that mission might send Nancy heading back to her peaceful retirement filled with grandchildren and gardening or whatever the hell else Nancy had been doing to keep herself busy the past year.

Benson wouldn’t know, because Nancy didn’t take a single one of his calls the entire time, cutting him off with a ruthless efficiency that reminded Benson that Nancy Sullivan was very much a Darkwater woman, whether she liked it or not.

“I don’t like it, John.” Nancy scrolled through what appeared to be bank transactions. “Romeo Carmine actually increased his investments after Northrup Capital got taken over by IMG Corp. He’s even taken out big loans to invest more. He’s doubled down and levered up. Stands to lose tens of millions—maybe hundreds of millions—if Senator Robinson gets to the White House and shuts down those loopholes which groups like the Zetas need to keep paying the obscenely high interest on those bonds.”

Benson grunted, rubbed his chin which was getting a bit stubbly even though he’d shaved that morning—which seemed a long time in the past. “Well, that would explain why he’s connecting with Diego. If Romeo uses his influence at the Philadelphia area docks to smuggle drugs from the Zeta Nation, it’s a new source of big-money for the Zetas. And Romeo wins double—he makes money from the lucrative drug business and also keeps his legal investment income going.” He tapped the cleft in his chin, glanced at Nancy with a furrowed brow. “You still haven’t been able to figure out who actually owns IMG Corp?”

Nancy took off her glasses, rubbed her bloodshot eyes, shook her head grudgingly. “Too many shell companies based in offshore tax havens with bulletproof privacy laws. There are so many tiny island nations that are getting in on the anonymous banking business that it’s become a nightmare for the Treasury department. Treasury was able to pressure the Swiss banks into revealing their secrets, but it’s like playing whack-a-mole with these smaller nations that don’t give a damn about diplomatic relations and are too small to warrant the U.S. taking political action.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Benson grumbled, rubbing his own eyes and reaching for the cup of thick black coffee which was his fourth since sunset. He drained the cup and placed it back on the glass-topped table when the war-room door burst open and Jack Wagner strode in. “Speaking of excuses,” Benson said chirpily as the coffee kicked in with perfect timing. “What’s yours?”

Jack stopped about six inches in front of Benson, who’d rotated his swivel chair to face the heavily muscled former Delta Force commando. There was a nasty gash on Jack’s cheekbone where a bullet had ripped the skin off, making it look like dark red warpaint.

Benson reclined the swivel chair and grinned up at Jack, who was in a formal shirt that had perhaps once been white before getting streaked with blood and grime. “So, where is she?”

“In the medical center with Fay.” Jack rumbled out a breath, glared down at Benson. “She seems to be all right. No thanks to you.”

Benson shrugged. “She isn’t my responsibility.” He lost the grin and sharpened both his gaze and his tone. “And she isn’t yours either, Jack. Do you have any idea what you’ve done by letting Diego get away for the second time today?”

Jack’s arms were folded across his big chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos all over his massive forearms. But Benson wasn’t intimidated by the guy’s posturing. Jack Wagner had screwed up, made choices that might have been acceptable on the early Darkwater missions but were far too reckless now.

Because the missions were different now.

Darkwater was different now.

And hell, maybe Benson was different now too.

Older for sure.

Wiser?

Not so sure.

Jack rubbed his eyes, his big Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. The square-jawed Delta glanced at his older brother Ice, who sat silently across the table alongside Paige, who was squinting at a laptop with far too much concentration, like she was trying to disappear into that computer screen so she wouldn’t have to participate in this uncomfortably tense confrontation.

Benson cast his silver-eyed gaze around the table. Keller, Ice, Paige on one side, Benson and Nancy on the other, Jack standing with his arms crossed and a scowl on his bloody face, anger in his burning eyes. Benson stayed silent, waiting for Jack to respond to his question that was both rhetorical and rude. But Jack seemed to have learned something about silence from his older brother Ice, and the man stood his ground, his broad frame casting a dark shadow over Benson.

Benson rubbed his temples. Those veins on the side of his head throbbed like perhaps he’d ingested far too much caffeine. But there was also a dull pain that radiated through his skull almost constantly now. Benson knew it was the aftereffects of the shockwave-induced concussion from being so close to the blast. He’d refused to take the anti-inflammatory pills that his doctors had prescribed, didn’t even take the painkillers they’d given him for his physical injuries. He wondered what the trauma of the explosion followed by two months of chronic physical pain and near-constant headaches were doing to him. Certainly they were affecting his mood, making him snippier with the wisecracks, adding a vicious edge to his humor which wasn’t there in the past.

But were Benson’s injuries also affecting his judgment?

After all, hadn’t Jack Wagner just made a choice every other Darkwater man before him had also made?

The choice to follow his heart instead of orders.

“Sit down, kid,” Benson said finally, breaking the stare-down stalemate with a sigh. He gestured with his head towards an empty chair, waited for Jack to sit down, then smiled wearily and sighed again. “Maybe that joke about letting the woman die was a bit tasteless. And maybe I’m being too harsh with the blame game, calling you a fuck-up and all that.”

Jack shrugged. “No apology needed. Battlefield humor gets dark sometimes, so the joke’s all right. And I did fuck up this afternoon at the gas station when Diego stole my damn bike while I was taking a piss. That was an unacceptable mistake. It cost a civilian his life, and that’s on me.” He stretched out his big arms, then touched the fire-red gash on his cheekbone, frowning like he’d only just remembered it. Nancy was about to say something, but Jack waved it off with a sideways grin that probably hurt. “Getting ambushed by Diego is also on me.”

Benson shook his head. “That was unexpected. Diego could have taken a shot at you at the gas station, but he knows it’s not easy to kill a Delta man and so he didn’t take the risk. I don’t think Diego would have chosen to ambush you on an open road at night in a snowstorm with only a handgun if someone hadn’t forced his hand. Romeo Carmine must have ordered the hit, and that’s even more surprising.” Benson huffed out a breath. “The only way Romeo would take a risk like that is if he was certain you aren’t law enforcement, aren’t working for the FBI or DEA or ATF.” He tapped his lower lip, then made a fist and looked grimly around the table. “Which means he knows you’re Darkwater.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “That was bound to happen sooner or later. Only a matter of time before Kay, Diego, and Romeo connected the dots. But it’s a head-scratching decision to order Diego to take me out. Seems pretty damn reckless to order a hit on someone who’s with an off-the-books team of ex-Special Forces killers.”

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