and offered it to Jack. “To celebrate our new alliance, eh?”
Jack took it. It was Cuban, of course, and a Cohiba to boot. “Only the best for you, eh, mate?” he said, inwardly wincing as he drew it under his nose to inhale the scent.
Cigars. He fucking hated the things. “Thanks. Got a light?”
“Of course.” Scala duly cut and lit their cigars, handing one over to Jack after rotating the tip near the flame until it glowed. The two men puffed companionably as the lieutenants stood at attention and breathed in their second-hand smoke.
“You can get us more AKs and Tantels, Mr Hawkins?”
“47s? Yes. 74s… well, those might take a bit longer. Just let me know how many you need, and I’ll take care of it.” Jack turned away, cigar thrust in his mouth, and picked up his briefcase.
Although it looked like an ordinary briefcase, it was custom fitted to carry his Glock 17. He gave the contents a cursory glance before closing the lid. Glock, check; suppressor, check; all parts and pieces present and accounted for.
“How much for the pistol?” Scala asked him idly, and waved his cigar in the direction of the case.
“This?” Jack looked up, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, mate. It’s not for sale. It’s just a display gun. Strictly for generating sales, you understand.”
As he reached out to pick up the briefcase, Jack heard the distinctive – and unwelcome – click of a trigger being cocked behind him.
“Not so fast, mate,” Scala said.
Jack turned back to see the generalissimo’s Beretta levelled on his chest. “And here I thought things between us were going so well.”
Scala chuckled. “And so they are. But things will go much better if you hand over that 9mm, my friend.” He paused. “Call it a show of good faith. A way to seal the deal, if you will, and to ensure you have my future business.”
“I’m rather partial to this gun,” Jack said, a tinge of regret colouring his voice. He met Scala’s eyes. “What’ve you got for me, then? To seal your deal with me?”
Again, the generalissimo laughed. “I won’t kill you.”
Jack smiled slightly. “Fair enough, mate. No harm, no foul.” He held out the briefcase. “Take it, it’s yours.” Cautiously, as if he feared a trick, Scala reached out to take it. The case changed hands without incident.
Pleased, the generalissimo turned to the lieutenant next to him and snapped his fingers. “Go and fetch Giselle.”
Jack glanced over at him. “Giselle?”
“My mistress. She’s a very beautiful woman,” Scala said between puffs, “and she’s yours for the night.”
Jack was about to open his mouth to give Scala a diplomatic version of thanks but no thanks, I don’t want your sloppy seconds, when a couple of minutes later the most stunning woman he’d ever seen loped into the hangar on long – incredibly, impossibly long – legs.
She was Brazilian, with tawny, flawless skin and eyes as clear and blue as a Bahamian sea. Her hair flowed over her shoulders to her hips in a blonde spill, thick and glossy. And her body… well, it was lean and taut and tantalizing.
“Will Giselle suffice to seal our deal, Mr Hawkins?” Scala asked, amused.
“You bet,” Jack replied as he smiled and held out his free hand to the gorgeous Brazilian creature. “Very nice to meet you, Giselle.”
“Hello, Mr Hawkins,” she murmured, unperturbed. Being handed over from her lover to a total stranger for the night might have been an everyday occurrence for all the lack of concern she showed.
Hell, Jack reflected as he raised his brow. For her, it probably was an everyday occurrence.
“You have no qualms at my offer?” Scala asked him. “No hesitation? No moral disquietude?”
“No.” Jack tucked Giselle’s arm through his, then met the generalissimo’s eyes. “You know that old saying, ‘Good things come to those who wait’? Screw that. Good things come to those who take.”
And to the sound of Scala’s laughter, he and Giselle walked out of the hanger together to his waiting Land Rover, and sped straight back to Jack’s hotel room.
After making love with Giselle most of the night, in pretty much every way possible, Jack fell into a light sleep. He woke to find her wearing one of his Thomas Pink shirts – it looked a hell of a lot better on her than it did on him – watching him intently from an armchair next to the bed.
Her long, bare legs dangled over the side as she smiled and murmured, “Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” he confirmed, and patted the mattress next to him. “Come back to bed.”
“I will,” she said obligingly, “soon. But first, I want to know about you. I know you sell guns,” she added. “But who are you, Jack Hawkins?”
He leaned back against the pillows. “I’m a licensed international arms dealer, but I like to think of myself as a businessman. Instead of hawking refrigerators or brokering insurance, I sell guns – automatic weapons, to be exact. Anything a potential warlord might want – M-16s, AK-74s, a few tanks, or cases of ammo – I’m your man.”
“And where do you get all these guns and weapons of war?”she asked.
“I have my sources.”
She smiled. “You don’t trust me.”
“No, darling, I’m sorry to say I don’t. I deal with third-world countries. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on your point of view – one needn’t look too far afield these days to find unrest. Or customers.”
Of course, Jack reflected, ammunition dictated what buyers in any given country wanted to buy. Although Hawkins InterArms was based in Albania, he had warehouses in locations throughout Eastern Europe. The Albanian officials were amenable hosts, provided Jack greased the occasional palm.
“Are you married?” Giselle asked him softly as she unwound her legs and climbed back into bed.
“No. I’ve never wanted to tie the knot with anyone.” He stroked the hair back from her face and kissed her jawline. “I’d only be unfaithful, at any rate. I know my limitations.”
“So there was never anyone? No special woman who captured your heart?”
Jack was silent. His thoughts went straight to Gemma. They’d met in the Maldives, where he’d done his utmost to entice her into his bed, and into his life. She was married now, to that idiotic rock star, Dominic Heath; but according to the tabloids, they were already estranged…
…which meant he was still in with a chance.
“There was someone, once,” he said now. “But it didn’t work out.”
“Ah.” She kissed him, then leisurely kissed and licked her way down his neck to his chest. “What about family? Have you any brothers or sisters, Jack?”
A dark look passed briefly over his face. “One half-brother, Oliver. Our mum was Australian. She left my father and married an Englishman. Ollie’s dad. She died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Is he younger than you, this half-brother? Older? Married?”
He raised his brow. “You’re very inquisitive.”
She lifted her lips from his chest. “I like you, Jack. I want to know all about you.” She pouted. “Is that wrong?”
“No.” He sighed. “Oliver’s divorced, with a kid. He’s younger and much more respectable than me.” He smiled slightly. “We