By Fern Michaels
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Extra resources for Collateral Damage
Everyone on the floor knew Bert Navarro drove a restored 1965 Mustang. Her stomach crunched itself into a tight knot. ” “My boss just saw you getting into my car, Jack,” Bert said as he put the car in gear and peeled out onto the road. “So what? It’s late, you’re giving me a ride home. Let them make a federal case out of it. No pun intended. ” Bert laughed. “Harry took out Parks earlier, but you already know that. Seems it took almost an hour for him to be transported to the hospital. Snafus along the way.
He was about to head for the curb, where he could smoke a cigarette until he could hail a cab. He heard the voice but couldn’t tell where it came from. Bert. ” Jack nonchalantly fired up a cigarette, made a pretense of looking for a cab. He took a couple of deep drags until he was sure five minutes had Jack nonchalantly fired up a cigarette, made a pretense of looking for a cab. He took a couple of deep drags until he was sure five minutes had gone by before he turned and walked to the corner. Just as he turned his back to the front door of the Hoover Building, Erin Powell walked outside.
He heard the click of the agent’s gun but didn’t stop. No one was going to shoot a deputy district attorney on the steps of his house right here in Georgetown. No way, no how. He fit the key in the lock. He risked a glance down at his wrist. He’d wasted almost ten minutes. That was good. Another ten, and things should be in place. “Stop right there, Mr. ” Jack asked, opening the door. He turned around. “So shoot me! Make the eleven o’clock news. There goes your pension, big guy! You’ll be up to your ass in political bullshit till those retirement papers are moldy.
Collateral Damage by Fern Michaels