“So... three names?”

I'm in extreme pain, something I didn't think could happen with working out anymore. But this is the good sort of pain, the pain of hard work.

I'm trying to balance on just my hands, my legs resting on Katrina's shoulders while she stands and I do incline pushups. The burning is mostly in my stomach area, which has to hold everything in a totally straight line from my ankles to my shoulders, or else. I found out the hard way what 'or else' was a while back when Katrina kicked me in the stomach. Thankfully she didn't kick me too hard, since it was just meant as a warning when I let my back sag.

“Twenty. And yeah, three names,” she says, keeping a silent count as I start my next descent. Each pushup is timed, three seconds down, hold for two, then an explosive push up. And apparently, this is just the warmup. “Jeez Jackson, I thought you'd have gotten more functional muscle with all that mass you're carrying.”

“Didn't... think... I was deficient,” I grunt as I hold my down position, my forehead a fraction of an inch off the floor. I push, exhaling and grunting. “Did fine before.”

“All right, twenty-one's enough, relax and shake out. I'll use my chair for mine.”

Katrina squats down so that I can pull my legs off her shoulders, and goes over to the chair she's talking about. She kicks her legs up and does the same thing I just finished, the only difference being the height of her legs. Most women I know can't even do twenty regular pushups. Katrina, in one of the sexiest displays of feminine fitness I've ever seen, cranks out the twenty timed and elevated pushups like they're nothing. When she brings her legs down, she looks up and sees that I'm staring. “What?”

“Uh... nothing,” I say, taking a swig of water. Still, she blushes a little, and I feel heat rise in my own cheeks. In the days since joining forces, we've grown closer again, and I'm realizing that my feelings for her are more than just friendly. The problem is, we’re not twelve anymore, and I have a lot more on my mind than building model cars. I shake my head and sip my water again. “What's next?”

“Jackson...”

“Don’t even start,” I say, cutting her off. “We're doing this together. If for no other reason that I want to make sure you've got someone watching your back.”

She gives me a look, and I shake my head and stick out my hand. “I told you, Katrina. We're partners on this. After what he did to you, after what he's done to so many others, Peter needs his comeuppance.”

Katrina thinks, then nods. “And what is that comeuppance, Jackson? You know if I take him down, that means jail time for him.”

“Fine,” I say, and she arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“What I have evidence on... it means freezing his assets too if he gets arrested. Jackson, you've made tremendous strides, but are you ready to give up the money, too?”

Katrina, in her normal way, has pierced right to the heart of what's been troubling me. When I think about it, of course, I don't want the dirty blood money. Thinking about what it's come from, and what it's done to other people, especially what it's done to Katrina, makes my blood boil.

But at night, when I've been lying on Egyptian cotton sheets that cost a few thousand dollars, and a mattress that cost several thousand more, or when I woke up this morning and put on an outfit that probably cost more than what Katrina makes in an average month... I can't help but admit that I like living the good life. I like driving a one-year-old Audi, and eating the best food I can. I like having the bling, and the comfort of knowing that even with a psycho asshole for a father, I can still have money.

So yeah, I'm torn. But still, looking at Katrina, I know what to say. “We'll take him down, Katrina. We can discuss the details later. First, let's use those finances to get to Miami and take care of finding your parents first.”

I can see she’s not happy, but she nods in acceptance, like she expected this from me. It hurts, but I can't lie to her. Too many people have lied to her already, and I won't be a part of that.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Well let's finish up, and we can discuss travel plans.”

* * *

Back home, I find Nathan in his workshop, where he gives me a knowing smile as I make my way inside and take a seat. “How go the new workouts?”

“Painfully,” I groan. “Tell me you did rougher stuff in the Green Berets.”

“Doubtful,” Nathan replies, going over to his tea collection. “Remember, we weren't as motivated. Dedication and fanaticism are just a hair's breadth apart sometimes. Here, this should help. It's a blend that has plenty of antioxidants and a good shot of caffeine. And it tastes pretty damn good, too.”

He mixes the tea and brings me a steaming mug, which I sip. It's got a fruity tang to it, and I hum in appreciation. “Good shit.”

“Thanks. Technically, it's not actually tea at all, but an herbal blend. I like it enough to keep it with my others, though. So what did you want to see me for?”

“I need some misdirection,” I say, setting the tea aside. “For a trip.”

“Oh really? And where would this trip be?” Nathan's unscarred eye twinkles in good humor as he asks me, then grows serious. “I'm asking because I need to know how much of a distraction I need to provide.”

“Multiple days, maybe four or even a week. We think we've found Sam Grammercy.”

Nathan thinks, then nods. “The only way I'll be able to pull that off convincingly is if I know where you're going, Jackson. I don't need exact details, but something more than just that you're taking off for four or five days.”

I sigh, thinking. Would Katrina trust Nathan? Do I? Finally, I take the plunge. He's already risked his life just delaying and lying to Peter for this long, and if it helps Katrina, then so be it. “South Florida. We're thinking Miami, maybe.”

Nathan nods again and sips at his tea. “One more thing. For the past few days now, you keep using the pronoun 'we’. I want to caution you, Jackson. Your emotions are becoming cloudy in this.”

“This is an emotional situation, Nathan. You have to admit that.”

“I do,” Nathan says, then sighs. “You know, I never have told anyone in this family exactly why I left the military. Or at least, the real reason.”

“I figured you’d just had enough of the military life, or maybe the long hours for terrible pay,” I reply, listening carefully. If Nathan really is telling me something that nobody else knows, he trusts me as well. “You went to work for Peter for long hours but better pay.”

Nathan smiles slightly at my joke, but shakes his head. “The pay wasn't the issue. I was only twenty-nine when I got out, and I had plenty of money. Special Forces pays decently well, even for a Staff Sergeant. I had hazard pay, special operations pay, deployment pay... I was making pretty good money for my lifestyle. No, it wasn't the money, or disillusionment with the system. I told you about my mission with the Kurds, but I didn't tell you all of it. Her name... her name was Aisha. She was a native girl, although I guess you can't call a twenty-four-year-old widow a girl. Before we met, she had a husband and a little girl, I never found out their names... they were killed by the Iraqi forces. Aisha dedicated herself to trying to kill as many of Saddam's men as she could. So of course, when my team was sent into Kurdistan to help them, she and I were paired off. She was officially our translator, a rare position for a woman in a country that is, at least culturally, very conservative.”

“You two... hooked up?” I ask, drawn in. The idea of Nathan Black ever being in love is just insane, though, and I have a problem even using the word.

Nathan though nods. “We fell in love. Or at least, that's what we told each other. My team leader, Lieutenant Edwards, didn't care as long as Aisha was effective. I was always professional regardless of our sleeping arrangements. For three months, she and I were together... until the Republican Guard came around.”

“You guys didn't take them on, did you?” I ask, shocked. “That'd be suicide. I mean, they were Iraqis, so not on your level, but they had to have had a serious numbers advantage.”

“It was. Six Green Berets and one Kurd translator against a battalion of the Republican Guard, all rolling in BMPs? No, we weren't that stupid. When Lieutenant Edwards ordered us to fall back and disappear into the desert for a while, move out of the area, we all understood. I thought Aisha understood too, as she helped us pack our trucks and get ready to pull out as soon as darkness fell. I thought she was with the LT in his truck, like normal... until the first rest stop and he got out of his truck and came back, asking for her help. She'd told LT that she was riding in my truck.”

“Where'd she go?”

Nathan swallows another mouthful of tea and sighs. “We found out four days later when we could circle back and the Republican Guard was gone. She'd hit them, and hurt them pretty badly. Sniper attacks at first, and she ambushed a patrol sent out to try and stop her. She'd taken a couple of frag grenades with her, made them pay. In the end... well, the villagers we talked to never knew for sure, but they think she took out five or six before they got her. The Iraqis were... not kind to her body.”

I look down at my tea, and take a deep breath, setting my tea aside. I don't want it anymore. “Why are you telling me this, Nathan?”

“After that, I just didn't have the heart to serve any longer. My contract with the military was up soon afterward, and I just couldn't do it anymore. You see, Aisha had a cause, one she was willing to die for, Jackson. Katrina does, too. Just... be careful. That's all.”

* * *

Nathan's words are still on my mind the next morning when Peter finds me in the dining room. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I ask, sipping my protein shake. I skipped my morning workout in our gym, my body is too damn sore, and I can barely lift my arms past my shoulders. It's got me in a bad mood, especially since I slept like hell last night.

“Have you and Nathan found the bitch?” Peter asks, rubbing at his bleary eyes. I wonder if he's started his drugs and drinking early, or if he's just still coming down from his fucking around last night. “It's been nearly a week.”

“New Orleans is a big city, and it takes time,” I answer, drinking some more of my shake. I've already had my morning oatmeal to go with it, but I need the extra protein if I'm going to recover at all. “Besides, she isn't in town.”

“Well, where the fuck is she?” Peter yells, slamming his hands on the table. “Or have you and Nathan been spending all that time together just sipping tea and sucking each other's dicks?”

I'm on my feet, pissed off. Seriously, this is just too much. “Shut the fuck up, Peter. If you'd calm down and stop acting like King of the Big Easy, I'd be able to answer your question.”

I find that I'm pissed, but it's a cool pissed, if I can explain it. It's like I'm supposed to be pissed, and even though I'm pissed, I'm still under control. My body is exactly where it's supposed to be, standing up, my shoulders squared, showing him I'm not intimidated by his bullshit. My voice is loud, but not shrill, and I feel like I'm the one in control of the conversation.

Peter senses it too, and he wavers. “Fine,” he says after a minute. “So where is she?”

“We've got a lead in Savannah,” I say, pulling a city out of my head. Peter doesn't have any connections in the Savannah area that I know of, and it's far enough away that I can disappear for a few days and he's not going to suspect anything. “Nathan and I were confirming our information, and we were going to take off soon as we could.”

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?” Peter asks. “Keep me posted. I want updates as you get more info.”

He leaves, and I chug the rest of my shake, rushing off to find Nathan before Peter can trip me up. Thankfully, Nathan's out walking his dog, and I find them in the stable again. “Road trip time.”

“Oh?” Nathan asks. “And where are we going?”

“You're going to Savannah,” I tell him, reaching down and petting Maverick behind the ears. The huge dog woofs softly and pants, happy for the attention. “You think you can be okay by yourself for a few days, Mav?”

Maverick woofs again, but Nathan shakes his head. “If you're heading to Miami, I'm taking Maverick with me to Savannah. I'll take my Tahoe.”

I remember Nathan's Tahoe, an older SUV that is certainly big enough for the giant dog to stretch out in if he puts the back seat down. “Fine by me. I need you to just check in with me from time to time, in case I do need backup. Think we can do that?”

Nathan nods. “I'll go tell Peter, like I just got the information confirmed. I assume you're telling me this because he approached you?”

“He did.”

“That's fine. When do you want to head off?”

“Let me check with her, and we can get going this afternoon. I was thinking you drive, we'll fly.”

“Deal. Well, let me take my dog for a walk, and we'll get ready.”