His business provided protection in dangerous parts of the world. His teams allowed building crews to get their jobs done and get out. The work was dangerous, often a logistical nightmare and extremely expensive. His corporate clients paid well for what they got.

The corporate profits were channeled into funding protection for those providing relief efforts in places often forgotten. He’d grown up in the shadow of the Howington Foundation, a philanthropic trust that helped the poor. Jack hated having a number after his name and had vowed he would make his own way.

He had. He’d grown his company from nothing, but he couldn’t seem to escape that damn sense of duty. The one that told him he needed to use his profits for something other than a flashy lifestyle.

His critics said he could afford to be generous-he had a trust fund worth nearly a billion dollars. What they didn’t know is he never touched it. Another vow he’d made to himself. He’d grown up with something to prove. The question was whether or not he would have achieved enough to let that need go.

“Get Ron on the contract,” Jack told his assistant. “The usual clauses. Tell Sister Helena to e-mail the best dates for the convoy and we’ll get as close to them as possible.”

“She’s going to want to leave before you’re back from your vacation in Tahoe.”

“I’m not on vacation.”

“Hmm, a month in a fancy house with nothing to do with your time? Sounds like a vacation to me.”

“I’m working.”

“Talk, talk, talk.”

Bobbi Sue had attitude, which he put up with because she was the best at her job. She was also old enough to be his mother, a fact she mentioned on a regular basis, especially when she hounded him on the topic of settling down.

“Someone else will have to take Sister Helena’s team in,” he said. “See if Wade’s available.” Wade was one of his best guys.

“Will do. Anything else?”