by Louise Dawn
◊ ◊ ◊
Five new graphics projects lay on her desk. If she sat twiddling her thumbs she’d go insane. The men took turns keeping an eye on her progress. As long as they stayed out of her way. Max was avoiding her—maybe he was just busy sorting out the tangled web of complications that was her life. He had no clue. That was just the tip. She wasn’t letting him sail near the glacial mass that was her dangerous life, refusing to be the iceberg to his Titanic.
Anger swelled every time she thought of the smooth play he’d made for her head and her heart. He could simmer in his Bat Cave for the rest of the mission for all she cared. Except her fate was in his hands and, like it or not, she had to play nice, at least for the moment.
By the following morning, the agitated tension had Abby pulling out her yoga mat and shoving a strength and flexibility DVD into the TV unit. As she wasn’t allowed to go swimming, this was the next best thing.
“Can I join you?”
The quiet voice behind her made her drop the remote control. Jesus, these big men moved like freaking ninjas.
“For the love of Christ, Slater, don’t sneak up on a girl. You’ll get a black eye for your efforts.”
Slater snorted. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. I’m not Max, sweetheart.”
Abby’s mouth quirked upwards at Slater’s dig. Yep. Mr. Banana Hammock wasn’t bad at all.
“So, can I join? I need to get my gym quota in for the day.”
“You sure you want to work out to a stretching video? It’s not the hardcore action-man stuff that you sleep, breathe and eat.”
“Just play the damn thing, and let’s get on with it.”
“I don’t have an extra mat, so the tile floor is your new friend.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve worked out on far worse.”
An hour later Abby sat down on her mat for a cooling-down session.
“That wasn’t half bad!” Slater grinned. “That chick has some good moves.”
Abby ignored him as she turned on music. A Buddha Bar tune drifted through the room. She grabbed a couple of pillows and threw them on the floor. Lying back, she got comfortable, placing one beneath her head and one under her knees. Finally, she took a slow breath.
“What are you doing now?” a meddlesome voice asked.
Abby cracked an eye open. “Trying to meditate?”
Slater looked horrified. “Do you want me to break out the green tea and a bag of weed while we’re at it?”
“Live a little. Give it a try.”
“No offense, Evans. You’re serene and all, but you don’t strike me as the ‘think the flowers, feel the flowers, be the flowers’ kind of girl.”
Abby grinned, then grew serious. “I don’t do the typical cross-legged, flowing pants, humming-ohm stuff. But I occasionally use relaxation exercises. My therapist taught me how. It’s helped me through some of my worst moments.”
“Oh damn. I’m such an ass, I’m sorry.”
“Give it a go; it won’t get all weird and Zen-y. Grab a throw pillow.”
Slater stared at her before hunkering down and getting comfortable.
“Close your eyes and still your body.”
“What if I have an itch?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Then scratch it.”
Slater scratched his family jewels causing Abby to giggle. “Let me know when you’re done.”
Another couple of seconds and Slater settled himself. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” Abby softened her voice as she led him through a visualization. “Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly. Relax your muscles. Feel them sinking into the floor. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly.”
Once in a rhythm, she continued, “Close your eyes and imagine a candle flickering in a small, dark room.”
“What kind of room is it? A holding cell? An interrogation room?”
Slater’s seemingly serious question had Abby holding in a chuckle.
“It’s just a room. I don’t know. A tiny log cabin?”
“How dark is it?”
“Slater! Focus! Now, imagine that whenever you breathe in, the flame moves towards you and whenever you breathe out, it flickers away. Focus all your energy on the flame.”
Abby breathed in and out for a few moments before Slater cut in.
“Theoretically, how close am I to this candle? Am I sucking the smoke into my lungs? Is that a sensible thing to do?”
A pillow thumped him in the face. “Ouch!”
“Get your anti-buddha ass out of here.”
“Hey!” Slater laughed as another soft missile flew his way. “You do realize that you’re assaulting an agent and that comes with dire consequences!”
“Yes, sir! Agent Doofus! Now move your butt, I need to roll up my yoga mat.”
Their friendly rapport was interrupted by a scowling Max rapping on the glass door. “Open up. Slater, quit clowning around.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Max turned to Abby. “I’m getting a set of house keys cut for each member of the team. That’s not negotiable.”
“O-kay. Do you need my keys, for the locksmith?”
“Nope. We already have a copy I can use.”
“I don’t even wanna know.” Abby bent to roll up the yoga mat.
Max pulled Slater aside. “Can we talk?” They walked out to the patio and Max rounded on him. “How’s Kathleen doing?’
“Kat’s just fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’re still dating her?”
“You know I’m still fucking seeing her.”
“I know you’re having relationship issues.”
Slater bristled. “What’s your point, sir?”
“Don’t screw around with a target, especially one as vulnerable as Evans.”
“I’m not screwing with her; she needs a friendly face at her back.”
“She’s off-limits, and I’m warning you, act like a damn professional or next time we’ll have more than words.” Max stepped back inside. “And corral the rest of the team; we need to chat with her.”
Ten minutes later, that chat turned into a heated debate.
“Today is already Wednesday. I have three appointments lined up. I’m not hiding away from life while you all decide what to do with me.”
The four men reflected identical stances. Arms folded, legs planted firmly and grim expressions to match.
“And glaring at me won’t change my mind. I’m leaving in thirty minutes to meet my first client. She’s opening a preschool and needs a logo and signage. It’s a big contract that I refuse to give up.”
Donnie spoke. “You do realize if you end up dead, getting the contract is pointless.”
“Agreed. I may be dead tomorrow,” Abby shot back. “I may be on my way to God knows where, or I may just need to continue living my life, paying my rent and earning my dues. Sitting here stewing, however, doesn’t get us any closer to capturing Khalid.”
“There is no ‘us’ in this equation,” Max said.
“Then there’s no Khalid. We know he’s hunting me. Without me, you’re screwed.”
“My team knows he’s after you, the latest intel indicates movement, that the elusive fucker is closing in on your stubborn ass. Question is, why do you think he’s hunting you?”
“I have no idea. Because I’m the one that got away?”
Liar. Max gritted his teeth. Finally, he said, “What are your client’s names and where are
we meeting them?”
It was obvious that she was mentally cheering her progress. She still looked wiped out. Getting brutally attacked followed up by an interrogation was a lot of duress for any person to go through. Max didn’t like Abby being in the general public until they had a clear directive, Khalid might already have a team on the ground in South Africa. Max was still awaiting additional intel on the cell’s movements.
Abby gave him the names. “Rosie Fisher. We’re meeting at ten o’clock at her preschool. It’s in Kensington, twenty minutes away. I then have a
lunchtime appointment with Levi Bakal. He has a Jewish bakery called Geshmak Goodies, which he’s renovating. I’m creating a new vibe and logo. He’s persnickety and changes his mind every week, but it’s a good little contract.”
Oh, he was persnickety all right. While she’d been under surveillance, Abby had met the diminutive man on two occasions. He was crusty, stubborn and difficult. He’d already ripped apart two of Abby’s logo designs, which pissed Max off. The logos were beautifully clean, modern and sleek, and the ass gnome had treated them like filth. Abby had the patience of ten Italian saints.
“Blowhole,” Slater coughed into his hand.
“Yeah,” Abby agreed, “he’s a little crabby, but he’s a client and I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Who’s the final client?”
“Wayne Jacobs needs a workbook designed for a presentation. Max, I don’t need you breathing down my neck when I meet with my customers.”
“That’s not up for debate; I’ll be along for the ride. Max Hansen is now your new nap buddy.”
“Nap buddy?” she gasped.
“You know, your boy toy, your man slam, your pooky bear…” Hiding a grin, Max turned his back on her face of horror and glanced at his team. “Let’s get moving, Hardy Boys; we’ve got work to do. Oh, and Evans, get some glow on. You look as pale as linen. You’ll need to look like a woman in love, not like someone who’s just lost their damn dog.”
Her fury at that last comment had Max running for the door. Cool-headed Abigail Evans was as mad as a trapped hornet. Men scattered as insults flew their way, but at least Abby now had some color to her cheeks.
Chapter Eleven
Levi Bakal’s bakery seemed as dull as dishwater. Fair enough, he’d just bought the place, but it was clearly in disrepair and would not be in use in the foreseeable future. It was the first time Abby had seen the actual bakery, and she was shocked at how much Levi needed to do before it was functional. The crumbling wallpaper revealed water damage on the far wall. The place smelled musty and looked filthy. Kitchen equipment in the back would need replacing. What was Levi thinking?
Abby tried to ignore the brawny dolt sticking to her like glue. Oh, she’d prettied up all right. She felt foxy and fine in her fitted plum blazer thrown over a white blouse with black tailored pants. Her stilettos were a little high—but hey, give a girl pretty shoes and she can walk on water. Carefully applied lipstick matched the blazer perfectly. She was back in control, pleased that the preschool meeting had gone so well. Wanting an apple tree incorporated into her logo, Rosie was happy with Abby’s preliminary sketches.
Now Abby was dealing with two annoying men. Levi was already on a roll, skewering her with a censorious stare. “Abigail, why have you brought your boyfriend along? It’s highly unprofessional and your focus needs to be on branding my business.”
Max answered smoothly for her. “Abby’s car gave her problems. I offered to bring Abby to her appointments today.”
Levi gave Max a severe look. “Did you get beaten up along the way? What’s with the black eye? Abigail needs to focus. Our last meeting did not go so well. She needs to learn how to listen, how to understand a client’s vision. I won’t tolerate shoddy work.”
Max’s sudden rigidity didn’t bode well for the small fellow, so Abby stepped forward. “Levi, I’m here to make sure that you come away with the right branding. Let’s talk about color.”
“Don’t schmooze up to me, missy. I gave you a list of colors I like. You chose to use them in the most unsettling of ways. At the end of all this, I may have to find someone else as your work is not up to standard.”
Did Max just growl? Abby shot him a look, guiding Levi to a table to hash out the designs.
A long hour later Abby climbed back in the truck.
Max paused before turning the key. “That little prick.”
Levi Bakal’s digs didn’t bother Abby. Her work was of a high standard, her customer base was happy, and repeat business was a primary source of income. “It’s all good. Levi’s a little uppity, but I can deal with it.”
“Screw that. Your work is fucking awesome!” Max swiveled in his seat to face her. “You have a natural talent that’s unbelievable. I look at those designs, and I think wow, they’re masterful. Any client of yours is lucky to be on your books, and don’t get me started on your fine art.”
Groping for words, Abby reached out and touched his arm. She strived to be a good artist and earn a decent living, but doubts over her talent would creep in. She lived a lonely life, and aside from Lizzy, her diminutive cheerleader, no one ever offered support. Max would never know how much his kind words meant to her.
“Thank you” was all she could say, staring into those piercing eyes.
A moment melted into two moments and then three. Abby eventually tore her attention away from the intense warrior and fastened her seatbelt.
“You look pretty. I’m sorry I behaved like such a dick earlier. You always look beautiful. I was just tired of seeing that drawn look on your face.”
“Apology accepted. I needed a few days to re-center myself. That man—at La Coraggio—really hurt me, knocked me mentally and physically on my ass and then finding out…” Abby stopped and bit her lip.
“Finding out what?”
Shaking her head, Abby shifted away.
“Tell me,” Max insisted.
“Finding out that I was back to being alone in my corner. To think that I almost trusted you, I’m just as stupid and naive as I always was.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Goddammit, Max thought. Talk about breaking his defective heart. He grasped for something to say.
Staring out the window, Abby saved him from saying something he’d regret. “Let’s get moving, otherwise we’ll be late for the next meeting.”
Wayne Jacobs was a damp mess. Max didn’t like the man’s ruddy countenance; the man was nervous. They sat in a quiet, little-known coffee shop in an older area of Johannesburg. A far cry from the trendy downtown area that was Mr. Jacob’s stomping ground and place of business. Wayne looked around carefully before leaning in. “If Blue Corp finds out I’m here, I’m as good as dead.” Max raised his eyebrows and Wayne self-corrected. “Well. More fired than dead. In any case, Miss—”
“Call me Abigail.”
“Abigail, I cannot work there for much longer. The CEO is determined to drive me out, and I’ll leave on my terms, not his.” A sweat droplet dripped onto the table and Max looked away, hiding his aversion to the griping man.
“Mr. Jacobs, I’m not sure how this involves me.”
“I’m not creative and I’m also technically challenged. Usually, one of the interns creates the PowerPoints for me, but I’m on my own with this.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I’m starting my own company, and I’ll need new materials. I need them done quickly. Everything from letterheads to business cards to presentations and of course, a logo. Could we start with a workbook?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Wayne Jacobs suddenly reached into his pocket. With one deft move, Max dragged Abby’s chair back—with her in it—and stepped in between, his hand gripping the gun tucked into the small of his back.
“What the blazes?” Wayne sputtered, and Abby jumped up, trying to shove past.
Max reached behind, holding her to his back, not taking his eyes off Jacob’s hand. “Whatever you have in your pocket, I suggest you remove it real slow like. Feel free to take your time.”
Wayne gulped as he haltingly removed a USB stick, his hand shaking. “Mister, I’m not sure what you think I was hiding, but you’re freaking me out.”
Shaking Max off, Abby danced around him as apologies flowed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jacobs. After being mugged a few days ago, my boyfriend is still a little jumpy and sees a boogeyman in every corner.”
Max gave the other man a slow once-over, assessing the fit of his clothes and his darting eyes. Wayne quaked in the shadow of his looming form. Max wouldn’t sit down.
Not yet, not until he had a read on the man. “Hands on the table. Why are you so nervous?”
“Because it looks like you’re going to kung-fu chop my head off!”
“No. You’ve been perspiring, looking visibly ill for the last ten minutes. Why the hell are you so worked up?”
“I told you, I’m sneaking out of the damn office—going behind my boss’s back.”
Max shook his head. “There’s more.”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Abby rolled her eyes, sat back down at the table and fired up her laptop. “Ignore him, Mr. Jacobs. Is this the folder you need me to work on?” She pointed at her screen.
Wayne’s gaze darted briefly to the screen before shooting back to Max. His wet forehead glistened in the light. There was a slim possibility that the skittish executive could be working for, or coerced into working for, Khalid’s network. Drugged food on the table or a hidden sniper and Abby would be wiped from existence. Max barely restrained himself from dragging Abby off like a cave dweller.
Donnie’s voice came through his earpiece. “Everything okay, boss?” Slater and Donnie were parked across the street. Max gave a subtle signal for “Hold” that only his team would know.
“Mr. Jacobs, what is this?” Abby asked, frowning. Max leaned to the side and glanced at her screen, before returning his gaze to Wayne’s hands on the table. If he reached for a weapon, it would be the last move he’d make.
“That’s the material I need you to work with,” Wayne answered, distinctly uncomfortable.
“I’m confused; these materials have the Blue Corp’s trademark stamp on them.”
“It’s not a big deal—change a few words, recreate the layout into a new manual, and at the end of the day you’ll be well compensated.”
Abby shook her head, removed the USB and closed her laptop. “That’s a breach of your contract. You’re planning to steal their content, almost word for word. I’m sorry, I can’t be a part of that.”