Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22)

by Irish Winters

  “I’m already proficient in Krav Maga.” And I can hear your heartbeat. Sometimes, I can detect… more. Someone sneaking up on me. Intense emotions like rage. Lust. Hostility. Deadly intent. He was also sure he’d just heard a vertebra in Mark’s neck pop.

  “Seriously? Which version?”

  Krav Maga was an Israeli-style of self-defense. Derived from a combination of Aikido, boxing, wrestling, Judo, and Karate, it focused on extreme efficiency of motion. At its core, Krav Maga took the best practices of other techniques and streamlined them into concise, hard-hitting, core fighting maneuvers that expended minimum energy, yet achieved maximum results.

  “As you know, there are two versions: civilian and military. I’ve been studying under Jacob Ben Amin the last two years. He’s shown me how hard Israel’s military fights, and why they win as often as they do.”

  “General Ben Amin? Well, good god damn! Maybe you can teach us a thing or two.”

  “It’d be my pleasure.” As he said those words, Jameson meant them with every fiber of his being. At last, his chest heaved. His lungs relaxed enough to fill with the air of this brand-new day and the fantastic opportunity he’d just been granted. Almost made him giddy to think he now worked for the much-maligned Alex Stewart, the guy who’d turned King Street on its ear when he’d become the most successful defense contractor in the States. For some unknown reason, the press hated Alex, and he hated them right back. Working for him was going to be fun.

  “One more thing.” Mark pushed his chair back, so Jameson did the same and stood, bringing his walking stick centerline of his body.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve got a client who insists she needs a bodyguard tonight. All other agents are on assignment. You feeling lucky?”

  “Yes, sir, I mean, Mr. Houston. I am.” I’m damned lucky!

  Mark knuckled Jameson’s shoulder. “Stop with the mister crap. We operate on first names around here. I’m just Mark. You’re just Jameson. You’ll be on your own tonight, but all you need to do is make sure this woman boards her private jet leaving Reagan, precisely at ten. You’ve been to Reagan before, right?”

  Jameson nodded. “That’s how I got to Virginia.”

  “Good. She claims she’s got a couple stalkers. Beau will drive you there, but frankly, he doesn’t have the patience to deal with someone like her, and you’ll be her official escort on the tarmac. She’s flying out by private jet; you won’t have to navigate the terminal. The jet should be waiting for her when you arrive, so you won’t have to deal with her long. Can you handle an easy op?”

  “I can,” Jameson declared adamantly. Hell, I’d walk though fire right now for you guys.

  “Good. Her name’s Lucy Shade. Have you heard of her?”

  “Ahh, yeah.” Damn. Who hadn’t? Miss Shade was the sole American reporter to be granted an interview with Pops Delaney, the Irish Godfather, straight out of Ireland.

  Much to the chagrin of the FBI, he allegedly worked his dirty arms business on the South side of Boston, and was getting away with it. As if that interview hadn’t garnered her enough fame and glory all by itself, she’d publicly trashed Delaney’s reputation after meeting him, made unverified allegations, and, oh, yes, she fancied herself a celeb and had her greedy sights set on stardom in Hollywood. No wonder she needed a bodyguard.

  “Any questions?”

  “Nope, I’m good.” Damned good.

  “Well, I’ve got one for you. I pass your building every morning on my way to work. Can I give you a lift?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. No trouble. You’re on my way.”

  “I usually take the metro, but yeah.” Wow. “I really appreciate the offer.”

  “Great. Let’s introduce you to the gang then.”

  Mark had no more than opened his door, when the sweetest breath of spring bounced into Jameson’s chest, damned near knocked him on his ass. He grabbed onto whoever she was to keep her from falling, then gripped tighter when he detected the distinct hammering of her pulse under his thumbs. His nostrils flared at the lush scent of mellow lavender mingled with peppery pheromones and the sweet tantalizing zing of feminine stress.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I, ma’am?” he asked, his head cocked as his senses opened wide to resolve the mystery behind her worry.

  “Oh, no. It’s my fault. I am so, so sorry,” she cried. But then she brushed her fingertips over his chest as if trying to make a boo-boo better. Which was just plain endearing. There was no way this fluff of femininity could’ve bruised a former SEAL in the first place, not by bumping that soft, warm body into him. “I didn’t know you were talking with anyone, Mark. But I… Darn, I’m sorry I’m really late again. But I’m here now, and I’ll stay after to make up for not being on time.”

  Jameson caught the impression of her running her other hand through her hair. Which was long enough he could hear its silky strands flutter over her shoulders and fall down her back like a very quiet waterfall. The gentlest cascade. That’s where the lavender scent came from. Her shampoo. The zinging stress and peppery pheromones were all her.

  This was when he missed sight the most. Around women. Was she blonde, and how long was her hair? What color were her eyes? Blue or green? Brown like his? Did they sparkle? He’d detected no foreign accent, not like that meant anything. His Navy days had made one thing abundantly clear. It was a great big world out there, most people were good, and women everywhere were be-a-u-ti-ful.

  Her fingertips stopped tapping, and for a split second, he enjoyed the scintillating warmth seeping from her light-as-a-feather touch, through his dress shirt, to his skin. The internal firestorm he’d weathered every day since the incident that changed his life, suddenly calmed. Whoever she was, this woman’s touch was magic.

  An odd sizzle started humming at the base of his spine and quickly tap-danced up each vertebra to the back of his neck, making all those tiny hairs stand up. This woman might sound timid, and her touch was a balm to his whole being, but she was chock full of vibrant electricity that speared straight through him. He was caught on an invisible lure. Hooked. And he didn’t even know her name.

  “No worries, Maddie. Relax.”

  Ah, Maddie. How lovely.

  “How’s Alex’s wife? Umm, Kelsey. I really wanted to be there with everyone at the hospital, but something came up, and I… I’m so sorry.”

  “Kelsey’s fine, so are Alex and their son. They named him Bradley Patrick Stewart after Alex’s Irish grandfather.”

  “Aww. How much did he weigh? How long is he?”

  Maddie’s anxiety over missing her boss’s son’s birth seemed out of proportion. She was trying too hard, which to Jameson meant she was hiding something.

  “He’s a big boy, weighed in around ten pounds, I think. Not sure how long he is, but mother and baby are doing great. This guy here is Jameson Tenney, our newest agent. He’s decided to work with us, starting today. Since Beau hasn’t come in from the hospital yet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he took the rest of the day off, would you mind introducing Jameson to the gang and being his driver tonight? It’s for an easy bodyguard op. Just grab one of The TEAM limos and make sure he hooks up with Lucy Shade at her hotel. She flies out at ten, so be there by nine thirty.”

  “Nine,” Jameson interrupted. “I like to be early. Gives me time to familiarize myself with the location.”

  “Fine, nine it is,” Mark agreed. “Then drive Jameson and Shade over to Reagan National and wait until Shade’s onboard. Maddie, her network’s private jet will be parked near the east hangars. Look for their logo on the tail. In the meantime, show him around the office, get him situated at his desk, and tell him the rules.”

  “Sure, Mark, but, umm, what rules?”

  Jameson was sure Maddie had just tipped her head, that she took everything too seriously. Which was sad, but kind of cute, too. She needed to learn what he’d realized after the incident: Life was short. If i
t handed you lemons, by hell, make the best lemonade ever. Drink it up, and never let the burn slow you down.

  “Kidding, Maddie. Just a joke,” Mark teased. “Jameson’ll need to know where to store any personal weapons, as well as what to wear when he’s on active ops.”

  “Mark, do you have a minute?” Mother called out.

  “You bet. Later guys. It’s gearing up to be a busy day.”

  “Copy that,” Jameson replied as Mark stepped away.

  “Sure, yeah. I guess,” Maddie answered tightly.

  Jameson offered his hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, Maddie.”

  Unfortunately, that handshake ended quicker than he would’ve liked. Tactile contact provided intel. The key was to maintain physical contact long enough to pick up pulse rates, heartbeats, breaths, all those little tells most people didn’t realize they gave away. But Maddie had all but tossed his hand back at him after a brief, mostly insincere clasp. All he’d learned was, yes. Stressed.

  “Pleased to meet you, too,” she said. But her tone said otherwise. She wasn’t pleased. Not at all. And that handshake had been more like gripping tense pencils instead of warm fingers. “I’m sorry I ran into you. I was in a hurry, then you were there, and… and…” She stammered. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry.”

  The sorry part he believed. But Maddie seemed as if she’d been in more than just a hurry, almost as if she’d been running from something. Or someone.

  “Apology accepted and forgotten,” he replied, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. “Lead on, and I’ll follow. Just don’t stop too short.” He tapped his index finger to his dark glasses in case she hadn’t noticed. “Blind man coming through and all that. And never move the furniture. That’s not funny.”

  “I would never! That’d be mean.”

  Joking about himself always did the trick. Her heartrate settled into a normal rhythm. She stepped to the side of his walking cane and waited on him to join her, which was nice. Despite him telling her to lead, he’d never been much of a follower.

  “You’re blind?” she asked, a completely different tremor in her very lovely voice.

  People often asked the obvious. “Yes. Five years now.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how’d it happen?”

  “I’ve never minded honest curiosity. It’s what keeps life exciting. Simple answer: improvised explosive device. Iraq.”

  “How awful!” Another obvious response, although this one had been honestly spoken.

  But awful didn’t begin to describe the terror of waking up sightless in a strange place. Jameson had learned early during rehabilitation that he could either stay in bed snuggled up with pity and survivor’s guilt, or he could throw himself back into the deep end of life, learn how to swim all over again, and continue to contribute… something. Somehow. Man, he hoped The TEAM was that something.

  “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “A couple weeks,” he answered easily. “Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. It’s near Ramstein Air Base. But I wasn’t crippled or anything. Most of that time was just spent taking tests and more tests. You know how the military is. If it ain’t broken, fix it till it is. In the end, there was nothing to be done that hard work and rehabilitation couldn’t resolve. The IED my team encountered blew me backward into a brick wall. I hit my head pretty hard. When I came to, I thought I’d gotten off lucky. Still had all my fingers and toes. I wasn’t bleeding anywhere that I could see…” Which should’ve been my first clue. “Actually, I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel my helmet. It was still on and wasn’t damaged, but…” He tapped his temple. “Both retinas detached from the impact. Everything went black. No big deal. I’m still alive, and I’m doing just fine.” Because I’m no quitter, and I freakin’ love lemonade!

  They were inside the circular aisle that led to the work bay before she murmured, “I’m still sorry you lost your sight. That must’ve been hard, going from being able to see everything to seeing nothing.”

  “Was. Not is. It happened a long time ago, Maddie, and I’ve moved on.” He turned toward her and changed the subject. “Why were you late? Traffic?” Or something else? Someone maybe?

  “No. Traffic’s not a problem.”

  Not a problem or not the problem? Jameson detected the coverup and the twinge of panic behind it. Fear maybe? Or was she just brushing him off?

  Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and secured it under his elbow, patting it when she closed her fingers around that pointed joint. “Sorry, but it’d be easier if you directed me where to go while I’m meeting everyone. I might become disoriented. We’re going in a circle, right?”

  Which Walker had explained thoroughly, but Maddie didn’t need to know that. It seemed she needed something to hold onto, and an elbow was, well, an elbow was so damned genderless it couldn’t pose a threat to anyone.

  He turned toward his new teammates, eager to meet the men and women of The TEAM Walker was so enamored with. At last, Jameson Tenney had a real job and an upcoming mission. All in the same day!

  Chapter Four

  Maddie licked her bottom lip, flustered at the seemingly innocent, useless assignment she’d been given. But that’s what she got for being late. Leftovers. This was her third tardy in two weeks. If Alex knew why she couldn’t make it on time, he’d fire her for sure.

  Jameson Tenney was a good fit for The TEAM. He already knew former SEAL, Walker Judge, who was on that black op into China, with his wife, Agent Persia Coltrane. Jameson also knew Adam Torrey, another former SEAL. They were still good-naturedly insulting each other like guys did.

  Maddie was eternally grateful she’d landed this job as TEAM Protocol Officer, but working with all these handsome guys was nearly more than she could handle some days. They were the deadliest eye-candy. Every last one of them was walking, talking, manly sex on steroids. Not only were they breathtakingly handsome, but they were real men. Not whiny boys. Not pretty white-collar college guys who primped and sent out hundreds of selfies to their adoring, do-nothing fans, either.

  Strong, capable, intelligent men comprised a good ninety percent of The TEAM. They worked hard every day, and earnestly strived to serve their country. Sometimes, they even put their lives on the line during missions. Not just anyone could or would do that. These men really were the few and the brave. That much she knew firsthand.

  This new junior agent seemed to be another rock-solid warrior. Jameson walked like he knew where he was going despite being unable to see. She’d kept close to him like he’d requested, her hand under his elbow while he’d chatted and joked with everyone, even Beck’s wife, Camilla. She’d sure changed since she’d come back from maternity leave and started working fulltime. Beck had changed, too. Both, in good ways. They seemed happy, something Maddie had yet to find. Certainly wasn’t in marriage.

  “Donuts!” Harley Mortimer bellowed. He cleared the elevator, his arms stacked high with pink bakery cartons, his chin resting on the top one to keep the rest from slipping.

  Maddie would’ve run to help. She loved working with Harley. But she was supposed to stick close to Jameson, so she resisted the urge.

  Thankfully, Ember and Rory burst through the fire doors at the opposite end of the work bay, both out of breath, with her giggling, “I win. You owe me a bubble bath.”

  “How about a glazed confection instead?” Rory asked as he aimed for Harley and took over half the boxes. “TEAM! Ready room!” he called out, walking straight to the Sit Room where Alex held morning staff meetings.

  “Are you hungry?” Jameson asked quietly.

  Maddie looked up into a handsome, albeit expressionless face. He’d gotten too close, yet he stood there with his head cocked, his round, dark glasses facing her, as if he were intently waiting on an answer. Maybe even listening to her. Really listening. Like he cared. He cocked his head to the other side when she didn’t answer right away. He did that a lot, an
d she could’ve sworn he was reading her mind. It’d sure be nice to look into his eyes. His glasses were too dark. They told her nothing, not even his eye color. Which might be because his eyeballs had been grotesquely damaged from that roadside bomb, or his eye sockets were empty. Maybe those glasses were a good thing after all.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Sounds like a party in there.”

  The TEAM did sound rowdy, in a good-natured way.

  “Do you want to join them?” she asked, throwing the decision back on Agent Tenney.

  The barest smile shifted over his manly countenance and landed on lush tanned lips that looked tender enough to kiss.

  Frightened at that crazy notion, Maddie glanced over her shoulder, afraid someone might’ve caught the illicit thought that dashed through her mind. But her ex, Nash Coogan wasn’t there. Neither were his associates, the loan sharks who’d decided she should pay off his account when they couldn’t track him down. They were the reason she’d been late today, and their late night warnings were getting scarier. A sheet of sturdy CDX plywood now covered her front room picture window after a huge rock sailed through it last week. Today, she’d had to buy four brand new tires before work, to replace the four someone had spiked with roofing nails overnight. This morning, there’d been a nasty threat pasted to her windshield: Last chance, bitch!

  She didn’t need a babysitting assignment. She needed a safe place to hide.

  “I could be persuaded,” Agent Tenney murmured, his tone as sweet and low as melted fudge. “Can you?”

  “Can I what?” she asked, her heart hammering like an idiot bird in an out-of-control cuckoo clock. What was it about this blind guy that was getting through her defenses? Did she feel sorry for him? Okay, yes, a little. Which was stupid. He didn’t seem to need anyone’s help or pity, least of all from her. Mark hadn’t been holding his elbow when she’d run into him. She was pretty certain Jameson hadn’t really needed her guiding him through the work bay, either. The man might be blind, but she could tell that he sensed more than most people did. Which begged the question, did he feel sorry for her? And why? Had she given something away? Could he tell what a mess her life was in?