High Ground

by Madelon Smid

  Josh’s complexion went from tanned to oatmeal in seconds. Cat moved as fast as possible to Josh’s side. His Zen-like approach to life had just collided with a truckload of resistance. Mr. Super Genius was vulnerable after all?

  Josh took a deep breath, visibly relaxed his muscles, his smile wry, a little sheepish. “It’s not the pain I’m worried about. I don’t do well when I see my own blood.”

  RG rolled Josh’s shirt sleeve up his left forearm and bent to swab the exposed skin.

  Cat stopped his hand with a light tap. “Why don’t you put it in his upper arm, so he doesn’t see your work?”

  RG nodded.

  Josh rose, unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged out of it, then straddled the chair again. The entire time his gaze remained fixed on her. She felt like an equation he wanted to solve. Pride enabled her to hide her reaction to gleaming skin stretched tightly over a sculptured body. He topped her five-foot-ten-inch stature by at least five inches, but was no beanpole. Rigid muscle shaped his pecs and abdomen. She set her hand on his right shoulder, fought not to pull away from the heat and energy he radiated. RG swabbed his left bicep. Josh caught the movement with his peripheral vision. His muscles tightened beneath her hand. Without thinking, she stroked him across his shoulder, down his bare arm, and back up again, with light touches offering comfort. Josh turned his head, fixing his attention on her hand moving up and down his body. His fine-boned features held the pure aesthetics of a monk. Yet his brilliant eyes and self-deprecating smile produced a charisma she fought.

  Her breathing grew shallow. His muscles quivered beneath her fingertips. Experience told her they came from lifting free weights, probably to get into shape for climbing. This certainly wasn’t the body of a computer geek. Her knees softened, she felt his warm breath flow over her fingers. Once again, they travelled the route, just an inch further, just far enough to slip up his neck and dip into his hairline. She noted the bleached streaks flowing down the brown strands to catch in his collar.

  “Finished.” Gribb’s voice severed the thickening bond between them.

  Josh took a quick look at his shoulder, now covered with a dressing and grabbed for his shirt. “I’m still running security checks. I’ll let you carry on with your work.” With a few swift strides, he settled himself at his computer station. Like a scuba diver falling backward, he disappeared into a sea of concentration. In seconds, only his body remained as a tangible presence. His brilliant mind fastened on something far beneath the surface and dove for it.

  Because she couldn’t leave the loft without Josh, and didn’t dare interrupt him, Cat put in a frustrating day. RG showed her schematics of the security system and building plans and left. She sought out the spare bedroom the minute she’d reset the alarms. Shades of cream and gold highlighted the stark beauty of black lacquer furniture. Clean lines and contrasting textures created an ambience of quiet elegance. Whoever decorated the loft insisted on top of the line workmanship, but hadn’t succumbed to extravagance.

  It surprised Cat, because she’d bet the type of contracts Josh took would earn money faster than his fingers flew over the keyboard. His dossier said he’d been in the foster system, lived in the streets. Surely, he’d want to surround himself with luxury to prove he’d made it. She unpacked her few belongings and stood behind the half opened door of the attached bath to change. Shedding the form-fitting dress and sky-high heels with the speed of a skinny dipper heading for water, she flung them into the walk-in closet. Dressed in the jeans and T-shirt she favored, she tested lines of sight to Josh and settled for the most comfortable. She lay across the bed, rested her chin on her crossed hands, and considered her options.

  ****

  Hours later, she concluded any concern she had about getting too close to Josh was pure fantasy. Finally, she interrupted his work, so she could do hers. She needed a practical idea of the layout. She called his name several times, finally shaking his shoulder before he became aware of her. His eyes went from vacant to piercing, his expression from distracted to enigmatic.

  She dropped her hand from his shoulder but held her ground. “You need to show me around so I know what I’m dealing with.”

  He checked his watch, rose, stretched. With his arms still in the air, he started in on a detailed description of the security already in place in his loft, the building, and its parameters.

  “I need to see for myself,” she interrupted. “I need to know how to arm and disarm your systems.”

  With a put-upon sigh, he hurried her through the viewing of his quarters and moved back to his desk.

  “Now show me the rest of the building. I believe you own it and have tenants, and there is a roof garden.” Hands on hips, she challenged him.

  He inspected her like he doubted her motives. Then he strode out of his loft ahead of her, responding to her questions in clipped sentences.

  His loft took the whole of the third story of an old factory he’d purchased and renovated. The schematics showed the bottom two floors contained two lofts each.

  “I’ll need to read your files on the renters.”

  His jaw tightened. “Surely, they’re entitled to their privacy, even if I’m not.” He stepped into an elevator ahead of her. “This elevator services just my floor and the roof. I can lock it or open it from an app on my smart phone or from my security system in the loft.”

  They rose to the roof. Cat stepped out and stifled the gasp of awe. A fantastic landscape unfolded before her. Across the south end, a lap pool stretched, its quiet waters reflecting the towering buildings behind. A lattice separator at one end sprouted vines heavy with tomatoes, zucchini, and squash. Rows of leafy greens filled raised planters. Flagstone pavers led through mossy stretches to a Japanese garden. She counted fifteen rocks set like islands in an ocean of raked white sand.

  “I thought the Japanese placed rocks in threes, uneven numbers being more aesthetically pleasing.”

  “Asians use threes to illustrate the levels of consciousness. You see it all the time in their paintings—low, middle, high. This garden is a replica of the famous Ryoan-ji in Kyoto, with its fifteen rocks.”

  “What do they symbolize?” Fascinated by his serenity, she searched for its cause.

  “If you follow the Zen belief, you see them only as an abstract composition of natural objects meant to induce meditation. In Zen Buddhism, there is no symbolism, no search for meaning. There is no difference between a rock and a table, between matter and energy. Look at anything closely and it becomes an event, not a thing.”

  “Do you follow the Zen principles?” This side of him enticed her.

  “To some extent. I try, and I bring in some of my own ideas.”

  “Like what, for example?”

  “Hmm. Well, the way I do my work, create things never before possible.”

  “But that’s because you have an I.Q. off the charts, isn’t it? You’re a genius.”

  “Using a higher percentage of my brain helps. Reacting rather than forcing also gives me an advantage. But the principle I use most is to see, to imagine, and then to move beyond.”

  “How can you move beyond imagination?” She wondered aloud.

  “You tap into a greater power, an energy source that creates through you.”

  “I read Zen followers believe we are not born into this world, but come out of it,” she offered. “Do you believe that?”

  “Yes. And you take the ultimate journey when you go beyond.”

  “Oh.” She pondered the idea. “You follow your spirit.”

  He turned to search her face, measured her interest with discerning eyes.

  “You recognize your spirit as self and are content to be self.”

  “If you find your tranquility by knowing self, I’d like to discover my self and make friends with it.” She wondered what tranquility felt like. She found only conflict within.

  He pulled her down onto the backless, wooden bench and sat beside her, lifting his legs onto the wide surface in the lo
tus position. “The garden works best from a sitting position. Try it. Gaze at the rocks and empty your mind.”

  She tucked one ankle into her groin and crossed the other almost as easily.”

  “Good flexibility,” he commented, before turning his attention back to the garden. Hands resting on his knees palms up, he sank into a trance.

  Cat copied his position. She gazed at the rocks and let her eyes lose focus. Immediately, she jerked her mind back to awareness. Her principal was in an exposed position, and she was on duty. She sat searching the windows and rooftops all around for signs of a threat. When her legs shrieked with pain, she carefully unfurled her unhappy muscles and stood upright. Checking out a pathway around the garden opposite the bench, she discovered a small Japanese pagoda. An overhanging roof sheltered a low table and cushions, centered within the open-sided structure.

  “It’s a Japanese tea house,” Josh explained from behind her. “Someday, when you need soothing, I’ll perform the tea ceremony for you.”

  She stifled the impulse to laugh. As he caused all her tension, his tea ceremony hadn’t a chance of soothing her. Around him, she felt like a duck on a pond with an eagle flying overhead.

  He looked at his watch. “If you’re finished here?”

  “What have you done to secure the roof?” she asked, striding toward the elevator.

  “Movement sensors, cameras, alarms, silent for the most part. There are sensors throughout the building that go off if they detect certain chemicals or gases, and I have one heat sensing system in place. All the cameras have infra-red lenses for night viewing and are connected through a wireless system to a warning light in each room of my loft and the roof garden. I also have built-in devices in my computers to destroy the hard drives in case of an invasion. So don’t monkey around with them without asking me first.”

  Cat stepped into the elevator, biting down on her bottom lip. She kept her tone flat. “I’m a professional, not some idiot who doesn’t understand security systems.” The elevator door swished open providing her with a much needed escape.

  ****

  Since their trip to the roof, he’d remained locked in his work. She twisted her wrist. Eighteen hundred hours. Coffee and a cookie on the flight wouldn’t sustain her much longer. She looked at the man at the computer station. He wouldn’t be offering her a meal anytime soon, probably didn’t remember she lived here now. With a shrug, she rolled over, took a few deep breaths, and headed for the kitchen. This job called for incentive. A survey of the pantry and fridge convinced her he took eating seriously. He, too, went for a high-protein, low-carb diet. No wonder he didn’t carry an ounce of extra body fat. She pulled out celery, carrots, and onions and began to make the Holy Trinity which formed the base of most Creole food. She found plenty of fresh herbs and spices, as well as fresh shrimp and quinoa, to use in place of rice. Soon, the enticing aromas of a shrimp étouffée wafted through the room. She searched for plates, glasses, and flatware, then found turquoise placemats woven from hemp and set two places at the granite counter. She glanced at Josh, something she did every few seconds. Just part of my job.

  He sniffed, blinked his eyes several times, sniffed again. In increments, he surfaced into awareness of his surroundings. His gaze leapt across the room and settled on her. She turned away. Ladling the rich mixture into a ceramic bowl, she set it on her plate and sat down, evincing total focus on eating. She used his reflection in the stainless steel of the refrigerator to track him. He picked up a touch pad off the left corner of his desk and tapped the screen. Lights glowed, fire sparkled, blinds lowered, music throbbed. She told herself the sleazy bachelor routine was supposed to impress her. The fact he cued the program, abstractedly and used a default setting contradicted her. He crossed to his bedroom suite, disappeared. She heard the faint sound of running water. In seconds, he stood at her shoulder looking down into her bowl.

  “Smells good.” He walked around the island to the stove, ladled his own bowl, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer. “Want one?”

  She shook her head, indicated her glass of water, and swallowed another spoonful of étouffée. He settled beside her, eating with relish. Every so often he swigged beer, his neck elongated, his throat working. She looked everywhere but at him, taking in the leaping flames, the serene Buddha, the Japanese screens.

  “This is excellent.” His voice seemed to come out of the soft lyrics of the song playing. She looked at his mouth.

  He lifted his spoon, biting into a succulent shrimp dripping spicy tomato sauce. “Really good. You have the southern flair for flavor. New Orleans is a city for food, fun, and fantasy. Do you get to indulge much, or does your job keep you from home?”

  She quirked her lips, stared him in the eyes to acknowledge the trap. A simple yes answer would leave the impression she did indulge in all three when home. The attempt to get her talking, by forcing more than a one word reply, nudged her curiosity. But she had no intention of letting him win. “No.”

  “No, you don’t get to indulge?” His voice purred, too close, too intimate. “Or no, your job doesn’t keep you from home?” His mouth closed on a forkful of fluffy quinoa smelling of cumin and cayenne.

  Made aware of the shape of his lips, the quick flick of his tongue brushing over them, she prayed he’d choke. “No, my job doesn’t keep me from indulging.” She smothered him in her soft Creole accent.

  His eyes widened. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

  She felt a moment of victory, until he smiled. Oh Lord, save my soul. An angel welcoming you to heaven would use that smile.

  Refusing to retreat, she lifted her lips in turn and poured everything into smiling back.

  He choked, coughed, took a chug of his beer, swiped at the tears in his eyes with his napkin.

  Cat wanted to punch her fist in the air. One for the good guys, finally. Instead, she slid off the stool and carried her dishes around to the dishwasher. With the most innocent of looks, she asked, “Can I get you anything? Dessert?”

  His watering eyes met hers. “Sure, a piece of humble pie seems appropriate.”

  His capitulation made her feel more endangered, the raptor hovering with intention. Awareness snapped into place like the lid on a storage container. Guarding him also meant guarding herself.

  She strolled out of the kitchen like a bayou queen departing her court, pouring extra attitude into her walk. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Heated blood zipped through her body. Her breasts tightened with sexual excitement. The splendid male, ripped to the nth degree, made her want things she couldn’t have. When they’d met the year before, she’d felt an instant attraction and believed he had too. Both free to pursue a relationship, experimenting with the exciting chemistry fizzing between them seemed a given. Then the big jerk accused her of being derelict in her duty. His assumption had hurt. The fact he could hurt her with just a few words frightened her and sent her running in the opposite direction. He’d apologized at the wedding, obviously interested in a “do over.” But, by then, she had her shields up in full defense mode. She’d bolstered her willpower with images of Siree bleeding in the street. She would not care again.

  She wished she could shut her door to reinforce her point but had to keep him in sight. Even if she rescinded her self-enforced rule, and lord did she want to, she couldn’t. “Never get involved with your principal.” Doing so darkened the blood of everybody who’d broken the rule and lost a client through inattention, bad decisions, or not acting fast enough because emotions took precedence over response. Jake, Siree, and RG trusted her to keep Josh safe. Every atom in her pledged she would.

  His bare feet slapped softly on wood, followed by the muffled thud of his bedroom door. She gave him an hour to fall asleep before she started her rounds, checking the monitors, windows, and doors. She moved on tiptoe, ashamed of her cowardice. She did not want him coming out of his room. With a flick of her fingers, dark claimed the large space. She settled into an armchair in a shadowed corn
er of the main loft. Habitually, she slept in short spurts, a helpful skill in her business. The bonus—it kept the bogies from dragging her into a nightmare of death.

  ****

  Josh conjectured he’d have trouble sleeping with any near stranger in the next room. Honesty forced him to acknowledge Cat caused his insomnia. He’d mentally conceived the next step in his new design, meditated, dropped to the floor for a hundred pushups. He’d get himself a snack and write the algorithm before he lost it.

  The snick of a bullet being chambered froze him mid-step. He inched his hands above his head and turned to face the sound. If someone shot him, he damn sure wanted to see the perpetrator face to face.

  The pistol remained on him. A graceful hand switched on the light beside the chair, highlighting a vision he’d retain forever, if he could regulate his heart rate before it imploded.

  “You’re supposed to protect me, not gun me down in my own home.” Intrigue flared in a bright arc, filling him with energy. He stepped closer, fascinated. She’d been watching over him. My own warrior woman prepared to fight to the death protecting me.

  She shrugged, lowering her weapon. “You could have been an assassin.”

  “No way,” he said with absolute certainty. “My system would warn us of the slightest attempt at breaking in.” It surprised him how much he wanted her to believe in his ability. He continued to close the distance between them.

  The gold halo of the lamp shone down on her. He stopped a few feet away, entranced by the picture she made. She wore a thin, white cotton camisole with bits of ribbon and lace along the low décolleté. She’d pulled her legs into the chair, ankles crossed, knees high. The gleaming columns of satin hid her bottom half. She’d brushed out the tortured hair style from earlier, leaving a mass of corkscrew curls tapping her shoulders. The light stroked the shiny strands with a lover’s touch, picking out every shade of brown from tawny gold to russet.