High Ground

by Madelon Smid

  He’d beckoned a salesman from the men’s side of the store and strode off beside the guy. Cat raced to catch up. “No, no, shoushou, this time I get to pick. She gave him a long look.

  “Thirty-four waist, thirty-three inseam, thirty-eight long,” she rapped at the salesman. Josh’s brows went up, but he didn’t dispute her numbers. “We need caramel, grays, and creams. He’d look good in deeper blues and greens.” She spoke throatily, drawing his attention back to the gleaming flesh exposed by her décolleté.

  Ten minutes later, they emerged from side-by-side dressing rooms taking in each other’s ensemble. Soon, they twirled together in front of the mirror, striking poses and playing the roles of a plummy English lord and a southern belle. The morning flew. Noon paraded past without gaining their attention. The stack of approved clothing grew.

  “I’m famished,” she announced emerging in a cream dress with a caramel jacket that worked with the neutral pumps she’d worn. “If you don’t feed me soon, I’m not going to be any good to you.”

  Josh wore a caramel suede jacket over a pair of jeans brushed to look worn.

  “You look good enough to eat…in a restaurant.” She paid him back with innuendo of her own.

  “Let’s get out of here then.” He took her arm and hustled her past the avid sales clerks.

  Cat reconnoitered the street while he paid and arranged for delivery of the clothes. Anyone observing would think her a window shopper. While she walked a storefront down in either direction, she took in the passing cars, people moving in the streets, the angle of the sun, velocity of the wind, and calculated the best shooting angle from the buildings across the street. She inserted herself in front of Josh when he emerged, did a flirtatious little dance to get between him and the curb, and reached up like an impatient lover to yank him into the cab when he stood like the perfect target waiting for her to enter. What was it with men and their inbred need to look after the little woman? It sure made it hard to guard them.

  She would gnaw on the questions many times over the next week. Josh threw himself into creating their cover story. Wearing their designer clothes, they dined at several high-end restaurants, attended the newest night club opening, and appeared at two charity events. She acted the lover, while providing security of the highest quality.

  He made it easier by turning down the dimmer switch on his intensity. Attentive, attractive, intelligent—what more could one want in an escort, she questioned. The observations pouring out of her brain created a log jam. She wished he wouldn’t touch her, bend his head to listen, watch her with silver glinting in his eyes. She’d manage better if she didn’t find his conversation stimulating, his interest in her ideas flattering. One week with him tested her more than any other assignment. She kept her distance whenever possible, treated him with professional disinterest when they were alone. When he wasn’t taking her out, he disappeared into his work. Fine by her. Time apart eased the tension and helped her shore up her resistance.

  She’d worn the white silk gown to the opening of La Scala the night before, remembering the scene in the boutique, and praying Josh wouldn’t. He’d drawn in a sharp breath, a flame danced in his eyes, but he’d refrained from commenting, though his gaze rested on her too often. She ignored him, went into bodyguard mode, and exhibited all the personality of a storefront mannequin. The impersonal mask became her spyware, keeping Josh out of her emotional data banks.

  ****

  “Josh, Josh, for God’s sake pay attention.” Cat’s warm breath filled his ear as she mouthed the words. Her hand pushed at his arm. He emerged from the intricacies of his design disoriented.

  The room was dark except for the glow from his screen. The clock on his monitor said 3:00 a.m. Across the room, a blinking light cast a halo of red on the wall over a butler’s table. His security system sent out its silent warning.

  “Something triggered the alarm.” His fingers flew as he keyed in his security program and looked for the source of the alert.

  “Josh.” Her soft voice whispered close to his shoulder. “I need to know the points of entry?”

  He could see the break in his binary code. Maddox again. He was beginning to recognize his style, could even admire it, if it didn’t pose such a threat.

  He moved to the monitors, his fingers pressed keys in a familiar sequence. “Just one.” He concluded. “Someone’s accessing the first floor apartment. The Denzels are away, thank goodness.” He brought up the schematics. She studied the floor plan over his shoulder.

  “Looks like their bedroom window.” A heat source showed up on the screen, a red body hunched over against a black background.

  “Your technology is top notch.” She nodded approval. “Just one person. Stay put. I’m going to check it out.” She flicked the screen on her smart phone and used the light to move across the loft.

  Josh released the locks on the loft from the app on his phone and followed her out the door.

  “I said stay put. This might be a distraction to get at you.” Her lips thinned to a narrow line.

  “In that case, I’m a lot safer close to you.” He re-locked the loft, bypassed the elevator, and started down the stairs.

  Gun pointed skyward, she moved in front of him. Silently, they covered the two sets of stairs and came through the stairwell door in front of the Denzel’s flat. “I’m going out the front and around the back. You bang on their door, scare him into running. Do not stand in front of the door. Do not go in.”

  She was talking quietly on her cell phone, requesting police back-up, as he disengaged the lock on the front doors. She slipped out. “Lock them behind me.”

  He gave her a few minutes to get into place and then banged on the door of the Denzel’s unit. “Laurie, Grant, are you okay? I thought you said you’d be away all weekend.” He disengaged their lock. “I’m coming in,” he yelled. “If you’re having wild sex, just shout out.”

  A figure dashed past the open door of the bedroom and dove out the window. Josh raced after what looked like a man dressed in black carrying a box. Maybe they’d just interrupted a break in and robbery. A shot rang out as he reached the window. His heart thudded against his ribs. Had the guy shot Cat?

  “Hold it right there.” He heard her voice, strong and authoritative. Relief loosened the tightness in his chest. Cat had fired the shot to warn the intruder.

  The man charged, hurtling the box at her in an attempt to distract her and get past. She ducked to the side, pivoted, and dropped the guy with a foot in the crotch. He fell to the pavement in the alley, screaming. “You bitch. I’m going to blow you sky high.”

  Josh stepped through the widow and leaned down to pick up the scattered contents of the box. Test tubes full of white crystals shone under the alley light.

  “Be careful with those. They’re improvised incendiary devices,” Cat yelled at him. She put the barrel of her gun to the man’s neck and started patting him down. With a murmur of relief, she yanked a Smith and Wesson out of a shoulder holster and tossed it out of reach. She found a hidden ankle gun and patted her way back up his body, while he retched into the alley. She pulled a vial from his breast pocket.

  “Nitric acid,” she explained as Josh drew nearer. The sound of police sirens blasted the air, then cut off abruptly as two squad cars squealed to a stop. The officers had the man in handcuffs and bundled into the back seat of one of the squad cars in minutes.

  The alley started filling up, as several of his renters came out to see what was happening. A black SUV rolled into place and FBI agents merged with the police, taking over control of the scene as soon as they saw the explosives.

  Cat held up one of Josh’s test tubes and the vial she’d found on the man. “Urea and nitric acid, at a guess.” She spoke with the senior FBI agent. “It’s the kind of improvised incendiary device used by the Taliban over the last years.” She moved into a huddle with the FBI, her phone out and a call into RG.

  Josh suddenly noticed she was wearing a thin cotton sleep
shirt and bikini briefs and stood in full view of a half dozen fascinated men. He had on sweat pants, at least. He crossed to one of his renters and asked for the terry robe he wore over a T-shirt and drawstring pants.

  “Sure thing, Josh.” The guy shrugged out of it.

  Josh came up behind Cat. “Put this on,” he ordered.

  She blinked, suddenly aware a crowd of onlookers was following her every move. She grabbed at the robe. “Hold these.” Thrusting her weapon and phone into his outstretched hand, she stuck her arms into the sleeves, tied the belt with a snap, and rolled up the sleeves, all the time continuing her de-briefing with the FBI. Her robe secured to her satisfaction, she took back her phone and gun. Josh thrust his hands into the pocket of his sweat pants and hunched against the chill.

  By 4:15 a.m., the alley was cleared, the Denzels’ apartment secured, and the FBI had their guy in custody and heading into interrogation. Josh and Cat went back to the loft.

  He’d barely gotten the loft into lockdown again when she started in on him. “I told you not to leave the loft.” She stood like a drill sergeant, her voice hard.

  He shrugged. He’d already given her his reason for following her. He wasn’t about to explain he was worried for her safety. His casual attitude spiked her temper a notch higher.

  “I ordered you not to enter the apartment. He could have run out at you.”

  “And yet he went at you instead.”

  She didn’t back down. “He had a gun. He could have turned and shot you. I’d have been unable to protect you from the alley.” Her eyes looked like green ice.

  “I know how to duck.” What the hell did she want from him? He was no child.

  She whipped around, paced to one end of the living area and back. A growl came from behind her clenched teeth. “If you’re not going to take this seriously and let my experience guide you, then there is no point in me staying. I’ll tell RG to find a replacement. Maybe you’ll listen to a male guard instead of treating him like a piece of fluff.”

  Realizing she wasn’t bluffing, that she actually planned to leave, shook Josh. He sank onto the arm of the sofa adjusting his perception of what had just gone down. He’d treated her like a female in his care, all male ego and good intentions. She’d put her life on the line down in the alley, protecting his. That was who she was, not just an attractive companion taking up space in his loft and life. This was not a game of dalliance, a fun way to put in time. She was deadly serious.

  “I apologize. I didn’t think this whole scenario through, didn’t recognize the gravity. I’ll cooperate from now on. Stay.” He let her see his sincerity, while hiding his desperate need to keep her with him.

  “You’ve been threatened, shot at, and someone just tried to blow you apart. Are you going to take this seriously, cooperate with the security measures I demand?”

  “Whatever you say.” He promised, unable to perceive how drastically his life would change.

  “We’ll see.” She headed toward her bedroom. “If you’re going to rush into a room with a man holding a gun, we’re going to make sure you can protect yourself.”

  ****

  His punishment started the next day. He felt like he’d been drafted into boot camp. She refused to let him go up to the roof to meditate, saying he’d be too exposed. He settled for starting work earlier, but had barely booted up his program, when she began shooting holes in his schedule and workout routine.

  “Routine is a four letter word in the protection business,” she informed him. “Why do you think the sniper got his shot off? You programmed your tablet to turn on the lights before the windows were covered. You made yourself a perfectly backlit target. You begin and end work at approximately the same time every day. You forecast when to take a shot.”

  “He didn’t get me though,” he pointed out.

  “Because you did the only spontaneous thing you did all day, take a phone call.” She sank into a chair, set her ankle over her knee, and rotated her foot. “And, by the way, I don’t appreciate your boyish charm or attempt at humor.”

  The sarcasm was calculated to keep him at a distance. Her caustic comments didn’t work. Instead, they amped up his interest.

  He settled onto the couch across from her. “I don’t appreciate the assumption you have authority over me.” He gave her look for look. “And I’d like a report on what the FBI found out about him. I’m definitely not going to follow orders if you keep me in the dark.”

  “And I’d like five minutes of peace,” Cat mumbled, turning away, her hands fisted at her sides.

  “Pardon?” He couldn’t help the tease.

  She swung around. “I said I’d like to promise you some peace.” She tightened the elastic on the high ponytail holding her hair off her face. “Gribbs, RG, RG, RG,” she repeated while thumping her forehead, “said they didn’t get much out of the guy who broke in. He’s a member of the White Supremacists. He was contacted online, told he’d be helping eliminate government interference.

  “He picked up the explosives from a locker at the bus station, along with half the thousand bucks the guy promised. He was supposed to get a text directing him to a second pick-up zone for the other half. Probably some empty building where they’d kill him. The FBI is checking the security cams at the bus depot, hoping to ID whoever dropped the box off. They’ve seized his phone but were unable to trace the contact. Whoever, it was, probably Maddox, looped his call sign so deep they’re still looking for it.

  “The threat to you is very real. The amount of explosive chemicals would have taken out both floors under your loft and collapsed it. Chances we’d survive the blast are minimal. We still don’t know if Maddox is acting alone or with terrorists. We don’t know if he’s the only one after you, and we don’t know if the explosion was meant to kill you or get you out of the building so they could grab you. Does that give you enough incentive to follow my suggestions?”

  He felt like a schoolboy being tugged along by his ear. Her cool, “Excellent,” when he agreed, didn’t sooth his pride. When she started in on his schedule for the week, he spoke up, vetoing several of her suggestions for the sheer hell of it. She backed off, worked out the security details for his outings, and then charged into his exercise sessions.

  “From now on, we have to change your free weight sessions for self-defense training. Instead of climbing at the gym, you’ll need to run track with me. You need more stamina and speed.”

  “We’ll alternate running with climbing.” He could be just as implacable. “I’ll cooperate, because RG tells me you have the level of knowledge and skills I need. I am satisfied enough by your experience in this field to take your suggestions.” Suggestions, shit, they were flat out orders.

  Over the week on the town, as he’d labelled it, he’d practiced the control that had disintegrated during their earlier confrontations. The kiss in the boutique may have cost her a moment of lost balance, but it had definitely crashed the hard drive containing his sense of self. He’d needed oxygen so his brain would work. God, she captured his senses.

  He fought the impulse to close the distance between their lips. He wanted to test their plush contours, taste her dark flavors again. Her warm skin wafted the scent of mossy nights on a bayou, of jasmine lit by moonlight. He’d paid for his rash act with new and alarming emotions, and he wasn’t talking the heady desire sweeping through him. When her slender body settled against him, he’d experienced the need to wrap her close and protect her.

  Though for the majority of his time he worked diligently on his software design, he bent his intellect in his free moments to solving the puzzle of his pseudo lover. It was his nature to observe, deduce, move the pieces on the board to get the best result—usually that meant best for him. There was nothing malicious in his intent. She slipped seamlessly into his game, played by a new and intriguing set of rules—hers. He could no more ignore the puzzle of her play than he could walk away from a security breach on one of his programs. Hooked by his fascination, he
plotted a way to win.

  To spend more time with her, he agreed with her new schedule, ditching his routine with a minimum of regret in order to go after the bigger prize—knowledge of Cat. He jumped on the opportunity to let her bring him up to code, as she put it. Everything he added to his abilities to defend himself would make him more able to protect her. And what guy would turn down the chance to grapple with an armful of gorgeous body?

  Minutes into his first session, he deduced two things—he’d never get his hands on her, and she would dump him on his ass over and over again, unless he learned fast. Within days, he’d picked up an arsenal of moves of his own and managed to catch her by surprise one out of ten times. At least his butt sported no new bruises.

  He no longer wanted to force a reaction from her. Her reaction led to some new and alarming disclosure. Foremost, it allowed her insight into him. It still surprised him when he thought of the amount of his spiritual philosophy he’d shared during her tour of his rooftop garden. He didn’t like making himself so transparent. He backed off the poking and word games, innuendo disappeared, distance increased.

  With his ceasefire, Cat morphed back into security agent, playing lover only when they were with others. He couldn’t fault her. She did her job thoroughly, which meant spending plenty of time around him. Her expertise included creating emotional distance from her subject. While he worked, she paced from one side of the loft to the other. She spent long hours keying information into her laptop and researching their next foray outside his building.

  By day six, he couldn’t stand it. Her restless energy made him too aware of her, kept him from sinking into his work. He swiveled in his chair, fixed her in the center of his sight line. “When you guarded Siree, you went in undercover as a software designer, didn’t you?

  She looked up from dismantling her gun, startled. “No, I went in as a research analyst. Why?”