by Gennita Low
Vivi wasn’t going to tell her that the files on her desk weren’t the same information that had been faxed to her earlier. Juliana Kohl had too many connections with the media, and despite that cool and collected demeanor, she was ruthless when it came to exploiting news to help her cause. Vivi had a cordial relationship with her, mostly because she didn’t trust anyone who could manipulate numbers. She didn’t have proof that Juliana did anything wrong…yet.
“He isn’t a prisoner, Juliana. And he hasn’t done anything wrong. Would you rather have complaints lodged by his commander or base?”
Juliana crossed her arms. “That would be interesting—the U.S. causing a stir.”
Vivi picked up her purse hanging on the hook and slung it over one shoulder. “You misunderstand. I would.”
The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “Surely that’s not part of your job, Vivienne? You were hired to catch the bad guys.”
Vivi arched her brows. “I was hired to be the liaison to ensure the directive is doing what it’s supposed to do. Making sure you get the right data for your report is part of it, don’t you agree?” Juliana shrugged, not answering. The comptroller and the two others in the room shifted uncomfortably, obviously aware of the tension in the air. Before Vivi turned to leave, she added, “He’ll muck up the numbers, and you don’t want that, do you?”
“Who authorized you to take him?”
Vivi opened the door. “I don’t need authorization to drive people around town. If there are any questions, just refer them to me.”
“And if there are any problems, are you willing to speak for him?”
Vivi bit back the sarcastic comment at the tip of her tongue. Juliana didn’t like a liason who didn’t answer to her, so she was pretending there would be more to this. Everyone knew the soldiers would be gone like the sudden daily monsoon storms. She looked through the mirror at the man sitting at the table. Like all the others, Lieutenant Zeringue would disappear into his camouflaged woodwork, but in this case, if his name sprang up in the future in a similar bad light, Juliana Kohl was going to put the blame on Vivi Verreau.
Well, he stuck up for Rose, so it was only fair that she, in turn, stick up for him. “Yes,” Vivi said.
“You’re very confident about your man, Vivienne. He’d better be as good as you think.”
Vivi smiled. “J’espère que oui.”
Jazz was brought up on hip French novels and dark film noir. His maman never let him forget that the most powerful figures were always female and the mysterious rescuer always spoke with an accent.
“Ready?” He glanced up from his release papers at the woman waiting for him. His rescuer was mysterious and French. He signed the papers and gave the pen back to the clerk.
There was always double entendres in everything the heroine said and did. Jazz showed his hands, indicating that he was all hers.
“Come with me, then,” she said.
The film noir heroine also usually seduced the guy and then set him up with murder. Jazz grinned. Maman always enjoyed those parts the best. He followed Miss Verreau, enjoying the way her tight black skirt clung to her behind. Going through the double doors, he found the young girl from the bar sitting on a bench outside. She rose up eagerly at the sight of the woman before recognizing him.
Rose’s smile was shy. She gripped Miss Verreau’s sleeve tightly. Jazz grinned back, giving her a wink.
“You’ve met Rose, of course, Lieutenant.”
He extended a hand to the young girl. “Nice to see you again, Miss Rose.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, then reached out and shyly touched his. “Nice,” she replied.
“I have a few errands to run first, Lieutenant. Is that all right with you?”
“Absolutely, Miss Verreau.” He was perfectly willing to spend more time with the mysterious French woman. He had lots of things he wanted to find out before he went back to Hawk. Like her first name, for instance.
He walked a little behind the two women, looking around him casually as they stepped from the cool interior of the building into the humid heat. Cars and rickshaws zigzagged in front of the building. “Not quite what I expected.”
“And what was that?”
She looked so cool and unruffled in the heat, Jazz felt the sudden urge to loosen the tightly braided hair and muss it up. Would that take away that high-and-mighty look?
“I thought since this is a UN building, there would be more security around,” he said. He waved at the traffic. “This isn’t very official, is it?”
“It’s an Interpol office, Lieutenant. We aren’t UN funded. What we do isn’t dangerous enough for the media to report. We don’t have real arresting powers, unlike CIVPOL.”
Jazz noted the cynical bitterness in the tone of her voice. “What’s CIVPOL?”
She gave him an impatient sideways glance before crossing the narrow road. Rose followed wordlessly, and they had to stop in the middle to avoid a speeding scooter. A man pulling a watermelon cart yelled out a curse as he maneuvered around them. His French liaison said something back and Rose giggled, covering her mouth.
Jazz didn’t think she was commenting about the weather. “What did you say?” he asked.
“Full of questions, aren’t you, Lieutenant Zeringue?” she mocked as she continued crossing the road. “Where’s the thank you, ma’am, and really appreciate your helping me, ma’am? Didn’t your maman teach you good manners?”
“I was hoping to thank you properly later,” Jazz told her.
“Oh, and when is that?”
“Over dinner, perhaps?”
She stopped at the side of a parked car and leaned a hip on the hood. “Lieutenant Zeringue,” she began.
“Couldn’t we be less formal under the circumstances?”
She arched a brow, and he thought he saw a glimpse of laughter in her eyes. “Very well,” she agreed. “Dinner is out of the question, Zola.”
Jazz winced noticeably. “Jazz,” he said.
“But Zola fits you so well,” she mocked.
She might look supercilious and aloof, but there was a mischievous streak to her that fascinated him. It didn’t go with the image she projected during the interview.
“I’m Zola only to family and very intimate friends, Miss Verreau,” he countered gravely.
The laughing eyes gleamed at his unspoken challenge. “So, if I go out to dinner with you, does that qualify me as an intimate friend?” She pulled out a set of keys from her purse. “So easy?”
He smiled, leaned down, and opened the car door for the women. He waited till Rose had gotten in the backseat before saying softly, “You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
Miss Verreau’s expressive eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m not as easy as you, Lieutenant,” she said, as she climbed into the car. Jazz closed the door, and she leaned out of the window. “You’ll find that your uniform isn’t going to get anywhere with me.”
She was as cool as those film noir chicks, a combination of fire and ice that never ceased to capture their victims. Jazz could almost hear the music in the background, the slow, sensuous rhythm of a deep bass that echoed the web of intrigue being laid out.
“I can be out of uniform in seconds,” he promised, putting both hands on the roof of the small car so he could bend down closer.
Her forefingers tapped the steering wheel. “How many ways do I have to say no before you understand that I’m not going out with you?”
Her change of demeanor was just as challenging as the mischief that had been in her eyes a few moments earlier. There were layers to her that Jazz wished to explore. He lived in a world where time and decisions changed in a heartbeat; he was trained to go after what he wanted.
Jazz grinned. “There is no such word in French when it comes to a romantic dinner.”
“Oh? Now our dinner has progressed to something more. Really fast, Lieutenant. A girl likes to savor the chase a little bit.”
He would love to savor her, bu
t he didn’t say that. Not having talked to Hawk about the team’s new plans, he doubted that he would really be able to take her out to dinner anyway.
She arched her brow again, cocking her head to one side. “It’s getting hotter out here. Are you going to get in the car or do you intend to hold this conversation all day in the sun?”
He must be losing his touch. The lady had easily evaded his questions without much effort at all. He still didn’t know a damn thing about her. Straightening, he moved to the other side of the car and got in. He adjusted the seat back as far as it could go, squeezing his long length into the vehicle. Her eyes glinted at him before she turned her attention to starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
She looked into the rearview mirror. “I have to drop Rose off,” she told him quietly.
“No, no, Vivi! No want to go home,” Rose said, her voice agitated, leaning forward between the two front seats. “No take me home.”
Vivi. Her name was Vivi. Jazz repeated it silently. It suited her. She gave him a brief glance, as if it were his fault for bringing up the subject.
“Rose, I don’t know where else to take you,” she said slowly, as if she was weighing her answer carefully. “You don’t have any other relatives, and the orphanages won’t take you in because they know you have parents. Do you have any friends who can help you?”
Rose shook her head. “No. You can take me?”
The hope in her voice was heartbreaking, and Jazz wished he could offer her a place to stay. Seeing that she had almost been sold as a prostitute, he had a fair idea that her parents didn’t care one way or another where she was. He looked at the woman driving beside him.
Vivi Verreau was chewing on her lower lip. There was grimness to her profile as she stared ahead. The knuckles of her hands on the steering wheel were white as she made a turn. So much tension suddenly. He wondered at the strength of this woman’s emotions.
“I can’t take you,” she said, and Jazz could hear the tightness in her words, as if saying them was choking her. “I’m sorry, Rose.”
Rose’s lower lip trembled. “Vivi, I so scared.”
“I know you are. I’ll think of something.”
“You promise?”
“I…promise.”
Jazz caught the slight hesitation in Vivi’s reply. She gave him a brief glance before he said anything.
“No more questions for now, Lieutenant.”
In a back room in town
“I don’t want any young girls,” Stefan said. “I want you.”
Without any greeting, she came to him with greedy hands and lips, stripping him where he stood. He knew that she was a woman who liked control, who enjoyed being in power. He drew in a breath when she raked her fingernails down his stomach suggestively and tugged on the buttons of his pants.
She reached inside and drew him out. Still without a word, she went on her knees and wrapped her eager mouth around him, tasting him as he stood there in the dark room. She finally made a throaty approving murmur as he grew big and hard, filling her. Giving him one final lick, she released him and worked at taking his pants off.
Naked, he followed her to the bed in the corner and pushed her down on the soft mattress. She licked her lips as he put on a condom, opening her legs invitingly. The bed creaked as he climbed on top, scooping her legs up with his arms and parting her thighs wider and higher. Without preliminaries, he was inside her. He knew she would already be wet, and he didn’t wait as he took her hard and fast. She gasped at his roughness, and then started purring, becoming more agitated, as he pushed her legs higher over his shoulders without losing a beat.
He moved his hand between them, stimulating her as he slid in and out. He watched as she gave a final shriek before succumbing to pleasure, wetting his hand with her essence. He didn’t stop. The plan was to satisfy her for an hour, put her in a good mood.
She moaned softly. “No, no more, please, s’il vous plait.”
He ignored her. It was part of their little game. She liked it rough and demanded it. She pushed against him, struggling, telling him over and over, “No, no…stop.”
He stopped. Slapped her lightly. There was a moment of silence, and then she laughed and raked her hand down his chest. Then she screamed again as he pounded relentlessly into her. He didn’t stop again, no matter how much she begged. He was a master to her slave, fulfilling that fantasy she wanted. Taking her over the edge one final time, he let himself go with a grunt before collapsing on top of her, his body slippery with a sheen of perspiration. She ran her hands up and down his sides, massaging him.
“Hmmm…you never disappoint me,” she said, flicking her wet hair from her face.
“I don’t intend to,” he said, turning his face from her shoulder.
“I love your taking me so roughly. It’s very liberating.”
“Those are two contradictory sentences.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. I like it.”
“Obviously,” he said, a dry note creeping into his voice. “You also make sure your girls know that.”
Her laughter echoed in the dark room. “Oh yes, of course. I make sure they’re in the next room listening to the best lover a girl could have. They must have me for inspiration.”
“If I didn’t know you, Lis, I would call you cruel.” He turned sideways, resting his head on a crooked elbow.
She turned, licked his chest and bit it. “And you are soooo sweet.” She languidly rose to a sitting position, playing with her hair. She turned and studied his naked form. “Don’t you know I see you giving some of my girls cash for nothing?”
“Don’t forget where the money comes from,” he reminded her. “Even a sweet man has to have a means to make money.”
“Oh yes. We’re two of a kind then, aren’t we?” she said as she stood up. “Come on, lover, give me the information you have and I’ll see what I can do.”
As she reached for a robe hanging by the bed, he pulled on one of her hands and she flew into his arms again. His hand went between her legs.
“Ooooh,” she moaned, then kissed him hungrily. “If you’re ever in trouble, you have to come to me, cherie. I’ll take you underground with my brothers. Then I can have you for a long, long time.”
“You sure they will let me in at your word?” he mocked, as his hand continued its leisurely exploration.
She arched to meet each caress, her eyes half closed. “Honey doll, I’m the favorite sister to the second brother. Do you think he would deny me a favor?” She mewed as his rhythm slowed, controlling her release. “Oh, please, please.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘No, no, stop’?” he mimicked her earlier cries. He slid a long finger in her and felt her tensing, anticipating what he could give her. “So, whatever big sis says, little brother will do, huh?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer. Her moans filled the room again.
Finally, after several minutes, she opened her eyes. Her voice was hoarse from the pleasure he had given her. “Honey doll, as long as you keep doing that, you’ll always be under my protection. And, don’t forget, you’re smart and can make us money.”
He bent down to kiss her bow-shaped lips. “And don’t forget,” he added, “I can make you come some more.”
He was running late, and there was business to be done, but he had found that one couldn’t hurry business in this part of the world. One must make a lot of deals. Without warning he turned and locked the woman’s hands above her head. Her eyes widened, and a sultry gleam crept in them when he slowly nudged her thighs apart.
“Some more?” she asked.
“It’s part of the deal,” he said, and bit her shoulder to mark her.
CHAPTER
4
Jazz was a Cajun boy, brought up in the bayou swamps outside Slidell, Louisiana. His grandfather was an alligator catcher the locals called The Raging Cajun, and as a kid, Jazz lived his summers in the deep swamp camps
where the very poor eked out a living off the land, supplemented by selling alligator teeth and chicken claw mojos in the local markets.
Since joining the SEALs, he had seen other kinds of slums. The garbage mountain city in Manila where the children dug through trash for food. The slums in Hong Kong where people lived like sardines, arranging bed shifts according to their work schedules. The arid lives of people who owned nothing but a piece of Persian carpet spread in a hand-hewn mountain side cave outside Kabul. He had seen them and had compared the lives of the people with his own childhood. He had grown up in a large, loving family, with a mother who had fiercely protected her brood, and a rascally grandfather who told tall tales and refused to live a normal life. Poverty had never bothered him, since he had been taught to take care of himself and his family. He could do anything.
And being a SEAL reinforced that pride. Except that his deployment overseas and what he had seen was eating at his soul bit by bit, and sometimes he thought he would go a little crazy. He had learned that there were other kinds of poverty in the world, some more horrific than others. Most of the time, he did his job with his SEAL brothers and left quickly. If the team stayed longer, he usually ended up giving most of his cash away. That was why Hawk always joked about his needing to marry every poor girl he’d helped and sending her home to Louisiana.
Jazz looked at the tin huts in the small shantytown Vivi was driving through. People peered out of windows and men stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the vehicle passing by. The ride was bumpy and slowed down by carts and livestock haphazardly blocking their way. They finally stopped in the middle of the dirt path. Children raced over and climbed onto the vehicle, swarming like ants, peering inside at the occupants curiously. They were dirty and bedraggled. Some of them yelled out to Rose.
“Is it safe for you to be out of the vehicle?” Jazz asked. He had experienced the vicious kiddie pickpockets in Rome before.
