Hammer’s heart pounded when he saw Amelia with that knife to her throat. And the state she was in! With her blouse ripped wide open, her breasts revealed, and her face so anguished that it anguished him. His gun was locked and loaded, and he was ready to kill that motherfucker if he made any false move with that knife, but he knew it was going to be a close shot. Her captor had her body shielding his own.
Normally, he would take the shot anyway. Sometimes he hit the victim, sometimes he didn’t. It was all in the name of justice. But this wasn’t just some random victim he could potentially kill. It was Amelia. The mother of his only child. The only woman he’d ever wanted so completely that he refused to admit it, even to himself.
He couldn’t take that chance.
But Weasel was in a different bad spot. He was angry that his men had choked. “What are you doing?” he yelled at them. They had guns, and were just standing there. “Kill his ass!”
But his men understood what he was asking. It was one thing to kidnap Hammer’s woman behind his back. It was one thing to threaten and even to kill her. But to kill Hammer? To be the one to put that bullet through his chest? To put a bullet through the former director of the CIA? If it didn’t work, and he survived, they were screwed. If it worked, and he didn’t survive, they were screwed. They froze because they knew they were fucked either way.
And Hammer and Oz saw their fear. They saw it as if that fear was a breathing organism. Hammer didn’t have to look at Oz. All he had to do was nod to his right. Oz knew what it meant. It meant that Hammer had the man to his right, and Oz was to take the other one. Since the two kidnappers already had their weapons drawn and aimed at Hammer and Oz, you would think those kidnappers had the advantage. But Hammer and Oz had the expertise. They waited for the exact right moment.
It came through Weasel’s mouth. “Do it!” he yelled at his men. “Don’t just stand there staring at those bastards, take them out!”
It was all they needed. That second of indecision they saw in those two men before them, was all they needed. And they were able to fire their weapons, with Oz taking out the guy to the left and Hammer taking out the guy to the right, before the kidnappers could fire one single shot.
Weasel was astounded. He knew Hammer was good, but his men didn’t even fight back! He pulled Amelia closer against his chest. If he was getting out alive, it was going to be through her.
“Come any closer,” he warned Hammer, “and I’ll kill this bitch! I’ll slice her fucking head off!”
“And end up like your friends?” Hammer asked him. “Sure you want to do that?” His heart was pounding as that fool’s knife kept pressing harder against Amelia’s flesh. “Sure you want to take me on? It won’t end well for you. Drop it. Or I’ll drop you. Simple as that.”
Weasel stared at Hammer. He’d heard horror stories about his craziness. Anybody caught up in international crime heard about that asshole. But not just that he went after the bad guys his way, which often was illegal and more street justice than real justice. But that he would not let a case go until he caught his man. His men were usually international terrorists threatening U.S. targets, but he had a reputation on the street as a man who could find a way to tie everything to some overseas crime ring, if he wanted to get you.
Weasel didn’t doubt that Hammer would kill him and Amelia right along with him before he let him walk free. He was as doomed as his partners had been. But unlike his partners, he was no fool. He felt he stood a better chance living if he gave it up, than he did if he didn’t.
He dropped the knife and held up his hand, hoping the law and order side of Hammer Reese would win the day.
It might have, but Amelia got in the way.
As soon as Weasel dropped that knife, she picked it up. And she didn’t wait for Hammer to make a decision. She made the decision. She grabbed that knife and slit Weasel’s throat. No fucker was going to kidnap her, attempt to rape her, and she just let it slide. She slid that knife across his throat. That was the only sliding she was willing to do.
But as Weasel fell down, choking on his own blood, holding his hands to his throat in a lame attempt to stop the blood gush, she dropped the knife and just sat there.
Hammer walked over to her, removed his suit coat, and placed it around Amelia’s exposed upper body. His coat swallowed her.
Then he stood her up. Her breasts were heaving and she was breathing almost in hyperventilation, as her cool breath was like a cool breeze on his face. And they stared into each other’s eyes. Hammer remembered the first time he saw those big, green eyes. She was just a kid driving the getaway car in a bank robbery. But those eyes haunted him even then. Just like they haunted him even now.
She was stubborn as a mule, and a survivor, just like he was. And he loved that about her. They had grown closer since their son was born, and their feelings for one another had intensified to heights neither one of them dared acknowledge. But he was too relieved to have her back, lost now found, to worry about anything else. He pulled her into his arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amelia eased into her jacuzzi tub and leaned back. To her surprise, while she was downstairs spending time with their son, Hammer had come upstairs and prepared her bath. He’d also poured her a glass of wine and left it on the tub’s extended edge. She took a sip, smiling at the thought of a domestic Hammer, and then wondered where he could be.
He saved her, and she appreciated it, but she was into Hammer long before any rescues he might have done.
After that dinner party years ago, when they ended up in that cloak room, they would see each other periodically, at various functions around town. But every time she saw him, she worked hard to avoid him. Then she’d take sly peeps at him all evening long as if she had some schoolgirl crush on him. But why was she even bothering, was always the nagging question in her mind. And still was.
She pressed the nursery button on the monitor screen that was purposely installed within reach of the tub. And her guess was right. Hammer was in the nursery, sitting in a chair with his legs crossed, holding their sleeping baby boy.
Amelia stopped sipping her wine mid-sip when she saw him. She stared at her baby’s father. He was dressed to the nines, as usual, in a tailored suit, imported dress shoes, and had their baby snuggled closely and protectively against his big frame. Hammer was a distinguished-looking man who always had the air of an aristocrat, even as he appealed most effectively to the common man. And the way he stared at that boy, as if he was still amazed that his genes helped to create such a beautiful, precious child, showed why he was so endearing.
And Amelia couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was a nightclub owner now, although she was certain he still had an active and highly classified role in CIA operations. But romance-wise, he was a man with more experience in his pinky than she’d had in a lifetime, and he only seemed to date women with similar vast experience. But she was the one who gave him a son. She didn’t know if it made sense to feel proud of that, but she did. Ever since she first saw Hammer, he stood out in her mind. She couldn’t even tell herself why. He was more than a few years older than she was, when she swore, thanks to older asshole Bulldog Valtone’s abusiveness, that she’d never fool with older guys ever again. And he was obviously a player. But for some reason he seemed to be more than just a pretty face and a big dick to her. Her attraction to him was much deeper than that.
But she still had no intention of allowing him to slip off that condom and impregnate her when she didn’t even want to bring a child into that bitter world. But she did, and he did, and they both were still reeling from the implications.
They both remembered the night it happened. She walked into JazzLight, his nightclub in Montreal, and immediately caught his attention. Because he’d been taking sly peeps at her too as they saw each other at various fundraisers and soirees hosted by her husband at the time, or other mutual acquaintances. Hammer was sometimes asked to attend such functions, to represent the various DCIs he worked f
or, and he showed up, over the years, as assistant director; then as deputy director; then as the newly appointed acting director; and then, finally, as the Director of Central Intelligence. He was the DCI. He was the undisputed top guy. And a very powerful director at that.
Bulldog knew who Hammer was by then, and was no longer disparaging the fact that he wasn’t high ranking enough to attend his top-tier get-togethers. He was eager to seek him out whenever he showed up, and urged Amelia to do so as well.
But she never did. And Hammer avoided her, too. Not just because she rejected his advances once. But because she was married at the time, and he was wrong to want her. But also because, every time he saw her, he still wanted her! She’d already made clear she wasn’t interested in him. It was unusual. He wasn’t accustomed to being rejected by a woman so roundly as he was that night in that cloakroom. But it was as free country and that was fine by him.
Only it wasn’t fine by him. He realized it every time he saw her. She was always playing the beautiful, dutiful wife. She was always there right beside her power-hungry husband, smiling and entertaining and playing her role to perfection even though she had admitted to him that she didn’t, in her words, give a fuck about her marriage.
But every time he saw her, he wanted her. The way she walked, with that small, tight ass in those skintight dresses. The way she leaned her head back in laughter, revealing her long, smooth neck. The way she sipped her wine. He wanted her. He wanted all of her.
But he kept his distance. He wasn’t the kind of man who begged to be with somebody. He wasn’t the kind of man who had to. And besides, he absolutely hated the fact that every time Amelia entered a room, she became the center of his universe no matter who else was in that orbit.
But it would be years later, after her husband was dead, and after she had flown so below the radar that he’d forgotten about her, that it would all change. It changed when she walked into his club in Montreal one quiet evening, and he realized, as if a bulb had turned on in his head, that he’d been fooling himself all along.
JazzLight was jumping. He was on the second floor, in his personal VIP section, sitting at his table and holding court with the big wigs who came through to pay him homage. Unlike Bulldog Valtone, he didn’t give donations to politicians to get them crawling at his feet and begging for his support. The fact that he once ran the CIA. The fact that he now ran the hottest club in town. The fact that he didn’t give a shit if they came or didn’t come or stopped by or didn’t stop by, got their attention. They always stopped by to impress their ladies, or their associates, or even themselves. Hammer’s coolness, and lack of excitement whenever he saw some powerful politician or A-list celebrity, impressed them. And made them even more determined to win him over. It was a losing challenge. But they didn’t know it.
Then Amelia walked in.
Hammer saw her as soon as she dawned the door, and just like all those years in their past, she commanded his attention right away. What the fuck, he thought. After all this time? It had been years since he last saw her!
But he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She wore red that night: a skintight red dress that hugged her curves so magically that Hammer began to get a hard-on as soon as he took one look at her ass. Her hair was long and danced down her back full of bounciness and curls, and her smooth brown skin radiated a kind of sophisticated elegance that couldn’t help but fascinate him. And instead of wondering which one of the gorgeous ladies in his club was going to be in his bed that night, as he had been wondering before her arrival, he stopped wondering when he saw her. Because she was going to be in his bed.
She sat at the table on the main floor, and placed her drink order. Men immediately began eyeing her, Hammer noticed, and some even seemed to be contemplating making a move. Hammer glanced to his left. His main man, Ozzie Jones, pushed away from his perch against the wall and headed his way. Oz had already spotted who his boss had eyeballed. It wasn’t a matter of who. It was a matter of where.
Hammer leaned over when Oz leaned down to him. “Upstairs,” he said.
Oz was surprised. It would be the first time Hammer wanted any woman in his private residence upstairs. But he didn’t become the infamous Hammer Reese’s righthand man by arguing with him, or asking unnecessary questions.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and headed downstairs.
Hammer shook hands and spoke briefly with another high roller as Oz made his way toward Amelia. But when Oz made it to the table, and whispered in her ear, Hammer’s full attention was back on Amelia.
Amelia had just pulled out her compact and was freshening her lipstick when Oz walked over. She saw him coming through her periphery, and knew who he was, but she kept her cool. She wasn’t there by happenstance. She knew JazzLight belonged to that blue-eyed devil she couldn’t get out of her mind. Loneliness, desire, an unshakeable sense that he was not her enemy, drove her there that night. Because it was uncanny to her. Every time they were in the same room together, at some stale function she was forced to attend, she couldn’t stop feeling his presence, and wanting him near her. And whenever she looked his way, she would see him staring her down. But he never said another word to her. After that kiss in the cloakroom that didn’t go according to his lustful plans, he didn’t approach her again either. Why should he? She all but told him to take a hike, and he took a hike. Why should she be disappointed when he did what she asked him to do? But she was. She couldn’t believe how disappointed she had been.
But after that night she could still feel his eyes all over her, as if they were hands undressing her, every second she was anywhere near him.
She knew where he was this time, too. And she could feel his stare all over again. But tonight was different. They weren’t at some fundraiser her now-deceased husband was sponsoring. They were on his turf tonight.
“The club’s owner, Mr. Reese,” Oz said as he leaned down to her, “has asked that you come with me, ma’am. He has invited you to his residence upstairs.”
Amelia didn’t expect the invitation to be that blatant, nor did she expect some third party to deliver it, but she kept it together. It was damn disrespectful, she thought, but what did she expect from a man who gave up after one rejection? It hurt her that he didn’t pursue her. Not that she wanted to be pursued. But every time she looked into his eyes, she saw her rescuer for some crazy reason. She needed rescuing when Bulldog was alive. Why didn’t he see it? But it wasn’t as if she expected anything more. Nobody else, not in her entire time with that monster called her husband, cared enough to see it either.
She tossed her lipstick back into her small clutch. “No thank you,” she said.
“If you’ll just follow me,” Oz began saying, and then realized that he had been turned down. Or, more incredibly, his boss had! And it angered Oz. “Look, sister,” he said, “I don’t think you understand. Hamilton Reese, the former director of the Central Intelligence Agency, has requested an audience with you.”
“And I declined the invitation,” Amelia said bluntly, giving Oz a funny look. “Tell him thank you, but no thanks.”
Oz was astounded. She obviously didn’t know Hammer’s reputation for ruthlessness and viciousness. Nor his reputation for giving a lady the best sex she ever had. This chick was clueless!
He leaned down to her for the third time. Every woman on all those previous nights didn’t exchange any words with him, other than okay, and got their asses up. But this one? Who did she think she was? “Look,” he said again, “I don’t think you understand. Hamilton Reese is not the kind of man you turn down.”
Amelia had turned him down before, and remembered how that turned out for her. It went so badly that he didn’t so much as speak to her for years. If it had been any other man: so be it. But for some strange reason, Hammer Reese had gotten to her. For some strange reason, she expected him, of all men, to go that extra mile when he didn’t even go an extra inch.
But that didn’t mean she was willing to give up her self-respect fo
r him. He wanted her sexually. She knew that. But she was hoping they could make a connection on a different level. Maybe get to know each other first. But she had apparently hoped for too much. “It’s not a question of turning him down,” she said to Oz. “It’s a question of whether or not I want to go upstairs with a man I barely know. The answer is no. But thank you.”
She returned her attention to the band on stage. There was a very good jazz singer, a beautiful black woman, belting out serious tunes. And Oz was stumped. But his training had taught him how not to show it. “Very good, madam,” he said, smiled politely, and left her table.
Hammer was surprised when Oz left her table. The odds of her showing up at his club by chance were too miniscule to be true. She came because she wanted to fuck him, was his verdict. But why the fuck was she pretending otherwise?
When Oz came back upstairs, and leaned down to him, he was expecting a damn good explanation. “She said thanks,” Oz said, “but no thanks.”
Hammer’s anger rose. Fuck this shit, he thought. Who did she think she was dealing with? He knew he could just bump her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t before. She turned him down that one time in that cloakroom, and he gave her the cold shoulder for years. It was in his DNA.
But he looked at her, sitting at that table. She had a cigarette on a long, gold extender, and took a puff. If she wasn’t the very definition of elegance and beauty, he didn’t know what was. And he had to have her. Dammit, he was going to have her!
To Oz’s shock, he rose up from his table and made his way downstairs. All eyes, especially the eyes of the ladies, fell on him as he left his perch above the fray and went downstairs. Oz followed right behind him, looking to make sure nobody else was making any moves toward his boss. Hammer didn’t mind entertaining strangers who came up to him at his table. But he very much minded when strangers came up to him as he walked. That posed threats and dangers. That was not allowed.
Amelia Sinatra: Hammer Time Page 6
