by Nina Bruhns
He rose slowly, careful not to alarm her. But she turned on him, her eyes flashing. Evidently he was going to be the target for her rage. She glared at him and lashed out.
“You don’t understand, do you?” Tears welled up in her emerald green eyes. Hearing the agony in her voice, Dameon saw the raw pain behind her anger. She stammered, visibly trying to control her emotions. “My… client was almost killed. The man I was supposed to protect, my first client… could have been murdered, shot to death.”
“Drug dealers and mafia dons aren’t the easiest people to protect, Jesse.” Dameon said carefully. “Besides, that’s not how I saw it. You threw yourself over a 220-pound man and protected him with your body. With bullets flying over your head, no less. You also pulled a gun and took out one of the shooters, potentially saving dozens of lives.” He pointed to the bandage on her hip. “And you got bit by a bullet for your effort.” Driving the point home, he added, “Jesus, Jesse. Even though I was mad as hell at you for what you did, it was damned heroic on your part.”
He waited to see if his words were sinking in. From her tense expression it was clear his argument was falling on deaf ears. She began pacing across the floor wringing her hands. “You don’t understand. I was going to earn ten grand for this job. Now I’ll probably be blackballed by every wealthy man in the city who might’ve hired me.”
She ran her hands distractedly through her hair. “And then if that wasn’t enough, my dress… did you see it? Did you?”
He frowned not knowing where she was going with this. “Yes, it was gorgeous.”
“No! I mean did you see how it got ripped?!”
Dameon shook his head.
She barreled on. “Do you have any idea how much that dress cost?”
Dameon kept his voice and expression contained, calm.
“No, I don’t. But it looked like a million dollars on you.”
She frowned and poured out her misery as if he hadn’t spoken.
“It’s ruined! I had to buy it for myself. Do you think my nonexistent client will pay to have it repaired? If it can even be repaired. Do you?” She couldn’t seem to decide whether to pace or stand still, so she sort of stopped and rocked in place.
“And if that isn’t enough--my shoes.”
Her voice broke. At this point she couldn’t hold back a sob.
Dameon stood up and moved toward her but she held up her hands and backed away. He was struck how shattered she looked, how devastated.
“Of course you don’t know. Men are so stupid. They don’t know anything about shoes, how important shoes are.”
Seeing how close she was to the edge, Dameon moved into her space, letting his powerful body envelop her. He was gratified that she didn’t push him away.
“How about you enlighten me, Jesse?”
She stared at him as though he was a different species.
“Do you even know what Jimmy Choo shoes are? Do you? Let me show you.”
She ran from the room and came back with her shoes, one of which had a broken heel and torn straps. She seemed unaware that tears were rolling down her face. Swiping at the tears with the back of her hand, she held out the broken shoe.
“Look, see this? It can’t be repaired. They cost $1,200! Almost as much as my dress.”
Dameon took her hand and pulled her close to him. He wished he dared hold her on his lap; it would help them both but he didn’t push his luck. Instead he inched her over to her chair and sat her down. He pulled his chair up next to hers. Looking carefully at the broken shoe, he nodded.
“I do remember these. They’re beautiful. But to be honest I was paying more attention to the gorgeous feet that were in them.”
She didn’t hear him or wasn’t listening.
“They’re ruined. My very first pair of Jimmy Choo’s. Do you know how many nights I lay in that disgusting sandbox, bullets flying over my head, wishing to God that I was anywhere but there? I hated it. Especially the sand. It was everywhere. My bedroll was filled with it. It was in my clothes, my mouth, my nose, my food. Do you know what kept me sane? These!”
She held up the shoes.
“Dreaming about these shoes. That was the only way I could convince myself that somehow, someway I’d make it out of there.”
Dameon gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hear you, Jesse. I still have nightmares about that damn sand. The way I kept sane was envisioning pepperoni pizza-but yes, I can see why shoes like this would work. They gave you something to hang on to. The other world. The sane world.”
She threw up her hands and wailed.
“But don’t you see? They’re broken, destroyed!”
Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and her face blanched. She made a visible effort to contain herself. She swallowed hard and whispered. “I have to take this.”
Trying to quiet his revulsion seeing Raoul’s name on the caller ID, Dameon nodded. His gut wasn’t as easily put off and shot a load of bile into his throat. He listened to her one-sided conversation, the gist of which was crystal clear. Since he’d have given his left nut for her to end the dangerous relationship with Raoul Morales, it was an unpleasant conversation for him to overhear.
“Yes, this is Jesse. No, thank you. I’m fine. No, please, I truly am fine. It was just a little scratch.” She was silent for a moment then her eyes widened. “I... I appreciate that. But really, I was just doing my job. No, really... but thank you.” She glanced at the clock and swallowed. “Yes, I can be ready. Um, I’d prefer to meet you. I have to pick my son up after school.” She glanced at Dameon then shook her head and gave a helpless shrug indicating that she was embarrassed that Dameon heard her protective fib. “Noon? No, that’s not too early. Wait, let me get a pen.” Dameon withdrew a Mont Blanc pen and leather embossed notepad from his vest pocket and handed it to her. She silently thanked him and scratched down an address.
“Thank you, Raoul. Yes, it was a most interesting evening. See you soon.”
The silence between them was heavy.
Dameon spoke first. “May I presume that you didn’t lose your client after all?”
Jesse’s face lit with wonder.
“No, he… he called to thank me. He said I saved his life. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t hurt. I’m meeting….”
She stopped in mid-sentence as though seeing his troubled expression for the first time.
“Never mind. I think… you should go now, Chief.”
Dameon took a deep breath and decided that he’d raise the "Raoul" issue with her at a later time. It would no doubt be a challenging discussion. Besides, he needed to have a more immediate conversation that was likely to be as difficult. He glanced at his watch.
“Yes, you’re right. I have a staff meeting in a half hour. I do need to go.”
Jesse followed him to the front door.
`“Dameon, wait. I… I’m sorry I fell apart. I don’t do that. Ever. I… I don’t know what came over me. I must have sounded like an idiot about… my dress… my shoes.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled, wondering if she realized that she’d called him by his first name. “Don’t be. I’ve got broad shoulders.”
She looked up at him and met his eyes, then flushed. “Yes… yes you do.”
He grinned at her. “Anytime you have a shoe crisis--or any other crisis for that matter, I’m available. Shoulders and all.”
She shook her head. “No. No, I… don’t need or want that. I won’t bother you again.”
At the doorway, he paused and then dropped yet another bombshell.
“One more thing, Jesse. In addition to wanting to apologize to you, I came this morning to tell you that I’ve scheduled a debriefing session this afternoon at 4 p.m.to review what happened last night. We need to take your official statement. I want to know what happened from your point of view. Specifically, what you know about the men who attacked and how they are related to Raoul.”
She jerked back,
familiar anger capturing her expression. She glared at him and scoffed.
“You are truly unbelievable. Now in addition to everything else, you want me to snitch on my client? My one fucking client?”
He smiled. “Actually I told Raoul to be there as well. Although, I also want to interview you without him present.”
Before she could protest, Dameon added.
“Look Jesse, you’re exhausted. And you need to spend time with your son. That kid is worried sick about you. I’ll let Raoul know we changed the meeting time. We’ll make it 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
She frowned and put up her hands to ward him off.
“I… I didn’t say I would come.”
He raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
“10 o’clock, Major O’Donnell. See you then.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek then turned and left her standing in the doorway watching him stride to his truck.
* * *
When she returned from meeting with Raoul, Trey met Jesse at the door. After answering a barrage of anxious questions, she managed to convince him that she was fine. She showed him her bandages and admitted in answer to his question that, yes, Police Chief Macarios had seen to her injuries.
As Jesse began to prepare dinner, Trey brought in a large box with a Neiman Marcus label.
“This came when you were out, Mom.”
Jesse frowned. “Hmm, I didn’t know Albuquerque had a Neiman Marcus. And I certainly didn’t order anything.”
She opened the box and saw to her shock, not one, but two pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes. One was a replacement for the pair that had been ruined. The second was an extraordinary pair of red five-inch high-heeled sandals. She’d lusted over them for months but never considered buying them. They were outrageously expensive even by Jimmy Choo standards. She felt her cheeks heat when she read the handwritten note.
Since you threw out my previous peace offering, thought I’d give these a try.
Given your chosen profession, you might need a backup pair. D.
Red Rock Rises: Chapter Seven
Jesse paced across the conference room staring blindly into the parking lot ringed with official vehicles. In a reserved spot she recognized Dameon’s black Ford Tundra. She closed her eyes to shut out the memory of the man who had kept her awake for two nights in a row. She couldn’t think about him now, not after the way she acted yesterday. She had never had such a raw emotional reaction to any man. It was unsettling to say the least. She reminded herself, he was an antagonist. At least this morning he was. She snorted at the peremptory way he’d ordered her to appear. She’d thought about ignoring his order. But by zero-nine hundred hours she was dressed and out the door.
Glancing around the empty room she scoffed. Naturally she was the only one on time. Well, admit it: as usual, she was early. It was a life-long habit ingrained by her Sergeant Major father. She’d absorbed this dictum like so many others the fierce, banty rooster of a redheaded terror had drilled into his serious daughter—from the time she was eight years old. Professional soldiers were never late; always on time, and if they wanted to make an impression, they were early. And here she was. Fifteen minutes early and not a person had joined her. Maybe it was this sleepy town; it seemed to run on Mexican time.
She focused on the empty chairs that would soon be occupied by two of the most extraordinary men she’d known—Raoul Morales and Dameon Macarios. Jesse forced herself to consider the upcoming inquisition. Because she was certain that’s what it would be.
Her lunch meeting with Raoul was anything but. In fact it was a celebration. Combined with her exhaustion and relief, she had lowered her guard somewhat and given into the charm of her host. Who, to her great relief, turned out to be her very appreciative client. And God, Raoul was charming. He regaled her with one amusing story after another from a life filled with intrigue and danger. Knowing that most of the activities he described happened under the auspices of his family’s cartel made his recounting all the more interesting. Hell, who wouldn’t want to listen to a black-eyed, soft-toned charmer recount tales that would make for a year-long television crime series?
The stunning conclusion to his repartee was his assertion that she had saved his life and he was forever in her debt. He’d said solemnly that in his culture her actions constituted a blood oath. Jesse wasn’t sure she wanted to consider the full implications of that pledge but for the moment it came wrapped in an irresistible package. By the time they had finished their three hour lunch, Raoul had described in detail five important men that he was certain would become her clients. Jesse left buoyed by unusual optimism and refused to let her elation face the probability of who those clients might be. She knew without asking that the Police Chief would not be pleased.
The image of Dameon surfaced. She couldn’t avoid thinking about him. After all it had been at least ten minutes since she’d allowed herself to focus on the man who had taken over her brain and, she admitted, her body. Damn. What the hell was wrong with her? It must be this dry mountain air that had her hormones raging. The Police Chief was an enigma. She’d never met anyone like him. On the one hand he was the consummate cop and Army Ranger, the kind of man she’d known all her life. All man, only he was more so in every dimension.
But then there was the unexpected part of him, the part that had her flustered, uncertain and embarrassed. She’d literally thrown a temper tantrum yesterday over a pair of goddamned shoes! Yes, they were special shoes but couldn’t she have thrown them at the wall instead of wailing her pain at her broken toys in front of the fucking Police Chief? She was horrified remembering her behavior. She never let down like that, ever. You don’t show your weakness. You deal with it. Another maxim from her father. But she had let down, big time. In response, Dameon had been kind, understanding. He had tried to comfort her, to relate to her pain. And what had she done in response? Thrown his peace offering in the sink like a spoiled teenager and shrieked at him.
The unlucky latte brought to mind the image of his latest peace offering. They were the most beautiful shoes she’d ever seen. Of course, she would have to give them back. There was no way she could accept a gift like that from a man she barely knew. It was inconceivable. But even as she said it, she knew she would never return them. If she had to develop an installment plan to repay him for them, she would. No, by God those red sirens were in her closet and, except for when they were on her feet, that’s where they were going to stay.
The door opened and a young woman in a police officer’s uniform walked in. Jesse gave a sigh of relief. It was still five minutes until the meeting was due to start but it was good to know that there would be someone else here when the others arrived. At least she wouldn’t look like she was eager--or something.
The lovely Latina woman introduced herself with a soft smile.
“Good morning. I’m Officer Sofia Renaldo. I am Chief Macarios’s deputy. Lt. Rockford and I will be taking your statement and Mr. Morales’s.”
Jesse nodded, squelching the crushing disappointment she felt hearing that Dameon wouldn’t be in the meeting. And to think she’d spent three hours this morning trying to decide what to wear…. Ugh! Oh well, at least Raoul would be impressed. Her short, dark grey, pencil skirt hovered high enough above her knees to give her access to her cleverly designed thigh holster. Her crisp white linen blouse, with the high starched collar and fitted bodice, showed off her voluptuous body by showcasing it not flaunting it. She’d piled her unruly curls up on the top of her head knowing that some of the curls would manage to spring free. She’d learned long ago that her hair had a mind of its own and for the most part, she let it be the boss.
She fingered the silver pendant that hung on a chain, resting on her cleavage. Not even the sharpest eye would know that the outrageous pendant was a stylized replica of a penis. It was her treasured going away gift from her special ops unit. The guys had told her to wear it whenever she felt insecure, to remind her of the bunch of bad boy dicks w
ho loved and admired her. Jesse swallowed. If ever a ‘dick’ could come in handy, it was likely in this particular meeting.
At that moment Lt. Rockford entered followed by a young officer carrying a transcription machine. The Lieutenant’s ruddy cheeks bloomed more when he saw her.
He nervously cleared his throat as he approached.
“Good morning, Major O’Donnell… or would you prefer that I call you--”
Jesse broke in. “Please. Call me Ms. O’Donnell. Or Jesse if you prefer.”
She extended her hand and showered him with a smile.
“I owe you my thanks, Lieutenant. You got the brunt of my outrage the other night. I’m sorry that you were the target. My apologies. Can I assume that part of this meeting today will be handing me a bill for the various equipment that got mangled in our encounter.”
Rockford’s face flushed to the roots of his greying temples.
“Please, Major, I mean Ms. O’Donnell—Jesse. I’m the one that owes you an apology. I’m just glad to see you looking well. Wolf--I mean, Chief Macarios--told me that you were hurt. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
Jesse gave a dismissive wave. “Please, it was nothing.”
Their exchange was cut short by the commotion in the outside hallway. A rapid-fire exchange in Spanish sprinkled with girlish laughter and a hearty male response signaled the arrival of her client. Raoul burst into the room making his usual dramatic entrance. He was followed by his bodyguard, Tomas Sanchez, and a starry eyed clerk carrying a pile of manila folders.
Raoul was dressed in black. A collarless black silk shirt, black dress pants and a black linen sport coat made for a dashing ensemble. An extraordinary turquoise and silver belt buckle on his leather belt and black cowboy boots completed the rakish outfit. His flashing eyes, ubiquitous grin and garrulous chatter made him the star attraction. He strolled around the conference table greeting each of the participants personally. Jesse marveled that he had a specific comment for each person, giving the impression that he was among a group of old friends. Given that this was an interrogation at the police station, Jesse thought if one was being less charitable, you could assume he’d spent a lot of time being interviewed for suspect activities. Jesse didn’t know whether to laugh or to be horrified that this accomplished rascal was her client. She decided she would find him charming as apparently everyone else did, women and men.
