Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22)

by Irish Winters

  He crooked his arm again. “Can you be persuaded to lower your guard long enough to join me for a cup of nasty office coffee and a fat pill?”

  “A fat pill?” Instead of linking arms with him, she cupped his elbow, ready to steer him into the Sit Room, make sure he found a chair, get him a cup of coffee and a donut, then leave.

  He intercepted her hand and pulled it through his arm, then rested his cane hand over it. Which was almost courtly. Almost nice. “Yes, fat pills. Donuts are nothing but carbs and the grease they’re fried in. All those calories are easy to burn off during intense energy days, like when you’re humping up mountainsides or running for your life. But sugar is still poison, and it messes with metabolism. I’d like a coffee, though. What do you say, Maddie? Join me?”

  That almost sounded like a date. She tugged her arm free and reconnected with his elbow, determined to get through this assignment and put the morning behind her. “I’m sorry, but since I was late today, I’ve got work to catch up on. I’ll get you seated, but ask Harley to call me when you’re done partying and ready to continue the tour.”

  The corners of those lush lips turned up into the biggest, most handsome smile. It transformed Jameson’s manly features into little boy glee, and she was star struck. Everything about this man was genuine, from the neat, precise part in his dark hair to the warmth of his hands.

  “You’re right. Almost forgot. We have a mission tonight. Well, carry on then. I’m at your disposal. But before we get back to work, may I ask your last name?”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. Maddie Bannister.” Maiden name. Never Maddie Coogan again. Not. Ever. “Now let’s get you set up with a TEAMwear polo, then a weapon.”

  “I’m already carrying,” he informed her smoothly. “Forty-four Magnum. Under my left arm.”

  “That’s quite a big pistol. I never would’ve guessed. It doesn’t show.” Of course it didn’t. He was a former special operator, hard-muscled and smart, already trained, and nothing like her.

  “That’s the idea behind concealed carry, isn’t it? Never let the bad guy see you coming.”

  She nodded like a dolt. He couldn’t see, so she said, “Yes. Excellent. But rule number one: agents don’t carry in the office. From now on, you’ll have to store that bad boy in the bottom drawer of your desk. The drawer’s been rekeyed and the new key’s in your pencil drawer. Or you can put your weapon in the vault upstairs each morning when you get in. Zack keeps all his weapons up there. It’s no big deal. You already fit right in.”

  “I’d like to. I don’t make a very good telemarketer, and I suck at insurance sales.”

  “That’s what you’ve been doing these last five years?”

  “Yes, but only to put myself through school. VA benefits only cover so much.”

  “What field did you go into?”

  “Criminal Profiling. You?”

  Maddie shrugged, embarrassed to admit. “Accounting. I was just Civil Service, a payroll clerk at Fort McHenry. But I put myself through college, too.” Maddie had no idea why she felt she needed to defend her life’s decisions.

  Jameson seemed not to notice her blabbering. “Thanks for making sure I got paid,” he replied smoothly. “You don’t have to wear combat boots to serve the warfighter, Maddie. I’m sure you’re as proud of the work you did at Fort McHenry, as what the rest of the people here did overseas.”

  She took a long hard look at him then. They were in the elevator on their way to the third floor. “Yes, sure, I get that, and I am proud. But if I could do things over again, I would’ve joined one of the services fresh out of high school. I would’ve been more involved.” I would’ve truly served. Like you.

  Somehow, her hand was resting on his forearm again, and he was gently patting her fingers. “I’m sure there were good reasons for the decisions you made back then. But every person in the chain of command counts, even logistics tails. How could we have done what needed being done, without someone behind the scenes paying our bills, buying ammo for us to shoot, stocking supplies, and making sure we had enough of those dry-as-shit MREs to choke down?”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. Jameson was easy to talk with.

  “But I didn’t serve,” she insisted. “Not like you. Not like I could have.” Not like I wanted to.

  The elevator doors opened. His fingers on hers stopped moving. “My mom used to say nights would be mighty dark without every last one of us little stars. We shine wherever we end up, Maddie. Look at you, Protocol Officer for a bigshot like Alex Stewart. I’d say that’s a damned important job. I’ll bet he thinks so, too.”

  “Well, of course, or he wouldn’t have created the job description or hired me,” she admitted. “He depends on me to organize his meetings with senators and White House staff, the press and the local police. I handle all his transportation needs, too. If he’s traveling out of state, I set up his schedule and make his reservations. I know what he likes to eat, which hotels he prefers, and which press reporter to not invite to press releases. I like what I do, and I’m good at it.” That should’ve made her feel better, yet it didn’t. No matter how good of a job she did, she could still hear her father’s disapproval.

  “I’ll bet Alex is smart enough to appreciate what you do for him, too.”

  “Umm, yes. He tells me all the time.” Only I’ve never believed him before now. You make it sound like I really do good work. As if I’m somebody, too.

  “So which service would you have joined?”

  “Marines.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was ready to. Scored high enough on my ASVAB that I could’ve been a…” She wished she’d kept her big mouth shut.

  “Been a what?”

  They were paused at the vault. To distract Jameson, Maddie pressed her palm to the pad, then keyed in the double-authentication passcode until the vault hissed open.

  “Never mind. Something came up,” she said lamely, remembering the day her father had put his foot down and told her not only would she not embarrass him by marching off to war, but if she thought she was so smart, it was time she moved out of his house, got a job, and stood on her own two feet. Which she’d told him she would. So there.

  As if he’d needed to lash out at her worse than he already had, he’d pointed at the front door and bellowed, “Go to hell, little girl! You’re not smart enough to make it out there. It’s a big world. You’ll never amount to anything. You’re just like your mother. You don’t have the balls!”

  He had that right. She hadn’t come with balls, but it’d been good to finally understand why he’d denigrated her throughout her life. He must’ve wanted a son, but got stuck with a daughter.

  Instead of marching straight to the USMC recruiter, she’d panicked and applied at the local grocery store as a bagger. Her dad had ridiculed her so much growing up, that she’d never had much confidence in herself. And because living on the streets those miserable weeks after she’d been forced out of her dad’s house had been so, so scary, she’d cut herself short and settled for less. Then, when she’d met Nash, she’d settled for less again and married the first guy who came along. She knew now that the Corps would’ve snapped her up, no questions asked. But she hadn’t known that then. Hence her safe accounting degree. Her college debt. And Nash Coogan, her lying, two-timing ex.

  She was one of those stupid, stupid women who married their dads. Nash was her father all over again. Condescending. Critical. Quick to point out her mistakes and flaws. Never listening, always arguing. Oblivious to the sound of her voice. Neither he nor her father had ever shut up long enough to understand that she was no idiot. That she’d always contributed more than her fair share. Not like what she’d said had ever mattered.

  “Life hands us lemons sometimes, doesn’t it, junior agent?” Jameson asked, his head cocked as if he were still trying to figure her out. He shrugged. “I figured if the new guy in the office was a junior agent, you
must be, too.”

  “I’m not an agent.” She glared up at him, intent on a sharper retort. But there she was, speaking with a man without sight, who was still determined to serve. A man who couldn’t see, but had somehow gotten to Alexandria and into this office without anything more than a cane. “I’m just admin. Just staff.”

  “But you can still make good decisions. You’re intelligent. I can tell.”

  The world tilted, just a little. Or maybe those were the tectonic plates along the Eastern Seaboard settling. Whatever, Maddie felt the minute adjustment her perspective had just undergone. She saw herself clearly for the first time since she’d left her selfish father behind. She did have a darned good job, and she loved what she did for a living. She’d worked extra hard in college and aced her accounting degree. But she’d also been smart enough to realize she needed more than ledgers and balance sheets. Accounting wasn’t very fulfilling. It paid the bills, but it wasn’t her dream job. That was when she’d changed her mind and gone looking for the career she actually loved.

  She’d been just as smart when she’d dumped Nash. It’d been scary facing him and telling him she was through. That marriage to him wasn’t working for her. He’d torn her apartment apart, but he’d left. Maybe she was brighter than she’d thought after all.

  “Guess it’s time I mashed those babies and turned them into lemonade then, huh?” she asked quietly.

  Jameson made an adorably cute funny face. “Ewww, mashed babies. Not a good visual. No, just no.”

  He made her smile. “You know what I meant. Puppies, then.”

  “Not puppies!” He folded both hands over his chest, faking a heart attack. “No, no, no! We never mash puppies or bunnies or babies.”

  Maddie laughed. There was that tantalizing thought again. Blind or not, this man was kissable, and he was funny. He knew how to clown around, and he actually listened. “Fruit! Lemons are fruit. I’m mashing fruit! Not children or puppies, and who said anything about bunnies?”

  Jameson took hold of her hand again and laced his fingers between hers, matching their palms. “Sugarless lemonade, okay? Let me know when it’s ready. I’ll be your taste-tester. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she promised, feeling lighthearted on a day that had started so, so badly. Maybe there was hope for her. “But before I show you the vault, let’s get you some clothes.”

  Her mouth dried at the thought. Him. Without clothes. Needing to be dressed. Or undressed.

  “I mean, a shirt.” Flustered, she added, “Office rule number two: dress code is casual. We aren’t invited to many formal affairs, so we wear whatever we want to work. You’re only required to wear a TEAM polo on active operations. Wear whatever you want otherwise.”

  Leading Jameson to the storage room, she entered first so he could follow her voice. “This is where we keep TEAMwear, as in polos, tactical vests, boots, snow gear, scuba gear, skydiving equipment, and…” She took a big breath. “You name it, it’s probably in here somewhere. No charge, just take what you need. What size are you?”

  She shouldn’t have asked. For some reason, the question sounded nosy. Intimate. Especially when he told her his casual shirt size. Of course. He would be extra-large.

  Okay, stop, she told herself. And breathe. Yes, he’s ripped, and he’s tall, and he’s good-looking as heck, but dayum… extra-large? Really? In all departments? “Grab a few shirts so you have extras at home. You know, in c-c-case you ruin one or t-t-two or... or...”

  He’d stopped directly in front of Maddie, facing her, his mouth close enough she could smell the mint on his breath. Her lungs failed, just flat out quit working at this, oh, so close proximity and the heady scent of a strong, handsome male. Jameson wore a crisp white dress shirt under a dark gray business jacket, a combination that right now was working her last quivering nerve. He smelled good enough to lick, of aftershave and dryer sheets. Of clean skin and freshly washed hair.

  At the moment, he held his cane in one hand, but his other hand rested on his hip. He’d tossed his jacket out of his way, exposing half of his chest and abdomen. The way he’d tucked his shirt into his slacks. That fact that he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. There was something decadently sexy about a good-looking man who dressed professionally. Maybe it was the thought of getting him out of all those properly pressed clothes…

  The air vibrated between them.

  “Show me,” he murmured, his voice gone husky and thick. Like her blood.

  “Show you w-w-what?” she whispered, her heart beating in her chest like a kid’s pajama-clad feet pounded on Christmas morning when he ran downstairs to see what Santa left.

  That same adorable smile quirked Jameson’s manly lips, lips she wanted to touch and taste and nibble. “Where do you keep my size shirts?”

  ‘Who needs a shirt?’ her new-found wicked imagination asked.

  Maddie could only see her wild-eyed reflection in his dark, round lenses. The woman looking back at her was still a timid girl with stage fright and no courage. Yet her fingers clenched, wanting to lift those dark glasses off the expertly carved bridge of this man’s perfect nose. To smooth the errant chunk of black hair off a forehead that lined with gentle wrinkles when he smiled. To look into his eyes and truly see him. Were a blind man’s eyes still the windows to his soul? She wanted to know.

  Yet she wouldn’t, so she didn’t. Her life was already complicated, and the last thing Jameson needed on his first day at work was trouble. Taking his hand resolutely, she steered him a full step backward and to his right.

  “H-here,” she said, her voice lost and her throat dry for some reason. “This bin should fit you.”

  “But I don’t want to wear a bin,” he told her, his voice so damned low and sweet and adorable that she wanted to faint in his arms.

  But this was their place of employment, and this wasn’t a hook-up. Okay then. Her lungs started working again. She sucked in a deep breath and muttered, “Smart ass. Bins are in. Didn’t you know? It’s all the rage. Wear one on your head or go without. Be a has-been. It’s all the same to me.”

  Just as quickly as she’d found her breath, she lost it again.

  Jameson had set his cane against the rack and jerked his dress shirt out of his slacks. He’d started unbuttoning it and—Good God!

  Maddie closed her eyes. Then opened them. Then shut them again. But why not look? He didn’t seem embarrassed or shy being bare-chested, and he didn’t know she was staring goo-goo-eyed at his physique, and who else would know she was staring at a lean-muscled god with just the right dusting of dark, crisp, chest hairs sprinkled over two manly pecs that begged to be petted and nuzzled and—?

  No. Just no. I’d never do something like that! Daring girls reached out and touched half-naked men. Sassy, full of life, courageous, risk-taking girls grabbed onto guys like Jameson. Not her. Not ever. But if she were that kind of woman…

  There were no words to describe the capricious winds of fate that had put her with this man in this room today. He’d stripped his dress shirt off, then faced her. The shirt now lay over the bin from which he’d removed one folded black TEAM polo shirt. It hung off the ends of his long, elegant but manly fingers. Trim cuticles and neatly trimmed nails led to strong, tanned arms covered with dark hairs that lay in one direction, as if they’d been combed. Purpled veins that declared this man worked out, ran over his hands and inside his arms. From there, her eyes strayed to his sharply defined biceps, relaxed now, but obviously capable of more than just lying beneath a dress shirt.

  A neat trail of dark hairs trailed from his navel to a simple square belt buckle, and for some crazy reason, Maddie licked her lips at the way his slacks fit his thighs, his long legs. She couldn’t have quit looking if the earth ended. He was too much. So much. Smooth, tanned muscular shoulders. Matching collarbones that came together in a sexy hollow that begged for her nose or her lips or her—

  “Tags?” he asked, his head cocked again in that endearing
way she was beginning to like.

  For the first time, Maddie wondered if he was listening to the wild thrumming throughout her body. Could he feel her temperature rising from all her deliciously wicked thoughts? Did he know what she was thinking? What he was doing to her? What she wanted to do to him?

  Heated waves coursed up her neck and over her cheeks. “N-n-no price tags,” she breathed, her voice gone as wispy and limp as a spring breeze.

  “Well, then…” He stood there stock still. His magnificent chest as unmoving and solid as stone. Warm stone. Granite she wanted to touch.

  He’d done it again. He was studying her in his quiet, psychic way.

  Just reach out.

  I’m not that kind of girl.

  But you want to be…

  Shut up.

  That terse mental command should’ve put an end to this crazy, tempting moment. Good grief! She wanted to kiss this man. Jameson was funny and handsome, and he smelled sinfully clean, the kind of clean she wanted to get dirty. Carnally. Primitively. Really dirty.

  “I come with a warning label,” he murmured. “Should’ve told you before. Guess I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again.”

  “Feel w-w-what way?”

  “Like kissing a beautiful woman.”

  OhGodOhGodOhGod.

  “But you need to know…”

  She could hear his throat muscles work as he swallowed. All that hung between them was that shirt, that darned TEAM shirt. “I’m blind,” he murmured.

  “S-s-so?” she had to ask. “What does that have to do with anything?”