Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22)

by Irish Winters

  Since he’d lived through some of the toughest endurance tests on Earth, namely BUD/S, SEAL Qualification Training, and those damned daisy-chained IEDs, he’d become extremely hyper-alert. As difficult as transitioning from the masses of seeing to the few unseeing had been, lack of sight had opened the world and universe to him. Small things popped out of the steady hum of what he’d once thought was life’s monotony. Like the scent of men’s aftershave on Miss Shade’s left cheek. The way she sniffed and bumped her knuckles to her nose every few minutes. The way the tiny hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end when he’d introduced himself in the lobby. He’d been sure someone had been watching Miss Shade. And she’d very recently snorted coke.

  Prior to arriving at the hotel, Maddie had promised Jameson that she’d keep The TEAM limo parked where she let him off, and she was good for her word. In very few minutes, he’d opened Miss Shade’s car door for her, closed her in, and took his seat at her left directly behind Maddie, like a good lap dog.

  “Yes, yes, I’m finally on my way,” Miss Shade complained into her cellphone. “No problems. Just a change of plans. Be ready. This might actually work better. Hey, you, blind guy. How many minutes to Reagan?”

  Blind guy? How politically incorrect. Not that Jameson cared about the overly sensitive PC opinions of others. But Maddie did. He felt her hostile glare radiating through the rearview mirror.

  “From here, seven minutes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “How do you know? You got some kind of Braille watch?”

  “No ma’am, just instinct. Trust me. We’ll be at your Global 8000 in exactly seven minutes.”

  That pissed her off. “Why should I trust you, and how do you know what kind of jet I fly in?”

  “Because TEAM agents study their clients beforehand, ma’am. It’s my business to know. Six minutes now.”

  “You spied on me?”

  “I made sure I knew everything I needed to know in order to best protect you. That’s all.”

  “Humph,” she huffed at whoever she was talking to. Then said, “I’ll be there in ten. Yes. Count on it.”

  She was wrong. Six minutes later Maddie pulled The TEAM limo alongside what Jameson assumed was an impressive luxury jet on the far east runway at Reagan. He knew the Global 8000 offered a range of seven thousand, nine hundred nautical miles and a top speed of Mach 0.925. It was incredible the accommodations national press outlets provided their super stars these days. Also incredible that Jameson was right about those six minutes. Imagine that.

  “Get my things on board,” the diva ordered as he gave her a hand out of the limo. “You, driver. Yes, you. Grab my purse. It’s too heavy for me.”

  Maddie hopped to, and Jameson wished he could see the look on her face. He’d been sure to keep his words and expressions guarded. Had Maddie?

  “Wait!” Miss Shade ordered. He could almost picture her, standing there with her finger in the air. “You want me to go where?” she asked whoever was still on her cell. “Why should I?”

  While she turned her back on her lowly hired help, Jameson stood with Maddie at the bottom of the stairway to the jet, biding his time until Miss Shade was finally ready to board. What a pain in the ass. No wonder she wanted to be a star. She’d fit right in with the current Hollywood trolls.

  “You can see the Jefferson Monument from here,” Maddie breathed. “It’s like a glowing beacon of freedom.”

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jameson asked, pleased she was there with him.

  “Oh, sorry. You can’t see it. Anything, I mean… Good grief, I suck.”

  He tossed his chin at Maddie, smiling at her consternation. “You do not. It’s an ordinary question for an extraordinary day. Besides, I can see the monument in my head, and I’ll bet it looks the same as the last time I saw it. It’s lit up and golden, and its reflection glows in the Tidal Basin, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” Maddie had taken a step closer. “How do you do it? Stay positive all the time?”

  “Hey! You! Bodyguards! Christ, do I have to do everything?”

  Jameson snapped to, facing the client he couldn’t seem to please. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I said…” Shade drew out her scorn. “Get my shit on board. Hustle! I don’t have all night!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied as, swiftly, he gestured Maddie to go up the stairs first, then followed with her Highness’s bags from the limo trunk. Three heavy suitcases, but no computer bag. Interesting baggage for a reporter. Didn’t they all have laptops these days?

  Maddie snagged the smallest bag out of his hand, probably cosmetics, when he hit the top step. “Thanks,” he murmured, then asked, “Do we get hazard pay for escorting clients like this?”

  Her giggle was like a bright light shining in a very dark place. “No, but be sure to put everything she’s said tonight in your after-action report. Alex will want to know.”

  Jameson stood there, wondering which way to turn, and where Shade wanted her bags.

  “I’m guessing we should put her stuff in the back. Follow me. It’s got to be where her bedroom is.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came easily to his lips. Maddie was a joy to follow, especially to a bedroom. And she’d blithely provided the cue he’d needed. She’d be a good… friend. She was understanding of his impairment, yet openly curious. He liked that combination.

  He was halfway through the jet when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end again. Jameson cocked his head, sure he’d just heard the slightest tick, followed by the nearly silent clip of a metal striker on metal. “Maddie, wait!”

  Too late.

  BOOM!

  A heated rush of air blasted him off his feet. He rag-dolled a full three hundred sixty degrees backwards. Miss Shade’s luggage flew out of his hands. His head hit the floor hard, but Maddie’s body hit him harder when she landed on his belly and knocked the breath out of him.

  “Jameson!” she screamed as a river of hellfire roared over the top of them.

  “I’ve got you,” he said as he closed both arms around her and turned her face into his chest. The jet shuddered like a wet dog and groaned. Electrical conduits popped overhead. Metal screeched. He could smell the alcoholic heat from burning jet fuel. “Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

  “It’s hard to breathe, but yes. I can move.”

  Possible broken ribs and shock, he thought as he maneuvered to his feet, pulling Maddie up with him. As quickly as she was upright, he turned her toward the front of the plane and away from the scorching fireball behind him. His hair was burning. He could smell it. Brushing a quick hand over the back of his head, he smothered the heat and told her, “Hurry.”

  Good girl. She ran, and he ran right behind her. In seconds, they were out the door and stumbling down the steps, holding hands and choking on the thick, roiling smoke engulfing the jet.

  “Ouch,” Maddie cried as her fingers slipped from his.

  She’d fallen. He dropped on the tarmac to her side, needing to get her as far from the conflagration as he could. The heat billowing from the rear of the jet was unbearable, and his skin felt as if it were on fire. “We can’t stop yet. Hook your arm around my neck. I’ll help.”

  The instant she obeyed, he regretted the order. The skin on the back of his neck was burned. Not like it would slow him down. Scooping her into his arms, he ran with her, away from the sizzling, popping, booming explosions. In seconds, they were yards from the heat. They were safe and alive. He bowed his head, so damned grateful for that uncanny sixth sense he’d developed since the incident.

  “You… okay…?” he asked between great heaving breaths.

  She curled under his chin, her entire body quivering. “Y-y-yessss. I think so.”

  “’S okay. We’re alive. That’s what counts,” he told her as he smoothed a hand over her head.

  His fingers tangled with long hair, a plus in his little black book from so, so long ago, back when he
’d actually dated. His nostrils detected the slightest hint of lavender mingled with feminine sweat, ash, and smoke. She was a trembling mess. Somehow, that was another plus.

  “Good grief! You’re smoking,” she cried. “The back of your jacket’s on fire.”

  Well, so it was. “Does that mean I’m hot?” he asked, joking to keep her calm while he slouched out of his business jacket, curled it inside out, and smothered whatever flame was there.

  “Do you always joke in life and death situations?” she asked, her tone bordering on hysteria.

  “Mostly, yes,” he answered as he slipped back into his extra warm jacket.

  “You’re so calm and I’m so—not.”

  “I’ve been trained, Maddie. It’s what I do.”

  Another wicked explosion shook the ground, knocking him to his knees. He rolled just in time to grab Maddie and save her head from impacting with the tarmac.

  She burrowed under his chin.

  He could barely speak. Just held onto the trembling woman in his arms until the intense heat subsided. The vicious dragon breath hovering over them seemed like it came from a living entity intent on roasting them alive.

  Jameson rolled to his back when it dissipated. His ears were ringing, and his skull was scrambled from the fall. Now, when he needed to be on his best game, he was compromised. Maddie tilted up from where she’d landed on his chest. She cupped his face between both hands, but if she was talking, he couldn’t hear her. Damn this blindness.

  He turned his face to the jet, seeing nothing, but straining to hear everything. Something! Only muffled ringing filled his head. Where the hell was his client? Come to think of it, where were Lucy Shade’s crew, the flight attendants, and pilot? Jameson hadn’t encountered anyone inside the jet. Hadn’t they survived? Then who had she spoken with on the drive here? Who’d she tell there was a change of plans?

  Gradually, his hearing came back online, thank God. By then, Maddie was sobbing out of control. Her intermittent words didn’t make sense. “…all my fault… sorry I dragged you into... after me, not you. Oh, God! I’m not even married! I lied! What have I done?”

  Except for that bit about not being married, Jameson didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He pulled her flat against him, and together, they breathed hard at their harrowing escape.

  “What’s going on?” he asked after a few minutes, needing her to slow down, take a breath, and start over.

  “This is all my fault. M-m-my ex. He owes some loan sharks a lot of money. They can’t find him, and now I’m supposed to pay his debt. They’ve threatened me, said his debt was my problem, and that’s why I’ve been late to work. Only I don’t have that kind of money, and they won’t accept payments, and they want it all at one time, and they threw a brick through my picture window last week, and they slashed all my tires today, and…” Her chest heaved with a great breath after that amazing string of run-ons. “And… and they’re going to kill me, and this is all my fault, and now I’ve dragged you into my mess, and… and…”

  “Shush. Quiet Maddie. We’ll figure it out. It’s okay,” he said even as he clamped a hand over her mouth, needing her to be still, so he could hear the argument coming from across the tarmac.

  Canting his head, he listened for the human sounds that didn’t fit the calamitous scene. Sounded like Miss Shade was screaming. But not for help. Despite the carnage, he distinctly picked up on her uptight, “You let them get away?”

  He didn’t detect anyone answering. She had to be on her cell. But holy hell. Let who get away? Maddie and me?

  “But, but, but…” Maddie murmured around his fingertips. By then she was a mess of tears, smoky sweat, and adrenaline. He could feel her blood pounding through her veins.

  “Be still,” he told her gently, striving to hear the entirety of Shade’s vicious rant. “To be honest, I’m really glad you’re not married anymore, but something’s not right with our client, Maddie. Please—”

  “Get away from me! Let me go!”

  Jameson clamped both arms tight around her, but someone jerked her away.

  “Jameson! He’s got me. Help!”

  “Let her go!” he roared into the dark, up on his feet now, his senses reaching out to understand what had just happened and who had Maddie.

  Until something hard slammed into the side of his head. He fell then. Went down hard.

  Chapter Seven

  Bradley was a hungry little guy, and for whatever reason, Alex loved watching Kelsey breastfeeding his son. It had been the same when Lexie was born. It was after dinner, and he adored the sublime peek into eternity that childbirth offered. Fatherhood rested like a kingly mantle on Alex’s shoulders tonight. He was one lucky son of a bitch, and that little boy was a baby beast. Ten pounds, three ounces. No wonder he’d had a tough time being born. His mama was a tiny thing.

  The only one missing tonight was the little girl he adored. Lexie would love this little guy. But she’d had fallen asleep somewhere between helping Mark and Libby’s girls making the fudge and the popcorn. Mark had called to say they were keeping her tonight and would bring her over first thing tomorrow morning.

  “You’re still stalling,” Kelsey murmured sleepily.

  Man, she was stunningly beautiful tonight. Motherhood fit her like a glove. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying hard to wipe the smile off his face. But what a day. Turned out Mel hadn’t spoiled a damned thing. He’d tried, but like everything else, he’d failed at that, too.

  “Not sure what else there is to say. Pretty much covered everything when Mel showed up earlier.”

  “Alex…”

  He shook his head, more out of love for his wife than disgust with Mel. Drawing in a deep breath, he admitted the obvious. “You already know he wasn’t a good husband nor a fit father.”

  And there Alex stopped, not wanting to go down this memory lane. It never ended well. It was like watching reruns of the Titanic sinking. Everyone always died, and the day he’d lost his mom was still an unfathomable ache he couldn’t forget and wouldn’t forgive. Maybe Mel hadn’t killed her, but he’d sure never cared what cancer had done to her. How she’d wasted away. How her beautiful body had turned skeletal, and how her honey blonde hair had fallen out in handfuls. How she’d cried herself to sleep some nights, and how lovingly Gramps and Gram had taken care of her until they’d had no choice but to transfer her to a hospice home for the dying.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Alex released it on a slow sigh. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about Abigail. What’d she look like? Why didn’t her family take care of her when she got sick? What did she do while you were in school during the day? Is she the one who taught you to love books and how to read?”

  “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “She taught me to read and how to laugh. Mom and me visited Gramps and Gram quite a bit, you know, because Dad was always deployed—or so he’d said. Gramps built a treehouse up high in the willow outside his guest bedroom. That’s where we’d stay while we were there. Mom was blonde and willowy thin. Her parents both died before she’d met Mel. She used to climb out the window with me. Sometimes we’d just sit in that great big tree and talk and laugh. Old willows are jungles all by themselves.” Alex paused, once more wrapped up inside his mom’s arms, their bare legs dangling happily into thin air. “One summer day, she dragged a wooden chest into my treehouse. Said it was buried treasure, just for me. It was full of books. Used books of adventure, stuff boys liked. She loved to read.” Hell, she loved me.

  He cleared his throat. “Every day that summer, we’d hide out in our tree. I was five, maybe six. She started reading “Treasure Island.” By the end of the book, I was reading it to her. We didn’t live with Gramps and Gram all the time, but Mom made sure we visited every summer. Gram kept their guest room ready for us. Mel never came along, always said he was too busy.” The liar. “Which was okay. I think those weeks were the best times of our years tog
ether, me and Mom. She’d help Gram with chores, and Gramps was always tinkering with something. I helped him build the treehouse, and he made sure I could access it from the wooden ladder he installed down the side of the house, as well as from the guest room window. He thought of everything. Eventually the guest room became my room. By then…” He took a deep breath and slowly let it go. “Mom was gone.”

  Kelsey’s gentle fingers on his wrist pulled him out of the reverie of long-lost times. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. She’s another one I’m looking forward to meeting when it’s my time to pass on. Imagine me, Sara, and Abigail sitting on a cloud in heaven, comparing notes about you. I wonder what secrets they’ll tell me.”

  Alex shook his head at the way his wife always focused on the positive side to living and dying. Gramps might have made him a man, but it was Abigail who’d taught him to love, and Kelsey who’d taught him, eventually, to forgive himself. But love or forgive Mel? There was a tough one. Two things Alex didn’t know when or if he’d ever care enough to do.

  Rin-n-n-n-n-g! Talk about being saved by the bell. Tugging his cell out of his rear pocket, he caught Mark’s ID on his screen. “Yeah, Stewart.”

  “Hey, Boss. Sorry to bother you so late, but wanted you to know there’s been trouble at Reagan. Lucy Shade’s plane blew up. She’s safe and already talking with the press, but—”

  “Who’d we assign to guard her?”

  “Jameson Tenney. Maddie drove him and Shade to Reagan.”

  “Maddie and Jameson? Were they—?”

  “Yes, I have reason to believe they were inside the jet when it blew. I’m at the terminal now, but Boss…” Mark choked. “It’s a damned inferno. Airport fire trucks are here. Firemen are all over the place, but they haven’t been able to knock it down yet. Son of a bitch won’t die.”

  “What the hell was on that jet?”

  “It had just been refueled. Tank was full. Was ready to taxi and had clearance to leave as soon as Shade showed.”