Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22)

by Irish Winters

  Determined not to fall head over heels for the man she was pretty sure she’d already fallen for, she took a petite serving of scrambled eggs and one tiny slice of bacon. Worried what everyone might think now, she left the sweet, spicy smelling cinnamon rolls for the men. Her father had always berated her for her love of chocolates and sweet rolls, so she’d avoided them with a stoicism born from too many snarky putdowns.

  But then she thought of what Jameson had said. I wish I were brave like you. Your dad wasn’t right, he was dead damned wrong.

  “Am I brave?” she asked herself quietly, as she moved those fluffy eggs around her plate. “I was yesterday, kind of. And last night. Why shouldn’t I eat a cinnamon roll, too? I made them.”

  “So take one,” a husky male voice breathed into the crook of her neck, sending shivers up her back and over her shoulders.

  “Jameson!” she nearly squealed as her arm reached up and circled his head, holding him in that warm, ticklish spot. He wasn’t avoiding her after all.

  “Take two if you want them, babe,” he whispered huskily. “Life is short. Fill it with gooey cinnamon rolls and sweet lemonade and every damned delicious thing you want. Eat up, Maddie. Live now.”

  She couldn’t restrain her whole body from reacting on impulse. Spinning around on her stool, she pulled him into a hug that ended in a kiss she didn’t care if the whole world saw. Jameson Tenney loved her, and she loved him, and damn it, she was eating a cinnamon roll. The whole thing. Then she was dragging Jameson back to her room and eating the best dessert. Him.

  “I saved some for you,” she told him between panting breaths.

  “Already got what I want,” he murmured into her mouth, his arms around her shoulders. Which told her he wasn’t afraid if the whole world knew that he loved her, either.

  “Umm, guys,” Agent-in-Charge Eric Reynolds growled from the other room. “When the hell did this happen?”

  For once, Maddie wanted to laugh and sing and dance, maybe scream. Okay, so he’d caught her kissing a TEAM agent. So what? She was so happy she could cry. “Yesterday. Last night.” She didn’t dare tell him she’d been with Jameson since early this morning.

  By then, Jameson had turned their bodies to face Eric. “It was a really, really loooong day,” he added without a hint of remorse.

  “Don’t you believe in love at first sight, Eric?” Maddie added.

  “Well, yeah,” he answered slowly. “Just…” He ran a hand over his head, ruffling his dark brown hair. “You two just met. One day. Don’t you want to—?”

  “Slow down? Take it easy? No, Eric, I don’t,” Jameson replied evenly. “Been looking for this woman for too many years already. She’s mine. I won her fair and square. You can’t have her.”

  Maddie giggled. He made it sound as if she were a prize. The honest, open affection in every breath and touch of his filled her like warm water filling a bubble bath. More than anything, she wanted to slide under the bubbles and get lost in this man.

  “I’m married, smart ass,” Eric shot back. “That’s not what I meant.”

  A silly tear sparkled at the corner of her eye, but she dashed it away before Eric saw that, too. Maybe this was too soon. She’d be a fool not to admit that. But Jameson did something to her, and she liked it, needed it. He filled her up, not only with his body, but with confidence she never knew she had. He was everything she’d been missing in her life, and she was brave, darn it. Brave enough to break out of the mold she’d been squeezed into as a little girl, and to just be her.

  “Hate to break this party up,” Harley interrupted. “But I talked with Alex earlier, and you guys need to know that Taylor and Maverick found Lucy Shade, even spoke to her.”

  Jameson was facing Harley by then. “I assume those are two more agents. Where’d they find her?”

  “Yes. Taylor Armstrong and Maverick Carson. Boston.”

  Jameson cocked his head. “Former USMC General Michael Armstrong’s son?”

  “One and the same.”

  “My God. Lucy Shade is Pops Delaney’s daughter, isn’t she?” Jameson breathed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I have no idea how you know that,” Harley muttered, “but you’re spot on.”

  “Because it makes sense. She used a word on him when they were fighting in the farmhouse,” Jameson replied. “Feck. She said, ‘So was Vlad, my feckin’ bodyguard.’ He didn’t catch it, but it struck me as an odd curse word for an American woman, which at least means she comes from strong Irish roots. That must be why she didn’t take my weapon when we were abducted. She wanted me to take out Delaney. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Mr. Vlad,” Maddie whispered. “He must’ve found out who she was. That’s why she shot him.”

  “Right,” Harley replied. “Alex also spoke with Agent Morozov last night, or rather, early this morning, before he went into surgery. According to Vladimir, Shade went into this charade with the sole purpose to destroy her old man. She’d convinced Pops this was all a publicity stunt, while she’d already paid several of his men to betray him and plant the bomb aboard her jet. Once you two were dead, they would’ve turned on him and killed him. Made it look like you all died in the fire. Everything she did was to that end.”

  “So the media circus she held last night was what, a smokescreen?” Eric asked.

  “More like her attempt to spin what actually happened to her advantage.”

  “Tell her to bring it on,” Jameson declared angrily, his chin up. “I’m not afraid of that snake.”

  “You might want to think twice about that,” Harley cautioned. “According to Taylor and Maverick, she’s already taken over Pops’ business in Boston. Also made it clear she’s gunning for you, darlin’.”

  “Me?” Maddie squeaked. “Why me? I’m not even an agent.”

  “Yes, but you killed her old man.”

  “How would she know that?”

  Jameson kept Maddie sheltered under his arm. “I have a feeling Shade knows everything that went down inside that farmhouse.”

  “Right again. Cameras were hidden everywhere, even in the basement,” Eric confirmed.

  “B-b-ut… but…” Maddie stuttered. “But if she wanted to kill her dad, and now he’s dead, why’s she still coming after me?”

  “Because now that she’s taken over his empire, she has to act the part of the bereaved daughter. If she wants to be the boss, she needs to make a strong statement to her competition and her allies. Looks like she wants an eye for an eye,” Jameson explained patiently.

  “It’s 101 mobster mentality,” Harley added. “Weak kingpins don’t rule. Ruthless, cold-blooded killers do. Terror and decisive revenge are all other mob bosses will respect.”

  “But won’t she go to jail for m-murder?” Maddie asked, the fear in her voice ratcheting higher, making her voice squeaky.

  “Not if she’s already taken over her father’s mob unchallenged,” Jameson said. “She would’ve ordered one of his boys to do the hit.”

  “To prove his allegiance to her,” Eric added darkly.

  “Then have that guy snuffed. There’d be no trail leading back to her. That’s what gangsters do,” Harley said.

  “Because now…” Maddie breathed, “they’re her boys.” Things just kept going from bad to worse.

  Jameson’s arm snaked tighter around her waist. “There’s no way she can get to us here, right, Eric? Harley?”

  “Never,” Eric declared. He’d taken the ultimate alpha stance, boots planted wide apart and his hands on his hips. “There’ve been a couple breached safe houses in the past, but Alex stepped up his design. Even if Shade shows up in an Abrams tank, there’s no way she’d get inside.”

  “There’s more,” Harley growled. “Someone tried to kill Agent Morozov after he came out of recovery this morning and was transferred into a private room. Mark was there. He got a shot off, but the shooter got away.”

  “Good grief! Is Vlad okay?” Madd
ie asked.

  “He’s fine. He told Mark that Shade had him take a wrapped gift into the back room of her jet before you guys arrived at the airport last night. He believes now it was the bomb that nearly killed you two. Trust me, Mark’s no dummy. He and Hunter expected the mob would come after Morozov. They were ready.”

  “And now the mob’s coming after me. Wow, this is right out of ‘The Godfather’ movies,” Maddie murmured. “You guys ever watch them? Don’t mobs always get their m-m-man? Or woman?”

  “Not this time,” Jameson replied, each word a promise spoken against her temple.

  There was nothing more to say. She, Maddie Bannister, had gone from being an ordinary protocol officer for the best boss on the East Coast, to a mob boss’s target, in just one day. What was next, a bloody horse head in her bed?

  “Guys, I think Maddie would feel better with her own holster and pistol. Do you have any extras?” Jameson asked.

  “I should’ve thought of that,” Harley replied. “You betcha. One SIG Sauer nine-mil, coming right up, darlin’. Would you prefer a double shoulder or a belt holster? Maybe a single that loops under your arm?”

  “A single,” she said, then added, “I think. Never owned one before.”

  He’d walked to the weapons cabinet across the room and pulled a lightweight nylon holster out. “Try this on for size. How’s it fit? Don’t want it tight. It’s got to feel comfortable if you’re going to wear it all day. Here’s a pistol that’ll fit it.”

  She adjusted the holster strap under her arm as he handed the pistol over, grip first. The weapon felt cold but solid and comfortable in her palm. “This is a nine-mil? I thought it’d be a lot heavier.”

  “It feels good then?”

  “Better than the one I stole last night. It was too small. Hurt my hand when I fired it.”

  “You ever had hunter-safety training? Ever shoot before?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I always go to the range with the guys when they certify. I might not be an agent, but I’m finally hitting most of my targets.”

  “You’re kidding?” Jameson muttered. “I thought you were a professional markswoman the way you took out Pops with just one shot.”

  Her mouth stretched into an automatic grimace. “Uh uh. That was my first time shooting a p-p-person.”

  “Talk about beginner’s luck,” he breathed, combing a hand over his head. “You sure had me fooled.”

  “Ember’s admin staff, too, Maddie, but she’s also queen of the range,” Eric added, then turned to Jameson and explained, “She’s former Navy and an excellent shot, also runs TEAM certifications at the local gun range. You miss your targets, she’ll be all over your ass.”

  “Good to know,” Jameson replied.

  “You’re looking real good, Bannister,” Harley said with a lopsided grin, a funny sparkle in his hazel eyes as if he was proud of her.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “It’s loaded, darlin’. Never touch the trigger unless you’re ready to kill someone and always watch your backstop. Don’t fire into crowds like those idiots do on TV and in movies. Those are fairytales; shooting a weapon is real. It’s about life and death. If you’re not in danger of dying, you’ve got no reason to unholster your piece.”

  “Best time to kill is never,” Jameson added quietly. “That’s something you can’t take back.”

  Maddie crossed the room to him, shaking from the responsibility weighing in the holster under her left arm. Like she’d told Jameson before, this was all her fault. Maybe those loan sharks weren’t after her, but she’d brought the wrath of Lucy Delaney down on these guys, and they were her friends. It would kill her if anything happened to them.

  Sitting, she leaned into Jameson’s side and let him wrap his arms around her shoulders.

  “I’m here, babe,” he whispered in her hair. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  Maddie wished she could, but Lucy Delaney had singled her out. That distinction alone was mind-numbing. Lucy had put her own father in a deadly situation that had cost his life. Now, she was coming after Maddie. Icy fingers whispered over the back of her neck at the thought that a vicious crime boss—err, godmother?—knew her name. There had to be something she could do.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alex couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. But Kelsey was right, and Dr. Denton had just confirmed everything she’d said. Mel really was sick. Not sick, as in about to die sick, but sickly enough he couldn’t live on his own from now on. He definitely had Alzheimer’s.

  And now Alex knew more about the insidious disease than he’d ever expected he’d need to know. As in how it interrupted the communication process in a person’s brain by killing the neurons, thus destroying the delicate synapsis where messages were passed between the brain to the nerves that controlled its victims’ bodies and minds. It was Mother Nature’s ultimate hacker, a devilish worm bent on reducing even the brightest, most capable men and women, into blithering, forgetful vegetables. There was no cure, only meds that delayed the inevitable.

  Mel’s memory was shot. He hadn’t been able to solve the simplest problems that Dr. Denton posed. Could barely tie his shoes. It was then that Alex noticed the grimy button-up shirt he wore was buttoned wrong. He kept asking when Sissy was going to have her baby. Alex stopped correcting him after the third time. There was no sense getting mad anymore. Mel wouldn’t remember that, either.

  He’d already forgotten Lexie, which broke Alex’s heart in a way he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to analyze. Yes, Mel had cataracts, and he’d always had poor judgement, but that didn’t explain why he struggled to sit upright once he’d climbed onto the exam table. He wasn’t drunk. Doc Denton explained then how Alzheimer’s also caused problems with a person’s spatial relationships, as in how far the floor beneath Mel really was and how near the wall that he kept leaning toward for support, wasn’t.

  Denton put a firm hand on Mel’s shoulder to keep him from falling off the table. Which caused an unlikely acid dump in Alex’s gut. He should’ve been the one to reach for his father. Like the never-ending mantra stuck inside his head, he should’ve been there.

  But son of a bitch. His old man really was sick. He’d have to live with Alex, Kelsey, and their kids. He’d be part of their immediate family from now on, not how Alex saw their golden years going. Not that he and Kelsey were in their golden years, but he had dreams, damn it. He’d planned for a brighter future than nursing his old man. They were supposed to travel. He’d always wanted to show Kelsey the world.

  But worse…? Alex had thrown this old fart out of his life and into the street just a day ago. Had never wanted to see him again. Still didn’t. His heart hadn’t changed, not one whit, not where Mel was concerned. But because of Patrick Bradley Stewart? More because Alex had always strived to follow in Gramps’ footsteps, he wouldn’t dishonor the kindly gentleman’s memory now by turning his only son away. Who knew? Maybe Alex would come to like Mel someday. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. He might’ve gotten a little sensitive lately, but he wasn’t an idiot. Neither was he that forgiving.

  “How do you explain his knowing how to locate me after all these years? My landline’s not listed, and I never told him about my TEAM.” Or my wife or my life.

  Dr. Denton wore compassion well. “Alzheimer’s moments of clarity will prove the most challenging. Your father is clearly in the middle stage of the disease. He knows something’s wrong. He may even get combative at the slightest conversation or comment. Sometimes, he’ll remember important details, like how to find his only son or tie his shoes. Other times, he won’t have a clue who you are or where he is. Eventually, he’ll forget everyone who’s important to him.”

  “That’s a damned short list,” Alex grumbled. Mel had long forgotten the people who’d been most important, but Alex doubted Mel would ever forget himself. His failing memory might explain why he’d called Kelsey Sissy, though. Might also explain why he’d claimed
he’d been a SEAL. Or it might not. That was the nightmare when dealing with a habitual liar and a con. How did one know when to believe them? Guess when Alzheimer’s moved in.

  While Alex talked with Doc Denton, Mel sat on the end of that table looking around the exam room and kicking his feet like a five-year-old waiting for a treat just because he was in a doctor’s office. His illness explained his ratty clothes and broken-down shoes. The fact that he hadn’t showered recently. Or shaved regularly. Or used a toothbrush.

  The steady flood of geriatric knowledge now slapping Alex in the face, and all that it meant for his future, curdled his blood. Because of Mel, everything had changed in the wink of an old man’s wandering eye. From now on, Alex would be the go-to guy for Mel’s care. He sure as hell wasn’t going to saddle Kelsey with it. That meant his father’s feeding, bathing, and God, more intimate personal care than Alex wanted to think about, would be his responsibility now. He’d be the father; Mel would be the child. Son of a bitch. What an ugly kid.

  “I’ll mail you and your wife a list of homecare businesses that are reasonably priced,” Denton continued quietly. “When things deteriorate, and they will, you’ll have to move him into a nursing home. I’d advise you to start looking for one now. There are waiting lists. He’s a big guy, and there’s no way to know how fast this disease will progress. He could wake up one morning and unintentionally hurt your wife or children. I don’t recommend you take that chance.”

  “I won’t.” Alex’s cheeks ballooned with a measured exhalation, half of him pissed that his dad had shown up only when he’d needed something, the other half pissed he’d never given so much as a thin dime to Gramps after he’d dumped Alex on him, then disappeared from everyone’s life.

  All right then. Plan B. Clear a temporary bedroom. Set another place at the table. Get Mel a decent set of new clothes, shoes, and a shaving kit. Set him up with a live-in nurse. Figure things out from there.