“You know she also set charges inside that warehouse, don’t you?” Tucker purred through Alex’s phone’s earpiece. “She planned to blow the entire place, leave no evidence of her old man’s legacy behind. She wanted a fresh start. New crew. Apparently, new inventory, too.”
“I know now,” Alex groused. “Has your man secured the detonator? Or do we need to call in EOD?”
“Nah. My guy already disarmed the device. One more thing. That warehouse is stacked to the rafters with illegal hardware. Machine guns. Rifles. LAWs. Tactical helmets and vests, NVGs, you name it. And enough ammo to supply every household on the East Coast with a dozen boxes. I’ll let you know when or if any of that goes on FBI auction.”
Which Alex doubted. The Bureau would be wise to add this stash to their inventory instead of auctioning it off to John Q. Public. Might save the taxpayer a couple million. Not that the Bureau was that kind of smart.
“Anything else?”
“Think about what I said. Zack’s a good man. You don’t want to lose him.”
“Not worried about Zack leaving me, Tuck,” Alex replied with venom. “Just remember, two of your men are on loan from my TEAM. The day they come back to me, you’ll lose Eden, possibly Isaiah, too. So back off.”
Tucker chuffed. “Good working with you again.”
“Copy that,” Alex replied tersely, switching off that irksome call and turning back to his TEAM.
By then, the local police had arrived on scene. Several vehicles full of agents from the Massachusetts Port Authority, too. A couple fire engines and a raft of radio and television reporters. A damned local news helicopter.
Alex pushed to his feet while Eric and Harley ran to assist Jameson and Maddie. The show might be over, but the circus was just beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Why the fuck are you here?” Jameson growled down at Maddie, damned angry with her for charging into trouble without thinking things through. Without bringing him! Yet at the same time, thankful she wasn’t the one lying twenty feet away with her face poured over concrete.
“This was all my f-f-fault,” she stuttered. “I killed her dad.”
“So? Pops Delaney had it coming. He meant to kill us, remember?” How could she forget who’d abducted them?
“Yessss, but...”
Jameson’s cock went hard at the soft, sweet whisper of her tongue sliding over her lips and the way she smacked her lips… and shit. It was impossible to stay angry with this woman. He’d lost his glasses in the mad dash to get to her and… Damn! He’d give anything to be able to see her, to really look into her eyes. Yet he couldn’t let her off easy. He’d just killed the woman bent on killing Maddie, and the resounding adrenaline dump after taking a life was a hard beast to rein in.
“You wanted to be a Marine, well, listen up, Mad Dog. Team members don’t leave each other behind, and they sure as fuck don’t go off half-cocked on a revenge killing! You hear me, Bannister?!”
He waited for an answer, but when she said nothing, he let her have it. “If I was Alex, I’d fire your ass. And you’re supposed to be his Protocol Officer?! Shit. I’d have you peeling potatoes until—”
“I’m not Mad Dog!” she yelled back at him, her body shaking. “I’m just me! You’re just like my dad! Stop trying to make me someone I’m not!”
That shut him up. Was that what he’d been doing? Was he as bad as her father? He opened his mouth to say something, shut it, then opened it again, not sure what to tell her now.
Maddie solved that dilemma when she leaned up and crashed into his wide open, ornery mouth, her fingers clutching his ears and his cheeks, her tongue doing amazing laps inside his mouth and over his teeth and… salt. He tasted salty tears. She was crying.
Sweet Baby Jesus. He forgot what he was going to say. Forgot what he was thinking and where he was. Only knew that she’d scared the crap out of him, and now, he’d made her cry. Her tears, more than anything, hurt his heart. He wanted to kiss her better, inhale every last one of her fears, and spank her ass, all at the same time. But she was safe and contrite, soft, and so damned warm…
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his mouth. “But I couldn’t let her hurt you again. I made you a target by shooting her dad, and she knew who you were, and that we got away, and she said she was gunning for me, and I figured you’d never let her—”
“Shush,” he murmured around her prehensile, loquacious tongue. “You’re alive. She’s not. That’s what matters. But you’ve got to stop trying to rescue me. I’m trained for this shit. You’re not.”
Her chest heaved with a long draw of air. This woman could string more run-on sentences together than anyone he’d ever heard. But she’d come here to save her brothers. She’d purposefully put herself in harm’s way to protect men who were bigger, heavier, and meaner than her. That was no small thing.
“Alex is going to kill me,” she whined as she ended the best kiss of Jameson’s life. Salty and sweet, but earnest as hell. How could he stay angry after she’d risked her life to protect his? That was why she was here. She hadn’t left him and the guys behind. She’d charged straight to the frontline like a damned SEAL would have. Like the Marine she’d always wanted to be. To protect and serve. That had to stop.
Jameson bowed his sweaty forehead to hers. “There’s no room for rogue agents on jobs like ours, Maddie,” he explained more patiently. “Alex can’t take a chance on freelancers, and you’re not a trained operator, babe. But you sure as hell stepped in a steaming pile of shit by coming after Delaney on your own. So, face him head on, and get ready to get your ass reamed.” Somehow, saying that to a woman felt like sexual harassment.
Jameson rolled to his side to catch his breath and ease that stabbing wound in his other side. Felt like a knife was stuck there, though he knew better. He’d been shot before. Nothing serious. Lifting gingerly to his feet, he pulled Maddie along with him. She hadn’t yet seen his injury, so it couldn’t have been bleeding too bad. He hoped. Biting his lip at the black shadows dancing at his already dark peripheral, he tucked her under his good arm and prepared to weather the oncoming shitstorm with her. He had no sense of where Alex was in all the chaos of first responders and yakkity reporters ahead, but he knew he’d soon find out.
Maddie’s hand fell naturally to his chest while they stood there, both breathing hard and both sweating buckets. Both shaky and holding each other up. His heart was still pumped full of the instinctual fight or flight compulsion, but her entire body felt as if he had an arm around a fluttering hummingbird.
“Any reporters come at us, we say ‘no comment,’ and we walk away, understood?” he warned her. “Agents have no authority to comment on covert operations, ever. Just like in the military. Alex is the boss. He’s the only one who talks to the press.”
“Okay, yeah. Only Alex. Got it,” Maddie breathed. She was young, naïve, and inexperienced as hell. Good intentioned, but in dire need of some hardcore military training. If she wanted to be a Marine, so be it. He’d make damned sure she got that training.
Jameson sensed Eric’s approach first, then Harley’s. Eric’s footfall was a firm and steady tread on the concrete. Harley had more of a casual, rolling gait.
“Guys,” he greeted them before they said a word.
One of them whistled softly, but it was Harley who said, “Darlin’, what the hell were you thinking coming all the way to Boston by yourself?”
“That you guys deserved better than being shot in cold blood!” she bit out, sounding tougher than she was, but shivering as if she were freezing.
“There you go, babe,” Jameson whispered against her temple as he rubbed her biceps. “If you’re going to be a bad ass, don’t ever back down.”
“And Marines don’t cry,” Eric added gently from her immediate left. “It’ll only make your DI meaner. Alex isn’t going to fire you, but he might make you scrub toilets with a toothbrush for a week.”
“Your toot
hbrush,” Harley added.
Jameson grinned at the nerve of these guys to tease her, until Maddie asked, “W-w-what’s a DI?” Man, even her voice was shaking.
“Enough,” he told the guys, squeezing her so she’d know he might be mad, but he’d always and forever have her six. “She doesn’t need all of us ganging up on her. One asshole’s enough.”
Her pulse was pounding. She was close to tears again, he could tell. The guys must’ve noticed the same thing. Eric stepped to her side, brushed Jameson’s arm out of his way and put a hand on her trembling shoulder. Harley bumped elbows with Jameson. They were now a united front against the tsunami about to blast over them.
“A DI’s a drill sergeant,” Eric muttered. “A drill instructor. They’re all assholes, Maddie. Like Alex.”
Jameson damn near smiled at that description until said asshole in charge barked a wicked, “Sit Rep, goddamnit! Now!”
“Yes, Boss,” Jameson answered calmly, even as his body snapped to attention, and his unseeing eyes snapped forward. “Earlier today, we received actionable intel that Lucy Delaney had settled into Pops’ usual hideout, The Black Irish Rose Tavern, here on Boston Harbor.” Which was not precisely truthful, but this was what warriors did. They always covered their brothers’ and sisters’ backs.
He took a quick breath and continued. “We suspected she intended to clean house and tie up all loose ends, which meant Miss Bannister and me. She’d already told Agents Taylor Armstrong and Maverick Carson she was gunning for us, Miss Bannister in particular. Because of that death threat, Maddie took the initiative to come to Boston and surveil the area ahead of us. Shortly after we arrived—”
“Cut the bullshit!” Alex hissed. Damn, he sounded nasty. He had that whole back of the throat, I-will-kill-the-next-liar thing down to a fine art. If Jameson hadn’t known his boss was human, he would’ve sworn he’d just run smack into a pissed-off tiger.
“Let me remind you what you said.” Alex must’ve zeroed in on Eric. “’No worries. Already got a plan. We’ll find her.’ Sound familiar?”
Whoa, Jameson was impressed with the steaming shitload of wicked sarcasm Alex had just heaped on Eric. Alex was making him feel all warm and tingly inside. Felt like he was back on active duty. Bring. It. On!
“We did find her, Boss, and we executed our infil perfectly,” Eric responded evenly.
“But you know how plans go, Boss,” Harley drawled, his voice loose and his tone casual, as if Alex didn’t worry him at all. “Nothing on the drawing boards at HQ ever works out for troops in the field. Murphy’s rule or something. Shit’s gonna happen. Sure would’ve been nice if we’d known Tucker Chase had one of his mind readers inside. Thing’s mighta gone smoother if we’d had that intel a little sooner, don’t you think?”
Ouch. Jameson couldn’t help it. He winced. Had Harley just fired a round over Alex’s bow? Must have. Because Alex made an odd, distressed sound, again at the back of his throat, like he might’ve swallowed wrong.
“We understand. You’ve got a helluva lot on your plate right now, what with Kelsey having an emergency C-section and a new baby boy and all,” Harley went on, “but we wouldn’t be in this predicament now if we’d known the whole picture before hell broke loose, would we?” Whoa, he had some balls to take on his boss like he did.
Damned if Alex didn’t snap, “You’re right. Won’t happen again. And you…” There was that feral growl again. He must have Maddie in his sights now.
She froze, and Jameson prepared to go to war with his boss on what might end up being his last day of working for the guy. Jameson’s spine stiffened, and his fingers curled into knotted fists. His body and soul went hard. He might’ve lost his sight, but he hadn’t lost his nerve. He could take this son of a bitch down, easy.
Until Alex pulled Maddie out from under his arm and muttered, “I could’ve lost you, damn it. What were you thinking?”
Jameson held back, his head cocked in case she might still need him. Didn’t sound like it, though. Her tears must’ve done the trick. Alex didn’t lay into her after that initial snarl.
“I couldn’t let her h-h-hurt my guys,” she hiccupped.
My guys. Jameson liked the sound of that. Maddie was a team player. Just needed a few pointers on how to play the game better next time.
“Good job. Just don’t do it again. Promise?”
She must’ve nodded. Jameson had the impression Alex held her in his arms. That had to stop.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stewart,” a gruff baritone interrupted. “Special Agent Harper Kincaid at your service. Director Chase asked me to offer FBI assistance to you and your team. Understand you’ve got two injured.”
“Yes, the older gentleman on the ground over there. Damn. The one flirting with the female medic,” Alex huffed. “Can’t take the old fart anywhere.”
Maddie came back into Jameson’s side then. The injured side. Ouch. He couldn’t help it. He shuddered. The adrenaline had worn off and the damned thing was beginning to hurt like a mother.
“And this man,” Alex muttered. “Jameson? You think you can make it to the wagon?”
“You’re hurt,” Maddie hissed, “and you didn’t tell me? Where? Oh, good grief! Your side’s bleeding! Jameson!”
“I’m good,” he assured her even as Alex bellowed, “Medic!”
“I’ve got you, dumbass,” Eric cajoled as he slid a strong, gentle hand under Jameson’s arm and around his ribs.
“Jameson! Don’t you dare black out!” That squeal was all Maddie, and man, she sounded better angry than scared. But she was safe now, and that mattered most. She had a team of stout warriors who would forever fly cover over her. The boss wasn’t as big a hardass as he wanted everyone to believe and… and…
The chaotic, smoke-filled scene of first responders and nosy reporters faded into a whirling vortex of peace and calm. Jameson went limp. His face ended up pressed against Maddie’s lush, warm breasts. Lavender. He smelled flowery lavender and sweet, salty, feminine perspiration. The scents he wanted to bathe in the rest of his life. Those were her arms around him. Her fingers smoothing over his forehead and cheeks. Just Maddie’s. She was going to be okay.
With a sigh, he let go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maddie kept one hand intertwined with Jameson’s. They’d been taken to a local Boston emergency room, and were waiting to leave. The bullet hole had gone clean through his side, only causing minimal damage to a single rib. After the very kind ER physician administered a local anesthetic, the nurse had irrigated the wound, and the doctor then stitched and bandaged. The nurse had already removed Jameson’s IV. He had ten days’ worth of antibiotics and pain pills sitting on the nightstand pending his release. Alex and his father were arguing two cubicles away. They hadn’t stopped since they’d arrived.
Eric and Harley were still back at Conley Terminal, giving statements to local authorities and doing whatever real TEAM agents did after catastrophes and murders. A Boston police officer had just left Jameson’s bedside after he’d gotten Maddie’s and Jameson’s statements. Mostly Jameson’s. He was the hero of the hour, the blind agent of one of America’s best covert security companies, and the man who’d ended Lucy Delaney’s short reign of terror.
Maddie had been asked to leave Jameson’s cubicle while he’d talked with the officer. She’d taken a seat in the ER lobby, tapping her nervous fingertips on her knees, waiting to get the ‘all clear’ to join him again. That was when she’d discovered the other side of Jameson Tenney. The Technicolor version. His story had been on every screen in the lobby, and all had been turned up to hear the latest.
The press loved him, hence their back-to-back coverage of the explosion at Conley Terminal on Boston Harbor, the bloody events earlier in the evening at the farmhouse in Virginia, his tours of duty, and well, pretty much his entire life story.
Maddie hadn’t realized she’d been in the company of a true war hero. But because of all the medi
a coverage, she now knew precisely how he’d lost his sight. Yes, there had been a roadside bomb. What he hadn’t mentioned was that injury had occurred after he and his buddy rescued two little boys.
She’d leaned into the story then, her elbow on her knee, her chin cupped in the heel of her hand. It turned out, those boys were unwanted cast-offs, because both had down syndrome. They never knew they’d been pawns of ISIL that day, released into the desert, the sole intent for them to distract the SEAL team. To lure soft-hearted American warriors into the open.
Somehow, the news outlet had pictures of the boys. Both brown-skinned, dark-eyed, adorable urchins who’d since been adopted. But the boys hadn’t known they’d been chased by two SEALs hellbent on saving their little asses that day. The rescue had gone down quickly. Jameson and his buddy had saved those boys. All four were back undercover before the donkey had decided he wanted to be saved, too. That was when grubby, sad, little Eeyore had turned back around and headed for the SEALs. He was nearly to the wall they’d taken cover behind, when his hooves triggered a deadly daisy-chain of expertly hidden improvised explosive devices.
The boys were safe by then, both in the care of an Air Force PJ, whoever that was. But two SEALs died that day. One went home blind. That special operator was newly promoted USN Chief Petty Officer Jameson Tenney, whom the press declared was one-of-a-kind, an exceptional sailor. The deployment into Iraq that had cost Jameson his sight, went down mere weeks after he’d gotten ‘frocked,’ whatever that meant. The reporter on screen said he’d accomplished in five years what it took most sailors to accomplish in ten or more.
Maddie didn’t understand what E-5 exams, meritorious promotions, or EP waivers were. She only knew the humble man who’d run straight into trouble to rescue her today, had done it before. That he seemed to have no qualms about risking his life to save others. Yet he’d never once mentioned that trait or drawn attention to himself. And he had a lot to brag about.
Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22) Page 23
