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Authors: A Nichols

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BOOK: FlakJacket
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He jerked the coat off, untied his tie and pulled the offending shirt off his upper body. He reached into his closet for new clothing; hearing a noise, he turned to the door of his office as it opened slowly. The red headed witch stood before him in all her glory in a short, full-skirted sundress that skimmed her body and caressed the tops of her thighs, highlighting her long legs. Her eyes crawled over his lean, well-muscled torso with agonizing slowness. “I guess office dress has changed since I was last in the States.” She smirked at him, and his temper went up another notch or two.
How in the hell did she get in?

“I didn’t hear you knock,” he scolded. “You did knock, right?”

“No, I didn’t. Your secretary told me to come straight in.” Her chin went up a fraction as if to say ...
so there.

She noted the healing cut on his arm, obviously a recent knife wound. She wanted to touch it and pull out the poison that was still there, but before she could even move, he grabbed a clean shirt from his closet, put it on and buttoned it, hiding his hard, toned body from her curious gaze. Then he tucked it into his waistband as she continued to observe; there was nothing shy or retiring about her: she was almost brazen in manner. She watched as the inked shirt went into the trashcan. “I can probably get that stain out for you.” She held out her hand for the item of clothing.

“No.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “May I sit down?”

“I want to know why you are here first. If it is worthwhile, then I’ll ask you to sit.”

He stood in front of her trying to tie his tie without a mirror. She walked two steps to him, pushed his hands out of the way to his chagrin, and tied his tie in a perfect Winsor knot, smoothing the collar down and straightening the tie down his chest, her small hands flattening it. He looked down on her while she accomplished this very personal task; he stood a head taller than she even in her low heels. Her eyes glanced up at his, and she stepped back. Her soft scent remained. Then her expression changed to concern, and she stepped forward again, her eyes tightening on his face. Her fingers skimmed the small white scar. “Me?”

He pulled away from her. “It is of no concern.” Her hand fell, and she looked perplexed.

“Would you feel better if you had your coat on?” She moved to where it hung in his closet, pulling it out, and turning to him with it held open. He turned his back, and she helped him on with it. His awareness of her continued to grow; time to pull back. He had never allowed a woman to dress him before, and he was finding it a novel experience.

He took a deep breath and started again. “Why are you here?”

“Business. I want to hire your firm; I need your protection.” Her brow furrowed as her eyes lingered on the place where his arm had been cut. “How did your arm become injured?” She searched her memory of their flight to determine if that, too, had come because of her, and then she remembered his fight with the assassin; he had been hurt and not said a word.

He saw the question in her eyes and chose not to answer it. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong man. How did you even find me?”

She went to her carryall and held up an infrared portrait of him from the night of the raid. His severe face was colored in red. I rescued this picture of you from the military. They were told to find you when they came for me.” He glanced at it. “It is you. You are the one who saved me that night; your code name is Flak Jacket.” She barely recognized this suave, sophisticated man as the Bedouin warrior she had met that night.

“As I said, I do not protect individual people; I protect firms and businesses.”

“Yet you came for me.” Her voice challenged him to deny what she said.

He changed the subject. “You know that my fellow Bedouins call you the
white witch.
They say you are a spirit who communes with the wind, sky and nature. Your fair skin is impervious to the sun and your eyes have been stolen from the blue of the waters. He looked at her porcelain skin and china blue eyes. The sun has left the heavens to circle your head—your strawberry red hair. You look like you could inhabit a different realm of this earth.” He found himself captured by his own description. “But I know better.” His hand reached up to his cheek. “You put your mark on me that night; you are a flesh and blood woman,
not a spirit
.

She smiled at him in a knowing manner. “You’ve just confirmed your identity. Thank you. If I could protect myself, I would not be bothering you. I’ve been told that you have contacts everywhere; someone wants me abducted or dead, and the government has demanded that I have a personal guard. I said I would only accept you.”

“Then you’re a foolish woman.” He would be crazy to protect her. “Why are you being targeted?”

“I don’t have to answer that question until you tell me you will allow me to hire you. You are my choice.” Then she changed the subject, her mind reaching deeply inside his, her eyes wandering over him, drinking him in, getting to
know
him; she knew with some certainty that
he was the one
. “You haven’t been sleeping; your head is filled with disturbing images from your past.”

He narrowed his eyes.
How did she know that?
She was a beautiful woman now that he could see her up close, but she was of the civilized world in his Bedouin eyes. “Sleeping is sometimes an issue for me.”

She continued to watch him, her aura surrounding him, pulling his feelings from him even as he tried to shut her out. “I sense a great loss in you. Somehow, you must find a way to let it go. If you save me, you will save yourself.” Her voice had fallen into a whisper of sorts, and her eyes finally fell from his. She turned and spoke over her shoulder. “I will come back tomorrow for your answer, and I will pay you well for your services. Maybe next time you will allow me to sit down.” She walked out, closing the door softly behind her. Her scent remained, filling his head with her captivating image; he was, after all, a man.

Madison walked slowly down the hall of his office building as she thought to herself:
he is the one who will father the child. There is no mistake.

CHAPTER 2

H
e slammed his fist on the desk; he was not taking this assignment. His business was thriving, and he didn’t need her patronage. But the question that entered his mind was
why did someone want her out of the way
. Why should he even care? Let someone else be her savior this time.

He marched out of his office and spoke sharply to his secretary. “Why did you allow that woman in my office?”

“She said you were expecting her, sir. I’m sorry. I should have checked with you.” She looked down. “Her name is on your appointment list,” and she turned it to him so he could see.
Damn
. It was written there.
The question was: how?

“Get me all the information you can find on her. I want it before I leave for the day. And assign John to shadow her today. I want to know where she goes and how long she stays there. Tell him to keep in touch with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Jordan turned back into his office and picked up his emails. There was one that caught his eye.
Beware of the redheaded one.
He put a trace on it, but it came up empty. She was obviously being followed, her trip to him duly noted. Now that put a different light on the threats she was receiving. He did not like to be told what to do—by anyone.

Jordan pulled up a news scan for the last three years for one Madison Kelly. Article after article flooded his screen. She was a woman with many faces, passionate about her causes and virulent when she felt they were belittled or shunned. She had recently spoken before the United Nations General Assembly, making an impassioned plea to the body to care for the refugees from many of the war-torn countries in the desert areas.

She had been beaten when she was in her teens in a violent rally. He could see what a threat she could become to powerful alliances both here in the U.S. and abroad; wherever she went, the press followed. The articles indicated that there had been several attempts on her life, but finding out the name of the organization or person who had marked this woman as a target would take time, and keeping her safe until that perpetrator was found would soak up even more resources. There were hundreds of pictures of her with children, small babies in her arms, and stories of miraculous healings especially in the desert of Jordan.

If he did this, he would have to be the point man. He couldn’t ask any of his colleagues to do it. He pushed back in his chair, and he happened to glance at the trashcan.

His shirt was missing
.
He would have seen her take it out if she had. What the Fuck?

There was a knock at his office door, and it pushed open once again. “Hey, man. Are you ready for our business lunch? I think I have all the necessary information to propose a good package of surveillance and cyber security for our client.”  His business associate paused as he saw Jordan’s lack of interest. “What’s happening in your world, boss?”

Jordan looked up. “I’m just contemplating another possible client, but I’m concerned about it.”

“Well, put it on the back burner. Mr. Martin won’t wait, you know.” Jordan nodded, and crossed the room. He would have to focus.

“Yes, I do. Let’s go. I’ve reviewed the material, and you’ve done a good job. We may need to hire a few more people in the computer area, but we’ll see.” The two men walked out of the office together.

Madison sat in the corner bistro. There had been someone following her; she sensed a presence, so she was sticking to public venues for the time being. If Jordan Lassiter chose not to help her, she could be forced to give up many of her activities, but she wouldn’t stop; they could not make her stop. She reached for her bag that now held an ink stained white shirt; it smelled of his cologne. An FBI man approached her; she knew him from his previous assignments with her.

“Miss Kelly. We’ve been watching you; you have a tail.”

“I know. He’s made no attempt to come near me though.”

“You should have called.” She looked up at him and smiled impishly.

“You should have told me you were going to be following me today, and then I wouldn’t have worried quite so much. Have you identified him?”

“No identity yet—he’s a U.S. citizen of Jordanian descent. He held out a picture. Do you recognize him?”

She looked at him carefully. “No.”

“Let me escort you to your hotel for the night.” Madison thought about his offer; she had achieved all she had set out to do that day. Maybe it would be a good thing.

“All right.” The two moved out of the bistro together; the man who had followed them watched the two of them leave, as well as a third man. He notified Jordan that the FBI was involved.

Jordan had felt antsy all evening unable to put his finger on what it was that could upset his well-ordered world. His business deal had been accepted; another client was on his list. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, hoping to calm his unease, but it remained. He would see the white witch tomorrow, and he had to give her an answer.

His phone chimed. “Lassiter.”

“Sir. The woman you told me to follow is getting a visitor. He’s going to the elevator now. I heard him ask the concierge for her room number.”

“Follow him. I’m on my way. Under no circumstance allow him enter her room.” It was what he needed—action. He slipped carefully out of his house and into his car. It took him only ten minutes to arrive at her hotel. He moved steadily towards the back of the reception area, taking the stairs rather than the elevator. His phone vibrated with the room number. A man was at Madison’s door, attempting to hack the card swipe with a dry erase mechanism. Jordan and his man walked up the hall together, causing the man to turn to watch them pass. That was all it took. Jordan took him down, pulling the device from his hand and pushing hard on his windpipe. The two of them then moved him down the hall and into a storage closet.

Jordan pushed him inside and closed the door behind them. His accomplice flicked on the lights and checked the man’s pockets for weapons; he removed a gun from his pocket. Then Jordan let him go.

“Why are you following Miss Kelly?” The man was struggling to get air into his lungs, but he recognized Jordan. “You know me.” The man said nothing. “I’m about to turn you over to the police for attempting to break into a hotel room.”

“Why are you involved with this woman?” The man angrily challenged Jordan. “She must be the witch everyone says she is if she has captured your attention.”

“I’m still waiting for your answer.”

“You must know that this woman has a contract on her; she is a threat to several important groups; the price is high.”

“And what were you to do, kill her?”

“No. I was to take her alive and move her to an airport.”

“To go where?”

“That, I wasn’t told. I was to be met there.”

“Is this because of politics, because of her father’s ambassadorship?”

“No. It is she that each one seeks; her aura and influence are threatening; her voice and actions carry far. She is a threat to the established order, and she is a seer of some renown. Everyone fears her; you should as well, Jordan.”

“Get the word out that she is under my protection, and I will deal harshly with those who would hurt her in any way. You cross her, you cross me.”

The man looked surprised, but interested. “She is your woman?” Jordan thought about that implication.

But there was no hesitation. “Yes.”

“You will drive her price even higher. I don’t think you’ll be able to stop those who want her.”

“We’ll have to see about that. Get out now, and don’t come back.”

The man left the storage room quickly, and Jordan’s second followed him just to make sure that he left the hotel grounds. Jordan closed the storage room door quietly only to find Madison in the hallway outside her door, leaning against the wall, watching him. “I sensed that you were near, and I probably have to thank you again for something. I know you won’t tell me what, but
thank you
.”

BOOK: FlakJacket
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