Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,24

help or pity, least of all from her. Mark hadn’t been holding his elbow when she’d run into him. She was pretty certain Jameson hadn’t really needed her guiding him through the work bay, either. The man might be blind, but she could tell that he sensed more than most people did. Which begged the question, did he feel sorry for her? And why? Had she given something away? Could he tell what a mess her life was in?

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