Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,32
with the comings and goings in the lobby before Miss Shade came down from her room. The lady hadn’t asked for an escort, but a bodyguard. If anyone was lying in wait for her, he damned well intended to stand between them and his client.
The only problem to his well thought out plan was that Miss Shade was no lady. She’d huffed and complained the entire ride to Reagan National Airport, and Jameson got it. His egocentric client was annoyed, and he was the subject of the complaint she’d already promised she’d deliver to Alex. Upon meeting her in the lobby, she’d demanded to know who the hell he was. After he’d introduced himself and flashed The TEAM badge Maddie had given him in the weapons vault, Miss Shade had demanded to know why she’d gotten saddled with ‘some blind guy with a cane instead of one of Stewart’s manly hunks.’ Her words, not Jameson’s.
The last time he’d seen himself, he’d been a damned big manly hunk and not too bad looking. His words.
Being a true professional, Jameson had worn his suit jacket over The TEAM polo, just to look a titch more professional. He politely apologized for being less than she’d expected, collapsing his offending cane while he did. Since canes for the visually impaired were a glaring white, and heaven forbid she be seen with ‘some blind guy,’ he’d stashed it inside the inner jacket pocket he’d had made for it. He’d promptly promised her The TEAM would provide a better escort next time she was in town. That he’d make sure someone befitting her celebrity was assigned to guard her in the future.
But he was pretty sure she’d been taken aback when he’d offered his elbow and escorted her from the hotel like a sighted person would have. Swiftly and accurately. Which was simple when a person kept their cool, counted steps, and focused all senses on their current surroundings.
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