Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,37

Maddie. She’d been beside him in the jet. Then on the tarmac. Details came back swifter then. Maddie Bannister. Protocol Officer. His dream job. The TEAM. His first day at work. He and Maddie running for safety. For their lives. Lucy Shade. Her last words… “You let them get away?”

Then arguing, closer this time. Not a memory. Jameson stilled, straining to hear, focused on the familiar voices coming from the room next door instead of his memory.

One was full of venom. “You spoiled everything.” Her. The diva.

“I had no choice!” the asshat with the oddly familiar brogue said. “That wanker got her out of there so bloody quick, what was I supposed to do, shoot them where anyone could’ve seen them? Maybe you didn’t know, but Reagan’s got more security cameras than the feckin’ Queen of England’s summer palace. And even if I had—”

“Of course I know that, you fool! I needed my escape caught on film, Reagan airport’s film, too. But no, you set the charges wrong. They went off early. You thought kidnapping them instead of me was smarter?” Her again. “This is not what I paid for! They were supposed to die in that fire. So was Vlad, my feckin’ bodyguard. Can’t you do anything right?”

A definite growl. Boots scraped over the concrete floor. Chair legs creaked. Then, “Shite, you’re a bitch.”

CRACK! Okay, that was definitely flesh against flesh.

“Feck you!” Her Highness shrieked. “You ruined my publicity stunt!”

Say what?

“Yeah, well feck you right back, you worthless blighter!” The Irish stooge.

The chair again. Or another chair. Boots shuffled. A door slammed. Staccato clips against concrete. High heels. It was high time to move.

Jameson fought the restraints at his wrists. Simple plastic ties bound his wrists together, not sturdy Flex Cuffs. Which meant someone hadn’t been prepared to take hostages tonight, or whatever he and Maddie were. He wasn’t hanging around to find out. With his bound hands in front of him, Jameson dispensed with the rag in his mouth first, then sucked in a breath of damned righteousness.

Most folks would’ve thought themselves helpless when they came to in a strange place, groggy from being drugged and restrained. Not Jameson. He’d been almost drowned, shot at, tortured, humiliated, and spit on. He’d been made to carry water-logged inflatable boats through pounding surf, or his fellow wannabe SEALs when they’d drag-assed or had been injured. And that was just during BUD/S.

Whoever’d abducted him and Maddie tonight was in for one helluva rude awakening. Yes, he was blind, well, so what? He was still a SEAL. Only now he was a pissed-off, lethal, son of a bitchin’, fight-til-you-die SEAL. And they’d hurt Maddie. They would pay.

She hadn’t come to yet, but he remembered now that she’d fallen during their mad dash from the fire. In the mayhem, he hadn’t asked how badly she’d been hurt. He would. Later. The plastic ties had to go first.

Jameson put his wrists together, both up to his mouth. After he pulled the tie as tight as he could with his teeth, so tight it cut into his skin, he flexed his arms and snapped that son of a bitch off. Odd, but the thing stabbing his side was his pistol. Another mistake the diva and Irishman had made. They’d left him in his jacket with his holstered pistol tucked under his arm. Guess they assumed blind men weren’t much of a threat and didn’t carry. Guess again.

“Hey,” he growled as he removed Maddie’s gag, which was half of someone’s torn t-shirt. Still had one sleeve. “Are you hurt? Can you breathe?” At least that detail had come back to him. She’d said she couldn’t breathe once they’d cleared the jet. He’d thought she might have sustained a broken rib.

“Hmmm,” she whined sleepily.

He lifted to one knee, still crouched at her side, but needing to get the lay of the land before anyone returned and interrupted his escape plan. “Come on, Maddie. We’ve got to leave before they come back, and I could sure use your eyes.”

Because, okay, being blind sucked at critical times like this.

“Jameson?”

“Yeah, babe. I’m here. Talk to me. Are you hurt? Can you breathe?”

She sat up, breathing hard and panicked. “I’m fine. Where are we? Oh, God, what happened? Who’s they?”

“We’ve been kidnapped by Lucy Shade and... some Irish guy.” His muddled brain couldn’t supply the name of that Irishman. “Hold still. Let me get you out of those cuffs.” He reached into his pants pocket, but his knife was gone. So