Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,76
told Mark that Shade had him take a wrapped gift into the back room of her jet before you guys arrived at the airport last night. He believes now it was the bomb that nearly killed you two. Trust me, Mark’s no dummy. He and Hunter expected the mob would come after Morozov. They were ready.”
“And now the mob’s coming after me. Wow, this is right out of ‘The Godfather’ movies,” Maddie murmured. “You guys ever watch them? Don’t mobs always get their m-m-man? Or woman?”
“Not this time,” Jameson replied, each word a promise spoken against her temple.
There was nothing more to say. She, Maddie Bannister, had gone from being an ordinary protocol officer for the best boss on the East Coast, to a mob boss’s target, in just one day. What was next, a bloody horse head in her bed?
“Guys, I think Maddie would feel better with her own holster and pistol. Do you have any extras?” Jameson asked.
“I should’ve thought of that,” Harley replied. “You betcha. One SIG Sauer nine-mil, coming right up, darlin’. Would you prefer a double shoulder or a belt holster? Maybe a single that loops under your arm?”
“A single,” she said, then added, “I think. Never owned one before.”
He’d walked to the weapons cabinet across the room and pulled a lightweight nylon holster out. “Try this on for size. How’s it fit? Don’t want it tight. It’s got to feel comfortable if you’re going to wear it all day. Here’s a pistol that’ll fit it.”
She adjusted the holster strap under her arm as he handed the pistol over, grip first. The weapon felt cold but solid and comfortable in her palm. “This is a nine-mil? I thought it’d be a lot heavier.”
“It feels good then?”
“Better than the one I stole last night. It was too small. Hurt my hand when I fired it.”
“You ever had hunter-safety training? Ever shoot before?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I always go to the range with the guys when they certify. I might not be an agent, but I’m finally hitting most of my targets.”
“You’re kidding?” Jameson muttered. “I thought you were a professional markswoman the way you took out Pops with just one shot.”
Her mouth stretched into an automatic grimace. “Uh uh. That was my first time shooting a p-p-person.”
“Talk about beginner’s luck,” he breathed, combing a hand over his head. “You sure had me fooled.”
“Ember’s admin staff, too, Maddie, but she’s also queen of the range,” Eric added, then turned to Jameson and explained, “She’s former Navy and an excellent shot, also runs TEAM certifications at the local gun range. You miss your targets, she’ll be all over your ass.”
“Good to know,” Jameson replied.
“You’re looking real good, Bannister,” Harley said with a lopsided grin, a funny sparkle in his hazel eyes as if he was proud of her.
“Thanks. I think.”
“It’s loaded, darlin’. Never touch the trigger unless you’re ready to kill someone and always watch your backstop. Don’t fire into crowds like those idiots do on TV and in movies. Those are fairytales; shooting a weapon is real. It’s about life and death. If you’re not in danger of dying, you’ve got no reason to unholster your piece.”
“Best time to kill is never,” Jameson added quietly. “That’s something you can’t take back.”
Maddie crossed the room to him, shaking from the responsibility weighing in the holster under her left arm. Like she’d told Jameson before, this was all her fault. Maybe those loan sharks weren’t after her, but she’d brought the wrath of Lucy Delaney down on these guys, and they were her friends. It would kill her if anything happened to them.
Sitting, she leaned into Jameson’s side and let him wrap his arms around her shoulders.
“I’m here, babe,” he whispered in her hair. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
Maddie wished she could, but Lucy Delaney had singled her out. That distinction alone was mind-numbing. Lucy had put her own father in a deadly situation that had cost his life. Now, she was coming after Maddie. Icy fingers whispered over the back of her neck at the thought that a vicious crime boss—err, godmother?—knew her name. There had to be something she could do.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. But Kelsey was right, and Dr. Denton had just confirmed everything she’d said. Mel really was sick. Not sick, as in about to die sick, but sickly enough he couldn’t live on his own from now on. He definitely had Alzheimer’s.
And now Alex knew more about the insidious disease than he’d ever