Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,87
be Irish. That made her think. Maybe Pops Delaney owned every loan shark on the East Coast, and bingo. She’d been right, at least that Pops had owned this guy. When she’d informed Mr. Shark that his boss was recently deceased, that she’d seen him die with her own eyes, he’d called her a liar and hung up. But he’d quickly called back, said he’d checked and confirmed her story. He’d been ready to listen then.
“So what do you want, Missy?” he’d asked. Guess he hadn’t known Delaney’s daughter was even in the picture, or that Lucy Shade, the uppity news celeb, was really Lucy Delaney, Pops only daughter, and the heiress to his empire. Or that she was headed to Boston to take control of his gang. And him, Mr. Bigshot Shark. Guilt by association made him one of Lucy’s targets, and that was how Maddie had fed him her lie. He needed to get on Lucy’s good side. Him sending his new boss a quick chunk of change might make things easier for him. Never hurts to grease the hand that feeds you, right?
All Maddie wanted in return for the privilege of ending her ex’s affiliation with the underworld, was the address in Boston, to make that deposit. After a couple more terse minutes of dishonest negotiation as to who had the better hand, during which Mr. Shark threatened to slice all of her fingers off, then her toes, one by bloody one, until she paid him—or else. Not like she wanted to know what ‘or else’ meant, but somehow, she’d stood firm. Demanded he tell her where Pops Delaney lived or worked in Boston, that she would only hand over the money—yes, all thirty-thousand dollars Nash owed, plus fifteen thousand more in interest—to the woman in charge today, not to one of her lackeys.
Not that Maddie had that kind of cash, but she wasn’t going to visit Miss Delaney to hand over money anyway. No. She was here to kill the woman who’d tried to murder Jameson Tenney too many times.
Maddie was at peace with her decision because, like Lucy Shade, she was her father’s daughter, and she would always be just that. Nothing more. She wasn’t a Marine, never would be. But she’d worked alongside enough of them these past few months, former soldiers and SEALs as well, to know they’d chosen the path less traveled. That in doing so, they made a difference every day. They were the brave and daring heroes America needed. Not her.
This was just her way of honoring the men and women who’d put their lives at risk for her. They’d served; she hadn’t. But she would serve them now. She owed the people she worked with more than she’d ever owed Nash or her old man, and she meant to keep Jameson alive. He deserved a better hand than what life had dealt him. She meant for him to have a chance at that better future and more. Just not with her. She was no good for him. A loser like her would only hold him back.
But now that he was here, and marching straight at her as if he’d scented her like bloodhounds scented criminals… Good grief, he looked good. And hot. His chin was set in grim determination, his eyes hidden behind those dark glasses. His head was up, his stride powerful and confident. To look at him, no one would ever know he was blind. He was a soldier in charge, and he moved without his cane or a lick of hesitation. As if somehow, he knew there were no obstacles in his way. As if there wouldn’t dare be anything between him and her. He was a hard man, ready for war. Somehow the mountainous stacks of shipping containers behind him only made him look more fierce. Larger than life.
Harley and Eric cut imposing sights, but Jameson had them beat. Her heart squeezed out a dozen sets of jumping jacks that pounded like thunder beneath her breastbone. “What the heck am I doing here,” she murmured to herself. “He’s the warrior. He’s trained. I’m just…” Just what? So in love with that man that it hurt to see him looking so mean? So focused? So ready to kill in order to protect her?
And now I’ve put him in danger.
She forced herself not to wave at him and give herself away. She was nothing, but Jameson Tenney was someone. The world would miss him.