FlakJacket (14 page)

Her face clouded over as she remembered the last evening; it was going to be a whole new world for her now, and he caught her dismay. “Think about everything later. You need some breakfast, and if I’m correct, you have one hell of a headache. Too much drama.”
Witch.
He wished he could keep her locked in the bedroom until the furor died down. She wasn’t going to like what he had done, and he wondered if she could do spells and what she would turn him into. He hoped it wasn’t a gnat, but at least he could be a pesky bug that kept biting her.

He remembered that he wanted to pursue this witch story from the country of Jordan, too.

“How many people have canceled my appearances?” she queried in a sad voice.

“None.”

“I guess the word isn’t out yet.” Jordan made no reply to that, but he fidgeted, and her eyes caught his grimace; he had done something! “Jordan, what did you do?” He kissed her forehead. Oh no, she thought.
What did he do?
He stepped away from her but looked guilty as hell.

“I want you to take something for that headache and get some breakfast.”

Her shoulders tightened, as he turned her body towards the kitchen. As she moved into the main part of the house, Tim rose from a chair and said, “Good morning,” as he walked towards the outside door. He was always near her unless Jordan was her close protection.

“Good morning, Tim”, she called after him. Her gaze turned to Jordan. “Just tell me what you’ve done.” She heard a clamor outside the house and walked to the window before Jordan could stop her to see news vans and trucks on the street, setting up cameras and preparing to do live broadcasts. She turned away and swung around on him. “Now. Jordan. I want to know what you did—now.”

“I’ve outed myself as the father of your child. The press seems to think it goes back to when I rescued you from Jordan, and I’m afraid they’ve put their own spin on the whole damn thing—we’re an ongoing love story. They’re here for interviews.” He rubbed the back of his neck to her dropping jaw; he had left her speechless. The silence lengthened as Jordan struggled to fill the gap. “Breakfast, now and some meds?” He turned back to the stove where he was making her scrambled eggs and toast.

Madison went to the kitchen bar and sat, her head in her hands. He sat a glass of juice before he with two pills approved by her doctor. Why couldn’t she have seen all this? What good were visions if they never helped her out of horrible messes? Didn’t Jordan see that he would become a target now, too, or maybe he just didn’t care? But she cared; she cared too damned much. He lifted her hand and put the pills in it, holding the glass of juice to her mouth. She tipped it and swallowed them. He sat down the glass, and she heard him move behind her; his hands rubbed up and down her arms. “Breathe, Witch. Just breathe. It will be an adventure.” The baby moved again inside her to his father’s words. She willed herself to see into the future, but there were no visions.

Jordan stood beside her at the microphone, his eyes surveying the crowd of reporters. He had decided to allow her to handle the interrogation of the press; he was happy to discover that his affair with her was the front-page story, not Thomas’s lies about Madison’s morals. But Madison hadn’t said two words to him; that meant she was really pissed, and he had his work cut out for him to get back into her good graces. He looked up to see all eyes on him and realized that he had missed a direct question. He looked at Madison for help. She whispered in his ear, “Pay attention. He just asked you how you felt about becoming a father.”

He whispered back into her ear, smiling indulgently. “Yes ma’am. I will.” The press, having no idea what they were saying to each other, filmed the exchange; they looked madly in love. The tape would play a prominent role in the evening newscasts.

He smiled benevolently at everyone and cleared his throat. “I’m very happy about this child. I lost a daughter early in my life. My son has made my life come full circle as has this woman.” His eyes fell to Madison’s as he squeezed her hand.

One of the members of the press thanked Jordan for releasing the blood work that proved the child was his. Madison’s eyes flew up;
blood results?
When had he done that, and then she remembered that the doctor she had gone to was obtained by him. There had been lots of blood tests during visits. Damn. He HAD needed proof; he hadn’t ever believed that the child was his.

The smile on her face became the public one that she wore for all her speeches. She stiffened against him, and he looked over carefully to ascertain what her problem was. Then it hit him—he had never told her that the test had been done during her follow-up visit after the eighth week. Madison thanked everyone for coming and moved from the microphone, leaving him standing there to wrap things up. When he came into the house, she was already moving her things from his bedroom.

“What in the hell do you think you are doing?”

“I’m moving back to my old room. I’ll be out of here by the end of the week. I’ll think of something to tell the press.”

“Why?” Her glare eviscerated him, her eyes dead and cold.

“Thanks for the illusion that you thought the child was yours; I had a good six months, and you really made me think that you believed me. MY son and I will be just fine.” She climbed the steps, leaving Jordan standing with his mouth open. “You played your part well, Jordan. Go back to your clinical and emotionless world. You’ll be very happy in it.”

The door upstairs closed, and he could hear the turning of the lock.

Neville Houser read the front page of the social sections of five newspapers and turned off the TV with its glowing stories of the witch and her significant other. He had planned it perfectly; she would have been discredited, her support of the Jordanian people tainted by her own personal sexual indiscretions, and the land deal would move forward. But there had been so many calls and petitions; her single voice had the agreement mired in public meetings and red tape. She had derailed a profitable venture for him, and now she was a princess to boot, her love affair a happily ever after fairy tale. Well, that would change.

He slammed the paper down. And what was he to make of the child—the rumor on the street was that it would be quite gifted, even more so than she. Perhaps he could make a deal with Madison, her son for his land deal and then he could take the child as well. It could certainly be an asset if it were very gifted. He would have to think about that, but Jordan Lassiter would have to go. An accident seemed the easiest venue.

Neville knew that Jordan was not a man to be fooled with; he had an impeccable record of taking care of his clients. Jordan had slept with the woman, but they were not married, and it was known that he had sworn off that holy estate after the death of his little girl.  Who really knew what their relationship was? The damn blood test said that Neville couldn’t discredit the man or the story. Thomas Hull had called him as soon as he returned home last night from his encounter with Madison. That’s what had brought all this on. Neville called Madison’s phone, and left a message for her to call him as soon as possible. As a member of the foreign relations committee, he could always subpoena her to answer to his committee. Now that might be a direction to take. It was going to be very tricky moving forward, that much he knew.

Jordan was called to Washington, D.C. for one of his other high profile clients; he only had an hour to get ready, and an hour wouldn’t be enough time to straighten out the mess he had made. He called Tim to him and asked him to step in until he could get back. He didn’t want to leave, but there was little choice. Madison would have to wait. The child was his, after all. He had as much right to him as she did.
Fucking A.
Then he kicked himself; the baby wasn’t a car with joint ownership.

He grabbed his suit bag and took off. He tried to call Madison, but she didn’t answer. He was forced to send a text message instead. It was brief.

Madison sat on her bed; the text hadn’t moved her at all. She hadn’t been able to shed a single tear over the loss of her dream of Jordan being a part of her son’s and her lives. Why had she ever felt like she could navigate her way through this? Maybe Jordan wasn’t the man to become a father. Maybe he had just been a sperm donor. Maybe she was the one, who had made the mistake, but it all felt so right; she had just wanted him too much.

She knew Jordan didn’t love her, not as she loved him, and this child deserved an all-encompassing love, the kind where two people devoted themselves to raising him. A vision appeared to her of the blue-eyed child, laughing as his hands reached out to her. Tomorrow when she could think clearer, she would continue the journey again. For now, she would sleep. The baby moved within her reminding her that she was no longer alone, and she smiled at that thought. She would find a way.

M
adison slept; Jordan didn’t. He had felt unsettled since the plane had taken off, wending its way to Washington, D.C. He shouldn’t have left Madison with this misunderstanding between them; to make things worse, everywhere he went, people were congratulating him on the upcoming birth of his child and speaking of Madison. That sparked memories of her, his
Witch
, and her isolation from him settled on his back like a brick wall. She had effectively walled him out for the time being.

Work had always taken precedence in his life; it was the way he managed his world—no emotional attachments. Today, it wasn’t working. He slipped out his phone to check for messages. His had not been returned, but it had been read. What was she thinking? He shut down his brain to concentrate on the job ahead. The Jordanian ambassador of Agriculture was concerned about threats to his life at an upcoming conference; the land in his country was becoming an international issue. Jordan went over his plans to make sure that nothing happened and shut Madison out. It was only for a few days, after all; then he would straighten things out.

Madison was up at four, moving quietly through the house. She packed lightly and disarmed the alarm system. She slipped through the front door, unaware of a man following her. Tim had slipped up once; it wouldn’t happen again. He watched her walk into the night and saw her getting into a waiting cab. He managed to get the cab’s number and plates before he turned to get his own vehicle. The cab slipped into the night, and he quickly followed.

Jordan climbed wearily from the plane and was met by three of his men. They checked into the Hilton near the airport for a final run-through of their plans. The three-day conference would tax their manpower; Jordan decided to call in some additional men. He met with the agricultural head of Jordan and began his protection. Open venues were the problem, and rerouting the visit was high on his list of priorities. Once he was satisfied he had done everything he could to keep the man safe, Jordan lay down on the bed to see if he could catch some sleep. There was still nothing from Madison.

Madison climbed off the plane at Heathrow Airport and was met by members of the Jordanian embassy. She was on her way back to Jordan. She had left her phone behind, not wanting to be bothered by anyone or anything. Her son had been a good traveller so far, and she was offered the services of a physician if she wanted one. She shook her head no, stating that she was fine. The press had been warned to keep her visit a secret lest there be protests. Tim followed her off the plane. Getting a seat at the last minute had proven to be difficult, but he managed. He tailed her to the embassy and saw her go inside. He messaged Jordan that she was in England.

When his phone chimed, Jordan picked up right away, only to read that the
Witch
had run.
Shit
. Now there were thousands of miles between them. He tried her phone, but it refused the message he sent saying that the box was full. That meant she had ditched it or left it behind. He messaged Tim to stay with her, and he contacted the Jordanian embassy to tell them to get a message to her. He only hoped that they would and that she would respond.

Madison sat in the nicely appointed room and continued to work on the article that was to be published next week. A knock on her bedroom door caused her to pull her robe closer and to check to see who was there. When she opened the door, a note was handed to her. She smiled graciously and thanked the messenger. When she closed the door, she opened it and read it—it was from Jordan. How had he known where she was? It was like he was still watching over her.

Now she cried, but Jordan did not love her and that was the only thing she wanted from their relationship. She had to walk away from him before he ripped her heart out. No matter how hard she tried to see into their future, there was only mist.

Jordan’s eyes flitted along the massive crowds outside the Senate building the next day. Something didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He would be escorting the Minister of Agriculture of Jordan into the Senate building to speak with the Foreign Relations Committee—to several men Jordan didn’t like. One of them was Senator Houser. Senator Houser had another agenda for the Jordanian lands, and Jordan knew it. His detective work had uncovered a grand scheme to milk the land of its wealth and leave it worthless. As they walked up the steps, a movement at the side of the crowd caught his eye; the barrel of a gun glinted in the sun. Jordan placed himself between that glint and the minister and threw the man down to the sidewalk, covering that body with his own. The impacts of bullets hit him twice, and then there was chaos. But the man beneath him lived, thank God. His last thought was of Madison and his son.