FlakJacket (4 page)

Mac looked at him as he tried to wake her. “This woman is exhausted; her color is poor, and I don’t like the blood pressure reading we’re getting. She has had a shock of some kind, and her system is giving in rather than fighting it.”

“Treat her.” Mac nodded. He put smelling salts under her nose, and she tried to get away from the awful smell, murmuring for Jordan to help her. As her eyes fluttered, Jordan sat down on the bed and called her name. “Madison. You’re all right.” He pulled her into him, getting her upper body somewhat vertical. She needed to get some fluid in her. The technician held a glass of juice to her lips. She managed a small amount. He rubbed her arms as she leaned against his chest, and her color began to return. As he came into focus, her mind clamored that she was indeed in his bedroom, but certainly not under the circumstances she had thought—so much for insight.

Madison had seen Thomas Hull’s right hand man with the gun, and she thought she was going to die, but her visions hadn’t warned her of this attack. She forced her eyes open, and her breathing settled as she matched her breathing to the feel of Jordan’s breathing beneath her.

“Miss Kelly. Can you hear me?” Mac asked. She swallowed and nodded bringing her eyes to his. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. So tired, but better. I’m all right. It was just a faint. Thank you.” Mac looked at Jordan and shook his head softly in a negative way.

“You need to rest, Miss.” He gave her another drink from the glass of fruit juice, and Jordan helped her to hold it steady. “Sip this slowly.” He pumped up her blood pressure gauge again, looking at the low numbers. They had barely moved from their previous reading. “What do you want us to tell the press?” This was addressed to Jordan.

“Press? They’re here?” Jordan asked. Madison’s eyes grew wide, and she wondered if Thomas had already received word of his failed attempt. He had probably ordered it, but he did not want her dead. He wanted to retaliate against her; she knew that with a certainty. He would sell her visionary skills, and he would rape her body.

“Word of the attempted shooting and the identity of her assailant has already hit the newspapers. She’s a celebrity, Jordan, and someone tried to take her out.”

“Tell them she’s fine, and she will come out and make a statement at 2:00 PM this afternoon.”

“Are you sure she will be up to that?”

“She will.”

Mac raised his eyebrows. “Make sure she rests then. We don’t want another collapse. She’s fragile right now.”

“I’ll see that she rests. It will be a limited news conference, a statement read and then five questions carefully screened. My people will take care of it.”

Mac gathered up his gear and looked at her. “Your color is getting better. I want you to rest as much as you can and get more fluid in you as well as some food. I bet you didn’t have breakfast this morning, did you?” Jordan glanced down at her angrily.

“No. You would have that right. I didn’t have time.” She thought that escaping from the house should take precedence over breakfast. Jordan tipped the glass of juice to her lips, and she drank some more, as he eased back to make sure she didn’t choke. The EMT’s packed up their gear and left wishing her well. Mac called over his shoulder, “Call me if you need me.”

And then there were just the two of them, Jordan looking at her intently, pulling her chin around trying to read her thoughts. “Food first, and then you’ll sleep. Talk will come last.” She lowered her eyes from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’d like a shower please and then some comfortable clothes.” Jordan nodded.

“Lie still. I’ll get your clothing from the upstairs room.” He got one more sip of juice in her before he left. Madison finally relaxed on his bed.
Maybe she should just run. He had to be a mistake; he wasn’t the man; she had gotten it wrong.
She laughed softly at herself. Another would come.

Physically, she was too weak to run now, and she knew it. Her body was no longer responding to her commands. Jordan came back into the room and pulled her lounge pants, a camisole and her white bikini panties out of the backpack, laying them out across the back of the king-sized chair in the room. “I’m getting the shower ready; there’s a bench in there for you to sit on as you wash yourself. I will help you in and out.” He paused. “Do you need help getting out of your clothes?” The question was purely a clinical one.

It would be an interesting come-on if he really meant it, but he had no fucking interest in her at all.
Her lips twitched in a smile, as he caught her expression. “What are you thinking?” She shook her head at him.
Witch
—that’s what she was.

He helped her up and walked her into the massive bath off his room. He wasn’t kidding when he said his bedroom was a suite. A dressing room, office and reading room were also attached to the bedroom. His hands moved to take off her dress. Whoa! Her hands stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“I’m undressing you.” He knelt, and his hands glazed her legs under her short skirt as he detached and rolled down her stockings. “I didn’t think modern American women wore nylons any more.” His hands moved knowledgably under her dress once again to unhook her garter belt. She was too shocked to move.

“Hey!” His hands skirted the top of her bikini panties as he pulled the belt off, and her heart rate doubled as the color exploded in her cheeks. He stood as his hands methodically unhooked the buttons at the top of the halter of the dress and unzipped the side zipper. Her hands caught the top as it fell holding it against her body, but not before he saw that she wore no bra. “I can manage from here,” she said with icy distain.

Jordan was sure her blood pressure had improved from the color in her cheeks. “I will be back for you in five minutes.” The shower was on, she was almost undressed, and he had only given her a short amount of time. “Use the seat in the shower so you don’t fall.” He cautioned and turned to leave the room.

“I need at least ten minutes.”

He stopped but didn’t look back at her. “Try me, Madison. I dare you.” Then he closed the bathroom door.

J
ordan stood outside his bathroom leaning against the wall. The shower was still running, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He could hear her moving about. Should he call to her, or just march in, and if he did walk in and she was naked, then what? He should not allow himself to be tied in knots like this; no woman had ever made him second-guess his actions like this one.

“Madison. I’m coming in,” he called. He pushed up his sleeves and opened the bathroom door a crack, instantly smelling vanilla. She turned as he entered, a large, striped towel wrapped around her slender body loosely. He couldn’t quite pull his eyes away; all he managed to say was, “Your hair is wet.”

“That happens in showers.” She was a sprite, a tease, and her white skin showed above and below the towel. “Do you want to dry it?”

He frowned. “Dry what?” It would be tempting to dry her body.

“My hair. You just said it was wet. I need five more minutes.” She watched the confusion play over his face. She wasn’t getting through
, and she wasn’t getting any more time.
She sighed. “Let me get my hairdryer from my backpack.” She began to move, the towel sliding just a bit on her chest as her long legs crossed the bath to him. He didn’t move, and he was blocking the doorway. She came up to him, stopping only inches away looking up at him expectantly, waiting for his decision. They stayed in that position for seconds as he simply gazed at her, and she at him.
No, he couldn’t be the one. She reminded herself of that fact again.

He was so damn attractive, so virile, she thought. His eyes were deep blue, she noted as they penetrated her own; his nose was patrician, centering his high cheekbones. He had height to him, but his body was lean and fit, his shoulders wide, his arms muscled, his hips narrow. His chiseled face and dark hair reminded her of the infrared picture of him she still carried, and while he no longer wore the beard, his five o’clock shadow could easily be seen.  

Finally, he broke eye contact with her, and the energy in the room dropped. He had been with women before; why should this one unman him? She looked like she harbored some unease, so his hand reached down to touch her cheek, and he ran a finger softly down her chin. It was time to ease up on her. “How are you feeling?” he asked in a much softer voice.

Whoa! Change of pace? “Better.” She gave him her best smile. He turned and pulled another towel from the rack beside him and put it over her wet hair, rubbing her head softly to blot the water. She leaned into him at the touch, resting her wilting body against his. Her hand crept to his waist to balance herself as he caught his breath.
What was it about her? She was a client. Fucking A.

Well, she wasn’t a client yet; they hadn’t officially signed anything. He stayed his hands and corralled his emerging physical reaction, but he had always appreciated the female body.

“Get dressed,” he said. “You need to eat.” The exchange strengthened her resolve somehow. Her hand moved to his arm, and as it did, she pushed his shirtsleeve further up to find the knife wound that was still healing. Her fingers skimmed it, and he felt a warm tingling around the wound. Her eyes closed as she did so. “Madison?”

Her eyes opened. “Yes?”

“I said, get dressed. If it’s beyond your strength, I will happily lend you mine.” She grinned at the implied threat and stepped back. The time was not now. His arm still tingled for some unknown reason.

“If you’ll get out of my way, I can do it, but thanks for the offer.” He moved to the side, his eyes never leaving her.

She walked by him, the towel giving teasing glimpses of what lay beneath. He took in a deep breath, and then followed her. She saw he had put out her clothes. “I’m going to make you something to eat. I’ll be back for you in five minutes.” Then he got out of the room as quickly as he could to her amusement.

He was at the stove, whipping up omelets when he felt eyes on him. He turned to find her sitting on a stool at the counter and watching him cook. “Get the plates.” He motioned to the cupboard that held them. She got up and set placemats and dishes on the bar, going to the refrigerator and getting milk and orange juice. She poured orange juice and put some toast in the toaster. The high tech coffee maker had already made fresh coffee for the two of them, so she took the time to pour that as well. They moved like a team throughout the kitchen space. Jordan found it to be a comfortable feeling. Normally, he didn’t like anyone in the kitchen when he cooked, and he cooked often.

He put out his hand for a plate, but she chose to hold it for him. He put a fresh omelet filled with vegetables on it, and then did the same for his. She grabbed a piece of toast, buttered it, added it to her plate, and then did the same for his. They sat down at the same moment to eat. “I didn’t know if you took milk in your coffee or not, but you look like a man who takes it black.”

“I don’t take milk.”

“I do.”

“You would.” Her eyebrows went up at his comment.

They sat down to the impromptu meal, each comforted by the other. Her breasts were outlined clearly under the camisole she wore, now peaking, and her sleep pants hung low on her hips; her feet were bare. Her drying hair was a halo around her head and her guileless blue eyes were on him. He pulled himself up short. He had to stop doing this; she had done nothing to cause his reaction.

He remembered his protective role. “We need to talk about your leaving this morning. You turned off my phone alarm; that will not happen again; do you understand?”

“You needed to rest.”

“You needed protection. He was going to stop there, but he probed. “You knew the man with the gun, didn’t you?” She didn’t answer, but her facial expression did.
Witch, he thought. You’re a damn witch!
“Answer me.”

Her head swung around as she took him in. If he only knew about her, he would run. “Yes, I knew him from my past life.”

“Past life?”

“When I was arrested in Chicago.”
What in the hell?

“Care to explain that?” She shook her head no. “Well, you will explain him and give me his name.”

“I don’t know his name other than Whitey. He works for Thomas Hull. Thomas runs a development company whose board is very interested in the land in Jordan from which the refugees are being displaced.” Things began to fall into place for Jordan.

“Is this a large group of developers?” Her eyes went up to his and she bit her lip; his hand moved to it and halted her biting. He had done it instinctively.

“Yes, a large, influential group.” She looked conflicted. “There’s more you should know. Thomas Hull fancies himself in love with me; he took our relationship for more than what it was.”

“And what was it?” Now she positively glared at him.

“None of your business.”

He paused. “Everything you do is my business.”

“Not until I sign that damned contract, and I haven’t done that yet, have I?” There was some anger in her voice. He watched her like a hawk, as the color fluctuated over her cheekbones.

“Ah, I think I see. He made a pass at you, didn’t he? He wanted you, and you didn’t want him.” Anger flared in her blue eyes.

“How about he tried to rape me-–how would that work for you!” She jumped off the stool and stalked towards the steps.

“Come back here.” She hesitated for only a second at the command in his voice but then continued on her way. It took him only seconds to get off his stool and grab for her; she turned but seemed to slip through his hands like a shadow. “We’re not done talking.”

She was in his face then, her hands clenched at her sides, her voice like ice. “We are if I say we are.” 

His voice continued, cutting into her. “So the relationship was unacceptable, was it?”

“Yes, you bastard. You probably wouldn’t mind a woman pawing all over you, forcing you, her hands on you, hurting you? You’d welcome that. You’d give her everything she wanted—and more.”

Jordan watched her uneven breathing, pondering her words. “It’s always going to be a battle with you, isn’t it?”