A Breath Away

He was a virtual stranger, not to mention a client, and she watched herself from a distance, not really believing she was touching him and letting him touch her in return. She felt energized in his arms. And exhilarated. And safe.

It was the thought of safety that brought reality crashing back.

She was supposed to be protecting him. She was supposed to solve his case, help him get his life back under control, then send him on his way.

She wrenched herself out of his arms. Breathing hard, she held out her hand. “We can’t do this.”

He grabbed her hand and jerked her against him. “I sure as hell don’t see any reasons not to.”

“Sure you do. You’re just ignoring them.”

“Sex releases tension.”

“Sex complicates.”

“You don’t like complications?”

“No, and I don’t have sex with clients.”

“Is that a hard and fast rule, or just a guideline?”

She braced her feet apart and glared at him. “Don’t make me prove I can take you down anytime I want to, Tremaine.”

“Back to last names, are we? Maybe I should prove how quickly I can have you moaning—even screaming—my name.”

“Dream on.”

“How about I demonstrate instead?”

Bang, bang, bang.

They jumped apart and darted toward the door.

“Room service!” came the cry from the hall.

Jade had her Beretta in her hand as she positioned herself against the wall next to the door. “You order anything?”

“No.”

Her client had drawn a small pistol—from his ankle holster, no doubt—and took his place behind her. “Surely I’m not being stalked by someone with bad aim and a complete absence of originality. Room service,” he added in disgust.

Jade silently agreed, though she was pretty sure she recognized their waiter’s voice. She peered through the peephole and did, indeed, see David Washington and Mo Leger. They waved.

Stifling an eye roll, she said, “They’re mine,” then holstered her weapon and opened the door.

“Hey, boss,” David said, saluting. Tan, handsome and lean, his six-foot-six body was way too long for the waiter’s uniform he wore.

Mo—every bit as tall, plus considerably heavier and darker—pushed a white-tablecloth-covered cart into the suite. He’d opted for a maintenance man’s gray jumpsuit. “You might wanna hold back lookin’ through the peephole, Chief. We coulda blasted you.”

“I recognized your voice,” Jade said with a trace of annoyance. Because of their sense of timing? She didn’t want to go there.

She supposed it was too much to expect these two to stop treating their cases like elaborate games. But of course, to men like David and Mo—and probably Remington Tremaine, as well—chasing the bad guys was a game. One they played with deadly seriousness at times, but one they still found humor and enjoyment in.

She wished she could say she still had fun. Somewhere she’d lost the fire and passion, though she never considered doing anything else. It was all she knew and all she had.

After she made introductions among the men, David asked Tremaine, “So, you’re NSA?”

When Tremaine hesitated to confirm, Jade said, “If you want our help, my people have to have information. I told them what was in your dossier.”

“What little you have?”

“Keep it up, Mr. Fancy-art-dealer, and I’ll find your would be assassin just so I can swear my allegiance to him.”

Mo and David gave her strange looks—she couldn’t recall a time they’d seen her banter with a client—so before their curiosity got the best of them, she said, “His trouble isn’t about a case. It’s about his former profession.”

Hell, she’d kissed the man and guilt—or attraction or weakness—already had her glossing over the fact that he used to take other people’s stuff for a living.

“Sit down, and I’ll fill you in,” she added.

“Over breakfast,” David said.

Jade glanced at the cart. “You brought food?”

Mo and David exchanged smiles. “Among other things.”

OTHER THINGS turned out to be computers, surveillance equipment and instruments Remy couldn’t begin to identify.

He was only marginally competent with computers, but he certainly recognized the weapons, ammunition clips, binoculars and communications devices—including headsets, microphones, cameras and bugs. But there were also black boxes that lit up or emitted a series of beeps, a control that looked suspiciously like a detonator and handheld wands that might be lasers.

If somebody had told him he was going to learn to swing a light saber, he wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

While he used technology to his advantage on occasion, his strength was his ability to get personal, to read body language, to discern the significance of expressions and reactions. He liked touching things and people. Reading an electronic gauge or tracking some blip on a radar screen held no appeal for him.

Mo, however, was clearly in his element. As he checked out the information on the disk Remy had provided, his walnut-colored hands commanded a laptop keyboard the way the best teenage techno-geek could only dream of doing. Since he was extremely fierce-looking, the thought of him as a geek made Remy smile.

Remy’s amusement faded when his gaze slid to Jade, leaning over David’s shoulder as she pointed to one of the mysterious black boxes on the dining room table. His attraction—correction, his overwhelming need—was interfering with the case. As much as he’d looked forward to finally meeting her, he hadn’t anticipated that complication.

This case was about his life. And while there were many people who couldn’t care less, he certainly placed a high value on his own skin.

But when he was near her, he forgot about the shooting and old scores and professionalism and rules—though he was admittedly never big on those, anyway. She made him forget his goals and purpose, something no one had done for a long, long time.

“You could run a small war from this room,” he said in an effort to focus on the business at hand.

Jade glanced over her shoulder. Those intense green eyes focused briefly on his face. “We are. The bad guys want to take you out. We’re not going to let them.”

Direct. To the point. Where he knew the situation had layers of problems and complications—admittedly ones he hadn’t completely shared with her—she broke things down to their most basic pieces. “Do you always see things so simply?”

“Mostly. I have a simple job.”

He indicated the technology-strewn table with a sweep of his hand. “Seems pretty complex to me.”

“That’s because you still work for our blessed but flawed federal government.” She shrugged and turned away. “David, you want to tell Mr. Tremaine what our job is?”

“Get them before they get you.”

Remy laughed, moving around the table to sit across from them. “A good philosophy.”

“It works for us,” Jade said, frowning at him. “I thought you were going to get some rest.”

“I tried, but I can’t seem to relax. Probably too much caffeine.”

Actually, every time he closed his eyes all he saw was the two of them naked and tangled in the sheets of his bed.

Her eyes heated for a moment—with anger or maybe the same desire simmering in his veins. Probably an reluctant combination of both.

“You really need to sleep.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

The yes was obviously on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. “You’re a big boy. Do what you want.” She picked up an ammunition clip and checked it, adding, “You’ll be here for the next few days anyway. Plenty of time to recuperate.”

Even as he admired her I’ll-slip-this-in-when-he-won’t-notice strategy, he wasn’t complying. “I don’t think so, Agent Broussard.”

“I’m not an agent, and you’ll do what I say.”

“I’ll do what I please.”

“Not if you want my team protecting you.”

His body responded to her order by hardening like a rock. He wanted her when she was angry and defiant. He wanted her soft and vulnerable. Was there any situation where she couldn’t—literally—get a rise out of him?

He did realize that forcing his point would get him nowhere. She’d never back down in front of her team.

“Could we discuss this in my office?” he asked as he rose.

“Office? You don’t—”

“How about the room I’m currently sleeping and working in?”

She sighed—heavily. “David, continue to run the equipment diagnostics. Mo, keeping working on those names and background checks. I want the most likely suspect ASAP. I’ll be right back.”

She stalked toward Remy’s bedroom door, crossed the threshold, then stood at the end of the bed with her feet planted shoulder-width apart, her hands braced on her hips. She looked as though she planned to go ten rounds with the heavyweight champ.

He was tense, as well. It was both heady and annoying to have dreamed about being with her, to finally have her near him, only to have her constantly trying to distance herself.

But in contrast to her anger, he took great pains to move slowly, to close the door behind him with a quiet click and face her with a slight smile on his face. “Clients are a pain in the ass, huh?”

“Yes, they are.”

“And yet without them, you wouldn’t have a business.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I have agreeable clients. Ones who listen to me, ones who don’t question—”

“Ones who are too damn scared to do anything else.”

She said nothing for several long moments. “I don’t like you very much.”

“What a shame. I like you very much.” Before she could add another terse comment that might send his temper careening over the edge she’d already jumped off, he walked toward her, stopping when he was just inches away. “I’m not scared, Jade. At least not of getting shot again. I’m troubled by the need you rouse in me. I wonder if I’ll forget what I’m here to do.”

Instead of touching her, he should be finding a way to separate his fascination with her from his need for her investigative skills. There had been times he’d tossed aside professional ethics, but never for sex.

Ahem.

Okay, so there was that case in Boston years ago when he probably should have resisted the charms of that lovely blond secretary who worked for the drug cartel….

But that was just fun and games. This thing with Jade felt too intense to be a game. Fun…well, maybe…if a man had the right touch.

Thankfully—or not, depending on which parts of him he asked—she didn’t seem to give a damn about his confession of attraction. “We need to get the people on your suspect list under surveillance, and you’re laying low for a couple of days while I gather resources and information.”

“I can’t do that.”

“And I can’t fight blind.”

He had issues with being trapped—which was how he viewed holing up in a hotel room, luxurious or not. He knew this stemmed from his childhood days at the orphanage. While the nuns had been caring and gentle, his movements had been restricted to the convent; his choices had been limited. Had his foray into rebellion and eventual thievery been genetic or circumstantial? He’d likely never know for certain.

“I have to do something,” he said.

“I’ll put you to work.”

“I work better in the field. You must realize I can get in and out of here without anyone knowing.”

Her eyes flashed. “Not without me knowing.”

“Jade, Jade…” He cupped her elbows. “I’m trying here. I’m really trying to work with you. But you can’t put me in a box. You can’t honestly expect I’d agree to that.”

She pulled away, then paced in a circle before facing him again. “I’m asking you to stay put. Just a day or two. I need time to check with my network of contacts about your suspects. Two of them are all the way across the country in San Francisco and one is in south Florida.”

He could help by giving her more information. But he’d promised himself to let her roll with this case her way. After all these years, if he’d made a mistake or jumped to the wrong conclusions, he might never have the answers he sought. “Do you ever stop pushing?”

“No.”

He’d expected nothing less. Wasn’t that why he’d hired her in the first place? “You’re asking a lot.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary. You know I am.”

He knew.

“Do you really intend to tell me everything about your past?” she asked. “The parts that aren’t in your file?”

“Do you really intend to continue to deny our chemistry?”

She sighed and stepped back. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

They certainly weren’t. But as much as he needed her to do her job, to make sure his own investigation had indeed led him in the right direction, he needed her touch, her kiss, her sighs of pleasure even more.

His muscles twitched with the effort of holding back. He clenched his fists at his sides and fought to control his breathing.

“There are parts of my life that aren’t pretty,” he said finally.

“I’m not denying our chemistry,” she said at the same time.

She extended her hands. “You first.”

“Ladies first. Besides, mine will take longer to tell.”

She huffed out a breath. “Okay, look. We’ve got a personal issue with each other. I’m not completely immune, and obviously you’re not.”

Was that a compliment? He didn’t think so.

“It’s just something we’re going to have to work around,” she continued. “It’s a chemical thing that pops up from time to time when men and women work together. Close quarters, tense moments, etcetera.”

He loved her short, businesslike tone. He’d known her three hours, and yet he already realized it was so her. “Really? When was the last time it cropped up for you?”

“I don’t think we need to go into specifics.”

“Sure we do.”

She sighed. “Okay, so maybe one time I let myself get too close to a target. The results weren’t pretty, so you’d better—”

“He got killed?”

“Well, no, but—”

“He was injured?”

“Well, yes, but not because of anything I—”

“He just betrayed you by sneaking off with a terrorist—the one from whom he’d been accepting bribes for more than a year. Then he got shot, got scared and turned over evidence to your superior, who cut him a no-jail-time deal with the government.”

She went still, her eyes frosting over. “Somebody’s been doing some digging.”

“Naturally.” He reached out, trailing his finger along her cheek. “In fact, I know a great deal more about you than I imagine you’re comfortable with.”

“And yet you won’t grant me the same courtesy.”

“I’m getting around to it. I would just rather talk about the personal issue between us.” His tone deepened as desire rolled through his stomach. “Exploring chemistry can be a healthy release.”

“It can also be an unnecessary distraction.”

“We’ll set guidelines.”

“I won’t—”

“Consider it.”

She licked her lips, drawing his gaze and forcing him to suppress a moan. “Okay.”

He smiled, sliding his thumb across her bottom lip. “It’s a start.”

4

MAYBE IT WAS the probing, conflicted expression in Remy’s eyes. Maybe it was simply time to give in to someone’s opinions other than her own. Maybe she was just exhausted. But Jade was certainly tempted.

Foolish, definitely. But the lure was there, glimmering in front of her like an inviting respite from holding everything in, from doubting and fighting to stay in control. Even as he aggravated her, this man might equal her strength and challenge her as no one ever had before.

For now, though, she had to set it aside.

“We have a lot to talk about, but we don’t have to do it now,” she said, rolling her shoulders and stepping back. “I want to see what Mo comes up with. In the meantime, I’ll find a way to let you out, but you have to keep out of sight. You’re supposed to be a traumatized art dealer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “Boss. Chief.”

“I prefer the last two.”

“I figured.”

“I gotta get some sleep. I’m getting punchy.”

“Because you’re tempted by me.”

“Because I’m tired. I’ll grill you later, don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“Count on it.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me tuck you in?”

She smiled wanly. “You supposed right.” She headed toward the door. “But I’ll be ready for the life and times of Remington Tremaine when I get up.”

“You’re giving me time to deal with my own demons, aren’t you?”

She turned the doorknob but didn’t look back. “Of course not. I’m just tired.”

After leaving her client, she checked briefly on David and Mo, then shut herself in the guest bedroom.

Okay, maybe she was going soft. But then maybe she just needed a break from Tremaine’s magnetism. He knew way too much about her. She probably should have expected his craftiness, but the day had had so many twists and turns it was no wonder she was dizzy. Not to mention she was out of practice with sophisticated intrigue.

Most of the people she defended her clients against these days were angry or overly devoted or just plain crazy. Plus, her primary goal was preventative protection, which involved an entirely different kind of smarts.

Closing her eyes as she lay back on the bed, she fought to put Tremaine out of her mind. He’d occupied every minute of her thoughts all day. She needed a break—along with a healthy dose of perspective.

Her partner, Frank, would be arriving soon. He’d help serve as a buffer between her and Tremaine. He’d have fresh ideas and the professional distance she couldn’t seem to hold on to.

Was that why she’d put off her client’s confession regarding his dodgy history? Was she so desperate for balance that she’d stalled receiving vital information? Or was she afraid she’d hear something that would push her irrevocably to either accept or reject him?

Before this case, her opinion of him had been anything but positive. Since she’d met him she’d budged little. But her conscience niggled. What if she was wrong about him? What if she’d sneered at a man who had value way beyond the shallow box she was determined to keep him in?

You’re still thinking about him.

She mentally worked through cleaning and loading her pistol, hoping to bore herself to sleep. As she drifted, her parents’ faces hovered before her.

She remembered her dad teaching her to change the beer tap and how to bluff at poker. He used to wear Old Spice cologne and would pull her into his lap during late-night card games, long after she was supposed to have been asleep.

She’d been a night owl even then.

She remembered her mom’s perfectly manicured hands reflected in the mirror as Jade sat at her dressing table. Momma had liked Jade’s hair—which she’d brushed and braided constantly—long. Once in high school, after they’d argued about her curfew, Jade had cut it off really short, and her mom had cried.

Jade had kept it long—though not waist-length—ever since. No doubt there was psychological funny business in that decision, some leftover sense of guilt for hurting her now-dead mother.

As always, her dream came back to that hot June day when a group of terrorists had decided to use a parade to assassinate the mayor of New Orleans. As grand marshal, her dad had been right beside him, her mother on the other side. The three of them, plus the mayor’s bodyguard, had died in the shooting.

Jade hadn’t been there. She’d been in calculus class at Tulane. She hadn’t said goodbye to them. She hadn’t appreciated or loved them enough. And then they were gone.

The NSA had seen her pain and with stealth tactics and subtle training, turned it into controlled fury. At the tender age of nineteen, she’d started a new life of intrigue and danger—all in the name of revenge.

She jolted awake at the knock on the door.

Her hand automatically jerked to her holster as she sat up and blinked the dreams and the past away.

“J.B.?”

Frank.

“Coming.”

She unlocked and opened the door, then immediately sank onto the end of the bed. She rarely dreamed, so the cobwebs were hard to bat away.

Her partner dropped onto the bed beside her. He wore his usual baggy jeans and button-down shirt—today, baby blue. His face was scruffy, and his sandy-brown hair looked as though he’d run his hands through it at least a thousand times.

But the crinkles spreading out from his dark-brown eyes betrayed his sharpness—if you took the time to look. He was only ten years older than her, but he had what people romantically refer to as an “old soul,” so he acted more like her father than her brother.

“What’s up with the locked door?” he asked.

“With Light-fingered Tremaine on the case, I figured the precaution was necessary.”

Frank glanced at the door. “Not much of a lock.”

“Don’t I know it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell did you do last night? You look terrible.”

“I reworked the Ace One security program.”

“No kidding? You got the bugs out?”

“Yep.”

All thoughts of sleep gone, she leaped to her feet. “You’re a freakin’ genius!”

“You had doubts before?”

“Did you tell Mo?” Mo had taught Frank—who’d been previously technologically challenged—everything he knew. She wasn’t sure how thrilled his teacher was liable to be about his student excelling quite so thoroughly.

“Oh, yeah. I told him.” Frank smiled. “He’s pissed. We had fifty bucks on who’d break it first.”

“Can we test it here?”

“You really think there’s going to be a full-scale assault on the penthouse suite?”

“I’m not as worried about them getting in as I am about him—” she nodded toward the living room, where, presumably, their client was waiting “—getting out.”

“Certainly a bigger issue. I’ll get it installed. We can probably consider this a fairly definitive test.”

“I can’t think of a better situation.”

“He’s the best.”

Curious, Jade angled her head. “You really think so?”

“Near as I can figure.”

“You met him?”

“Slick.”

“In spades. What did you find out research-wise?”

“More than you, I bet.”

“Cute.”

“You wanna put fifty on it?”

Recalling Tremaine’s evasive answers and, worse, her reaction to him, she shook her head. “Not particularly.”

“I think he considers me a rival for your affections.”

“How do you figure that?” she asked casually, though sweat prickled at the small of her back.

“Just got that sense.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Ten minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. The man was a master. How could she forget? He’d taught her, after all.

There was no telling what Frank had gotten from Tremaine in ten minutes—added to what he’d researched. When he saw them together, he’d really get a troubling picture.

She’d already briefed her partner on the suspected cause of their client’s shooting, so he’d dug much further back in Tremaine’s life.

“Let’s hear the dirt,” she said.

“He’s an orphan.”

Despite preparing to be cynical, her heart stuttered. Guess the old money, vineyards and real estate he’d told Lucas about were part of his cover. “No kidding?”

“Mom dropped him off at a Catholic orphanage when he was six months old. Father’s identity unknown—blank on the birth certificate. Tremaine was his mother’s last name, and she died three months after dropping him off with the nuns.”

She swallowed.

“Around the age of fifteen, an old family friend came to visit him. Tremaine met with him in private, then told the nuns that the man hadn’t known his family, that he’d been mistaken about his identity.

“A few months later, he started sneaking out of the convent. He got caught a couple of times, and the nuns sent him to confession and counseling. At first, they figured he was out looking for drugs or alcohol, but others don’t think so.”

“Who’d you get this from?”