Jaimie: Fire And Ice Part 26

Boyfriends f.u.c.ked.

Lovers...lovers made love.

Which made Zacharias her lover.

And made it strange that she knew so little about him. He was-how to put it? He was self-contained. Or maybe it was that she knew he was withholding some part of himself. Yes. That was it. He was like a handsomely wrapped package, all beautiful paper and gorgeous bows that turned your knees to water even before you knew what it contained.

She'd never been with a man who talked so little about himself.

Men were given to boasting, even if they did it with subtlety. Doctors wanted to be sure you knew that they saved lives. Cops wanted you to know they dealt with bad guys. She'd once dated an archaeologist who worked at the Smithsonian and who'd talked endlessly about a dig in Libya and the ancient curse on it until her eyes had almost crossed and she'd come within a breath of saying, OK, I get it, you're really Indiana Jones in disguise.

Fast forward to Zacharias, who hadn't even hinted at his occupation.

He was rich. The car. The condo. Rich, yes, but she couldn't picture him sitting behind a desk with a dozen phones ringing at the same time.

Which was, she thought, glancing at him from under lashes, about as foolishly biased an a.s.sessment as possible.

She had three brothers. They were all big, strong, macho guys, and two of them sat behind desks. So did the third, some of the time.

Strange, how often she looked at Zacharias and thought of Jacob. Or Travis. Or Caleb. Mostly Caleb, who could talk your ears off about the law but go strangely silent about his past.

"You know, you remind me of my brother, Caleb."

The Prius swerved right, then left.

"What?"

Zacharias was staring at her. Jaimie laughed at the look on his face.

"Sorry. I guess it sounds flaky, you know, telling the man you're...the man you're with that he reminds you of your brother. The thing is, he-Caleb, I mean-is an attorney now, but he used to work for the government. Some agency he never talks about...G.o.d! I'm making this sound so Machiavellian!"

"Shadow Inc.," Zach said, speaking pretty much as fast as his pulse was racing. Man, he needed to get Caleb Wilde out of this conversation. "I own a company called Shadow Inc."

"Shadow Ink? You mean, as in tattoos?"

There was nothing like a little laughter to provide diversion.

"As in high-tech security."

"Got it. Men in Black."

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but last time I looked, we didn't have any s.p.a.ce aliens on the payroll."

"Ah. Well, into each life-"

"A little rain must fall, except this isn't rain anymore; it isn't even sleet. I forget. What do you call that white stuff in these parts? Could it be snow?"

"This is the South. It never snows in the South."

"This is not the South. And you get blizzards in wherever this is."

"The stuff isn't even sticking. And you're changing the subject. What do you do at Shadow Inc.?"

So much for diversion.

"We protect corporations and people."

"From?"

"From whatever they need protecting from."

Jaimie gave a soft laugh. "My brother, Jacob, would tell you that you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition."

Zach glanced at her.

"And I'd tell your brother Jacob-politely, of course-that I'm sure he's a cool dude, but I want to spend today alone with my girl."

Jaimie's heart leaped.

"Is that what I am?" she asked softly. "Your girl?"

Zach reached for her hand again.

"d.a.m.n right," he said gruffly, and thought what a great feeling it was finally to tell her something that was true.

He drove into Virginia, headed off the interstate and took a handsome, winding road that rose gently into the hills.

They'd been talking the last few minutes. Nothing special, just about New York and D.C. and the differences between the two cities, so Jaimie hadn't paid attention to their surroundings until Zach said, "Here we are," and pulled into a small parking lot. "This place has always been one of my favorites."

Jaimie looked out the window.

"Oh," she said softly.

It was one of her favorites, too-at least it had been until a couple of weeks ago. She'd shown a house in Fairfax; after, she'd brought her client here for a late lunch.

Midway through their chopped salads, the client-a woman-had leaned forward and said, "Don't look now, dear, but there's a nice-looking gentleman giving you the once-over."

Jaimie had known, right away, that it was Steven. It didn't even surprise her. She'd had an uncomfortable feeling, that hair-rising-on-the-nape-of-your-neck sensation almost as soon as they'd been seated.

Carefully, she'd put down her fork. Forced a smile. Kept that smile even when Steven appeared beside their table.

"Celeste," he'd said softly, "I've missed you."

"Steven." Her voice had trembled. Not much, but she'd hated herself for it. "I'm very busy right now."

"Yes. I see that." He'd turned to Jaimie's client, who was watching them with a puzzled smile on her lips. "How do you do?" he'd said, extending his hand. "Jaimie seems to have forgotten her manners. I'm Steven Young. Her fiance."

"He isn't my-"

"Sorry, darling. I know you don't like to talk about our personal lives when you're in a business setting." He'd smiled, his lips curving, his eyes flat as those of a dead fish. "Ladies. Enjoy your lunch. Celeste, I'll see you later."

Of course, the client had bubbled with questions, starting with that name, Celeste. Jaimie had made light of the incident. She'd tried, anyway, but her hands were shaking so badly she had difficulty picking up her gla.s.s of water, and eating even another mouthful of her salad was beyond all possibility.

After a few minutes, the client had glanced at her watch and made a big show of how late it was getting. They'd gone back to Jaimie's office where the client had recovered her car and mumbled something about being in touch.

Jaimie had known she wouldn't.

And when she'd returned home that evening, she'd opened the door with trepidation, checked each room in her apartment, looked under the bed and in the closets and in the shower stall...

"Jaimie. Jaimie? Honey, what is it?"

She blinked.

Zacharias was holding her shoulders, his face a study in concern.

"Nothing," she said. Somehow, she forced a smile. "Nothing. Honestly. It's-I'm just not very hungry, that's all."

"Jaimie." His tone was hard. So was the feel of his hands. "What's going on?"

"I told you. I'm not-I'm not-"

To her horror, tears spilled from her eyes. She tried choking back a sob, but it didn't work.

"Sweetheart," Zacharias whispered.

A second later, he'd unbuckled both their seat belts and she was in his arms.

He held her against him, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other stroking up and down her spine. She was shaking; her tears were soaking into his jacket, her little gasps were hot against his throat.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

"Don't," he said, "honey, don't. Whatever it is, I'll take care of it. Tell me. Baby, talk to me." He clasped her face, drew back just a little, gave her no choice but to look up at him. "Please. Tell me what's happening."

She stared at him. She couldn't tell him, wouldn't tell him. Just a little while ago, she'd admitted to herself that this man was her lover, but that he was also a stranger. She couldn't unload this on him.

"Jaimie." Zach bent his head, brushed his lips tenderly over hers. "Trust me. Tell me why you're crying."

Trust him, she thought. Trust him...

"There's a man," she said. "His name is Young. Steven Young."

The story poured from her lips. Meeting Steven. Thinking what a nice guy he was. His growing interest in her; her trying to let him down gently once she realized that he wanted lots more from her than friends.h.i.+p. The unwanted gifts. The unwanted visits. Calling her by a name n.o.body but he used for her. And, finally, what had happened recently, right in this restaurant.

Zach felt as if a ball of ice were forming in his belly.

His brain took in what she was saying, processed it, and the instinct to protect her took over, so powerfully that it made him almost light-headed.

"He follows me," Jaimie said. "I never see him, but I can feel his presence. I know that doesn't make sense, but-"

"It makes a lot of sense," Zach said grimly.

She sighed with relief.

"I was afraid you'd say it was crazy."

Gently, he smoothed her tangled hair back from her face.

"It's an atavistic thing, honey. A survival skill."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. You know the old saying Been there, done that?"

"At Shadow?"

h.e.l.l. He took a long breath.

"I was in the Marines. A Special Ops group. If you're any good at all, one of the first things you learn is to give credence to your instincts."

"Then you won't think I'm also crazy if I tell you that-that I know that somehow, he's been in my apartment. Sometimes, I can feel his presence. I even thought I felt it for a little while last night."

Last night, Zach thought, if he hadn't been sitting outside in the Prius last night...

"I know he's been in my apartment," she said, her voice rising. "Things were moved. Not a lot, but they were moved. He touched my panties. My bras. I could feel him there. I could-I could smell him..." She drew a long breath. "I hate him," she said fiercely. "I hate that he can make me feel so-so helpless. I've never been helpless, dammit, I don't do helpless!"

Angry tears trickled down her cheeks. Zach dug in his pocket, took out a handkerchief. Wiped her eyes. Held the handkerchief to her nose.

"Blow," he said gently.

She did. He put the handkerchief away and gathered her in his arms again.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Thank you. For saying that, I mean, but-"

"Jaimie." Zach clasped her arms and held her so she could look into his face. "It's over."

"Zacharias. Don't you see? It won't be over until he decides it's over. Giving somebody presents isn't against the law. Calling them by the wrong name isn't, either. And I don't have a shred of proof that he's been in-"

"You're not listening." Zach's voice was low. Cold. "You do not have to worry about him anymore."

"Zacharias-"

"I'm here. I'll protect you."