Jennifer Rardin - [Jaz Parks 1] - Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Senator/Suspect #1 into our database and started reading.

Two hours later I'd read all the information I could gather on Senators Fellen, Tredd and Bozcowski. I'd also done a short background check on Cole Bemont out of pure nosiness. I felt much better about our spontaneous exchange of affection now that I knew he was definitely one of the good guys.

Wondering when Bergman would decide to crawl out of his cave and reenter the real world, I decided I'd wait more patiently if I could do so standing up. So I moved all the furniture out of the pit and lined it up against the walls like freaked out pre-teens at the Christmas Dance.

Taekwondo was the first martial art I ever learned. Mom started sending me to class when I was eight, somehow managing to find me a new instructor every time we moved, so that by the time I hit eleven I'd earned a first-degree black belt. I've trained in plenty of other disciplines since then, but taekwondo is still my favorite. I started with white belt, worked my way through each form until I reached my present rank, 5th degree black belt. By the time I'd finished my ribs were pounding out an S.O.S. on my lungs and my sweats were soaked. So I headed to the shower.

I peeked out the curtain on the way. 'Nothing moving out there. The whole damn state must be hungover.' Which was when I realized a new year had crashed on me. Should I make a resolution? Be nicer to old women and cats? Swear less? Learn a new language?

'Got it!' I told my reflection as I went into the bathroom to undress. 'My resolution is to learn how to swear in a new language.'

If Evie were here she'd be rolling her eyes. 'That's not swearing less, Jaz,' she'd say.

'Ah, but that is where you are wrong little round grasshopper,' I'd tell her in my Chinese grocer accent. She loves that one because, of course, I do it terribly. 'I will be swearing less in English. And I will be learning a new language.'

I lingered over my second shower, afterward took the time to shave and pluck and cosmeticize myself into some semblance of order. Now wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved purple shirt with prehistoric cave-paintings printed all over it, I was ready—to wait some more. These were the times I missed Evie the most. She's one of those people who's easy to be with, laid back, undemanding, never in your face—like me. I do sometimes think it's good we were military brats. All those moves forced us to become friends with each other because we knew our other friendships couldn't last.

Okay, much more of this mushy crap and I'll have to trade my PPK for a parasol.

I dropped to the bed, turned on the't.v. and picked up my cards. While Oprah helped some poor schmuck finally let go of her dead poodle, I shuffled. It sounds lame, I know. But I like the sound the cards make slapping against each other. It's much sweeter than the clatter of my thoughts, looping around my brain like the cars on a kid's racetrack, never winning, never ending, just rushing in circles until I want to lay down on a busy stretch of railroad and hope Dudley Do-Right is busy elsewhere.

Bergman called just as I turned the channel and, what do you know!, Dudley Do-Right galloped across the screen, riding Horse backwards because that's how all courageous Mounties ride their steeds in the backwoods of Canada. 'Jasmine? Are you secure?'

Hmm, really too many ways to answer that question, and not all of them comforting. 'It's safe to talk,' I said. 'What're you up to?'

'Nothing.'

Which meant he had several high-level, top-secret projects on the burner, none of which he wanted to discuss. 'Cool. That means you've got some free time, right?'

'Could have. What do you need?'

'Backup. Big-time backup with all the bells and whistles. How soon can you be in Miami with a vehicle?'

Long silence as Bergman did some mental calculating. 'How soon do you need me?'

'Dusk would be good.' I chuckled, but he got the message.

'I'll leave tonight and call you when I hit town.'

'Excellent,' I said, and we hung up. Nice thing about Bergman, he likes to leave the details for face-to-face conversations. 'Don't worry, Vayl,' I said, looking at my wall as if I could see through it, straight into his room, 'help is on the way.'

Chapter Eight

Nobody could rent me the kind of power I needed in a vehicle, though I only meant to use it until Bergman showed, so I ended up leasing one. That chore accomplished, I spent the rest of the time until dusk rearranging furniture. I reset the pit, using a completely different configuration than the hotel preferred and thinking I'd showed up their designers big-time. Evie always forces me watch the Home & Garden Network when I visit, and I felt sure most of their decorators would approve of the cozy new conversation area I'd created. Now I just had to figure out why I thought I needed one.

I was just getting the urge to shuffle cards in response to this new brain teaser when darkness fell. A strange sound from Vayl's room made me jump to my feet. It was half gulp, half gasp, what you might expect to hear from a swimmer who's finally surfaced after staying under far too long.

I was through his door before the sound stopped, Grief cocked in my hand.

Vayl stood in front of his tent-covered bed, staring at me as if I'd sprouted antennae. He was naked.

'Whoa!' I covered my eyes and spun around. Redundant, I know, but that two-second view of his magnificent pale bod had activated my conservative Midwestern values, chief among those the belief that you don't ogle naked men who don't already belong to you. 'I'm so sorry! I just heard this noise and it sounded like you were in danger, so I came to save you.' Dumbass. I should've known it was the sound of power, of magic, bringing Vayl back to a life he couldn't bear to leave. I'd been close when he'd come awake before, but never close enough to hear such a sound.

'I'm outta here,' I said, moving toward the door.

'No, stay.'