That’s all.”

“Humph,” she huffed at whoever she was talking to. Then said, “I’ll be there in ten. Yes. Count on it.”

She was wrong. Six minutes later Maddie pulled The TEAM limo alongside what Jameson assumed was an impressive luxury jet on the far east runway at Reagan. He knew the Global 8000 offered a range of seven thousand, nine hundred nautical miles and a top speed of Mach 0.925. It was incredible the accommodations national press outlets provided their super stars these days. Also incredible that Jameson was right about those six minutes. Imagine that.

“Get my things on board,” the diva ordered as he gave her a hand out of the limo. “You, driver. Yes, you. Grab my purse. It’s too heavy for me.”

Maddie hopped to, and Jameson wished he could see the look on her face. He’d been sure to keep his words and expressions guarded. Had Maddie?

“Wait!” Miss Shade ordered. He could almost picture her, standing there with her finger in the air. “You want me to go where?” she asked whoever was still on her cell. “Why should I?”

While she turned her back on her lowly hired help, Jameson stood with Maddie at the bottom of the stairway to the jet, biding his time until Miss Shade was finally ready to board. What a pain in the ass. No wonder she wanted to be a star. She’d fit right in with the current Hollywood trolls.

“You can see the Jefferson Monument from here,” Maddie breathed. “It’s like a glowing beacon of freedom.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jameson asked, pleased she was there with him.

“Oh, sorry. You can’t see it. Anything, I mean… Good grief, I suck.”

He tossed his chin at Maddie, smiling at her consternation. “You do not. It’s an ordinary question for an extraordinary day. Besides, I can see the monument in my head, and I’ll bet it looks the same as the last time I saw it. It’s lit up and golden, and its reflection glows in the Tidal Basin, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.” Maddie had taken a step closer. “How do you do it? Stay positive all the time?”

“Hey! You! Bodyguards! Christ, do I have to do everything?”

Jameson snapped to, facing the client he couldn’t seem to please. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I said…” Shade drew out her scorn. “Get my shit on board. Hustle! I don’t have all night!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied as, swiftly, he gestured Maddie to go up the stairs first, then followed with her Highness’s bags from the limo trunk. Three heavy suitcases, but no computer bag. Interesting baggage for a reporter. Didn’t they all have laptops these days?

Maddie snagged the smallest bag out of his hand, probably cosmetics, when he hit the top step. “Thanks,” he murmured, then asked, “Do we get hazard pay for escorting clients like this?”

Her giggle was like a bright light shining in a very dark place. “No, but be sure to put everything she’s said tonight in your after-action report. Alex will want to know.”

Jameson stood there, wondering which way to turn, and where Shade wanted her bags.

“I’m guessing we should put her stuff in the back. Follow me. It’s got to be where her bedroom is.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came easily to his lips. Maddie was a joy to follow, especially to a bedroom. And she’d blithely provided the cue he’d needed. She’d be a good… friend. She was understanding of his impairment, yet openly curious. He liked that combination.

He was halfway through the jet when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end again. Jameson cocked his head, sure he’d just heard the slightest tick, followed by the nearly silent clip of a metal striker on metal. “Maddie, wait!”

Too late.

BOOM!

A heated rush of air blasted him off his feet. He rag-dolled a full three hundred sixty degrees backwards. Miss Shade’s luggage flew out of his hands. His head hit the floor hard, but Maddie’s body hit him harder when she landed on his belly and knocked the breath out of him.

“Jameson!” she screamed as a river of hellfire roared over the top of them.

“I’ve got you,” he said as he closed both arms around her and turned her face into his chest. The jet shuddered like a wet dog and groaned. Electrical conduits popped overhead. Metal screeched. He could smell the alcoholic heat from burning jet fuel. “Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

“It’s hard to breathe, but yes. I can move.”

Possible broken ribs and shock, he thought as he maneuvered to his feet, pulling Maddie up with him. As quickly as she was upright, he turned her toward the front of the plane and away from the scorching fireball behind him. His hair was burning. He could smell it. Brushing a quick hand over the back of his head, he smothered the heat and told her, “Hurry.”

Good girl. She ran, and he ran right behind her. In seconds, they were out the door and stumbling down the steps, holding hands and choking on the thick, roiling smoke engulfing the jet.

“Ouch,” Maddie cried as her fingers slipped from his.

She’d fallen. He dropped on the tarmac to her side, needing to get her as far from the conflagration as he could. The heat billowing from the rear of the jet was unbearable, and his skin felt as if it were on fire. “We can’t stop yet. Hook your arm around my neck. I’ll help.”

The instant she obeyed, he regretted the order. The skin on the back of his neck was burned. Not like it would slow him down. Scooping her into his arms, he ran with her, away from the sizzling, popping, booming explosions. In seconds, they were yards from the heat. They were safe and alive. He bowed his head, so damned grateful for that uncanny sixth sense he’d developed since the incident.

“You… okay…?” he asked between great heaving breaths.

She curled under his chin, her entire body quivering. “Y-y-yessss. I think so.”

“’S okay. We’re alive. That’s what counts,” he told her as he smoothed a hand over

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