Tripp’s neck snapped as he turned to face his friend. He’d heard about that risky, awesome take-down when he’d been in Seattle. “That was you?”
Jameson didn’t answer that question, either. Just sat there tapping his finger.
“I never said you were dumb,” Tripp breathed, in case this peculiar agent could read minds. Now I’m worried I’ve completely underestimated you.
“Think about it, gentlemen.” Jameson addressed the room with the quiet resolute confidence Tripp had only witnessed a couple times in his life. Once in Kabul. Again with Alex Stewart. “I live in a world without color, light, or shadow. Also without the distraction of those visual stimuli. Because I’m blind, the universe opens up to me in ways it doesn’t open to you. Trust me, I’ve worked my ass off to acquire these observation skills, but I also pay damned close attention. I focus on details others miss or might pass off as insignificant. Would I rather have my sight back? Absolutely. But I’m still useful, and I intend to end this motherfucker once and for all.”
Finally. A king-sized curse from this meeker than shit agent. Tripp liked the sound of that. Guess a SEAL still lived behind that pretty exterior after all.
“And he can kick your ass any day,” Mark added drily, directing that comment at Tucker. “Jameson is our resident Krav Maga expert. General Ben Amin trained him. Your own agent saw him fire those three shots into the precise location where Delaney was hiding that day, and I’ll have you know that each of those rounds hit their mark. Check the ME’s report. Jameson acted purely on muscle training and his uncanny sense of spatial awareness. That’s what ended Delaney. She never expected a blind man would be the one to take her down. She thought wrong. Jameson works as hard now as he did active-duty. He might not be psychic, but he might as well be. He’s as deadly as you, Tuck. Maybe more so.”
That put the final nail in Tucker’s ‘this is all you’ve got?’ coffin. The muscles in his stiff neck worked as he swallowed whatever remark lingered at the tip of his tongue. Finally, he sat down and began working with The TEAM.
Chapter Twelve
The only reason he’d found her again so quickly was pure destiny. He’d simply followed the guy from his apartment in Olde Alexandria, and, just as he’d suspected, she was with the fool she’d called a hero. See? Patterns and promises and destiny.
He’d watched as the brute from Friday night’s gallant rescue parked his equally large, yet unimpressive, truck at the curb. Unintelligent jocks tended to like big, big trucks. Penis envy and all. And bingo, his elusive little minx had fallen out of the truck into the brute’s dirty hands. Which made him angry, that another man should touch her so brazenly. So intimately. But if there was one trait he excelled at, it was patience. After all, good things came to those who waited.
Which brought him to this bench in the King Street Gardens Park, a tiny triangle of green space caught between Diagonal Road, Daingerfield Road, and the ever-busy King Street. Where he could watch the comings and goings of everyone who entered that five-story, brick building across the way. The building where she was now.
A sliver of cool, deep, dark shade during the summer months, the park was known for its quaint touristy touches. It boasted a small sunken pool hidden within a massive hanging garden of climbing wisteria, the vine held up by an artistic rendering of stainless-steel pipes. The bricks underfoot supported the spiraling metalwork that, in turn, supported all those creeping vines and their ugly, dirty-purple flowers. It was said that George Washington laid out the streets that confined this little piece of history. Too bad he hadn’t chosen better greenery when he did.
How he hated wisteria. Once it rooted, a man simply could not kill the tenacious woody weed. It had to be hacked to death, its roots poisoned, burned, hacked some more, then poisoned again. Even after all that, one could never be sure it was dead until the following spring. On second thought…
Maybe there was room in the world for the obnoxious plant. It wasn’t completely unlike Ashley Cox. She had proven hard to kill as well. Hmmm.
This cold, metal park bench was a wretched place to watch the world go by after the sun set. But people watching was a lot like fishing. It took patience most didn’t have the time nor the brains to develop. Most everyone these days wasn’t intelligent. A wise man could bank on that. They just lived and lived and lived until… Oops, they didn’t.
The way the metal arbor contained those twisted, wretched, woody branches, reminded him of cold, slimy snakes in a wire cage. Their flowers gave off a heavy, pungent stink. He much preferred cherry trees. Their blossoms were fragrant and sweet. Just like Ashley Cox...
A nasty curse caught his ear, then his eye. A tramp. A real slut, this time. Short, skanky leather skirt. Hard, mean eyes like all the others he’d entertained. She was crossing the street against traffic and in such a hurry. Stupid bitch didn’t have a clue he was there.
A smile curled his lips. Maybe tonight wasn’t about Ashley Cox after all. No matter. He’d found Ashley once. He could find her again…
Chapter Thirteen
“Sit,” Mother ordered the moment Tripp stepped away with Jameson and Beau. “Ember’s on maternity leave. Grab her chair. Everyone’s working late tonight, which means we have to feed them. I’m busy, so you need to place an order for soup and subs.”
“I can do that,” Ashley answered cheerily. Might as well keep busy while Tripp was in his meeting. Like him, both those other men he’d left with were so darned handsome, either could’ve stepped out of GQ or off a Chippendale calendar. All the guys in this office she’d seen or met
