FlakJacket by A Nichols Page A

was a pause. “No, I’m not coming home. I have hired protection as you asked, and I’m being well taken care of.” Another pause. “Yes, yes, I will. I’ll keep in better touch with you, I promise, and no, I don’t want you to come here. It would just complicate things for me.” She listened attentively. “Yes. I’m giving the phone back to Mr. Lassiter.” She handed it back to him, her eyes furious as they met his.
    “Yes, sir. I’ll be in touch.” Jordan disconnected, and then he dropped the bomb. “Your father wants to hire me to protect you.”
    “NO! I will do it.”
    “It’s almost a done deal, the contract is being written between us.”
    “Well, tear it up, or I will leave. You have no control over me unless I sign, Mr. Lassiter. I’m of age. Remember that.”
    “I’m the person you said you wanted, Madison. What difference does it make as to who pays?”
    She started to say something to him, but then couldn’t do it. Flashes of him filled her mind, his coming role in her life, his body next to hers. She shut them out and turned her body away from him, staring out the car window, ignoring him and fuming. She muttered under her breath, “Tear it up.”
    “Such a prickly little thing.” She could hear laughter color his voice.
    “I still have a few cards up my sleeve to keep all the men in my life off my back—including you, Mr. Lassiter. I’ll be leaving you at the end of the week; I’ll find somewhere else to stay and let you know the address.”
    He was surprised at her need for control in her own life. “Thanks for the warning.”
    “I’ll have the check on your desk tonight; you no longer report to my father. Do you understand me? I don’t want him involved with this.”
    He watched the personal war inside her unfold, and then he nodded. “Then sign the damned contract.”
    They pulled up in front of his house, and he came around to help her out. She took his hand and pulled herself up, walking quickly onto the porch. He put in the code and unlocked the door.
    “I’m going to bed.” She trounced up the stairs as he watched her retreating body.
    Yes, run, Witch . It is your best means of protection. Keep space between us, he thought heading towards his office. He pulled off his coat and got to work. He looked up seconds later to watch her walk in and throw the signed contract on his desk. “There’s your damned contract.” And she was gone.
    Jordan thumbed through his calls finding several more warnings not to help the red headed witch. Who was threatening him? He needed to get his arms around that. He sighed deeply and picked up the folders of papers on his desk. It was the story of her crusade. He sat down to read it, a glass of whiskey at his side and a legal notepad beside him, scribbling down the names of those who were violently opposed to her positions.
    Jordan looked at the clock. It was going on three, and he was bleary-eyed from the reports; he had consumed way too many glasses of whiskey as he became enmeshed in her life, breathing the very air she did.  Madison’s defense of the disputed lands in Jordan was moving and well researched. But there had been more attacks on her person than he knew. There was also a report that she had been detained and beaten to within an inch of her life by several men in Chicago over two years ago. She had been found along a highway, nearly dead. The press buried the incident; Jordan had to wonder why that was so. There was report after report of her healing prowess—she had gifted hands. Damn, was she a saint, and if so, what was she doing with HIM? He rubbed his eyes again, trying to stay awake.
    He heard a soft movement in the kitchen, alerting him, and he crept to the doorway. None of his alarms had gone off, but he was still suspicious. He peered out to find Madison making a cup of tea. Her body was barely covered by a T-shirt and short shorts, her long legs showing. When she turned, he could tell she was also braless, and