The Protector by Gennita Low

sideways glance before crossing the narrow road. Rose followed wordlessly, and they had to stop in the middle to avoid a speeding scooter. A man pulling a watermelon cart yelled out a curse as he maneuvered around them. His French liaison said something back and Rose giggled, covering her mouth.
    Jazz didn’t think she was commenting about the weather. “What did you say?” he asked.
    “Full of questions, aren’t you, Lieutenant Zeringue?” she mocked as she continued crossing the road. “Where’s the thank you, ma’am, and really appreciate your helping me, ma’am? Didn’t your maman teach you good manners?”
    “I was hoping to thank you properly later,” Jazz told her.
    “Oh, and when is that?”
    “Over dinner, perhaps?”
    She stopped at the side of a parked car and leaned a hip on the hood. “Lieutenant Zeringue,” she began.
    “Couldn’t we be less formal under the circumstances?”
    She arched a brow, and he thought he saw a glimpse oflaughter in her eyes. “Very well,” she agreed. “Dinner is out of the question, Zola.”
    Jazz winced noticeably. “Jazz,” he said.
    “But Zola fits you so well,” she mocked.
    She might look supercilious and aloof, but there was a mischievous streak to her that fascinated him. It didn’t go with the image she projected during the interview.
    “I’m Zola only to family and very intimate friends, Miss Verreau,” he countered gravely.
    The laughing eyes gleamed at his unspoken challenge. “So, if I go out to dinner with you, does that qualify me as an intimate friend?” She pulled out a set of keys from her purse. “So easy?”
    He smiled, leaned down, and opened the car door for the women. He waited till Rose had gotten in the backseat before saying softly, “You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
    Miss Verreau’s expressive eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m not as easy as you, Lieutenant,” she said, as she climbed into the car. Jazz closed the door, and she leaned out of the window. “You’ll find that your uniform isn’t going to get anywhere with me.”
    She was as cool as those film noir chicks, a combination of fire and ice that never ceased to capture their victims. Jazz could almost hear the music in the background, the slow, sensuous rhythm of a deep bass that echoed the web of intrigue being laid out.
    “I can be out of uniform in seconds,” he promised, putting both hands on the roof of the small car so he could bend down closer.
    Her forefingers tapped the steering wheel. “How many ways do I have to say no before you understand that I’m not going out with you?”
    Her change of demeanor was just as challenging as the mischief that had been in her eyes a few moments earlier. There were layers to her that Jazz wished to explore. He lived in a world where time and decisions changed in a heartbeat; he was trained to go after what he wanted.
    Jazz grinned. “There is no such word in French when it comes to a romantic dinner.”
    “Oh? Now our dinner has progressed to something more. Really fast, Lieutenant. A girl likes to savor the chase a little bit.”
    He would love to savor her, but he didn’t say that. Not having talked to Hawk about the team’s new plans, he doubted that he would really be able to take her out to dinner anyway.
    She arched her brow again, cocking her head to one side. “It’s getting hotter out here. Are you going to get in the car or do you intend to hold this conversation all day in the sun?”
    He must be losing his touch. The lady had easily evaded his questions without much effort at all. He still didn’t know a damn thing about her. Straightening, he moved to the other side of the car and got in. He adjusted the seat back as far as it could go, squeezing his long length into the vehicle. Her eyes glinted at him before she turned her attention to starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic.
    “Where are we going?” he asked.
    She looked into the rearview mirror. “I have to drop