"I'm ex-army," Grantham said. "We both are."
Army?
No way. His disbelief must have shown because Grantham continued. "Most of the employees at Knight Security have a military background."
He wanted to ask more but it would look weird. He'd get a security check run on her once they'd left. He intended to discover everything about what Jessica Bauer was up to right now. Had she orchestrated this meeting? Maybe she'd had him shot herself, so he'd need a bodyguard … His mind raced ahead of itself, making up more and more far-fetched conspiracy theories.
Jess looked bored now. Staring out of the window, she tapped her foot on the ground, but a small tic twitched in the side of her cheek. She turned her head slightly and looked him in the face. "Are we done here?"
As she rose to her feet, her jacket swung open, and he caught sight of the shoulder holster and pistol nestled under her arm. Shit, she was for real. Why did the idea of Jess and a gun together make a shiver of apprehension run through him?
Because she hated him. She'd told him so at their last meeting in no uncertain terms. Shouted the words from her hospital bed as he'd turned and walked away from her.
"Mr. McCabe," Grantham said. "I think you should reconsider this. Maybe you aren't feeling quite yourself. You could be in shock from the shooting yesterday."
Oh, he was in shock all right. But not from the shooting. "If I come to my senses, I'll be sure to call."
Jess gave a tight smile. "That will be nice. We'll look forward to it." She turned to Grantham. "Come on, Dave, let's not waste anymore of Mr. McCabe's valuable time. I'm sure he has important bits of paper to play with."
Grantham was back to frowning. He glanced from Declan to Jess and back again, but then gave a shrug. "I think you're making a mistake. But what do I know." He rose to his feet and held out his hand. Declan stood as well and shook it. "Call us if you change your mind."
He sat back down as he watched them walk away. Jess moved with a long stride, her hands shoved in the pockets of her pants, her ponytail swinging. Her hair was longer than it used to be; he was guessing loose it would touch her ass.
An image of that ass naked flashed up in his mind. Smooth and perfect and pointing up at him, thighs parted so he could see the damp blond curls peeking out. His dick twitched. Then the image was overlaid with another memory, and before he could think it was a bad idea, he called out to her, "Jess."
About to open the door, she stopped short-maybe it was the use of her first name-and turned slowly. Her eyes were narrowed. "What?"
He grinned. "Do you still have the tattoo?"
Chapter Three
"Fucking asshole," Jess muttered and slammed the door behind her.
Whirling around, she reached for the door handle, meaning to go back in there and find just what he was playing at.
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Dave asked from beside her.
"No." She forced her hand back to her side. No way was she going back until she had cooled down.
"Come on, Jess. I wouldn't say you have the best of attitudes with clients, but even for you that was over the top."
She opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own bloody business, then snapped it closed again. It was his business, but that didn't mean she was going to tell him anything. What could she tell him anyway? She had no clue what was going on. "He started it."
Dave's lips twitched. "What are we, kindergarten children?"
She shrugged. "Maybe." God, she needed out of there. Time to get her shit together. She'd brought Dave along in case they needed to start the job immediately. But also as a means of keeping her distance while she'd discovered just what sort of effect meeting Declan again would have.
Catastrophic. That about covered it.
So much for playing nice. But she hadn't expected Declan not to recognize her. She hadn't known why he had asked for her, but it had never occurred to her that he hadn't. That he would have no clue it was her. That had thrown her totally off balance.
A whole nasty blast of unwelcome shock had hit her in the solar plexus when he'd said it was his father who had arranged for Knight Security's involvement. Had some little demented part of her brain actually liked the idea that Declan wanted to see her again? Had she imagined some fond memories had driven the action?
Ugh!
Instead, it was Rory McCabe who had contacted them. What the hell was with that? Ten years ago, he'd pretty much ordered her to leave his son alone and never to darken his door again.
Yet he must have known it was her. He'd asked for her by name.
God, her head was going to explode. She tugged at her ponytail trying to ease the pressure.
"I take it you and Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome-Billionaire have history."
Her gaze darted to Dave. "Mind your goddamned business." But she couldn't see that happening. Dave was an atrocious gossip and this would be all around the office within minutes of them getting back.
"And what's with the tattoo?" Dave asked. "You have a tattoo? Where?"
"Nowhere you're ever going to see. Come on, let's get out of here." She nodded to the young man who sat at the desk across the room, trying to look as though he wasn't hanging on their every word. Declan's assistant? At least he didn't have some sexy bimbo secretary. But why should she care?
"Are you sure we shouldn't try again?" Dave said. "I read what little there was in the file and these guys after him mean business. Even if you don't like him, I'm guessing you don't want him dead."
"And maybe you're guessing wrong. Maybe I don't give a toss." Maybe she'd like to shoot him herself. At just what point had he recognized her? She was betting from the moment she walked through the door. And he'd no doubt thought it would be amusing to string her along. He was a better goddamn actor than she was.
"Hmm. And I think you're protesting too much. Very … intriguing."
"Oh bugger off," she muttered and headed for the elevator. She stared straight ahead as they made their way down, but she could almost hear Dave's brain ticking over. No doubt coming up with more and more salubrious scenarios to entertain the entire office.
"Go back to the office and file a report," she said, as the doors slid open. "This job is officially closed."
"Where are you going?" Dave asked, eying her suspiciously.
"For a walk. I need some fresh air." Without waiting for him to answer, she strode across the reception area and out the front door. Once on the street, she hesitated, not knowing where to go.
She should go back to the office and sign in the firearm, but she really did need to clear her head, and in the end she just turned right and started moving, not really paying attention to where she was going.
She purposefully didn't think, just kept walking, while her brain cooled and her thoughts stopped whirling around in her head. When she reached a measure of calm, she slowed her pace and searched around her, settling on a coffee shop across the road.
She ordered an espresso and sat by the window, staring out but not seeing.
Well, that had gone well. As an exercise in moving on, proving that the past had no power over her anymore, it had been a complete disaster. As an exercise in proving she could play nice, it had been even worse.
Declan had changed so much. She could hardly recognize the boy she had known within the self-assured man she had just met. Though he had always been self-assured; it was one of the things that had drawn her to him. Even at eighteen, he'd known exactly who he was and what he wanted. For a little while that had been her. But he hadn't wanted her enough. She hadn't fitted into his plans for his nice tidy future. What had he told her? She was too wild, a disaster waiting to happen. That had been the first time they'd broken up. She'd stolen a car, gone joyriding …
She'd been seventeen at the time. And yeah, she'd been a little out of control. Not bad, just a tiny bit screwed up and filled with a need for excitement away from her tame middle-class upbringing.
When she'd met Declan, he'd seemed the perfect match. At first sight, he was the ultimate bad boy. Strangely, she'd met his father first. She'd been running with an older crowd, and they'd gotten tickets to a party in one of Rory McCabe's nightclubs. She'd caught his eye, not surprisingly considering her barely there sparkly dress. He'd invited her to his table, plied her with champagne-she had told him she was twenty-one-and even offered her a job dancing in his club. She'd found the attention flattering. Rory McCabe was a handsome man, an older version of Declan.
Then Declan had stormed over to the table and informed his father that she was in fact only seventeen. Declan had known her from school though he was a year ahead of her. Rory had been all for getting the bouncers to throw her out, but when Declan had said he'd take care of it, he'd given his son a knowing look and told him to play safe.
At first, she'd been pissed that he'd spoiled her fun. But soon she'd forgotten all that. Declan was … She sighed as she remembered him that first night. Tall, towering six inches above her five nine, with black hair, overlong so it brushed his shoulders and fell over his forehead, and mesmerizing silver gray eyes.
For all her wildness, she'd hardly ever been kissed, never having found anyone she wanted enough. But with Declan she was lost. He'd walked with her along the embankment, taken his first kiss with her pushed up against the wall, his big body hard against hers, the salt tang of the river in her nostrils. Even now, she couldn't smell the river without being carried back to that night.