Filling up the Virgin(243)

“Is that a thing?” William, one of the younger members of the team, asked. “I mean, is that a thing we need to worry about? Kidnapping?”

“Not while I'm around,” Jack said, exuding confidence. Seeming content that there were no bombs or hidden cameras in the room, he threw himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the table, crossing one ankle over the other. Suddenly he looked less like an expert in personal security, and more like he owned the place.

“It's good that you're sure of yourself, Jackie boy,” I said, smirking at him. “But do you mind keeping your filthy boots away from my maps?” I knocked his feet off the table, then brushed the dirt off the maps spread out before us.

“My apologies,” he said, giving me a wry smile. He pulled over a spare chair and propped his feet up on that, acting as if nothing had happened. I had to give it to him, he didn't miss a beat.

“I guess the Navy doesn't teach manners,” Tracy said. She was our expert on Middle Eastern history. She also had a bit of a chip on her shoulder.

Jack ignored the jab and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and flashing Tracy a smirk. I eyed him for a moment, surprised at his poise. Most men I knew would have a quick comeback or pointed remark waiting for a woman who mouthed off to them. Jack didn't seem to feel the need to defend himself. It raised him up a notch in my estimation. Bickering could get so petty sometimes.

The team and I spent the rest of the afternoon going over the details, plotting out where we'd be heading, what to expect, and how to handle ourselves while we were here. What we were doing wasn't strictly legal, though it fell into a bit of a gray area. We had to make sure we didn't draw the wrong kind of attention to ourselves. Though most of our work would be in isolated areas. These sites had been well-preserved before the conflict in the region started, but now a lot of them were surrounded by wartime ruin.

Jack observed the meeting with detached interest, only chiming in when he had a security-related concern to bring up. The meeting ran smooth as can be, and around supper time we called it a night, with plans to head out first thing in the morning.

After dinner I wandered into the dusty little bar just off the lobby of the hotel. The lighting was dim and a few shady characters lounged at tables off in the corners, while a slender man with a thick mustache polished the bar. A few lazy ceiling fans spun overhead, but they did little to stifle the heat.

I was surprised to find Jack there, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. I sauntered over to him and asked, “Mind some company?”

The corner of his mouth perked up in a grin and he nodded to the stool next to him. “I always enjoy the company of a lovely lady.”

I took the stool, laughing. “Lady?” I shook my head. “Baby, I ain't no 'lady.' I am a woman, and proud of it.”

He looked me up and down, his eyes roaming over my generous curves. “You are, at that,” he said.

I ordered a whiskey sour, and Jack's eyebrows went up when he heard my order. “Definitely not a 'lady' drink,” he said. He raised his glass to me and took a long drink of it.

“I like my drinks like I like my men,” I said. “Tall, cool, and hard.”

He laughed and took another swig of his drink. We had a few rounds, all on Tremaine's dime. One of the advantages of working for a billionaire was that he didn't look too closely at the expense reports. “So tell me,” he asked once we'd had a chance to loosen up, “what brings a woman like yourself traipsing around the globe, running errands for a billionaire like Tremaine?”

“I ain't no errand girl,” I said. “I do it for history.”

“For history?” He arched an eyebrow, looking at me quizzically.

“History deserves to be preserved.” I finished off my third drink and ordered a fourth. I was just a bit light-headed, but it was a nice, gentle buzz. “My family lost our history. It was stolen from us.”

“Slavery?” he asked, his voice grim.

“What else?” I shrugged, tapping my fingers against my glass. “You ever see that movie, Roots?”

He nodded.

“Well, the guy who wrote it, who wrote the book it was based on, that is, he did all kinds of research. Traced his family history all the way back through their time as slaves and on back to their original tribe in Africa.” I took a slow sip of my drink, savoring the cool burn. “But the thing is, it wasn't all right. I loved that movie, and it was the first book I ever went out and read on my own as a little girl. I always wanted to find my own roots.” I shrugged, running my thumb along the edges of my glass. “But later on I learned that the author messed up a lot of his facts. That doesn't mean the story isn't true, in a manner of speaking. But he couldn't get everything right.”