Page 6 of Once a Killer

He walked into the kitchen, and Bree followed him. He pulled a beer out of his refrigerator. Goose Island 312. He reached to pop the top, then froze. “Sorry. You want a beer?”

“Nope. I’m on the job. No drinking for me.” She pointed her index finger at him. “Still testing me, huh? If I’d accepted it, I’d be on my way back to Montana. Right?”

One side of his mouth curled up. “Right. I don’t have a problem with someone having a beer. Or a glass of wine or a cocktail. But not when they’re supposed to be protecting me.”

“Bodyguarding 101,” she said. She jerked her head at the unopened beer in his hand. “Go ahead and open it. Won’t bother me. I’m not much of a drinker, anyway.”

He studied her for a long moment, then popped open the beer can and took a long drink. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said.

She stared at him. “Why not?”

“You’re tightly wound. Too wired. The last thing you’d do is drink on the job.”

She frowned. He’d noticed that about her? Concerning. She didn’t get close to her principals. Didn’t share secrets and life stories.Shepried life stories fromthem. She needed to know everything possible about them to know how they’d react to a threat. How they’d perform in an emergency. They didn’t get to know abouther.

She’d always prided herself on being a closed book. No information leaked out. How had Ford figured that out about her in the short time she’d been here?

She shrugged, as if he hadn’t just thrown her for a loop. “It’s pretty basic. I’m protecting you. My reflexes have to be sharp. I have to be alert every moment. Drinking alcohol? That dulls everything.

“On top of that, it’s one of Blackhawk Security’s rules. No drinking while you’re working. And they always ask our principals about that after the job is over.”

Ford leaned against the wall, taking a drink of his beer as he studied her. Bree wanted to look away -- it felt as if he was peering into her soul and digging up all her secrets. But she held his gaze, keeping her eyes expressionless, her face composed.

After a long moment, Ford smiled. “You’re good,” he said. “I doubt I’ve ever met someone with better control.”

He jerked his head toward the bedrooms. “You want to unpack while we wait for the food? I have a thing I need to finish on my computer. Won’t take long, but I don’t want to leave it hanging.”

“Sounds good,” she said as she walked past him. The heat from his body washed over her. So did his scent -- clean sweat from his workout. The faint hint of a woodsy soap.

“I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” he called after her.

“Thanks,” she said, entering her bedroom. She didn’t latch the door -- it needed to be open at all times. But she eased it part way closed to give herself a moment alone.

Jameson Ford wasn’t what she’d expected.

She’d figured he’d be a pudgy nerd wearing ugly, dated clothes, with short hair and possibly acne scars. Instead, he was tall and muscular. Good looking, with those bright blue eyes. Almost as intense as she was. And oddly disturbing.

Both his and her expectations had been turned on their heads.

The next weeks would be interesting.

Chapter 3

Jameson leaned against the back of the chair, watching Bree polish off the last of the Thai food. He couldn’t believe how much she’d eaten. He was pretty sure she’d eaten more than he had.

Had to be a first for a meal with a woman.

Finally she pushed her plate away. “That was delicious.”

“Not too spicy for you?” he asked.

“Hell, no,” she said immediately. “The spicier, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

She stood up from her chair and carried both their plates to the sink. Rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher as he jumped up to stop her.

“Cleaning up isn’t part of your job,” he said as he watched her move. Everything she did was measured. Controlled. Only enough movements to get the job done and nothing more.

Would she be controlled in everything she did?

---