3.

"Move it!" He ordered as he slid behind the wheel and pushed her over into the front passenger seat.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "Watch the manhandling or next time I'll introduce you to my right knee."

"Doubtful." Jason huffed as he put the car in drive.

"I'm not letting you that close to me ever again you little thief." He finished as he plowed the luxury sedan straight through the garage door.

Splintered wood scattered to the sides falling to the ground in their wake as they soared down the drive headed for the main gate at full speed.

"Which reminds me." He told her. "You stole my lucky lighter didn't you?"

Sam smiled in satisfaction. "You really shouldn't make it so easy."

"I don't." He insisted as they busted through the gate without stopping and raced down the street.

"So you're admitting that I'm just that good?" Sam grinned as an inner glee bubbled to the surface.

Jason glanced over at her. There had been a smile in her voice as she said that and he wanted to see if it was on her face too. It was.

"I've never seen someone take such pride in pick-pocketing."

"It's a skill." She shrugged. "A skill that saved my life today I might add."

"So you are admitting you stole my lighter." Jason accused.

"What's so lucky about it?" She refused to answer on the grounds that she didn't have to tell him shit.

He took her refusal to answer as an admission of guilt. "Didn't you just say having it in your possession saved your life? Well, not having it nearly cost mine."

Sam looked at him like he was crazy. "What could a lighter have done to stop a bomb?"

Jason was now the one refusing to answer. He remained silent and overly focused on the road.

"Wait!" Sam laughed as it occurred to her. "You don't actually believe it's like good luck lucky do you? Like a rabbit foot or something?" This guy was so serious. He couldn't possibly believe in silly superstitions.

Jason was silent for another minute before he finally spoke. "All I know, is that lighter was the one difference between me and a lot of other guys who weren't so lucky to come back alive and in one piece."

An old boss, more like friend or brother, had given him that lighter the day he left for special ops training. It hadn't left Jason's possession since. Maybe it was dumb to believe that lighter was what kept him safe, but it was the only difference he could see between him and the rest of his men that hadn't been so fortunate.

His tone was suddenly somber and for a tiny moment there was something so vulnerable about him when he spoke of his past and then it was gone again, lost behind a wall of stone. Still, Sam could see whether it was actually lucky or not it held a lot of value to him. Just as a bracelet she'd once been given meant so much to her. She was glad she'd left her most valued possession someplace safe, but she missed not having it around her wrist. It comforted her much the same way she bet his lighter comforted him.

She reached into her bra and pulled it out. She rubbed her fingers over it as she admired it. It was plated in black titanium with gold wings flanking the front and back of it. There was a script embossed in gold on the front that read The Angel's Wings. Below it was a smaller font that read Limited Edition VIII with the numbers 0001/1000. It was the very first ever made in a series of one thousand. Firsts were rarely sold to the public. They were usually given as special gifts by the creators which made her curious how he'd come to own it.

"Here." Sam handed it back to him.

"Sorry I stole it." She apologized, unable to look his way.

"I'm not." He replied as he welcomed it back into his possession. He caressed his thumb over it enjoying the warmth it held from having been nestled against her breast.

Her head swung to him of its own volition at his admission.

He ventured a glance at her as well and could see the confusion his words created.

"It kept you alive until I could find you." He explained simply.

Her brows furrowed. The man was full of contradictions. First he calls her out for stealing then tells her he's glad she did it. He chases her down through the woods and insists on delivering her to a lowlife like Luis then risks his life to get her back. She was confused by him and this most recent revelation, but something about it felt nice.

Maybe she should fear him, but she didn't and she wasn't sure why. She didn't completely trust him, but she believed him when he said he was coming back for her. There weren't many men… any men she knew that would shoot up Luis Alcazar's estate and go against Andre Karpov's orders just because it was the right thing to do, just… for her. She turned her head away to hide the smile that grew, still puzzled by the man beside her.

They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes. Jason was surprised to be the one to break it. He usually embraced the quiet, but something was nagging at him. He knew he should probably ask her name first or just how much shit he'd brought down on himself by helping her, but he wasn't yet sure if he wanted those answers. The more he knew, the more invested he might become. "How did you figure out the code?"

Sam tore her eyes and her thoughts to the present and glanced his way. She thought his first question might have been to ask her name or what kind of trouble she was in. Instead it was about his car. Typical male, she chuckled. "You baby this car like it's a prized possession. Wasn't hard to figure the code would center around your obvious obsession. I mean really, the model and year backwards? It was practically idiot-proof."

A scowl crossed his face. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. He pursed his lips in consternation not realizing it always made his lower lip poke out when he did.

Sam looked back over at him expecting some kind of response by now and noticed his bottom lip. "Are you gonna cry about it?"

She couldn't help teasing him. He actually looked like he might.

Jason cut his eyes at her and sucked in that bottom lip as his jaw tightened. He turned his attention back to the road, ignoring her.

Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. She'd spent the last twenty minutes figuring out her next move and had to admit it would go a lot easier with someone like him on her side which frustrated her. She wasn't used to relying on people and she hated asking for help. People usually let her down, or just plain up and disappeared on her whenever she began to get too close and she doubted he would help her anyway. Alone was better, she sighed.

Her brain was tired and she was teaming with impatience. There was nothing she could do until she got back to the hotel she'd been kidnapped from and retrieved the package she'd left for herself under an alias in the hotel's safe.

She looked out the window and blew air up into her bangs in frustration. Why was he driving so incredibly slow? "Are we gonna get there today granny?"

Jason exhaled forcefully, but didn't speak.

"I thought you were supposed to be some kind of expert wheel man." She continued to goad.

His face scrunched. She's heard about me? "Why would you think that?"

Sam shrugged with her arms still folded under her breasts. Jason glanced over and turned back quickly ordering himself not to pay attention to the enticing things that pose did to her cleavage. "I heard this kid back at the mansion talking about you after you left. It was before they brought me downstairs. He was going on and on like you're some kind of badass driver. Guess he was half right. You are pretty bad."

"Would you prefer to ride in the trunk?"

Why did I have to get her talking? She'd been quiet for a good twenty minutes. He may have been lucky to make it another twenty if he'd kept his curiosity in check.

"Would you prefer to keep your genitals intact?" Sam snapped right back.

Jason smirked. Damn, she was feisty. It was almost to the point of being reckless, but he liked it. He liked her spirit. He'd never come across another woman like her.

"Was that a smile?" Sam asked incredulously. She was beginning to think his facial muscles incapable of the movement.

Jason immediately sobered. "I don't smile."

Sam grinned at the flush appearing on his neck. She'd embarrassed him. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want." He shrugged. "It's true."

"I bet I could get you to smile." She challenged and looked back out at the road ahead.

"I'm not so sure." Jason shook his head slightly from side to side. "I don't think it's possible for you to shut up long enough to make me that happy."

He could suddenly feel the heat of her glare on his skin and that almost made him want to smile again. It was fun getting under her skin.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a charming personality?" She suddenly wanted to know.

"No." He admitted honestly. He didn't recall ever being complimented that way, though he bet Jason Quartermaine had heard it a million times or more from what he'd been told about the man.

"Well they were right." She told him flatly as she looked back out her window to the peaks and valleys in the distance.

They fell into another silence for a while after that. Jason had more questions, but he forced himself to maintain the silence as long as she did. He was surprised at how difficult that was for him. He'd never met anyone that made him care to know more about them, not personally at least. There were lots of contacts he associated with that required background checks, but that was business.

Sam sighed deep. She couldn't take the silence any longer so she reached for the stereo.

Jason watched her hand rest on the dial. "What are you doing?"

Sam rolled her eyes ignoring him. He wanted her to shut up. She would give him his wish. She decided not to talk to him again until he apologized for that last remark. She found a good song and stopped on it. She used to love this song and hadn't heard it in a while.

Jason listened to the heavy hitting beat of the drums with the adrenaline pumping guitar riffs as the lead singer's feelings screamed from the speakers. "What is this?"

Sam looked at him thoughtfully. He hadn't apologized yet and she didn't want to answer, but couldn't resist. "Sabotage by the Beastie Boys."

Jason nodded as if he knew what the heck she just said. Did she just say beastie?

"Why?" Sam said. "You like it?"

Jason considered her question for a couple seconds then nodded.

"Good." She replied as she turned from his profile to face forward again. "You should play it whenever you drive. Maybe it'll help keep you awake."

Jason turned the volume down from the control on the steering wheel. "Are you saying I'm asleep at the wheel?"

"I don't think I have to say it." Sam replied confidently. "You just said it for me."

"You know." Jason replied, feeling indignation creep up his spine as he sat straighter in his seat. "If you spent more time thinking about why I might be driving this way instead of cracking jokes about it, you might be a little more appreciative."

Sam just looked at him thoughtfully again taking his words as a challenge. She looked back out the window trying to figure it out.

Jason felt himself smirk again. "You need a hint?"

He just couldn't seem to help himself from trying to piss her off.

Sam cut her eyes at him and thought about slapping him, but decided to land the blow with her words instead. "Contrary to the women you must be familiar with I am not an airhead."

"We're heading away from a shootout..." She began. "In a stolen vehicle from said location. You're keeping it under the limit to avoid unwanted attention from the police… or worse."

One of his brows rose and she could tell he was impressed. "You're good."

"No." She negated. "I'm damn good."

He pursed his lips. "But you're wrong about one thing."

Sam frowned. She doubted it. "What's that?"

"I'm not… what you said, you know, familiar with any female airheads." He stumbled over his explanation then wondered why he even bothered explaining himself at all. He didn't owe her any explanations, but she was painting him out to be some kind of man-whore. He didn't care for the implication.

"Oh." Sam nodded as if all were clear now. "So you prefer your entertainment a little more high-brow huh?"

The skin around his eyes creased when he squinted. "Entertainment? What are you talking about?"

"Your women." She brushed off with polished nonchalance. "That is how you see us isn't it? There for your entertainment?"

Jason's face twisted as his brows knitted together. "No more than I'm there for hers I suppose, but no. That isn't how I see women at all. They aren't here simply to please me, but if they should happen to want to who am I to rob them of their joy?"

He didn't really believe that last part, but again couldn't resist pushing her buttons.

A disgusted sound emitted from the back of her throat. "You're a jerk!"

"And you're…" He started off heated as all the words he contemplated using flew threw his mind; ungrateful, combative, difficult, a pain in my ass, sexy as hell when you're angry… Wait. What? He then remembered why she had every right to treat him that way. He had been a jerk to her.

"... right." He finished lamely, his arrogance now fully deflated.

"What?" Sam looked at him confused again. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say. He kept throwing her off balance with his responses. She wasn't sure if he was a good guy or a jerk. Maybe he was both.

"I am a jerk… for not helping you sooner." He admitted humbly.

"Oh, that." She replied as if she'd already forgotten. "Yes, you are. You're just scoring all kinds of points today aren't you?"

Her wit was sharp and she was biting the hell out of him with it.

"Hey, I think I earned at least a couple for coming back –and for the drink. Both of them! That's double points!" He argued.

Sam shook her head. "That doesn't count. You didn't save me. I was almost out of there when you showed up. Hell, I hot-wired the getaway car. If anything, I saved your ass and hydrating the kidnap victim wedged in the duffel of your trunk doesn't count either."

Jason's lips poked out in contemplation. "What about the second drink?"

Sam held her hand out toward him and he glanced over at it. "What the hell is that for?"

"The alleged drink." She told him waving her open hand expectantly. "Where is it? I'm thirsty. Give me the drink and I'll consider giving you some points."

"I don't have it." Jason told her unamused. "It was kind of knocked out of my hand when the bomb went off twenty feet away from me."

Sam shrugged and pulled her hand back into her lap. "Well then, no points for you. Looks like you scored a big fat goose-egg today."

"Better luck tomorrow." She added as she looked forward again.

Jason's lower lip poked out again. He didn't know why he let her words get to him. Then an unsettling possibility came to mind. What if he wasn't letting her do anything? What if he was powerless to stop the emotions she brought out in him? He shook that ridiculous notion off. No one controlled his emotions, but him.

He noticed her moving around again. She was searching the glove box. "What are you looking for?"

"Tissue. You look like you're about to cry again."

Jason let out a frustrated breath and clenched his jaw as he fired back. "I'm not about to cry, but if I were they would be tears of joy. I'm almost home and one step closer to getting out of this car with you."

Sam scoffed. "Hah. I told you. This is my ride. You can pull over any time. I'll be glad to leave you on the side of the road to hitch the next one. Maybe you'll have better luck and some damsel-in-distress will stop to pick you up and let you rescue her so your wittle man feelings won't get hurt again."

"Would you stop?" Jason pleaded holding on to what little patience he had left.

"Would you go?" She demanded equally impatient "We just got passed by a Vespa!"

Jason gripped the steering wheel tighter and concentrated on his breathing. He needed to calm down. He was letting her get him too worked up.

Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head. She tuned Jason out and tuned the stereo back in and realized she didn't like the song that was playing. She began to scan the stations.

She stopped on one she really liked.

Jason's song

It had just started. She looked back out at the landscape as she felt herself get lost in it. There was something so beautiful in the vulnerability of not only his voice, but his words. It reminded her of what she'd felt when the man next to her told her why his lucky lighter was so important to him. She realized she'd been completely out of it for a couple minutes and looked over at Stone Cold as the kid had called him to see if she'd missed anything which was when she noticed his frown.

It brought a frown to her face as well. "Let me guess, you don't like it."

She moved to change the station and he opened his mouth to tell her not to, but stopped himself. It felt too vulnerable to admit he liked it. He'd gotten lost in the lyrics and the thoughts of his past that it evoked. It was a beautiful song and he felt a kindred connection to the feelings it expressed. He didn't even realize he was frowning until Sam looked at him and assumed he didn't like it.

Sam saw his reaction and paused over the button.

"So you do like it?" She wondered.

"Yeah, well, I mean whatever. It's fine." He shrugged. "You don't have to change it if you like it."

Sam pulled her hand back and sat back in her seat. "I do." She nodded. "He's got a great voice and there's just something about this song. The lyrics really get to me, you know?"

She ventured a look trying to get a feel for what he was thinking.

Jason just shrugged. "I guess."

He was trying to hide it, but Sam could tell he really liked it.

"Who's he?"

"He who?" Sam said.

Jason chuckled. "That's what I said. The guy, you said he's got a great voice. Who sings it?"

"Oh." Sam said forgetting she'd said anything about him. "His stage name is Five For Fighting, but his real name is John Ondrasik. The song is called Superman."

Jason pursed his lips and just nodded as he continued to listen. It was a good song.

Several more songs played before they spoke again.

"So." Jason initiated once again. "What was the name of that other band before?"

Sam thought about it for a minute then remembered what he was talking about. "The Beastie Boys."

She watched him as she said the name. He tried to mask his ignorance, but failed. "You've never heard of them?"

Jason hesitantly shook his head. There were a lot of things about pop culture he knew nothing about. He lost whatever he had known after the accident and hadn't really had the time or inclination to re-learn it which was why he usually avoided the topic altogether. "No. Are they new?"

Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind, little did she know he had, well his memories anyway. "No, they're classic. You're telling me you've never heard of the Beastie Boys? How is that even possible? You can't be more than like five years older than me. You had to be a senior or in college when this song came out. It must have been playing at every frat party you ever went to."

Jason nodded once in understanding. "That explains it."

Sam raised a brow at him then looked back to the road ahead. "Glad I cleared that up for one of us."

She didn't think he would offer any further explanation, but then he spoke again. "What year was the song released?"

"'94." Sam turned in her seat hoping he would say more.

"What are you a music trivia buff? You sound pretty sure." Jason wondered aloud.

Sam smiled softly. "I remember the first time I heard it. I was fourteen and I loved it, but my father was very strict about what movies, books and music I was exposed to. That band was definitely not on the approved list."

"Sounds like good parenting." Jason observed innocently enough.

Sam huffed as an edge he'd never heard from her before found her voice. "Then you obviously haven't met my father."

Jason looked over at her. He'd upset her. "Sorry." He was the first to know better than to make simple assumptions about one's parenting skills.

"No, I'm sorry." Sam sighed. "It's not your fault."

She didn't want to discuss her father or depressing childhood. She decided to change the subject. "So why does the release date of the song explain why you don't know it? You would have had to be hiding under a rock not to have heard it."

He wasn't sure why he was talking about this at all. He'd only spoken about the accident once to the best friend he'd ever made in the service since he left Port Charles, but he somehow didn't mind sharing it with her. "I can't remember anything before December 1995. I was in a car accident and when I woke up a month later the docs said I suffered brain damage that caused permanent amnesia."

He cringed for the pity that revelation always brought about from others.

"Whoa." The dark-haired conundrum quipped, oh so eloquently.

"So, you can't remember anything at all before the accident? Not even your family or friends? Nothing?" Her voice was lit with surprise and a hint of awe which to him was much better than the pity he'd anticipated.

"Not a single thing." Jason told her.

What did you say to someone who told you something like that? She looked over at him as he kept his eyes firmly planted ahead and his face expressionless. He didn't seem the type to need or want anyone's pity and she wasn't the pitying kind. Pity was wasted energy better spent resolving the problem or moving forward if there was no resolution to be found.

It was surprising though and it made her wonder if it had been the turning point to put him on his current path the way her mother's death had been for her.

xxxxx

Her gaze lingered on the faint strokes of pink and orange melding into the Mediterranean as they passed through the open gate. His home was a fairly large three story structure of aging stone time had weathered to hues of caramelized flan. Matching retaining walls lined the drive and hugged the residence in its snug embrace, protecting it and its inhabitants from slipping over the cliff completely and into the sea below.

He slowed as he pulled the car into the garage and killed the engine with the lights. A sensor had been tripped upon entrance now bathing him in bright warmth as he stepped from the stolen sedan. It was good to be home, or at least he thought so.

She remained still, arms crossed, refusing to follow his lead as she watched him from her peripheral. To move would be to accept she'd lost and admit defeat and she was still too pissed by his blind dismissal to do that yet. So she sat there, immobile and fuming.

They had yet to exchange names and hadn't spoken since the thirty minutes prior when she insisted he drop her at her hotel first. He'd refused, stating his home was closer. It had been a long day, he told her, and he was going home. She of course attempted to explain without explaining why she didn't have time to waste, but he wasn't swayed by her plea and hadn't been moved to ask for further justification. He'd simply told her wherever she chose to drive herself after he drove himself home was up to her. She wasn't sure what angered her more the fact that his argument held merit or that it seemed he couldn't care less what happened to her now that she was free.

Why should I care if he cares?

Jason spied her unyielding form topped with a look that begged defiance as he crossed to her side and opened the door. He got the feeling she'd wanted him to ask more questions earlier and truth be told he'd been curious to know what was important enough to walk right back into the line of fire. Whoever kidnapped her was sure to have someone watching her hotel room in case she was foolish enough to return. He'd wanted to know, but forced himself not to ask. He was sure it would only pull him further into the kind of trouble he preferred to avoid.

The sooner she was on her way the better. That's what he told himself, but his mouth and body kept finding ways to keep her with him. It wasn't that much out of his way to drop her off first, but as infuriating as she'd been there was something about her that intrigued him and he wasn't quite ready to see her walk away. He told himself it was only logical for her to drop him off first, and it was, but that wasn't the only reason. Now he was home. All she had to do was get behind the wheel and spark the ignition wires once again and all he had to do was walk inside without looking back.

Instead he found his feet circling to her side of the car, his hand pulling the door open and his mouth… "Come on, you've got to be starving. Come up before you go and let me feed you. It's the least I can do."

He watched the infinitesimal tightening of her lower jaw as it bulged against her cheek. She inhaled and exhaled slow and deep and he prepared to deflect another barb, but her quiver seemed empty for the moment. She surprised him by saying nothing. She simply rose from the front seat and followed him up.

Why was she doing this, she asked herself? Only part of her knew the entire reason, but that part wasn't speaking. Maybe because that part knew she wouldn't like the answer. There was something that made her want to trust him. Maybe it was simply her own desperation, but perhaps there was something good hiding within him. He projected confidence, skill and a lethal edge. True, but there was something more that hinted of decency and, dare she hope, maybe even honor buried somewhere deep inside.

If she were honest with herself she needed someone like him to help stop her father, but a lifetime of experience was working against her. She was afraid to trust he wouldn't walk away like everyone else, or worse turn on her for her father. Maybe if she spent more time with him it would help her figure him out a little more, help her decide if she could trust him. A little time now could save a lot of time, and lives, later if she could convince him to help. Plus, she was starving and he'd offered to make her dinner.

A girl has to eat, right?

She followed him from the garage through a side door that led down a hall with a caged lift. She stood on it with him as it carried them up one floor to the main level. It opened from a corner in the kitchen.

The walls were a warm pistachio with white trimmed shutters at the windows and large white tiles with green accented glass bordering the top of the backsplash. She couldn't imagine him interested enough in home décor to bother painting it that way and would lay money that, aside from furnishings, his home looked exactly as the previous owners had left it. A rectangular reclaimed teak farm table with straight legs and six criss-cross teak dining chairs took up the center of the room. She gravitated to one of the seats as she watched him remove what was left of his jacket and place it on the back of another.

Going by the way he dressed, his home was nothing like she expected and, then again, it was. There were certainly suits of the same cost that were flashier, but his was understated just like his kitchen. It was simple, unadorned… honest and fitted with all of the basics and nothing more. There was an oven, stove, refrigerator, an apron sink, a microwave and butcher block countertops with adequate lower cabinetry. A couple of open shelves held canisters and various supplies above the sink and stove and there was a window resting between the end of the counter and lift with a rugged four drawer teak console beneath it. It held a small potted aloe to one side and a large plate of varying citrus in the center, adding a utilitarian touch of color to the simple space.

She sat at the table watching as he stood at the oversized sink with his back to her rolling his sleeves and washing his hands. He pulled two skillets from an overhead rack and placed them on the stove as he turned on the heat. The next thing she knew he was placing oil and salt in a pan and pulling shrimp and pork from the fridge to shell, devein and cut into strips for frying. He sliced an onion and colorful peppers and fried those too and then in the second skillet he poured more oil and added a few spices as he left it to simmer.

The aroma of curry and turmeric soon wafted about the room stirring her stomach from sleep. She held her hand under her chin mesmerized with his efforts as he added rice noodles and oyster sauce to the herbed oil and tended to both pans until the ingredients were ready to mix together. Each motion was efficient and filled with silent grace. He seemed not only competent, but comfortable in the kitchen and it reminded her of someone she used to know, someone whose advice she respected a great deal.

The family cook for most of her childhood had once told her the way a man took to woman's work was very telling. If with reluctance or not at all he must think himself above it and thus above women themselves, but if he should embrace it or be accepting of the chores it revealed his sense of equality in all things between woman and man. She considered those words as she watched him cook for her. Maybe he was better than the men she'd compared him to after all.

He removed the skillets from the heat and pulled two rice bowls from the cupboard. He filled them with generous portions then stuck a set of chopsticks in each as he served it up to her.

"Bon appetite." He told her as he placed the bowl before her.

"Thanks."

He nodded and sat his bowl at the chair across from her then turned to grab two beers from the fridge. He passed one to her as they began eating in silence.

After several minutes she had to compliment him. It was too good not to. "This is really good. What is it?"

"Singapore Fried Rice Noodles." He told her.

She took another bite. "I've been to Singapore many times. I don't recall ever having rice noodles this good."

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's actually a Canadian/American dish."

That would explain it, she thought, as she took another sip of beer. She wasn't very familiar with Canadian or American cuisine. Her father generally opposed American culture and therefore her exposure had been limited. "Well it's good no matter where it comes from. You definitely know your way around the kitchen. Thank you."

He nodded once as their eyes met and held while he took a long pull from his bottle. Her pink tongue darted out subconsciously licking the spice from her lips and Jason found himself wanting to lean across the table and do that for her. Her lower lip was plump and red as a chili pepper ripe for the picking. It was begging to be plucked and he was certain it would taste of every bit of the spiciness her presence exuded.

He wanted to sink his teeth into its lushness and be burned by the fire, hear her gasp in excitement as his tongue slid into her mouth to plunder its hot depths as desire consumed them. His hold tightened around the cold bottle in his hand, pulling him from his indulgence as it perspired over his heated grip. He blinked and sighed and took another long drink to clear his mind or to cloud it beyond thoughts of her, he wasn't sure which.

He looked down at the beer in his hand to keep from getting lost in her again as he spoke. "So." He cleared his throat. He hadn't sounded like himself. "What's your name?"

He knew he shouldn't ask. He was breaking another rule, but what was that saying? In for a penny? He'd already invited trouble the minute he fought his way through that estate for her. There was no way they wouldn't be looking for her or him now, but rule number two afforded anonymity so he felt relatively safe for now at least until he could determine his next move. And, like it or not, he needed more information from her to do that. He also knew he would regret letting her slip out of his life without so much as her name. He would need that later when the memory of her replayed in his fantasies.

She studied him another minute trying to find her voice. She'd been lost in endless blue as he seemed to stare right into the deepest part of her. Never had a gaze penetrated her being so profoundly. It sent her mind reeling and her body into dangerous territory as his eyes moved from hers to her lips. She felt her pulse plummet then soar.

He looked as if he might jump across the table and take her at any moment, causing an unnerving thought to hover at the edge of consciousness, the thought that she just might not stop him if he did. She swallowed thickly realizing he was still waiting for her reply.

"Sam McCall." She answered then said what's yours before she could stop herself. It suddenly felt too risky to become more involved with this man. She needed to stay focused.

"Jason Morgan." He told her as he pushed his bowl back. He'd had his fill –of the food at least.

"So..." He wondered as he took another sip. "What kind of shit am I in?" It would do him good to remember just how much any involvement with her would cost him.

Her hand halted as she brought the next bite to her mouth then lowered it back into the bowl. She sighed before answering. "Deep shit, very deep shit, but I would think you'd know that considering whom you work for."

He nodded. That's what he thought, but he liked that she hadn't pulled any punches or tried to sugarcoat it. She was holding something back. He could feel it, but in all fairness it wasn't as if he'd shown much interest in learning what it was and he was still reluctant to do so. Just how much did he want to be involved? This was the question that plagued him. He wasn't sure of the answer yet, but he did feel the need to clear one thing up. "I work for myself."

Her eyebrow rose at that statement. She doubted him.

"I'm an independent transporter. I deliver packages from point A to point B, no questions asked. Until yesterday I'd never seen the men who hired me or the man I delivered you to." He didn't advertise his business, but he wasn't ashamed of it either.

Her brows drew near as she speared him with an assessing glare. If he truly had no allegiance to her father or Alcazar he might be trustworthy yet. The way he answered her next question would go a long way toward proving it either way. "Who were the men that hired you?"

He shook his head with a shrug. "No names, it's one of my rules. I do the job and walk away. It's healthier that way."

He noticed an impassive resignation settle over her as if she'd expected him not to have an answer. He felt as though he'd just failed some kind of test and it bothered him that she now seemed to think less of him in some way.

Why should I care if she cares?

But he did. "The kid went by some kind of nickname, the Jackal. He was young, looked fresh out of college and kind of scrawny with a mop top of brown. I didn't catch any name for the other one, but he spoke with a thick Russian accent. He was about my height, bulky with dark features and gruff demeanor."

"Danger boy." She replied with a sly grin he hadn't expected.

"What?" Was she slinging more insults his way?

"He was one of my kidnappers." She explained. "I called him danger boy to piss him off. It seemed to work."

He chuckled and shook his head. He'd seen the look in that man's eyes. He could have killed her without a second's hesitation and yet she'd spent her hours in captivity doing her best to piss him off. He wasn't sure if it was completely reckless or courageously genius? Maybe it was both, but he also found it a tiny bit endearing and hot as hell. If she were this way in public, how bold might she be in his bed?

He shook his head. "You're lucky to still be alive."

"They were ordered not to harm me." She admitted before taking another sip of the light summer ale.

"What makes you think so?"

She looked up at him and shrugged a shoulder. "Because they didn't." She told him and went back to eating.

She was full, but it was too good to stop. Three more bites, she told herself as the blended flavors enticed her palette for more. The meal was wonderful and he'd passed her test. It was a good moment and she wanted to savor it until she decided what to do next.

He huffed, a slight chuckle at her casual estimation as she delved into her bowl with fervor. It was nice to see someone appreciate his cooking for a change. He usually ate alone, but his thoughts quickly shifted back to her words.

She'd been right in her thinking, but that wasn't the only reason she believed what she'd told him. As he thought it over he realized she'd been too confident of her own safety during the whole ordeal. She was never as concerned for her own welfare as she was about getting to someone or some thing. Perhaps, in part, because she was that brave, but perhaps she also knew her abductor and if she'd figured something out about who was responsible she might just be more genius than reckless after all.

He sighed as he watched her push her bowl back and wipe her hands and face clean. Trying to figure her out was giving him a headache. She wasn't his problem to solve. He rubbed a tired hand over his face and winced as his calloused fingers irritated the burn on the side of it. He'd forgotten all about it, but he should probably treat it before it became infected or scarred.

He stood from his chair and walked to the console table near the lift. He opened one of the drawers and retrieved a first aid kit then broke a stem of aloe from the potted plant on top. He carried them back to his seat at the table and she watched slightly amused as he attempted to doctor himself without benefit of sight.

She rose from her side of the table and pulled a chair to sit by him.

He stopped to look at her. "What are you doing?"

She pulled the medical supplies in front of her and urged him to turn his chair toward her with one hand as she held out the other.

"Here." She told him, meaning for him to hand her the bottle of saline and sterile gauze.

He thought twice about accepting her help. It wasn't in his nature to do so, but he really couldn't see what the hell he was doing and enjoyed her company too much to finish up in front of the bathroom mirror all alone. He handed over the rest of the supplies and she did her best not to smile now that the roles were reversed and he'd just admitted a small defeat of his own.

She doused the sterile gauze with saline and began cleaning the area. Her other hand reached out to reposition his face for better access, sending a charge rippling beneath her skin as her fingers grazed the stubble under his chin and held firm yet gently to his powerful jaw. Their eyes met again and she was sure he'd felt it too.

She forced her hand away and averted her gaze as she and continued cleaning his wounds. He had a burn near his right ear and hairline and a small cut above his eye as well, but it wouldn't require stitches.

She applied an antibiotic ointment to the cut once thoroughly cleaned and applied a small butterfly bandage. She then covered his burn in the cream as well. "You're lucky. It doesn't look like it will blister. It's only first degree."

He didn't speak. He just stared down at her with that piercing blue gaze that made it hard not to want to stay lost in. She swallowed and turned her concentration back to his injury. She squeezed an ample dose of aloe gel from the stem and coated the burn with it then covered it with another bandage.

"There." She told him as she rubbed the tape into place. "That should do until the morning."

His fingers trailed up her forearm as they clasped around her fragile wrist to pull her torturous touch from his face. His eyes never left her as he did this. "Thank you." He told her.

She blinked out of her daze and swallowed once again. He didn't work for her father and he wasn't mistreating her now in any way. He'd cooked for her, apologized for what he'd done and risked his life to make it right and she now found herself enjoying this stranger's touch a little too much.

"You're welcome." She responded as she moved to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

He looked down and she saw him frown as he held tighter to her arm, but not so much as to hurt her. "You're hurt."

She nodded. "It was hard to get the angle of the lighter just right with my hands tied behind my back, but I managed."

He reached for her other hand and found that wrist burned as well. Without another word he laid one on the table and continued to hold the other in his as he tended to her as well. He cleaned the wounds and treated them with the antibiotic and aloe before covering each one with small bandages.

Until his touch she'd never known a man capable of such tenderness. There was gentleness in every movement which so strongly refuted any notion she gleaned from the callousness his stance, expressions and attitude had portrayed since they met.

He smoothed his thumbs over the adhesive. "All set."

She looked down at his handiwork with a soft smile of appreciation. "Thank you."

He nodded in return. "Why didn't you just take my pocket knife when you grabbed my lighter and keys? You knew I had it on me."

Sam groaned at the memory. Her pick-pocketing needed work if she intended to keep that skill sharp, but she hadn't been presented with opportunity to use it in a while. "I did. I had all three, but the knife slipped back into your pocket as I pulled my hand. There wasn't time to try again."

"Who taught you to pick-pocket and hotwire a car anyway?"

"My dad." She didn't even have to think about the answer. He wasn't her real father just the father she'd always wished was hers.

"Why would any father teach their child such things?"

Her eyes narrowed on him and her jaw clenched slightly. "Because the world is a dangerous place and you never know what skill just might save your life."

He'd offended her, though he hadn't meant to. It just struck him as an odd thing to teach a child and he'd been curious to know the reason behind it. Now that he heard it he couldn't say he disagreed with it, but it did make him wonder just what kind of world she'd grown up in. Most kids, as far as he knew, led pretty carefree lives ignorant of all the true evils in the world.

He just nodded to her answer not really sure how to apologize and not wanting to say anything else that might offend her further. He stood and walked to the waste can to throw the trash and empty bottles away then washed their bowls in the sink.

Several minutes passed before either spoke again.

"Don't you think it was a little too easy for us to escape? I mean where were Alcazar and the kid? It was the same kid who hired you. He introduced himself to me as the Jackal before the guards hauled me downstairs, but I didn't see either one of them after the shooting broke out." It was a question that had been bugging her since they left and she asked it now to fill the awkward silence that had formed between them.

"Alcazar." Jason turned from placing the bowls in the rack to dry. "Is that the person who had you?"

Sam nodded as she watched Jason pack the unused supplies back into the first aid kit.

Interesting. So, did the Jackal work for this guy Alcazar and was that who really hired him for the job? Or, was the kid there to ensure safe delivery for whoever he really worked for? He'd like to think it didn't matter. Jason had righted his wrong, shot up the guy's home, taken out a few of his men and stolen a replacement car for the one he'd lost. He was willing to call it even and walk away, but he was too smart to believe they would let him. It was a mistake to leave witnesses, but he wasn't that man anymore –or at least that's what he kept telling himself. It would only be a matter of time before they discovered he was still alive and tried again so he needed to know exactly who he was dealing with in order to watch his back.

He returned the first aid kit to its drawer as he answered her question. "I took out six of the guards. I figure there were anywhere from four to nine left. So I guess it could have been harder if they'd reached us before we got out of there, but I'm thinking they may have fled with Alcazar once the bodies started piling up. That man didn't strike me as the type to stand and fight alongside his men and the kid probably ran for it too. He shouldn't be involved with a guy like that anyway."

Sam wondered how he could know such a thing about someone after only one encounter. "How do you know the Jackal isn't just as bad?"

Jason sighed as he contemplated his answer. He wasn't sure he could explain it right. There was a certain look one had once they'd gone beyond the point of no return and the Jackal hadn't crossed that line yet. "That kid may not be squeaky clean, but he didn't deserve to get a bullet today. Hopefully this was a wake-up call and he turns his life around before it's too late."

Careful, Jason, he warned himself. He almost sounded like he cared.

"He was sweet." Sam grinned recalling the way he'd tripped all over his words with her and blushed when he called her the Goddess of Hotness.

Jason shook his head completely baffled by her as he took his seat once again. "I thought you just said he was just as bad."

"No." Sam corrected. "I asked how you knew he wasn't just as bad. I already knew he wasn't. I just wanted to know how you knew."

Jason's eyes widened as the pulse between his temples throbbed and he released a frustrated breath. "You're complicated. You know that?"

Sam just nodded as the smile slipped from her face. "So I've been told."

It was something she'd heard all her life, but she couldn't help believe that if someone ever actually took the time to know her they just might find she really wasn't all that complicated at all. What was so complicated about unconditional love? It was the only thing she wanted.

Jason watched as the grin she'd had a moment ago morphed into something rather somber. He'd upset her again and he didn't even know how he'd done it. He just knew seeing her unhappy left him with a feeling of... unrest.

"Hey." He tucked her hair behind her ear allowing his fingers to trace down around it, along her cheek and under her chin where his thumb rested just below her bottom lip. Her eyes met his and held as his touch sent her pulse skittering in her chest throughout her body, awaking every nerve within her.

He could feel her erratic breath on his thumb as his heart jumped with visions of sinking it into her warm mouth to suck and bite. Her vulnerability stared up at him through swirls of melted chocolate and that look made him feel, made him feel defenseless as well. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if his feelings were somehow linking with hers. It was dangerous and he didn't like it, but he didn't know how to stop it either.

"I said something." It was a statement not a question though she knew he wanted an answer for her sudden change in mood.

She couldn't answer him though. It was too vulnerable an admission to make. She shook her head slightly as she looked away to keep him from seeing the emotion she blinked back.

He nudged her chin to make her turn back to him and waited until she met his gaze once again to speak. "Tell me." He whispered with an urgency to know what he'd said wrong so he could set it right.

She stared into his eyes and felt something inside her pulling her forward, pulling her closer to him. She was faintly aware of their bodies inching closer together until their lips were merely inches apart. She could feel his warm breath on her skin as his fingers raised her chin to meet his lips as he drew near.

Another second and he would know how it felt to have his mouth on hers, to taste her tongue as it collided with his own.

"I have to go." She blurted out as she pulled from his hand and away from him completely.

She had to stay on task. She needed to retrieve her things from the hotel before her father sent someone to get them. He may have already, but they wouldn't know to look for the package she'd hidden for herself under another name. It wasn't good to mix business with pleasure either. She was working her way up to asking him for his help, but she didn't want him to think for one minute she'd used sex to get it.

She had to go? He shook his head. It was too dangerous to go back. She needed to keep moving forward if she wanted to steer clear of the trouble at her heels. "It's too dangerous. They're sure to have people watching the room and waiting for you to do something so foolish."

He wasn't telling her anything she didn't know, but she didn't have a choice. "I have to go back. It's not an option."

Had she not heard a word he just said? She was walking right back into their trap. She was a fool and so was he for losing control of his emotions. What the hell had he been thinking? Messing around with her nearly got him killed more than once today. Was he so anxious to welcome another try? This was what happened when you broke the rules. Chaos. One tiny destructive step and then another until your life was in total ruins, again.

"Fine!" He stood abruptly from his seat and stalked around the table toward a set of closed doors.

"If you want to go off and get yourself kidnapped again or worse be my guest, but you should at least wait until daylight when there's more staff and guests to act as witnesses when you undoubtedly go missing again."

He was done. He needed time away from her and whatever it was she was doing to him to get his head screwed back on straight.

Sam sighed. She'd ticked him off. That much was obvious and the way he reacted was almost good enough to make her believe he actually cared. "Where are you going?"

"To bed!" He told her as he retreated into an adjoining room and made his way up the stairs. "I can't think straight when I'm tired."

She sat there unsure of what to do and feeling angrier every passing second for the uncertainty he made her feel. She'd been clear on her mission before he entered her life and now she doubted her ability to see it through. He didn't care about her and she was furious for believing one second he might. If he'd cared he would have offered to help her, but he didn't. He didn't give a damn and it was ridiculous of her to care one way or the other about it. She was angry with him, but she was also mad at herself. She could have asked him for that help, but she didn't. She still didn't trust him not to let her down.

If she could only get to know him better, but how could she possibly learn enough about him in a short enough time to convince her to place her trust in him? She was surprised he'd shared the little pieces of his life he had with her. It was like pulling teeth to get information out of him.

It was then that another life lesson kicked in. She'd been taught how to snoop, professionally. Most people had no clue what their personal belongings said about them. Not only what they had, but how they displayed it and what they didn't have as well. There was actually a whole science behind it and she knew it inside and out.

She'd learned about all she could from his kitchen so she moved on to another room. She walked through the double doors he'd disappeared behind to see a staircase to her left. The rest of the room had been turned into an office. There was a large desk and chair in the center of the space in front of two windows with a large armoire on the wall opposite of the stairs. There were no pictures and no mementos on the desk. There was only a laptop that was closed and a small monthly calendar themed with luxury sports cars. Opening the drawers revealed pens, pencils, a ruler, stapler and other various small office supplies. Aside from the armoire, a supple cordovan leather sofa was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

She walked over to the armoire and opened each of the two drawers below. One was full of crisply folded linens and the other was stuffed with spare pillows. She opened the doors as quietly as possible. Jason probably wouldn't appreciate her snooping.

A 40" flat screen filled the center shelf with a DVD player on the shelf below. The bottom two shelves contained a few CD's of all types of music and movies that were mostly action or sport related films like Hoosiers along with other Oscar winning titles as well, but the space was mostly comprised of books. There were a lot of maps and travel guides to destinations far and wide. They appeared well worn and she wondered if he'd actually been to all of those places.

Other subjects ranged from military history and the classics to biographies of people from every walk of life. Other than a penchant for Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum, he seemed to prefer non-fiction. His collection rounded out with multiple outdated copies of car, motorcycle, diving, travel and gun magazines, but it was the top shelf that held the most promise. Naturally. She stood on tip toes struggling to reach the box perched there. It nearly fell to the floor as she swiped it from the shelf, but she caught it before it could land.

She paused to see if the noise alerted him to her actions, but all was quiet. She pulled the top off and took a look inside. The first thing she noticed was all the pictures lying loose in the box. She saw one of him with whom she could only assume his parents and maybe brother and sisters though none of them really resembled one another. There was an older couple too. His grandparents maybe? As well as a few other extended relatives she could only guess were aunts and uncles or maybe cousins.

They were all smiling and so was he and she suddenly recalled him telling her that he didn't smile. She studied the picture a little harder and realized he was much younger in that photo. It must have been him before the accident. She couldn't know for sure if it had been taken before or after, but there was a light in that younger man's eyes that she hadn't seen in the man she was with today.

She flipped through more photographs. There were a few more with the young brunette she'd assumed was his sister and one with him and his grandmother. She sat in a wheelchair looking every bit of a proper lady. Despite her frail carriage there was a strength in the upward tilt of her chin and a mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes that was tempered with a kindness that made her heart yearn. She'd always longed for a grandmother and couldn't imagine one any finer than the one pictured in her hands. He'd inherited her eyes, she noticed, and not just the intense color but the twinkle and kindness too. He couldn't have lost that altogether could he? Perhaps those qualities too were only buried deep inside.

There were a couple photos of him with a dark-haired man sporting an Italian suit and the biggest set of dimples she'd ever seen as well as several alone and together with a raven-haired girl with dark soulful eyes. She'd checked the back of all the photographs, but only one had been labeled.

It was a picture of him with his arm around the girl. They were young and happy and the inscription on the back read: You saved my life and now it's time to save your own. I'll always believe in you. Nothing has changed that and nothing ever will –with love and eternal friendship, Robin.

She might have disregarded the sentiment as young love, but there were other photos of the woman that were much more recent along with a few letters and it was clear that their friendship had survived long after any young love had failed. Robin was a doctor now from what she could gather skimming through the letters and she provided him with news on her family as well as his own.

This Robin character teased him mercilessly and threatened to tell his grandfather and someone by the name of Carly of his whereabouts if he didn't write her back this time. Sam found herself smiling at the woman's words. She seemed like a good person and a good friend and from some of the things Robin had to say about Jason it seemed like he was just as good of a person and friend to her. The letters were dated as recently as four weeks ago. He couldn't have changed that much in a month. He had to be the same person somewhere deep inside. Sam decided she just needed to find a way to connect with that side of him and she was sure he would help her, help all those women before it was too late.

She grabbed another handful of photographs revealing a small cigar box at the bottom. She looked at the photographs first. There were some of him as a child. She could tell it was him by his eyes, nose and lips though his hair had been much lighter as a boy. Other pictures showed him in uniform. 75th Ranger Regiment one of them said and then there were others with fellow soldiers and friends in and out of uniform. There was one posed photo at the very bottom of the stack. It looked like a unit or team. She wasn't sure of the lingo, but the back simply said Delta with what she guessed were unit or platoon numbers. She wasn't really sure, but she did recognize the words Ranger and Delta. They were Special Forces of the United States Army.

She placed the photos back down in the box and picked up the cigar box. She opened it to see that it was filled with medals. She didn't know what most of them were for, but she'd studied enough history to recognize the two most significant. They were housed in velvet boxes. The first was a bronze star with a "V". She remembered from her studies that as a medal it was awarded for merit, but with a "V" for valor it was awarded for heroism. And as if there were any question he might be a hero the second box erased all doubt.

Jason was the recipient of the Medal of Honor. She didn't know much about it, but she knew it was the highest military honor awarded by the United States government. It called for heroism at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in action against an enemy. The award was so prestigious due to its nature that most of them were awarded after death. Whatever Jason had done to receive that decoration meant he was lucky to still be alive. He had risked his own life to save others, not for greed or personal gain but out of a sense of duty to do what was right.

She placed everything back just as she'd found it and then retrieved one of the pillows and blankets she'd discovered earlier. She fell asleep on his couch with a smile on her face. Jason Morgan had been trained for Special Forces and he was exceptional. The medals confirmed as much. He was a hero. He was a good friend and a good person, at least one seemingly good person thought as much and as soon as morning came Sam intended on getting to know that Jason Morgan and asking him for his help.

Page 27 of 27 Created: 2012-02-19 Updated: 2013-06-07 Words: 10952 Characters: 58915