Chapter Thirty-Four

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Two weeks later

Bozeman, Montana

S haking off another nightmare featuring OZ and Brody, Jazz sat up in her bed. She was finally home. Against Xavier’s wishes, against doctor’s recommendations, against everyone who had an opinion about her health and well-being. Also against the voice inside her head that asked her time and again just what she thought she was going to accomplish. She didn’t know. What she did know was she could no longer hide away and pretend things would somehow work out. She had to do something.

When Xavier had dropped her off yesterday, he had silently, without asking permission or telling her what he was doing, spent hours adding more locks to her door, as well as enhancing her security system. She hadn’t protested or complained. She knew he’d done it because he cared. The odds that whoever was after her knew where she lived were slim. However, being cautious would hurt nothing.

Right before he’d walked out the door, he had taken her by her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “I know you’re hurting and confused. And I know that independent spirit of yours is telling you to get out there and find out as much as you can. But know this—I will never, no matter what happens, abandon you again. I will watch your back, not just because you’re my partner or my friend. I will watch your back because you are a part of me, Jazz McAlister. I will not give up on us. No matter what.”

Then, with a hard kiss to her lips, he’d walked out the door. She hadn’t seen him since.

The distance that had grown between them had still been there. She had felt it, and so had he. Some of that was her fault—okay, most of it was her fault. Xavier had gone out of his way several times to try to mend what was fractured between them, but she had cut him off each time.

For the last two weeks, since she’d learned what he’d been holding back from her, she had focused solely on regaining her strength and getting back into fighting shape. When she wasn’t working out or sleeping, she was doing her own research, not only to find the man who had abducted her, but to also find what she could on Ronan Byrne, the man who’d apparently been her birth father.

It was stupid to think of Byrne as anything other than a sperm donor. In every way that counted, the only father she’d ever had was Connor McAlister. He had been the epitome of what every father should be. She shared nothing with Ronan Byrne other than some DNA.

For the most part, Xavier had left her alone to do what she wanted. Though he’d continued to cook and feed them both, the fun days of taking long walks, watching movies, and making love had been over. In their place had been a coolness and emptiness that tore at her heart.

She told herself they could mend the fracture, but for now, she was home, and she wanted to get to work.

She took stock of her bedroom, the familiar surroundings easing her mind. Admittedly, it wasn’t much. A bed and nightstand, a chair in the corner where she read, and a dresser. Other people might describe it as sparse, but to Jazz, it represented what she didn’t mind losing. She had learned the hard way that material possessions were just objects and could be left behind. She’d been there, done that multiple times. Now she kept only what could be carried in a backpack. All the rest was worthless. Attaching sentimental value to an inanimate object hurt when you eventually lost it.

With people, the pain of loss was infinitely greater.

Feeling that familiar heaviness, Jazz put her feet on the floor and took in a deep breath. Onward and upward, as her mama had often said. Today was the day she’d been anticipating. She would learn as much as she could at OZ, and then she would go to the one person who seemed to know it all.

Kate Walker, mentor, teacher, friend, and advocate, had been keeping secrets from her. For how long, she didn’t know. The one conversation Jazz had had with her, after learning about her parentage, had been frustrating and hurtful. Kate had been short with her, giving her no real answers.

Allowing anxiety and uncertainty to fuel her, Jazz readied herself for the day ahead. She took a shower, washed her hair, which surprisingly was almost to her shoulders since she hadn’t bothered to have it cut and styled in a while. She lathered herself with her favorite fragrant lotion of jasmine and orange and then spent a surprising amount of time on her makeup. Usually, she made do with mascara and a bit of blush, but needing a little extra confidence, she focused on making herself look a bit more put together and mature.

Returning to her bedroom, she pulled out the outfit that had been sent over at her request. Thanks to Rose Wilson, OZ’s majordomo extraordinaire, she could dress in designer clothes and look like a million bucks. Material things might not mean a lot to her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate them. She had zero fashion sense and was more comfortable in khakis and T-shirts for work and yoga pants and T-shirts for leisure. However, today of all days, she needed to exude confidence and professionalism. Today, Jazz McAlister would prove to everyone that she could handle anything, even the hard stuff.

It was time for her OZ family to again see her as a full-fledged, capable operative. Admittedly the last year or so, they’d had reason to worry about her. The injury on the op in Zambia had almost taken her life. For weeks, she had barely been aware of her surroundings, and recovery had been long and arduous. When she’d returned to work, her team had shielded and protected her as if she were fragile. She’d just been getting back into the groove and feeling on her game again when she’d been abducted and for a second time found herself at death’s door. Almost dying again hadn’t exactly inspired confidence with her team.

Before she did anything else, though, she needed to apologize to them for going off on her own. She hadn’t trusted them, and that was on her. But she’d learned her lesson—the hard way.

It was time to move on. Her agenda was set. She would meet with her team, discuss whatever intel they had, and then she would go to Kate and demand answers. The knowledge that her friend and mentor had betrayed her was almost too difficult to comprehend. There had to be a rational and reasonable explanation for why Kate was withholding intel. Whatever it was, Jazz intended to get it out of her.

Difficult tasks? Absolutely. Impossible? No. Especially when you had the backing of the best covert ops organization in the business.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Jazz gave her appearance a once-over. The black Hugo Boss pantsuit was simple, businesslike, and fit her as if it were designed for her. The stark white, long-sleeved shirt she wore beneath the jacket was just as basic. She had learned long ago that when it came to her body size and youthful looks, simple and plain worked much better. Being five three and fine-boned, with a pixielike face, she was still occasionally mistaken for a child. Sometimes, her size came in handy for her job. But today was not the day to look small, weak, or young. She was a kick-ass OZ operative. She needed to look the part.

She tugged on a lock of her hair that just touched her collar. Maybe it was time to consider growing it longer. At one time, her hair had reached the middle of her back. It had been her favorite feature, in part because it reminded her so much of her mother. Eliza McAlister had had gloriously long and thick ebony hair. For years, Jazz had kept her hair long as a loving reminder of her beautiful mother. Until that day when it had almost gotten her killed. She’d cut it off that day and had kept her hair short ever since.

She shook her head, forcing her thoughts away from her looks and to the day ahead. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she promised that whatever she learned today, she would remain professional and focus on what lay ahead. Nothing would stop her from achieving her goals.

Knowledge was power, and she was tired of being weak. From this day forward, no matter what, Jazz McAlister could handle anything that came her way.