Chapter Twenty - seven

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I guess it’s true. God really does protect children, drunks, and fools.

Which category do we fall in? I’ll give you three guesses.

And the first two don’t count.



“This is so fucking thin,” Jon said for the hundredth time, pinching the ultra thin material at his left hip and pulling it out slightly from his body, only to let it go and watch it snap back into place. The suit fit him like a glove from neck to knees. “Are you sure this’ll stop a bullet?”

Gabby was trying to ignore how good he looked standing there in the middle of his bedroom in something that showed more than it hid. Every muscle was outlined and well defined, the material even cupped his sleeping cock, revealing he was far more endowed than the second grader he claimed to resemble. “Well, yeah,” she told him with a nod, her voice slightly testy, “as long as he doesn’t prefer a head shot.”

Jon blinked owlishly at her, before pretending to dust lint off his left shoulder. “Well, at least it won’t show under the new Armani.”

She rolled her eyes. Surely, that wasn’t the only thing he was worried about. They had went over and over the plan for the evening until she’d been blue in the face. It was agreed that he would stay close to her, and to listen to any direction and do as he was told, without questions. Richie was going with them; there had been no talking him out of being a part of this hare-brained scheme. She warned that she only had the one suit, so he was not allowed to do anything stupid.

Like step between Jon and a bullet.

“No, it won’t.” She shook her head slightly, with a small grin curving her lips. “I know how thin it is, I had it in my purse that first night.”

He remembered that tiny little purse she’d had with her that first night when they’d met. “Really?” Surprise was not only in his voice but on his face as well.

“Yes, really.”

And again, he asked, “You’re sure this’ll stop a bullet?”

“Hey Kidd,” Richie said, sticking his head in the door, “ya gotta tie I can borrow?” Then he got a good look at what Jon was wearing and burst into laughter.

Jon’s eyes went frosty, and his head tilted sharply to one side as his chin rose a few notches toward the ceiling. “What’s so fucking funny?” he demanded.

“Where’s your cape?” Richie choked between guffaws, “And you never mentioned this was a costume party.”

“Laugh it up, Mook.” Jon’s voice was tinged heavily with frost. “This is gonna quite possibly save my life. Can you say the same about your underwear?”

“Who says I’m wearing any?” was Richie’s quick comeback, as he came fully into view, stepping into Jon’s bedroom.

“OK, that’s way more than I wanted to know about you,” Gabriella laughed.

Richie walked around Jon as he eyed the suit. “How is this gonna save you?”

Blue eyes shifted to Gabriella, preparing for an explosion. “It’s the latest in personal protection,” he paused meaningfully, “in the future.” Richie raised an eyebrow in question, and Gabby remained silent, so he went on. “According to Gabbs, it’s a bullet proof body suit.”

Richie reached out, pinching the material at Jon’s left shoulder. “Really? This is so thin. Are you sure it’ll stop a bullet?”

Losing all patience, Gabriella rolled her eyes and shrugged one shoulder, even as she pulled her Sig from it’s resting place at the small of her back. She pointed the gun straight at Jon’s chest. “Shall we test it?”

The two men started talking at the same time, at a speed that almost made them unintelligible.

“No, no,” Jon began waving his hands in front of himself. “That’s okay.”

“That’s okay. I’ll take your word for it, “ Richie was assuring her, even as he took quick steps backwards, away from Jon.

“Fine, then,” she managed without laughing. “I’m going to leave you to finish dressing, and I’ll go get ready to leave.”




Two hours later, Jon stood next to Richie in a crowded ballroom. White linen cloths draped over round tables adorned with fine black china and the finest of silverware. Beautiful centerpieces made up of a combination of flowers and candles were on every table. Across the sea of tables from where the two of them stood was a small stage, more of a raised dais, with a podium set up for the speeches that would come later.

Jon watched Gabby weave her way through the tables as she made her way back to them. She’d left them only moments before to go have a look around the place, to check for other entrances and exits, looking for potential security problems. She wore the same dress and heels that she’d worn the first night he’d met her. Her long hair was twisted up in some sort of braid that didn’t fall down her back, but was somehow tucked up and hidden, much like the gun he knew was in a holster on her thigh.

The three of them had walked the red carpet together while the paparazzi had snapped photos. Gabriella had ignored the questions that a few of them had tossed out, asking who she was and if she was Jon’s date. The news of his imminent divorce had hit the papers only days after she’d arrived. Jon and Richie had posed for pictures, both together and separately; Jon’s tight smile would be splashed across several papers’ page six columns the next day, but he didn’t care. It was all standard procedure.

Except for the assassin that was out to kill him.

When she finally reached the two men, she moved to stand on Jon’s left. “How much longer before we can get outta here?” Her question was little more than a whisper, as she leaned sideways toward Jon.

From Jon’s right, Richie laughed softly. “You’re joking right?” He didn’t even look her way as he asked the question. “He’s making a speech later.”

“What?” she demanded. Somehow, she managed not to glare at him. In fact, she managed to continue to smile while observing the roomful of people. “How is it that you managed to leave that important detail out of your explanation of the evening’s events?” She took a deep breath, as he opened his mouth to answer. She spoke first. “Never mind. I’m sure I don’t wanna hear it.”

It seemed like a millennium had passed, but it was only a little over an hour later, when Jon was called up to the podium. Her eyes scanned the room as she listened to Jon talk about the responsibility everyone shares to take care of their fellow man.

“We are our brother’s keeper,” he said to the assembled group of wealthy and powerful people. He continued to expound upon the necessity to help others and the joy it brings, and she had no trouble seeing the man he would become in her time. He was very good at public speaking, and apparently he always had been.

Her gaze moved from person to person quickly, as she watched for any of them to make a suspicious move. She didn’t relax her guard, not even when Jon returned to their table and someone else stepped up to the microphone.

“I didn’t make too big a fool of myself, did I?” he asked as he scooted his chair closer to the table.

Her eyes snapped to his. Was he serious? “Of course not. You’ve always been very articulate.”

Richie shook his head slightly. “He always worries.”

“He shouldn’t,” she said casually, reaching for her water glass.

“Can we leave now, Dad?” Richie asked with a grin.

Jon rolled his eyes. “In a few.”


Barely an hour had passed, when the three of them were making their way toward the door, Jon and Richie saying their goodbyes as they went. They were shaking hands with a few old acquaintances at the door, while Gabby’s eyes searched the line of cars lined up along the curb for their limo and driver. Finally she spotted him, four cars back from the entrance.

She linked her arm in Jon’s, their signal for him to end his conversation and follow her. His eyes met hers, and she tilted her head toward the car, opening her mouth to tell him the car was that way. That’s when she saw the red laser dot on his left shoulder, it seemed to slide in slow motion diagonally down toward his heart. “Move, “ she ordered tersely, tugging him toward the car and out of the path of the dot.

For once, Richie didn’t joke or tease. He moved quickly, stepping up to Jon’s other side and pulling him sharply toward the car. Loudly, as if on cue, he said, “The car’s over here, Kidd.”

With Gabby’s tug, then Richie’s pull, they managed a little zigzag motion without being too obvious. Gabby’s eyes scanned the rooftops across the street, trying to find the sniper’s hiding spot even as the trio headed for the car.

There. The roof at her one o’clock. “Got him,” she whispered, as she started toward the building, only to stop and turn back toward Jon.

He was almost to the car. “Go,” Jon ordered, “don’t let him get away.”

“Not until you’re in the car,” she replied, with a negative shake of her head.

He opened his mouth to argue, but the force of the bullet knocked the breath out of him, and he fell back against Richie. That’s when things went black. He heard Gabby demanding that Richie get him in the car, just as he lost consciousness.

Gabriella didn’t wait for the driver to jump out of the car and open the door; she jerked it open quickly, telling Richie to get Jon inside, before she was running toward the building and the sniper.

Richie shoved Jon in the car, and was sliding in beside him before the front man had even landed on the seat.