Charity's Warrior (46 page)

A CAR TOOK US
to the airport. The driver called him JP, so I knew what side of his life this was coming from. He was friendly, but visibly nervous around Justin. It was making me nervous watching him fumble with door knobs and keys. He was only comfortable when he was driving and Justin was staring at me instead of the road.

We went through security easy enough. It was different than going through a main terminal at one of the big airports, and we were on the plane in less than fifteen minutes.

Oh, and the plane? I'm expecting like a single prop Cessna. I'm thinking three seats including the pilot. I wasn't ready for the small jet Justin led me to, a twin engine Hawker 400XPR according to him. The pilot, Shain, met us outside the plane and called him JP, just like his driver.

Shain was just as nervous, too. I'm noticing a pattern. So far the only people I've seen comfortable around JP, were Lena and John, both of who I suspect know him as Justin. Everyone that knows him as JP senses his power and succumbs to it. As JP, he sits a level above everyone.

There is a stewardess on the plane. The second we boarded, she turned robotic, knowing exactly what is expected of her. "Yes, Mr. Collins. Would you like a drink, Miss Powers?" She became mindless. Her name is Anne, but I only know that because I overheard Justin call her over for more ice.

The plane is beautiful, a single isle down the middle of eight grey, leather seats. It looks like there could be room for more, but I'm guessing Justin wanted to keep it roomy. It's bright and immaculate, everything in perfect order. The way
JP
likes things.

Anne had poured us wine before takeoff, reminding us we would be in decent before we finished. She was right. I'm finishing mine now so that she can put the glasses away before landing. She took them for us and disappeared back to her seat up front. I think she's just as nervous as the driver and Shain, but she's been around him longer. She's learned how to provide the perfection her boss demands.

"I wanted to ask you something, now that we're alone. John—he knows, doesn't he?" I asked to satisfy my curiosity.

Justin smiles, looking proud of me. "Yes," he said easily. "He's my handler. He does the laundry between the businesses. I'm impressed that you picked that up."

"It was easy to see, but only if you know there's something to look for. If I didn't know, I never would have thought anything except that you were closer friends with him than most others."

"We go back a long way, John and I," he explained.

"It shows," I said. "Most everyone else seems terrified of you."

I thought that might upset him, maybe even surprise in a little, but he just gave his little wink and smile. It was no surprise to him. He was very aware of the presence he made.

The question I'm too nervous to ask is—
was that part of his act, or is that the real Justin?

I held my mouth and watched out the window as we approached. I can see the Washington Monument at a neck-stiffening angle through my window. We are close enough already that I can see the traffic. Within moments, the trees are getting closer and I am bracing for the landing.

Shain brought us down much smoother than I expected. For some reason I thought the smaller plane would land faster, and therefore, harder, but I was wrong. We taxied down the runway and they parked us beside a hanger.

There's a car waiting just a few steps away, and the driver is already standing outside waiting for us. He's smiling a little too brightly to be one of Justin's regular drivers. He was, however, smart enough to know not to try to shake hands and make friends. I'm assuming some instruction was given to the service.

"Mr. Collins," he said, extending his arm toward the car. After we pass him, he trots around to beat us and open my door. Of course, he did the same for Justin next.

"No change in destinations, Mr. Collins?" I hear him ask as Justin is getting in.

"No, no change," Justin replies in an extremely icy voice.

Once Justin is seated next to me, the Ice King disappears, and the normal Justin grabs my hand. "You look so beautiful tonight. Have you ever been to DC?"

I shake my head. "First time."

"Then I get to show you off to the sights," he said, complimenting me. "I've arranged for the driver to give us a bit of a tour. If you like it, we should come back and stay when we have more time."

Within twenty minutes, Justin was pointing out Ford's theater, where Lincoln was shot, and the house across the street where he actually died. I discovered DuPont Circle is for the certifiably insane.
I will never drive that shit myself
. We passed by the museums and the National Mall, and saw the White House the best you can from a car. It was as exciting as it was beautiful.

An hour had zipped by much too quickly. I let Justin know I wanted to see the rest of it sometime. He looks pleased.

He leans forward to the driver, his face changing instantly. Suddenly I'm sitting next to JP. I wonder if he even knows he does it, this switching character back and forth.

"Let's head to The Oval Room," he orders.

"What about your meeting?" I ask when he sits back again.

"It's at the restaurant," he says, "at the bar before our reservation. I made it easy for us."

The driver pulled us up right in front of The Oval Room. I admire the cement building and its glass awning through the window before getting out. I didn't realize how close to the White House it would be. The driver was giving Justin his cell number so we could call him back to the front when we are done.

The driver lets Justin out, but Justin insists on getting my door himself. He gives me his hand and lifts me out carefully. I can't tell which side of him did that, the romantic or the perfectionist. Maybe both.

It's much brighter inside than I anticipated, roomy, elegant. Pressed linens and armless thick red chairs dotted the space. Most of the tables are occupied, and there is a low, comfortable murmur of conversation. The smell of the food is heavy in the air, making my mouth water instantly. It smells just delicious.

"Excuse me for a moment?" Justin asks.

I nod, "Of course," and watch him step away to the host. It's not so far that I can't hear them.

"The Collins party," Justin says sternly.

The host, who was already looking sharp and professional, stiffened. "Welcome, Mr. Collins. The bar is ready for you. Your table will be ready in about thirty minutes, and held until you would like to sit."

Justin passes him a tip. I'm glad to see the host relax a touch. The way he looked, I was afraid the poor man wasn't going to be able to use the bathroom for a week.

Justin motions me to his side, holding out his hand for me to hold.

The host picks up the handset of a phone hidden in his podium and pressed a single button. "The Collins party is here," he announced to whoever had answered. He hung up without another word. "This way please," he said as he led us into the dining room.

I see the bar as we approach. It's very handsome, but also very small. There are no bar stools to sit on, but I see two men carrying a few over now. I quickly realize Justin has reserved the entire bar and removing the chairs was how they'd accomplished it. Three chairs are placed down just as we arrive. On the third one they place a paper reservation sign.

I have never seen anything like this in my life, yet Justin looks as if it's all perfectly normal.

One of the staff briskly walks away. The other moves behind the bar and produces a bottle of wine that Justin obviously pre-arranged, a 2000 Ausone, Saint Emilion. He fills two glasses while we sit and puts the bottle on the bar top to wait until we need refills. When he's done, he moves to the far end of the bar, giving us privacy.

"When he gets here," Justin starts, "don't be offended that I do not introduce you. This is going to be easy and fairly quick, I don't expect any problems, but for my own peace of mind, I'd rather he not know who you are. He will assume you are one of my team, so he'll be too afraid to speak to you anyway."

Suddenly, my adrenaline is pumping. I'd been so wrapped up in the day; I hadn't stopped to think if there was any risk. Clearly there is some, or Justin wouldn't be acting cautious. With him at my side to protect me, I find it more exciting than scary.

He can sense my understanding and excitement, and grabs his wine, motioning for me to do the same. "To having you back in my life, and never letting you go," he says.

That makes me feel warm. My glass pings off the side of his as I smile and agree. I bring the glass to my mouth and take a long sip.

"Wow," I breathe as I put the class down. "That's really nice."

Justin laughs lightly. "It better be."

I don't understand why he said that, if I should be insulted. I make no attempt to hide my confusion.

"It's a message," he says flatly.

"What is—the wine?"

"Yes," he answers. "It's actually a very important part of tonight's meeting. That's why the bottle is being left on the bar top, so there's no question what we're drinking."

That makes some sense, but I'm still curious. "Can I ask why it will matter?"

Justin releases that cocky smile again. "You can ask me whatever you like. The problem would only be if I can answer. In this case, I can."

He takes another sip of the message.

"This is a twenty-three hundred dollar bottle of wine," he tells me.

I immediately take my fingers away from the stem of the glass, afraid that I will spill it. He sees me do it, the way he notices everything I do, and laughs.

"The gentleman coming tonight likes to brag to his closest friends that he enjoys sharing this particular wine with his enemy’s right before defeating them. He says that it's not so expensive to be wasted on them, yet expensive enough to help them except their failure."

"What a douche!" I blurt out.

Oh my fucking God!

Justin just snorted when he laughed. It was very light, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

Of all the things I could give him, he catches my snort-laugh!

"That was funny," he said, composing himself.

I dare to pick up the glass again and take another sip. It tastes even better now that I know that it's about five hundred dollars a glass.

"So, will he be expecting you to have this wine waiting for him?" I ask with a smirk.

"Warrior, he's not even expecting that it's me that he's meeting," he replied. "I'm the other part of the message."

"Will he know who you are?"

"The second he sees me," Justin said.

"Any chance he'll just turn and run?" I ask.

"No," he answered in a serious voice. "He knows better. He'll be too scared to run, and he'll know there's no point. His life isn't in any danger, just his career—at least for now."

Justin takes another swallow of the wine. His glass is emptying much faster than mine, so I take another gulp myself.

Suddenly Justin motions to the bartender, who swings around the bar quickly and removes the reserved sign from the other stool. Justin had purposefully seated me pinned between himself and the wall. I didn't mind it when we sat, and right now I'm damn grateful for it. The man I see coming is huge, at least two hundred seventy pounds. The only person I see bigger than him is the bodyguard with him.

He was storming toward us, his thin black hair bouncing angrily, when his eyes caught Justin. He stopped dead, startled. His bodyguard looks confused.

The bodyguard isn't high enough up on the food change to know who Justin is, but his boss clearly does.

The air rushes out of him, and he deflates like a Mylar balloon. He puts his left hand up against his guard's chest, stopping him. For a moment he just stares at us, obviously weighing his options, or trying to see if he even has options.

He talks over his shoulder to his huge companion. Then they finish their approach, the guard now staying at a safe distance behind his boss. When they reach us, the guard stays at the end of the bar with the bartender. He doesn't look happy about it, but he does it.