Codename: Kryptonite

Chapter Six

The two of them weren't alone again until the limo ride back to his apartment. It hadn't been much of a surprise to Gabby when Jon had practically ordered her to join him. Jon had spent the last hour of the dinner party in a daze. His body was there, but his mind was a million miles away. He kept hearing those words over and over, 'Richie's dead'. He thought about that flight that Richie should've been on today, and how his friend would've been on that plane if it hadn't been for this woman's email.

She'd saved Richie's life.

That was the only thing keeping him from turning the full force of his temper on her. Instead, he'd just been giving her what the fans call his 'stink eye'. He was fully aware of what he was doing; he just couldn't stop it.

How had she known the information in that email?

He had held the door of the limo open for her, and watched as she carefully slid across the seat. Even as mad as he was, he'd enjoyed the glimpse of long, shapely leg. He hadn't missed the band that indicated thigh high stockings under the short skirt of that dress, before she'd quickly tugged it back down.

The wheels of the car had barely started turning, when he pushed the button to raise the glass partition between the front and back of the car.

He turned in the seat so that he could look her in the eye. "Start talking," he'd ordered.

The woman in Gabriella over-rode the agent for the briefest of seconds, drinking in the casual elegance of the man next to her. The pictures she'd seen in her research hadn't done him justice. Her eyes traveled up the length of his bent right leg, then over the narrowness of his waist, up the expanse of chest, to the tense jaw that gave away his impatience. Well, that jaw combined with the flash of anger in his stormy blue eyes. Her fingers itched to curl into the disheveled mass of blond mane that just barely brushed those wide shoulders. He truly was beautiful.

She curled her itchy fingers into her palms and looked him in the eyes. "Sir, let me assure you that this is not a joke. I know that even now you're thinking it's something that Obie, Joker or 'Sambo' cooked up." She used her fingers to make air quotes around the nickname given to his best friend.

His full lips tightened even more and a brief flash of surprise slid across those blue orbs before it was once again hidden in his 'On' facade. "And, I'm just supposed to take your word for that?" He shook his head, wondering why he was even listening to this obviously insane woman. He knew it wasn't that she was beautiful. Because, really, she wasn't. Not in that classically-beautiful-kick-you-in-the-teeth sort of way. No. She had that whole girl next door sexy thing going on. That Sandra Bullock type of sexy that although subtle still managed to announce itself with authority.

"No," she answered softly. "Take YOUR word for it."

"What?" he asked her, frowning in confusion.

"Before you sent me here, you told me a story about your favorite book as a kid. You told me that you always wished that you'd had a special code word for disaster with your brothers just like in that book. But, that you didn't have that type of relationship with your younger brothers. You always tried to be a good brother, but the age difference and your music got in the way."

He wasn't happy with the direction this conversation had taken. His family was always off limits, especially to obviously insane lunatics. "Cut the psych 101."

"Sir?" she asked in genuine puzzlement.

"Every fan knows about the age difference thing with my brothers. Every last one of them can do the math, lady, and I'm tired of playing this fucking game with you."

"Will you at least let me finish?" she was also starting to lose the tenuous grip on her own anger. At his terse nod, she went on. "In that book, two brothers had a phrase that they used even in humor to indicate a disaster had happened or was about to happen. Sir," she paused for just a heartbeat, "Alas Babylon."

Jon sucked in a deep breath, as memories of a long forgotten summer flashed through his mind. A summer that had begun with a two week quarantine while he ached to scratch every damn itchy bump on his body. At 14, chicken pox had kept him locked in his room so that his toddler brother didn't catch it. He'd been unable to ride his dirt bike to the clay pits with his friends or go swimming in the neighbor's pool. He'd played his guitar until it was late enough at night that he worried about waking his parents. That's when he'd read the book she was talking about. This wasn't just pop psychology like he'd accused. As a teenager, he'd often wished he'd had that kind of relationship with his own brothers, where just a simple phrase would mean so much more than mere words, where a phone call in the dead of the night would merely have to be long enough for two words to let you know they needed you and no one else would do.

Gabriella watched as slowly he came to grips with what had suddenly become a harsh reality. Sympathy she hadn't expected to feel for him washed over her. She hadn't really considered his side of all of this. She had tried to focus on nothing more than the mission.

Cloudy blue eyes met hers. His voice was soft and full of wonder, as if he was only now grasping the full implications of why she was there. "Why does someone want to assassinate me?"