A Taste for Jazz

One thing's for sure, ever since hell broke loose over The Seven, I've had more strange gigs than I imagined possible. Oh, sure, the bulk of my work is still the bail jumpers and those high bounty cases I stumble across, but in the last six months, my jobs have included tracking down and apprehending vampires and shifters, fae and even a daemon. Not my normal gig and it sure as hell isn't as easy. These Seven people have skills that make guns as effective as bring a knife to gunfight.

If you can't get the jump on them, or take them while they're asleep, you're only hope is to drug or tranquilize them. And to be honest, I've stopped taking those gigs. Not because I can't use the money, but because nothing about it seems right.

I mean, if they've committed a crime or are on the run from the law, well that's okay. But to bring them in just because they're different? That just feels wrong to me.

I'm not a woman to stand on a moral platform, and my life stands as testimony that I'm not above bending a rule or skirting a law if the need arises. But the way things are going with the government and The Seven makes me think of the Nazis—and genocide is a nasty business I want no part of.

It cuts into my bottom line, but hey, there are still other bounties to be collected. And if push comes to shove, I can always go back into personal security. I'm sure some rich or famous person somewhere needs a bodyguard.

Jazz performed a quick visual of the area to determine if she were being observed. Clothed in black and protected by the cover of a large hedge, she felt secure, but never forgot a lesson learned early in her career. Caution is the first and most important rule of the game.

After carefully removing the circle of glass she'd cut in the window and placing it on the ground, she quickly repacked her instruments into her pack. She slipped into the pack's harness, once again admiring its design. The body-hugging fit prevented the tools of her trade from jostling around on her back. A shift in their position could affect her mobility or balance.

She reached inside to unlock the window and slowly push it open. Music from inside the house disguised any minute sound she made as she climbed inside and pulled both guns from their holsters.

Despite having a veritable arsenal to choose from, nine times out of ten she found herself selecting the same weapons, a matched set of Glock 31c's, two 357 SIGs with fifteen-round magazines, ported on the barrel and slide to reduce muzzle flip while shooting.

Muzzle flip could mean life or death in her business, thus her preference for the 31c. Its ports pushed gases up so that the resulting upward force kept the recoil minimized. In short—a quicker follow-up shot due to reduced muzzle flip, or what most people called recoil.

With weapons securely in hand, she crossed the room, staying out of the line of sight from the door. Once she reached the door, she flattened herself against the wall and carefully peered out into the hall. Empty.

On silent but swift feet, she hurried down the hall. Upon reaching the end, she pressed back against the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the living area of the house. She could hear three voices, all male. She could detect no other movement or sound from the rest of the house aside from the music. Jazz grinned as she felt the surge of adrenaline that always preceded action and stepped out into the room, feet braced wide, both arms extended and weapons ready.

"Sorry to bust up the party, boys," she announced in a mocking tone.

All three of the men jumped and went for weapons scattered on the coffee table, amongst a large bag of Junk—a street-slang term for heroin—and empty beer bottles.

"I don't think so." She shot a round from each Glock into the tabletop, prompting all three men to rethink their actions. Their eyes raked over her. She expected that. Hell, she dressed for it. Thanks to good genetics, she'd been blessed with a body that drew men like the proverbial moth to a flame. There was no vanity involved. She simply accepted it in the same way she accepted being athletic, or having the uncanny ability to locate people.

When she worked, she dressed the part in a tight black bodysuit, black boots, and black shoulder holsters. Sort of a Lora Croft meets Catwoman kind of appeal. Another thing she had learned early in her career was diverting a man's attention often earned her the few seconds she needed to get the advantage. And the best way to get a man's attention was to give him something to look at.

She smiled at the men. "Now," she said in an amicable tone, "this is the way this is gonna play out. Davey, you're coming with me, darlin'. And you other two boys are going to lie face down on the floor. Now."

The men glanced at one another and one started to rise from the sofa. At the same moment, Davey went for his gun.

Jazz squeezed off one round, catching him in the right shoulder, before one of the other men grabbed a pistol. She pumped a slug into him, again going for the shoulder shot, before the third man returned fire.

Diving toward the hall, she hit the floor, rolled, and came up pivoting to face the door, waiting for a move. That's when she heard the sound of a gun being cocked behind her.

Her only thought was that she'd been fed faulty intelligence. Only three men were supposed to be in the house. So who was the fourth?

"Drop 'em." A man's voice came from behind her.

Jazz gave his order about a nano-second of consideration before she pivoted on one heel, dropped back onto the floor, and fired both weapons.

At a rock wall.

"What the fuck?"

She shook her head and bounded to her feet. Not only was there no gunman in the hallway, there wasn't even a hallway. Instead, a stone wall faced her. An old stone wall. She turned slowly, guns at the ready, her eyes raking over the room. It was like something from a movie set. The only thing missing was a casket and a sharp fanged vampire.

What's going on? Where am I?

"In my home."

Jazz spun in the direction of the voice. "Hold it right there," she warned as the ethereal beauty took a step toward her. "Who are you and what's going on? How did I get here?"

"Please." The woman waved her hands at the guns. "Those are quite unnecessary."

"I beg to differ."

The woman laughed and the sound sparked something inside Jazz. Something old and forgotten. A memory. She'd heard that sound before. But where?

"No harm will come to you, Jasmine Boudreaux." The woman took a seat on a brocade-covered divan.

"Who?"

Another laugh floated on the air like musical notes from an almost forgotten melody. "Yes, Jasmine, I know your name and that you prefer to be called Jazz. Not because of your predilection for the particular style of music but because you think Jasmine makes you sound too feminine and you can't afford any kind of feminine weakness in your line of work."

Jazz stared at her for a long time before holstering her weapons. "Okay, what's the deal? You've obviously had me checked out, but that doesn't tell me who you are or how I got here."

The woman patted the seat of the divan beside her. "Come, sit with me."

"I'd prefer to stand."

"As you wish. My name is Stanzia, and I brought you here because I have need of a warrior."

"If that's fancy speak for bounty hunter then you could've just called me on the phone. And it doesn't tell me how I got here."

"Like this." Stanzia snapped her fingers.

Shit. She was back in the hallway, on her back with a gunman pointing his weapon at her. She fired first. He screamed and dropped as the shot found its mark in his upper thigh.

Jazz leapt to her feet moments before the only unwounded man from the living area rounded the corner behind her. She took off down the hall, firing behind her as she ran. Back in the bedroom where she'd entered, she kicked the door closed behind her and dove out of the window, hit the ground, rolled, and came up.

Once again facing Stanzia.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"If you'd put away those weapons and sit, I'd be happy to explain."

This was crazy. Either she'd gone around the bend and was hallucinating all this while locked up in some loony bin, or one of the bullets had gotten her and she was lying on a floor dying with her mind conjuring up the fanciful scenario as an escape. Whatever the case, this couldn't be real and therefore had no power. With that thought in mind, she holstered her weapons and took a seat on the divan beside the woman.

"Okay, let's have it."

Stanzia smiled. "Excellent, but before I answer, let me ask. What do you know about The Seven?"

*****

A spinning roundhouse kick caught his opponent on the side of the head. The man dropped like a sack of cement, rolled around on the mat, and groaned as he got to his feet.

You're not paying attention," Conner said as his opponent, Adam, took his stance.

"The fuck I'm not!"

"Everyone telegraphs, Adam. If you focus on their eyes you'll see their intent."

"Right. Less talk, more fight." Adam shot him a cocky grin. "This time you're going down."

Conner grinned and let Adam make the first move. He saw it coming and easily defected the kick, as well as the combination punch and spinning elbow strike Adam attempted.

He played around, delivering a few half-hearted blows, watching Adam's technique. The guy had talent. No doubt about it. Twenty-eight years old, fit, and fast, Adam definitely had potential. If he could learn to stop telegraphing his moves, and anticipate the moves of his opponent.

That was the most common problem Conner found with the men he tested for training. They were not smart fighters, but relied on strength and speed to win the battle.

Conner knew better. Every fight was won in the brain. You had to outthink your opponent. If you did that, the rest was easy.

"Hey Rock!" His manager, a gnarled old boxer named Ed Nash called from the small office. "You got a call!"

"Take a message." Conner kept his eyes on Adam.

"Fella says it's important!"

Conner blew out his breath. "Okay, Adam, that's enough for today."

He stripped off his gloves, tossing them onto Ed's desk as he accepted the phone. "What?"

He leaned against the edge of Ed's desk as he listened to what the caller had to say. "No thanks," he replied and hung up the phone.

"What was that?" Ed asked.

"Somebody wanting to give me a million bucks." Conner gave Ed a clap on the shoulder. "I'm gonna take off. See you tomorrow."

"I'll be here."

Conner didn't bother to shower and change. He'd do that when he got home. He grabbed his stuff and jammed on a pair of dark glasses as he exited through the rear entrance, stepping out into the glare of the late afternoon Florida sun.

Before long the temperature would start to climb and the warm days of spring would turn into the oppressive heat of summer. Not that he minded the heat that much. At least not until around September. That's when he usually took off and headed back to Colorado, somewhere he could enjoy the change of the seasons.

But right now it was perfect. He climbed onto his Harley Fat Boy and turned it on, listening to the engine. There was nothing quite the same as the sound of a Harley engine. It never failed to make him smile. The Fat Boy was what he thought of as his chilling bike. He rode the Harley back and forth to the gym, and when he was in the mood to cruise slow and easy.

When he felt the need for speed, he had a Yamaha YZF-R1, what some people affectionately or others not-so-affectionately called a crotch-rocket.

But today was not a day for speed, even with the call he received. He hadn't lied to Ed about the call. He had just been offered a million dollars. But no amount of money in the world would tempt him in the direction the offer would force him to go.

He'd turned his back on that world and didn't plan to go back, no matter how much money he was offered.

He'd told no one about his previous life. Not about being a child prodigy, or graduating college at the age of sixteen and being recruited to MIT. He never mentioned his three doctorates in device physics, nanotechnology or quantum mechanics, or the patents he held for several of the most advanced technological achievements of the century.

And he sure as hell never told anyone about being one of the Seven tribes, a shifter. Particular these days. Conner Rockbridge had vanished after the fiasco at the wedding of Augustus Thurinus, prince of the vampires, and Layla Summerfield.

Conner, as a district Governor, attended the event and witnessed the attack. He'd witnessed many of their people die, and he believed, as did many others, that Asha Iltani, the queen of the vampires and the head of The Council of Seven, was behind the attack.

She didn't want peace with humans. She wanted to rule them. She'd found an ally in Elysia Whitehorse, a powerful fae from a royal bloodline. Elysia had secretly crossed through the portal into this world when her siblings Ellie and Eldric opened it. She hated humans and since she'd entered this world had worked with Asha to destroy the peace between The Seven and humanity.

Thanks to everyone trying to make things right and re-open the portal, more of the Seven who walked the Dark Path had made their way to Earth. People Conner cared for elected to risk their lives and trap themselves on the other side to try to help the light regain balance.

Conner's friend Gabriel was one of the Seven who'd crossed over. An Archangel with considerable powers, he was still not immune to the dark powers on the other side and Conner feared for his well-being along with the others who accompanied him.

But perhaps his being there would effect change. He was, after all, royalty among the angels.

Whatever the case, no one had heard from those who'd made the crossing and with the escalation of violence between The Seven and humans, he and the other leaders on the Council had staged a coup.

Asha Iltani was being held prisoner at an undisclosed location and The Seven had gone to ground.

It wasn't a difficult matter for his kind. They'd hidden their existence for thousands of years and were always prepared for a sudden need to change identities. So, Conner, the shifter who commanded the territory governed from Colorado disappeared, and Rockwell Conner Burns was resurrected. More correctly, he was put back into play.

Conner had used the Rockwell Burns identity for years and had established Burns as a man who would "disappear" for years at a time, secluding himself away from society.

Conner liked Burn's identity and the name. He always managed to keep some part of his name when forced to change identities. Rockbridge was his original name and he'd used variations of it for a long time.

As Rockwell Burns, he was free to work on something of paramount importance to himself. The situation with his friends being trapped in the other realm. That vexed him to no end. There had to be a way to establish a control on the portal so it could be effectively monitored and even governed. Just as there had to be a way to undo the damage done to this world. If something was not done, it would not be a place anyone would want to call home.

That was another topic he never discussed.

Conner never talked about it because he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to consider the implications of what might happen if anyone found out he was close to a breakthrough. He didn't want to think about the man he'd come close to being, so obsessed with his science and the revenge he could exact using it, he'd nearly lost his soul.

At times he almost gave in to the demand inside him, the need to get back into the middle of things, the insistent plea of his intellect to apply his mind to more complex issues than the most effective technique of delivering a punch or kick, or how to get more speed out of his racing bike.

He fought the voices within that reminded him he had been blessed with a mind that possessed the potential to affect great change, assuaging his conscience with the promise that once he'd discovered the secret he was searching for, he'd find a way to make it beneficial not to just the Seven but to everyone.

Conner was smart enough to know there was no guarantee the world would benefit if he succeeded. He'd been around long enough to understand there were those who would do anything necessary to bury it. The cost to those few would be enormous. Empires who'd ruled the global economy would fall. There was too much money and too much power at stake.

Not his concern. He wouldn't think of those things. He'd made sure everyone who knew Rockwell Burns was convinced he was no longer interested in research. His life now centered on much simpler things. Fighting, bikes and women.

The latter had proven to be a continued source of dissatisfaction. It wasn't due to a shortage of women. Particularly in an area like Kissimmee. This was resort central, with at least half a million tourists in the area on any given day of the years, many of them women eager for an adventure while their children played in the magic of the kingdom of Disney and their husbands chased little white golf balls over pristine green fairways.

Conner, or Rock as he thought of himself now, stuck to the married ones, women keen on the idea of a holiday fling with a roughneck biker. He gave them a ride on his bike, rode them hard for a few days and then parted ways, moving onto the next eager temporary companion.

In some ways, he considered himself a whore. Selling his body in exchange for a few hours pleasure and distraction with no emotions involved.

Initially, it provided a thrill. The illicit affair, sneaking around, risking being caught. Now he'd grown tired of the game. The problem finding another option. He'd yet to meet a woman who challenged him, mentally or physically, and that was what he secretly desired.

But desires, he'd learned, were far too often left unfulfilled. And it seemed to be his lot in life to fail in the quest for a meaningful relationship.

Pushing aside thoughts of what he did not have, he pressed the bike for a little more speed. Maybe it was a day for speed after all. If his demons were going to pursue him, then he'd just make sure they had to move fast to catch up with him.

*****

Jazz let Stanzia finish before she spoke. "Look, I'm not calling you a liar. It's pretty clear that you believe all this. But I have to be honest with you. It doesn't track with me. It's too...far out. Besides, it's not my line of work. I'm a bounty hunter. I've done some bodyguard gigs from time to time, but babysit some brain-trust MIT shifter dweeb?"

"You're his only hope," Stanzia said in way of an answer. "This man is vital to us all, Jasmine—excuse me, Jazz. He must stay safe and finish his work. It's our only hope of turning back the damage that's already been done to this world. Without this invention, the decimation of the atmosphere and the poisoning of the planet will continue until Mother Nature will have no recourse but to take matters into her own hands. And that—well, that will spell the end of everything man has built."

"You're convincing. I'll give you that. But I'm still just not buying it. In fact, I think I'd like to wake up now, so maybe I'll just close my eyes for a bit."

She did just that. Leaned back, stretched her legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, and closed her eyes.

Stanzia rose and left the room. She returned a few moments later with a large hand-bound book. She placed it on Jazz's lap as she retook her seat on the divan.

"What's this?" Jazz opened her eyes and glanced down at the book.

"Open it."

With a sigh, Jazz straightened in her seat and opened the book about halfway through its contents. On the left-hand page were incomprehensible scribbles. On the right-hand page was a large mandala.

"Okay." Jazz's gaze mover to Stanzia.

"Place your hand inside the mandala."

"On this thing?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Please."

"Fine." Jazz placed her hand, palm down, inside the circle of the mandala. A maelstrom of swirling images and sounds sent her mind spinning, separating her from the reality of her own body.

When she was abruptly released and found herself once more sitting on the divan with Stanzia, she shoved the book away and did something she hadn't done since she was ten. Burst into tears.

Stanzia remained silent. At length Jazz's sobs turned to hiccups and sniffles and she turned her gaze to Stanzia. "It's horrible. Horrible. What was that and please tell me you can take it out of my mind."

"I'm afraid it cannot be undone," Stanzia said softly. "What you experienced is a possibility of what may come to pass. If you turn your back on him."

Jazz shook her head, trying not to remember what she'd seen and heard. It was worse than any nightmare vision she could imagine. Thinking it was something that could actually happen made her shake with cold dread.

She looked into Stanzia's eyes, and for a long moment, they were frozen, joined to one another in non-verbal communication that went deep into a place in Jazz's mind she had never accessed. All confusion, disbelief and indecision fled. Jazz knew herself to be a warrior at heart and this was the battle she had unconsciously been preparing herself for her entire life.

Her natural cockiness returned with a rueful smile. "Okay, I'm in. What do I do?"

"Prepare." Stanzia stood, offering her hand.

"I'm ready now."

"Actually, my dear, you are not. But soon you will be."

"Well, it seems to me that we don't have time to waste." Jazz didn't like to be told no, or to wait. Once she was committed, she was ready for action.

Stanzia laughed. "Time has little meaning here, my dear. When you return it will be as if no time has passed."

"Back to the shootout?" Jazz's right hand went reflexively to her gun.

"Oh no. Now come, take my hand and let us begin your training."

Jazz studied the picture of soft femininity standing before her and chuckled. "You're going to teach me how to fight?"

"Most assuredly."

Jazz stood and took her hand. "This should be interesting."

Stanzia laughed lightly. "You have no idea."

I'm pretty sure I need to check into a psych ward. I mean, damn, this sort of thing is way beyond normal. And the screwed-up part is I bought into it hook, line, and sinker.

So, the question is am I being played and if so, how is she accomplishing it? The skeptic in me says I should run, not walk, but run from this. But after what I saw how can I? If any of it is possible then how could I walk away with a clear conscience? And how could I ever think about collecting a bounty on anyone like him, most particularly him? He just might be superman.

And maybe that's the hook she got me with. I always did have a crush on Superman.

Jazz blinked and turned slowly, taking in her surroundings. "Whoa," she murmured appreciatively. When Stanzia told her all arrangements were completed for her housing, she wasn't lying. Jazz found herself standing in the foyer of a well-appointed house.

The foyer was tiled in white ceramic, with a twelve-foot door bordered by equally tall glass sidelights and topped with an arched window that spanned their width. A glass chandelier hung from the sixteen-foot ceiling.

Inside the foyer and to her right was a seating area of metal benches with fringed cushions and a bubbling fountain. To her left an entry table of metal and glass upon which sat an intricate metal lamp, flanked by two art deco sculptures of entwined couples. A large ornate mirror hung on the wall behind the table, reflecting the seating area and fountain. A large arched entrance led into the great room, a large airy room with cathedral ceilings.

What drew her eye was the wall of glass on the opposite side of the great room. At least twenty feet, from floor to ceiling, beyond lay a vision of tropical splendor. She crossed through the great room, admiring the furnishings, the enormous flat-screen television mounted on one wall, and the clean white tile of the kitchen and dinette, separated from the living area by a long granite-covered wet bar.

She slid open one of the massive glass doors and stepped outside onto a large covered lanai. Deeply padded wicker furniture sat beneath an enormous umbrella. Beyond was a sparkling pool with an unusual squat fountain, dumping a vertical line of water into the pool.

Massive palms and tropical plants she couldn't even begin to name bordered the paved patio in an interior planter. A towering metal and screen enclosure arched over the entire expanse of the pool, offering protection from pesky insects.

Surrounding the pool outside of the enclosure was a tropical garden that sloped down to meet a wide golf fairway.

"Wow." Stanzia had certainly hooked her up in the housing department. She'd never expected anything so luxurious.

Which had her taking a look at herself. She sure as hell didn't fit in with her black latex suit, boots, and weapons.

She returned inside to explore the rest of the house, discovering a master bedroom suite with French doors leading out onto the pool patio. It was large enough to house the king-sized metal canopy bed and flanking nightstands, along with a couch, loveseat, tables, and another large, flat-screen television in a custom wood cabinet.

Jazz couldn't resist lying back on the bed. "Oh baby," she crooned appreciatively. How she'd love to have a big hard body to romp with on this mattress.

Pushing aside thoughts of hot sex and sweaty bodies, she wandered into the master bath to discover what was surely every woman's fantasy. Two enormous walk-in closets formed the hallway to tiled paradise, with one of the largest tubs she'd ever seen, a huge walk-in shower and a frosted glass window dominating the wall beside the tub.

She retraced her steps to the closets, and opened the doors of one. Larger than her bedroom at home, the racked were filled with clothes, shoes, accessories, even a large lighted cabinet in the center of the room containing an assortment of jewelry.

Jazz flipped through the clothes hanging on the racks. All her size. And all in colors and styles she would have chosen for herself. She shook her head in amazement. How had Stanzia accomplished this?

She crossed through the house to the front door and walked outside. Several flyers lay on the welcome mat. She picked them up, intending on tossing them. But one caught her eye, advertising a special running at a local gym.

Having a place to work out was one of Jazz's requirements in life. In her line of work, staying in good shape was mandatory. She returned inside, tossed all but the flyer advertising the gym into the trash can and pulled out her cell phone to dial the number listed.

A gravely male voice answered. "Nash's Gym."

"Hi. I found this flyer on my door and wondered if the rate is still good?"

"Yep."

"Okay, thanks." She hung up the phone and leaned back against the counter, considering her next move. That's when she spotted the large envelope with her name in flowing script on the center island.

She tore it open and emptied out the contents. House key, car key, a vehicle key, her own identification, credit cards she'd never applied for and a wad of cash.

Leaving the items on the counter, she headed for the bathroom, where she stripped down, showered, and went through the closet. She found a pair of tight bike shorts, a matching tank top with good support, socks, shoes and even a gym bag. With everything she needed at her disposal, she figured she might as well go check out the gym and workout. After that she'd cruise around and see if her "sense" picked up a trail on the dweeb.

She packed a change of clothes—low slung jeans and crop top—and tossed some toiletry items into the bag. A leather wallet caught her eye, so she grabbed it and headed for the kitchen where she put the driver's license, credit cards and cash into it and snatched up the three sets of keys.

She passed through the laundry room and opened the door to the garage. A grin split her face as she saw her mode of transportation. That Stanzia sure knew how to spoil a gal. Sitting in the garage was a shiny black Lotus Elise, without a doubt, her dream car.

Parked beside it was a Harley Fat Boy, with a custom paint job, metallic flaked black.

Jazz laughed out loud, all at once excited about her assignment. After all, how hard could it be? Live in a posh house, drive expensive vehicles and babysit a dweeb genius. Piece of cake. Well it would be as soon as she located him.

Confident she would locate her charge soon, she climbed into the Lotus. "Sweet," she said to herself as she put the key into the ignition and the garage door silently opened. "Too sweet."

Tuning the radio on to discover one of her favorite songs playing, she cranked up the volume, keyed in the address she'd read on the gym flyer and let the GPS provide directions.

With that done, she backed out, watching as the garage closed, and pulled out onto the street. It was time for the adventure to begin.

*****

Rock's ten a.m. client was late. He hated it when people were late, but figured he might as well use the time to his advantage. He put in an hour of weight training, and then some aerobics.

He was bent over, his upper body lying along the length of his legs, hands firmly behind him on the floor, when the door open and in walked a wet dream. That most prized bit of male anatomy jumped, making it necessary to spread his feet out to shoulder width, keeping the bend and watching the vision stop and take a look around the gym.

Jazz had no more than stepped inside the gym when her legs froze. Literally froze. Rooting her in place. Across the gym, on a wide stretch of padded mat, was absolutely the most delicious male butt she'd ever seen. Her eyes moved across the enticing sight to the strong legs that supported it and lower. About the time she reached calf level she saw the man's face. Watching her.

And what a face: strong chiseled features, heavy dark brows, and eyes the color of molten bronze, blazing vividly from his tanned face.

A flash of white teeth in that perfect face had her wishing she'd worn underwear because the crotch of her shorts felt decidedly moist. She removed her sunglasses, keeping her eyes locked with the god across the way. For several long moments they engaged in the initial battle, neither of them blinking. She felt the energy as strong as if he was a foot away instead of clear across the gym, and it was energy that had lust spiking high and fast.

She almost forgot why she was there. That fact alone jolted her. She was never that affected by a man. She was accustomed to having an effect on them, but never in her life had one made her want to throw him on the floor, tear his clothes off and ride him until they were both weak from exhaustion.

To compound her unease, her tracking senses had kicked into high gear. Which meant that her gift had activated. Jazz didn't understand the mechanics of how her gift operated. She didn't need to. She simply accepted it.

She'd read the information on Doctor R. C. Burns and had mentally filed it away. Sooner or later she'd start to pick up a signal on him, one that would lead her to him.

If she was picking up signals now, it meant that her target was somewhere in the vicinity. Part of her wanted to rush back to her car and give in to the gift to see where it would take her.

But her female nature was in control at the moment, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion would make her leave this place and the hunk it housed.

The hunk started to straighten from his bend and released her from the force that had her feet glued to the floor. She experienced a stab of disappointment when the moment ended, but also one of anticipation. There was no way she was leaving this place without having an encounter with the man. She was as certain of that as she was of her name.

Rock willed his erection to fade. That was an almost impossible task, looking at the woman across the gym. Full breasts snuggly encased in a skin-tight black tank top, a narrow waist and hips that flared just the right amount over long strong legs, formed a body that was criminal to conceal in clothing.

Her hair was dark and long, cascading down her back nearly to her waist in loose curls. Her face was a curious blend of ethnicity. Elegant jet brows arched over large almond eyes of the most unusual shade of green. High cheekbones and taut skin the color of a caramel latte, and full pouty lips that begged to be kissed, formed a face that was not of classical beauty, but one of erotic and exotic appeal. The kind of face that belonged in a dream of passion and heat.

Her eyes didn't hesitate to lock with his, and when they did, a jolt ran through him that had his balls tightening. His mind registered the shock a moment before his body. This was one potent woman. Clearly confident and self-assured, she wasn't afraid to let her eyes communicate her interest.

Rock wanted to rip that black spandex from her body and lick every inch of her latte skin. He had to know who she was. He started to straighten. By the time he was upright and turning toward her, Ed had exited the office and was yelling in her direction.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, we spoke on the phone." She headed toward Ed in a smooth, powerful stride that struck a surprising cord in Rock. She moved like a martial artist, her center of gravity low and secure, and her movements fluid and controlled.

"Ed Nash." Ed reached her and stuck out his hand. "Have any trouble finding the place?"

"None at all, Mr. Nash." She took his hand and gave him a brilliant smile.

"Ed." He grinned back at her.

"Thanks, Ed. I'm Jazz Boudreaux. I'd like to pay you upfront for the first month and then see how it goes after that. If that's okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, and then paused. "You look like a gal who knows her way around a gym."

"I've been a time or two," she said with a smile.

"Want a job?"

"Huh?"

"A job. You got any training in martial arts or kickboxing?"

"Actually yes. A couple of black belts but never competed."

"It'll do. Assistant trainer quit last week and it's a bitch—'scuse the French—with the UFC bout coming up in Tampa. Everybody and his brother wants to get trained."

"Well, I'm not exactly experienced in the whole Ultimate Fighting thing, Ed."

"Doesn't matter. Just need someone who can spar with the fellas. "He broke out into a laugh. "And damn if it wouldn't be a hoot to see a couple of 'em get their ass kicked by a broad—uh, woman."

Jazz laughed along with him. "What makes you think I can go the distance?"

Ed thumbed his nose and grinned. "Got a nose for a fighter. Whaddaya say?"

Inside she was cheering, doing a happy dance, and screaming for joy at the wonderful stroke of luck. Working at the gym would give her plenty of opportunities to cozy up with the hunk.

"I say what the heck—sign me up."

"Atta girl. Okay, you start today. You got gear?"

"Sorry, no. Wasn't counting on anything but a workout today.

"No problem. Come on back to the office and I'll fix you up."

Jazz followed him to his office, cutting a look over her shoulder at the hunk just before she entered the door. He was watching with a curious expression. She wondered what he was thinking.

What Rock was thinking was all right! Providence must have decided not just to smile on him, but grin. Chicks loved the whole trainer deal. As soon as he told them he was a trainer they started cooing about how much they'd love to be trained. He'd been known to be quite accommodating in that respect. So what was she into? Weights, maybe some self-defense techniques? Only one way to find out and that was to ask. He draped his towel over one shoulder and headed for the office.

Ed was digging through the new equipment, tossing out gloves for her to try when he entered the room. The woman was leaning back against the desk, her long legs stretched out in front of her, pulling on a glove.

"This will do," she was saying. Abruptly, her head whipped around and those green cat eyes locked on him with the force of a laser beam.

"Hey." Rock stopped and leaned against the doorway. As small as the office was, this put him within two feet of her, close enough to see the gold flecks that danced in the sea of green of her eyes.

"Hey." She looked him straight in the eyes.

He liked her eyes and what he saw in them. Just as he liked the sound of her voice. Low, a bit husky and with a slight accent that he'd guess pegged her roots as somewhere in the south.

Ed straightened, grunting as he did, with one hand going to the small of his back. "Jazz, this is Rock, my b—my head trainer. Rock, Jazz Boudreaux, your new assistant trainer."

Rock felt like giving a rebel yell of joy at the news, but instead smiled and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Jazz."

She rewarded him with a smile sultry enough to set his jock on fire, and tapped her gloved hand against his. "Same here, Rock."

"So, you have much experience in the fight game?"

"More of the school of life kind of experience."

"Know anything about ultimate fighting?"

"To be honest, only what I've seen on television. But I'm a fast learner."

"And good qualifications," Ed added. "Black belt in..."

"Tae Kwon Do and Kempo." She filled in the information for him. "I've studied Tai Chi, Judo and Kung Fu, and trained with an ex-golden glove for a while."

Rock was impressed. "Nice. Still, we'll need to make sure you're training according to our specs."

"Right," Ed cut in before she had a chance to respond. "Rock'll be working with you until you're ready to go solo."

Jazz forced herself to respond to the wizened old fighter sitting at the desk, out of respect and also to get her mind off the waves of heat coming off Rock. "Sounds good. When do we start?"

"Ed?" A male voice called out at that moment. "Hey! Where is everyone?"

"Here," Rock yelled back over his shoulder then looked at Jazz. "Danny Bookman. Wants to be an ultimate fighter. Hasn't fought professionally, but thinks he's the bad ass to end all bad asses thanks to a few titles in local martial arts competitions."

"He have what it takes?"

Rock straightened with a wink. "That's what we're going to find out. Grab your gear. I'd like to put you in the ring with him to get an idea of your style and to see how he fares against a woman."

She chuckled and snatched up her mouthpiece and other glove. "He one of those guys that can't hit a woman, or one that wants to?"

"We're about to find out." Rock turned to leave.

Jazz looked at Ed. "Thanks, Ed. I'll pay you for these out of my first check, if that's okay."

"Don't worry about it." He waved her words away.

"Kinda have to. Independence, you understand. Need to pull my own weight."

"Fine." He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Now get out there and show that smart ass what a good decision I made hiring you."

"You got it." She gave him a sassy wink before following Rock.

Her eyes lit with appreciation, watching him stride across the gym to the muscular man waiting at the mat. What she would give for a few days of fun and games with him. Somehow she got the feeling he was a man who would not fail to please. And it had been quite a while since she'd been even mildly pleased in the sex department. Most men were not strong enough for her. Not able to satisfy her cravings.

What her granny called her "bloodhound" sense kicked in again, stronger this time, refocusing her mind on why she was there. She was definitely going to have to scout the area as soon as her work shift was over. The dweeb had to be close.

"You ready?" Rock asked over his shoulder as she approached.

"Born that way," she replied and acknowledged the other man. "I'm Jazz."

"Danny," the man replied and turned his attention to Rock. "You expect me to fight her?"

"Yep."

"Come on, Rock. A chick? No offense, Jazz, but I don't make a habit of beating up women."

Jazz grinned as she made the transition into fight mode. "What makes you think you can, Danny?"

Rock laughed as Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, you two. Places."

Jazz took her place on the mat, bending over to hug her legs for a good stretch then straightening and dancing in place for a moment. When Rock said "Go," she was ready, but made no move.

Danny danced around her, throwing a few half-hearted jabs she easily deflected. He had little skill in hiding his intent, telegraphing every move he intended to make. She let him jab and kick at will and played defense, fending off his attack but not going on the offense.

"Come on, Jazz," Rock encouraged after a few minutes. "Let's see what you've got."

She cut him a grin and the next kick Danny threw, she countered. He issued a spinning back kick and she spun toward him, inside the kick, catching him with a back-fist that sent his head snapping back. One more spin and she was past him, coming around with low leg sweep that caught him in the back of his supporting leg, sweeping it from under him and sending him into a fall.

"Fuck!" Danny cursed as he bounded up and faced her.

"Not if you fuck the way you fight," she teased, bringing a flush of anger to his face at the taunt.

He came after her, clearly no longer caring that she was female. Jazz grinned, letting her warrior take command. Fighting was instinctive to her. She focused on her opponent's eyes and acted in accordance with their intent, taking the openings in his defenses to counter attack.

Danny was no match for her. She knew that and suspected he did as well. But male pride would not let him admit defeat to a woman. She realized he had slipped out of training mode and was fighting in earnest.

She cut a look at Rock, seeing the glitter in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw. He wasn't going to stop it. Which meant she had no choice. She had to take Danny down. She slipped into full offense mode, pressing him back on the mat, delivering a series of kicks and punches to open a bigger hole in his defense.

The moment came. She launched herself into the air with a spinning side-kick. Her foot found its mark, connecting solidly mid-chest and sending him flailing backwards. She pressed in with a series of punches to the face, getting in close and forcing him back more.

The finale came in the form of a leg sweep that had him landing hard on his ass. One downward strike was all it took. Her fist stopped short of his exposed neck. He stared up at her in anger for a moment and then let his hands fall limp to his sides. The fight was over.

Jazz offered him her hand. He glared at her for a moment then accepted and she straightened, pulling him to his feet. He peeled off one glove and spat out his mouthpiece.

"This doesn't mean shit!" he barked at her then turned his wrath on Rock. "Not shit! You put me on the mat with a fucking chick and expect me to give it my all? You fucking know I'd have to throw it to keep from hurting her."

"That's a load of crap," Rock replied calmly. "She beat you. Man up, Danny. Just means you aren't ready yet. In time maybe. Not now. Better up you to five days a week."

"I ain't fighting her no more," Danny announced.

"You'll fight who I say or find another gym."

"Fuck you." Danny bounded off to snatch up his bag and rush out of the gym.

"Damn!" Jazz blew out her breath. "Sorry. Didn't mean to cost you a client."

"Not the kind I want to train anyway. You move well."

"Thanks."

"There are a couple of areas you could strengthen your defense."

She arched a brow at him. "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Show me."

"You got enough in you for another bout?"

"That was just a warm up," she said sassily.

Rock's sexy smile had her hormones spinning. "Later. Right now I have a couple of files I want you to go over. Some gals who joined recently. Not looking to compete, just want to learn some self-defense."

"Sure," she agreed, stepping off the mat so that she was just inches from him. "But later..."

"Don't worry, Jazz. I'll deliver." His words promised much more than a satisfying sparring match. The look in his eyes backed up his words.

"I'll look forward to it," she returned in a low voice that carried its own promise.

At that moment there was nothing Rock wanted more than to pull her to him and taste those full lips. Feel that strong lithe body pressed up against his. She was a turn-on unlike any other. Watching her fight, he'd been hard pressed to keep his mind on the technique and not on imagining the two of them on the mat, the physical battle leading to him taking her down. Then taking her.

It would be primitive and passionate and no holds barred. His gut told him that. The only question on his mind was how soon.

She smiled knowingly at him, as if reading his thoughts. He gave her a wink and turned away. "Come on, let me get you those files."

Jazz grinned behind his back, watching his fine ass as he led the way. Rock looked over her shoulder and caught her. "After you." He swept his hand in front of him.

She laughed and walked around him but cut a look back at him before they reached the office. "Turnabout's fair play," he said, not in the least embarrassed at having been caught watching the sway of her firm ass.

"Hmmm, I like play," she offered and sashayed into the office.

Rock could have groaned at the images her words inspired. Adjusting his burgeoning erection in his pants, he followed. Suddenly life had taken an interesting turn. One he was determined to explore in depth. Very soon.