Empowered: Em and Yves, #2

By Darlene Jones

She's crazy to build her life on childhood visions, but …

Jasmine Wade, rich man's eye-candy, trusts in visions she experienced as a child. In them she "traveled" with a woman facing incredible danger and vanquishing evil. Driven by this ideal,
Jasmine is determined to change the world—at least her little corner of it.

Kidnapped, not for ransom, but to be eliminated, Jasmine must depend on her wits to survive.

But where, in this mix, are the aliens who are using her as their tool? Will they be the ones to save Jasmine? And, if not …?

EMPOWERED, book two of the Em and Yves sci-fi series –action, suspense, and human relationships woven into a story you won't want to put down.

Buy EMPOWERED to enjoy grand adventure as aliens try to "fix" Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darlene Jones
• Release date: Mar 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476417776

Darlene Jones

Darlene Jones is a retired educator and writer. A graduate of the University of Alberta she was a teacher, principal, second language consultant, and staffing officer with Edmonton Public schools. Her multiple roles included second language curriculum development for secondary students. After retiring she continued to provide educational workshops for teachers in the province of Alberta. Her career began as a volunteer with Canadian University Services Overseas. She taught school in Mali and it was the plight of the Malians that inspired her to write her first novel—science fiction—described by readers as a "think piece." She continues to write fiction that incorporates topics such as world affairs, aging, and Alzheimer's, with the added mix of adventure, romance and humor.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Christ! A fucking nanny. Against his better judgment, Nick Perrino had agreed to guard the tycoon’s young girlfriend. He was leaving Berdin’s office, weaving his way between desks when he saw Jasmine Wade, the bimbo herself, coming his way.

Ooh, you’re cute, she cooed. He had the feeling she’d been lying in wait for this moment. Her tone was low and neutral, but loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. Phone conversations were cut short, receivers cradled, papers shuffled and set aside, and keyboards left idle. Jasmine spoke again, this time with a sarcastic bite, My new babysitter. Lucky me.

Nick sensed the rise in tension and knew that all eyes were on him. Sure of a telltale flush creeping up from under his collar, he decided to brazen it out. They would talk about him anyway, this inner circle, the top dogs of Berdin Corp who toiled up here in the rarefied air of the penthouse floor. Might as well give them something to work with. Yeah, he drawled, lucky me.

Nick studied Jasmine. In person, she wasn’t just photogenic. She was beautiful. The slightly off features blended perfectly in a face of classic beauty. No wonder Berdin wanted to protect her; any man would.

She accepted his perusal with a sardonic smile. He must be just another of the multitude who either cast furtive glances or stared blatantly. She arched an eyebrow ever so slightly in Stephanie Tremblay’s direction. Stephanie nodded. He glanced from one woman to the other. So, Stephanie was more than Berdin’s messenger girl. What the two women shared, he’d have to figure out. Both were staring at him with no hint of warmth, although Stephanie had been friendly enough when she’d met with him to arrange his meeting with Berdin. He heard impatient toe tapping from one of the people behind him. A glance to his right revealed Berdin watching from his doorway.

Shit! How the hell would he last here for the year he’d agreed to?

Nothing to say for yourself, big boy? In her ridiculously high heels Jasmine was at eye level; must be five eight or nine he guessed. Her long straight hair was dark blonde, her skin flawless; no makeup that he could see. A black business suit molded to her curves. Her only jewelry, a pair of diamond earrings set in gold were small and looked old; not something he would have expected her to wear, judging by the suit anyway. But it was her eyes that captured his attention. In pictures they looked somber, concealing, sometimes flat, but now they glittered, brilliant with anger. Great way to start your new job, buddy. Subject of your undying bodyguarding devotion wants no part of you.

Nick felt a sudden shiver of apprehension. She was studying him with an expression that bordered on supernatural. Like she was seeing a ghost, or wishing she was. He’d never experienced anything like it.

Damn, Wade muttered under her breath.

What?

You’re not the one.

The one what?

Never mind. It’s not your fault. She was unbearably disappointed and sad, that much he understood, but why?

He’d look good in Armani, I think, Jasmine said to the men and women at the desks—Berdin’s executive team—her eyes and voice now devoid of emotion.

Or Hugo Boss, Stephanie said.

Give it up, Tremblay. Definitely Armani. He’s got the body. This voice was low and seductive, approving.

Jasmine Wade laughed, but the amusement did not reach her eyes. We know what Sutters is looking at. Nick knew he was blushing now, if he hadn’t been before. He could feel the heat and glanced at Stephanie for help. She wasn’t looking at him. She was frowning at Sutters.

Marc Jacobs for evening.

And Calvin or Lauren for casual.

Tommy Hilfiger. Jesus, they were all playing the game now, siding with Wade.

Calvin for the skivvies too, the seductive voice added with a purr. He saw the woman, Sutters, bat her eyelashes at him. Several more suggestions were offered. Stephanie giggled. Nick knew he had lost round one and decided to give in gracefully.

What’s wrong with this suit? he asked. Wore it to my sister’s wedding.

Twelve or thirteen years ago, someone said.

Nick knew when he was licked. Seventeen, actually. Laughter erupted around him. He had passed the first test. They called out cheerful greetings and welcomes and returned to work.

*

Berdin caught Nick’s eye and nodded approval. His senior staff had worked together for a number of years and they were tight. Nick had handled his first encounter with them well.

Jasmine saw him watching and glared. He sighed. She had protested long and volubly when he had explained his plan to hire Nick, argued that she already had Andrew and Daniel and Lord knows who else he hadn’t told her about and definitely didn’t need a babysitter; she was a big girl and could take care of herself and besides nothing would happen to her, and didn’t he know he was being unreasonable and overprotective and …. She could be so damn stubborn.

Berdin had been adamant and she had finally given in, but without her usual grace and good humor. She was still angry. She’d get over it. He crossed his fingers behind his back.

Chapter 2

Jasmine took Nick by the arm and gestured to Stephanie, who called for a car. The three stepped into the elevator.

I’m Miss Wade in public, but Jaz when it’s just the three of us. And Steph is Steph. What do we call you?

Most people call me Nick.

Okay, Nicky. First order of business. We’re going shopping. Her brusque tone belied the casual way she addressed him. It was going to be a hellishly long year, if she didn’t relent. A car was waiting at the elevator in the underground parking lot.

They spent the next couple of hours in a huge fitting room; the kind of place Nick hadn’t known existed. The tailor made him strip to his skivvies—thank God they were new, because the two women didn’t leave—and measured every body part he owned. He needn’t have worried about his state of undress. Jasmine and Stephanie were engrossed in their discussion with the salesman, who was showing them fabric swatches, and only looked at him when the fitter discreetly attracted their attention.

The two women sat in critical judgment as he tried on more clothes than he had owned in his lifetime. They had him twirling and strutting like some runway model for Christ’s sake. They argued about colors and agreed finally that charcoal gray and dark steel blue suited his coloring. Nick groaned and rolled his eyes. The tailor and salesman shrugged and brought more clothes for him to try. A waiter came in with drinks. Nick accepted a scotch gratefully. The aged liquor hit his empty stomach with a warmth that quickly spread through his body. He relaxed and began to enjoy the unique experience.

Finally, boxes were loaded into the car and delivery dates set for the suits. Jasmine insisted that at least one suit be ready for Monday. The tailor promised to have it delivered the next day. She insisted on a workout wardrobe too. You’re staying fit, she told him. No soft bodies at Berdin Corp.

Stephanie eyed him critically making him glad he was fully clothed again. He looks pretty good to me, she said. Nick fought yet another rising blush.

Better watch out, Nicky, Jasmine said. Seems like Sutters isn’t the only one with an eye on you. My God, was she relenting enough to tease? Steph, we’ll have to get him access to a car and driver and set him up at the gym. Nope, all business she was. Nick sighed with relief at the change of topic and glanced at Stephanie.

Done, she said to Jaz.

When? Nick blurted.

Arrangements were made as soon as Mr. Berdin told us you had accepted, Stephanie said.

My God, do you always work that fast?

Once the decisions are made, yes.

But Berdin makes his decisions carefully?

Always. And it’s okay to call him Berdin when it’s just the three of us. Gently done, but a rebuke none-the-less. Nick vowed to be more careful. Back to the office? Stephanie asked Jaz.

Lunch first. It’s late, Jasmine said without looking at a watch. Nicky, you must be starved.

Yes, and a bit light-headed from the Scotch.

Jasmine chuckled. Okay then, lunch it is. Brunch Sunday? This question was directed to Stephanie. What can I bring?

Nothing, but come early to help. So, he’d been right earlier about these two. They were more than colleagues.

After lunch, they took Stephanie back to the office and then Jasmine had Nick give the driver directions to his place. He and Jasmine went up first. While the driver and bodyguard brought up bags and boxes of Nick’s new wardrobe, Jasmine inspected every little corner of his apartment on the top floor of the gentrified tenement. Nick found her directness disconcerting. He was tense and alert and knew it showed when she glanced at him with a knowing look. Damn, he’d rather face a perp with a gun than be here now with the bimbo. Why the hell had he said yes?

Built in the early nineteen hundreds? she asked.

1906.

You must have rooftop access. She insisted on going up to have a look, admired the view of the Manhattan skyline, and complimented him on the layout of the patio.

Is everything original? she asked as they re-entered his apartment.

Pretty much. The floors need work.

They’re beautiful just as they are.

You like old and battered? He laughed then stopped abruptly, hoping like hell she didn’t think he was referring to Berdin.

I like authentic and lived in, and this place has certainly seen a lot of living. She ran a hand along the worn chair rail and studied the molded ceiling. Beautiful.

Nick relaxed a little. I’ve done minor renovations in the kitchen, enough to be able to do some decent cooking, but that’s about it.

Jasmine inspected the tiny alcove of the kitchen. Well organized. Great stove. Place is nice but needs a woman’s touch, she said. Family? she asked looking at the pictures scattered on the fridge. Must be. They look like you.

My sister’s kids.

You like native stuff? She was back in the living room inspecting again. He had two pieces of Native American art and one from Central America, all that he’d been able to afford so far.

Yes.

You must like the stuff at the office.

Very much.

Hmm. Why did he feel she was plotting something? Gotta go, she announced suddenly. See you Monday morning.

What time? Nick asked, but she was out the door.

Chapter 3

Berdin entered Jasmine’s penthouse and the aroma of home cooking washed over him. One of his favorites, Jasmine’s version of chicken Parmesan, must be baking in the oven. The serenity of Jasmine’s place was an additional balm; one he desperately needed just now. He’d made a job offer to Nick Perrino. The man had accepted, but would he stay? Berdin was worried sick that Perrino would back out. He sighed and swore under his breath. He needed a day or two at a construction site to recharge; maybe next week.

He tossed his keys on the end table, and took off his shoes, jacket, and tie. He undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. He felt better already.

Hi, Jasmine called from the kitchen.

Hi, yourself. Ready for a drink?

Whenever you are.

The usual?

Please.

God, Jaz, you’re getting to be one of those city sex girls. He waited for an explosion of laughter and she didn’t disappoint him.

So, do you think Mr. Perrino will stay? she called.

Give me a minute. He wanted to berate her for her cold reception—hell, make that icy rejection—of the man and he wasn’t in a hurry to face an argument with her.

Sure. Fuss over your babies first, if you want.

Grateful for the respite, Berdin watered, pruned, and talked to the plants on the terrace. Jasmine teased him about that. If Prince Charles can talk to his plants, so can I, he told her. He had fresh flowers delivered regularly and he checked those too. He dumped the water, washed and refilled the vases, and rearranged the bouquets. Jasmine said she could kill plants simply by looking at them, could live without the greenery, not to mention the dried and wilted bits that ended up on the floor, but Berdin insisted they were necessary to bring civilization to the city.

Thirty minutes later he poured a generous scotch, neat, for himself and mixed a margarita for Jasmine. She liked them strong and slightly sour, made with aged tequila, and a well-salted rim. He carried the drinks to the kitchen where she was washing asparagus, snapping off the ends and putting the stalks in a pot to steam. As usual she wore tight jeans, a spaghetti strap top, and sandals she called flipflops. So lovely. He sighed with pleasure as he set the drinks on the counter.

Your babies okay? She dried her hands and turned to embrace him.

Yes, no thanks to you. They picked up their drinks and clinked glasses in an unspoken toast. Can I help?

Are you going to want coffee later?

No thanks. Keeps me awake.

Getting old, eh? She grinned wickedly. Open the wine, please. She handed him the bottle and opener. And toss the salad. You’ll find it in the fridge. Here’s the dressing. Remember to give it a good shake first.

He glanced at her as he drizzled her homemade dressing over the greens in the wooden bowl. You really like cooking, don’t you?

Love it. But not baking.

I know. I never get dessert.

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. You’ll survive without it, you know. Besides, I refuse to contribute too much to your waistline.

So, you’re actually doing me a favor?

Of course. You want to stay lean and fit don’t you?

I suppose you’ll start insisting I go running with you.

Nah, I’ll leave you with the testosterone at the gym. Berdin chuckled. Jasmine asked him to carry the two plates of baked chicken, wild rice, and asparagus to the dining room, warning that they were hot. She brought the salad and passed him the bottle of wine. They toasted again with a simultaneous Bon Appetit. As always, dinner with Jasmine renewed his energies and took his mind off the drudgery of the day.

Did you see Sutters drooling over Perrino? Jasmine shook her head. That woman—

Needs to find a man. Berdin held up a hand. Now don’t go calling me sexist.

Jasmine chuckled. I won’t—this time. Stephanie and I are trying to hook her up with Stevens in finance. We think they’d make a good match.

Berdin finished chewing. Maybe. How do the figures look on the Detroit rebuild?

Jasmine shook her head. Not good.

But you’re going ahead anyway?

We have to. The city needs all the help it can get. Speaking of cities, who’s going to be our next mayor? Jasmine asked.

It’s a tight race. Your guess is as good as mine. I’d like to see a new face though.

I like some of Anton’s platform. Especially his daycare proposals.

Berdin laughed. Now why doesn’t that surprise me? You need a few babies of your own.

Jasmine’s face fell. I’d like that. Someday.

Berdin reached out to caress her cheek. It will happen. I promise.

I know. She squeezed his hand and smiled. What are we doing this weekend?

Swansons have invited us sailing.

It wasn’t until they were sipping the last of the wine after dinner that Jasmine repeated her question.

So, my new babysitter ...?

Perrino’s a good man. Out of his element. Did a good job hiding his surprise, but I could practically hear his heart pounding when I met with him. Handled himself marvelously. He’d be a great poker player. Berdin paused to take a sip of wine. I’d bet any money children and dogs love him, women flock around … hell, criminals probably wait in line to unburden themselves to him.

Jasmine frowned. You’re never that effusive. Her voice held a warning note. He knew she didn’t want to hear good things about Perrino.

He’s the right man. Doing his research. I saw him this morning prowling around headquarters, posing as a mail boy. Now, if only he’ll stay.

You’re worried he’ll leave? She sounded hopeful.

The money tempted him, no question. But, I think accepting made him feel that he’d compromised his values. And, after your reception the other day ...? Berdin shrugged. He wanted to say more, but it was done. He could only hope Jasmine would relent with time.

What will you do if he quits?

Up the ante.

Some people can’t be bought, Jasmine said softly.

I know, Berdin said. May Caroline, wherever she is, forgive me. After I met with him I had Mrs. Rose give him the dossier, told him to call Stephanie with his questions and assured him that if he accepted he would earn his keep. Now all I can do is wait.

You know, you don’t have to do this. I’ve told you a million times that I don’t need another bodyguard.

Jasmine, damn it. They’d been having this argument for weeks.

I can take care of myself. I’m fine just the way things are. Berdin recognized the steely tone. You worry too much, she said. I won’t get hurt.

He knew better. It was a big bad world out there and she was high profile with him—a prime target if ever there was one.

You’ll have a personal bodyguard, damn it, and it will be Perrino. So cut the cold shoulder act. Be nice to him. Berdin held up his hand to forestall further comment.

Jasmine rose to clear the table her lips set in a firm line that told him this conversation wasn’t over yet, but she’d give in—for now.

He didn’t understand her cavalier attitude. She was too smart not to recognize the danger. Maybe it was a product of youth, with their blind belief they would never be hurt. Accidents were for other people, never them.

She moved with grace and confidence as she cleared the table, the same confidence she had in everything she did—always confident but never arrogant. It was disconcerting to watch her for she never faltered. And, he couldn’t fathom why she was convinced she was invulnerable. Where had that absurd belief came from?

Jasmine loaded the dishwasher while he washed the pots. I could take pictures of this for the tabloids, she teased. Berdin laughed, relieved that she had dropped the argument, and pulled her into a close embrace.

I love you, he murmured. More than you can know.

I love you too. She pulled back and patted his cheek in a gesture that was almost motherly. You look exhausted. Let’s watch a movie and then get you to bed.

Berdin didn’t argue.

Chapter 4

Elspeth hovered behind me watching over my shoulder. She’d done that a lot since I’d been appointed a Power. Said she found it all very intriguing but wouldn’t want the job herself.

She knows? Elspeth asked. That’s why she’s not worried?

Subconsciously, I think. I hadn’t told Jasmine anything or sent any messages. I hadn’t even allowed the Watcher to contact her yet. I was being overcautious, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t fail a second time. They wouldn’t have to execute me if I did. I’d do myself in.

So she has memories from when she was Em? That’s how she knows she can’t be hurt?

I guess.

Yves, you don’t seem too sure about this. Elspeth sounded worried. I think she had some inkling of how badly my confidence had been shattered by my failure. I’d second guessed myself so many times with Em. Now with Jasmine … I couldn’t afford any more mistakes. I just couldn’t.

I’m not sure about much of anything. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t to confide in anyone other than Mentor or the other Powers. As if I’d tell them anything. But I had to talk to someone and who better than my sister? I think her knowing is part of the memories the Guardians gave her.

We watched Jasmine in her kitchen. The odor of baking chicken made me gag, but it seemed humans liked that sort of thing. So, what do you think? I asked.

She’s the same, essentially. How do they do it?

You mean the Guardians?

Yes. How do they transfer a personality like that? They’re taking one being and creating another. Two different bodies, but one person.

On Earth, they call it cloning.

I know. I saw that on one of those documentary things they make. But this isn’t really cloning is it?

Elspeth was right. Mentor had explained the process to me, but I didn’t fully understand. It was a sort of memory transfer—Mind Management, she called it. And along with that, the essence of the soul was leeched from the corpse of the dead person to be injected into the replacement. Sounded damn creepy to me. I didn’t like the picture that conjured up of someone messing with Em’s remains.

I mean if it was cloning, the body would be exactly the same, and she looks nothing like Em.

Elspeth was right again. Jasmine was different. Taller, younger … but the essence of my Little Soldier was there. Wasn’t it?

What about heart? Elspeth asked. Heart is essential for humans, isn’t it? I mean, from what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me …

Yes. The crux of the matter. How did the Guardians transfer heart? Could they, when they didn’t believe in heart? Did my darling Em truly exist in this new life?

Chapter 5

Nick arrived at Berdin Corporation early Monday, before eight, but Jefferies was already there to greet him. Ostensibly, the young man was the receptionist, but Nick guessed there was a lot more to his role than that.

Good morning, Mr. Perrino. Welcome. Let me show you your office. Jefferies motioned for Nick to follow him around the reception desk.

Whose office is next to Mr. Berdin’s? Nick indicated the two doors on the right.

Mrs. Rose. You’ve met her, I believe.

Yes. Wonderful lady with a warm smile, but sad eyes that told another story—a story that, in Nick’s estimation, didn’t fit with the corporate world.

Impressive, Nick said as they arrived in the open area dominated by a huge round table and twelve chairs. Shades of King Arthur.

You’ve probably heard many names for it already.

Command Central. The Pit. The Kingdom.

Jefferies laughed. You heard some that were less complimentary too.

Not really.

We call it The Floor, Jefferies told him. We use the table for our daily meetings.

Who is we?

Mr. Berdin, Miss Wade, Miss Tremblay, Mrs. Rose and the gang. He gestured to the six people occupying the desks positioned along the glassed wall with great views of the city. And me.

That makes eleven.

You’re twelve.

A wave of panic washed over Nick. But I don’t know anything about this business. What the hell had he let himself in for?

You’ll learn. The sultry voice of Joyce Sutters came floating across the room. And Nick had thought they weren’t listening.

There are three offices on this side. Jefferies led him around the desks to the left. Miss Wade and Miss Tremblay have the corner ones. Yours is in the middle.

Who had it before me?

No one. Until Mr. Berdin hired you, there were only eleven of us. Now Nick was downright scared and he knew it showed when Jefferies grinned at him. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We work together here and give each other time to learn. Later I’ll show you the layout—gym, dining room, and so on. We don’t lock the offices up here and rarely close doors, so check them out. He waved in the general direction of Nick’s new office. Miss Tremblay will meet you later in your office.

Nick felt like a trespasser, but curiosity prevailed and he entered Miss Wade’s office. It was a replica of Berdin’s, but somehow conveyed a feminine air. Rumor said she had a bank of computers. In fact there were three, all of them turned on, displaying series of numbers that meant nothing to him. Stock readouts? A couple of fashion magazines lay on the table, along with what looked like financial documents. A little light reading? The bookshelves held an interesting assortment: The Man Who Counted; Stones of the Parthenon; Eyes that See Do Not Grow Old; Machiavelli’s The Prince. Several shelves held law books, others books on history and art. The top shelf held a couple of dozen books on—of all things—war. Had the bimbo read them all? Nah. More likely leftovers from some predecessor.

Miss Tremblay’s office mirrored Miss Wade’s minus the native art. Her tastes were modern. A metal cut-out sculpture of a horse captured his attention. It stood about four feet high and was almost one dimensional. He examined it from all angles and fell in love with it. He’d never heard of the artist, Joe Fafard, but he determined