Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 13

Shay walked beside him, but her kicks were no doubt dragging. "You're expecting a lot on faith from me. You tell me we need to make a quick stop before you take me back to work, but you won't tell me where or why."

"Will it help if I tell you this involves your teens?"

She looked up at him sharply, the morning sun glinting off her golden brown hair sc.r.a.ped back in a short ponytail. "Okay, you've hooked me, but my trust only goes so far. I'm not going on some cross-country junket with you."

With those few words, he wanted to take her up in a plane. He could see it, her adventurous spirit, winging this earth girl up to touch the heavens. But not now. Probably never. "We're only going to sit in the plane and have a conversation with some important people."

She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking ahead to the innocuous-looking plane. "Who are the other guys inside?"

"A few of my friends."

Her arm fell to her side. "Did you hook up with some others for your road trip?"

"Could you hold your questions for fifteen minutes? Then I will answer anything you ask."

About the mission, anyway.

His past was as off-limits now as it had been then. As a teen, she wanted to use him to get back at her father. If she got to know him better now, she would see what a mess he was inside, always wondering if today would be the day he stepped over the edge like his own father. He liked to think he'd channeled his inherited aggression into his job. He got to push boundaries, break rules even, all for a positive result that wouldn't land him in a military prison.

Walking across the tarmac toward the parked plane, she had a regal way about her, even in jeans, long legs slowing with each step.

He needed to throw her a line. "I have some people who want to meet with you about your upcoming congressional testimony."

Her brown eyes widened. "How are you tied in with that? Have you been tapped to testify, too, as a success story about making it out of that kind of life? You're certainly a poster child for someone who's pulled himself up by his bootstraps."

"Biker bootstraps, huh? Guess the image works."

"Don't laugh this off. You have a chance to witness to these teens." She grabbed his forearm, her touches so rare it more than caught his attention. "I may have problems with my father, but I respect what he's done for kids. He didn't save them all. No one can. But lives changed because of what he did."

"Believe me, I know that. But that's not what we're all here for." He offered her his hand to steady her on her way into the plane.

She ignored his hand and hauled herself inside.

Vince gestured to his three workmates inside the aircraft, all wearing civilian clothes. "Their hideous fashion taste aside, these are top-notch guys from my squadron, and in spite of the casual shorts, we're not here on vacation." He palmed Shay's back as he guided her to the copilot's seat. "Guys, this is Shay Ba.s.sett. Shay, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt is Jimmy." He pointed to his lanky friend folded too tightly into a seat in front of a monitor. "He's a pilot, too."

She stayed quiet, her pert nose scrunched in confusion.

He pointed to his somber pal behind a computer screen. "Berg is a top-notch navigator and fire control officer. He's a man of many talents, although right now he's knee-deep in seeing what your teens are up to on Facebook." He gestured to the last guy, lounging back in a pink shirt. Somehow the player managed to make the color work for him. "And Smooth is our flight engineer. He monitors engine health. In a pinch he's one h.e.l.luva loadmaster."

Smooth winked, leaning forward to extend a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Ba.s.sett."

Jimmy clapped Smooth on the back. "How's your girlfriend? I enjoyed meeting her last time we were back in Vegas."

Smooth just laughed and leaned back. Vince gestured for Shay to sit while he took his place at the keyboard, bringing the screen to life with an empty room. Don Ba.s.sett strode across the monitor image, their gateway to the teleconfer ence where all would be revealed soon enough.

Shay stiffened in that way Vince had come to realize was customary when her father showed up, even if only a virtual arrival. She shot Vince a tight-lipped look before gluing her attention to the screen.

Could she resent her dad because of the problems between her parents that seemed to have started long before their divorce? He didn't consider himself ber in touch with his feelings, but he'd once dated a woman who had what she'd called "abandonment issues" because her father walked out. Those issues of hers had made for plenty of problems between them whenever he had had to go dark and couldn't call her for a few days.

These days, it wasn't unusual to go dark for weeks.

Not that he was looking for a relationship with Shay. He just couldn't figure her out, which frustrated the h.e.l.l out of him. He liked answers, order, fixing puzzles and engines.

For her safety, he needed to ignore the attraction and focus on the job.

Don took his seat as the Fed they'd been working with entered the room as well. She stepped up to the microphone. "Good morning, gentlemen. h.e.l.lo, Miss Ba.s.sett, it's nice to finally meet you face-to-face, even if long distance. My name is Special Agent Paulina Wilson. I'm with the FBI, and we believe you could be the target of a terrorist attack."

TEN.

Two hours later, Shay walked toward her car, working like crazy to keep her temper from exploding and to keep from falling to her knees in abject terror.

Barely, just barely, her steps stayed even with Vince's on her way across the community center's parking lot to get her car. She'd held her silence so far, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could seal the lid on her feelings if she didn't get away from Vince very soon.

For days, he and her father had been keeping her in the dark about an unthinkable danger lurking. She'd been deluding herself by imagining Vince might be here to put the past to rest, to make peace.

To reconnect with her.

Her feet pounded the steaming asphalt even harder.

Idiot.

All those warm fuzzy moments of sharing back in the hotel had meant nothing to him. He'd simply been distracting her to keep her off track until it suited him to bring her in the loop.

And oh G.o.d, if she started thinking about possible terror attacks at that hearing, she would hyperventilate.

Vince's arm shot in front of her to stop her, his eyes shaded behind bada.s.s wraparound sungla.s.ses. "All right, spill it. What's p.i.s.sing you off? And don't bother denying it. I'm developing a BS-ometer of my own."

She pivoted on her ridiculous gladiator sandals she'd put on with him in mind. Only a dozen more steps, and she would have been home free, cranking her car for her big escape. "I have no intention of denying a thing. I was only paying you the common courtesy of not blasting you in front of your work friends."

"None of them are here now. Blast away."

She hadn't expected him to agree. Shay looked around to make sure n.o.body was listening, privacy ramping up to a whole new level. Other than a few stray cars and the old lady across the street painting over the side of her white brick building, everyone else must be sleeping in on Sat.u.r.day morning.

But still. "Let's sit in my car."

Striding away, she thumbed the Unlock b.u.t.ton, Vince's biker boots thudding behind her. She settled behind the wheel, waiting until Vince slid into the pa.s.senger seat, folding his bulk into her compact. She considered turning on the engine and cranking the AC, but the morning hadn't heated up the inside yet. Vince waved for her to continue.

"So you and your friends are some kind of special flyers," she blurted. What the h.e.l.l? She wanted to know more about the threat, about her kids, not about him.

He paused, obviously measuring his words.

"d.a.m.n it, Vince." She lowered her voice if not her anger. "I get that there's a big investigation going on, and I'm supposed to help the Feds by spilling my guts about these teens after I've spent years doing everything I can to get them to trust me. But I'm still a little confused on what you're doing here."

He thumbed the cracked dashboard. "My friends and I are pitching in with surveillance. We belong to a test squadron that brings new aircraft and equipment into the military's a.r.s.enal. Sometimes we're called upon to use those toys in conjunction with other governmental venues."

"Like my CIA daddy."

"It's best we guard our words carefully outside of secured rooms. You've already been given special consideration because of your father."

"Thank you," she said tightly.

"Wish you meant that."

"Wish you would answer my questions."

He folded his arms across his chest, the vinyl seat crackling beneath him. "Fine. Ask what you want, and I'll answer what I can."

How much truth would she get? "I thought you were a pilot."

"A test pilot. I have a degree in mechanical engineering. I like to fly, but I like to play with how it all goes together. My mom said I started taking apart my moving Happy Meals toys at three years old to see the machines inside. Taking apart dirt bikes then motorcycles naturally followed. And here I am."

Charming, but not the point. "Quit trying to distract me with cute little childhood stories. And quit hiding behind those sungla.s.ses." She tugged them off his face. "I'm mad and I'm scared and I have just cause."

He took his gla.s.ses back with a surprisingly gentle hand and hooked them on the neck of his T-shirt. "You saw that a search of Kevin's apartment turned up information linking him to a possible terrorist plot directed at the hearing. It's likely he tried to rob the clinic that night to raise cash to leave town after the Feds searched his place. I wish the threat could have died with him, but everything indicates otherwise."

"What things?"

"I can't tell you all the details, but suffice it to say we have picked up on enough cell phone chatter from known terrorist ent.i.ties to be . . . concerned . . . but we haven't been able to pinpoint the direct source yet. I hope you realize your father and I are doing our level best to keep you safe."

"My father. Right." It always came back to what Vince felt he owed her father. "I understand more than you think." Like how easily she could be led off track by his intense eyes and quick smile. Not this time, Hotshot. "My father knew before Kevin broke in. You knew before I gathered that powder keg together under the clinic roof. I know you used a conversation with me to plant a listening device in my place, on my turf."

He leaned closer, close enough he had to look down to meet her gaze. "Think, Shay. If we went ballistic hauling folks in for questioning, we might have lucked into nabbing someone lower down in the chain. But we wouldn't have found the people responsible, and the hit could very likely still carry through with hundreds, even thousands dying. Including the visiting members of Congress. And including you."

She blinked back tears of frustration and anger and even helplessness, because he could be right. "Did it ever cross your mind that I could have helped?"

"That's the only reason you're in the loop now. But never forget you're a civilian. You don't have a need to know everything. If you want the right to know that comes with a uniform, feel free to join up any time."

Her tears dried in the face of his cool tones that echoed too closely to overheard fights between her mother and father. "You can't even bring yourself to say you're sorry."

"What do I have to be sorry for? We were careful not to violate anyone's rights. The bomb threat should make you realize more than ever the urgency of what we're doing. I was called in to do a job, and I have done it to the best of my ability in the very short time frame I was given. I am sorry that people are dead, more than I could ever express, and I'm going to work my a.s.s off to make sure no one else is killed." He angled closer still, crowding her in the already tight confines of the compact, his voice rumbling low, deep. Intimate. "We're just trying to round up the right people so they can be put away."

She backed from him, from the urge to flatten her palm to his chest. "Okay, so you want my input. Fine. It's more complicated than simply arresting or deporting these people. Take MS-13 for example, an L.A.-based gang comprised mostly of immigrants from El Salvador. It started out as a group looking to protect themselves and morphed into a street gang. Cops deported some of them back home, but the country was in the middle of a civil war. Those g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers became experts in guerilla warfare, skills they brought right back here to the States. Now we're dealing with drugs, human trafficking, weapons smuggling."

He clasped her arms. "That should tell you right there the scope of what we're confronting. People are already terrified of these kids. If these gangs cause a major event during this televised hearing, how jazzed do you think taxpayers are going to feel about giving tax dollars for more of your pizza parties and small group sharing?"

"Is that really all you think I'm doing? Throwing pizza parties and hosting campfire chats over s'mores?"

His silence said too much.

G.o.d, she'd had enough. Of this. Of him. She needed to go home.

Shay grasped the key in the ignition. "I guess we're at an impa.s.se."

He put his hand over hers. "We still have to work together."

"I know what's important." She put his hand back on his knee. Even if her retreat could only be temporary, she needed to regroup. "I'll do my job. Thank you for getting me back safely to my car, but I really need some time alone to think."

Just go?

Did she really think she could dismiss him that way? Standing by his bike, Vince watched Shay rest her forehead against the steering wheel in her rust bucket of a car. This woman was wreaking havoc on his mind.

He hadn't even found out where she intended to go now that she had her car and a lone credit card retrieved from her apartment.

He would not let his hormones affect his judgment.

Vince charged back over to her car and knocked on her window. "Shay, get out."

She turned her head to the side, still resting on the wheel. A sigh shuddered through her so visibly he didn't even need to hear it. Her mouth moved with a clear no.

"Come on, Shay. We're not done here." Not by a long shot. He opened the door. "Step out."

She stayed put and silent.

He sighed just as hard as she had and added, "Please."

She sagged back in the seat. "Where I come from, no means no."

He grasped her hand and tugged her out. "Please listen without interrupting for once." She opened her mouth with a gasp, and he tapped it closed. "Maybe you have a point about your input being valuable earlier on, but this isn't some paint by numbers deal where everything just fell into place. There are real world, big stakes here, and I f.u.c.king care what happens to you."

Her mouth fell open again, but this time in total shock.

Screw it all. Adrenaline flooded reason.

He sealed his mouth to hers. She went stock-still. For all of two seconds.

She fisted her hands in his shirt, twisting, tugging him closer. Oh yeah. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she parted, opening, inviting, meeting the thrust with a bold taste of her own.

He pressed closer, anchoring her against the side of the car, all the pent-up heat from the very long and sleepless night pouring out of him into this kiss. A kiss that beat the h.e.l.l out of anything he'd fantasized about as a teenager.

Her arms slid around his neck, her hips rocking against his in an unmistakable answer to the frenzy roaring through him harder and faster than any souped-up bike. He palmed her head, fingers spearing through her silky hair until the short ponytail came free. The hair band fell to the ground. Whispery curls teased around and over his fingers, as s.e.xy and elusive as Shay.

The soft give of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest only reminded him how vulnerable she was. He fit his leg between hers, the reins on his restraint getting thinner by the second. Much longer, and they would need to take this somewhere else, somewhere less public.

He eased his mouth from hers, and her forehead fell to rest on his chest. Thank G.o.d she wasn't ready to talk yet.

And she wasn't bolting.

He forced ragged breaths in and out, his hand still cradling her head, testing the glide of her hair against his fingers. Willing his heart rate to slow, he scanned the deathly quiet lot. He would have expected some kids to be shooting hoops on the weekend, even in the morning. The bomb threat last night must have scared everyone into staying clear today, because he saw nothing more than the occasional car.

A four-door compact slowed on its way past the center, darn near crawling, like tourists rubbernecking to check out the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Except there sure wasn't much to see here, other than that old lady sweeping a roller of white paint up and down her brick grocery corner market. He checked out the spa.r.s.e foot traffic: an old man walking his dog, a young guy jogging.

His eyes went back to the car. A truck roared around a corner, speeding to pa.s.s the four-door. Vince tried to make out the driver in the slowing vehicle but couldn't see through the tinted windows. Very tinted.