Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 26

Shooting the teen was still an option in her mind now that most of the civilians had left the building, especially if they could all put some distance between themselves and Webber. But the shot would have to be a kill, or he could still push the plunger. For that matter, a death twitch could set the thing off.

Don-G.o.d love his bleeding heart for these kids-would do everything possible to save the boy.

Her pulse hammered in her ears louder than the cacophony of frantic voices in her earpiece. Her last words to Don roared back, drowning out all the rest with the awful way they'd left things with each other.

Too late. Too late. Too late.

She ached to talk to him, to apologize for throwing away their relationship, for not trying to work things out. Even if he could hear her in his own earpiece, she couldn't risk distracting him. His lean body moved with a honed stealth that barely rippled his suit. With his handsome face, his full head of steel gray hair, he could have been an action hero, except, oh G.o.d, this was real life, and Don was seconds away from launching himself at a suicide bomber.

What a time to realize she'd fallen in love with her CIA lover.

TWENTY.

Don kept his steps steady, his eyes locked on the sweating teen with a bomb strapped to his chest. His earpiece told him most of the building had been cleared, other than a few stragglers like that overeager cameraman determined to make his career or die trying.

He couldn't think about Paulina. He had to trust her to protect herself. Right now all he kept remembering was Shay, alone and hurting as a teenager who saw no other way out than taking her own life. He hadn't been there for his daughter.

But he would do his d.a.m.nedest to make sure this boy, one of Shay's kids, did not commit this desperate act. He understood how she felt about them. He and Shay shared more in common than she realized. h.e.l.l, he hadn't realized how much alike they were until now.

Vince asked the boy a question, and Don saw his chance. Coalescing all his training into this one split second, he launched.

His fingers locked around the kid's wrist. They slammed back. Chest to chest, he pinned the teen, praying like crazy he wouldn't set the bomb off. The boy looked him in the eyes and Don saw . . .

Grat.i.tude?

Don couldn't afford to weaken or wonder. He kept the kid restrained. The room erupted with activity as the bomb squad rushed them. Combat boots pounded the floor, reverberating through him as he sprawled across the upended chair. Don looked at the boy again and realized.

Webber had never pushed the b.u.t.ton in the first place. The plunger wasn't even connected. He'd taken one h.e.l.luva risk that n.o.body would shoot him.

Don scooped up the trigger while looking at the kid, rea.s.sessing, tapping into those old mentoring skills, and he knew. The boy had felt cornered and just wanted to be heard. His teenage daughter had just wanted to be heard when she tried to kill herself.

Of course nothing excused what this young man had done. It was too late for him. He would be looking at the inside of a jail cell for a very long time, but at least he was alive.

Don just prayed it wasn't too late for him with Shay.

He shifted his hold and control to the bomb squad. Now that his vision broadened, he saw police wearing flak jackets standing in a semicircle. Paulina hovered by the exit with a vest draped over her suit but not buckled, as if someone tossed it on her, and she didn't even notice. Where was Shay? He scoured the stragglers still evacuating and didn't see her. She must already be outside, thank G.o.d.

He turned his attention back to Paulina and fast-walked toward her. He definitely wanted her as far away from the bomb as he could convince her to move. She hadn't said a word, so he could only hope he'd read her right. After the way he'd treated her, she deserved to hear the words from him first.

He scooped her up by the waist and made a beeline out the door. Let the bomb squad handle things from here. He'd done his job.

"Don!" Paulina wriggled.

But not too much. Their martial arts workout during s.e.x let him know loud and clear if she wanted out of his arms, she could land him on his a.s.s in a heartbeat.

He slammed through the doors and into the harsh afternoon light. He set Paulina on her feet, grabbed her wrist, and towed her down the steps. He stopped under a sprawling tree.

Don gripped her shoulders and realized she was shaking. Special Agent Paulina Wilson was trembling.

"Ah, Lina . . ." He hauled her against his chest.

Or maybe she fell into his arms.

He only knew they held each other so firmly he almost could crawl inside her. His chest went tight again, but not in an entirely bad way. Just different. Something he would have to get used to.

"Paulina," he said, not caring who overheard, thanks to the listening devices inside their jackets, "we don't have much time to talk, but I'm not wasting another second without saying a few things. I'm far from perfect, and I'm not likely to get much better anytime soon. But I hope you'll hang in there with me, because d.a.m.n it all, I'm going to try. Try to make things work with you. Try to break through whatever it is that's keeping me from being the man you seem to think I can be."

Her shaking slowed, and her hands slid up his arms. "Given the wires we're both wearing, I do believe you just outed our relationship, Agent Ba.s.sett."

A laugh rumbled up his chest, easing the ache and carrying a boatload of tension on its way up and out. "I take that to mean we still have a relationship?"

"d.a.m.n straight, we do." She cupped his face, her jacket puckering just a hint and revealing creamy white lace. "And I've got you on the record."

Light laughter rumbled through his earpiece from other agents and the air force crew flying the surveillance equipment. This conversation with Paulina was definitely worth pursuing later. For now, he simply brushed a quick kiss along her full red lips, even that minimal contact enough to set his body buzzing.

Almost as loudly as his earpiece buzzing to life. No laughter this time.

"Gun!" Smooth's voice rumbled through the earpiece from his viewing station. "Gun! We've got a clear image down a side hall. That congressional aide Anthony Lewis has a gun."

Lewis unlocked the janitor's closet. Fifty thousand dollars wouldn't last long, but it was the most he could carry in small bills, and it would get him to Central America. From there, he could hook up with more from the international gang affiliated with his home connection.

If they didn't pop a cap in his a.s.s over the screwed-up shipment. Right about the time that kid had jumped up on the chair, Lewis's cell phone started spewing freaked-out text messages about how cops were crawling all over the Port of Cleveland. He would definitely take his chances in Central America. His life here certainly couldn't get much worse now that all his plans had gone to dog s.h.i.t.

He yanked open the door and stopped dead. "What the f.u.c.k?"

Shay Ba.s.sett and some whale of a pregnant teenager stood back to back, trying to untie each others' hands. He couldn't even begin to figure out what had gone wrong in that Webber kid's head. He only knew he had to get the h.e.l.l out of here.

He slid his hand onto the top shelf and whipped down a 9 mm he'd stored there earlier when he'd stashed the cash. He'd only provided Webber with a knife to keep the balance of power firmly in his own court.

He leveled the gun. "Don't move. Either of you."

Keeping his weapon steady in one hand, he dumped out the trash can, the padded folder full of cash thudding to the floor. He tucked it inside his jacket. Now what to do with the b.i.t.c.hes? Did he have time to tie them up more securely, or should he risk firing his weapon? He didn't have a silencer with him.

Footsteps pounded in the distance, growing louder, closer.

s.h.i.t. Questions answered.

"Well, ladies, our options have narrowed considerably." He leveled the gun at the teenager, ready to plug her between the eyes. Then he hesitated. Two hostages might be unwieldy, but there were definite advantages.

He could control them by threatening the other.

He could also kill one to intimidate the other.

Or sell them both to flesh peddlers for more start-up money once he left the country. His eyes dropped to the teenager's belly. That baby could actually bring big bucks on the black market, and the leggy do-gooder was a knockout.

He couldn't afford to leave these cash cows behind with his other plans incinerating.

Lewis waggled the gun at them. "You're both coming with me."

Shay Ba.s.sett lurched forward.

He pressed the gun between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Do what I say, or the pregnant girl dies first."

That stopped her cold. He inched around, hooked an arm with the girl, and hauled her to his side. He shifted the gun fast and pointed it at her big stomach.

The teen sniveled.

"Stop the whining, b.i.t.c.h, or I'll cut you straight through to the kid and leave you to bleed out." He'd done that and worse before. He was just smart enough never to get caught. Before now.

Somehow he had to salvage this. He wouldn't be able to come back, but hopefully he could still secure a position in the Central American group tied to his here. He hadn't started there and had only made brief visits in the past, but international gang ties were strong.

Yeah, he was making this work. Thinking on his feet. His old survival instincts hadn't been dulled by the soft life, after all.

"You." He nodded at Shay. "Stay plastered to my side, or I will hurt your little friend here."

The footsteps got close. Too close. Time had run out.

"Stop," Lewis shouted through the doorway. "I have two hostages. One of them is pregnant. I will shoot to kill if you charge at us."

The teen whimpered, but Shay stayed silent. Anger radiated from her, almost overpowering the fear in her eyes. Too bad he didn't have time to enjoy her. Maybe later, to celebrate escaping.

"We hear you," that chick agent, Wilson, answered from the hall. "Don't do anything stupid. We can work something out."

His mind raced, reshaping his plans. "All I want is a plane ga.s.sed up and ready to take me out of the country." He eased out into the hall, both women in front of him, gun visible for any unbelievers.

He kept his back to the janitor's closet, protecting himself from behind until he was sure they understood he meant business. He scanned the dozen or so people in the hall. His eyes landed on the arrogant air force pilot who thought he was so squeaky clean, better than everyone else because he'd risen above it all. "And there's the man I want to fly us out of the country."

Late afternoon sun baking the flight line, Vince climbed out of the limousine for the second time. He'd had doubts about how this day would end, but he'd never expected it to finish here.

And certainly not with a gun pointed at Shay.

That b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lewis had chosen his hostages well, two women, one pregnant. Vince wasn't sure how they were going to get out of this alive, but he would die trying to save them. Thank G.o.d Paulina had been able to orchestrate this trip to the airport where his Pilatus waited.

Lewis had promised to release them once they reached Central America. Not that Vince believed him. This b.a.s.t.a.r.d wasn't letting anyone go, and Vince knew d.a.m.ned well he would be the first in line to die. At least they'd bought more time.

Vince had driven them to the airport in a limousine. Now he needed to prepare for takeoff.

He wanted to look at Shay, to let her know somehow that he was sorry for the way he'd left things between them, but he feared the distraction. For sure, that woman could steal his attention faster than anyone he'd ever met.

The Pilatus painted with civilian colors gleamed on the tarmac. His crew, dressed in civilian clothes, readied it for flight. Thank G.o.d for those relaxed grooming standards that allowed them to blend in.

Lewis hadn't met any of them, and so far it appeared the California congressman genuinely didn't have a clue as to what his aide had been doing. So Lewis was in the dark about their operation here. Surely he wouldn't have asked for Vince to fly him out if he'd had even an inkling of their surveillance operation.

Vince studied the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's face, and he appeared uninterested in the surroundings, although Lewis hadn't so much as loosened his grip on the gun as he sat beside the women in the limo.

Vince walked up to his squadron mates, pretending to ready his plane for flight.

Smooth handed Vince flight paperwork. "Sir, the tanks are full. Looks like you might want to do a center of gravity calculation, since you have four people on board." With a contoured beard, khaki pants, and a polo shirt with the airport logo, Smooth shed all hints of his military persona. "You might need to put two pa.s.sengers in the rear to keep the CG far enough aft and someone on the opposite side of the c.o.c.kpit from you for lateral stability."

Vince understood moving pa.s.sengers aft, that happened all the time, but what the f.u.c.k was lateral stability?

Smooth winked at him, took out a slip of paper and placed it on the clipboard. "If you could sign for the fuel right here, please."

Vince snagged the pen dangling from the clipboard and looked down at the paper. Smooth had written: "No bolts in aft right seat belt."

The perfect place to put Lewis and pitch the plane.

Now that would sure screw up somebody's "lateral stability."

He scrawled his name on the sheet, and Smooth put it in his pocket. "Have a good flight, sir." He extended his hand. "Don't forget to do your CG calculations."

"Thanks." Vince clasped his crewdog pal's hand, this handshake the only way to say good-bye, good luck, stay vertical. "I appreciate you guys getting her ready. See ya later."

And d.a.m.n it, he would. Failure wasn't an option. Not with Shay's life in the balance.

Lewis approached with both women and, for the first time since they'd left the university, Vince let himself look in Shay's eyes. He would have been better off keeping his distance, because he found all the same things echoing around inside him.

Fear, regret, apology and, ah h.e.l.l, a love that they'd both worked to erase for seventeen years.

Love.

Vince entered the plane first, ever aware of the gun too close to Shay, and took his place up front. He looked back at Lewis, who was making himself comfy directly behind Vince.

Time for a seat change. "We are a little heavy. I need to do a quick worksheet to make sure we can get off the ground."

Lewis snapped, "Whatever you f.u.c.king got to do. Get to it."

"Take the gags off the women. I need to ask some questions."

Lewis eyed him suspiciously. Vince kept his face blank until finally Lewis complied.

Keep eyes off Shay.

Her gasp for fresh air still sucker punched him.

Vince started filling out the sheet, going through a process he didn't need, but the b.a.s.t.a.r.d wouldn't know better. "What do you weigh, Lewis?"

"About two hundred pounds."

"And Amber, what do you weigh?"

"Um," she whispered, almost too soft hear, poor kid. "One hundred fifty-five at my last doctor's appointment."