Too Hard to Handle, page 29
“And are you interested in finding out more?” President Thompson asked.
“Uh…yes, sir, Mr. President,” she said, her brow furrowed.
“Okay, then,” Thompson said. “You’re on the case. I’ll let Morales know.”
“Sir?” she asked, blinking rapidly.
“You were just given an assignment by the president, Chels,” Zoelner informed her. “That’s how it’s done around here.”
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, yes, sir, Mr. President.”
“Sir or Mr. President will do, Agent Duvall,” Thompson said. “No need for both.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Chelsea said, then made a face like she wanted to die. “Shit. I mean, sorry. Sir.” And then she slapped her hands over her face and shook her head.
Thompson and Fuller were both chuckling, Boss was biting his cheek to keep from laughing, and Ozzie slapped a hand over his belly and guffawed. When Chelsea lowered her fingers from her face, Zoelner gave her another wink. The woman obviously needed some support.
“And, Frank,” Thompson added. Besides Becky and Michelle, the president was the only person on the planet to call Boss by his first name. “Let’s put one of the Knights on the assignment too. I want to scratch some surfaces and see who bleeds.”
“Yes, sir,” Boss said, looking right at Zoelner. Zoelner shook his head. He’d rather swallow his own foot than be paired with Chelsea on a mission that could last weeks, months, or maybe even years. There was no way he’d be able to keep his hands to himself for that long. And if he didn’t keep his hands to himself, things could get…awkward. “Anyone in particular you have in mind, sir?” Boss asked.
“How about Dagan Zoelner?” the president said, and it took everything Zoelner had not to groan out loud. “With his training and background as a field agent, he’ll be a perfect complement to the work Agent Duvall can do online and through her various sources.”
“Done.” Boss slapped his hand down on the table like a judge’s gavel. Zoelner had learned that when Boss did that, the decision was final.
Fuuuuuck. He forced a false smile on his lips and nodded at Chelsea.
She had a thunderstruck look on her face as if everything was happening too quickly—yeah, welcome to my world. Because that’s how it worked at BKI. In fact, that’s why Thompson and Fuller had formed the group. So they wouldn’t have to hem and haw around, waiting for congressional permission or for the various Intelligence agencies to fight over jurisdiction, before putting a plan of action into…um…action.
“Okay,” Fuller said, “anything else you can tell us about Winterfield, Rock?”
“Non.” Rock shook his head. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Good,” Thompson said. “Then let’s find out the who, the what, and the how much of that Intel he stole and sold, and then lock the sonofabitch up and throw away the key.”
“I’m assumin’ I have permission to agree to his terms then?” Rock asked.
“If he wants to spend the rest of his life all alone in an eight-by-ten,” the president said, “who am I to argue with him? And the death penalty’s a hard sell these days anyway. So I see no problem meeting his requests. I’ll have the paperwork signed and sent over in the next hour.”
“Thank you, sir.” Rock nodded.
“No, thank you,” Thompson said. “Thank all of you. Another job well done. And particular thanks to Dan, Zoelner, and Agent Duvall,” he said. Zoelner had to bite his lip to keep from grinning when Chelsea’s chest puffed out like she’d just had a medal pinned to it. “On behalf of a grateful nation, I commend you for bringing that bastard down once and for all. Oh, and Penni DePaul too,” the president added. “I hear you got caught up in the hubbub, but you performed like the ace you are. The Secret Service lost a great agent the day you turned in your badge.”
“Thank you, sir.” Penni smiled, but it still looked brittle. Whatever Dan had done, it was bad. Zoelner just hoped Dan fixed it because, no two ways about it, Dan and Penni belonged together. It was as obvious as the noses on their faces.
“You betcha,” Thompson said. “Pete? You got anything to add?”
“Just my thanks for another mission in the bag,” was the general’s response.
“All right then. We’re done for now.” And with that, the line went dead.
Boss stood and clicked off the conference caller. “And that’s that.” He slammed his palm down on the table again, an audible period to their three-month-long assignment. That’s also how it worked at BKI. When the job was done, it was done. No fanfare. No pomp. Just a quick pat on the back and on to the next mission.
Everyone pushed up from their seats, and Zoelner couldn’t help but watch the byplay from the corner of his eye when Dan grabbed Penni’s arm and said, “Will you please—” Dan stopped and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Damnit, Penni, we needa talk about this.”
“I-I know.” She nodded, looking like she was about to break wide open. Her voice was a little wobbly too. Shit, Dan Man. What the hell did you do? “But can we do it out in the courtyard? I need some air.”
“What’s that about?” Ozzie whispered to Zoelner, eyeing Dan and Penni as they headed for the stairs leading down to the shop floor.
“Hell if I know,” he admitted.
Of course, he forgot all about Dan and Penni’s problems and started cataloging all of his own when Chelsea came over, shoved her hands on her hips like a pint-sized Wonder Woman, and cocked her head. “Hello, partner,” she said in that low, husky voice that messed with his head.
Chapter Twenty-two
Black Knights Inc., Courtyard
Saturday, 4:19 p.m.
George had done it. He couldn’t believe it.
In less than forty-five minutes he’d planted his charges around the perimeter of the warehouse and all the various outbuildings. And now all that was left to do was find a way to sneak over the wall or out through the gate, unpack the transmitter that would send a signal to the receiver triggers he’d attached to each load of C4, and press the button. Boom! Bye-bye motorcycle shop and hello mission complete!
He was almost giddy with excitement. Giddy with relief. He’d gambled and won. Daddy did it again, sweet Bella!
Peeking around the edge of an outbuilding, he saw the coast was clear and headed across the courtyard in a running crouch. He was aiming for the gate that led around the front of the warehouse. He’d nearly made it when the back door burst open and former Secret Service Agent Penelope DePaul came storming out. She nearly bowled him over.
“What?” she squawked when they came nose to nose.
“Bloody h—” That’s all George managed before she opened her mouth in what he knew would be a banshee scream. Despite the spike of adrenaline that sliced through his system, or maybe because of it, he had one of the weapons Benton had secured for him out of his waistband and aimed at her face before he finished his curse. “Don’t think about it, love,” he warned, his heart thundering, the hair on top of his head standing straight.
Shit. Fuck. Bloody, bloody hell!
Her mouth clamped shut and she blinked at him. He could almost see her make the decision to turn and run. As soon as she spun, he was ready. Snaking an arm around her neck, he pressed the barrel of the handgun to her temple. “Easy,” he hissed, “and you might just live.”
They weren’t the same words he’d used with that fat airport crewman in Cusco, but it was the same lie. Another thing he’d learned working for Spider was that people became delusional when their lives were hanging in the balance. They would believe anything if it meant they could cling to a sliver of hope.
He panted as the fear in him grew. His mind clamored with a million thoughts. But the biggest one was…what now?
If he shot her, the bark of the weapon would bring those inside running. And he’d be a dead man. If he let her go, she would scurry inside and alert the others. They’d undoubtedly catch him before he could make his escape. And he’d be a dead man. If he continued to hold her hostage while digging around inside his hold-all for the transmitter, he could push the button and blow the place sky-high. But he was inside the blast radius. So he’d be a dead man.
No matter how he looked at it, he was a dead man.
He nearly cried out in anger, in fury, in hopelessness. So close. So bloody close. He was just about to settle for option number three when a thought occurred. And then he nearly cried out in triumph. He didn’t just have three options. He had four. He could drag her with him to the front gate and give the guard the choice between opening the gates or watching her die from a fatal dose of lead poisoning. The guard would undoubtedly decide to open the gates. And once George was through, then he could grab the transmitter and punch the button.
“Don’t say a word,” he hissed in the woman’s ear. “And come with me.”
He’d just started to pull her backward when Daniel Currington pushed through the back door. “Penni, when you asked for bottled water, I didn’t know if you wanted still or sparkling so I grabbed both and—” Daniel dropped the bottles when he saw George. The plastic containers bounced against the slate stones making weird splonking noises. “You!” Daniel roared.
Then and there, George saw his life flash before his eyes and a terrible certainty filled him. Sweet Bella, I’m so sorry…
* * *
Terror…
That was the only word to describe what Dan was feeling. Straight-up, no-holds-barred, do-not-pass-go terror. It filled him. Ate at him. Consumed him until there was nothing left but the rot. And a fury unlike anything he’d ever known.
Not again. Not fucking again!
He would have roared the words into the sky. Shaken a fist. He couldn’t lose another woman he loved to a thug’s bullet. Life couldn’t be that unfair. The God he wasn’t even sure he believed in couldn’t be that unfair. Fuck!
“I know you,” he ground out, trying to force calm into his voice when calm was the dead last thing he was feeling. “I recognize the hat. You were at the bar in the hotel in Cusco. You were watching us.”
The man said nothing as his eyes darted quickly right and left, his receding chin twitching side to side. Dan glanced into Penni’s wide, dark eyes and wanted to cry for the bone-chilling fear he saw in them, for the terrible flush that blazed in her cheeks, and for the wetness that clung to her lashes. He dipped his head once, trying to convey that everything would be okay. But he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded in convincing her. Probably because he wasn’t totally convinced.
This man, whoever he was, had trailed them all the way from South American to Chicago, and had the audacity to break into the BKI compound. Which meant he was more than willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goal. Whatever that might be… Dan didn’t dare give himself time to contemplate it.
When one lone tear spilled over Penni’s lid, slipping down her cheek and wetting the butterfly bandage there, a lump formed in his throat. And since his heart had already jumped there when he saw Hat Guy with a gun to Penni’s pretty head, it was getting quite crowded, making it impossible to breathe.
“Were you the one on the tarmac too?” he asked, taking a step forward.
“Stay bloody well back!” the man shouted, his English accent thickened by fear and adrenaline.
“Are you the one they call Spider?” Dan asked, inching closer still, hoping to distract the guy with questions.
“Ha!” Hat Guy laughed, but it wasn’t funny. The sound was filled with hysteria…and a strange sort of sadness. “I am just the bullet. Another man pulls the trigger,” he said cryptically.
“Is that man Spider?” Dan asked, shuffling just a little closer. He tried to slow his racing heart using the technique he’d been taught during SEAL training. But it didn’t work. The organ refused to cooperate and continued to gallop out of control, sending adrenaline surging through his system until his nerve endings burned, until he could taste its metallic flavor on his tongue. Despite the cool, fall evening, a trickle of sweat slipped down the groove of his spine.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Hat Guy hissed. Dan lifted a brow when he saw two fat tears slip from the man’s eyes. And now Hat Guy’s receding chin was trembling. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“Who? Spider?”
Hat Guy just swallowed, his face the picture of anguish.
“Please,” Dan begged him. Obviously the guy had some sort of conscience, the ability to feel something, even if that something was fear. “Let the woman go. We can talk about this. We can figure a way out.” He inched closer still, then stopped and raised his hands in the air when Hat Guy pressed his barrel tighter to Penni’s temple, making her cry out.
I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Terror and fury mixed together with the growing panic in Dan’s veins to create a deadly cocktail that threatened to melt away his reason, his control. He was about to Hulk out. He could feel it.
“There is no way out.” Hat Guy shook his head, taking a step back. “You don’t get out.”
“There’s always a way,” Dan implored him. “Always.”
“Please,” Penni said, obviously feeling the indecision in the man holding her hostage even if she couldn’t see the fear and tears in his eyes like Dan could. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t hurt me.” And then she looked at Dan, anguish in her eyes and something…something he couldn’t quite put a name to. She finished with a whispered, “I-I’m pregnant.”
Dan blinked, thinking he hadn’t heard her correctly.
Hat Guy stilled, a flash of horror crossing his panicked face. “Pregnant?” he demanded.
So Dan had heard her correctly. Despite the cataclysmic situation, and despite the sudden sensation of having pins and needles prickling every inch of his skin, his mind was ripped back to the bathroom in the basement of the hotel in Malaysia. To Penni having reached her wit’s end. To the grief and horror of her colleagues’ deaths having finally overcome her. To her asking him to help her forget it all, escape from it all, for just a little while…
“Make love to me,” she whispered against his neck between a string of hot, hungry kisses. She lifted a leg, hooking her heel behind his knee and rubbing herself against the raging hard-on that strained the fly of his jeans. He could feel her heat even through her trousers, feel the sultry moistness reaching out to him, surrounding him, tempting him.
“Brooklyn…Jesus,” he groaned, flattening his palms against the bathroom door beside her head. And when she bit his earlobe, his cock throbbed so hard it was a wonder it didn’t rip the seams of his jeans.
This is crazy! he thought. And it was. Crazy hot. Crazy fast. He knew he should stop. A part of him wanted to stop. Now wasn’t the time. Not when she was beside herself with grief. And worry and self-reproach. Not when she wasn’t thinking straight.
But then she reached between them to attack the buttons at his fly, ripping them open until the two halves gaped wide. When she shoved her hand inside, past the waistband of his boxer briefs and wrapped her fist around him, squeezing, stroking, he knew stopping her wasn’t going to be an option. He didn’t have the wherewithal or the willpower. His brain was fried. His synapses firing out one and only one message. Now, now, now!
The skin on her palm was both unbearably soft and slightly callused. He was hugely swollen, so sensitive that her caresses caused both pleasure and pain.
“We shouldn’t,” he gasped, his head falling back on his shoulders. “Holy shit, that feels good.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, keeping one hand inside his pants, pulling, petting, stroking, as she used the other to undo the button on her trousers. Her zipper made a soft scriiiitching sound that was barely audible above their heavy, gasping breaths. Lowering her leg, she toed out of her shoes. She released him to slide her pants and panties down her thighs.
“Make love to me,” she said again, stepping out of the puddle of her clothing and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, going up on tiptoe to realign their bodies. “Make me forget just for a little while.”
“Brooklyn, I want to,” he groaned, his lungs working like bellows, his heart racing, his cock thrusting unapologetically from the vee of his fly. “But I don’t have a condom.”
She shook her head. “Forget about it.” When she shoved his jeans and boxers down under his ass, his erection sprang forward. She grabbed it, wrapped her leg around his hips, and angled it toward her entrance. “I don’t care…”
And then she impaled herself.
Everything after that was a little sketchy. Dan hadn’t had many faculties working. But he remembered tight, hot, unbearable wetness closing around his shaft. He remembered their frenzied breaths as they screwed like teenagers up against the door of that bathroom. And he remembered it’d been over very quickly. Because her orgasm had hit her almost immediately, triggering his. And together they’d crashed into ecstasy. Ecstasy that was cut short when a fist pounded on the door, calling them back into action, back into the mission.
And suddenly everything made sense. Penni quitting the Secret Service—no way she could be required to put herself between her protectee and a bullet if she was carrying a child. Penni coming to Chicago to talk to him and then agreeing to fly all the way to Peru when she found out it was possible he could remain on his mission for months to come. Penni’s strange expression of fear and indecision when he asked her to help finish the assignment…
She’s pregnant. With my child. He knew it as surely as he knew the stars would all someday fall from the sky, as surely as he knew up from down and east from west, as surely as he knew he loved her. And now he wasn’t just terrified to lose her to this madman, he was terrified to lose their child too. Terrified to lose everything that meant anything at all.
