Face of Danger (38 page)

Blinded by sweat, his legs burning from the run, he reached the back of the plane, then scrambled to the left wing just as the engines changed pitch to a lower octave and the wheels slowed a bit.

He could do this. He could get that door and hoist up. He had one try. There was only going to be a split second when the plane lurched to make the turn. That would be his chance.

Five feet, two feet. He reached out, his hands aimed at the metal flap beside the tire.

Now. He closed his hands over the hot steel with a loud grunt.

It burned, but not enough to let go. With another growl of determination, he swung one leg up and hooked his shoe over the wing, then pulled himself up, every muscle in his body invested in the act, the wind over the wing doing everything to throw him back.

He landed on the wing with a thud, grabbing hold of the metal window frame of the very last round window that lined the side of the jet. His only hope was that she’d taken the aft cabin.

Their cabin. She was probably as far away from that place as possible.

Holding on, he smashed his face against the glass, relief rolling through him at the sight of Vivi in one of
the passenger seats, strapped in, her head bowed. No, her head bent over like—

She was dead.

“Noooo!” He banged on the window and her head shot up, sending another surge of white-hot relief through him.

He couldn’t hear her, but her scream was instantly comprehended.

Help me!

She writhed around trapped by her seat belt—and tied to the armrests. Jesus, she was
taped
to the armrests. And the pilots either didn’t hear or didn’t care. And couldn’t see him on the wing.

The engines screamed louder, the power sucking him toward the beasts. He clasped the rounded edges of the windows. Smashing his face against the glass, he tried to assess her situation and read her lips. But then he wished he could read something other than what they said.

Bomb! Bomb! Bomb!

He peered up toward the cockpit, the aerodynamic lines of the brand-new jet denying any view of the pilots. Unless they were on a suicide mission, they’d want to get the hell off this plane.

The engines revved again and the plane started taxiing toward the runway. He had one choice, one chance.

The only way to hang on was with his right hand, the wind and speed plastering him to the fuselage. Using his left hand, he reached for his weapon and managed to draw it out, grateful he’d racked during his run across the tarmac.

Hanging off this plane was risky, and shooting the cockpit could be stupid. But he had no choice.

Lifting the gun into the merciless wind, he tried to
aim, his goal to graze the cockpit window, breaking it, forcing them to stop. He had one shot before they accelerated and he was thrown behind the jet. One shot.

He risked a glance into the cabin, his gaze meeting Vivi’s, locked for one split second. Easy to read her lips.
Fire the gun, Lang!

The jet engines roared and he shot. The bullet glanced off the side of the cockpit, cracking the glass. He stumbled onto the wing, his fingers frantically trying to hold on to the metal, a bolt, a seam. Anything.

The sound changed. The speed changed. The damn jet was slowing down. And he was falling off the wing.

He lifted his head just enough to get one more look at Vivi, long enough to see the hope and horror in her eyes.

“I love you!” he hollered as his fingers let go and he went flying down to the unforgiving concrete.

Vivi let out a howl of pain that ripped through her whole being, filling the cabin with her shriek as the engines quieted in a shocking instant. He couldn’t have survived that fall.

Lang must have shot the cockpit window, forcing them to stop. Which was risky and brilliant and she loved him—and he loved her. Agony jolted her as she struggled fruitlessly with the binding tape, checking the clock that read two minutes and ten seconds now.

Outside the cabin, she could hear footsteps, a man shouting, the door opening, the stairs clunking down.

Couldn’t they hear her? Or were they too concerned with the guy who’d shot at the window? The guy who was probably dead on the runway right now.

The door to her cabin jerked but didn’t open, a fist pounding.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

“There’s a bomb in here!” Her voice was almost gone from screaming. She stole a glance to the digital readout.

Had they even heard her?

“We’re trying to get you out.” Far too calm for them to know what she’d just said.

A blast made her scream as the lock exploded. A booted foot kicked the door open and Lang charged in, Glock blazing, clothes torn, face bloodied.

Alive.
Alive.

“Bomb! Next to the bed!” she screamed.

He got her first, ripping off the tape and pushing her out of the seat. “Go. Get off the plane! Run!”

She did, scrambling across the cabin and herding the stunned pilots with her. “Go,” she ordered. “We have less than two minutes.”

Vivi stumbled at the bottom, turning around to look up at Lang, who was carrying the device.

“Go farther!” he yelled. “That way! There’s no time to defuse it!”

They all ran away from the plane—all except Lang, who jogged down the steps and tore in the direction of the empty, open field. Twenty feet from them, he hoisted the bomb overhead and threw it like a football, flinging it another forty feet away. He started to run away, but just as the device hit the ground, a tiny brown creature launched out of the parking lot and started running toward Lang.

Stella! Lang froze, watching the dog bound gracelessly across the grass toward him. Five seconds later, Cara shot out from behind some shrubbery and screamed for
her dog, running after her. Stella was twenty feet ahead of her on a dead run toward Lang, toward the bomb.

Vivi sucked in a breath and slammed her hand over her mouth just as Stella leaped over the bomb, but Lang was five feet away.

Cara hollered one more time, but Lang scooped up the dog, pivoted, and sprinted away. But Cara never stopped. Crazed, screaming, her hair flying, she kept running. Just as she reached the center of the field, the ground exploded in a ten-foot-high ball of orange flames and black smoke.

Vivi’s eyes burned as Lang fell into her outstretched arms. He dropped Stella and reached for Vivi, pulling her into his chest with an embrace that could last her a lifetime.

“I knew you’d come back for me,” she whispered into his kiss.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Or die trying.”

Cara’s house just seemed to swell with new arrivals, first the FBI agents, then the FAA staff, and of course the police. Eventually, Cara’s friends and entourage showed up and they let in some select media. By evening, Mercedes was overwhelmed trying to keep up, so Vivi started a batch of Uncle Nino’s cacciatore to help feed the crowd and keep her hands busy while she waited for Lang to get back.

They’d found Joellen in Martha’s Vineyard and brought her to Nantucket. He was still interviewing her and working through the details with the FAA. After Vivi’s brief exchange with him at the airport, and the certainty that she’d seen him mouth the words “I love you” right before
he fell off the plane, she was tense with anticipation for his arrival.

“There are some people asking to see you out front,” Mercedes said as she entered the kitchen carrying a tray with empty coffee mugs and water bottles. She set it down with a clatter and sniffed the cacciatore. “That has so much garlic in it,” she said.

Vivi rested her wooden spoon in the pot, turning to the kitchen entrance. Lang? Because he was the only “people” she wanted to see right now.

“Of course there’s garlic in it,” she shot back. “It’s cacciatore, tailor made for comfort and a crowd.”

Around the corner came the one man who could make the comforting recipe better than she could. “Nino!”

Her old great-uncle ambled into the kitchen, followed by Chessie, who offered a little wave, and then Zach, who, despite his patched eye and scarred face, always looked beautiful to her. A wash of family love poured over Vivi as she rushed to greet them, holding each extra long, especially her brother.

Nino inhaled, wafting the scent toward his nose. “You didn’t use enough garlic.”

She just laughed and slid an arm around Zach and Chessie, making the introductions to Mercedes, who eyed Nino like he was the enemy in her kitchen when he instantly picked up the spoon and went to work on the cacciatore.

“I am so happy to see you,” Vivi said, putting her head on Zach’s strong and supportive shoulder. “Did Gabe send you?”

“He’s with us,” he said. “Talking to Colt Lang outside.”

“Lang’s here?”

No surprise, her brother gave her a sharp look at the instant reaction. “I hear you two are pretty chummy.”

Chummy?
That word reeked of Lang. She tried for a shrug, aware of her brother’s ruthless scrutiny. “Whatever that means.”

“You know what it means, Viviana,” he said, tightening his grip. “Is it true?”

“We’re friends.”

Chessie leaned into the conversation. “Is that why he’s checking on the whereabouts of your old boyfriends?”

Vivi frowned. “What?”

“He called me for a ‘research’ favor.” Chessie used air quotes around one of her favorite words. “Mr. By-the-Book FBI Agent asked me to use my hacking skills to track down none other than Dr. Kenneth Taylor, formerly of Sudbury, currently of St. Louis, Missouri.”

“He did?” For a second Vivi couldn’t breathe.

“Must be pretty serious if he’s trying to dig up dirt on your exes, Viv,” Chessie said.

“Did you find any dirt?”

Chessie lifted her eyebrows. “Dude’s in prison, Vivi. Beat his freaking wife with a hammer and almost killed her.”

Vivi’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“I always hated that prick,” Zach said.

“What did you tell Lang?” she asked Chessie.

“I e-mailed him a full report. He was most interested in when the guy comes up for parole. Does he really think some kid you dated in high school is his competition?”

“I don’t know what he thinks,” Vivi said honestly, a strange sense of relief and an even stranger sensation of
love
filling her. “But he’s been full of surprises this week.”

“Yeah, like cracking one of the FBI’s biggest cases,” Zach said. “He’s the golden boy, now. Colt can write his ticket.”

“His ticket’s to L.A.,” Vivi said, working to keep her voice completely casual. “So we better parlay all this success into a new contact at the Bureau if we want to keep them as a Guardian Angelinos client.”

Zach pulled her closer. “You going to California, Vivi?”

“As if, Zach. What would even make you say a thing like that?”

He and Chessie shared a look, saying nothing.

“What?” Vivi asked. “What is it?”

“Just something Mr. Lang said,” Chessie replied. “Something… weird.”

“What did he say?”

“I said…”

Vivi jumped at the voice in her ear, the man’s body behind her, the sure, solid hands around her waist.

“That Vivi Angelino and I are a helluva good team.”

She dipped her head to hide the full-body shiver at the feel of him. “We’re total opposites, Lang.”

“Opposites attract,” he said, then inhaled deeply. “Good Lord, that smells good.”

“I made Uncle Nino’s cacciatore,” Vivi said. “Guaranteed to fix what ails you.”

“Then I better bathe in it.”

She turned to look at him, sucking in a soft breath at the violet contusion on one side of his face and how his jaw was red and scabbed and badly in need of a shave.

Before she could reach to comfort him, he eased her out from under her brother’s arm. “Come with me.”

As if she could possibly say no. With a quick look at Zach, who let her go with just a little reluctance, Vivi let Lang lead her away, around the corner to the storage closet.

“Are we going into the tunnels?” she asked as he opened the door, ready to dive back into work mode even if it was pretty much the last thing on earth she wanted to do right then.

“No.” He eased her into the dark room, then closed the door behind him. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Instantly he pulled her close and tight, wrapping his arms around her and putting his bruised cheek against her head.

Weak-kneed and loose-limbed, she let herself lean into the warmth of his body and the strength of his muscles, still seeing him fighting the wind on the wing, mouthing his last words—

I love you.

Finally she looked up at him. “Been a tough day,” she said, trying to laugh.

“It’s been a good day,” he replied, humorless. “A stellar day. An unforgettable, remarkable, magnificent day.”

She stroked his swollen cheekbone. “If you like to bring in killers, stop bombings, and save lives.”

“Actually, I do.” He kissed her forehead. “But I like when somebody kicks sense into my thick skull, too.”

“Did I do that?”

He closed his eyes and pulled her back into him. “I wish,” he whispered into her ear. “That I could take all the pain away, Vivi. The stuff from before, and the truckload I added to it.”

“Lang—”

“Shhh.” He kissed her hair, her forehead, then her mouth, gently. “I can’t—”

“I know what you can’t do, Lang.”

“I can’t change the past,” he continued. “But I can do something about the future. Your future.”

She just looked at him, her eyes adjusted to the dim light but not the unfamiliar sting of tears. Again. “Is that why you were checking on the whereabouts of Ken Taylor?”

“He’s in prison.”

“I heard.”

“Where he’ll stay no matter how many times he comes up for parole. A very small act on my part, but something I can do for you.”

It didn’t seem small to her. “Thank you. I don’t know what that does for my future, but it does make me feel slightly better about the past.”

“That’s not what I’m doing for your future.”

She just looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Vivi, please forgive me for today.”

“Forgive you? For risking your life on the airfield? You pretty much cleaned your slate for a while. We’re good, Lang.”