Forged in Fire (7 page)

Cosky turned his head and stared at her, his gray eyes hooded. “They’re on our flight. They were waiting at the departure gate, yet they’ve left … why?” He turned his attention back to the corridor. “It’s a mistake to assume innocence based on gender or age.”

Ouch. As if that jab hadn’t been directed at her, which didn’t surprise her. Of the three men, Simcosky was the coldest. The hardest. The most intimidating. Zane radiated calm, Rawlings good-natured charm, but this one exuded ice.

Although she’d deny it to her last breath, when it came to the two men, she much preferred Zane’s calm over Simcosky’s chill. Spending too much time with Zane’s friend was likely to give her a bad case of frostbite.

“You were telling us about your co-workers,” Cosky prompted.

She hadn’t been, but she could take a hint. “Trust me. You’re barking up the wrong tree. The accomplice can’t be in my department. The only people with access to the tarmac or the planes are the engineers, and the planes are their babies. They take it personally anytime anything happens to one of them. There is no way one of my guys would be involved in something that could damage or destroy one of their precious planes.”

The closet door opened on the last sentence.

Zane stopped in the middle of the doorjamb and turned those green eyes on Beth. They were dark as a pine bough now. Flat. Not a glitter or gleam in sight. “You’re wearing blinders, making assumptions. You can’t afford either. They leave you vulnerable.”

Beth caught the quick glance that passed between his two friends. So did Zane.

“You two have a problem?” he asked, his voice as inflexible as his face. His expressionless gaze shifted between the two men across from him. They simply stared back, their faces unapologetic.

Lovely. This ugly little stare-down was all about her.

“What did your boss say?” Beth asked, breaking into the macho posturing since neither of his friends seemed willing to break the silence.

“His boss is the Navy,” Rawlings pointed out.

Beth rolled her eyes. “
Excuse me
, your superior officer.”

“Mac’s contacting the FBI. There should be movement on that plane within fifteen minutes. We need to head back to the departure gate. Make sure your hijackers don’t decide to abandon ship.”

She was too relieved to protest the
your hijackers
comment. “So he believed you?”

“Yeah.” A shadow slipped through his eyes.

It was the lying, Beth realized. He hated the lying. He’d done it, because he had this odd need to protect her, but he’d hated having to lie. Which she could appreciate. A woman would always know where she stood with such a man. She might not always like what he had to say, but she could trust it was the truth.

“When we get back to the terminal, you’ll have to point these assholes out. There will be plenty of men who fit your descriptions.” Zane stepped up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “From here on out, we’re going to be lovers.”

His eyes had lightened and started to glitter, so Beth knew the phrasing had been deliberate. Not we’re going to
pretend
to be lovers, but we are going to
be
lovers. A declaration of intent.

She, however, had as much to say about that development as he did. “We’re going to
pretend
to be lovers.”

From the gleam shimmering in those emerald eyes, he’d understood her gauntlet as easily as she had understood his.

Rawlings started whistling and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, his posture screaming
I am so not getting into this
. Beth flushed, abruptly realizing where they were having this contest of wills. Such intimacies should be discussed in private. He might be used to broadcasting the intimate details of his life for the entertainment of his friends, but she had no intention of falling into that appalling habit.

“So how am I supposed to point the hijackers out without them noticing?”

“Stop walking, turn your back to them and tug my head down like you’re going to kiss me. But at the last moment turn your head slightly, brush your cheek against mine and whisper where they are in my ear. If they’re watching, they won’t be able to see exactly what you’re doing or saying.”

She nodded her understanding, but Zane’s eyes darkened again, something edgy and raw drifting across the hard planes of his face.

“I don’t like this,” he told her, his voice tight, “but there’s no other choice. You’re the only one who can point them out. Besides, you need to be waiting at the departure gate with us. It’s the only way the feds will buy this story we’ve concocted.”

He was worried about her, Beth realized, warmth spreading through her chest.

“Which reminds me,” he added as they started walking toward the main corridor. “You need to call your supervisor and ask for the week off.”

Beth scowled. There went the last of her vacation days. Then it occurred to her the little weasel was going to want to know why she needed the week off on such short notice. He was bound to find out she’d listed herself on standby for this flight to Hawaii. Supervisors received reports on who flew where and when. If she wanted to keep her job—which she did—it would be best to admit she’d listed for the flight. Of course, he would want to know why… God. She’d have to tell him about Zane, tell him the same lie they planned to feed the FBI.

Her face heated as she pictured his reaction. The little rodent would tell everyone, and such juicy gossip would spread like wildfire. By the time she got back, everyone would think she’d hopped on a plane to indulge in a week of torrid sex with a man she barely knew. And she couldn’t even tell her supervisor she’d been dating Zane a couple of months because the FBI would be checking with him. The last thing they needed was a discrepancy in their stories.

Oh, Lord, she could just imagine the jokes and sexual innuendos that would be flying around behind her back. Embarrassment squirmed through her. Maybe once news of the hijacking attempt leaked out, her supposed affair would drop off the gossip mill. She didn’t count on it though. On a scale of one to ten, she was pretty sure that sex trumped hijacking by at least a couple of points.

“What’s the matter?” Zane murmured, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. “You’re face is turning red.”

For the first time Beth realized they’d stopped moving. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t even noticed they’d reached gate C-18.

“Nothing.” She stood frozen beneath the caress and tried to ignore how the light brush of his fingers against her skin jolted her heart into overdrive.

“You up for this?” he asked, cupping her cheek, the strength of his hand belied by his gentle grasp.

She took a deep breath, which turned out to be a big mistake because she inhaled the erotic combination of scents she associated with Zane—clean, fresh soap and smoky male musk. The double whammy had the same effect on her heart as his touch. The damn thing went into jackrabbit mode.

“I’m fine.” Which might of sounded convincing if it hadn’t come out so breathless.

From the glint brightening those green eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He bent his head to nuzzle the side of her neck. The pulse of his breath against her ear sent a shower of sparks down her spine. Her nipples tightened.

“When you see them, squeeze my hand.” Before straightening, he caught her earlobe with his teeth and tugged, then drew it into his mouth for a quick suckle.

The erotic, wet suction only lasted a second or three, but it was enough to steal every milliliter of air from her lungs and zap all her erogenous zones to life. Holy Mother of God, there were places suddenly tingling she hadn’t known existed. She sucked in a raw, startled breath and heard his low, raspy laugh.

That sneak attack hadn’t been about making them look like lovers. Oh no, that erotic caress was his way of telling her they
would be
lovers.

She wished, oh how she wished, she could tell him he was wrong, but it was a little hard to deny that silent claim when her body was aching, her legs were quivering, and the flesh between her thighs had swelled with damp heat.

Was this how her mother had felt? Her skin so sensitive it burned? Her nerves rioting? Had she succumbed to the fire even as her common sense screamed a warning?

The questions chilled the hunger. She knew better than to indulge in the flames. Knew firsthand the damage of such indulgences. She’d watched her mother slog through the aftermath day after day.

Still, remnants of that unwelcome heat persisted as Zane escorted her into Gate C18’s waiting area and the teeming, chattering hordes of people. The laughter and drone of voices verged on deafening.

Slowly, worry pushed aside the hunger.

What if she was wrong? What if there were no guns?

She tensed as she scanned the terminal for the hijackers. Panic flared. Even if they existed, how in the world was she going to locate the killers in this swarm of humanity? Seconds later the question became moot as a cluster of college-aged men headed for the left wall and a gap opened in the crowed terminal. Her gaze shot through and fell on the three men standing in the far corner. She recognized them instantly.

Before she could squeeze Zane’s hand, the tallest of the three—the one with the cell phone plugged to his right ear—turned his head and stared straight at her. Even across the room she could see the viciousness in his intense gaze. The furious knowledge on his lean, aristocratic face.

He knew. Somehow he knew that they knew.

How was that possible?

Panic crested, a white-hot pulse through her chest. Her muscles locked and trembled.

She forced her gaze away and squeezed Zane’s hand—hard. Maybe she’d imagined the exchange.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Zane’s growl was so low Beth barely heard it.

Clearly, she hadn’t imagined that vicious glance. Zane had caught it too.

“We’ve been made,” he continued, a note of urgency beneath the calm. “Move. They’re about to break.”

“Where are the other three?” Rawls asked. He turned to Beth, his face tense, blue eyes burning with intensity. “Do you see the rest of their crew?”

Beth cast a frantic look around the terminal, but there were so many people. Clusters of people. “I don’t see them. But they could be sitting down, hidden from view.”

“They’re splitting up,” Cosky said, his voice flat. “I’m going left.” With that he disappeared into the crowd.

Beth shot a glance toward the corner, but the three men from her dream had vanished.

“Rawls? Go right,” Zane snapped. “Beth? Don’t move an inch. Do you hear me? Not an inch. Scream bloody murder if anyone so much as talks to you.” Without glancing in her direction he slipped through the crowd.

She watched him go, mesmerized by his fluid, lethal grace.

“
Due to a mechanical issue, Flight 2077, Seattle to Honolulu, has been delayed
.”

The announcement came over the loudspeaker as a hand clamped over Beth’s shoulder.

Chapter Five

By the time Zane Winters and his entourage returned, Russ’s crew had arrived. He’d considered instructing his men to avoid C18 until the plane started boarding but decided against it. He needed to know whether the operation had been compromised. So he’d split his team—sending three to the gate, and telling them to hang back, but out of sight. The other three he’d ordered to wait at surrounding areas.

If the flight boarded without a hitch, his remaining crew was close enough to arrive at the ticket counter in time for boarding. However, if something had triggered Winters’ suspicion, and this operation
was
compromised, he had backup reserves in place.

The passengers needed to be acquired one way or another. Anything less would bring consequences that Russ had no intention of facing.

With his laptop open on his knees, Russ angled his body on the bench so he had a good view of the airport corridor and the gate next door.

This time, when Zane Winters approached C18, he had his arm around Beth Brown’s shoulders. He loomed over her, his body language both protective and territorial. They were playing the lovers card to the hilt.

Or at least
he
was.

But how much of the behavior was for show? The guy’s stance screamed
mine, back off.
Maybe he really had latched onto her.

The woman though… Russ shifted on his bench, punched a few random numbers into his laptop’s keypad and studied her stiff body… she was throwing off more conflicted signals. Not such a good actress, that one. Or perhaps she was uncomfortable with public displays of sexuality.

Aware that eyes were on him, Russ glanced up. His young friend on the bench across from him met his smile with solemnity. Which was a crime. A child so young should be full of giggles and laughter. His gaze shifted to her uninterested mother. Someone needed to put a bullet through that lazy cow’s brain. They’d be doing the kid a favor, freeing her from such a joyless childhood. If not for the timing, he’d take on the task himself. Pro bono. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford the distraction.

With a sigh, he turned back to his targets. Simcosky and Rawlings had joined Winters. All three men and the woman were slowly winding their way through Gate C18, their heads swinging from side to side, eyes scanning.

Obviously looking for someone.

Russ frowned, pinched his chin. If they were looking for someone, then they hadn’t tapped his operation. His crew remained unidentified. Nobody had survived the test flight, so nobody knew what they looked like.

Whatever Winters and his crew were up to, it was unlikely that it had anything to do with his plans for that plane.

His tense muscles loosened. Russ relaxed against the back of his bench, stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. When his cell phone started vibrating against the leather of his laptop case, he fished it out and glanced down. Tension pinched again when he recognized the number flashing across the screen.

Swearing beneath his breath, he let the phone numb his hand for a few moments before flipping it open.

No news, in this case, was good news. This contact had strict instructions to call once the plane was in the air and negotiations were underway. The only reason he’d be calling early was if something had gone wrong.

He hit the green call button and pressed the cell to his ear. “What?”

With absolute stillness he listened to his FBI contact’s tale of HQ1 interference and Commander Jace Mackenzie’s demands to shut down the flight and search the plane.

Just like that, his operation tanked.

Without missing a beat, Russ switched to Plan B. “You’ll be receiving a list. Make sure the passengers are available.”

He hit the disconnect button and punched in another phone number. His crew chief picked up on the first ring.

“Our party’s been crashed. Pass the word. We’ll be moving to our second venue.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgement, simply disconnected the call.

How the fuck had those bastards stumbled onto his operation?

The woman had to be the key. Nothing else made sense. The four had disappeared and minutes later the commander of SEAL Team 7—who just happened to be Winters’ CO—had called the FBI, insisting fresh intel indicated that the flight was about to be hijacked?

Beth Brown must have passed the information on to Zane Winters, who’d passed it on to Mackenzie.

But how the fuck had she found out?

Maybe his PacAtlantic conduit had squealed. It was always a risk working with amateurs. The man was of no use to them anyway at this point, a thread that needed snipping. But before he took the bastard out, they’d have a little chat about the benefits of confidentiality.

As for Beth Brown…. His gaze lingered on the woman’s profile. Suddenly, she stopped dead. Winters dropped his arm from her shoulder and turned in the direction she stared. Russ turned in that direction as well, and swore softly as he caught a glimpse of his crew chief before a swarm of passengers swallowed him again.

Quick as a muzzle flash, the three SEALs melted into the crowd, in obvious and hot pursuit.

Russ turned to stare at the abandoned feminine figure.

How in the fuck? How in the goddamn fuck had she managed to identify his crew?
There were no pictures. No descriptions. Not one fucking person alive from the Argentina flight who could have identified them.

Damn it, he’d ordered the death of all those poor kids just so this wouldn’t happen—so there would be no possibility of his crew being identified.

He forced himself to breathe again, wrenched his gaze away and punched another number into his cell. With the SEALs in pursuit, she was alone. Vulnerable.

“Did you get a look at our associate’s girlfriend?” he asked without preamble. “Good. He appears quite fond of her. It would benefit us to make her acquaintance. Yes. Now.”

He needed answers and he needed them fast. How deep did this fucking leak go? The bosses were going to demand answers, and if he didn’t have them he could forget about taking an early retirement. Unless it was into a shallow grave to swap stories with the worms.

Beth Brown had the answers. She’d been the one to identify his crew. As a side benefit, she’d make excellent leverage. If Winters wanted to spend any time between those long legs, he’d do exactly as he was told.

Russ stretched and twisted in his seat, holding onto his laptop so it wouldn’t crash to the floor. Casually, he scanned gate C18.

The three SEALs were cutting through the crowd with the silent and lethal efficiency of great white sharks plunging through a school of minnows. Russ’s crew had broken and split, but they had yet to make it out of the terminal.

He glanced toward the woman as a thick-shouldered bear of a man moved in behind her, but turned away so he wouldn’t appear overly interested.

Instead, he fixed his attention on the dark-skinned little angel across from him. He widened his eyes—the thick lenses of his glasses would magnify the expression—and waggled his eyebrows. It was an exaggerated face that never failed to draw giggles from his nieces and nephews.

Ah… but this little heart breaker, Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she retreated—pressing back against the blue plastic of her bench. Tiny fingers crept up to latch on her mother’s hand, and the eyes that locked on Russ’s face held the terrified fascination of a child who had just come face to face with the bogeyman.

* * *

Beth’s heart—which had started hammering the moment she caught the hijacker’s eyes across the crowded terminal—suddenly froze in mid-beat. Her head went light and tingly. There were only three people she knew well enough in this departure gate to grab her shoulder and all three of them were hunting down the criminals in front of her.

“You need to come with me,” a man said from behind her. The voice was brusque, scratchy, and completely unfamiliar.

Her heart lurched back to life, but oh so sluggish, oh so slow. Instinctively, she took one long step forward and twisted her torso, trying to dislodge his hand. She could feel the heat of his body and the brush of his clothing as he shuffled along with her, mirroring her movement. The fingers clamped over her shoulder tightened with brutal force.

“This isn’t a request, Miss. I’m with airport security and you need to come with me,” he said, authority rasping in that smoke-ground voice.

Beth glanced back. He wasn’t particularly tall—no taller than her—but twice her width, with the muscled chest and bulging biceps of a wrestler. His eyes were amber, too close together, separated by a broad, flat nose, and gleaming with an expression that chilled her to the marrow.Pure cruelty.

She remembered that cruelty from the dream. A smile had stretched those thick lips as he’d plowed bullet after bullet into Zane. He’d laughed as Zane had been driven back, his blue t-shirt swimming in crimson as the life pumped out of him.

This was a man who reveled in dealing death.

And he expected her to leave the terminal with him?

Absolutely not.

“You’re not wearing a uniform.” She stalled for time, surprised to find the initial burst of fear had vanished. But then she was perfectly safe. He could hardly drag her out of the terminal against her will.

Although, if he realized there was no way on God’s green earth she was leaving with him, he might split before the FBI arrived. She needed to keep him here for the roundup.

He paused, a shadow of frustration swept across his face. “I’m undercover and you–”

“Airport security doesn’t have undercover.”

Those too-close-together eyes narrowed. “How the fuck would you know?”

Beth stared straight into that malevolent gaze and lied. “Because I work for the airport. You don’t. So what’s this really about?”

His fleshy lips pulled back into a soundless snarl, revealing surprisingly white teeth. Beth had expected them to be yellow, even sharp and pointy.

“You’re coming with me,” he growled, his temper grating against the smoker’s rasp until his voice sounded like grinding glass. He gave her shoulder a nasty little yank.

“No, I’m not.” She jerked back, ignoring the pain that ricocheted down her arm and throbbed in her fingers.

A flat, muddy sheen dulled the brown gaze across from her. Ice sluiced down Beth’s spine. She could see in his eyes that he was imagining hurting her in the worst possible way.

“If you don’t let go of my arm,” Beth said, Zane’s order running through her mind. “I’m going to scream.”

It finally dawned on him that she wasn’t falling for his ruse, or his attempt to intimidate. A scowl twisted his flattened face. He yanked on her shoulder again and dipped his head. His breath, ripe with the smell of onions and greasy hamburger, blasted her in the face and for a moment she thought she was going to throw up.

“I’m done playing games, bitch. You’re gonna come with me now, without fuss, or I’m gonna take this gun out of my pocket and blow your fucking head off. Get it?” He kept his voice low, but the words and the threat came hard and fast. Perfectly clear.

He slid that crushing grip from her shoulder to her elbow and squeezed so hard her entire arm throbbed. She hissed in pain and he grunted with satisfaction. She didn’t struggle, though. It would draw attention and she couldn’t afford to scare him off.

“We’re leaving,” he told her roughly, twisting her arm until the nerves screamed. “Play nice now.”

Beth needed to do something and she needed to do it fast. She could easily get free—that wasn’t what worried her—but there was no way she could overpower the man,
and
hold him until the FBI arrived. Nor did she know how long it would take Zane and his teammates to contain their targets. So how in the world was she supposed to keep him here? At the first sign of trouble, he’d take off.

The only weapon she had at her disposal was the location. Beth quickly scanned the clusters of people surrounding her. There were plenty of men in the crowd strong enough to hold her attacker. And if they acted in concert, the bozo trying to drag her out of the terminal wouldn’t be going anywhere. Zane had been right; since 9/11, passengers were taking a much more active role in their safety. That could work to her advantage.

How to galvanize them into action was the question. She flashed back to the last two hijackings attempts in the news. In both cases, the passengers had reacted to a perceived threat and sprung into action, mobbing and then restraining the terrorist. If she could incite the same reaction…

Her best bet would be to convince everyone he had a bomb. A bomb threat resonated at a visceral level.

Without consciously making a decision, she threw back her head and screamed. She screamed as loud and as hard as she could, until her throat burned and her voice seized, and her ears were ringing. The shrillness of her shriek pierced the chattering, laughing crowd, and instant silence fell.

Hundreds of startled, curious faces swung in her direction.

The man beside her cursed.

She screamed again—just as loud, just as hard. When she finally fell silent, a confused hush consumed the departure gate.

The hand grinding the bones of her elbow dropped. The guy was about to bolt, she could sense it.

Oh, no, he wasn’t. Beth stepped into him, tangling her feet in his, hoping to trip him, or block him.

“He’s got a bomb!” she shouted. “Somebody stop him. He’s got a bomb!”

An uneasy buzz swept through the crowd. Eyes sharpened and swung toward the man she’d accused, but nobody stepped forward to restrain him. In fact, the fool might have escaped, if his survival instincts hadn’t kicked in. Rather than playing the amused, or surprised, or irritated bystander, he gave Beth’s shoulder a hard shove and leapt back.

His instinctive reaction looked guilty as hell. Several men stepped forward, their focus locked on the clearly rattled would-be hijacker. In a move that looked oddly choreographed, the approaching men fell into a loose pack formation, moving forward and splitting to the sides as though they intended to circle him—cutting off any avenue of escape.