by Marton, Dana
She scanned the windows for movement. “Do you think they already loaded the passengers?”
Even as the last word left her mouth, sliding doors opened on the side of the building and people stepped from the gate to walk toward the plane. Miranda exchanged a glance with Glenn, then headed toward them.
Some of the tourists looked uncertain and reached for their papers, thinking this was a last-second check, but Miranda waved them along magnanimously and joined the end of the line, Glenn behind her.
They had nothing. No ID, no tickets. But hopefully all the checkpoints and security were behind them. If the flight attendants asked for their boarding passes, they were screwed. All the way to the plane, she prayed.
Down the tarmac, up the stairs.
One flight attendant stood in the door. She greeted them with a smile and a sincere “Bienvenidos.”
“Gracias.” They passed by her and simply took two empty seats in the last row.
The small plane had only two flight attendants. They went about their business. In the US, there’d be a headcount check. But maybe that wasn’t the standard operating procedure here, since the country didn’t have issues with terrorism. Or maybe the women did check, but didn’t feel brave enough to harass two National Guard members. Either way, nobody came back to ask any questions.
The passengers settled in for the flight, but as minutes ticked by, the plane didn’t begin to taxi down the runway.
“Do you think the commander called in and had the flight grounded?” Miranda asked under her breath, then glanced around for an escape route should they need one. The only open entry was in the front. In the tail, a parked beverage cart blocked the emergency exit.
She and Glenn were sitting ducks in the back. Great.
Her muscles tensed as minute after minute ticked by. Sweat beaded above her upper lip. They’d come too far to fail. She couldn’t even imagine what the commander would do to them if they were recaptured.
But when a tall form appeared in the open front door, it wasn’t the commander or one of his goons. Roberto filled the narrow walkway, dragging his carry-on and smiling at the young flight attendant, showing all his blinding-white teeth.
Chapter 15
GLENN SLID DOWN in his seat and leaned his head against the headrest, bracing his weight to keep his raw back from touching the seat as much as possible. He pulled his hat over his face as if sleeping. Next to him, in the window seat, Miranda did the same.
Still, if Roberto sat anywhere near, there was no way he wouldn’t turn around at least once during the flight and recognize them.
Glenn waited, watching from under the brim of his hat. Miranda’s breath hitched as Roberto looked down the length of the plane and started toward them. But he stopped at the fifth row and settled into his aisle seat.
As soon as the flight attendant closed the door, the plane began taxiing down the runway.
Glenn tuned out the captain’s greeting and the emergency information. He pushed back his seat once they reached altitude so he could get even lower, kept his hat on his face.
“What do we do once we reach Caracas?” he asked under his breath. The plane was only half-full; nobody sat in the seats in front of them to overhear.
“Get off the plane last. Make sure he’s way in front of us. We’ll cut out of the airport, then head straight to the US embassy.”
Sounded like a plan. They had to have their passports replaced, for starters. Then what? Security could still stop them at the airport when they tried to fly back to the States. They were probably on some kind of a watch list.
He’d worry about that when they got there, Glenn decided. Complicated problems were best solved one step at a time. They had plenty to worry about right now, right here.
He pulled out the in-flight magazine so he could use it to hide behind in case Roberto walked around to stretch his legs or use the bathroom in the back of the plane. An ad for Curaçao dominated the front cover.
Tropical paradise, just twenty miles off the coast of Venezuela, with the convenience of an international airport right in Willemstad.
Curaçao was a small island, its own country, no connection to Venezuela. All they’d need was a boat and a deserted beach. He nudged Miranda and showed her the page.
“We’ll see,” she whispered.
She trusted the US government, counted on making the call from the embassy and being extracted. He was more of a do-it-yourself guy. He’d learned that in the business world. The government could lift you up, hand you a juicy government contract. But the next second, it could smack you down, cancel the contract because of budget restraints, increase regulations, pile on more corporate taxes. What one administration gave, the next could easily take away. He’d learned to run Danning Enterprises without counting on the government being helpful. Or even sane.
The younger of the two flight attendants brought around food and drinks, handing the passengers plastic-wrapped packages. He had to work at not falling on the sandwich like a starved wolf. The chunk of cheese had been barely enough to blunt his appetite.
While the woman bent to serve the other side, he reached into the cart and grabbed two extra packages, dropped them on his lap and covered them with the in-flight magazine.
Once the flight attendant moved on, Glenn offered half the loot to Miranda.
“I’m good.” She pushed the food back to him. “I had more to eat at camp than you did.”
He tried again.
But again, she resisted. “We’ll have more food in a couple of hours at the embassy. I want you to eat.”
“You’re reasserting that you’re the official in this rescue op, and I’m the target or what you called it.”
“You have a problem with a woman in a leadership position?”
“Why would I?” Some men preferred a weak woman so they could feel strong next to her by comparison. He never understood that. “Any structure, including a partnership, is only as strong as its weakest link. Two strong people make the strongest team. To any man of reason, the strongest available woman should always be the most desirable.”
She patted his knee. “I do like that logical brain of yours.”
And he liked everything about her. More than liked. He ate the food and drank every bit of the water.
After their garbage was cleared away and the trays turned up, he took Miranda’s hand. “I’d like to see you once we return to the US.”
He’d been stupid to let her go in the first place. Luck or fate had brought her into his path again. He wanted to think that he was smarter than he’d been at twenty, that he knew a good thing when he saw it.
But instead of smiling and saying she felt the same, she pulled away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Like hell it wasn’t. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”
“We’re not a good match that way. Weren’t back then, aren’t now.”
“Are you saying we don’t make a great team? After what we’ve just been through? You don’t think we work well together?”
She shook her head, as if she didn’t want to consider his words, or as if his reasoning didn’t matter. “That’s not enough.”
“What part exactly didn’t work for you?” he asked under his breath. “The morning at the abandoned house?”
Just thinking about that morning, him sinking into her tight, wet heat had his cock twitching. He wanted her. Again. And again, and again. He wanted her in his bed, but that wasn’t nearly all of it.
Why didn’t she want the same?
Was she still in love with the man she’d married?
His mood darkened at the thought. Matthew had been killed in action. He was a hero. How was an ordinary guy supposed to compete with that?
He spent a few seconds smarting from her latest rejection, then set that aside to look at things from her point of view
. She had had losses. Terrible, inconceivable losses. She didn’t need him pushing her, demanding things she wasn’t ready to give.
Yet he couldn’t accept the idea of never seeing her again. Fine. If she needed more time, he’d wait. If she wasn’t ready for another man in her life, he’d be whatever she needed.
“Friends?” he asked.
And then, finally, she smiled. “Always.”
Good. Better. “How long have you lived in D.C.?” He gave friendly conversation a try.
“A few weeks. I just started the job.”
He grinned at her. “Congratulations on successfully completing your first mission.”
“Let’s wait with the champagne until we’re back in US airspace.” This time, her smile was a little less strained. “We should grab some sleep before the plane lands. We could use some rest.”
No kidding. “You first. I’ll keep an eye on Roberto, in case he starts looking around or walks back this way.”
“You didn’t get much rest last night.”
“I’m not going to get any in an airline seat. I can’t put my full weight on my back.” His skin was flayed. Putting pressure on it was killing him. He had a feeling he was going to sleep on his stomach for the foreseeable future.
She conceded after a moment and pushed her chair in the reclining position, closed her eyes, and pulled her hat back over her face. Her breathing evened in a few minutes. As if on command, she was asleep, probably a skill she’d learned in the military.
When the plane hit a patch of turbulence, she shifted against him, her head on his shoulder. He held still so she wouldn’t move away.
Even though he knew he’d catch hell for it, he didn’t wake her up halfway through the flight so they could switch. He let her sleep until the captain announced that they’d be landing in ten minutes.
She blinked awake. Sat up. Shot him a dark look. She was about to chew him out for letting her sleep that long, but up ahead in row five, Roberto stood and stepped out into the aisle. He stretched his legs, rolled his shoulders, then he began walking toward the tail.
Both flight attendants were up front, working their way slowly down the plane, taking trash and telling people to straighten their seats and fasten their seatbelts. Roberto hurried back for a quick bathroom visit.
Miranda pulled her hat as deep into her face as she could and slumped against the window, pretending to be sleeping.
Glenn wished he still had a knife.
Roberto was ten feet away. Eight. Six. Four. Then he was right in line with them, slowing.
Glenn had his head down, his chin to his chest, his hat covering most of his face, watching through one eye opened to a slit, seeing nothing but the man’s shoes.
Why did he stop? Did he recognize them? What would he do?
He couldn’t use his cell phone in the middle of the plane preparing for landing—a few minutes of advantage.
Roberto moved on, into the bathroom, and then Glenn was on his feet the next second, grabbing the door before Roberto could lock it behind him. No room for the two of them, but Glenn squeezed in anyway, closing the door with one hand to shield them from view, his other hand grabbing Roberto’s wrist as the man went for his weapon with a startled curse. Before Roberto could call out, Glenn delivered a crushing blow to the man’s chin, knocking him out cold.
His back hurt from the movement, his shredded skin burning, but he barely felt it. Adrenaline pumped through him as he emptied the man’s gun and dumped the bullets into the garbage receptacle, hid the gun under his shirt. Then he opened the door, finding Miranda outside, ready to assist.
She glanced past him, at Roberto crumpled on the toilet.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Glenn closed the door behind him, hoping nobody would go in there now, since the plane had already begun descending.
“Two strong people make the strongest team.” She went back to her seat.
He dropped down next to Miranda and snapped on his seatbelt, fished the gun out, and shoved it to the bottom of the seat pocket in front of him. Caracas was an international airport. They’d have to go through more security before they were allowed to leave it. He didn’t want to set off any machines.
Miranda padded down the hallway on her way from the shower back to her room, wrapped in a luxurious bathrobe, her short hair still wet. The US embassy at Caracas had facilities in the basement, in case the staff got barricaded inside in an emergency.
Upon arrival, she and Glenn had been whisked off for debriefing, hours of questioning, phone conferences with General Roberts, with the FBI, the CIA. But then they were finally given rooms. They were to remain on embassy grounds while their release from the country was negotiated.
She knocked on Glenn’s door. “Bathroom’s all yours.” She didn’t go in. She retreated to her own quarters.
God, it was nice to be safe, to be able to relax for a change. To be able to sleep in a bed again. To be able to eat and go to the bathroom whenever she wanted. She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the table just because she could, and smiled as she ate it.
When the phone rang, she wasn’t sure if she should pick up the call, but it kept ringing so, after another moment of hesitation, she did.
“I have some good news for you,” General Roberts said on the other end. “Under pressure from the US, the Venezuelan government agreed to grant both of you safe passage out of the country.”
Relief rushed through her. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, sir.” She could only imagine the kind of strings the man had to pull.
“I sent you in. I’m going to get you out. That’s a promise.”
“I’m sorry about the mess.”
“Most extractions are messy. You found the target and you got him to safety. Job well done.”
She thanked him before they hung up. The general’s acknowledgement made her feel like she might just have a future someplace. She was once again part of a team. This could be a way to move forward. Matthew would want that for her.
He’d been the quintessential soldier. Whatever he did, he gave everything he had, and when he succeeded, he pushed on to the next mission objective. If something didn’t go well, he didn’t dwell on it. He tackled life like he’d tackled the obstacle course in basic training. You simply didn’t walk off, no matter what happened. You pushed through to the finish.
He’d always been about forward movement. He’d want her to move on. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready.
A knock on the door jolted her out of her memories.
Glenn stuck his head in, scanned her face. “What’s wrong?” He stepped inside, hair wet, face cleanly shaved, his white robe identical to Miranda’s.
She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I was thinking about Matthew.”
“I see.” He stopped where he was and didn’t come any closer, watchful, looking as if he meant to say something, but in the end he didn’t.
She stood and smoothed down her robe. “My boss called. We’re leaving here tomorrow.” The thought that she might not ever see Glenn again once they arrived in the US and parted ways stole the enthusiasm from her voice as she said, “The Venezuelan government agreed to our release.”
He covered the distance between them with an ear-to-ear grin, picked her up, and twirled her around. “Hey, we did it!”
His infectious smile, being in his arms, the way their bodies pressed together . . . A jolt of reckless desire shot through her.
He must have misinterpreted the expression on her face because he set her down and took a reluctant step back. “Sorry.”
To hell with it. She stepped forward, slipped her hands inside his robe, and pressed her lips to his.
To his credit, he got with the program in a heartbeat. His mouth slanted over hers, and the next second she was pressed so closely to
his hard body she could have no doubt how much he wanted this.
One last time. She opened herself to his kisses. One last time, so she would have at least some good memories to take back with her to her lonely apartment in D.C.
She would never see him again save on TV when he began his political campaign. Someday, when she was watching him with the right wife by his side, at least she would have the memory of the night they’d spent at the embassy.
She tugged the bathrobe off his shoulders, revealing his scarred body.
“How’s the back?”
He’d received first aid when they’d arrived.
“It’ll heal.”
He looked nothing like the preppy trust-fund nerd she’d once thought him to be. He’d survived trial by fire. He was as tough as any soldier. He was the type of man who fought for what he wanted, who protected what was his.
He was all that, and kind, funny, brilliant. Thank God she was smart enough not to fall in love with him. That would have been a disaster.
Her fingers slid up his chest, along the ripples of muscles under his warm skin.
His eyes darkened, focused on her face. He reached up and his long fingers slowly pushed her robe down her shoulders, the soft glide of the material over her naked breasts a tantalizing torture. He bared her upper torso to his hungry gaze, then he hooked a finger into her belt and tugged. And then she stood naked before him.
He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman on earth, as if she was the only woman on earth. She fell for it, of course. How could she not? Who could resist the need that boiled in his gaze?
She untied his belt and sent the robe pooling at his feet.
He had the body of a warrior, lean and scarred.
His erection strained toward her belly, the tip blue-red with blood, more than ready. A thrill shot through her at the obvious proof of how much he wanted her.
His hands caressed a tingling path up her arms. She moved toward the bed, but his fingers curled around her shoulders and held her in place. He kissed her mouth one more time before bending to her nipples to tease them into aching buds. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her closer.