“We should be looking for the other hijackers,” she said, concentrating on folding the silver blanket.
“We won’t find them. They’ve been warned off.” He rose to his feet with economical ease.
Beth’s hands stilled, slowly she raised her head and searched his face. “Warned off? By who?”
“By whoever warned our three. They were in full flight by the time we got back to the terminal.”
“They knew their operation was compromised,” Cosky agreed, his voice grim. The gaze he turned on Zane was flat. “We’ve got a leak.”
“Not us. Mac didn’t go through channels. He called the FBI directly. The leak didn’t come from HQ1. It had to be the feds.”
“Wait a minute,” Beth protested. “That seems too convenient. I mean how likely is it that your superior would go directly to the people working with the hijackers? Even if the hijackers did have someone on their payroll, the chances they are the same agents your boss talked to is… well… astronomical.”
“Think about it.” Zane turned his head toward Beth. He was in full warrior mode again. Expressionless. Cool. Competent. “Hijacking’s considered an act of terrorism. It wouldn’t take much to find out which agency would be assigned to the investigation. If you control the people assigned to the case, you’d control the investigation and ransom negotiations.”
Cosky surveyed the crowd of curious passengers—dozens of eyes were locked on their small group by the wall—and lifted a dark eyebrow. “Who did Mac talk to? That will give us a place to start looking.”
“I don’t know, but you can bet your ass he’ll be asking his contact some hard questions.”
Rawlings cleared his throat. With a lazy nod, he drew everyone’s attention to the main corridor.
Beth’s gaze deviated to the left. She breathed a sigh of relief on finding a silver hump where she’d been attacked. Somebody had covered the hijacker’s body with a blanket identical to the one Zane’s friend had brought her.
“They found the guns.” Cosky watched impassively as an army of blue suits and plain clothes approached.
Beth turned to stare at the cluster of men. “How can you tell?”
“There’s too damn many of them for anything else.”
“Surprised?” Beth asked, a sense of vindication stirring. She got the distinct impression that Simcosky still didn’t believe her.
He turned his head toward her, those black eyebrows climbing. That small telltale gesture seemed to be the only expression he allowed himself. He was taking the whole Spock thing to extremes.
“I attacked a complete stranger. Knocked him out. Trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. If I hadn’t believed you, he’d still be on his feet.”
Okay, then… Beth didn’t have a clue what to say. Thank you didn’t quite fit under the circumstances. Luckily, Cosky didn’t seem to expect a response.
“Game’s on.” Zane stepped up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You remember how we met?”
Obviously, he wasn’t talking about their real meeting. “Over the weekend, while hiking.” She frowned; they needed more of a story than that. “What trail? What time? What was I wearing? How did we actually meet? What did we have for dinner? Breakfast the next morning? What time did we leave on Sunday?”
“Lake Nada trail, on the way to the Enchantment lakes. We met Saturday morning, at a stream, filling up water bottles. We hit it off, hiked the trail together, camped together. Dinner was beef stew and chili. Breakfast was bacon and eggs. We left at noon. You were wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Pick a t-shirt.”
She cast her mind over her wardrobe. “I’ve got a Pink Panther t-shirt.” That would be easy enough to remember.
“Pink Panther. Got it.” He bent to nuzzle the side of her neck and chills feathered across her skin.
They’d expect her to know more personal information about him too, wouldn’t they? Even if they’d just met, an exchange about family would have taken place at some point. She tried to convince herself the sudden rise of curiosity was because of what the agents might ask. “Have you been married? Any kids? Do you have brothers? Sisters? Where did you grow up? Are your parents still alive?”
He straightened, and cast a quick glance across the gate room. “No. No. Four brothers—Chance, Webb, Gray, and Dane—no sisters. I was a Navy brat, so I base-hopped. Both parents alive.” Interest sharpened his gaze. “You?”
“Never married, but engaged once.” She felt him tense. Frowning, she waited, but when he didn’t comment she continued. “No children, raised here, in Burien. No siblings and I lost my mom years ago.”
For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something. His hand rose toward her face, before it made contact he shifted and shot another glance toward the corridor. When he turned back, his face had gone flat. Professional.
His arm tightened around shoulders. “Relax. You’ll be fine.”
Beth wasn’t so certain; their story seemed awfully sketchy. What if someone asked her a question that wasn’t on their list? Plus, she’d spent the weekend at home. Granted, she’d been alone, inside the condo and her car had been parked in the garage. Still, one of her neighbors could have seen her. What if the authorities actually checked into their story and someone contradicted their account? A dozen terrifying possibilities loomed in her mind.
“We should just tell the truth.” She dropped her voice and leaned toward Zane. “Eventually someone’s going to expose us, and we’ll both be in trouble.”
Zane shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “It’s too late. Changing the story affects more than us. Mac told the FBI the info was picked up through border-op intel.”
Well, crap, he was right. Plus, they’d identified and subdued the hijackers on the basis of her dream—which meant they had no pictures, no descriptions, no actual proof that the three men Zane and his buddies had incapacitated were a danger to anyone. If she confessed, they’d let the hijackers go. At least this way the terrorists would remain in custody until they found enough proof to nail them.
His attention drifted down to her mottled neck and his eyes darkened. “How are you feeling?”
Beth reached up to brush her throat, wondering how bad the bruises looked. Pretty ugly, she suspected, since every time Zane glanced at them his face turned all grim and tight.
“I’m fine. Really.” Which was surprisingly true. The shaking had vanished and while her neck felt a little swollen and achy, it was easy enough to ignore.
“What do you think’s going to happen next?” She turned to stare across the terminal. An army of blue-suited police officers were gathering in the mouth of the gate room.
“They’ll start moving everyone. Separating people. Conducting interviews.”
He glanced toward the front of the terminal. The cops were mingling with the security guards and heads were turning in their direction.
After a few minutes of discussion, two overweight men in dark slacks and ill-fitting jackets broke away from the cluster of law enforcement and approached them.
“Lieutenant Commander Winters?” the taller of the two said. “I’m Detective Sheridan. If you and your group would follow me.”
They were escorted through a series of corridors and hallways until they were deep within the bowels of the airport. Minutes later they arrived at a conference room. A pair of uniformed officers flanked the double doors. Their detective escorts ushered them inside, only to disappear back down the hall.
The room was moderate in size with a long rectangular table and plastic orange chairs. Rather than taking a seat, the three men lounged against the spackled wall. Did they have some weird distaste for sitting? With a disgusted shake of her head, Beth marched over to the table, pulled out a chair and plopped down. After a pregnant pause, Zane joined her.
Maybe a quarter of an hour crawled by before the conference room doors finally blew open and two hard-faced, middle-aged men strode in.
“Feds,” Cosky said, without lowering his voic
e.
Beth wondered how he could tell. Other than the fit of their clothing, they looked like the detectives who’d escorted them through the terminal. Sharp, assessing eyes surveyed the group before zeroing in on Zane.
“Lieutenant Commander Winters?” the agent to the left asked as he headed in their direction. His voice remained cool, yet respectful. “I’m Senior Agent Aaron Haskell with the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division.”
Zane nodded and introduced his men. When he came to Beth, he presented her as his fiancée. She suppressed a jolt. She vaguely remembered him claiming her as his fiancée earlier—to Russ—but had forgotten to ask why he’d bumped their pretense from lovers to engaged lovers.
“We need to ask you some questions. If you’ll follow us?” Haskell turned and indicated the door with an abbreviated gesture. “Your fiancée can wait here with Lieutenants Simcosky and Rawlings. Another agent will take their statements.”
With one last sweep of the conference room, Zane started to nod, his arm loosening around Beth’s shoulders. Suddenly, he froze.
“Beth comes with me,” he said, his voice uncompromising.
The agent frowned. “Miss Brown will be interviewed separately. At the moment we’re more interested in the men your commander claims were attempting to hijack the plane—”
“She comes with me.”
Beth stared at him, puzzled. He’d warned her they’d be separated during the interviews, so why this sudden intractability? Didn’t he trust that she’d stick to their script? Curious, she followed his gaze and realized his attention wasn’t focused on the FBI agents, but further back toward the door. She shifted to the right until she could see around the agent in front of her and discovered that Russ Branson had entered the room.
Russ broke into a relieved smile as he caught sight of her and started forward.
“Son of a bitch,” Zane snapped.
The agents looked at each other and turned in unison.
Agent Haskell’s eyebrows shot up. “Considering Mr. Branson saved Ms. Brown’s life, I’m sure you’ll agree he’s no threat to her.”
Zane shifted his glare to Haskell who took a half step back. “There are still two hijackers unaccounted for. She’s obviously a target. She stays with me.”
A pulse of silence fell. The two agents frowned, glanced at each other. Apparently, by osmosis, they came to some sort of agreement because Haskell turned back to Zane.
“Fine.” He gestured toward the door again.
They’d barely started walking before Russ intercepted them. The FBI agents halted and glanced between Russ and Zane with quizzical eyes.
Russ frowned, ran a hand down his face and pinched his chin. His gaze lingered on her throat. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fin—”
“She’s just hunky-dory,” Rawls drawled. “Her fiancé is taking real good care of her.”
Haskell’s lips twitched and he exchanged amused glances with his partner. Beth wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Did Zane have to play the jealous lover? This confrontation was beyond embarrassing.
Pasting a bright smile on her face, she turned to Russ. “I wanted to thank you for what you did. I hate to think of what might have happened if….”
Russ shot a quick look at Zane, before refocusing on Beth. “It’s lucky I got there when I did. A second later and it would have been too late.”
Zane’s shoulders stiffened. “We’re on our way out,” he told Russ brusquely.
Haskell coughed and brought a hand up to cover his mouth.
Beth turned her too-bright smile on Zane’s glowering face and fought back a glare. “I’m thanking—”
“You can thank him later,” Zane snapped, his lips tight. He glanced up and suddenly froze, his face smoothing into an expressionless shell.
“What?” Startled by the change, she followed his gaze but wasn’t tall enough to see over the FBI agents.
“Commander,” Zane said, the rank a greeting.
“Radar must have got you on the first plane up.” Rawls stepped forward.
“He had them hold the plane for me.” A rumbling voice full of grit and gravel responded. Rawls and Cosky started to raise their arms.
“So help me God, if you two jackasses finish those salutes I’m gonna snap off your hands and beat you with them. Stand down.”
The arms in question dropped like stones.
“Commander Jace Mackenzie,” the raspy voice continued.
Tensing, Beth withdrew into the security of Zane’s loose embrace, listening as the FBI agents introduced themselves. The last thing she needed was the owner of that harsh voice focusing on her.
“Where is she?” Mac demanded.
Beth’s breath stuttered. Zane’s arm tightened around her shoulder. Rawls and Cosky silently stepped to the side, opening a path and she tried to reassure herself that they hadn’t just thrown her to the big bad wolf. She caught a glimpse of Russ’s sharp face as he turned toward the new arrival, and then she got her first look at the owner of that grating voice.
Eyes so dark they looked black locked on her face and shot from there to the arm Zane had wrapped around her shoulders. An almost murderous expression flashed across his lean, chiseled face. It was gone so quickly she tried to convince herself she’d imagined it.
Mackenzie’s skin was deeply tanned, the hard planes of his cheekbones and jaw lending an almost brutal cast to his features. An image enhanced by the thin, white line of his lips. His black hair was cut short, military style, and graying at the temples.
He looked stern, huge—easily as tall and wide as Zane—and seriously pissed off. She could literally feel the fury vibrating off him, boiling out in white-hot waves.
Every last ounce of it directed toward her.
* * *
Mac watched Zane’s blond-haired case of kryptonite shrink into the protective shield of her lover’s embrace. The woman wasn’t at all what he’d anticipated. He’d expected the female who brought his LC to his knees to be a looker. Tits spectacular enough to launch a fleet, a come-hither sway to her ass, an all-around brassy flirt.
She failed on all three counts.
Although her purple eyes were arresting, and that understated prettiness would earn her a second look, she didn’t carry the kind of drop-dead gorgeousness that turned men stupid and wrapped them around feminine fingers.
On the other hand, they were already engaged. She obviously had moves he hadn’t seen yet. Once she discovered his rank would benefit her more than Zane’s, no doubt she’d turn those moves on him. It was the nature of the female beast, opportunistic and sly—they’d sidle up to whoever could offer them the most. Faithfulness was a genetic impossibility.
“Gentlemen.” Mac turned to the two agents who were watching the exchange with sharp, curious eyes. “Give me five minutes.” They didn’t look receptive to the command, so he hardened his voice. “Five minutes. Chastain’s already cleared it.”
Which wasn’t quite true, but hell, Chastain had been remarkably accommodating.
The agents traded what-the-hell looks before the taller one shrugged and turned toward a sandy-haired stranger to his left. “Mr. Branson? We’ll need you to sign a statement. May as well take care of that now.”
Mac waited until the doors closed behind them, stuck his hand in his jacket pocket to thumb on the voice scrambler, and rounded on Zane. “Imagine my surprise to find you engaged, particularly when I spoke with you mere hours ago and you failed to mention the good news.”
He tried for a silky tone, but it sounded more like someone had pushed the words through a cheese grater. The rasp came courtesy of a damaged larynx, which he’d picked up thanks to a garrote wielded by a Taliban rebel back in Afghanistan. He’d been lucky, as a freshly finned minnow straight from SQT it could have been his first and last op.
“I was going to tell you once things settled,” Zane told him flatly.
“Why is it I’ve never heard of Miss
Brown before?”
Zane held his gaze. “We met over the weekend. I asked her to marry me this morning.”
Mac tried not to grind his teeth. There had been no hesitation in the statement. No wavering in Zane’s gaze. Yet, he was absolutely certain the bastard was lying to him. Again.
“Did you now? After three days?” He let the disbelief echo in his voice.
With a lift of his eyebrows, Zane stared back. “You’ve met my dad? My brothers?”
The dry reminder pulled Mac up short, but just for a moment. With his family history, Zane would be even more susceptible to a player. He’d convince himself the bitch was fated to be his mate, only to find himself hanging by his fingernails from the face of a cliff and with nothing to cushion the fall.
Talking to his LC, however, would get him nowhere. His men were conditioned to withstand hardcore interrogation techniques. If he wanted to find out what the hell this bitch had dragged his team into, he needed to talk to the woman.
“I’ll speak with your fiancée now.” When Zane’s face tightened, Mac hardened his voice. “Alone.”
A muscle twitched in Zane’s cheek. “We’re on our way to a debriefing.”
“You take the interview. I’ll take her.”
The muscle twitched again. Stronger. “She doesn’t leave my side.”
“Commander,” Rawls broke in, his voice tight, his blue eyes watchful. “She’s had a tough time. Take a look at her neck. Zane’s just feeling a mite protective.”
Mac hauled in a deep, calming breath. He held it for five seconds, and released it slowly. The pressure didn’t ease. “I’ve got eyes, Lieutenant. I can see her neck.”
Not to mention that he’d heard the story from three separate people. How the hell an attempt on her life fit into this mess, he wasn’t sure. But if the hijackers wanted her dead, there had to be a reason.
Like, she’d double-crossed them.
“This isn’t a request. I will talk to her. Alone. Now.”
Zane’s face went hard as stone. Ice cold. It was an expression Mac remembered from their black op days, but he’d never seen turned on him before.
What the fuck had the bitch done to him?
Forged in Fire Page 11