Ramsey didn’t offer further assistance with the palletized drones once he cut the wrap, so Adam did what any covert surveillance specialist would do. He leaned down and pulled his own twelve-inch blade out of his ankle holster and popped the top off the wooden crate. Only he did it without drawing attention to the weapon. It was a tool, not a statement.
Securing the blade back where it belonged, he pulled the nearest drone up from its wooden cradle within the crate. There was that feeling again—that he was holding one of the coolest babies on the planet. With it lying snug along his forearm, he smoothed his hand over its nose and committed the serial number to memory. UVZ172662. One digit different than the missing drone. Easy to remember.
When he turned to show it to Connor, his elbow hit Miss Reagan square in the middle of her chest, smack dab between two very plump breasts. Soft but firm. Hardly any jiggle. His masculine mind noticed. Yup. Hot babe.
Nonetheless, a quiet grunt escaped her lips as she took the impact.
“I’m—, I’m sorry,” he apologized. Kind of. “Didn’t know you were standing so close to me, ma’am, or I—”
She smiled mischievously back at him. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sure sorry,” he repeated, biting his lip while a heatwave coursed up his neck and flamed over his cheeks. What was the proper thing to say to the woman you couldn’t help but notice? Sorry I elbowed your boobs, ma’am? May I rub them better? Please, oh, please?
Again with the cute grin. “No, it was my fault. I was in the way. I just wanted to see a Hummingbird up close.”
Damn. How could a woman change so much in two days? He’d noticed her plenty back at the Sit Room, but he’d been primed for battle with her father then. When she’d shown up, he’d taken it out on her. But now, standing this near and making accidental intimate contact like he just had, well, he wanted to do it again.
She’d taken her dark glasses off and twirled them by the stem. Her face lit with wonder, like she’d never seen one of these babies before. Perfect little dark angel wings over soft blue eyes batted back at him. Wait. Was she flirting?
“Would you like to hold it, ma’am?” He had to ask.
“Yes, please.” There was that word again. Please. It bugged him. Aggressive, rock ’em, stomp ’em businesswomen simply didn’t use it. Who exactly was this gal, anyway?
Adam transferred the baby bird into her arms, careful to not brush her breasts when he did it. She accepted the drone eagerly, licking her lower lip and looking very much like a little girl getting ready to taste an ice cream cone for the first time in her life. His body sprang to attention.
Connor stood looking over her shoulder, taking it all in. He winked at Adam. For all intents and purposes, they were just two big guys and a pretty little lady with a very deadly toy in her arms.
“Wow. It’s so light. I thought it would be heavier. And it’s small,” she murmured, her hand skimming over the smooth titanium surface while she cradled it like a baby. There was no other word for it. Shannon Reagan was downright adorable.
“And deadly,” Adam said, to distract himself. “These little babies are the killer bees of the future. Our enemies won’t know what hit them once these UAVs are deployed.”
Shannon met his eyes, and he was speechless. Light blue with tiny gold flecks. Bright and wide with innocence, and what? Joy? Reverence? Adam could only stare.
Until Ramsey grunted, “Lock ’em up, boys. Playtime’s over.”
Did he just call me boy? Adam closed his eyes and counted to ten. This guy was asking for it, but not today. Not in front of Shannon. He forced his mind back to the reason he’d opened the crates in the first place. “Let’s see the other three. I want serial numbers.”
Ramsey huffed through his nose, challenging. Instead of reacting, Adam eased the HH from Shannon’s grasp, again without making any other intimate contact.
When their fingers tangled in the transfer, an embarrassed smile crossed her face. She scrunched her shoulders, and that little-girl persona peeked back at him. “I don’t want to drop it,” she admitted shyly. “I’m a klutz sometimes.”
“I’ve got it,” Adam assured her, once again surprised at the transformation he’d just witnessed. She’d dropped the woman-in-charge façade the moment he’d opened the crate. Or maybe it had happened because she was no longer dealing with Ramsey. Or maybe...
He pushed other possibilities out of his mind. She had not changed just because he’d bumped her boobs. No man could be that lucky.
Returning the drone to its wooden cradle, Adam secured it before he performed the same inspection on the other three, conscientiously making an effort to keep his elbows to himself, and committing all serial numbers to memory. Alex’s gut was wrong if he’d thought the lost Hummingbird Hawk was in one of these crates, damn it.
Adam shot Connor a quick glance of ‘no go’ when the last drone was restored. Connor caught the covert message with a barely perceptible nod, and offered Ramsey a “Thanks for your customer service.”
Ramsey grunted, the knife still in his hand. What was the deal with this guy anyway?
“Hey! Wait up!” Donavan Easton ran panting up to the Gulfstream, a full-sized suitcase in his left hand and a huge smile on his face. He’d dressed like Connor, ready for a vacation. “Am I late?”
“Yes,” Connor drawled at the bottom of the aircraft stairs, ignoring Ramsey’s continued evil stare from the cargo hold. “You missed us. We already took off. We’re in the air.”
“Huh?” Donavan Easton was an easy mark, not stupid by any means, but prone to open his mouth too quickly. “Oh, yeah. Guess I’m right on time, huh?”
The gangly junior agent angled his rucksack up the ramp and into the aircraft, one step ahead of Connor and chatting all the way. “Hey Izza! Sure glad you guys don’t mind me tagging along. I told my mama I was coming. She’s baking...”
Adam stopped listening. He still stood with Shannon on the tarmac while Donavan’s voice faded away. Ramsey had finally quit glaring and closed the cargo door. Where the man went after that, Adam hadn’t noticed, and he didn’t care as long as Ramsey wasn’t coming aboard with them.
The plane engine was revved and ready to go. It was a sunny day to travel, but Shannon hadn’t made a move to go inside. “I’d like to apologize,” she began.
“About what?” He gave her a way out, feigning ignorance. There was no sense crying over spilled milk, and no need to apologize. Life happened. Move on. He had.
“I wasn’t feeling well the other day,” she offered contritely.
Oh, that. He allowed a small smile. He’d lost his anger with her over the missing drone before she’d lost her lunch in the elevator. “Think I caught that same bug. I wasn’t feeling too good either, ma’am.”
She’d caught his drift. A real smile blossomed over her face this time. “And I’m sorry you were shot in South Dakota. Honestly. I didn’t know about that until the meeting. I would’ve visited you in the hospital if I’d known sooner.”
“No problem. It’s all in a day’s work,” he offered easily, secretly pleased she’d given his injury a second thought.
She hesitated, biting her lip.
Here we go. She’s going to ask—
“Where?”
He tapped his shoulder with his index finger, wishing she’d let it go.
“Is that why you, umm, didn’t want to shake my hand? Does it still hurt?”
Now she’d gotten personal. Either way, he was caught. He’d never in a million years admit his arm hurt when she’d shaken his hand as firmly as she had. She was just a little thing, and frankly, her solid grip had surprised him.
What then? Admit that he didn’t want to touch anything related to Paul Reagan? That he was flaming mad because her father dragged his good name through the mud? Adam settled for diplomacy. “No, it doesn’t hurt. Guess I just didn’t appreciate the way the SD Op ended.”
“I’m not my father,” she said softly. “I hope
you realize that.”
“I understand,” he admitted, “but you are Reagan Industries. You represent him and you speak for him.”
A shadow darkened that pretty smile. She sighed. “Yes, you’re right. I guess I do. Well, on behalf of Reagan Industries, I’m sorry you were hurt while employed by my company. I will personally look into covering all of your medical costs. If I had known sooner, I promise, I really would’ve visited you in the hospital. I’d have brought cookies, too, or something. I would have told you a long time ago how sorry I was, I mean, I am.”
He narrowed his gaze, needing to understand why she felt the need to make amends for something she wasn’t responsible for. “Hospital’s already paid. Thanks for the thought.” He ended the conversation and motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
“You have to let me do something to make it up to you.” She persisted.
Options sprang to mind. There were other ways she could repay him, but he dragged his stupid male brain out of the gutter. Not her. Despite her powerful name, she obviously had no idea what she’d just said or how most men would’ve taken that offer. How the heck had someone as innocent as this pretty woman come from Paul Reagan’s loins?
“Time to go, ma’am.” He nodded at the open passenger door again.
She relented, and he followed her up the steps. Shannon was full of surprises, not the least of which was the very pleasant view of her feminine backside swaying with each step. Adam stifled his very masculine response to reach out and pat one of those firm round cheeks. Maybe squeeze a handful of her ass.
By the time he closed the door behind him, he knew one thing for sure.
This was going to be an interesting flight.
Chapter Seven
“The Molokai express?”
Donavan nodded emphatically. “Yes, ma’am. Darn near got myself drowned that time.”
Shannon couldn’t get over this gentleman’s wild tales of growing up on Oahu. “I’m guessing you joined the Navy?”
His eyebrows arched. “No way. I’ve seen enough saltwater to last a lifetime. Always wanted to be a Green Beret and see the world. I joined the Army.”
“Cool. So you’re a Green Beret.”
He shook his head. “Not quite. When I aced the ASVAB—umm, that’s the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test, ma’am. Anyway, I scored high in math and mechanical comprehension, so they kinda helped me decide my MOS—umm, that’s my military occupational specialty, in case you didn’t know that neither. Plus I can shoot a pea out of a peapod at a thousand paces without blinking an eye. Guess it’s a gift. I don’t know. So I kinda volunteered for Ranger School. The rest is history.”
She relaxed into her comfortable leather seat. Donavan had an easy-going way about him, and he told the funniest stories. One minute he was being rescued from the strongest current in the world just off the island of Oahu, and the next he was tangling with a feral mother pig and her piglets near a sugar plantation.
“What’s the difference between being a Ranger and the Green Beret?” she asked. “I thought they were the same.”
“Nope. Any eighteen-year-old dumb butt—umm... geez. I’m sure sorry I said that, ma’am,” he apologized quickly. “I mean, pretty much any kid joining the Army can apply to be a Ranger when he enlists. It don’t always mean he gets to be one, but a guy can try. Rangers are mostly light infantry. They handle ’most everything the Green Berets do, like all the raids and ambushes and stuff, but to be a Beret, you got to serve three years first. It ain’t for lightweights and mama’s boys. Nosirree. Them guys go through tough training for guerilla warfare and subversion and stuff like that. Course there’s also the Delta Force guys, but they’re just plain scary. I didn’t want to be one of them. I just wanted to shoot.”
“Geez, Donavan. Give her a break,” Izza spoke up from the row behind them. “You’re talking Miss Reagan’s ears off with all that Army mumbo-jumbo.”
Shannon glanced over her shoulder. Izza smiled back, her dark brown eyes inviting girl-talk. “Haven’t you had enough of all his stories yet?”
“I’m learning a lot about the Army,” Shannon admitted.
Izza rolled her eyes at that understatement. The team Alex Stewart had put together was unlike any Shannon had worked with before. A definite air of camaraderie replaced the pettiness and power struggles she’d witnessed when she travelled with her father’s entourage. She wasn’t sure who was in charge of this team, Adam, Connor, or Izza. They were all on a first-name basis and one acted as casual as the next. They all picked on Donavan, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“You got any kids?” Izza asked.
“No, ahh, I don’t.” Shannon cringed. Why would Izza ask such a thing? Do I already look pregnant? “Do you?”
“Yeah. Come back here and sit with me. I’ve got pictures.”
Shannon looked to Donavan to explain why she was changing seats, but his eyes were closed and he had his earphones on, his head bobbing. She moved to sit with Connor’s wife.
“See this one?” Izza handed her cell phone to Shannon. “That little stinker there is my first. Jamie. She needs glasses already, and she’s only three.”
“Oh, my gosh. She’s adorable.” Shannon studied the dark-haired little girl who looked exactly like her proud mother. Jamie sat in a cart full of bright, orange pumpkins, dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt, her arms around the pumpkin in her lap, and a huge grin on her face. A child’s pair of wire-rimmed spectacles balanced crookedly off her upturned nose. A little girl couldn’t have looked cuter.
“And this is Braxton.” Izza scrolled the screen to the right. She was just a proud mother, her voice soft and sappy. Cutie-pie Braxton, also dark-haired, sat on a small red tricycle in jeans and a T-shirt, a baseball cap that proudly declared Daddy’s Little Helper over the brim.
“Aww, he’s darling. You and Connor make beautiful babies.” Shannon relaxed. Maybe she’d find herself sharing pictures of her baby with a complete stranger some day too.
Izza ducked into her side like she was just another girlfriend. “Connor’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” she confided. “Don’t know what I’d do without him, but don’t tell him. Stuff like that always goes to a guy’s head, know what I mean?”
Shannon glanced across the aisle to where Connor and Adam sat chatting about some upcoming NASCAR race in Richmond, Virginia. Adam was a sight for sore eyes. He made those denim jeans and that black polo look good. A solid ten. He filled that comfy recliner passenger seat, too. The second she looked his way, his eyes caught hers. His whole face it with a genuine happy-to-see-you smile. She gulped, jerking her gaze away. All of a sudden, she was back in high school stealing one of those glances. Her face flushed all the way to her toes. An embarrassed shiver scrunched her shoulders. Does he like me?
“Are you okay?” Izza’s bright perceptive eyes didn’t miss a beat.
“I think I might still have a touch of the flu.” Shannon wasn’t going to admit to anything. “I’ll be right back.”
“Uh-huh, yeah. Bring a couple Cokes and maybe some peanuts or pretzels, okay? I’ll show you my wedding pictures.”
“Sure.” Shannon eased out of her seat, gripping the armrest for support and making sure not to look in Adam’s direction. The sight of that man did things to her libido she couldn’t explain. Besides, she was pregnant. Unhappily maybe, but definitely carrying another man’s baby. Nothing interesting was going to happen in that department for a long—long—time.
Thankful for the smooth ride of her father’s specially designed jet aircraft, Shannon made her way easily to the restroom in the rear of the plane. Unlike commercial airlines, this bathroom boasted more room, a porcelain sink and toilet bowl instead of the stainless-steel version. Just beyond the restroom, the galley sported a suicide bench for the sole flight attendant.
She smiled at the young man sitting there. “Hi. I haven’t seen you before. I’m Shannon. You are...”
“Mr. Dillon Lorenzo,
at your service, ma’am.” He jumped to his feet, offering a mock salute with a big cheesy grin. Black curly hair topped his head, but his green eyes caught her attention. “Everyone knows you, Miss Reagan. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“Oh, and just so you know, I’ll be serving a light lunch in a few minutes.” He winked as he flirted. “Would you prefer the herb-crusted lamb or the filet mignon?”
“Do you have any soup onboard?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled the small refrigerator open. “Let me see what’s in here today. Looks like French onion, lobster bisque, or roasted tomato. Which would you prefer?”
“The tomato, if you don’t mind.”
“No, ma’am. No trouble at all.”
She lingered at the restroom door. This young man seemed so eager to talk, and she didn’t really need the facilities anyway, just to get away from Izza’s female intuition before she honed in on Shannon’s pregnancy. “So, Mr. Dillon Lorenzo, what do you do when you’re not accompanying me and my guests to Hawaii?”
“I’ve got big plans.” He grinned, his arm relaxed on the open refrigerator door. “After college, I plan to join the Air Force and be a pilot.”
His enthusiasm touched her heart. “That’s a good plan. What kind of fighter jet do you want to fly?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not fighters, ma’am. You’ll think I’m crazy, but I’d love to try my hand at one of those K-135 refueling tankers. I know they’re not as glamorous as the F-16 Fighting Falcons or the F-117 Nighthawks, but it’s the plane for me. I’d be serving my country and all those hotshot fighter pilots, too. Seems like the best of both worlds, if you ask me.”
“Are you married?”
Again with the cheesy smile. “Are you asking me for a date? You interested?” he teased, and she had to laugh. Dillon was charming.
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