“All right.”
“Give me ten minutes to change clothes and get my tools, Taggart. You’ll have her wait?”
The FBI agent nodded and as Spence made his way to the rest rooms at the opposite end of the command center, he felt Suzanne’s eyes on him with quiet curiosity, but he didn’t care if she could see how he felt about Kelly. All he cared about was letting Kelly know she wasn’t alone. He hated the idea of her going out to meet Hart, but she wasn’t going to go without knowing she had his support.
Spence changed into his prison garb and armed himself with his Glock, the Dagen wrench and the handcuff keys in seven minutes flat. He would go out to the plane dressed in the navy coveralls the food service guys wore and he’d pick those up when he rendezvoused with the food truck. But first he had to see Kelly.
She was waiting outside, behind the command post and out of Hart’s view. The warm sunshine did nothing to add color to her pale, drawn face. Seeing her lush curves bulked up by the bulletproof vest, the riot helmet covering her dark silky hair caused Spence’s heart to thump hard against his chest. He wanted to take her in his arms, to take her away from here.
She turned and he saw determination fighting the fear in her eyes. A silent message passed between them and he covered the distance between them in two strides. “Everything okay?” he murmured, reaching for her hand.
She nodded, but up close he could see the anxiety dilating her eyes, the waxy sheen of her face.
One of the female FBI agents said gently, “Miss Jackson, we’ll wait around the corner. You can have a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze never leaving Spence’s. She seemed to want something from him and he was all too willing to give her whatever it was. Her gaze skimmed over him, igniting that heat in his body despite the circumstances. “You changed clothes?”
He grinned. “Gotta look like a bad guy.”
She reached up and touched his face, her gaze locked on him as if memorizing every detail.
Pressing his hand tightly into her side as if she funneled strength from him, she guided him to the corner of the command post.
Spence stopped, backing into the trailer and pulling Kelly into him. “Are you really all right?”
“Yes.” Her hand gripped his tight.
“About last night?”
She drew in a surprised breath, color flushing her cheeks.
“I know it’s fast, Kelly, but there’s something between us, something special. I’ve never believed in that love-at-first-sight stuff, but I’m starting to.”
She hesitated, folding his hand against her breast, lifting her other hand to his face. “I told myself I’d never be swept off my feet again.”
“We’ll go slow. I like slow.” His voice lowered. “You like slow.”
She blushed and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He rested his forehead against hers, ignoring the hard plastic of the helmet she wore. He savored the subtle floral scent of her, the lithe curves of her body against his. He hated the bulk of the bulletproof vest, hated the helmet that kept him from touching her hair. It only made him doubly determined to get on that plane and squash Hart like the bug he was. “When this is over and I get off that plane, I’d like to take you out.”
Her eyes widened. “Like a date?”
“Like a date. We’ll go to dinner. Or dancing. Whatever you want.”
“You dance?” She tilted her head.
He shrugged. “I will. For you.”
She smiled tentatively, looking down at his hand entwined with hers, pressed against her breast.
“What do you say?” He cupped her shoulders, ran his hands up and down her arms. “Something happened between us last night and I liked it.”
“So did I,” she admitted with a slow smile that wrapped around his heart.
Encouraged, he skimmed his lips over her temple. “We’re going to meet back here and I’m going to make you forget you ever knew Carl Hart.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “You’ve got a date.”
He kissed her, gently at first, feeling a part of himself break off at the thought of her walking out to meet that monster on the plane. She gave a small sob and her free arm hooked around his neck, anchored her to him as she kissed him hard and fierce. He didn’t want to let go of her for even a second, though his hands itched to touch her everywhere. His mind wanted to memorize every inch, hold on to that until he held her in his arms again. But one of the female agents stepped around the corner.
“Marshal Cantrell?”
“Coming,” he said harshly, not caring if they could hear the want and frustration in his voice.
Kelly kissed him again, quickly, then swiped at a tear on her cheek. He took both her hands in his, shifted until he was on her eye level. “I’m with you, honey. This is all going to be over very soon.”
She nodded, squeezing his hands tight.
“You’ve got more guts than any woman I know.”
That earned him a small laugh. “Right.”
He kissed her forehead and walked with her to the back side of the command post, still out of Hart’s view. Despite the fact that his heart was tearing in two, he managed to give her a thumbs up as she walked over to the waiting agents. When she waved, he moved to his car and drove across the tarmac to the maintenance shed where he would meet up with the food service truck.
Get on the plane. Get Hart. Get out. Then he and Kelly could get on with the rest of their lives. We will do that, Kelly. Spence made a silent vow to the woman whose image grew smaller in his rearview mirror.
Spence was not the same as Carl. What Kelly felt for Spence was different, too, than what she’d ever felt for her ex. More layered, more…certain. Even as she told herself that maybe she shouldn’t trust it, it was only the promise of seeing Spence after all was said and done that enabled her legs to work as she stepped onto the expansive tarmac fifteen minutes later after the promised twenty-five hostages hurried off the plane.
Six men, decked out in the same gear she was and then some, formed a V behind her. Men she didn’t know, but who were sworn to protect her. Her gaze searched the tarmac, then paused on the food truck heading back from the marshals’ hijacked plane. No sign of Spence. He was already on board, maybe even making a move on Carl.
She closed her eyes, taking strength in that remembered kiss, feeling again the steady grip of his hand. Her gaze shot a hundred feet across the tarmac, up the metal steps leading to the open doorway of the white plane. The thin blue stripes down its side wavered in the bright sunlight. No sign of Carl. What was she supposed to do?
“Walk out about fifty feet, ma’am. Let him see you.”
She nodded, but she could hardly make her legs move. Shoot, she could hardly breathe.
Carl’s voice crackled over the speaker Taggart had told her the FBI had rigged. “Start walking, Kelly, and leave your buddies behind.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see the black-suited bodies stop. Nerves pulsing rawly, she took a step without them, then another, holding the clear body shield in front of her as instructed.
“Stop, ma’am,” one of the men said and her legs locked as if a switch had been flipped.
Taggart’s voice boomed across the tarmac. “She’s not coming any closer, Hart, until you show yourself.”
Seconds crawled by, tension building on the tarmac, magnified so much that she thought she could hear the men behind her breathing. The sun beat down on her; inside her layers of protective gear, sweat slicked her body which felt numb and weightless. Then someone appeared in the doorway of the plane.
Two people, actually. One almost directly in front of the other, obscuring the second one’s face. Sunlight glinted off something at the first man’s waist and she realized it was his badge. A marshal. Then she saw the gun, screwed into the marshal’s ear.
Carl peered around the marshal’s head and it felt as if someone had pulled her heart out of her chest. Images ricocheted through her min
d—tearing, painful images. Panic skittered through her. She didn’t think she could do this.
She thought of Spence on the plane. In place. Ready to take Carl down.
A sudden click sounded on the still, quiet air, making her jump. Her gaze locked on her ex.
“Get up these steps, Kelly, or I’ll kill this man.”
She knew he would. Recalling every bit of love her mother had ever showered on her, the new feelings she’d experienced with Spence, she somehow managed to move on wooden legs. Sweat chilled her body.
Spence would jump Carl any minute, she told herself. He just needed her to buy him a little time. She took a step, then another, stopping at the foot of the metal stairs.
The flight of steps seemed horrifyingly short now. Her gaze met the somber one of the marshal, shifted to the gun drilled into his ear. With an eerie realization, she knew suddenly that Carl wanted something from her. Something he couldn’t get if she were dead.
Maybe she could talk him out of the doorway. Maybe Spence or the snipers could get a shot at him.
“What are you doing, Kelly? Get up here,” Carl snapped, his gaze darting to the HRT team behind her, over to the FBI command center.
“I’ve met you more than halfway, Carl.” Her voice shook, but she forced the words out. “You come out here and say what you want.”
“I’ve got a gun, dammit.”
She swallowed hard. She started to take another step, then sucked in a breath when he moved outside. There wasn’t a millimeter of space between him and the man he used as a shield, but Kelly kept hoping the snipers could somehow get a shot. “What do you want, Carl?”
“You, darling.”
Just the silky way he said it made her skin crawl.
“I’ve been thinking about you ever since I got stuck in that hellhole of a prison.”
She swallowed hard, still could see only one side of her ex’s face, the high cheekbone, the cold eye. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she said, “You can’t win, Carl. Just surrender before you make it worse on yourself.”
She dared not search the space behind Carl for Spence’s dark head.
Carl pushed the man in front of him down a couple of steps, his body still completely covered by the marshal’s. “Kelly, get your pretty butt up here right now or this guy’s dead.”
“Carl—”
“No more stalling. Do what I say.”
She could tell by the sudden stillness of the marshal that he felt a change in Carl. Shifting to edge up the stairs and still covering herself with the body shield, she put her foot on the next step, expecting to see Spence any minute right behind Carl.
Only three steps separated her from Carl now. A warning flashed in the marshal’s eyes a split second before it happened. Kelly didn’t even have time to react.
Carl shoved the marshal, who stumbled into her. The body shield clattered to the concrete when she reflexively reached up to break the man’s fall. Carl’s hand bit into her wrist. She screamed. He dragged her up the steps, folding his body behind hers.
The marshal grabbed at the flimsy rail and tried to keep from pitching headfirst onto the concrete. Kelly screamed again, struggling, lashing out in an effort to hit Carl. Why didn’t someone help her? Where was the pilot? Spence?
Pinning her to the front of him, Carl dragged them both up the steps and fell back into the doorway, leaving only her calves and feet visible, his body covered by hers.
“All bets are off, Hart,” she heard Taggart bellow.
Carl scrambled for the radio mike, his fingers biting into her shoulder. “Go ahead, Taggart, but if you disable this plane, Kelly’s dead. I don’t need her alive. I just need her body. And I just gave you another hostage.”
Taggart cursed.
“You’ve got five minutes to get the rest of that damn debris off the taxiway,” Carl snapped.
The PA system went dead.
Carl got to his feet, tearing the riot helmet from her head and grabbing a handful of hair as he stepped over her, kicked her feet out of the way and slammed the door shut. “Now.”
He yanked at her hair and she scrambled up quickly, using the wall at her back for support. Her scalp burned; tears pricked her eyes.
For the first time in two and a half years, she faced the man she’d put in prison. The man who looked as if he was ready to send her back to hell.
Spence cursed, trying the rusted bolt again. He’d removed the first inspection plate without problem, deactivated the weapons sensor and crawled through the passageway toward the belly of the plane. Now, ready to slip into the passenger compartment, Spence couldn’t get this damn bolt loosened.
Sweat trickled down his spine; his heart thundered in his ears. He felt the bolt give, then jam again. Damn! He hoped Hart was still talking to Kelly. Urgency churned inside him. He worked the wrench again, his muscles burning. The dim whirr of machinery penetrated his concentration, but he couldn’t identify the noise and didn’t pause to try. Long, agonizing seconds passed while he cursed the frozen bolt, sweat stinging his eyes. Finally the damn thing gave.
As the plane shuddered and moved slowly forward, he removed the second inspection plate and poked his head through a hole in the floor. He could see straight down the narrow aisle of the passenger compartment. All clear.
He quickly lifted himself out of the passageway and rolled into a dark corner. Easing to his feet, he stepped into a pocket behind the thin, fabric-covered wall. He shimmied out of the navy coveralls, wrapped the Dagen wrench and penlight in them, then stuffed them into the corner.
Now, dressed in the white T-shirt and khaki pants of the other prisoners, he double-checked the safety on his Glock and tucked it into the small of his back. He peered around the corner. Still clear.
Creeping past the back lavatory, the back seat rows, his gaze went first up to the front door of the plane. It was shut and there was no sign of Hart.
The prisoners, roughly a third of the original one hundred and eight, were scattered throughout the front half of the plane. Still shackled, Spence noted with relief. Hart really didn’t trust any of them not to interfere with his agenda, whatever the hell it was. Spence quickly counted the additional eleven personnel he could see. Besides eight marshals, it included two legal techs and a nurse. The pilot and copilot up in the cockpit made thirteen. There was no marshal close enough yet for Spence to slip the handcuff key.
The engines’ drone rose to a shriek as the plane jerked into motion, steadily notching up its speed. The machinery he’d heard while working in the passageway must have been the dozers clearing the remainder of the debris from the taxiway, per Hart’s demands. Spence wished he knew what the hell was going on, but takeoff or no takeoff, his job was to get Hart.
Where the hell was the bastard? What had happened when he spoke to Kelly? Spence was trusting—okay, hoping like hell—that Taggart had kept Kelly safe, that she was back with the HRT guys.
Having no clue where Hart was, Spence moved forward as far as possible, keeping an eye on all the convicts in front of him. He passed empty row after empty row until he reached the one behind the side exit doors. Since no one else was moving around, Spence would be a bull’s eye if Hart suddenly appeared. The plane lifted into the air and Spence slipped into the aisle seat to his immediate right.
Muscles braced, senses heightened against any sudden moves from Hart, Spence took stock of the plane, tried to get his bearings.
A dark-haired man across the aisle slanted a look at him through narrowed gray eyes. Spence recognized him from the pictures he’d pulled on all the prisoners. Ryder Hamilton. Fully prepared to buy the man’s silence with his Glock if necessary, Spence leveled a look on the convict. After a long minute, Hamilton clamped his jaw tight and shifted his gaze to the front of the plane, saying nothing.
Spence scanned the rows ahead of him, noting where his men were positioned. Most were in front of, or in the same row as the prisoners, but there were two who sat only three rows up from Spe
nce, in the middle seats on each side of the aisle. All the marshals were shackled with the same belly and ankle chains, just like the prisoners. Until he knew where Hart was, Spence couldn’t risk moving to give them a handcuff key, couldn’t risk the hijacker stepping out in front of or behind him.
He shoved his gun under the adjoining seat cushion, then took one of the black boxes designed to cover cuffs and prevent prisoners from unlocking them if they happened to get a key. He’d just arranged it over the loosely draped shackles at his wrist when a movement at the front of the plane caught his attention. Arranging his features in the same flat mask as Hamilton’s, he looked up. Saw Hart step out of the cockpit. Behind him was—
Spence’s heart stopped.
Kelly! What the hell had happened?
Chapter 5
Forcing himself to think, to breathe through the crush of fury and disbelief, Spence knew he couldn’t make a move. Hart had Kelly right in front of him; she would take the brunt of anything Spence did. As his mind raced through every option he could dredge up, Hart’s gaze locked on him like a radar. Hell.
Shoving Kelly down the aisle in front of him, Carl stopped at Spence. Refusing to allow his gaze to linger on Kelly’s waxy, drawn features, Spence glimpsed the brilliant relief in her eyes before she stumbled and caught herself. Hart twisted her arm and she winced.
Spence dug the fingernails of one hand into his other palm, remaining in his seat by sheer force of will. He couldn’t go for Hart or his gun. Hart, the shrewd piece of scum, was using Kelly as his own personal body shield. Kelly, Spence noted with relief, kept her gaze straight ahead. She was so close Spence could smell her soft wildflower scent, see the way her slender body quivered.
“Who the hell are you?” Carl snarled.
“Cantrell,” Spence said in a rough voice, amazed he could get words between his clenched teeth.
“When did you get on this plane? I don’t know you.”
Kelly’s body between them meant Spence couldn’t jump the bastard, but it also worked in his favor by preventing Carl a good look at Spence’s hastily arranged shackles. He shrugged. “You let more than half of us off the plane. You memorize every one of our faces?”
Special Report Page 14