"All right. You're right. I joined the military, like I told you. I picked up some skills in Afghanistan, and when I got back, I was approached by the FBI to go in undercover as a security expert at one of Dominick's Chicago warehouses."
His eyes were fixed on the horizon, and his recitation was dull and flat, like it was an explanation he'd given many times before.
"The goal was to get on his good side and then document evidence of the illegal shit he'd been orchestrating and build a case against him. I am bad luck, apparently, because two months ago, Dominick gave orders that I was supposed to do my first big job for him. I was overseeing the transfer of some serious weaponry to a pickup location and there was a faulty brakeline or something, because next thing I knew, the whole semi was going up like the Fourth of July.
"Whatever happened, the guy that was with me freaked out—it's kind of hard to hide an explosion like that on the side of a Chicago highway. He was hollering sabotage, panicking, blaming me. Then the police showed up. He shot one deputy in the thigh and was aiming for the other officer when I put a bullet in his head. I saved two lives, but after that night, I became a target for Dominick and Nate had to help me disappear. I thought since so much time had passed and no one knows where the hell Kalamazoo is anyway, it'd be safe to show up at Jack's wedding, but apparently Dominick knew how to find me. His guy was told to make a statement by going after someone close to me. Since I was in your apartment, they assumed that was you. You know the rest. However unfair it is, you're part of this now, and we've got to finish it."
Something flickered in his face for a moment, but it was gone before I could decipher it. I was smothered by guilt. It was obvious he blamed himself for everything and it was equally obvious that none of it was his fault, or even remotely within his control.
"Chance," I said softly, stepping toward him, but he stepped away and started back for the Buick.
"Let's go. We're taking R.J. to a friend's house down the road. His wife's a retired nurse. And then we need to get to Vegas."
I pictured Julian in my mind. He had to be alive and okay. If not— I couldn't think about it or I'd start screaming again.
I headed for the car.
Chapter 17
Once we we'd dropped R.J. at his friends' house and given a vague explanation of how he'd come by the gash on his head, we were back on the highway and conversation was stilted, at best. I was still buried in fear, and who knew what was happening behind Chance's stoic front. When his phone rang, shattering the fragile stillness, a chill slid up my spine.
"You've got to change that ring tone," I said. "I'm never going to be able to listen to Lynrd Skynrd again."
"It's Nate," he said shortly, before answering.
I relaxed a little, staring out the window at the endless fields blurring by. We'd been driving for a few hours, and while it was still all sunshine and blue skies outside, the landscape was dead boring. I missed trees.
Beside me, Chance was bringing Nate up to speed on the most recent happenings. He was silent for a few moments and then, shockingly, he started to laugh. Slapping the steering wheel, he looked at me and grinned.
"It's about time you got a haircut anyway."
Nate's reply, "Screw you," was loud, but Chance hung up still smiling.
"What?" I asked, suspicious at his abrupt mood change.
"You ever been on an airplane?"
Not surprisingly, it was a crazy plan that had no chance in hell of doing anything but pissing off Dominick even more when it was discovered, but since it was all we had, we went with it.
Turns out that Nate's FBI partner. Tanya Pennington, looked a little like me, if you squinted and put on someone else's prescription glasses. She was about my height, light-complected, and with similar curves in the right places, but that was where the resemblance ended. Tanya was a blonde Viking goddess with ice blue eyes and a chip on her shoulder the size of a Volkswagen Bug.
When we first came face-to-face in the ladies room of the diner Nate and Chance had arranged to meet at, she stared me down from her lofty height of maybe 5'8" to my 5'7".
"The way you dress is absolutely ridiculous."
Her rudeness startled a laugh out of me. Deliberately, I eyed her very boring, very FBI-ish getup and raised one eyebrow. "That's big talk coming from someone with the fashion sense of a baked potato."
She had on a trim khaki pantsuit with a jacket tailored to hide the lines of the holster I was sure was snugged under her coat. Beneath was a crisp white blouse, and she had a pair of very sensible brown low-heeled shoes on. She wore very little makeup (not that she needed it with that perfect skin, I admitted grudgingly to myself) and her short-bobbed haircut would have been cute with some wispy bangs to soften it, but instead left her looking severe and a little mannish.
Patrician nostrils flared, she stepped forward to roughly shove an oversized brown Prada purse at me. "Get dressed," she ordered. "We don't have a lot of time if this is going to work."
Peeking inside, I saw more khaki-colored material. "What, do you have a closet full of these suits?"
She didn't deign to reply, which I took to mean yes, and stepped into the handicapped stall, shutting the door briskly behind her. Awesome. That left me to change in one of the miniscule regular stalls.
I tossed my own cream canvas tote over to her, smiling to myself as I heard a thud and a curse. Quickly, I stripped out of my clothes and into the pantsuit Tanya had provided. There was a short blonde wig and thankfully, some deodorant and a hairbrush in the bottom of the bag. I was in desperate need of the last two. I slathered the deodorant on thick, and then plaited my hair into two braids and pinned them up so they wouldn't show under the wig.
When I stepped out and looked in the mirror, I giggled a little. It was like playing dress-up. I used the hairbrush to fix a couple of flyaway blonde strands. "Did you get lost in there?" I called over to the other stall.
Tanya grunted and opened the door. She had her own wig, one that almost matched my color exactly. From beneath its auburn bangs, her Nordic blue eyes glared daggers at me.
The outfit I'd brought her was one of my favorites. It was cute and flirty, a crisp grass green floral pattern on a cream background, and styled like a 50's housedress, full skirt hitting at mid-calf, nipped in at the waist, green buttons marching up the front to a cream-lapelled vee, and topped off with tiny cap sleeves.
"It's a good look on you," I said, enjoying Tanya's obvious discomfort at the girliness of the outfit. The dress really did fit her like a dream, emphasizing a surprisingly tiny waist. And the extra inch of height she had on me, plus the matching platform espadrilles, made her legs look even longer and slimmer.
"It's stupid," she said sourly. "This whole idea is stupid. There's no place to put my gun. And how do you wear your hair with an idiotic outfit like this?"
"How about blame your partner for the stupidity of this effort, since it was his idea, and maybe get a garter for the gun," I suggested.
Tanya snorted and pulled out a gun that you couldn't strap to a hippo's leg with a bungee cord, much less conceal on her skinny thigh. "You watch too many movies. This is my gun," she said with some pride.
I whistled between my teeth. "I guess you'll want to keep that in the bag, then. As for the hair, I'd go with a French twist," I said. "Keep things simple." Since her regular hair probably required nothing except a wash and go in the morning and I figured she probably didn't know how, I did it for her, affixing the whole thing with a sturdy handful of bobby pins. I didn't want it coming down on her—she'd probably drag the poor wig off and shoot it.
Tanya huffed and puffed and put on an impatient tough-gal show, but I saw her checking out her reflection a couple times in the mirror out of the corner of her eye.
"So, what next?" I asked, once we were done.
"You leave first," she said. "The check's been paid. Go out the front door and there will be a black SUV in the third parking spot to the left. Get in and wait for Atkins. T
hen, you'll head to a local airstrip a few miles from here and take a charter plane the rest of the way."
"And you guys will take the Roadmaster and be decoys?"
"No," Tanya said disdainfully. "You're a civilian and you're being removed from the situation. Nathan and I will pose as you and Chance long enough to gain entrance to Dominick's compound. By the time he figures things out, we'll have the hostage secured and Dominick in custody."
"Don't forget," I warned her. "That hostage happens to be my friend and a fragile old man. You two had better know what you're doing."
I walked through the restaurant, feeling like a complete fraud in my disguise, half-expecting one of Dominick's men to drop his cheese Danish and grab me, but none of the diners even glanced at me as I exited the front doors. The SUV was where Tanya said it would be, and I climbed in.
A few minutes later, Chance came out. I recognized his purposeful stride immediately, but I guess anyone else that hadn't studied his every move might have mistaken him for Nate. He was dressed in a black suit, white dress shirt and striped tie, and with his tanned skin, I had to admit, he did look sort of like Nate. Except for the missing ponytail.
"What about the hair?" I asked, as he got in the driver's seat.
Chance eyed me. "I don't know, I like your outfits better, but that short blonde thing is kind of hot."
I crossed my arms. "I was talking about Nate's ponytail, moron."
"I know. Just watch."
A moment later, Nate and Tanya left the restaurant. Tanya was walking with an exaggerated swivel to her hips. In the dress, she looked like a hot Fifties housewife out on the prowl. "I hope she realizes that I don't walk like that," I commented.
"Maybe you should," Chance said appreciatively. I punched him in the arm.
Slightly behind Tanya, Nate was running the fingers of one hand self-consciously through hair now cropped short like Chance's. I noticed, though, that his eyes, too, were glued to the swing on Tanya's back porch. Men. Didn't he know that wench was impersonating me? And I didn't care how tiny her waist was. The girl's butt was flat. It was just the flounce in the back of the skirt that made it look bigger.
Shaking his head, Chance started the engine and backed out of the parking spot. I couldn't watch the two of them get into my Buick. I'd probably never see it again, and I tried to remember that I could buy another project car when this was all over. Not a Roadmaster, because nothing could replace my Buick, but maybe a Hudson. I'd seen a '48 Commodore at a classic car show last summer that tickled my fancy. It wouldn't be the same but I could make it mine.
"Are we really just going to go someplace and wait until they call us and give us the all-clear?" I asked Chance as he turned out of the parking lot.
"I don't like it any more than you do," he replied. "But they're the professionals."
Chapter 18
My first plane ride was an experience to remember. A taciturn pilot in dark blue coveralls ushered us on board and fitted us both with headsets to dull the deafening roar of the engine in the tiny Cessna. Chance showed me how to press a button in the side to communicate. I tried to ignore the brush of the back of his hand on my breast as he buckled me in to the three-point safety belt. It didn't work. If I hadn't had the shapeless beige jacket on, he would have seen my nipples jump to red alert through the fabric of the sheer white shirt.
"This is weird," I said nervously, testing the headset, my voice sounding tinny in my own ears.
"Don't worry about it." Chance's deep voice was reassuring, and it was strange to see his lips move and then hear the sound through the earphones on a slight delay.
We headed down what looked like an impossibly short runway, really just a strip of dirt in a grassy field, and my stomach did a little backflip while the ground dropped away below us. Pretty soon, the parking lot was just a postage stamp, with fields stretching off in each direction. I'd never flown in anything before, but it was a lot smoother-feeling than I'd expected. Pretty exhilarating, actually, once I got used to the sensation.
The pilot came over the intercom and gruffly let us know that we'd be there in a couple hours, but that there were some spring storms between Iowa and Vegas and things might get bumpy in a little while. That didn't sound fun. Seeing my face fall, Chance took my hand. I wished we were on a bench seat instead of buckled into individual bucket seats. But he didn't let go, despite our clasp being stretched awkwardly across the space between us. I felt like I was sitting with a grade school boyfriend in the back of Mom's station wagon, but it was a sweet gesture and I was grateful for the callused warmth of his palm pressed to mine.
Sure enough, about an hour later, the clouds began to pile up and darken in the distance. I wanted to talk to Chance to take my mind off what was going on outside the windows, but I didn't want the pilot to know I was scared. Chance squeezed my hand again, and started making light, slow little circles on my wrist with his thumb, distracting me. It worked. When I pulled my attention from the building thunderheads we were steadily heading toward and looked at him, he was watching me with an unfathomable expression on his face. I shivered at the sensations his thumb was causing, sending tingles up my arm with each soft brush against my skin.
We were still caught up in that charged look when the airplane abruptly dropped like a stone. My terrified gaze flew to the back of the pilot's head as he started messing with the controls. He lifted his right hand from what he was doing to briefly depress the communication button on his headset. "Wind shears from the warm front we're going in to."
How could I have forgotten—my stupid luck! It was ironic, just like that Alannis Morrisette song: "He won the lottery and died the next day." This was it. I was a goner.
Dropping Chance's hand, I fumbled with the fastenings on my seat belt. Before he could stop me, I got it undone. He started saying something into my headset, but I yanked mine off, and then his, leaving them to bounce and dangle from the spirally cords attaching them to the ceiling. Then I climbed into his lap, straddling him.
Chance's look was priceless as I captured his face in my hands, his dark stubble lightly scratching against my palms. He was yelling something at me furiously, but the roar in the back of the cabin of the little aircraft was too much to make out what it was. His firm, warm lips were still moving when I locked my mouth to his and I bit his lower lip hard to make him stop.
Whatever Chance was saying, it didn't take him long to forget it. His hands came up, knocking my blonde wig off. It took him about four seconds to loosen my braids and send my hair cascading down in random waves and kinks. His hands tangled in the mess, anchoring at the back of my head.
Then, he took over the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside my mouth, and simultaneously rocking his hips upward so that I could feel how hard he already was. He tasted so good, and it was like the kiss in the gym ten years ago all over again. The Cessna climbed a little, then gave another dip and shimmied to the right. I was dizzy, but not from the aerial acrobatics. Who the hell cared that we were crashing at this point? We were going out in style.
Chance untangled one hand and dropped it to my waistband, untucking the neat white shirt. Sliding his hand roughly up my stomach, around my ribcage and up my back, he unclasped my bra with a quick flick of his fingers. I groaned and traced my tongue lightly over his lips as he slipped his big palm back to my front and under my now-loose bra and cupped one heavy, aching breast. When he teased his thumb over the taut nipple, I almost came right there and rubbed myself hard against the strong ridge that strained against his jeans. I was hot and wet and ready, fumbling for Chance's zipper… and then I was tumbling sideways off his lap to land in a heap, half on the floor and half on my own seat.
Turns out, we weren't dying after all. In fact, our jerk of a pilot had managed to get the plane under control while we were steaming things up in the back. Lacking any other way to get our attention, he had dipped hard to the left.
Chance pulled me to my feet and I slumped down in my own seat, fastening my se
atbelt as fast as I could. My cheeks were still flushed and my breath coming in hard gasps, and I was glad to see that this time, Chance wasn't any more in control than I was. He had his headset back on, but wasn't paying any attention to the pilot, who was gesturing wildly and obviously supremely pissed. Instead, Chance was looking at me intensely, his eyes molten green.
The expression in them warned me that we had unfinished business that he couldn't wait to settle up.
Chapter 19
When we landed at a private airstrip outside of Vegas, our pilot was still yelling about how stupid we were and that he didn't want us on one of his planes ever again. I wasn't sorry to see the last of him as I followed Chance to where a car waited to take us to a hotel.
"Fisher," Chance called out. "How'd you get here so quick?"
Now that I had a chance to really see him, the thin young guy that had been camped outside my apartment looked more like a college student that spent his time eating pizza and playing Black Ops in a college dorm room somewhere than he did an FBI agent. He had on a loose green Mowglis t-shirt and baggy pants that sagged around his hips. Tennis shoes on his feet, instead of the shiny tasseled loafers I had imagined were standard FBI footwear, rumpled brown hair and wire-framed glasses completed the picture of someone's slightly-dorky kid brother.
Fisher had a nice smile, though, and he slapped Chance on the shoulder with what seemed like genuine affection. "Flew in a couple hours ago," he said. "Tired as hell, but Nate brought me up to speed on the new plan and figured I should be here.
He held out a hand to me and I shook it. He had a strong grip for a skinny guy. "Lucky, right?"
"Not very often, but yeah that's me," I answered.
"Well, you sure were lucky on the highway yesterday," he said admiringly. "Where'd you learn to drive like that and where were you headed in such a hurry?"
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