Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(59)

“Yes.” She nodded emphatically. Yes, yes, yes. She was well aware of that fact. It’d been brought up enough in the last twenty-four hours.

“Do you know what he did?” Agent Duvall eyed her curiously.

“He was an engineer or a technician or something.”

Chelsea laughed. “Yeah. Or something.” Blowing out a breath that barely ruffled the short, dark bangs hanging over her forehead, she said, “Now, it goes without saying that what I’m about to tell you guys is highly classified.”

Highly classified. People really used that phrase?

“We have clearance,” Zoelner growled. “We’ve had clearance from the get-go. Probably higher clearance than you have, come to think of it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chelsea waved him off. “You’ve already bent me over. There’s no reason to break it off up in there, too.”

“I just don’t enjoy getting pissed on from a great height.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “And cue sad, slide whistle sound.”

Delilah saw Zoelner’s hands clench and heard him whisper something under his breath. She couldn’t quite make it out, but Ozzie obviously could. “Whoa,” Ozzie said, stepping back, his gaze darting between the CIA agent and the ex–CIA agent. “Shots fired. Shots fired.”

“Uh-huh.” Chelsea nodded, so much heat in her eyes Delilah was surprised Zoelner’s eyebrows didn’t burst into flames. Obviously, she’d heard what Zoelner said, too. “Well, you might want to pack a coat for your stay at the Moral Highground, Z. I’ve heard it’s quite chilly up there.”

“Cut the shit, Chelsea.” Zoelner leaned in until his nose was barely an inch from hers.

“You better back the hell off,” Chelsea growled, “or I’m liable to do something to you that’ll make walking impossible.”

“Come sip from the cup of destruction. I dare you.”

Delilah watched as Chelsea changed tactics. Instead of making good on her threat, she batted her lashes, smiling like a debutante. “Oh, Z,” she said breathlessly, “you had me at destruction.”

Ozzie choked. Mac groaned. And Delilah couldn’t tear her eyes away from Chelsea and Zoelner. She figured she was about ten seconds away from witnessing the two throwing punches or ripping each other’s clothes off.

But just when the strained atmosphere reached a pressure point—Delilah actually scooted back on the arm of the couch in preparation for the explosion—Mac cut through the tension with, “Sweet Lord, I need an aspirin. It’s either that, or I’m gonna to have to pull my weapon and start shootin’ some of you. Or all of you.”

He ran a big hand through his hair and instantly Delilah was reminded of how soft and warm those thick locks had been between her fingers. How wonderfully rough the calluses on his palm felt when he gently molded her breast. How—

Okay. Enough of that. She had to cross her legs in an attempt to squeeze away the sudden sensation throbbing between them. And, lamentably, it was true. She really was a sad sack.

“Zoelner,” Mac continued, “why don’t you stop antagonizin’ Agent Duvall, huh?” Zoelner grumbled but straightened away from Chelsea all the same.

“And Agent Duvall,” Mac scowled down at her, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but when it comes to a showdown between you and Zoelner, you don’t have any more chance than a Junebug in a chicken coop. So quit rufflin’ his feathers, will you? And get on with the damn explanation. I’m growin’ old here waitin’.”

Ooooh, Delilah just loved it when he got authoritative and down-home countrified all in one breath. Was there anything sexier?

Um, not that I can recall.

Sad sack, whispered the voice.

Shut it!

Chelsea cast Zoelner one last fulminating glance before sighing resignedly and loosening her shoulders. “During the Vietnam conflict,” she said, “it was decided that having eight nuclear ordinances from a bygone era spread willy-nilly around the globe wasn’t really in our country’s best interest.”

Delilah barely contained a snort. “You think?”

Chelsea made a face and shrugged. “Well, it’s not as bad as one might suppose. Most of the lost weapons were at the bottom of the ocean or submerged in swamps so deep they were impossible to recover. But others…”

Delilah shivered at the thought of the “others.”

“Well,” the CIA agent continued, “by that time technology had progressed enough to make their recovery somewhat feasible. Problem was, in many instances, we didn’t know the exact locations of the warheads. Enter a five-man team of Marine Corps Advanced Sonar Specialists.”

“Including Theo Fairchild and Charles Sander,” Ozzie said, uncrossing one arm to rub a finger under his chin, his expression contemplative.

“Affirmative.” Chelsea nodded. “And low and behold, those go-getter guys not only pinpointed the exact locations of those few ordinances that were salvageable at the time, but they pinpointed the whole damn lot.”

Delilah couldn’t believe it. Her uncle had been part of some super-secret, nuclear missile detection team back in the day, and he’d never once breathed a word to her about it.

Is no one what they appear to be? First, she had to go and learn the Black Knights weren’t really a rowdy motorcycle club but were instead Uncle Sam’s most terrifying, tip, tip, tippity-top of the spear. And now this? Seriously? She tossed the question out into the ether. Surprisingly, this time the ether answered back. You mean like you’re not really a bartender, but one of Chicago’s most sought-after forensic accountants?