Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(63)
“Which really sucks out loud,” Ozzie added.
And Delilah had to agree. The whole situation sucked. Silently. Out loud. Every which way. She turned when she saw the lead SWAT guy lift a hand to his ear, pressing his earpiece closer to his head. He nodded tersely before informing the group, “My supervisor just told me we’ve got five minutes to secure Miss Fairchild. Then we’re moving out.”
Mac took a threatening step forward and Ozzie muttered something about the SWAT guy’s cornhole and what should be stuffed in it.
In response, SWAT Guy made a move toward his weapon. Ozzie’s handgun was up and aimed before Delilah could blink. And suddenly World War III was about to break out all over again as every man in the room armed himself anew.
“Agent Duvall,” Zoelner hissed. “Now would be an excellent time to call and tell Morales that the only way Delilah Fairchild is walking out of this house is over our corpses.”
“I’ve already said that can be arranged,” SWAT Guy growled.
Delilah barely resisted rolling her eyes. God, save me from this sea of testosterone. She fancied if she squinted just right, she’d be able to see the stuff sloshing around the room in great, heaving waves.
“And make that call fast,” Ozzie added. “Because, according to shit-for-brains here, we’ve only got five minutes before the bullets start flying.”
“Are you all kidding me right now?” Chelsea demanded.
“About the flying bullets,” Ozzie said, “or about the fact that this guy does, indeed, have shit for brains?”
“Go f*ck yourself,” SWAT Guy growled at Ozzie.
“Better than f*cking you, Middle-Aged Mutant Ninja Turtle,” Ozzie retorted.
And that one got her. Despite everything, despite the fact that she was horrified about the terrorist, scared shitless for her uncle, and damn near dead on her feet from thirty-some-odd hours of no sleep, Delilah felt her lips twitch. Because, what with the all-black suit, the balaclava, and the pack attached to his back, SWAT Guy did kind of look like he could pass for the fifth member of the TMNT gang.
“Oh, shut up, all of you!” Chelsea barked, holding her Bluetooth device in place with one finger. She turned her back on the group and proceeded to throw out accusations like buckets of hydrochloric acid to whoever was talking in her ear. Then Chelsea was quiet for a long moment, during which time every eye in the room was focused on her back. Well, except for Zoelner’s. When Delilah glanced at the guy, she couldn’t help but note his eyes were focused like laser pointers on Chelsea’s butt.
Men. She shook her head. Such wonderfully simple creatures.
Chelsea suddenly ended the conversation with, “I’ll convince them this is the right move, sir.” Delilah’s heart sank. “Yes. Yes, you can depend on me.”
Holding her breath, she watched as Chelsea turned to face the room. “Morales says you guys can play the part of Delilah’s PSD,” Chelsea said, “as long as you agree to remain in the area in case the CIA needs to question her and as long as you allow Agents Fitzsimmons and Wallace here,” she nodded toward two of the guys in SWAT gear, “to remain with you.”
Remain in the area? Okay, check. Delilah wanted to do that anyway since this was the place where her uncle had disappeared, and being here allowed her to feel close to him. Let a couple of CIA agents hang around as bodyguards? Check, check. The more guns the merrier, she figured. After all, a freakin’ terrorist was out to get her. And have the boys of BKI play the part of her PSD? Uh…triple check? Because, even though she had absolutely no idea what in the world a PSD could be, she got the distinct impression that whatever it was, it meant she was going to be able to stay with them.
She allowed her gaze to flit around the room, measuring each expression. The SWAT guys were hard to read since their eyes were the only things visible on their entire bodies. Chelsea looked apprehensive as she gnawed on her bottom lip and darted looks back and forth between the Men in Black and the Knights. Zoelner had gone back to being a Greek statue. Ozzie’s head was cocked contemplatively, his eyes narrowed. And Mac? Well, you guessed it. He was wearing the Mask of Inscrutability.
To break the tension, Delilah asked, “Will someone please tell me what the hell a PSD is?”
“Personal security detail,” seven voices rang out simultaneously. The unexpectedly loud, in-stereo response startled her into stumbling back. Mac’s hand darted out quicker than a snake strike, cupping her elbow to steady her before releasing her just as swiftly. The stupid skin on her arm tingled in response to his touch.
“Sure.” She nodded, rubbing at her elbow. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I think I could use a personal security detail right about now. So, then, um…if we’re all in agreement here, why are we still standing around and staring at one another like someone’s about to pull the pin on a hand grenade?”
Of their own accord, her eyes darted to the three SWAT guys. And, sure as shit. Those were definitely hand grenades attached to the straps of their suits. Gulp.
“I’m just waiting for Fitzsimmons and Wallace to kiss,” Ozzie said. “I love it when chicks make out.”
“Get bent,” Fitzsimmons…er…Wallace?…barked angrily.
“Go eat a bowl of dicks,” Ozzie shot back.
And just when Delilah sensed fingers going back on triggers, Chelsea stepped in.