Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(33)
Dagan Zoelner must have already mic-ed up and copied him because Dan made a face and answered with, “That wasn’t an invitation for ass-hattery, Zoelner. And for your information, no.” He flicked her a glance that had her raising an eyebrow. “That’s a…negative. We didn’t have time to talk because we got…uh…distracted by other things.”
Distracted. That was one way of putting it. Another way would be to say that, just like anytime the two of them found themselves alone in a confined space, they were all over each other like cold on ice cream.
She was glad she didn’t hear what Zoelner said in response to Dan’s admission, because whatever it was, it caused the tips of Dan’s ears to turn red. She gave him the evil eye. She was Italian—well…part Italian anyway, on her mother’s side—so it was her right. And just in case her expression didn’t clearly convey her desire for him to ix-nay all talk of their, ahem, distractions, she sliced a finger across her throat.
He rolled in his lips, stifling a grin. But all the humor disappeared from his face when he said, “I copy you, Chels. I’m getting Vanessa on the horn.” Snatching his phone from the countertop, he dialed and held it to his ear. “Yo, Ozzie,” he said once the connection was made. He flicked her another look and added after a beat, “You know goddamn well she made it here safe and sound. You used her passport to reserve the very room I’m standing in. Now, stop dicking around and making stupid innuendos. Put Vanessa on the phone. We finally have a lead.”
When Dan lowered the cell, switching it to speaker, the sound of Meat Loaf wailing and Ozzie humming the chorus to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” issued through the little speaker and bounced around the white subway tiles that lined the walls of the bathroom.
A couple of seconds later, Vanessa’s deep, throaty voice thrummed through the phone. “Turn that racket off, Ozzie. I can’t hear myself think.”
“First of all,” Ozzie said, “Mr. Loaf does not produce racket. He is one of the preeminent tenors of the past century. Second of all, with a body and a face like yours, Van”—his voice was suggestive even through the cellular connection, but Penni would swear on a stack of Bibles that there was a slight edge to his tone—“you don’t need to strain yourself thinking.”
“What have I told you about flirtin’ with my woman, cocksucker?” Rock’s drawl issued from somewhere off in the distance.
“All of you shut up,” Dan barked. “Chels and Zoelner, you two picking everything up on my end?” He waited a tick, then said, “Good, so now everyone listen to this.”
He clicked on the digital recording at the same time Meat Loaf began “praying for the end of time.” The instant Kozlov’s voice sounded, however, the music back in Chi-Town was muted. And then for a couple of minutes, there was nothing but the rolling echo of Kozlov’s fluid Russian filling the bathroom. Again, when the man’s recorded voice distinctly said “Winterfield,” Penni’s skin started crawling.
“Well?” Dan asked, thumbing off the digital recorder. “What was that all about? What did he say?”
“He asked whoever he was talking to if they thought their Intel was reliable,” Vanessa said. “They must have convinced him it was, because he’s going to be in the Plaza San Francisco ninety minutes from now where he will, and I quote, ‘Get Winterfield and finally, after so many years, bring justice to Mother Russia.’” She managed a fairly spot-on Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation on that last part.
“Pretty sure the Governator is Austrian, not Russian,” Ozzie added quite unhelpfully.
Dan ignored Ozzie and thanked Vanessa for her translation before turning off his cell phone and shoving it back into his hip pocket. “Okay,” he said. “So it sounds like Kozlov and his trusty T/C Contender are in town to ensure Winterfield takes a dirt nap.” Penni knew by the way Dan cocked his head that he wasn’t talking to her, instead lending an ear to Zoelner and Chelsea’s responses.
“Nope. I’m done with code names. You’re just gonna hafta get over the superstitious mumbo jumbo,” Dan said, no doubt responding to something Chelsea said. “Winterfield, Winterfield, Winterfield. There. It’s done. We’re moving on.”
Penni rolled in her lips. Even in the middle of a heart-pounding mission, they were an entertaining trio. And given a different set of circumstances, she would have liked to simply sit and watch them all spar and bicker.
A few more moments passed while Dan listened to his partners. Then he blurted, “How the hell would I know why? Maybe in all that shit Winterfield stole there was something on the Russians. Maybe the Russians got wind he planned to sell that something, and they wanna make sure he finds out what’s behind Door Number One”—Door Number One being the coffin lid—“before he can do the deal. Whatever the reason, it sounds like the Russians think Winterfield is gonna be in or around Plaza San Francisco in the next ninety minutes. So what’s the plan?”
Then the three of them ran through some options. Since Penni was only hearing a third of the conversation, she was hopelessly lost. She clued in to at least some of their thinking when Dan said, “If that happens, it’ll be our lucky day. We can be in the air headed for the States in thirty minutes. Now, where should we meet?” A beat of silence, then, “Roger. That’s a good idea. I remember the place. See you both in a bit.” The way he smashed his words together made it sound more like see y’both inna bit.