Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(46)

Pulling a little Maglite flashlight from her pocket, another tool she’d pilfered from Dan’s backpack—the man had everything but the kitchen sink in that thing—she stuck it between her teeth and ducked down to study the wiring.

Okay, Chels. She gave herself a pep talk. If they’re going to consign you to being a lowly hot-wirer, then you’ll be the best damn hot-wirer out there!

Shining the light on the innards of the steering column, she saw the standard trio of bundles. It took her a second to identify the wires that led to the signal indicators and the cruise control on one side, the lights and wipers on the other, and those that attached to the battery, ignition, and starter.

She didn’t realize she was muttering to herself around the flashlight until she heard Dan whisper in her ear, “Problem?”

Damn. So much for being the best hot-wirer out there. “No,” she assured him after pulling the flashlight from between her teeth. Come on. You have one job to do. “It’s just been a while.”

“The battery wires are almost always red,” Dan advised. “Make sure you don’t—”

“I know,” she hissed. “You’re not the only one with a little MacGyver in you.”

“Keep the line clear,” Z growled again. “It’s almost Miller time.”

Keep the line clear, Chelsea pantomimed the words. It’s almost Miller time. She wished she was standing in front of Z so she could roll her eyes and tell him, “Oh, please to the power of ten. Your big, bad alpha male operator material is so cheesy Velveeta wouldn’t touch it.”

Maybe after this was all over, she’d let him know how little she thought of—Aha! She finally located the battery wires among all the other wires. And they were not red, thank you very much. They were maroon. And she’d still pinpointed them. Like. A. Boss!

She shot an imaginary fist in the air, replaced the flashlight between her lips, and moved on to the next step. Which was the easy part. She stripped the insulation off the battery wires and twisted them together, careful not to let them touch any metal parts of the van. If they did, they could short out and then she’d be dunzo, having proved to Z that even playing a secondary role, she wouldn’t be up for any Oscars.

And now for the finale. She took a moment to shake out her hands. They were aching from the exertion and from the cold. She blew into them for a couple of seconds. Once the sensation was back in the tips of her fingers, she carefully stripped the insulation away from the starter wire. Holding her breath, hoping she didn’t electrocute herself, she sparked the starter wire against the battery lines.

Hheee-hubba-hheee.

The engine tried to sputter to life, but it sounded like an old man after climbing three flights of stairs. Come on, baby. Show Mama what you got. She sparked the wires again.

Hubba-hubba-hu-vroom!

“Yes!” She slapped the van’s console and sat up in the driver’s seat. Stepping on the gas, she revved the engine to keep it from dying. Then she yanked the wheel hard left and right to break the steering lock. Once it was free, she put the van in gear and slowly pulled from the curb. “I’ve secured the vehicle,” she said. “I’ll park around the block and wait for your signal.”

“Nice work, Chels,” Dan’s voice sounded in her ear.

“Yeah,” Z said. “Good job. Now shut up and keep the line clear.”

Damned by faint praise…





Chapter Eleven


But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token…

Again with the Edgar Allan Poe. Penni was going to have to send a strongly worded letter…er…email—who writes letters anymore?—to that teacher when she got home. Young, impressionable minds should not be exposed to such nightmarish prose, the kind that stuck with a person even years later. Because who knew when it would pop up to haunt them? You know, like on a dark Peruvian night in the middle of a stakeout to catch one of the world’s most fiendish men.

Okay, in Mrs. Pogue’s defense, when she’d been teaching “The Raven,” she probably hadn’t envisioned any of her students finding themselves in this precise scenario. So maybe the old gal deserves a pass.

“We got company coming in from the east.” Dan’s voice sounded low and deliciously gravelly in Penni’s earpiece. “Could be Winterfield. Right build. Right height. Everyone hold their positions until I verify his identity.”

Edgar Allan Poe and his eerie poem were instantly forgotten. Because who has time for rhythm and rhyme when it’s officially go-time? Even though no one could see her or hear her thoughts, she made a face when she realized what she’d just done.

“He’s wearing a hoodie,” Dan continued. “I can’t get a clear view of his face. Gimme a coupla seconds. I’m moving closer.”

Penni lifted her wrist, squinting down through the darkness. Twenty-two hundred on the dot read the hands on her watch. This is it, the soft breeze that ruffled the leaves on the trees seemed to whisper. This has to be it!

Her idiotic heart, which hadn’t really settled after that encounter with Kozlov—and talk about the stuff of nightmares—became a fist hammering against her breastbone. Worry and dread took up all the remaining dead space inside her. And for a moment, just a blip of time, she struggled against the instinctive desire to turn tail and beat feet for the nearest room with thick walls and a locked door.