Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(47)
She had so much to lose. And Dan…
Yeah, Dan. The warp and weft of her entire reason for being here. He had faith in her ability to watch his back. Trusted her to do what needed to be done if things with Winterfield and his AQAP contact looked like they might be headed toward a very un-Disney-like ending. Which meant that backing out now was not so much a case of that ship having sailed, but more like a case of that ship having sunk.
She couldn’t let him down. She wouldn’t let him down. Not when the thought of anything happening to him hurt like heartbreak. And for the millionth time since Malaysia, she wondered how it was possible to come to care so much for someone so quickly.
“I have another player approaching from the west.” Zoelner’s whispered tone held equal parts anticipation and excitement. “Blue coat. Black beard. Twitchy as f*ck. He could be al-Rahma.”
Penni slipped deeper into the shadows under the awning of the souvenir shop Dan and Zoelner had designated her OP—observation position. They’d chosen the spot for two reasons. It had an unencumbered view of the square. And if need be, she could aim and fire from behind the cover of the big masonry posts that flanked both sides of the front door.
“I don’t want you to put yourself in any danger,” Dan had said. “If it comes down to a choice between our hides or yours, I—”
“Forget about it,” she’d told him, pressing a finger to his lips. When his hot breath tickled her skin, she threw caution to the wind and went up on tiptoe to kiss him. Just a quick peck. Just a sweet promise. His mouth was so warm, wonderfully firm yet incredibly soft in the way of men.
“Brooklyn,” he’d whispered against her lips, his strong arms coming around her to hold her tight when she would have stepped away. She closed her eyes and took a moment to exult in his embrace. The roadway beneath them dissolved into a blur. The cold became something more understood than actually felt. The beep of a car horn off in the distance sounded like it was a million miles away.
Basically the whole world turned into a hazy, lazy kaleidoscope of nothingness. And in the center of that nothingness was Dan. Big, bold, brave Dan. “Brooklyn…” He whispered the pet name again, thrilling her with the intimacy of it. “You have no idea how much I—”
“Save it for later, Romeo,” Zoelner had interrupted, and Penni wondered if the man practiced bad timing or if it just came naturally to him. Either way, it had her feeling smacky again. “We need to get set up…”
“Suspect moving toward the fountain,” Dan said now, and Penni saw the hooded man emerge from a side street. He walked quickly toward the center of the square, hands shoved deep in his pockets, not looking this way or that, his strides short yet unhesitating.
“Potential al-Rahma is looking to intercept,” Zoelner quickly replied. “I think this is it.”
“Move in,” Dan hissed and Penni’s heart was no longer a fist banging against her ribs. It was a giant ham hock of a hand squeezing her throat. Curling her fingers around Dan’s Ruger—he’d taken the Bersa, leaving her with the Ruger’s better aim, longer firing range, and bigger clip—she sighted down the weapon’s barrel, bracing it against one of the posts to combat the shaking of her hands. Blowing out a breath, she slipped her finger off the trigger guard and onto the trigger, noticing the latter was worn smooth from years of use.
Maybe they should have chosen Chelsea for this and left me to hot-wire the van…
The thought barely had time to finish swirling through her head before the world dissolved again. Only this time it wasn’t Dan’s handsome face that filled her vision. It was Mr. Hoodie. She kept his head lined up dead center in the three-dot sight. From one breath to the next, and with a few pounds of pressure, she could turn his skull into a big bowl of chunky salsa. And even though she’d never killed anyone, never had to kill anyone in all her years with the Secret Service, she knew she wouldn’t hesitate to one-eighty that status quo if it looked, for even a split second, like Dan might be in trouble.
And speaking of Dan…
From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move from the street into the square. If she hadn’t been expecting it, she wouldn’t have noticed it. Noticed him. Dan “The Man” Currington. Dan “Her Man” Currington…maybe…hopefully? Honestly, she wasn’t sure. It all hinged on what happened once she told him—
Not now.
Right. Right. Now was not the time. Quickly filing away her thoughts under Shit to Be Dealt with Later, she searched the darkness beneath one of the trees surrounding the fountain. There. She spotted him again. Just a slightly deeper shadow in and among all the other shadows. He was as quiet as death. As still as a coffin. And now he was standing no more than ten yards from the potential bad guys.
Be careful, she begged him silently. She could smell the fear on her skin, taste its bitter flavor on her tongue.
“It’s him!” Zoelner hissed. “It’s Winterfield! Move, move, move!”
She watched mesmerized, terrified, locked-and-loaded and ready to fire should one of the men happen to see Dan and Zoelner materializing out of the night’s inky blackness and turn to take a shot at them. But she needn’t have worried. Winterfield and al-Rahma were completely clueless, caught totally off guard when Zoelner popped up behind al-Rahma at the precise second Dan materialized behind Winterfield, their guns held tight to each man’s head as if the whole thing had been choreographed and practiced for months. Al-Rahma instinctively turned to fight and Penni’s finger tightened on the trigger. But Zoelner clocked him in the temple with the butt of his weapon and the blow dropped the man to his knees.