Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(52)

His repetition pretty much proved that the guy was, in fact, nuttier that a shithouse rat.

“What the hell?” Chelsea said. “The gate’s locked!”

Dan craned his head around the seat and over the console. Sure enough. Not just locked. Chained and locked. Goddamnit!

“I told my contacts to make sure they opened it,” he growled, annoyed, digging in his hip pocket for his phone. What the hell am I paying them for?

“Wouldn’t it be quicker just to pick the lock?” Penni asked.

“Forget it,” Chelsea said, throwing the van in reverse. After she’d gone some distance, she slammed the van into gear and revved the engine. “Okay, kiddies. Hold on to your hats. This next part will be a doozy!”

As if the entire ride hadn’t already been a doozy? Dan shoved one boot against the metal leg of the passenger chair bolted into the van’s frame and braced the other on the leg of the bucket seat. Tightening his hold on Penni, he palmed the back of her head and turned her face into his neck. He could feel her holding her breath. He did the same, closing his eyes and gritting his jaw as Chelsea stood on the gas. The wheels of the van spun, squealing and burning rubber. Then the whole vehicle shot forward. Wait for it. Wait for it…

Crash!

Chelsea plowed into the gate. When the metal of the van’s front grill hit the metal of the gate’s center posts, it sounded like the world was ending. Then with a mighty bang, the gate ripped away from its hinges and somersaulted over the roof of the van. Suddenly they were freewheeling across the grassy expanse that lined the closed airport’s single runway, bouncing over uneven earth, being shaken around so much Dan felt like that Polaroid picture Outkast sang about.

Winterfield screamed like a… Well, Dan was about to say “girl,” but that would be an insult to the two fierce, fearless woman in the vehicle with him. Zoelner cursed, trying to keep his seat and his weapon steady on Winterfield. And Penni tightened her hold around Dan’s waist.

“Y’okay?” he grunted, trying to make sure he provided as much of a buffer between her and the hard seats and floor as possible.

“Yee-haw,” she whispered against his throat, and damnit, he was smiling again. Fierce, fearless, sassy, with a monster set of balls. The more he was around Penni, the more he wanted to stay around her.

Chelsea never hesitated, pedal to the metal until finally the wheels found the edge of the tarmac and the ride evened out. Before Dan could catch his breath, the little CIA agent stood on the brakes and the van slipped into a sideways skid that seemed to last an eternity. The squeal of the tires sent tremors up his spine. The smell of burning rubber filled the interior of the vehicle until he almost choked on it. He didn’t know how the hell Chelsea was able to keep the van from tipping over onto its side, but the vehicle finally came to a rocking stop, fully upright. She switched off the engine, and for a couple of heartbeats, the only sound was the tick, tick, tick of the cooling engine.

“Nice driving, Danica Patrick.” He puffed out a breath.

Through the cargo window he could see the tail numbers on the Beechcraft King Air twin-turboprop plane el Jefe had secured for them when he initially tasked them with bringing in Winterfield. Dan and Zoelner had needed the aircraft to quickly hop around South America without having to wait on military transports or civilian flights. Pays to have friend in high places. And though the little King Air wouldn’t get them all the way home—it didn’t have the fuel capacity to make the entire trip—it could still get them headed in the right direction.

And if the airport crew had come through, which they should have, considering the mammoth retainer Dan had slid them under the table in the case of just such an event, then the little plane should be fueled, fired, and ready to rock.

As in most parts of the world, money was a universal language when you wanted a few laws or rules broken. Then again, maybe he was putting too much stock in the ground crewmen. After all, they’d failed to open the gate and—

His thoughts were cut off when Chelsea slammed out of the van at the same time Zoelner slid open the cargo door. Dan found himself staring into the wide-eyed faces of the crewmen. He didn’t know if they were more taken aback that he hadn’t simply called them to open the gate, that the van they were in was riddled with bullet holes, or that three out of the five passengers inside were bloody and bruised while one of the passengers—Zoelner—was making no bones about the weapon in his hand.

Chelsea ripped open the van’s rear doors, shouldering his backpack, her satchel, and Penni’s purse and trotting toward the steps of the King Air. Dan urged Penni from the van and hopped out after her. The first thing he noticed was the wind. It was absolutely howling. And the lights of the airport showed ominous black clouds roiling overhead, obscuring the tops of the surrounding mountains. Great. Perfect. Another case of f*ck-all bad timing.

Hunching deeper into his jacket, he turned to Penni. “Get on the plane,” he yelled above the turboprop’s rumbling engines. The ground crew had come through with that part of the deal, at least. So he hadn’t thrown all his good money after bad. Another silver lining. He was two-for-two in that department this evening.

“I’ll stay—”

“I’ll be right behind you!” he promised.

She searched his face and he could tell she wanted to stick by his side.

“Go on.” He grabbed her shoulder, turning her and swatting her ass toward the plane.