Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(54)
It occurred to him then that a firefight was a bizarre thing…
For the untrained or unprepared, it was like hell on earth, so chaotic and quick it precluded the ability to make rational, reasonable decisions. So loud, so disorienting, that a person was reduced to their animal self, relying purely on instinct: fight, flight, or freeze. Take the ground crew, for example, cowering under the van instead of doing the smart thing, which would be to beat feet until they were hell and gone from the range of the weapons.
But for those few folks who’d survived the crucible of war, who were battle-hardened and used to the exchange of deadly gunfire, it was just the opposite. Whizzing bullets put everything in perspective. And the thing Dan realized as the world slowed to a series of halcyon images like a movie reel that was skipping frames—Chelsea grimacing as the weapon barked in her hand. Next frame, Zoelner slamming in a new clip and chambering the first round. Next frame, the driver of the vehicle fishtailing this way and that, still headed straight for them—was that for the first time in years he cared whether he lived or died.
After his wife’s death, he’d tried his damnedest to join her by drinking himself into an early grave. Then, when his liver refused to give out on him, he’d sobered up. But even though he’d stopped actively seeking a way to punch his last ticket, it’s not like he’d clung to life either.
The truth was, when he laid his head on his pillow at night, he didn’t much care one way or the other if he woke up the next day. Life was just something to get through. And he whiled away the hours, the days by making sure he had a job to do. A duty to perform. A task to complete. It was nothing more and nothing less than that.
But now? Oh, now he had something to live for. Someone to live for. Penni and her big, dark eyes. Penni and her smart, sexy mouth. Penni and her hot woman’s needs. She made him excited for the future. And, by God, if he’d gotten to this point only to kick it on a Peruvian runway in the middle of a rainstorm, he was going to be beyond pissed.
Eeeerrrrrtttt! He didn’t have time for any more grand epiphanies because the driver of the truck screamed to a stop not forty yards away.
Who the hell is this guy? Dan wondered as he ducked to yell, “Make a run for it when you can!” to the three terrified men facedown and lying side by side like sardines under the van. Jumping to his feet, he raced after Zoelner and Winterfield, taking advantage of the cover fire Chelsea was providing and happy as could be that Penni—otherwise known as Se?orita Weaponless—was having to sit this one out. His didn’t think his heart could take watching another episode of her going all Rambo…uh…Rambina tonight.
Zip! A bullet whizzed by his ear when he jumped onto the plane’s first step. His heart skipped a beat at the feel of the displaced air, but he barely had time for a silent That was a close one because Chelsea yelled, “Reloading!” and he glanced up to see her reach back for the clip in Penni’s hands.
So much for sitting this one out, goddamnit! Penni was on her knees on the floor directly behind Chelsea, Chelsea’s satchel open wide in front of her, another clip up and at the ready should the little CIA agent ask for it.
He should have known she couldn’t stay out of it. The brave, beautiful, beyond consternating woman!
Winterfield dove past Chelsea and into the interior of the plane at the same time Dan and Zoelner spun to take up the slack left by Chelsea’s reloading.
The driver’s side door of the truck was open and the man, whoever he was—not Kozlov, Dan could make out that much through the gray haze of the rain—was using it as cover, turkey peeking around the side to take potshots at them. Dan sighted down the Bersa’s little barrel, aiming for Mystery Man’s ankles, knowing it was a long shot, but still…he had to try. His last two rounds needed to count for something more than simply forcing the guy to keep his head down.
Blowing out a steadying breath, Dan lined up his shot and… Bam! Bam! Click! Click! The little .38 was officially dry and he’d missed the shooter’s ankles by a mere inch.
Hell’s bells! “I’m out!” he yelled.
“I’ll cover you!” Zoelner bellowed as one of his rounds hit the windshield on the driver’s side door and shattered the glass. Dan saw his chance while the shooter was ducking. Careful to stay below Zoelner’s and Chelsea’s lines of sight, he half ran, half crawled up the remaining three steps.
Inside the plane was warm, dry, and strangely quiet compared to the chaos outside. He swiped a hand over his face and hair, squeegeeing away the freezing water. He saw Winterfield curled on the floor by one of the seats like the coward he was and Penni scrounging around in Chelsea’s satchel, no doubt searching for another clip like the courageous warrior woman she was.
It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to yank her with him as he scrambled toward the cockpit. But Chelsea and Zoelner needed her, and he couldn’t sacrifice them just because he was terrified of history repeating itself and losing the woman that he…well, whatever it was that he felt for her. And since he couldn’t drag her with him, the next best thing he could do was get the plane moving out of range of Mr. Mystery’s bullets.
He slid into the pilot’s seat just as Chelsea yelled, “I told you guys we shouldn’t have used Voldemort’s real name. I knew it would be bad luck!”
Bad timing and bad luck. It’s like Learn Your Fuckin’ Lesson Day around here, he thought, eyes zooming over the console, checking the gauges even as he was strapping in and slipping on his headset. Flight controls were free and correct. Altimeter was set. Flaps? Check. Tanks? Full. Parking brake? He flipped down the toggle switch. And when he saw that his mixture was a full-rich, just as it should be, he blew into his wet, frozen hands and reached for the controls.