Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(95)

“Okay,” Fuller said, “anything else you can tell us about Winterfield, Rock?”

“Non.” Rock shook his head. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Good,” Thompson said. “Then let’s find out the who, the what, and the how much of that Intel he stole and sold, and then lock the sonofabitch up and throw away the key.”

“I’m assumin’ I have permission to agree to his terms then?” Rock asked.

“If he wants to spend the rest of his life all alone in an eight-by-ten,” the president said, “who am I to argue with him? And the death penalty’s a hard sell these days anyway. So I see no problem meeting his requests. I’ll have the paperwork signed and sent over in the next hour.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rock nodded.

“No, thank you,” Thompson said. “Thank all of you. Another job well done. And particular thanks to Dan, Zoelner, and Agent Duvall,” he said. Zoelner had to bite his lip to keep from grinning when Chelsea’s chest puffed out like she’d just had a medal pinned to it. “On behalf of a grateful nation, I commend you for bringing that bastard down once and for all. Oh, and Penni DePaul too,” the president added. “I hear you got caught up in the hubbub, but you performed like the ace you are. The Secret Service lost a great agent the day you turned in your badge.”

“Thank you, sir.” Penni smiled, but it still looked brittle. Whatever Dan had done, it was bad. Zoelner just hoped Dan fixed it because, no two ways about it, Dan and Penni belonged together. It was as obvious as the noses on their faces.

“You betcha,” Thompson said. “Pete? You got anything to add?”

“Just my thanks for another mission in the bag,” was the general’s response.

“All right then. We’re done for now.” And with that, the line went dead.

Boss stood and clicked off the conference caller. “And that’s that.” He slammed his palm down on the table again, an audible period to their three-month-long assignment. That’s also how it worked at BKI. When the job was done, it was done. No fanfare. No pomp. Just a quick pat on the back and on to the next mission.

Everyone pushed up from their seats, and Zoelner couldn’t help but watch the byplay from the corner of his eye when Dan grabbed Penni’s arm and said, “Will you please—” Dan stopped and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Damnit, Penni, we needa talk about this.”

“I-I know.” She nodded, looking like she was about to break wide open. Her voice was a little wobbly too. Shit, Dan Man. What the hell did you do? “But can we do it out in the courtyard? I need some air.”

“What’s that about?” Ozzie whispered to Zoelner, eyeing Dan and Penni as they headed for the stairs leading down to the shop floor.

“Hell if I know,” he admitted.

Of course, he forgot all about Dan and Penni’s problems and started cataloging all of his own when Chelsea came over, shoved her hands on her hips like a pint-sized Wonder Woman, and cocked her head. “Hello, partner,” she said in that low, husky voice that messed with his head.





Chapter Twenty-two


Black Knights Inc., Courtyard

Saturday, 4:19 p.m.

George had done it. He couldn’t believe it.

In less than forty-five minutes he’d planted his charges around the perimeter of the warehouse and all the various outbuildings. And now all that was left to do was find a way to sneak over the wall or out through the gate, unpack the transmitter that would send a signal to the receiver triggers he’d attached to each load of C4, and press the button. Boom! Bye-bye motorcycle shop and hello mission complete!

He was almost giddy with excitement. Giddy with relief. He’d gambled and won. Daddy did it again, sweet Bella!

Peeking around the edge of an outbuilding, he saw the coast was clear and headed across the courtyard in a running crouch. He was aiming for the gate that led around the front of the warehouse. He’d nearly made it when the back door burst open and former Secret Service Agent Penelope DePaul came storming out. She nearly bowled him over.

“What?” she squawked when they came nose to nose.

“Bloody h—” That’s all George managed before she opened her mouth in what he knew would be a banshee scream. Despite the spike of adrenaline that sliced through his system, or maybe because of it, he had one of the weapons Benton had secured for him out of his waistband and aimed at her face before he finished his curse. “Don’t think about it, love,” he warned, his heart thundering, the hair on top of his head standing straight.

Shit. Fuck. Bloody, bloody hell!

Her mouth clamped shut and she blinked at him. He could almost see her make the decision to turn and run. As soon as she spun, he was ready. Snaking an arm around her neck, he pressed the barrel of the handgun to her temple. “Easy,” he hissed, “and you might just live.”

They weren’t the same words he’d used with that fat airport crewman in Cusco, but it was the same lie. Another thing he’d learned working for Spider was that people became delusional when their lives were hanging in the balance. They would believe anything if it meant they could cling to a sliver of hope.

He panted as the fear in him grew. His mind clamored with a million thoughts. But the biggest one was…what now?