What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(14)

Ignoring Rita, Kellen moved to meet him.

He said, “Hey, I’m Horst Teagarten. Horst isn’t a family name, my folks just had a weird sense of humor, giving that to a kid from Florida.”

Kellen filled out her mental file with speed and precision; he checked all the boxes as a cliché.

HORST TEAGARTEN:
MALE, NORTHERN EUROPEAN, 6'2", SHAVED HEAD (BALDING), BLUE EYES, UNIDENTIFIED ACCENT. TIGHT T-SHIRT, JEANS. MUSCLED SHOULDERS, TIGHT BUTT, FATTY BULGE AROUND THE WAIST. SMILING, CHARMING. IMAGINES WOMEN ARE IMPRESSED WITH HIM.
She shook. He had a good grip, didn’t try to crush her fingers like guys so often did. “I’m Kellen Adams, glad to work with you.”

His gaze shifted to Rita.

She leaped forward and in that overly loud voice of hers, she said, “Hi, I’m Rita Grapplee. I work here at the winery with Kellen. Good to meet you. So you move art?”

“Yes. Um...” He glanced at Kellen.

Kellen shook her head slightly.

He got the hint. “Come on. You can put your bag in the back.”

She followed him around, watched him open the van’s cargo doors and slung her duffel bag onto the floor behind the last row of seats.

Rita did not get the hint. She followed, too. “Where are you two off to?”

“We’re picking up an important antique at the Portland Airport, and we need to get going.” Horst was polite, but apparently Rita grated on him, too, for he was terse.

Kellen heard a shout and turned toward the tasting room. “Look, Rita. They’re calling you back to work.”

Rita barely glanced at the temporary manager. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on break.”

“Not according to him,” Horst said.

Rita sighed loudly. She lifted her phone, clicked a photo of the van and trudged back to work, her big feet slapping across the lawn.

Horst watched her. “She’s weird.”

“She’s got...problems.”

“Don’t we all?” Horst turned back to Kellen. “My boss briefed me about you. He told me you’re Army honorable discharge.”

“That’s right.”

“Good news, that. I wasn’t sure if you were someone’s girlfriend looking for adventure or actually in security. What rank?”

She bumped herself down to an enlisted man. “Spec-4.”

“Hey, I outranked you. E-6.” He looked incredibly pleased, as if he hadn’t had the chance to be in charge very often. “Did you bring your weapons?”

No, no. She wasn’t giving up her secrets so soon. “Richart Movers doesn’t supply weapons and ammunition?”

“What security person doesn’t have weapons he prefers?”

“My body is my weapon.”

He laughed.

She didn’t crack a smile. Her drill instructor said her hand-to-hand attacks were organized, focused and deadly in a way he had seldom seen in a woman.

No reason to bring that up.

Horst said, “You are kidding.”

She allowed her solemn face to break and she laughed back at him. “You caught me.” She flipped the knife out of her sleeve. “What do you have on you?”

He showed her a side holster under his jacket.

“If this mission is dangerous,” she said, “we’d better have more than that.”

“We do.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “Shotgun up there.” He walked her around to the driver’s side. “More shotguns in the door holsters, one for you, one for me. Ammunition above.”

“Slick.” The holsters had been constructed to look like part of the vehicle, unobtrusive yet easily reached.

He pulled one of the shotguns out, a Browning A-5 semiautomatic, handed it to her and watched her check it over.

“Looks good.” She relaxed a little. This operation looked legitimate and well armed. Horst was Army. She felt comfortable with him and his easygoing personality. But she didn’t tell him the truth about her weapons and her background; she had the scars to prove she’d been wrong before.

Horst went around to the back and shut the doors. He didn’t ask which one of them should drive. He assumed he would, because he was the man or because he was of higher rank, and Kellen didn’t tell him that she’d been a transportation coordinator in Afghanistan and Kuwait. She knew vehicles, she knew repairs, and yes, she knew how to drive.

But in her experience, at this point in any mission, it paid to sit back and observe. As she climbed into the passenger seat, she asked, “Will we make it to the airport in time?”

“If we’re lucky and the cops don’t stop us.” Horst put the van into gear.

Kellen looked in the rearview mirror.

Max stood in the driveway, watching her leave, and he looked...lonely.

Was that good news? Did she want him to miss her even before she left? She should have said goodbye to him and—

She sat up straight. “Damn.”

“Forget something?” Horst asked.

“I did.”

“Hope it wasn’t anything important. We haven’t got time to go back.” Horst turned onto the highway.

Max disappeared from view.

“It was important.” She hadn’t said goodbye to Rae. She hadn’t even thought about it. “But it is too late.”