Forged in Fire Page 9

  Zane had the advantage in this skirmish. For one thing, the jackass had been waiting at the back of the departure gate, with no exit behind him. To escape into the airport, and from there out to the street, he’d have to come forward—directly toward Zane. It was a serious tactical error. In tight quarters, the smart man buddied up to an exit.

  The target slipped between the college kids and a cluster of Middle Eastern businessmen, and then turned toward the mouth of the terminal. Zane shifted over to block him.

  No escape here, asshole.

  The hijacker must have realized that himself. He abruptly pivoted and eased in behind the kids, who’d clumped together and were busy shoving each other amid boisterous slurs regarding sexual performances.

  There was a ribbon of space between the boys and the wall. If Zane dodged left, the target would go right, skirt the kids, and break for the mouth of the terminal. If Zane went right, the guy would dodge left—with the same effect. From his smug expression the idiot apparently thought he’d acquired the upper hand.

  Amateurs.

  There wouldn’t be much risk if Zane used the students to fence the tango in. The asshole was unarmed, and these boys were in excellent shape. Considering the toy they were tossing back and forth, they were probably football players, which meant they had a rudimentary knowledge of blocking tactics. They’d do in a pinch. He stepped up.

  “Guys,” he said loud enough to pierce the terminal’s din and capture their attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swung in his direction. “I need you to split this group down the middle. Step to the right and left. Use your bodies as a barrier. Do not let that asshole behind you get past.” When they stared at him with startled confusion, he injected steel into his voice. “Move. Now.”

  They reacted instantly to the authority in his voice. The group split down the middle. He’d lucked out that they were football players, since they instinctively positioned themselves for maximum blockage.

  The hijacker settled back on his heels and crossed his arms over his sweatshirt clad chest. With just the right amount of bewilderment, he watched Zane advance.

  “Is there a problem?” the guy asked, confusion in his voice, but his eyes gave him away. They were too sharp, too focused. He knew exactly what was going down.

  “I need a couple of you to strip off your shoelaces. The longer the better,” Zane said, without taking his eyes off the tango’s face.

  “Who the hell are you to give us orders?” one of the college students asked, bravado quivering in his voice.

  “Yes,” the hijacker agreed, his gaze assessing. “I’m rather curious of that myself.”

  A whisper of unease prickled and Zane frowned. Some deep, raw instinct insisted he check on Beth. He blocked the urge. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. The moment his attention wavered, the situation could explode.

  The simplest method to capture this asshole was to use these kids to contain him while Zane moved in for the takedown. But they needed to know exactly what they were up against.

  “I’m Lt. Commander Zane Winters with the United States Navy. And the asshole behind you is a terrorist. Intel suggests he and his team intended to hijack this flight.”

  There was a round of hissed breaths and stammered questions and the shuffle of sneakers against the carpet. Zane kept his attention locked on his target. The hijacker’s eyes had narrowed as Zane spoke. Now they filled with frustrated fury.

  “I haven’t done a damn thing. You can’t hold me,” he said flatly, his voice perfectly clear despite the noise surrounding them.

  Zane smiled. There was the scuffle of more feet against carpet. Through his peripheral vision he caught the flash of movement as several students backed up.

  “Then I’m sure you won’t mind sticking around to answer some questions,” he countered in an agreeable voice, even as an odd, urgent tension swelled inside him.

  He fought the urge to check on Beth. She was fine. She’d scream if she were in trouble. Forcing himself to concentrate, Zane shook the foreboding aside.

  “But I do mind,” the target drawled, and while his tone might have been conversational, his hazel eyes were hot and mean. “It’s against my Constitutional rights.”

  Wasn’t that just sweet. Another jackass hiding behind the Constitution.

  “Uh-huh. What about the Constitutional rights of the passengers you intended to use those MP5s on?”

  From the flash in the tango’s eyes, it was obvious MP5s were stashed on board. Good to know. Even better to know that Beth’s dream had been right on target; when the plane was searched those guns would be found. He’d already accepted the possibility of reprimand if the weapons weren’t located. Acting on her information had been a calculated risk, but it had been the only option he could live with.

  After that telling instant of shock, the target’s face tightened. A scowl furrowed his forehead and pinched his eyebrows together. “You have no right to hold me. I can walk out of here right now, and you can’t do a fucking thing to stop me.”

  Another surge of foreboding rolled through him. Sharper this time. Stronger. Christ, he needed to end this and find Beth.

  He dropped his smile and matched the hijacker stare for stare. “I can break both your legs. Consider it a citizen’s arrest.”

  “Hey, man,” a nervous voice said to Zane’s left, “here’s those shoelaces you asked for.”

  Before Zane had a chance to reach for the bindings, the tango’s nostrils flared and his eyelids flickered. The guy was about to make a break for it. Zane loosened his muscles, shifted his weight over the balls of his feet, and eased down slightly… waiting.

  Just as the hijacker’s thighs bunched—a dead giveaway that action would follow —a wave of fear ripped through him. The hair along the back of his neck lifted. His heart gave one frantic thump and stopped cold. There was no doubt who that fear belonged to and it wasn’t him.

  He’d already experienced the bond acting as a conductor, when he’d been touching her. And he’d been told that in moments of extreme stress, thoughts or images could even be transmitted. But he hadn’t expected to experience the connection—without physical contact—so soon. Christ, Beth was clear across the room. He shouldn’t be able to sense her so distinctly. Still, every instinct he possessed insisted that he abandon this asshole and head to the rescue.

  Only, the target attacked.

  Launched by pure adrenaline, and the need to end this skirmish ASAP, Zane dropped to the ground, bracing his palm on the floor so his weight was balanced on his right shoulder and arm. The hijacker hadn’t expected the movement and led with a punch that sailed harmlessly above Zane’s head. Zane waited for the guy’s forward momentum to carry him closer and kicked out—hard. The heel of his boot connected with the bastard’s knee, but at a slight angle. There was a sickening crunch, followed by series of pops, and the hijacker’s right leg folded.

  Without hesitation Zane struck again, taking out the left knee. He needed to make sure this bastard was incapable of movement.

  Another sickening crunch and the target dropped, screaming in agony.

  Zane swarmed him. Forced him onto his belly. Dragged his arms behind his back.

  “Laces,” he snapped, holding up his hand.

  A scream pierced the terminal.

  Feminine. Familiar. Beth.

  His chest burning, his breath locked in his throat, Zane cinched the guy’s wrists in record time. He didn’t bother with the ankles. The guy wouldn’t be walking any time soon. Fear a black mist choking his brain, he rocketed to his feet, spun around.

  Some motherfucking son of a bitch had his arm around Beth’s neck.

  Time screeched to a stop. He could see her clearly from his vantage point across the gate room. Her face was turning gray.

  Fear shot directly into terror. He wasn’t sure whether it was his, or hers. Ice sluiced down his back and froze his feet into clumsy blocks, until it felt as if he were slogging his way through an icy bog. His body responded to
his brain’s demands with sluggish uncoordination—too slow. Too fucking slow.

  He’d faced countless situations where death hovered an instant away. He’d faced those moments with absolute calm and no discernable acceleration to his heart rate. Until today, when he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, or get his fucking body to move.

  The motherfucker across the departure gate started backing away, dragging her limp body with him.

  Suddenly, Loverboy—Beth’s admirer from earlier—stepped into view. His thin face tense, his glasses sliding down his narrow nose, he slowly raised a laptop case above his head. He moved with painstaking stealth, although he needn’t have bothered; Beth’s attacker was so fixated on the men crowding him in front that he wasn’t paying the least attention to his back.

  He watched his rival raise the laptop case even higher, and then tilt it at an angle, so the sharp edge pointed down. Relief mixed with disgust. Hell, the asshole was actually going to rescue her, and Zane was too far away to help.

  Her rescuer brought his makeshift weapon down with stunning force. Even across the shocked-silence of the terminal Zane could hear the muffled thud as the case connected with bone. The arm fell from Beth’s throat and her attacker dropped like a brick.

  Beth would have dropped too, if Loverboy hadn’t let go of his weapon and caught her around the waist. Zane’s heart stuttered back to life as her arms and legs started to move. Her head rolled against his shoulder, the ash-blonde tangle of hair looking even softer and blonder against the dark blue of Loverboy’s cotton golf shirt.

  The relief that she was alive and unharmed barely had a chance to settle before the sight of her in another man’s arms started needling him. He growled low in his throat, a surge of heat blasting the ice from his veins. His gaze locked on those masculine arms cradling his woman and he stomped on the urge to kill.

  “Relax,” Cosky said dryly, appearing beside him. “He’s not one of our targets.” He paused, wiped the shimmer of a grin from his lips. “Besides, looks to me like he saved her.”

  Yeah. Like that was helping.

  A scowl built as he glared across the terminal. Beth was upright. Standing on her own two feet, but that bastard still hadn’t dropped his arms. If he wanted to keep them, he’d better rectify that mistake pronto.

  “She looks unsteady,” Cosky said. “I’m sure that’s why he’s still hugging her.”

  “You might think about shutting the fuck up.”

  A swarm of blue-suited security guards came trotting down the airport corridor. About fucking time. “Where the hell’s Rawls? And where did you stash your asshole?”

  He skirted a group of elderly men and women without taking his eyes off Beth. Christ, when the hell was she going to step away? She couldn’t actually like the feel of those arms around her… could she?

  “Right here, skipper,” Rawls drawled from behind him. “Target acquired, contained and awaiting transport. I heard the scream. Came to see if I could—” He broke off, and released a strangled cough. “Well, would ya look at that? Loverboy’s back and he’s gettin’ downright friendly.”

  Zane gave serious thought to rearranging Rawls’ face. He was too fucking pretty anyway.

  His gaze didn’t budge from the pair as he stalked forward, but now that Beth was out of danger and unharmed, he needed to get his mind back on their targets and—

  Jesus Christ! Was that motherfucking, son of a bitch actually rubbing her back?

  Fuck no. He obviously didn’t value his hands.

  Zane broke into a jog, the instinct to maim riding him like a red-ant infested blanket. Obviously, she was perfectly steady on her feet now. Clearly, she did not need those arms around her one second longer. So when was she planning on pulling away?

  “Is he rubbin’…?” Rawls wheezed alongside him, easily keeping pace.

  Considering that Rawlings worked out a gazillion hours a day and was in better shape than all of ST7 put together, Zane knew damn well all that gasping had everything to do with holding back his amusement and nothing to do with exhaustion.

  Wasn’t this just fucking greeaaaat? Nothing like having an audience when you got bit by the ugly kill-anyone-who-fucking-touches-her monster.

  “Why don’t you two head back and keep an eye on our tangos,” Zane said, his tone more of a demand than a request as he tried to mask the aggression in his voice.

  Christ, he’d expected a certain degree of need when he found her, his dad and brothers had warned him of that. What he hadn’t expected was the jealousy, or this odd vulnerability.

  “No offense, skipper,” Rawls drawled, “but my guy’s down. He ain’t goin’ nowhere and no way am I missing this.”

  Zane swore. “I’m your CO.”

  Translation: do what I fucking tell you.

  “Uh-huh. And we’re on leave.”

  He was just about to remind his buddy that regardless of their leave status, they were still in the middle of an op, when his rival raised his head and stared straight at him. No question he picked up on Zane’s territorial urge to maim because his chin reared back and his shoulders tightened. But he didn’t let go of Beth. Instead, his gaze narrowed and he glared back. Then deliberately cradled her closer.

  No. Way. In. Fucking. Hell.

  “Jesus.” Rawls’ tone had distilled to complete and utter ice. “That fucker’s challenging you.”

  “Obviously, the guy’s got a death wish.” Cosky’s voice was just as cold.

  Some of the tension seething through Zane eased. That was team life for you. Your crew always had your back, no matter the war.

  “You want me to break his legs? Someone needs to teach that bastard when a woman’s off-limits,” Rawls said in that ice-cold tone. “I figure you’ll want first crack at his arms.”

  Oh, Zane wanted to break more than his arms. He’d start with the asshole’s neck.

  “You might wait to tear him apart until the blue-suits are gone,” Cosky said.

  That was Cos for you, always the tactician.

  The security force swept in, several converging on Beth and Loverboy. One chubby guard bent and put two fingers against the neck of Beth’s attacker. The coarse cloth of his blue uniform strained across his distended belly, until it looked like the buttons were about to pop. He glanced up at his partner, his face beet-red, and shook his head. The news that Beth’s attacker was dead didn’t surprise him. From the angle of the head, and his complete stillness, it was obvious the hijacker wouldn’t be getting back up.

  By now Zane was bearing down on the couple.

  “I’ve got her,” he told his rival in a brusque voice, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Beth’s upper arm.

  Beth’s rescuer just stared at him, raw challenge in the brown gaze behind the glasses. He continued running his palm up and down Beth’s silk-clad spine. Zane gritted his teeth and fought the impulse to snap that arm in half.

  “And you are?” Loverboy lifted a sandy eyebrow, the skin of his receding hairline gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights.

  “Her fiancé,” Zane snapped, crowding in.

  He gentled both his grip and voice when he noticed the minute spasms raking her slender frame.

  “You can let go.” When it didn’t look like jackass was going to take the hint, his voice hardened. “Now.”

  For a moment it looked like the little prick was going to ignore the demand. Some latent instinct stirred beneath the red-hot jealousy as Zane held the challenging gaze. There was more to this guy than met the eye. Very few men could stare him down, but this one was giving it his damnedest.

  Beth stirred. “Zane?”

  She pulled away from Loverboy’s hold and tried to turn. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, those grasping hands released their grip and his arms fell away.

  “I’m here.” Zane carefully folded her into his embrace. Worry rose as she came to him docilely. From her earlier stubbornness, this apathy wasn’t normal behavior. “Let me check you out.”

  “I�
�m okay. My neck hurts. And my shoulder and my arm and my elbow really hurt.” Her voice gained strength. “And my neck hurts, but I already said that—didn’t I?”

  She let Zane tilt her head back and winced at the hiss that shot out his mouth. “It probably looks worse than it is,” she said stoutly.

  Considering the entire length of her neck was livid red, it looked pretty bad.

  “Rawls?” Zane eased Beth to the side so Rawlings could get a look at her. “Rawls is ST7’s Corpsman.” He paused at Beth’s blank look. “Our medic. He’s as good as a doc, has four years of medical school behind him.” he told her, forcing gentleness into his voice.

  “Any trouble breathing?” Rawls asked, probing along the length of her neck.

  “No.” She flinched, visibly relaxing as Rawls’ hands dropped.

  “Soft tissue damage. It’s gonna swell and look mighty colorful, but won’t leave any permanent damage,” Rawls reported. “How ‘bout I take a look at your elbow?”

  “It’s fine.” She caught Zane’s lifted eyebrow and frowned. “He twisted my arm, so the elbow’s sore, but it’s not broken. I can move it—see?” She brought her arm up, albeit gingerly, and straightened it out.

  “Good. That’s good. Why don’t ya let me take a look at it now?” Rawls asked, reaching for her extended arm.

  She snorted her opinion of that request and shifted out of reach. “Because you’ll just poke and prod, making it hurt even worse and then tell me it’s just soft tissue damage.”

  Zane grinned in relief at the asperity in her voice. She was getting stubborn again, which had to be a good sign. As gently as possible, he eased her back into his arms, feeling the tension inside him loosen as her soft body settled against his chest.

  “Who’s going to tell me what happened here?” The security guard who asked the question was on the far side of middle-aged, his hair more gray than brown, with the cynical eyes of someone who’d seen action. And the competent air of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.

  Just how much had this guy been told?

  Zane went with the assumption he didn’t know enough. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters, United States Navy.” He nodded toward Rawls and Cosky. “Lieutenants Seth Rawlings and Marcus Simcosky. We’ve been advised through Central Command that Flight 2077 has been compromised. When the suspects attempted to flee the terminal, we detained them.”