Forged in Fire (11 page)

“Lieutenant Commander Winters?” the agent to the left asked as he headed in their direction. His voice remained cool, yet respectful. “I’m Senior Agent Aaron Haskell with the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division.”

Zane nodded and introduced his men. When he came to Beth, he presented her as his fiancée. She suppressed a jolt. She vaguely remembered him claiming her as his fiancée earlier—to Russ—but had forgotten to ask why he’d bumped their pretense from lovers to engaged lovers.

“We need to ask you some questions. If you’ll follow us?” Haskell turned and indicated the door with an abbreviated gesture. “Your fiancée can wait here with Lieutenants Simcosky and Rawlings. Another agent will take their statements.”

With one last sweep of the conference room, Zane started to nod, his arm loosening around Beth’s shoulders. Suddenly, he froze.

“Beth comes with me,” he said, his voice uncompromising.

The agent frowned. “Miss Brown will be interviewed separately. At the moment we’re more interested in the men your commander claims were attempting to hijack the plane—”

“She comes with me.”

Beth stared at him, puzzled. He’d warned her they’d be separated during the interviews, so why this sudden intractability? Didn’t he trust that she’d stick to their script? Curious, she followed his gaze and realized his attention wasn’t focused on the FBI agents, but further back toward the door. She shifted to the right until she could see around the agent in front of her and discovered that Russ Branson had entered the room.

Russ broke into a relieved smile as he caught sight of her and started forward.

“Son of a bitch,” Zane snapped.

The agents looked at each other and turned in unison.

Agent Haskell’s eyebrows shot up. “Considering Mr. Branson saved Ms. Brown’s life, I’m sure you’ll agree he’s no threat to her.”

Zane shifted his glare to Haskell who took a half step back. “There are still two hijackers unaccounted for. She’s obviously a target. She stays with me.”

A pulse of silence fell. The two agents frowned, glanced at each other. Apparently, by osmosis, they came to some sort of agreement because Haskell turned back to Zane.

“Fine.” He gestured toward the door again.

They’d barely started walking before Russ intercepted them. The FBI agents halted and glanced between Russ and Zane with quizzical eyes.

Russ frowned, ran a hand down his face and pinched his chin. His gaze lingered on her throat. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fin—”

“She’s just hunky-dory,” Rawls drawled. “Her
fiancé
is taking real good care of her.”

Haskell’s lips twitched and he exchanged amused glances with his partner. Beth wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Did Zane
have
to play the jealous lover? This confrontation was beyond embarrassing.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, she turned to Russ. “I wanted to thank you for what you did. I hate to think of what might have happened if….”

Russ shot a quick look at Zane, before refocusing on Beth. “It’s lucky I got there when I did. A second later and it would have been too late.”

Zane’s shoulders stiffened. “We’re on our way out,” he told Russ brusquely.

Haskell coughed and brought a hand up to cover his mouth.

Beth turned her too-bright smile on Zane’s glowering face and fought back a glare. “I’m thanking—”

“You can thank him later,” Zane snapped, his lips tight. He glanced up and suddenly froze, his face smoothing into an expressionless shell.

“What?” Startled by the change, she followed his gaze but wasn’t tall enough to see over the FBI agents.

“Commander,” Zane said, the rank a greeting.

“Radar must have got you on the first plane up.” Rawls stepped forward.

“He had them hold the plane for me.” A rumbling voice full of grit and gravel responded. Rawls and Cosky started to raise their arms.

“So help me God, if you two jackasses finish those salutes I’m gonna snap off your hands and beat you with them. Stand down.”

The arms in question dropped like stones.

“Commander Jace Mackenzie,” the raspy voice continued.

Tensing, Beth withdrew into the security of Zane’s loose embrace, listening as the FBI agents introduced themselves. The last thing she needed was the owner of that harsh voice focusing on her.

“Where is she?” Mac demanded.

Beth’s breath stuttered. Zane’s arm tightened around her shoulder. Rawls and Cosky silently stepped to the side, opening a path and she tried to reassure herself that they hadn’t just thrown her to the big bad wolf. She caught a glimpse of Russ’s sharp face as he turned toward the new arrival, and then she got her first look at the owner of that grating voice.

Eyes so dark they looked black locked on her face and shot from there to the arm Zane had wrapped around her shoulders. An almost murderous expression flashed across his lean, chiseled face. It was gone so quickly she tried to convince herself she’d imagined it.

Mackenzie’s skin was deeply tanned, the hard planes of his cheekbones and jaw lending an almost brutal cast to his features. An image enhanced by the thin, white line of his lips. His black hair was cut short, military style, and graying at the temples.

He looked stern, huge—easily as tall and wide as Zane—and seriously pissed off. She could literally feel the fury vibrating off him, boiling out in white-hot waves.

Every last ounce of it directed toward her.

* * *

Mac watched Zane’s blond-haired case of kryptonite shrink into the protective shield of her lover’s embrace. The woman wasn’t at all what he’d anticipated. He’d expected the female who brought his LC to his knees to be a looker. Tits spectacular enough to launch a fleet, a come-hither sway to her ass, an all-around brassy flirt.

She failed on all three counts.

Although her purple eyes were arresting, and that understated prettiness would earn her a second look, she didn’t carry the kind of drop-dead gorgeousness that turned men stupid and wrapped them around feminine fingers.

On the other hand, they were already engaged. She obviously had moves he hadn’t seen yet. Once she discovered his rank would benefit her more than Zane’s, no doubt she’d turn those moves on him. It was the nature of the female beast, opportunistic and sly—they’d sidle up to whoever could offer them the most. Faithfulness was a genetic impossibility.

“Gentlemen.” Mac turned to the two agents who were watching the exchange with sharp, curious eyes. “Give me five minutes.” They didn’t look receptive to the command, so he hardened his voice. “Five minutes. Chastain’s already cleared it.”

Which wasn’t quite true, but hell, Chastain had been remarkably accommodating.

The agents traded what-the-hell looks before the taller one shrugged and turned toward a sandy-haired stranger to his left. “Mr. Branson? We’ll need you to sign a statement. May as well take care of that now.”

Mac waited until the doors closed behind them, stuck his hand in his jacket pocket to thumb on the voice scrambler, and rounded on Zane. “Imagine my surprise to find you engaged, particularly when I spoke with you mere hours ago and you failed to mention the good news.”

He tried for a silky tone, but it sounded more like someone had pushed the words through a cheese grater. The rasp came courtesy of a damaged larynx, which he’d picked up thanks to a garrote wielded by a Taliban rebel back in Afghanistan. He’d been lucky, as a freshly finned minnow straight from SQT it could have been his first and last op.

“I was going to tell you once things settled,” Zane told him flatly.

“Why is it I’ve never heard of Miss Brown before?”

Zane held his gaze. “We met over the weekend. I asked her to marry me this morning.”

Mac tried not to grind his teeth. There had been no hesitation in the statement. No wavering in Zane’s gaze. Yet, he was absolutely certain the bastard was lying to him. Again.

“Did you now? After three days?” He let the disbelief echo in his voice.

With a lift of his eyebrows, Zane stared back. “You’ve met my dad? My brothers?”

The dry reminder pulled Mac up short, but just for a moment. With his family history, Zane would be even more susceptible to a player. He’d convince himself the bitch was fated to be his mate, only to find himself hanging by his fingernails from the face of a cliff and with nothing to cushion the fall.

Talking to his LC, however, would get him nowhere. His men were conditioned to withstand hardcore interrogation techniques. If he wanted to find out what the hell this bitch had dragged his team into, he needed to talk to the woman.

“I’ll speak with your fiancée now.” When Zane’s face tightened, Mac hardened his voice. “Alone.”

A muscle twitched in Zane’s cheek. “We’re on our way to a debriefing.”

“You take the interview. I’ll take her.”

The muscle twitched again. Stronger. “She doesn’t leave my side.”

“Commander,” Rawls broke in, his voice tight, his blue eyes watchful. “She’s had a tough time. Take a look at her neck. Zane’s just feeling a mite protective.”

Mac hauled in a deep, calming breath. He held it for five seconds, and released it slowly. The pressure didn’t ease. “I’ve got eyes, Lieutenant. I can see her neck.”

Not to mention that he’d heard the story from three separate people. How the hell an attempt on her life fit into this mess, he wasn’t sure. But if the hijackers wanted her dead, there had to be a reason.

Like, she’d double-crossed them.

“This isn’t a request. I will talk to her. Alone. Now.”

Zane’s face went hard as stone. Ice cold. It was an expression Mac remembered from their black op days, but he’d never seen turned on him before.

What the fuck had the bitch done to him?

“Mac—” Cosky started to say.

“Not one more word, from either of you.” Mac issued the warning through his teeth. He didn’t take his gaze off Zane’s face. “Do I need to make this an order, Lieutenant Commander Winters?”

“We’re on leave.”

“I’m still your fucking commanding officer.”

Zane opened his mouth, his eyes blazing emerald fire, and Mac knew with gut-wrenching certainty that his best friend was about to throw himself in front of a fucking Zodiac and all because of a goddamn woman.

Except that the woman in question slammed her elbow into Zane’s chest hard enough to shut the bastard’s mouth. As Zane shifted his glare to her, she turned toward Mac and pinned him with disgusted eyes.

“If you two Neanderthals are finished with this useless display of testosterone, I’d like to remind you that the only person who has any say over what I do and who I do it with—is me.” She turned her glare back on Zane. “If I want to speak with Commander Mackenzie, I’ll speak with him.”

Sheer frustration flashed across Zane’s face. “Goddamn it, Beth.”

Her mouth dropped open, outrage flashing in her eyes. “Did you just swear at me?”

Zane took a deep breath. Held it. Considering the combination of frustration and fury flashing across his normally calm countenance, the technique didn’t work any better for him, than it had for Mac.

The woman turned her back on her fiancé and yanked herself out of his arms. The glare she turned on Mac didn’t look any friendlier—which didn’t fit with how she should have been acting, according to his profile.

Surprisingly off balance, he watched her approach.

“Commander Mackenzie,” she said, a militant look on her face, “of course I’ll speak with you.”

“Beth—”

“As soon as you say
please
.”

Mac’s eyebrows slammed down. His head reared back. “
Please
?”

She nodded once, sharply. “And Zane remains with us.”

Mac scowled and stepped forward threateningly. “Alone.”

Crossing her arms, she rocked back on her heels and lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize that I am
not
under your command. You
cannot
order me around. If I talk with you, it’s because I choose to, which will only happen if Zane remains.”

Reassessing his approach, Mac studied her face, measuring the depth of her determination. She looked pretty damn determined. And since he didn’t have any jurisdiction here, he couldn’t force her compliance.

“Fine,” he growled.

She nodded, abruptly regal. “We’ll be right with you, after we speak with these FBI
gentlemen
.”

Her emphasis on the last word was a blatant dig at his less than gentlemanly behavior. Mac rubbed his lips to hide their sudden twitch. Christ, she was a snippy little thing. All spit and hiss, like a kitten that thought it was a tiger.

“Cosky and Rawls will be happy to take this turn with the feds,” Mac drawled as the door to the conference room opened. Apparently, their five minutes were up.

Her eyebrows knitted again and she started back in with the glaring.

He matched her glare and raised it a scowl. “You may not be under my command,”—a fucking pity—“but they are, and they’ll be happy to take this turn with the feds. Won’t you, boys?”

“Yes, suh.” Rawls’ drawl was more pronounced than ever.

“I’m certain the FBI would like some say in who
they
interview.”

Those purple eyes were back to spitting at him. The woman obviously liked getting her way. Too bad. He always got his.

“Absolutely,” Mac mimicked her pronunciation, and watched her eyes fill with frustrated temper.

He turned to the approaching agents. “I need to speak to Lieutenant Commander Winters. Lieutenant Simcosky and Rawlings will accompany you for the debriefing. I’ll send Zane as soon as I’m done with him.”

Mac waited until the agents escorted Simcosky and Rawlings out of the room. As soon as the double doors closed he took the scrambler out of his pocket and flashed it, before shoving the cylinder back in his pocket.

“It’s a scrambler,” Zane explained to the woman in a low voice. “It scrambles any electrical signals. Bugs. Microphones. Cell phones. Cameras.”

“Which means we can talk freely, so why don’t you explain to me what the fuck’s going on?”

Zane watched him with absolute stillness. “You know what’s going on. They found the guns.”