Heart Strike (14 page)

“I worked for three years in a museum building exhibits. You have to get out of your own view because you know too much. You have to think like a patron coming to the exhibit for the first time and present a believable world. Create a context for them to subconsciously accept. Now imagine you aren't a Delta operator but a client looking to hire a new outfit to transport your deeply illegal product.”

The frown cleared from his face and he grunted. Then he snapped his fingers, a sharp sound that echoed inside the steel hangar.

Melissa could see everyone's heads pop up from wherever they were occupied around the space. He circled a finger in the air over his head, indicating he was a rally point. In moments the whole team was gathered around them. They were all looking at Duane.

Then, rather than speaking—of course—Duane simply pointed at her.

All eyes turned on her. Chad's ire, Richie's curiosity, Kyle's and Carla's waiting patience. She glanced at Duane again and he offered an infinitesimal nod in her direction. So she took a deep breath and resisted the urge to back away.

“You're all too clean.” It sort of blurted out, but it was a place to start.

They all started looking at each other in surprise.

“We're supposed to be a desperate paramilitary operation, on the edge, willing to take whatever risks are necessary. Right?”

“Right,” Richie confirmed before anyone else. Any started protests died. Clearly the team trusted Richie's assessments implicitly. His genius commanded that much respect in the group. What she'd spent hours piecing together and only completed with Richie's help, he'd seen as a single gestalt with only the clue of their sudden flight training. And the others accepted him completely in the resident genius role.

“Do we look like a desperate paramilitary group?”

The team looked down at themselves then at each other in surprise, but they took no actions.

Melissa sighed. She pulled out the rag that she'd stuffed into her back pocket. She'd used it to wipe down the landing gear and the lower engine housings. A white cloth would reveal oil or hydraulic leaks far faster than a mere visual inspection. Earlier, she'd found a loose grease fitting and it had left a thick brown stain on the cloth. She turned and smeared it on Richie's shirt.

Then she pulled her knife out of its sheath on her thigh and turned to the next team member. It was Chad.

Don't hesitate…

…so she finished the motion. Plucking a fold of his shirt clear of his skin, she nosed the blade into the fabric.

She thought hard in her head,
One false move, dude, and I don't stop there.

But Chad remained frozen in place. She pulled with her fingers and turned the small cut in his shirt into a tear, as if he'd snagged something and was too cheap, lazy, or broke to get another shirt.

On Duane she cut and ripped the sleeves off his T-shirt, making him looking even more dangerous and powerful.

Richie reached out and messed up Carla's hair, a move that seemed to surprise them both but was an improvement. He smiled carefully. Carla's laugh broke the last hesitancy. She grabbed Melissa's rag and smeared a streak of grease down her husband's nose despite his protests.

“Too slow, Kyle,” Melissa teased him.

In moments they were all getting into it.

Standard issue Glocks were traded out at the small arsenal set up in the back of the hangar. Richie waited until she took one of the Colt M1911s with its big-hammer .45 rounds. Then he selected a nasty-looking Russian Grach that shot the smaller 9mm rounds but carried twice the number her choice did. Together, they'd be formidable combination.

Duane dug up a wood file and scuffed up everyone's boots.

It was a good moment.

Maybe she did have a role here.

* * *

It was dinnertime when they finally broke off to step back and see what they'd done. They stood together outside the partly open hangar doors, the sun now shining in the front to reveal the nose of the
Tin Goose.

Richie wrapped Melissa in his arms, because he was just that proud of her. It had taken a long, sweaty day, but now both they and their operation looked thoroughly disreputable.

One of the shiny-new Toyota Forerunner SUVs had been replaced by a ten-year old Ford F-250 Crew Cab. Chad added some wear and tear with judicious use of a crowbar and a sledgehammer. Massive, black, battered, and still with tinted glass—it looked downright evil.

A pile of old rusting car chassis and parts that had been dragged out into the field behind the hangar were dragged back in and shoved into the corners, adding to the disreputable air of the place.

Richie himself had spent most of the day high in the peak of the hangar with Duane, where the temperature rose another twenty degrees, and also out on the roof using tall wobbly ladders. There was enough new security in external cameras to make their battered hangar look like Fort Knox. Not big or obvious, but to trained eyes the gear was completely top end.

“They have to think that we invested in security no matter how broke we are,” Melissa had explained. “Otherwise we'll just get the crap runs. We want them to take us seriously but not think that we're horning in on their business.”

Richie concurred that was the line they had to walk.

Along with Kyle and Carla, Melissa had given the plane a fast paint job—they laid down the base coat and she dressed it with swirling strokes and spatter. The
Tin Goose
was now a mottled smoky gray that would be harder to spot aloft than the plain-white paint job it had previously sported. Flecks of the color were spattered over her legs and arms.

He hoped to be able to drag her into a shower soon to help wash them off.

A hand-painted sign out front advertised:

Moore Aviation

Cargo Air Charters

Sea and land—Discreet, secure.

Contact within.

The team gathered in front of their hangar and observed what they'd done. Now they really did look like what they said they were.

Richie hugged her again. “You did great, Ace.”

“It's a good start.” Melissa was all smiles, but he could see that she still had a lot more in that amazing head of hers.

She turned to Chad and Duane. “I have a job for you two.”

They stood like side-by-side mismatched twins, arms crossed over their chests, Chad's wheat-colored hair and Duane's dark. Duane offered one of his silent nods. Chad was scowling about something as if he was mad at Melissa for taking charge. But that didn't make any sense; she'd been absolutely right with every step so far.

“We need advertising and you guys are it.”

Duane offered a grunt for her to continue.

“We can't find the people we want with big ads or flyers. You guys are headed out to find the worst dives and most marginal restaurants. Play cards, drink, brag a little too much. Get word out onto the street that we're here.”

“Yeah, that will be a real burden for you two.” Richie could see them both cracking smiles at the idea.

Chad punched Duane happily on the shoulder. “Bets on who takes home the hottest chick. Twenty bucks says I can—”

“I don't care about that crap,” Melissa cut them off.

Crap?
She still cracked Richie up every time she said something like that. Such a strong woman with such gentle language—it was a shock in the rough-spoken world of The Unit.

“I care about you getting our name out there. You're operators; focus.”

No one else seemed to react, but Richie caught the edge in her tone. It would have sounded normal coming from anyone else, but from Melissa Moore the mild-mannered Canadian, from his Ilsa, it was a barbed slice. She might as well be calling Chad and Duane incompetent boobs by the way she'd said it.

Richie glanced at Carla, but she wasn't reacting as if anything unusual was going on.

Perhaps he was imagining it.

“Go already.”

They headed for the battered pickup.

“No, take the Forerunner. The contrast of the high-end vehicle and your low-end actions might help spread the word faster.”

Again the slice, again no other reactions. But he knew he wasn't imagining a thing.

As soon as they were gone, he could feel her tension ease. She even wiped at her forehead as if she'd been doing something hard and was glad it was over.

“And what's on the list for us, oh grand chess master?” Kyle spoke easily.

“Call Fred. Tell him that we want a cargo out of Colombia into Venezuela. Legal, but barely, would be best.”

“When?” Kyle was pulling out a cell phone.

“We four take off at last light, in about three hours. Back at sunrise. Best advertising is getting the
Tin Goose
aloft and looking busy.”

Kyle got busy on the phone, Carla leaning in to eavesdrop.

Richie guided Melissa aside.

“You okay?”

Her brittle “sure,” told Richie that he wasn't going to get anywhere in that direction. He searched for another topic; he seemed to be doing that a lot around Melissa. She had very carefully constructed walls that he wasn't having much luck breaching. There were other things he wasn't having much luck with.

“I had rather hoped to get some time alone with you tonight, rather than flying to Colombia and back.”

That softened her. She slid her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his.

His hands landed around her waist and again it was the most natural gesture, right in a way that only electronics or computer code had ever been. There was a biologic synchronicity between them that was undeniable.

“That sounds lovely,” she whispered. And he could feel the exhaustion sag through her.

“But it's not going to happen.” He managed to not make it a question. Barely, but he knew she was right.

“It's not. But…” She left him hanging.

“What?”

“I could really use some room service and a shower.”

Richie pulled her in closer until they were pressed hard together.

She clung to him and he never wanted to let go.

“I'll scrub your back,” he whispered into her ear.

* * *

Melissa had been bracing herself for some horrid dive of a hotel to fit their new image. The Bahamas had promised luxury, even if they'd had the opportunity taken away at the last moment. The Aruban hotel had also been very nice, but all they'd done was sleep. Images of climbing into a mold-stained shower stall barely wide enough for one was not how she wanted it to be.

She'd almost begged off, but Richie would know that there was nothing else they could do on the plane or in the hangar. And she didn't want to avoid him. She just wanted…

Kyle pulled the battered pickup right back up to the same beautiful hotel where she'd first met the team.

“What?”

“No one,” Carla said from the driver's seat, “said that drug runners were smart about how they spent their money when they have it.”

From the backseat, Melissa lunged forward so that she could reach around the front seat and grab Carla by the shoulders. She shook her with the sheer joy of it.

“If you were back here, I'd kiss you.”

“Save it for Richie.”

Okay, Melissa knew they were being obvious, but still she wanted to hug Carla for being so thoughtful.

They parked the truck and headed for the elevators.

“Nope.” Carla tugged on Kyle's arm. “You and I are eating in the restaurant.”

“But I need a show—” he tried to protest.

“Deal with it.” Carla winked at her.

Melissa pictured the suite—with Kyle and Carla sitting out in the main room pretending they couldn't hear anything—and Melissa decided that she'd found yet another reason to like the Wild Woman.

Richie didn't attack her in the elevator, but he didn't let go of her hand either, instead holding it so tightly that she wasn't sure if she could escape even if she wanted to.

Down the hall…nothing.

Through the door…still nothing.

Was she going to have to be the one to—

The moment she was through the door and the lock had snicked into place, Richie slammed her back against the cool wooden surface.

She was hot, sweaty but not the good kind, covered in flecks of paint, and Richie was proving that he didn't care. They shared a lip-lock while his hands, his very agile Delta-trained hands, removed her clothes. Unsure quite how it happened, she was leaning naked against the hotel room door, not a sock or panties to her name, when everything came to a sudden stop.

Her eyes slowly refocused, and there was Richie. Still fully clothed. A step away from her. He was looking down the length of her body and swallowing hard.

“What? Why did you stop?”

“I—It shouldn't be like this.”

“Like what? Me naked and you still fully clothed?” She never had modesty issues, they never lasted long in the Army anyway, but his look was unnerving her.

“No, that's not it.”

She waited. When he didn't explain further, or even reach out to touch her, she fought against the desire to cover herself.

“Richieee,” she warned him.

Still nothing.

“Use your words.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head, then shook it again. “I can't get over that you're so…” He scrubbed at his face, then looked her in the eyes. “You're gorgeous.”

Melissa didn't want to feel charmed or pleased or surprised; she wanted sex. Yet Richie was charming her. She'd never wielded sex as power, but that she had a power over Richie was…interesting. She didn't intend to do anything with it unless… “Are you planning on doing something about it anytime soon?”

He grinned and swept her up in his arms faster than she could squeak out her surprise. He swept her through one of the doors and kicked it shut without slowing.