made him want to believe—at least part of her story. She was still lying her gorgeous ass off about who she was and what she did. Reporter? Not a chance. She was personally vested in this—her heavy-handed tactics at the bar told that story.
“If you sell me out, chica, be warned: There’snot a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”
She had nothing to say to that, but her eyes told him he’d made her a believer.
“ Aeropuerto. Rapido, ” he told the taxi driver, hoping to hell he wasn’t going to regret his decision.
9
When Brown decided to move, he moved. They hit the Jorge Chavez International Airport running. First stop was at a small hangar far away from the busy international commercial terminals. With an order for the cabdriver to wait that Brown insured by tipping him with some of the money he’d lifted from her pockets, he grabbed her hand and they raced into the building.
“Do you think we’re being followed?” she asked breathlessly.
“If there had been more than one shooter, we’d have met up with him before we left the hotel.”
That made sense, but didn’t stop her from constantly looking over her shoulder.
The hangar housed several small private planes and as Brown jogged briskly across the concrete floor, she’d either have to keep up or fall flat on her face. He dragged her along behind him at a break-neck pace.
“What are we doing here?” They ducked aroundand under several wings before stopping beside a vintage twin turboprop Beechcraft King Air.
“Getting my passport.”
The Beechcraft was a sweetheart of a plane—her dad had been a Beechcraft buff so she recognized the make and model immediately. PRIMETIME AIR CARGO was sprawled across the gleaming white fuselage in glittering red, white, and blue letters.
For a man who claimed no love of country, they were interesting color choices, she thought as he unlocked the door with a key he fished out of his boot.
And for a man who didn’t want anyone to think he gave two rips about anything, the plane was immaculately clean and well cared for.
“If you sell me out , chica, be warned: There’s not a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”
Despite the pulsing heat under the tin roof of the hangar, she suppressed a shiver at the memory of the look in his eyes. He’d meant it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—or like a man who’d been played by a woman.
But that sword sliced both ways. If it turned out he’d lied and he was responsible for Ramon’s death, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the wolves.
“We’d better ditch the guns here. Stash them in the plane.” He held out his hand.
He was right. They’d never make it past airport security. Reluctantly, she handed hers over.
“Wait here.” He tucked her Glock in his waistband and pulled down the airstairs. “I’ll be right back.”
He trotted up the five steps and ducked inside. Curious about what she’d find inside, she ignored his order to wait and followed him up the stairs.
He spun around so fast that if he hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her against him, she would have tumbled backward down the steps.
For a very long, very intense several seconds, they stood that way. Him gripping her upper arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, their gazes clashing and hot. For a wild and crazy instant, she thought he would kiss her. For an even wilder and crazier instant, she thought she might let him.
“I told you to wait,” he growled, breaking the spell.
Stunned by her reaction to him, she lifted her chin and gave him a “you’re not the boss of me” look.
He shook his head and with a roll of his eyes, let her go.
And damn if she wasn’t shaking. She steadied herself with a deep breath.
What the hell was that?
Adrenaline. Had to be. And sleep deprivation. And the constant, recurring memory of the pillow exploding on the bed from the gunman’s MP5K.
While Brown dug around in the cockpit, she
“If you sell me out, chica, be warned: There’snot a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”
She had nothing to say to that, but her eyes told him he’d made her a believer.
“ Aeropuerto. Rapido, ” he told the taxi driver, hoping to hell he wasn’t going to regret his decision.
9
When Brown decided to move, he moved. They hit the Jorge Chavez International Airport running. First stop was at a small hangar far away from the busy international commercial terminals. With an order for the cabdriver to wait that Brown insured by tipping him with some of the money he’d lifted from her pockets, he grabbed her hand and they raced into the building.
“Do you think we’re being followed?” she asked breathlessly.
“If there had been more than one shooter, we’d have met up with him before we left the hotel.”
That made sense, but didn’t stop her from constantly looking over her shoulder.
The hangar housed several small private planes and as Brown jogged briskly across the concrete floor, she’d either have to keep up or fall flat on her face. He dragged her along behind him at a break-neck pace.
“What are we doing here?” They ducked aroundand under several wings before stopping beside a vintage twin turboprop Beechcraft King Air.
“Getting my passport.”
The Beechcraft was a sweetheart of a plane—her dad had been a Beechcraft buff so she recognized the make and model immediately. PRIMETIME AIR CARGO was sprawled across the gleaming white fuselage in glittering red, white, and blue letters.
For a man who claimed no love of country, they were interesting color choices, she thought as he unlocked the door with a key he fished out of his boot.
And for a man who didn’t want anyone to think he gave two rips about anything, the plane was immaculately clean and well cared for.
“If you sell me out , chica, be warned: There’s not a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”
Despite the pulsing heat under the tin roof of the hangar, she suppressed a shiver at the memory of the look in his eyes. He’d meant it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—or like a man who’d been played by a woman.
But that sword sliced both ways. If it turned out he’d lied and he was responsible for Ramon’s death, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the wolves.
“We’d better ditch the guns here. Stash them in the plane.” He held out his hand.
He was right. They’d never make it past airport security. Reluctantly, she handed hers over.
“Wait here.” He tucked her Glock in his waistband and pulled down the airstairs. “I’ll be right back.”
He trotted up the five steps and ducked inside. Curious about what she’d find inside, she ignored his order to wait and followed him up the stairs.
He spun around so fast that if he hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her against him, she would have tumbled backward down the steps.
For a very long, very intense several seconds, they stood that way. Him gripping her upper arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, their gazes clashing and hot. For a wild and crazy instant, she thought he would kiss her. For an even wilder and crazier instant, she thought she might let him.
“I told you to wait,” he growled, breaking the spell.
Stunned by her reaction to him, she lifted her chin and gave him a “you’re not the boss of me” look.
He shook his head and with a roll of his eyes, let her go.
And damn if she wasn’t shaking. She steadied herself with a deep breath.
What the hell was that?
Adrenaline. Had to be. And sleep deprivation. And the constant, recurring memory of the pillow exploding on the bed from the gunman’s MP5K.
While Brown dug around in the cockpit, she
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