And even though he had one very large machine gun pointed at his chest, the only thought to run through his mind in that instant was…boobs…
Great, glorious, good-God-almighty boobs…
Then he was distracted—thank you, sweet Jesus—when Agent Duvall lifted a hand to the Bluetooth device in her ear and said, “Sir! Excuse my French, but what the hell is going on here? I’ve got three guys in full tactical pointing weapons at me and saying they’re working on your orders to take Delilah Fairchild into custody.”
“What do you mean I’m not safe with the Black Knights?” Delilah demanded in response to the declaration Chelsea made after finally signing off with her supervisor. The call had lasted five eternal, god-awful, soul-sucking minutes. And Delilah figured if she heard one more, “Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” she was going to grab Mac’s gun and shoot the CIA agent in the ass. After all, it was her they were talking about here. The fact that they wanted to take her into custody.
“I mean just that,” Chelsea said. “You’re not safe with the Black Knights.”
Delilah was no longer hiding behind Mac’s back because the mysterious Morales had apparently issued an order for the three Men in Black to stand down, and the tension in the room had leveled out in response. Oh, it was still a pretty hairy environment, what with six heavily armed, testosterone-laden males scowling and posturing toward each other, but at least now Delilah felt safe enough to stand in the middle of them, hands on hips, scowl pasted firmly in place.
Not safe with the Black Knights? Preposterous! If she wasn’t safe with them, then she wasn’t safe with anyone. She flicked a quick glance toward Mac. Unfortunately, she could read nothing behind the Mask of Inscrutability. Her heart skipped a beat. Give me a sign, Mac. Let me know Chelsea is chock-a-block full of crap…
And maybe he was a mind reader, or maybe his Spidey sense worked for more than just piecing together clues, because his electric blue eyes alighted on her face for a brief second, one heartbeat…then two. But it was enough. Because the flicker of dead-eye certainty she saw in his gaze took the tiniest edge off her screaming nerves.
“We lost al-Hallaj,” Chelsea said. “And since the Black Knights have not been unable to assure your safety from him on two separate occasions, my supervisor would feel more comfortable keeping you under the CIA’s protection until such a time as we have al-Hallaj in custody.” She gestured toward the Men in Black. “And these men are here to—”
“We might have,” Zoelner interrupted, his voice so low and raspy Delilah wondered who’d been shoving tacks down his throat, “been able to keep Delilah safe had someone,” he lifted a meaningful brow at Chelsea, “told us there was a fucking terrorist on the loose!”
“As I already explained to you,” Chelsea shouted, two red flags painting her cheeks, “we weren’t certain of that fact at the time!”
“Oh, so you’re saying it’s perfectly fine for you guys to fuck up. But when we do it, you think you have the authority to—”
“Can we get back to the real issue?” Ozzie interrupted. “Which is that your idiotic CIA compatriots went and lost al-Hallaj? I mean, honestly, how the hell did you manage that? He was driving a wimpy little hybrid and you had choppers and…uh…” he snapped his fingers, “oh, yeah, satellites!”
Chelsea turned to Ozzie, frowning and pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a brusque finger. “He drove under an overpass in a heavily wooded area and the helos lost sight of him,” she explained. “Then he abandoned the car on the other side of the overpass and ducked into a large drainage pipe that ran for more than a mile. In the couple of minutes it took the pursuing team to fast-rope into a nearby clearing, hump it back to the overpass and realize that’s how he’d made his escape, he was already gone. They gave chase and we trained the satellites on the truncating location of the drainage pipe, but it was too late. We’ve got men scouring—”
Ozzie rolled his eyes and held up a hand in the classic traffic cop “stop” signal. “Whoa, there, Long Windy. Is it possible to get the tweeted version of this saga?”
The look Chelsea sent him very clearly stated that whatever headway his earlier flirtations had made with her had instantly been lost.
“In short,” Zoelner grumbled beneath his breath, “you lost the guy, and now we’ve got a big, steaming pile of jack shit.”
“Which really sucks out loud,” Ozzie added.
And Delilah had to agree. The whole situation sucked. Silently. Out loud. Every which way. She turned when she saw the lead SWAT guy lift a hand to his ear, pressing his earpiece closer to his head. He nodded tersely before informing the group, “My supervisor just told me we’ve got five minutes to secure Miss Fairchild. Then we’re moving out.”
Mac took a threatening step forward and Ozzie muttered something about the SWAT guy’s cornhole and what should be stuffed in it.
In response, SWAT Guy made a move toward his weapon. Ozzie’s handgun was up and aimed before Delilah could blink. And suddenly World War III was about to break out all over again as every man in the room armed himself anew.
“Agent Duvall,” Zoelner hissed. “Now would be an excellent time to call and tell Morales that the only way Delilah Fairchild is walking out of this house is over our corpses.”
“I’ve already said that can be arranged,” SWAT Guy growled.
Delilah barely resisted rolling her eyes. God, save me from this sea of testosterone. She fancied if she squinted just right, she’d be able to see the stuff sloshing around the room in great, heaving waves.
“And make that call fast,” Ozzie added. “Because, according to shit-for-brains here, we’ve only got five minutes before the bullets start flying.”
“Are you all kidding me right now?” Chelsea demanded.
“About the flying bullets,” Ozzie said, “or about the fact that this guy does, indeed, have shit for brains?”
“Go fuck yourself,” SWAT Guy growled at Ozzie.
“Better than fucking you, Middle-Aged Mutant Ninja Turtle,” Ozzie retorted.
And that one got her. Despite everything, despite the fact that she was horrified about the terrorist, scared shitless for her uncle, and damn near dead on her feet from thirty-some-odd hours of no sleep, Delilah felt her lips twitch. Because, what with the all-black suit, the balaclava, and the pack attached to his back, SWAT Guy did kind of look like he could pass for the fifth member of the TMNT gang.
“Oh, shut up, all of you!” Chelsea barked, holding her Bluetooth device in place with one finger. She turned her back on the group and proceeded to throw out accusations like buckets of hydrochloric acid to whoever was talking in her ear. Then Chelsea was quiet for a long moment, during which time every eye in the room was focused on her back. Well, except for Zoelner’s. When Delilah glanced at the guy, she couldn’t help but note his eyes were focused like laser pointers on Chelsea’s butt.