Kay David: The Commander

“And if I disagree?”

Her pulse jackhammered, but Lena had trained herself well. She knew her expression was neutral. “Feel free to disagree all you want. I don’t really care one way or the other.”

His eyes danced over her face, searching it for something, and she felt the plunge begin again. Before his inexorable pull could drag her any deeper, her radio sounded, Ryan’s voice in her ear. “This is G1. Area clear. L1 proceed.”

She acknowledged the call, then spoke to Andres, heading off whatever his reply might have been.

“The stairs are going to be our most open point. Stay as close to me as possible and keep your head down. Don’t look around. Just watch my feet and go where I go. Scott will be at your back. When we hit the ground, we’ll walk directly to the car. If anything happens, fall down. Understand?”

At her imperious tone, his own voice sharpened. “For God’s sake, Lena, I know what to do. I’ve done this before—”

“Good,” she broke in. “Then do it right, and we’ll all come out alive.”

He started to reply, but at the last minute he snapped his mouth shut and jerked his head toward the stairs in an impatient let’s-go motion. Lena caught Scott’s eye, spoke into her headset then started down the stairs.

AS ANDRES FOLLOWED Lena down the steps, he told himself to calm down, to act as if he didn’t care. It was an impossible order, though.

He’d never be able to do that, not as far as she was concerned.

When she’d made that crack about trust, Lena had been putting him on notice. There was no trust between them—not now. She would do her job but there would be no other contact. She wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.

Forcing himself to ignore his response, he discarded Lena’s instructions and looked around the tarmac, his stare quick and jumpy as it traveled over the jetway and to the buildings beyond. He saw nothing unusual.

To their right a mechanic in a set of blue overalls worked under the hood of a small Cessna, his tools laid out in a precise line at his feet. To his left, a man in sunglasses and a cap sat behind the wheel of a small motorized cart filled with luggage. In between them was the terminal, and through a wall of windows, Andres could see a group of passengers mingling and talking. Well-dressed and well-heeled, they matched the expensive designer suitcases on the wagon. They were probably waiting for one of the private jets that made up the majority of planes coming in and out of the airport.

By the time he finished his scan, they were at the foot of the stairs, and Andres took a deep breath, an unconscious sweep of relief hitting him hard. For the first time, he noticed the weather; the sunshine was almost blinding, the air warmer and softer than it usually was this time of year. Along the walkway, a row of sago palms swayed in the brisk breeze, their green fronds gleaming in the light.

A second later they reached a nearby SUV. The unmarked Suburban, painted black with darkly tinted windows, was so obviously a government truck it could have had the department’s seal on the side. The back doors swung wide, and Zack Potter stepped out. Potter would be running the Destin office Andres was here to officially open. A former D.C. policeman, the handsome man looked more like a bodybuilder than a federal official. They’d been friends a long time and Andres respected him greatly. Except for Andres himself, no one could run the office any better. With Zack Potter in charge, the Red Tides’s pipeline of drugs from Mexico to New York was about to hit a major roadblock.

Potter crossed the space between them and held out his hand, a wide grin splitting his face. “Casimiro! ’Bout time you got here.” He nodded toward the jet. “Nice ride, too!”

“Let’s save the greetings for later, gentlemen.” Lena glanced in Potter’s direction, then spoke quickly, her eyes studying the area around them as she motioned Scott to the other side of the car. “I need to get Mr. Casimiro inside, please….”

“Of course, of course!” Potter smiled again then stepped aside to let Andres pass. Lena stood at the door of the truck waiting for him.

He reached her side, threw his briefcase onto the seat, then turned to look at her. Just as in the plane, they were inches apart, her slim form backed up against the open car door, his body poised to get inside. Her gaze was serene and composed, the stone color of her eyes even more intense now that they were outside in the sunshine. It was crazy, but he had to try—and he wasn’t even sure for what—one more time.

“Lena…querida…”

Again the Spanish. Lena couldn’t believe it, but something curled inside her, a warm yearning for a time that was far behind them. The depth of pain that accompanied the craving surprised her, but she stiffened against it. She wasn’t his sweetheart and hadn’t been for a long time. How dare he use that word and that tone of voice? How was she supposed to deal with that?

Before she could form her angry reply, she caught an unexpected movement in her peripheral vision, a sudden motion that made her snap to, almost as if waking up from a dream. She glanced toward the area, already cursing herself for letting down her guard. Her profanity had barely cleared the air when the first bullet slammed into the Suburban.

A moment later, the second one came.

Beside them, Zack Potter collapsed onto the asphalt, his scream dying as the bullet ripped into his neck. Lena stared at his still-jerking body, then she yanked her head up and cried into her headset for backup. As she spoke, she whirled and Andres’s shocked eyes met hers. Grabbing his arms instinctively, she did what she was trained to do—she pushed him straight into the truck.

But he resisted her, and for one single second, they held on to each other, each trying their best to protect the other one first. Lena won—not by strength—but by doing the only thing she could. She went limp. Caught off guard by her action, Andres hesitated and that was all she needed. With a violent shove, she forced him down, then turned, thrusting herself in front of him.

The final shot was a direct hit. Lena crumpled without a word.

ANDRES REACTED instantly, old habits taking over as adrenaline kicked in. He grabbed Lena by the collar of her jacket and yanked her to him. Still trying to draw her weapon, she fought him futilely. “No,” she gasped. “You go! Get in the car and leave!”

“Not without you!” They wasted a few more precious moments, then too weak to do anything else, she gave in to Andres and allowed him to pull her into the truck. Before he tumbled inside the vehicle with her, Andres sent a quick glance in Zack Potter’s direction. The time to help his friend had passed. “Get us out of here,” he roared to the driver. “Now! Let’s go!”

The man needed no urging. The black SUV sprang forward, the tires squealing as he drove it down the sidewalk and straight toward a set of double gates. Only when she spoke again did Andres realize Lena had never released her grip of his arm. She pulled at him weakly, her voice fading but still urgent. “Stay down. We don’t know where the shots came from.”

Andres turned, but it was too late for her to hear his reply. Her eyes rolled back and she fainted without a sound. Her limp body started to pitch off the seat, but he threw himself on top of her and stopped her fall at the very last minute. Bracing himself, he fought the violent rocking of the truck and prepared for the crash of the vehicle as it went through the metal frame of the gate.

When it didn’t happen, he lifted his head and took a quick glance. A figure in black, one of Lena’s men, had swung back the iron grilles. The driver deftly maneuvered through the narrow opening, then bumped the speeding vehicle over the grooved tracks to a grassy swell just at the left of the runway. With the tires screaming even louder than before, the Suburban hit the pavement outside the terminal then turned right on two wheels. Within seconds they were on the main road into town, two black and whites escorting them, one front, one rear.