roughly, twisting her arm until the nerves screamed. “Play nice now.”
Beth needed to do something and she needed to do it fast. She could easily get free—that wasn’t what worried her—but there was no way she could overpower the man, and hold him until the FBI arrived. Nor did she know how long it would take Zane and his teammates to contain their targets. So how in the world was she supposed to keep him here? At the first sign of trouble, he’d take off.
The only weapon she had at her disposal was the location. Beth quickly scanned the clusters of people surrounding her. There were plenty of men in the crowd strong enough to hold her attacker. And if they acted in concert, the bozo trying to drag her out of the terminal wouldn’t be going anywhere. Zane had been right; since 9/11, passengers were taking a much more active role in their safety. That could work to her advantage.
How to galvanize them into action was the question. She flashed back to the last two hijackings attempts in the news. In both cases, the passengers had reacted to a perceived threat and sprung into action, mobbing and then restraining the terrorist. If she could incite the same reaction…
Her best bet would be to convince everyone he had a bomb. A bomb threat resonated at a visceral level.
Without consciously making a decision, she threw back her head and screamed. She screamed as loud and as hard as she could, until her throat burned and her voice seized, and her ears were ringing. The shrillness of her shriek pierced the chattering, laughing crowd, and instant silence fell.
Hundreds of startled, curious faces swung in her direction.
The man beside her cursed.
She screamed again—just as loud, just as hard. When she finally fell silent, a confused hush consumed the departure gate.
The hand grinding the bones of her elbow dropped. The guy was about to bolt, she could sense it.
Oh, no, he wasn’t. Beth stepped into him, tangling her feet in his, hoping to trip him, or block him.
“He’s got a bomb!” she shouted. “Somebody stop him. He’s got a bomb!”
An uneasy buzz swept through the crowd. Eyes sharpened and swung toward the man she’d accused, but nobody stepped forward to restrain him. In fact, the fool might have escaped, if his survival instincts hadn’t kicked in. Rather than playing the amused, or surprised, or irritated bystander, he gave Beth’s shoulder a hard shove and leapt back.
His instinctive reaction looked guilty as hell. Several men stepped forward, their focus locked on the clearly rattled would-be hijacker. In a move that looked oddly choreographed, the approaching men fell into a loose pack formation, moving forward and splitting to the sides as though they intended to circle him—cutting off any avenue of escape.
“You okay, miss?” one of the men asked.
Before she had a chance to respond, her attacker made another snap decision. Rather than making a run for it, he leapt forward and grabbed Beth by her hair. Yanking her head back, he wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed—hard.
She gagged, clawed at his arm and tried to turn her head to bite him, but she couldn’t angle her head enough to reach his flesh. She kicked back with her heels, but there wasn’t enough leverage to inflict any damage and while her elbows connected with a bit more force, it wasn’t enough to gain her freedom. Instead, he cursed and squeezed even harder.
This time the black dots dancing across her vision had nothing to do with shock and everything to do with lack of blood and breath.
“Everyone stay back!” he snarled the order as her vision started to gray. “Stay back or I’ll break her fucking neck.”
* * *
Damn it to hell!
Russ watched with increasing frustration as Eric Dietrich completely lost control of the situation. It shouldn’t have been that difficult to get the woman to leave willingly. All he’d had to do was present himself as an authority figure. Demand that she accompany
Beth needed to do something and she needed to do it fast. She could easily get free—that wasn’t what worried her—but there was no way she could overpower the man, and hold him until the FBI arrived. Nor did she know how long it would take Zane and his teammates to contain their targets. So how in the world was she supposed to keep him here? At the first sign of trouble, he’d take off.
The only weapon she had at her disposal was the location. Beth quickly scanned the clusters of people surrounding her. There were plenty of men in the crowd strong enough to hold her attacker. And if they acted in concert, the bozo trying to drag her out of the terminal wouldn’t be going anywhere. Zane had been right; since 9/11, passengers were taking a much more active role in their safety. That could work to her advantage.
How to galvanize them into action was the question. She flashed back to the last two hijackings attempts in the news. In both cases, the passengers had reacted to a perceived threat and sprung into action, mobbing and then restraining the terrorist. If she could incite the same reaction…
Her best bet would be to convince everyone he had a bomb. A bomb threat resonated at a visceral level.
Without consciously making a decision, she threw back her head and screamed. She screamed as loud and as hard as she could, until her throat burned and her voice seized, and her ears were ringing. The shrillness of her shriek pierced the chattering, laughing crowd, and instant silence fell.
Hundreds of startled, curious faces swung in her direction.
The man beside her cursed.
She screamed again—just as loud, just as hard. When she finally fell silent, a confused hush consumed the departure gate.
The hand grinding the bones of her elbow dropped. The guy was about to bolt, she could sense it.
Oh, no, he wasn’t. Beth stepped into him, tangling her feet in his, hoping to trip him, or block him.
“He’s got a bomb!” she shouted. “Somebody stop him. He’s got a bomb!”
An uneasy buzz swept through the crowd. Eyes sharpened and swung toward the man she’d accused, but nobody stepped forward to restrain him. In fact, the fool might have escaped, if his survival instincts hadn’t kicked in. Rather than playing the amused, or surprised, or irritated bystander, he gave Beth’s shoulder a hard shove and leapt back.
His instinctive reaction looked guilty as hell. Several men stepped forward, their focus locked on the clearly rattled would-be hijacker. In a move that looked oddly choreographed, the approaching men fell into a loose pack formation, moving forward and splitting to the sides as though they intended to circle him—cutting off any avenue of escape.
“You okay, miss?” one of the men asked.
Before she had a chance to respond, her attacker made another snap decision. Rather than making a run for it, he leapt forward and grabbed Beth by her hair. Yanking her head back, he wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed—hard.
She gagged, clawed at his arm and tried to turn her head to bite him, but she couldn’t angle her head enough to reach his flesh. She kicked back with her heels, but there wasn’t enough leverage to inflict any damage and while her elbows connected with a bit more force, it wasn’t enough to gain her freedom. Instead, he cursed and squeezed even harder.
This time the black dots dancing across her vision had nothing to do with shock and everything to do with lack of blood and breath.
“Everyone stay back!” he snarled the order as her vision started to gray. “Stay back or I’ll break her fucking neck.”
* * *
Damn it to hell!
Russ watched with increasing frustration as Eric Dietrich completely lost control of the situation. It shouldn’t have been that difficult to get the woman to leave willingly. All he’d had to do was present himself as an authority figure. Demand that she accompany
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