him. If one presented themselves as someone in authority, people tended to follow along like pathetic little lambs—at least in the beginning. By the time she’d realized her mistake, it would be too late. Without her SEAL contingent protecting her, the woman had been vulnerable. Easy pickings.
Swearing beneath his breath, Russ turned from the drama taking place like a runaway train across the corridor. He typed a command into the keyboard of his laptop that would wipe the computer clean, leaving it a useless lump of plastic and metal. Although nothing was ever truly wiped clean. If the FBI or DHS techs got their hands on it, everything that had just vanished could be resurrected. Eventually. But by then Russ would be long gone.
Of course if he intervened, his laptop wasn’t the only thing he could kiss goodbye. He’d lose any possibility of escape as well. Since he wasn’t booked on Flight 2077, it was doubtful he’d have been hauled in for questioning.
While they’d separate and hold the passengers of the compromised flight for interrogation—hell, he was counting on it—there would be no reason for the FBI to quarantine the surrounding gates. He would have been free to catch his plane to the Twin Cities.
Except, he needed that fucking woman.
Since Dietrich had lost his opportunity, that left Russ to step up and take charge. Of course, by taking action he’d bring himself to the feds’ attention, but they wouldn’t discover anything detrimental. His military record had been erased years ago. Even if they did fingerprint him, his prints were on file under the Russ Branson persona, thanks to a carefully crafted arrest report charging the man with a DUI.
He should update the bosses. Explain why the operation was moving to door number two. A pulse of pure tension shot through him. He took a deep, calming breath. He’d take care of that unpleasant task as soon as he corrected the situation across the corridor.
Moving without haste, he zipped the laptop into its case and rose to his feet. He stretched, worked the kinks out of his shoulders, and smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks. A quick tuck-in of his shirt and he was ready for battle. Breathing easily, calmly, he picked up the laptop case and tucked his cell into the pocket of his slacks.
Beth Brown screamed as Russ started across the corridor. He stopped and stared, appreciating the show. The surrounding gates had gone still as death, every eye swinging in her direction. Which by default included Dietrich. The attention brought him into focus like a blinding white spotlight.
That alone was reason enough to kill the stupid bastard.
She was a smart cookie. No way in hell was Dietrich dragging her out now. Not with the entire fucking airport watching.
Russ scanned the gate area, but hundreds of frozen passengers obstructed his view. Too bad. He’d bet Jilly’s entire Broadway sound track collection that Beth Brown’s scream had set off some interesting physical reactions in Zane Winters’ physiology.
As the woman shrieked again, Dietrich reacted exactly as Russ had come to expect—like a fucking idiot. All he had to do was laugh her off as an unstable, hysterical girlfriend. All he had to do was walk away. Instead, he launched himself across the space separating them and grabbed her by the neck, proving to the watching passengers that he was dangerous. No doubt everyone was wondering if he did have a bomb beneath his shirt.
Un-fucking-believable .
Once this job was over, he’d hunt down the bastard who’d vouched for the fool, and stuff that glowing recommendation down the asshole’s slit throat.
Half a dozen men broke from the crowd and formed a loose circle around the pair. Russ picked up his pace. Adrenaline crested, along with the razor-sharp awareness he remembered from those long-ago special-ops days. His senses sharpened. His vision brightened. His hearing crystallized, until he could hear the hard thump of his heart.
It felt good to
Swearing beneath his breath, Russ turned from the drama taking place like a runaway train across the corridor. He typed a command into the keyboard of his laptop that would wipe the computer clean, leaving it a useless lump of plastic and metal. Although nothing was ever truly wiped clean. If the FBI or DHS techs got their hands on it, everything that had just vanished could be resurrected. Eventually. But by then Russ would be long gone.
Of course if he intervened, his laptop wasn’t the only thing he could kiss goodbye. He’d lose any possibility of escape as well. Since he wasn’t booked on Flight 2077, it was doubtful he’d have been hauled in for questioning.
While they’d separate and hold the passengers of the compromised flight for interrogation—hell, he was counting on it—there would be no reason for the FBI to quarantine the surrounding gates. He would have been free to catch his plane to the Twin Cities.
Except, he needed that fucking woman.
Since Dietrich had lost his opportunity, that left Russ to step up and take charge. Of course, by taking action he’d bring himself to the feds’ attention, but they wouldn’t discover anything detrimental. His military record had been erased years ago. Even if they did fingerprint him, his prints were on file under the Russ Branson persona, thanks to a carefully crafted arrest report charging the man with a DUI.
He should update the bosses. Explain why the operation was moving to door number two. A pulse of pure tension shot through him. He took a deep, calming breath. He’d take care of that unpleasant task as soon as he corrected the situation across the corridor.
Moving without haste, he zipped the laptop into its case and rose to his feet. He stretched, worked the kinks out of his shoulders, and smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks. A quick tuck-in of his shirt and he was ready for battle. Breathing easily, calmly, he picked up the laptop case and tucked his cell into the pocket of his slacks.
Beth Brown screamed as Russ started across the corridor. He stopped and stared, appreciating the show. The surrounding gates had gone still as death, every eye swinging in her direction. Which by default included Dietrich. The attention brought him into focus like a blinding white spotlight.
That alone was reason enough to kill the stupid bastard.
She was a smart cookie. No way in hell was Dietrich dragging her out now. Not with the entire fucking airport watching.
Russ scanned the gate area, but hundreds of frozen passengers obstructed his view. Too bad. He’d bet Jilly’s entire Broadway sound track collection that Beth Brown’s scream had set off some interesting physical reactions in Zane Winters’ physiology.
As the woman shrieked again, Dietrich reacted exactly as Russ had come to expect—like a fucking idiot. All he had to do was laugh her off as an unstable, hysterical girlfriend. All he had to do was walk away. Instead, he launched himself across the space separating them and grabbed her by the neck, proving to the watching passengers that he was dangerous. No doubt everyone was wondering if he did have a bomb beneath his shirt.
Un-fucking-believable .
Once this job was over, he’d hunt down the bastard who’d vouched for the fool, and stuff that glowing recommendation down the asshole’s slit throat.
Half a dozen men broke from the crowd and formed a loose circle around the pair. Russ picked up his pace. Adrenaline crested, along with the razor-sharp awareness he remembered from those long-ago special-ops days. His senses sharpened. His vision brightened. His hearing crystallized, until he could hear the hard thump of his heart.
It felt good to
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