Wyatt turned that over. Exterior climb first to hit the uplink, then through hostile territory to engineering control. Two objectives, one route, and even if the terrorists breached command in the meantime, they wouldn’t be able to physically move the missiles.
Not bad for someone who’d been running for her life an hour ago.
His pulse didn’t spike. It steadied.
This he understood. The part he was far too comfortable with.
Jen grabbed one of the M4s from the rack, but she flipped it in her hands as if she was trying to remember which end was the deadly one.
“You’re left-handed?”
She scowled. “I know how to use a gun.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I run a missile defense station. I can handle?—”
“Sure,” Wyatt cut in. “Just before you take your own head off—let me?—”
“Statistically, that won’t happen.”
“Great. Let’s keep it that way.” He stepped in close, gently repositioning her hands. “Left hand here. Support the weight. Shoulder the stock. Good. No, not like a violin—this thing kicks.”
She tensed as his fingers adjusted her grip. “This isn’t my area of expertise.”
“No kidding.” He stepped back. “There. Now you only have a fifty-percent chance of shooting me instead of you.”
“High praise.”
“You’ll get more once we survive the next ten minutes.”
Wyatt slung his weapon, then stowed a handgun in his vest, exactly where his hand would find it. “Stay behind me. Close. And do exactly what I say.”
Her gaze was granite. “I don’t take orders well.”
“You’ll make an exception.” He nodded toward the door. “Ready?”
“No.” Her chin lifted. “But let’s go anyway.”
Damn.
Chief Engineer James was going to be trouble.
6
Jen’s stomach clenched.
The vent shaft yawned dark above her head.
Too small. Too tight.
She’d just crawled through twenty minutes of steel coffin to escape the terrorists. Now she had to go back in.
Wyatt laced his fingers together. “On three”
She put her foot in the makeshift stirrup, her hands gripping his rock-solid shoulders.
“One, two?—”
“Hey—”
He boosted her with a soft grunt.
