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The underwater attack had been a complete failure.
Robin dropped into a steel-backed chair and ripped the wrapper off. Only two options remained.
Run. Take the money already stockpiled in the Swiss bank account and begin a comfortable, if not luxurious retirement. Enjoy the satisfaction of having beaten the system, even though Max would be living out his life when Eva’s had been taken from her. Or…
Robin tore a corner off the sandwich and chewed. End it all in a go-for-broke operation that inflicted the most pain on Max before finishing him off. Enough of playing the supporting role to Batman, being shuffled aside, handling food, running errands while the big guy ran the show.
The moment had come to command the lead for one last kick-ass, explosive, season finale.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Darcy staredout her C-17 windscreen at the clear morning sky. She’d just completed a flawless takeoff for their return flight to the States. It seemed years since Bronco had promised her the cool training experience.
In reality, it was only four weeks ago.
Now she had an expanse of crystalline blue sky and clouds ahead, her craft humming under her guiding hand. Where was the rush? The excitement she’d expected? She’d left it behind on Guam with a certain beach hunk turned government agent.
Darcy flipped on autopilot and sagged back in her seat. She hated the way she’d ended things with Max. Sure, anger still zipped through her over how he’d called her dad. And she suspected her father and Max had something to do with the speedy departure orders from Guam just after the general left.
But the danger had passed, they all insisted.
Yeah, right. Max had hustled her off Guam so fast her wheels had probably left skid marks on the runway. Thanks to both of the overprotective louts, two of a kind, in spite of their radically different wardrobes.
Forcing her mind back on her job, Darcy monitored the fuel gauges and assessed the plane’s center of gravity as burning fuel shifted weight distribution. The crew compartment droned from engines. Her headset echoed with the occasional radio call from Crusty in the aircraft commander’s left seat position. Bronco sprawled behind him in the instructor’s seat reading a book.
She should be reveling in the flight. She lived to fly. Always had, except for that brief time after her kidnapping when she’d resented everything military.
Now all she could think about was what she should have said to Max. Everything she’d wanted him to say to her first. Instead, they’d both said a whole lot of nothing and a chance had been lost.
She couldn’t envision what sort of meeting they might have back in the States. But she also couldn’t imagine never seeing him again.
Never.
Just the word caused an ache that constricted her chest. She could almost hear Alicia snorting over her shoulder.So call the guy. What’s the worst he could do?
Break her heart.
And there it was. She was scared to try with Max because defeat would be crushing. The ache in the pit of her stomach swelled.
Crusty thrust a bag of nacho chips her way. “Want some?”
He rattled the bag. The king of moochers was sharing? Darcy searched the label for some kind of gag reading or passed-expiration date.
“No, thanks.” She transferred her attention back to the control panel.
If he dared crack a joke, she’d off-load him out the back into the Pacific. He and Bronco both stayed diplomatically silent, shooting her sympathetic looks instead - worse somehow than being teased.
Think about work, not about Max and when she might see him again. Darcy flipped through her logbook and updated the fuel reading. She needed to concentrate. No small task in a plane with the capacity to carry 180,000 pounds of gas to balance.
Studying her instruments again, she cross-referenced with her notations. Something didn’t add up…
“Crusty, the center of gravity’s moving aft.” Not unheard of even though the body tanks of fuelshouldfeed evenly. But worth watching. “I’m going to shift three thousand pounds of fuel forward into the mid-body to equalize.”
“Roger, co,” Crusty answered.
Darcy keyed in the computerized shift…and over the space of twenty minutes, watched the same thing happen again. She tallied up the math. Twice. Only two hours into the flight and they were already four thousand pounds of gas light. Rechecking her math wasn’t going to change the numbers. And those numbers kept shifting at an increasing rate too coincidental in a month full of “bad luck” hammering her way.
She’d wanted a second chance to talk to Max in Guam, but not this way. If her suspicions were correct, they needed to haul butt back to the island—if they didn’t end up ditching in the ocean first. Unease trickled down her spine. What if the target of Max’s investigation had given her a parting gift?
