Rising Hope by Edie James
5
Enzo switchedoff the fuel pump and the generator with more force than necessary. The woman’s snippy warning echoed through his brain.
Try not to get dead.
Yeah. Good plan. Guess she didn’t want him on the mission any more than he wanted to be there.
He blew out a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. He wasn’t here to be ordered around by a civilian, no matter what her security clearance. He was an aviator, responsible for the safety of his passengers and the security of his aircraft.
If that meant securing his aircraft from criminals selling illegal pharmaceuticals, he’d take whatever steps necessary, whether that displeased his prickly new partner or not.
He rubbed his forehead. Man, he hated tension. Danger and risk were familiar companions, but this edgy jockeying for position was something he’d rarely encountered. He didn’t like it much. Dealing with criminals, he expected. Having to wrangle respect from the other agents, not so much.
And he hated being out of his element. Flying aside, he didn’t have the skillset for this operation. He wasn’t sure he wanted it, either. If undercover interdiction meant cozying up to criminals, he’d pass.
Before releasing his shoulder harness, he lifted a quick prayer.
“Please, Jesus, keep us safe. And give me the patience to handle this woman and conduct myself like a proper Christian.”
Connecting with his Savior always soothed his mind. Raised by parents of unshakeable faith, he couldn’t imagine a life where he wasn’t serving the Lord.
The solid clunk of car doors slamming caught his attention. The bad guys were a mixed bunch. Mostly, they looked exactly like he expected, hardened criminal types with multiple scars and prison tattoos.
The skinny software-engineer-type in the fake lumberjack outfit was the exception. Dressed in narrow-legged jeans, spotless hiking boots, and an expensive flannel jacket that looked like it had never seen the outdoors, the guy looked like he’d wandered onto the wrong movie set. His partner, a grungy-looking older man in a tight muscle tee and cowboy boots must be the head of the criminal gang doing the actual selling. The four bouncer-sized dudes with their steroid-pumped muscles and old knife scars were textbook muscle.
He had no doubt all of them could out-fight and out-shoot him. Check that. Flannel Guy, he could take, but that was little comfort. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to stand next to his partner, affecting a casual stance, as if he handled drug sales all the time.
The company didn’t seem to faze Walker. Body language relaxed, she shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled up at the tattooed leader. “Hey, Jan. Sorry for the delay. Tell me you brought what I asked for.”
Despite his oversized sunglasses, the man squinted in the bright sunlight. “You sure you can handle a load this big? This isn’t the kind of stuff you want to sit on. If word gets out you’re storing half a mil worth of B3yond, you’re gonna have trouble.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to sit on it. This load’ll be gone before the weekend.”
Ulrich scratched the stubble on his chin, looking skeptical. “You did sell the last order quickly.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’m working a huge, untapped market. Housewives like to party, too.”
“Maybe so.” He shrugged, eyes now vacant. Clearly, he didn’t much care.
She grinned, flashing pretty white teeth. “Believe me, your product is way cheaper than spa weekends. Or therapy. I’ve got a whole new network of sellers ready to get on board. Will your people be able to handle the increased orders?”
The man’s face tightened. “My people will decide what you get and when.”
His annoyance didn’t seem to concern her. She merely nodded knowingly. “Supply-side issues, huh? I totally get that. Growing business and all. Just keep me in the loop. I don’t want to expand my distribution base too fast if you can’t deliver.”
“We can deliver. Not a problem.”
“Then we’re gonna get along just great.” She blinked up at the man as if he was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
Her acting abilities impressed Enzo. These two could have been talking about patio furniture. Not at all how he pictured a drug deal going down. He’d imagined furtive exchanges in darkened alleys, the participants scattering like rats.
Flannel Dude shifted his weight, fingers poised over the screen on his tablet. “I’m ready for the account number, Mrs. Duvall.”
Sarah cocked a hip. The sudden movement made her huge earrings sway. “Nice try. As soon as I see the merch.”
Ulrich grunted. “Patel’s still learning the ropes.” He clapped the thinner man on the shoulder, but the piercing look he shot the hapless underling suggested far worse to come if he didn’t toe the line.
“Open the back,” he ordered the closest bodyguard.
Ulrich put a hand on her lower back, walking her to the back of the vehicle as if he were escorting her into a gala.
Enzo moved to follow, but another muscled clone stepped in front of him, thick arms folded over an even thicker chest. “Wait here.”
“I don’t work for you.” Enzo dismissed the order and caught Sarah’s eye.
“Do it.” She exaggerated the words all too clearly.
He bit back a snarky retort. The hired help wouldn’t argue. He watched her navigate the rutted dirt road in those heels as she followed the two men to the back of the first SUV.
He crossed his arms and surveyed the terrain. Movement near the airframe caught his attention. The third guard was kneeling on the pilot’s side, near the middle of the aircraft, one hand beneath the undercarriage.
Enzo glanced over at the vehicles. Had Sarah seen the guy? No. She and the two dealers were out of view, inspecting the merchandise.
He pulled out the pistol and aimed it at the man’s broad back. The sheer weight of the thing spiked his confidence. “Hey! What are you doing? Hands in the air.”
“How about you put your hands up, American?”
The order sent a chill up Enzo’s spine. He had the drop on the guy fooling with his aircraft, but one of the other bodyguards was repaying the compliment. He raised his hands, weapon pointed skyward.
“Drop it,” the man behind him ordered. “Now.”
He released his hold on the pistol. It hit the dirt with a thud.
So much for staying out of her way. Maybe he could still manage the “don’t get dead” part.