“Problems, darling?” Esme asked, looking up from the business section of the New York Times.
With the rage still trying to break free, he focused on the beautiful woman who shared his table, his bed, his life, and his vision of a new world order. Her normally sleek cap of blond hair was slightly rumpled, her blue eyes soft and languid: a slight flush still rode the crest of her cheekbones. She looked like a woman who’d just climbed out of bed after a night of thorough loving—which she had. His hands unclenched as that unquenchable hunger she never failed to unleash in him stirred. Beneath the silk nightshirt obscuring her slender figure, she wore nothing but warm soft skin. His fingers tingled, itching to slide the shirt up and explore every inch of that sleek body . . . again.
But regrettably, duty beckoned.
Crossing to her, he leaned over to place a gentle kiss on her upturned swollen lips and then picked up her teacup.
“Looks like we’re in the market for another freelancer,” he said as he set her cup in the marble sink. “Perhaps it’s time to contact Coulson’s man. At least Coulson’s tactics produce results.”
“They escaped? Again?” She cocked her head slightly, her hair fluttering around her ears.
“For now. But the signal’s still broadcasting. We’ll track them down.” He frowned, staring down at the brilliant diamond pattern etched into the teacup’s glass as unease brewed in his mind.
They were dealing with an unknown variable. And in his experience, unknown variables tended to prove disastrous. “It would appear that our SEALs are better connected than we realized. They have access to reinforcements, at least one experimental aircraft, and some major artillery.”
“Could the reinforcements be coming from Coronado?” Esme asked, reaching across the table to stroke his hand. He caught it and carried it to his lips.
“Possibly, but doubtful. Most of their buddies are out on deployment.” He’d made sure of it. “Besides, they couldn’t acquisition an experimental helicopter from the navy.” He shook his head and frowned. “Or the kind of firepower it took to shoot down team B.” He turned to stare out the breakfast window again as more of those uneasy chills peppered his spine.
His instincts were usually dead-on, and at the moment, they were clamoring that those damn SEALs had hooked up with someone with major resources and the ability to do serious damage.
If he wanted to survive the oncoming storm he sensed looming on the horizon, he needed to find out whom they’d climbed into bed with, and take immediate steps to neutralize the whole damn lot of them.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
MAC SETTLED AGAINST the padded wall vibrating against his back. The average military-grade chopper could travel 150 knots an hour, and six hundred kilometers on a tank of fuel. They’d been in the air for five hours now, which meant this bad boy shuttling them to Christ-knew-where was far superior to any military bird he knew of. He estimated it was going faster than 150 knots an hour too. A hell of a lot faster—which made it one pretty sweet ride.
He smoothed his palm down the sleek, almost metallic sheen of the wall beside him. The surface didn’t feel like metal, or fabric, or anything he’d encountered before. He’d bet his pension on this craft being experimental.
Assuming you still have a pension.
He sighed, envy rising. What he wouldn’t give to have one of these babies sitting on the tarmac at Coronado.
Whomever Wolf and his team worked for, they were well funded.
Impressively funded, impressively connected too—experimental aircraft weren’t handed off to every Tom, Dick, or Harry. Nor were mysterious compounds with intricate tunnel systems, which included elevators in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Elevators, for Christ’s sake. Mac shook his head.
And oh, the surprises hadn’t stopped there. When they’d stepped out of the elevator, they’d found themselves on the top of one of the bluffs surrounding camp. And two of these bad boys had been waiting to bug them out. He glanced around the blinking ruddy interior. A Blackhawk cost a cool thirty million plus some good-sized change. Considering the fuel capacity and speed on this baby, it had to run more. A lot more.
And Wolf had two of them.
The first had easily taken all the passengers, along with Wolf’s crew. The second was likely a guard dog. On hand for counterattack and intercepting enemy fire. Not that there was anything currently in use that could keep up with this baby. Or at least in current public or military use.
Somebody was obviously engineering this new aircraft. Christ knew who else they’d sold them to.