Page 35 of Chasing Grace
He dominated, and she didn’t hate it. Not at all. It was a problem. And not because her panties were soaked. She had one rule when it came to men. No military fuckers. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. No exceptions. Enlisted or discharged. Active or former. Operational or in command. Didn’t matter. A military man was a military man for life, especially the elite.
And without a doubt, former marine or not, Chase Mackenzie was one of the elite.
He groaned. “We can’t do this, baby.” Contrary to his words, his grip tightened, and his lips stayed in place, his tongue sweeping over hers, a velvet stroke increasing her pleasure and taking his own.
His large hand slid south, and he palmed her butt cheek. Her head swam, and fireworks sounded, a loud bang, bang, bang in rapid succession.
“Fucking Christ!” Moving faster than she thought possible, Chase broke the kiss, scooped her up, shoved her ass-first into the plane, and followed in behind her.
“Hey!” She scrambled to the opposite side to avoid becoming his seat cushion as he slammed the door shut.
“Gunfire. Kincaid’s here.” In a series of rapid hand movements, he flipped switches and pulled knobs until the plane’s engine sparked to life with a mechanical roar. “Buckle up.”
“Kincaid?” Adrenaline spiking and hands shaking, she glanced around but did as ordered. She fumbled with straps and buckles as the little plane’s single propeller became a blur out of the corner of her eye.
By the time she spotted Rusty Eyes out front of the hangar, they were in motion. The rattling plane taxied down the short runway and lifted off the ground, leaving her stomach behind before she could process what the fuck was happening.
Her heartbeat drumming in her ears, she yelped and squeezed her eyes shut when the wing dipped, and the plane banked hard left. “Jesus,” Chase said, leveling them out again. “Sam Black is with him.”
“Sam Black?” The name not ringing any bells, Gray opened her eyes to nothing but blue sky. “How’d they find us?” She twisted in her seat to try to catch a glimpse of the men after her. From the angle of the plane, she saw nothing but trees.
Jaw clenched, Chase looked her over. “Where’s the cap?”
“The cap?”
“The Bruins hat. Where is it?”
“In my backpack.”
“Get it.”
She grabbed her bag from behind the seat and dropped it in her lap. “Here.” She pulled the cap free and handed it to him.
He opened his side window with a jab of his finger and tossed the hat into the wind.
“You think they were tracking us?”
“Fuck. I hope so, or we have bigger problems than I thought.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Staringdown the business ends of Sam’s twin forties had Grant re-evaluating his career progression choices. Twenty-five yards apart, an empty metal hangar between them, they both had weapons trained on critical mass.
After Sam had texted him the photographer’s location, Grant had arrived at the airfield first. Keeping out of sight, he’d watched the woman balk at getting in the plane, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to commit assisted suicide by firing a couple of warning shots in the air.
Unfortunately, the happy couple had taken their sweet time trading spit, and Sam had shown himself first—guns drawn—and here they were. Targets acquired. Safeties off. Fingers on triggers.
Relief, however, not regret, eased his mind after the kiss-stealing fucknut shoved Grace Emerson ass-first into the plane. On hearing the gunfire, the man had moved fast, and the little Cessna was in the air and making for blue skies before Grant and Sam started trading any lead.
Bad guys killing bad guys was one thing. Torturing and killing people who wandered onto their turf by no fault of their own was another. Some lines Grant refused to cross. No matter how much money he needed. And serving up the photographer to Victor Bodak on a silver platter happened to be one of them.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Bodak have her. Christ, he hated that sadistic asshole. The man got off on beating women, and by the time he finished with Grace, her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.
Grant’s scruples meant pissing Sam off, and even though he was acting like it, he wasn’t terminally stupid. Letting the woman go was the equivalent of signing his termination papers with his own blood.
With nothing to lose by going first, Grant got the party started. “Seems like what we have here is a good old-fashioned standoff.”
Sam smiled, his two pistols to Grant’s one probably giving him an edge. Especially if the one aimed at his head was at all accurate. “I trusted you, Kincaid.”
