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    He’d taken every precaution. He’d instructed his D-Day crew to arrive at the last possible moment. Other than his short flirtation while checking out Beth Brown, he had been sticking close to gate C20, keeping an eye on Flight 2077’s passengers from his bench next door. He knew damn well how to watch people without giving the appearance of watching. The guns were already on board. There was nothing happening in the terminal that should have tickled those bastards’ finely conditioned instincts and brought down ST7’s hammer.
    His gaze shifted to the front of C18’s waiting area. The bench that Beth Brown had collapsed on was already occupied. He sighed at the sight of the three children quietly coloring beside their parents, but pushed the regret aside. It was a pity there were so many kids booked on the flight, but that cold bitch called necessity didn’t care about the ages of her victims. His gaze lingered on the children’s mother as she smiled and exclaimed over the picture her offspring presented to her.
    Or the sex.
    Russ scowled. Somehow Beth Brown was the key. Her reaction when she’d caught sight of Winters had verged on bizarre. She’d literally stopped in her tracks. Swayed. Almost fainted. But why?
    Winters’ reaction to her had been almost as odd. He’d noticed her the moment she’d arrived, hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her. Yet when she’d finally approached, he’d turned his back on her? A lovers’ spat? Unlikely. Special Operators didn’t turn away from confrontation, even when it came to their chicks.
    And while that kiss had generated some serious steam, they were not lovers. Couples who’d indulged in the intimacy of sex announced their involvement in the most subtle of ways: lingering glances, fleeting touches, a melting of muscles and guards. Beth Brown and Winters hadn’t shown any of those signs.
    Besides, intel on Winters indicated that priests got more action. If he’d been rocking the mattress with some new girl, it would have been brought to their attention.
    Sighing, Russ rubbed his forehead. Maybe he was reading the signs wrong.
    SQT taught caution. The scanning and recon could be simple conditioning. If those fucking SEALs suspected his plans for that plane, they’d have shut the flight down. But according to the reader board, the departure remained on schedule.
    As for Brown, maybe she’d been struck dumb by the testosterone saturating the air. The trio had drawn a good chunk of admiring eyes—both male and female. Maybe she was looking for a vacation fuck, and after 6 months of evolution Winters was ready to oblige.
    Except… Russ caught a flash of wheat-colored hair as Seth Rawlings trailed after his buddies. If Winters’ interest in the woman was some good old-fashioned fucking, he wouldn’t have invited his lieutenants along for the ride. The guy was a Boy Scout, conservative to the core. He wasn’t the type to appreciate a ménage.
    He glanced around. The only person close enough to catch his end of the conversation was the fat cow across from him, but she was deaf, dumb and blind to everything except the pornographic piece of trash she was reading.
    Swearing softly, he stared down at the cell phone. After a moment, he reluctantly punched the first number in the keypad. As each successive number lit the diminutive screen, the muscles of his chest tightened until it felt like Horton the elephant was sitting on his chest.
    The woman’s appearance could mean nothing. But they’d gut him, cut off his testicles, and leave him to rot if things went south because he hadn’t updated them on a potential problem.
    A cultured voice replaced the ringing. “Our agreement was no contact until the plane was in the air.”
    Sweat broke out over Russ’s palms. “You requested updates in the event something unexpected occurred.”
    A pulse of silence fell. “Continue then.”
    “One of our acquaintances has acquired a new girlfriend by the name of Beth