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Brown. She’s booked on his flight.”
    “There is no Beth Brown on the passenger manifest.” The voice coolly observed. “Which acquaintance?”
    The fingers of his right hand started cramping. Russ relaxed their tense hold on the plastic casing of the phone. “LC.”
    A short, thoughtful pause. “Our intel suggests Lieutenant Commander Winters is unattached.”
    Russ thought back to that kiss. With a frown, he scrubbed a hand down his face. The kiss could mean nothing… or everything. “We may need a refresher course.”
    A hum of agreement echoed down the line. “Do you sense a problem?”
    “LC and the lady disappeared. Five minutes later, his buddies vanished as well.”
    “If such is the case, it’s unlikely to be a lovers’ rendezvous.”
    “Agreed.”
    Cold silence trickled down the line. “Had you removed this obstacle when you were advised, we would not be having this conversation.”
    Russ’s fingers cramped again. Christ, there had been every possibility the team would go wheels-up before the flight departed. Not to mention taking out three members of ST7 would have brought HQ1 down on their ass. It had seemed best to keep Coronado out of the picture until the plane was in the air and on its way down to Puerto Jardin.
    “Taking action too soon would have raised… concerns.”
    “So you convinced us at the time.” The voice chilled even further. “Considerable resources have been expended. We expect a return on our investment.”
    Russ chanced a quick, shallow breath. “The flight remains on schedule.”
    “Make certain it remains that way.”
    The line went dead.
    Russ eased his numb fingers off the phone, and dropped it into a side pocket on the laptop’s case.
    Ten years ago he’d taken the skills he’d honed through the military’s generosity and gone into business for himself. He’d quickly discovered he had a knack for the work. Russ knew his strengths. He was good at what he did. Damn good. Maybe even the best. And that wasn’t boasting. That was an honest-to-God fact. He hadn’t lost an operation yet. Which was why his current employers had sought him out.
    The money they’d offered had been impossible to refuse. The first half of his payment had paid off Jilly’s house, her car, and set up college funds for the kids. The second half would fund his retirement.
    He’d handled jobs for extremists, drug cartels, and organized crime. Christ, he’d worked with various Third World dictators a time or two. Men in power didn’t scare him. There were always exit strategies. You just had to look for them. Nor had he questioned his ability to handle a troublesome employer.
    Until now. Until this job.
    But then he’d never taken on clients like his current masters—rich beyond imagination, political powerhouses and batshit insane.
    Those crazy rich bastards were just insane enough to pull this whole thing off. Their operation had taken months of planning, God only knew how much cash, and enough cogs to run a small country.
    But the test flight had gone smooth as pie, bloody as a coup.
    Russ didn’t doubt, regardless of ST7’s interference, that’d he’d get that plane down to Puerto Jardin as directed.
    And once the plane landed, he'd take his fee and get the hell out of P.J. Assuming his reward for a job well done wasn’t a bullet through the brain.

    * * *

    Zane glanced down, those glittering eyes lingering on her lips. “What’s your name?”
    Her voice caught in her throat. “Beth.”
    She caught herself before her last name spilled out. Her full name would give him the means to track her down.
    His eyebrows plunged and the bones of his face sharpened. “Well, Beth, you keep that up and there won’t be much talking. There’ll be a whole lot of kissing instead.”
    Beth choked and dragged her gaze away. “Keep what up?”
    She wasn’t touching the rest of that, thank you very much.
    “Licking your lip.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head and