He wore BDUs—a battle dress uniform of camo with a blue beret perched on his head. An M-16 slung over his shoulder. A 9 mm strapped to his hip.
And he looked all of twenty years old.
Quinn lowered his gun out of sight. "Take it slow and easy. Flash your ID and drive on through. I've got my jacket slung over this gun, pointed right at Captain O'Connell's pretty back. Don't even think about signaling Airman DuPree."
Three guns within reach and she couldn't do a thing. A hail of bullets could tear through all of them. She wouldn't even think about Tanner dying, his mother losing another child.
Tanner dead. Kathleen shivered.
The rental car slowed. Without a base sticker on the bumper, Tanner would have to show his ID. What would he do, and could she protect him from the shower of bullets that could too easily rain down on them?
The gate guard shone his flashlight around the car's interior while Tanner reached for his wallet. He flipped it open to show his ID. "Evening, Airman."
Airman DuPree snapped a smart salute. "Merry Christmas, sir."
"Thanks." Tanner returned the salute and drove. All her wary expectation evaporated, Quinn rustled in the back. "Good job, Bennett. Now over to the flight line."
They passed the air park museum, old war planes perched on blocks, continuing through the base until Quinn pointed to a lot behind a hangar. "Here. Park. Clip on your line badges."
As they stepped from the car, Kathleen realized Quinn might actually be able to pull off this insane plan. The guy wasn't going to risk the flight line fence guard and barricades, where they would each have to show IDs again. He would waltz them through the hangar onto the flight line all because Quinn's job allowed him access to a few security codes. A cipher lock on the fence, another into the hangar, then a third lock would lead them out onto the flight line. Three codes in place to keep out all but trusted government employees.
Quinn motioned Tanner forward with the gun before jabbing it back into Kathleen's side. "You first, big guy."
Stepping into the hangar, Kathleen scanned the empty cavern for options and found nothing. She followed Tanner, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his even steps.
Then she saw the bunching of muscles along his back and she knew.
He planned to make his move soon, a big, bold Tanner-charge that could likely leave him with far worse than a broken nose.
Emotions threatened her control. She struggled for logic and prayed it would be strong enough to convince Quinn and to block six foot five inches of Tanner's steely will. "You know, Quinn, we're talking serious jail time if you're caught."
"I don't have a lot of choice, now that you two have uncovered my little sideline." His agitated voice picked up speed, the tinny echo bouncing through the empty hangar. "I'm not going to prison. How would you feel, Bennett, being grounded for life like that? No way. I'd rather take my chances getting shot down flying away from here and go out in a ball of flames like a real warrior. But I won't crash. I can evade. I can make this work."
Desperation mingled with something else in Quinn's voice, something Kathleen recognized too well.
Ego.
She'd totally discounted the ego factor. Quinn actually thought he could take on Tanner Bennett, the security police, the border patrol, even the entire Air Force—and win. He wasn't giving up.
Kathleen knew, without question, Tanner would make sure she came out alive. He wouldn't hesitate to give his own life in exchange. That scared her worse than the thought of taking a bullet herself.
As much as she might want to believe she was special to him in some way, she knew he would do the same for anyone. And, heaven help her, that made her respect him all the more.
She wouldn't let him do it.
Kathleen stopped cold in the middle of the hangar. "I'll be your hostage."
"What?" Tanner battled for control through the red haze of rage. The damned crazy woman was trying to barter her life for his. As if he would ever consider leaving her alone with Quinn for even a second. He'd struggled through survivor's guilt after his sister's attack and death, barely. He wouldn't even consider the possibility that Quinn could get his hands on Kathleen. "O'Connell, no—"
"You don't need him." She stepped forward. "Just take me. Leave Tanner tied up and take me with you."
"Kathleen, damn it, no!" Tanner's arm shot forward to block her.
"Cut it out, Doc," Quinn snapped. "I doubt you're interested in my charming ways or my Cayman Accounts. You can stop fluttering the eyelashes."
"Listen up, Quinn." Kathleen's chin tipped defiantly. "I've never been the eyelash-fluttering type, and I don't intend to start now. I'm being practical, just trying to make sure some of us get out of here alive. You're not going to leave me behind, because a woman makes a more sympathetic hostage—and a better bargaining tool."
"Kathleen!" Damned fool woman actually thought he would let her do this. "Shut up."
She plowed ahead, vintage lone ranger in spite of the frenzied panic radiating from Quinn. "You know as well as I do, Tanner's going to cause trouble. You need to tie him up now. Do you really think he'll let you get away with this? Let you keep me as a hostage while he sits on the sideline? First weakness on your part, and he'll take you out and we could all end up—"
"Or I could just shoot him." Quinn's arm swung in a wild arc as he shifted the gun to Tanner.
"No!" Kathleen grabbed Quinn's wrist, turning the 9 mm back to herself.
White-hot panic seared through Tanner. Damn it, if only she would keep her gorgeous mouth shut. He had a plan for tackling Quinn at the door once he got Kathleen past the threshold. Now the guy looked ready to snap, his arm trembling, the gun wavering so damned near Kathleen, the trigger finger flexing—
No. No. And hell, no!
Tanner sprang forward toward his compact target. The woman who would have gladly taken a bullet for him.
Kathleen felt the impact all the way through her teeth. Damn, but Tanner tackled like a pro.
Confusion, frustration, outright fear all rocked her with as much force as Tanner's linebacker body slamming her sideways.
Pop.
A bullet hissed from the silencer through the air just before they smacked the ground.
She waited for the stinging sensation. Some kind of pain beyond the jarring of hitting the floor. Anything to reassure her she'd been hit rather than Tanner.
Nothing. Not a scratch.
"Tanner? Talk to me! Now, damn it!"
"Shut up, Athena," he growled in her ear, raw emotion tempering his unmistakable anger. "I'm pretty pissed at you right now."
Relief melted the tension from her. "You can be as pissed as you want as long as you're alive."
Quinn loomed over them. "That was damned stupid. Brave but stupid. Why does everybody always insist on being a hero?"
Kathleen struggled to breathe, a difficult proposition with 238 pounds of Tanner shielding her and showing no signs of moving anytime soon.
Quinn knelt, gun clutched in two hands between his knees. "Roll off her. Now. We're not wasting anymore time."
Tanner flipped off Kathleen, slowly, easing to his feet. He towered over her, lights at his back casting his face in shadows. He extended an arm down to help her up.
Then she saw it.
Blood.
Streaming down the side of Tanner's face.
A scream built. Begged for release. Professional objectivity went all to hell as she leaped to her feet. "Oh, God, Tanner. Let me look."
"It just nicked me." Tanner shoved aside her hands and wiped away the blood with an impatient swipe of his wrist.
Kathleen peered through the dim glow. It seemed like the scratch he claimed it to be. Not that the knowledge stopped the grinding fear. Quinn was out of control and that made him beyond dangerous.
Tanner grabbed Kathleen's arm and shoved her behind him. "You're not leaving here alone with her, Quinn."
"Touching. A real Days of Our Lives episode in the making." Quinn steadied the gun. "Nice try, Doc, but I can handle the big guy here. Two hostages are better than one. Gives me a spare to dispose of. Now move."
Tanner's rage mushroomed within him like an A-bomb as he walked across the tarmac toward a row of C-17s. Not a damned SP in sight on the mammoth runway that sprawled for miles into the desert. No visible activity due to the holiday.
Fears for Kathleen swirled with his grief over what had happened to his sister. He would make the son of a bitch pay for threatening even one strand on Kathleen's head.
Flight line badges flapping as they walked, Quinn urged Tanner across the hundred feet to the nearest C-17. The runway lights did little to brighten the overcast night.
There was nothing to stop them from stealing a plane. The aircraft was even gassed up and ready to go since planes always refueled immediately after landing.
Wind whipped at Kathleen's hair as it had only two weeks ago when they'd stood together on the flight line in Germany. But the fire in her eyes had dimmed. The shooting had rocked her. And while the fear for him lingering in her eyes thumped him right in the chest, it also scared him a helluva lot more than any bullet.
She would toe the line now, and Quinn had to know it. How far would Quinn push her?
Tanner thumbed aside the slow trickle of blood on his pounding temple. If he'd kept his mouth shut back in Germany, listened to her diagnosis and parked his own butt in the infirmary, she would have been safely dispensing diagnoses and prescriptions.
Way to go, hotshot.
A couple of military cops eased into sight in their blue Ford Bronco—too damned far across the shadowy tarmac to be of any help as they drove away.
Tanner kicked aside the chalks and cleared the engine covers. Quinn trailed them inside the plane, up the stairwell, Tanner into the left seat, Kathleen into the copilot's seat.
Quinn chose the instructor's seat behind her. "Make it fast. No more stall tactics."
Tanner snagged the emergency checklist from a hook beside him, a five-step start-up, the fastest way to move the aircraft if an emergency arose. This certainly qualified.
The stars and runway lights illuminated miles of concrete, stretches of empty desert and a dried-up lake bed. He flipped switches before he gripped the throttle, dumping gas into the engines.
How damned ironic. He sat in the aircraft commander's seat, a wide-open runway and endless sky outside his windscreen. Two weeks ago he would have given anything for that crew position, to hold the stick in his hand and fly his plane again.
Now he would sell his soul to be anywhere else.
He increased the throttle until the engines caught. The C-17 roared to life, rolled down the tarmac toward the runway. He wasn't going down without a fight. With a flick of the hand, Tanner turned the wing flaps to signal to the security police the plane was being hijacked, not just stolen.
Then the standoff would begin.
Tanner taxied as slowly as he dared until the SPs screamed across the runway, squealing to a stop and blocking the plane. Not out of the woods yet, but he would find a way to get himself between Kathleen and that gun again when the time came. He eased up on the throttle.
"Go!" Quinn shouted.
"I can't drive over them."
"Don't play dumb with me, Bennett. Take off on the lake bed."
"Can't do it." A weak lie, but he was playing for time. The plane could do that and a lot more. He had before, when taking off on a Sentavo field far rougher than the lake bed beside them.
Apparently Quinn knew, too. "Don't mess with me. Remember that disposable hostage. Now turn!"
Tanner accepted the inevitable for now and guided the plane into a turn. The engines roared, louder, vibrating through the plane. He would get Kathleen out of this, no matter what the cost.
A slight dip of the nose, and they sped off the runway. Tanner winced. Would another bump twitch Quinn's finger on that trigger?