by Mia Watts
“I don’t think so. I’ll walk out the front, thanks. You’re going to follow me, or I start making announcements.”
Trick’s lip curled into a snarl. “Don’t fuck with me, tiny Tim.”
“Not this time.” Nathan steeled his nerves and turned his back on the lumbering hulk to walk away, praying to God and all the baby Jesuses and their mamas too, that Trick would follow.
Nathan stepped into the sunlight, letting the door close behind him. Seconds later, it swung open again. Nathan blocked passing pedestrians as Donny lifted his Springfield forty-five caliber pistol. Nathan suffered a moment of pistol envy. Success of this mission would finally allow him to carry his own Springfield and retire the Glock twenty-two.
Trick, just as intent on Donny’s weapon but for different reasons, backed against the opaque deli glass. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you trying to get me killed?”
“One less criminal either way,” Donny answered. “How ’bout we take a ride in my car?”
Trick snorted but followed Donny to the car. Nathan picked up behind them, then before their target could find his way into the backseat, Donny whipped out the cuffs and handed them to Nathan.
Trick looked around at him, doubtfully. “Think you can manage those or should your daddy here help you?”
“You and I’ve been through this before, Montgomery. The kid hasn’t. Give him hell if you want, but don’t mess with me,” Donny warned.
“Or what? You’ll release again?”
“You had him and released him?” Nathan snapped.
“Don’t know why you’re complaining,” Trick murmured just loud enough for Nathan to hear. “You released me too.”
“What are the two most important things?” Donny asked patiently.
“Right. Leads and proof.” Nathan chose to ignore Trick’s comment.
“That’s it,” Donny agreed. “Remember that and quit asking stupid questions. You’ll never make rank.”
Trick huffed with annoyance and pushed his hands behind his back. “Un-fucking-believable. I’m being cuffed by a baby-Fed. There’s no respect in that, Donny. No respect.”
“Shut the fuck up and get in the back. You know the drill,” Donny argued. “Agent Rohn, get in with him and make sure he doesn’t get out.”
Nathan handed Donny his gun on the chance that Trick would try to disarm him and start firing.
“Hey!” Someone shouted at them from the deli door.
“Go, go, go!” Donny shouted, slammed the door behind Nathan and leaped into the driver’s seat. The engine kicked into a roar. Donny tore away from the curb, tires squealing.
“They saw you,” Trick mocked. “Your ass is grass now.”
Nathan, still off balance from the door slamming his hip, fell against Trick’s shoulder as Donny rounded a curve too hard.
Trick shrugged him off with a snarl. “Get off me, Fed-ette.”
“Like you’re a catch,” Nathan muttered. “You’re one ugly motherfucker.”
Trick grinned, or grimaced his amusement. It was hard to tell. “Fidelity, bravery and integrity? That is the FBI motto right? I guess they’re still training you on the integrity.”
“Shut up,” Nathan snapped, feeling like a petulant four-year-old, only irritated further when Trick laughed.
Donny swerved onto a side road leading toward the airfield. “Almost there.”
Nathan glanced behind them. A black sedan was gaining in the distance. “We’re not going to have much time. I hope you called the pilot to let him know we’re on the fly.”
“He’s experienced. He’ll be ready,” Donny answered tightly. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.
Trick seemed calm, relaxed. Like he knew something Nathan and Donny didn’t. Like he had no fear. “You remembered to call ahead? Look, little-Fed, pay attention so you can learn on your first big-boy mission.”
“Shut up,” Nathan shouted.
Trick laughed. “Temper-keeping one-oh-one. Never show your nerves to the suspect. You don’t want him to know when you’re about to lose your shit.”
“Can I shoot him?” Nathan snapped at Donny. “Can I just put a bullet in him and be done with it?”
“Proof and leads,” Trick mimicked. “Kinda hurts your case if you kill them because you lost your temper.”
“Get a grip, kid,” Donny roared. “Stop talking. He can’t mess with your head if you shut your mouth.”
“Wanna bet?” Trick challenged. He sent Nathan a knowing look. “I can mess with his head plenty. I’m damn good at it.”
“Montgomery, shut it!” Donny barked.
To Nathan’s surprise, Trick listened with a mere cock of his eyebrow and quizzical smile. Nathan sighed in relief and shot another look out the back. The gates of the airfield they drove through only seemed to put a scale to the dwindling distance between them and the black sedan riding hell-for-leather on their tails.
Nathan whipped his head around. The chopper’s blades were in full motion, kicking up debris on the tarmac. Donny slammed on the breaks, swinging the rear of the car around until it was closest to the bird.
He dashed out of the car and opened the rear door. Nathan pushed at Trick, shouldering him out. Donny shoved Nathan’s issued weapon into his hand. “Go, get him on board. I’ll hold them off.”
Nathan hesitated only a moment before doing what he was told. “Call for back up,” he shouted at the pilot.
“I did when I saw you come in hot. We gotta go or we ain’t takin’ off,” the pilot returned.
The distinctive pop of firearms was unmistakable.
“Get out of here! Go!” Donny shouted, his gun trained on the approaching vehicle.
“Backup’s coming,” Nathan shouted back.
The helicopter lifted. Nathan kept his gun on Trick who looked ready to jump. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Your partner’s about to get dusted,” Trick yelled above the noise of the blades.
Nathan thought he saw a flash of concern in his eyes, but he had to have been mistaken. The engine seemed to race as it lifted the chopper into the air, putting all its power behind the blades and leaving no room to answer.
Below, Donny ducked and reloaded. Suddenly his shoulders and chest jerked. Donny dropped to his knees. Nathan shouted, but the sound of his alarm got swallowed in the blades. The pop and crack of glass let him know they were next as a bullet pierced the side window, narrowly missing Trick’s head.
Trick frowned and sank down in his jump-seat as low as he could. The chopper wobbled, tilting to the side when the pilot tried to fly away from the gunfire. Air roared through the tiny aperture. Another phfft-ping dotted a window. The pilot shuddered but held steady.
Nathan snaked an arm to the co-pilot spot and retrieved the headphones. The mic slipped into place. “We’re being shot at. Get out of range.”
“I noticed,” the pilot rasped. “I’ve been hit.”
“The fuel line? The propeller?” Nathan asked.
“The pilot,” the pilot told him. “I’m holding, but it’s not good.” He flipped something on the control panel. “Mayday, mayday. I’ve been hit.”
Nathan paled. He scrambled backward in the tight confines, keeping his gun on Trick as he tried to get into the co-pilot’s seat. “How bad is it?”
“Bad. Losing feeling in my left arm.” He turned his attention to the droning voice in the headset to relay coordinates.
Nathan chanced a glance at him. His left hand trembled on the control. He couldn’t see the entrance wound. From his vantage, the pilot looked grim.
“Hope you know how to fly,” the man said through clenched teeth.
Nathan put his gun away. He’d have to take his chances. Right now, he was betting that Trick didn’t want to crash land to his death any more than Nathan did. He clutched the control.
“Keep her steady,” he said, letting go. “I’ll work the pedals and the throttle while I can. We’ll set down when we’re out of range. The boys are locking
on our signal. They’ll find you and get you to your relay point.”
“Tell me what to do,” Nathan said taking hold of the controls.
Chapter Two
Trick hated flying. It was worse while guns were trying to bring them down. The last thing the mob wanted was a chatty turncoat. They’d kill him before risking the alternative. Three long years and his hard work had just gone to crap, and why? Because some tousle-haired kid with an FBI hard-on wanted to earn his stripes.
Fuck that. Fuck it hard.
The helicopter lurched as Agent Rohn took the handlebar contraption. Judging from the way the pilot’s left arm dangled at his side dripping blood on the floor, Trick guessed he’d been shot. He couldn’t hear the conversation between him and the agent, but it looked like a seatbelt would be optimal. Unfortunately, Agent Gung-ho hadn’t strapped him in.
The helicopter swerved. Trick’s stomach took a shuddering heave. God, he hated flying.
Trick dropped his head back on the seat with his eyes closed and begged the helicopter to stay in the air. Man wasn’t meant to be airborne. Here was goddamned proof of that.
Then again, there were hidden blessings. If it weren’t for the bullets and the unnatural careening off the ground that no non-winged being should attempt, he’d still be half-hard for the tiny-tot with the Glock. He loved a man in uniform, especially when that man was so earnest about his job. And especially when Trick knew how tight and hot the inside of him was.
The helicopter twisted the opposite direction. Trick’s stomach got the message late and rolled with the chopper on a delay. It seemed like an eternity before the helicopter put down, first on one landing skid, then the other.
Nathan ripped the headphones from his ears and reached for the pilot. His hands shook and the poor kid looked white as a ghost. The pilot had lost a lot of blood judging from the wide, growing pool of the thick liquid on the floorboard. His head lolled to the side when the agent tugged the man toward him, trying to lay him across both seats.
He checked for a pulse. Seemingly satisfied, he messed with the controls until the chopper powered down then pulled the headphones off him too.
“He radioed in our coordinates. Help will be here soon,” Nathan told him as he took out his cell phone and dialed. When the other line picked up, Agent Rohn spoke. “I have him in custody. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I understand.”
They’d put down in the middle of a field with no one in sight. Trick leaned forward trying to get the whole picture as the blades to the chopper wound down.
Nathan kept talking. “See you in thirty minutes. Yes, sir.”
He patted the pilot on the chest. “They’re coming.”
The man grunted and waved a weak hand toward the side door. “Take cover before more than the Feds find you.”
Nathan pulled his gun from its holster. There was blood on the backs of his fingers from where he’d checked the wounds. His hand still trembled slightly. Nothing very noticeable, just a tremor, but it was enough to give Trick an idea of Nathan’s state of mind.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he told the pilot. “They could’ve hit the fuel line or something.”
“Leave me. It hurts to move. If the bullet is near an artery, I could bleed out.”
“If I leave you here you could bleed out anyway, or blow up. You’re coming with me.”
After a minute, Trick tipped his head toward the door. “C’mon,” he relented. “He’s right. Donny gave you the advantage. Take it or don’t, but if the Feds don’t find you first, you’ll be taking fire.”
“Fuck you,” Nathan snapped. “Get out. We’ll follow.”
Trick scooted to the edge of the jump-seat. “Kinda hard to do with my hands behind my back,” he suggested evenly.
Nathan blinked until the momentary confusion cleared. The flight had shaken him. If Trick were anyone else, he’d have gotten away by now. He should have, but something about the unconscious vulnerability of the agent who seemed to need reassurance spoke to Trick.
“Easy,” Trick murmured. “I just need help with the door. I’ve got nowhere to run, do I?”
“No,” Nathan answered distractedly. Then he seemed to gather his strength. “No, you don’t. I’ll step out and open up the side. Don’t make any sudden moves.”
Trick couldn’t help the smile that twitched his lips. He ducked his head to keep Nathan from seeing it. The night in the bar came back to him, and all the cock-stroking sudden moves of those moments with Agent Nathan Rohn. “No sudden moves,” he repeated.
It seemed to motivate the kid into action, and he hopped out of the co-pilot door to open the exit. Trick jumped, ridiculously relieved when his feet hit solid ground.
He almost started laughing. Here he’d been picking on the Fed for his inexperience and apparent nerves, when that same kid had taken over the flight controls and landed them safely, while dodging gunfire. He hadn’t frozen when his partner got shot, or panicked when the pilot took a hit. He soldiered on, concerned but not deviating from his mission.
And what had Trick done? Prayed for deliverance from the flying beast. He supposed everyone had their moments of heroism. Evidently, this kid was made of sterner stuff than Trick had suspected. He worked well in a crisis.
Trick tried to reassure him by making direct eye contact. The kid had a natural squint, which squared out his brown eyes and flattened his brows. Together with the long, lean line of his nose and the Cupid’s bow lips, Agent Nathan was pretty. Damn pretty. It didn’t detract at all that Nathan was good under pressure too. Not many men were.
That uniform was looking better and better. Trick supposed now would be a good time to tell him that Trick had spent the last three years working undercover for the local police department. Although he wasn’t sure Nathan would believe him. Trick wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. And it would be breaking protocol to divulge his true identity. There wasn’t a pretty boy in existence who made sharing top-secret information an acceptable liability.
But Nathan Rohn definitely tempted him to break protocol. Nathan’s close-cropped hair barely moved in the breeze. The spiked, slick look of product left the strands as shiny brown as the agent’s big eyes.
The kid turned, dragging the wounded man toward the open door by the legs. The pilot complained, but it was clear he was barely hanging on to consciousness. The Fed pushed his young shoulder into the pilot’s middle and draped the upper half of his body over to hang down Nathan’s back.
Nathan righted himself and lifted his chin in the direction of the trees. “You lead out.”
“With you encumbered, I could take off, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” Trick noted.
The hard metal of Nathan’s Glock pushed at his back. It was a rookie move that could’ve had Nathan disarmed. Trick let it pass. The kid’s day had been rough. Besides, disarming him wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to be a jackass. This time, he didn’t feel like pissing off a Fed.
“What’s the plan now?” Trick questioned.
“We wait.”
“Awesome. I’ve always wanted a government sponsored vacation in the country.”
“Shut up.”
“You must be a very angry guy, Agent Rohn. Or uptight. Would you say you’re uptight?”
There was no answer. It was almost too fun. They reached the trees. There were only three of them in the openness of a field that seemed to be located in the middle of nowhere. The mature trees offered the only shade as far as he could see.
Nathan carefully laid the pilot out and checked his pulse. “He passed out, but he’s alive.”
Trick glanced at the agent holding a gun on him, continuing the conversation as though it hadn’t been interrupted. “Because you seem uptight,” Trick said.
“I’m not uptight.”
“Of course not. You’re the loosest guy on the planet,” Trick said agreeably.
“I’m not loose either.”
“Really? I think you’ve proved otherwise in our acquainta
nce.”
“You think you’re funny. You’re a funny, funny guy aren’t you?” Nathan groused.
“I’m hilarious once you get to know me.”
“I’m not getting to know you. I’m delivering you to Quantico. Then I’m leaving you behind.”
Trick leaned against the tree trunk. The wind shuffling leaves above their heads filled the silence while he thought. “I’m going to have to take a leak soon.”
“How nice for you.”
“Potentially,” Trick agreed thinking of all the ways having bound hands and needing the pretty FBI man to hold his prick could be. A man could dream. Except the urge to urinate wasn’t a weak one and there wasn’t anything sexy about emptying his bladder as an introduction to his cock.
“Hey, kid,” Trick tried again. “I really need to let the horse out.”
“Fine.” He said standing near him. “Do what you gotta.”
Trick canted his head to the side. “Sure. But you still have two choices.”
“Choices?” Nathan asked distractedly.
“You can either uncuff me and let me handle the barn door myself, or you can pull it out for me. One way or the other, it’s got to happen.”
“Or you could wet your pants,” Nathan suggested.
Trick stared him down, using his best hitman stare of death that seemed to make people in the family jump to action. All it did here was make Agent Rohn squirm and avert his eyes.
“Look, I know you didn’t plan for this seeing as how the helicopter got shot all to hell, but needs are needs. Would it make a difference if I promised not to run?” Trick wondered.
“Not particularly.”
“Then we’re back to your choices.” Trick shrugged as he opened his stance, he feet shoulder’s width apart. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Nathan swore under his breath.
“Feel better?” Trick asked when the stream of cuss words ceased.
“No.” Nathan stuffed his hand into his pocket.
The clink of keys reached him, and the agent withdrew his hand. He motioned for Trick to turn around. He did so eagerly, holding his wrists away from his body to give the kid more room to work.
