Robin fed coins into the sandwich machine in the security police break room, selected tuna salad and snatched the cardboard meal from the slot with impatient hands.
No more time left.
Everything was crumbling.
So much for the promise of caviar and champagne. A lifetime of tuna salad mocked from cellophane.
The final payment wouldn't be wired for a cushy retirement, since the tap had been shut down. The underwater attack had been a complete failure.
Robin dropped into a steel-backed chair and ripped the wrapper off. Only two options remained.
Run. Take the money already stockpiled in the Swiss bank account and begin a comfortable, if not luxurious retirement. Enjoy the satisfaction of having beaten the system, even though Max would be living out his life when Eva's had been taken from her.
Or...
Robin tore a corner off the sandwich and chewed. End it all in a go-for-broke operation that inflicted the most pain on Max before finishing him off.
Enough of playing the supporting role to Batman, being shuffled aside, handling food, running errands while the big guy ran the show. The moment had come to command the lead for one last kick-ass, explosive, season finale where Batman and his leading lady took their final bows.
Chapter 12
Darcy stared out her C-17 windscreen at the clear morning sky. She'd just completed a flawless takeoff for their return flight to the States. God, it seemed years since Bronco had promised her the cool training experience.
In reality, it was only four weeks ago.
Now she had an expanse of crystalline blue and clouds ahead, her craft humming under her guiding hand. Where was the rush? The excitement she'd expected?
She'd left it behind on Guam with a certain beach hunk turned government agent.
Darcy flipped on autopilot and sagged back in her seat. She hated the way she'd ended things with Max. Sure, anger still zipped through her over how he'd called her dad. And she suspected her father and Max had something to do with the speedy departure orders from Guam just after the general left.
But the danger had passed, they all insisted.
Yeah, right. Max had hustled her off Guam so fast her wheels had probably left skid marks on the runway. Damn both of the overprotective louts, two of a kind, in spite of their radically different wardrobes.
Darcy forced her mind back on her job, monitoring the fuel gauges and assessing the plane's center of gravity as burning fuel shifted weight distribution. The crew compartment droned from engines and the occasional radio call from Crusty in the aircraft commander's left seat position. Bronco sprawled behind him in the instructor's seat reading a book.
She should be reveling in the flight. She lived to fly. Always had, except for that brief time after her kidnapping when she'd resented everything military.
Now all she could think about was what she should have said to Max. Everything she'd wanted him to say to her first.
Instead, they'd both said a whole lot of nothing and a chance had been lost. She couldn't envision what sort of meeting they might have back in the States. But she also couldn't imagine never seeing him again.
Never.
Just the word caused an ache that constricted her chest. She could almost hear Alicia snorting over her shoulder. So call the guy. What's the worst he could do?
Break her heart.
And there it was. She was scared to try with Max because defeat would be devastating. The ache in the pit of her stomach swelled.
Crusty thrust a bag of nacho chips her way. "Want some?"
He rattled the bag. The king of moochers sharing?
Darcy searched the label for some kind of gag reading or passed-expiration date.
"No, thanks." She shook her head and transferred her attention back to the control panel.