He went into battle mode. Over thirty years of training kicked into high gear with one objective. Keep Ginger alive.
His arm hooked around her, he pressed her to his side as he ran. He protected her as best he could, shifting his back to whichever way it seemed the barrage of bullets raged worst.
He needed cover. Certainly. More than that he needed to get the hell away. He scanned the field, a mass of mayhem now with the crowds of shrieking observers running for cover behind trees or distant houses.
He missed the good old days when he’d driven himself from point A to point B. The limo was a no-go for transportation even if he could trust—or take out—the chauffeur. The vehicle was too unwieldy and identifiable.
Hank ducked by a tree with Ginger against him as a fresh hail of bullets spat from the airport door. Thank God she wasn’t a squealer. She kept her head and her silence. Although she couldn’t keep up, thanks to those ridiculous high heels that made her legs dream material.
“Look. There.” She pointed to another man dressed in a suit. Appeared to be secret service, but damned if he wasn’t pointing his gun in their direction.
His brain raced until the obvious hit him. They couldn’t go inside the limo, but the back end of the limo would make a fine place to crouch while planning.
Arm around her waist, Hank hefted her off her feet and sprinted back, closer to their original position. Bullets pocked the ground by his polished uniform shoes. Damn it all, he wished he had his flight suit and combat boots rather than this monkey suit with medals clanking and shoes pinching.
Finally, he eased Ginger to the ground. Luckily, the vehicle’s engine was off—shot out from bullets perhaps?—so no worries about being run over.
She wrapped her arms around the boxed crèche, her black wool coat trailing in the snow behind her. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to chat with the guys shooting at us.” He slid his hand inside his overcoat and pulled out his 9 mm. “Can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.”
He had a gun—of course he did, given the woman he’d been tasked to escort. Right now it was tough to figure out who to shoot. He could just as easily take out one of their own, but by the same token he couldn’t bring himself to trust a single person here at the moment. Bottom line, the best course still seemed to be trust no one for the moment, leave and recoup.
Now he had to figure out how to get out surreptitiously—with a hot woman in a red suit who just happened to be the high-profile U. S. Senator from South Carolina.
“Hank?”
“Thinking.” He gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “Hang in there.”
“Hank—”
“Damn it, Ginger—”
“Hank!” She thumped his chest and pointed.
Tucked twenty feet or so away under an icicle-laden tree sat a silver Mercedes, engine humming, driver slumped over the steering wheel.
A getaway car.
He smiled.
She winked. “Ready?”
“Set,” he growled.
“Go!” Her purse clutched to her chest, she leapt to her feet and ran like hell in those heels he could have sworn would keep her back.
Well, damn. So much for carrying her this time. He bolted after her, his coattails flapping in the wind. He focused on creating a boundary with his body between her and anyone who might target her. Seconds later, they reached the Mercedes. Hank gripped the dead man by the collar and pulled him from the car.
He took a precious extra five seconds to relieve the dead guy of all his weapons before climbing behind the wheel—to find Ginger already buckled in beside him with her black velvet bag containing the family crèche resting on her lap. Her seat was reclined enough to keep her head out of the way of incoming fire.
“Let’s blow this pop stand.” He stretched his arm along the back of her seat and looked behind them, reversing the vehicle before pulling forward onto the road. Away from the firefight.
God, it felt like an hour since he’d stepped out of that little airport, but the whole ordeal had probably lasted all of ninety seconds. He’d experienced that same bizarre time-warp sensation countless times before in battle.
Now he just had to figure out a safe place to relocate in a foreign country with a U. S. Senator in tow at a time when people had decided to start shooting at her for no apparent reason.
Merry flipping Christmas.