“Buckle up.” Ginger couldn’t hold back the order as she gripped the dash of the Mercedes they’d just stolen from the dead agent.
“Yeah. In a second.” Hank slammed the car into Reverse again as they reached a road block of tractors.
“Now. Buckle it.” She put on her best mother voice that had actually stood her in good stead at the bargaining table when working to eliminate pork from legislation. “You’re no good to me if you catapult through the windshield in a car chase.”
“Uh-huh.” He rammed the Mercedes into Drive and nailed the gas pedal, whipping the steering wheel around to dodge the limo that had suddenly taken an interest in them again. Apparently the engine hadn’t been dead after all.
“I hear you, Ginger. As soon as I get a hand free. Duck.”
A bullet nailed the vehicle. The car rattled on impact. The reverberation shuddered up through her toes. Echoed through memories in her mind. She would never forget the unmistakable sound of tearing metal when she’d lost her husband in that awful car crash on an icy road.
She also couldn’t help but think of Hank in battle. How often had Hank heard antiaircraft fire hit his plane? Had it sounded the same? Life was too fragile.
Her heart pounded. She hit the deck as ordered. That didn’t mean, however, that she would forget about Hank’s safety. If he wouldn’t take care of himself, she would do it for him.
Ginger tucked her head low and reached over his lap. He thought he was invincible. She knew better. Images of her dead husband’s lifeless body in the wreckage of their family car still haunted her dreams at vulnerable moments. Like now. Here she was again, in a vehicle, driving too fast beside a man who was an important part of her life.
The Mercedes engine roared a reminder of their need to put space between themselves and the current crisis. She could hear the limo behind them. The squeal of brakes. Feel the swish of tires on slushy roads as rubber worked to gain traction.
The luxury sedan lurched forward as if rammed from behind. Hank braced himself. She bit back a scream that reverberated in her mind anyway.
Stop thinking. Take care of Hank’s seat belt while he worked his racetrack magic over the streets along the Bavarian border. She stretched her arm, fingers wiggling until she finally…felt…the fabric of his seat belt. Victory. She tucked the shoulder harness under his arm—not optimal, but he wouldn’t take his hands off the wheel—and yanked the lap belt in place with a satisfactory click.>“Fair enough. I’ll make this quick then. I apologize for the awkward moment back in the VIP lounge.”
In spite of the lack of listening devices, she appreciated that he kept his comment vague with all the people around. However, she also knew this was about as much privacy as they would get for the next couple of days. “I guess there’s no need for me to say, ‘What moment?’ but really Hank, don’t give it a second thought. We’re old enough to be past worrying about things like that.”
“Do you think so?” He cocked a brow. “You don’t look too old to me.”
And never too old to appreciate what sounded to her ears to be a most sincere compliment. The butterflies in her stomach swirled faster than the snowflakes.
Her publicity smile still in place as she waved and looked ahead, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Lordy, Hank, I’m a forty-nine-year-old mother of four boys.”
“And still hot as hell. You always have been.”
His words actually sent her stumbling a step on her heels before she regained her balance by gripping his sturdy arm—and making a quick check to be sure no one had overheard that bit of blunt flattery.
Seemed they were in the clear, and she wished she could have credited her slip to an icy patch, except that each footstep hit a swath of red carpet laid expressly for her visit. “Well thank you very much…General.” She also couldn’t bring herself to leave him out there hanging. “The years have been more than good to you. I was a little afraid I had embarrassed myself back there, too.”
His “public smile” relaxed into something more real for a moment. “So basically, you’re saying it’s okay that we both felt something in the airport lounge?”
“I’m saying we are both normal human beings.”
Her waving hand paused for a moment to glide possessively over the crèche. It had been her idea to give away the item to the church in the region where her husband’s great-grandmother had been born. Her right. Nothing politically incorrect about it, but everything politically savvy.
So why was her heart aching so over letting go of a piece of artwork she hadn’t even set up for the last three years? She told herself maybe she was the only one obsessing about the crèche to avoid thinking overmuch about the more pressing matter of these unexpected feelings for Hank.
“We’re also friends, Ginger, and I’ve learned friendship is rare, unlike….”
Sex?
She didn’t know about him, but sex was more than rare for her. It was nonexistent these days. Still, she couldn’t miss the depth of what he’d said about friendships being rare, something to treasure.
Their limo loomed a few more steps ahead, the crowds behind them now, the only other observers and press across the lot, roped off.
She stopped, staring up into his golden-brown eyes while waiting for the limo door to be opened. “How have you stayed single this long? You are something special, Hank Renshaw.”
Even as she heard the vehicle door click open, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his. She shivered and hugged her wool overcoat closer to her. The weight of the velvet bag on her arm pinched at her skin, the wind swaying the purse back and forth.
Deep in his eyes she saw so much, not just the shared memory from the airport lounge, but from those years of friendship. Swirling at the center she found times they’d comforted each other—which made her remember the near-crippling agony of losing Benjamin.