Holiday Heroes (Wingmen Warriors 13)

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.

Eventually she’d made her way past the pain into a vision of a future full of her children, grandchildren and a career on the national scene full enough to keep her busy for life. It had felt like enough.

Except at the moment she was too aware of the feel of red satin against her skin.

Heaven help her, Hank was reaching toward her. Could he be as caught in this moment as she was? Now wouldn’t a single inappropriate touch between the two of them eclipse all other morning feature photos?

She started to caution him when she realized he wasn’t reaching to stroke her arm, but to grip her elbow. His mouth opened.

“Ginger. Down,” he shouted, just as a bullet split a hole in the red carpet an inch from her high heels.

Chapter 2

Hank flattened Ginger down to the red carpet, shielding her with his body as he weighed his options for the best place for her safety. Bullets came at them from both sides. Security personnel made attempts to rush toward her, but bullets held them off.

Downed two. Holy hell.

Handheld radios squawked as a local cop pointed out a target in a black suit. A man with a sputtering gun keeping them from the airport.

A longer rifle glimmered in the distance from the patch of icy trees. Hank shouted a warning as another hail of gunfire exploded. Good guys and bad guys—all wearing black suits—blended until he didn’t know who to trust. No way even of determining who was from what country.

Shielding Ginger, he pivoted left and right, ascertaining one thing for certain. The limo chauffeur narrowed his eyes in their direction.

Hank had a split second to decide whether to put Ginger’s life in that man’s hands. Hank’s training, his instincts all shouted, trust no one.