Love Under Two Flyboys [The Lusty, Texas Collection] by Cara Covington (best large ebook reader txt) 📗

Unfortunately, she had a feeling that whoever it was her lovers faced likely ranked a few notches higher on the danger scale than the high school bullies she’d bested.

Regardless, the realization that one or both of the men she loved could be in serious peril meant she couldn’t just stand by, hiding, and do nothing at all.

Oh, crap. There it was, the thought she’d been avoiding like the plague. A part of her had figured that as long as she didn’t think the words, she could continue to fool herself that what she felt for those damn flyboys was nothing more than affectionate lust.

Maybe I am a dumb broad. A smart woman would have kept her emotions at the “affectionate lust” level.

She wouldn’t have gone and fallen all the way in love with them both.

Tamara ran a shaking hand through her hair. This was no time to be thinking hearts and flowers, for God’s sake.

“Okay, first thing, get closer. And second thing, stop talking to yourself.” Tamara recalled how Henry had moved, low and fast, toward the corner of the hangar. About two hundred feet of open ground separated her from the building. She could do this. But not without making a bit of a sacrifice, first.

She looked down at the stylish pumps she’d bought the day before and without remorse kicked them off. She was dressed for a party, not skullduggery. She couldn’t run in pumps.

Her gaze wandered over to the construction site. Would there be something there she could use as a weapon? Henry had carried a handgun, an item she’d had no idea he possessed until he’d grabbed it out of the trunk of the car. She didn’t have a gun, but she would feel better if she had some sort of weapon on hand.

Tamara ran across the grass, biting down on the urge to swear when grass turned to dirt and bits of gravel dug into her stocking-covered feet. Moving through the place where just the day before she’d been working and bantering, she searched for something she could use as a means of defense.

The crowbar that had been left leaning against one wall would be perfect, but when she picked it up, it proved to be way too heavy. Finally, she found a screwdriver, one that was not much more than a couple of inches long. The good news was she could easily conceal it in her hand. The bad news, of course, was that it wouldn’t be good for much except up close. Very close.

She would have liked something more substantial, but she wasn’t certain how much time had passed while she’d been searching. She needed to get into that hangar, and she needed do it now.

Clouds continued to obscure the moon and stars, and no outdoor lights illuminated the path from where she hid to where she needed to be. She wasn’t certain if the back door to the helicopter hangar was open or not, and if it was, how could she get into the other part where she knew in her gut everyone was? She wished she’d asked Henry what he’d planned to do, exactly.

Maybe she could sneak around to the front and go right in the main door. If her men were in danger, if they were involved in some kind of a face-off against—well, against whomever—perhaps she could sneak in, unnoticed. Maybe they’d be too busy to see her.

That sure as hell wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she could come up with.

Tamara scanned the entire area. She saw no one and nothing moving, so she crouched as low as she could and ran across the open ground, not daring to breathe until she reached the cold solid outside wall of the hangar. She waited, listening, but heard nothing. The corner of the building lay just ahead. Once she rounded it, she’d be on the north side, a short side of the building. The door was just around the next corner after that, along the long, west-facing outside wall. She could do this. She would do this.

Inhaling deeply, clutching the screwdriver close, she mentally prepared to run.

Grabbed from behind, she had no time to scream as a hand fastened over her mouth and another clamped against her waist.

“Do not move, or make a sound, or you’ll be very, very sorry. Do you understand me?”

Tamara couldn’t see who had her, but then, she didn’t need to. Her heart sank as she recognized the voice of Peter Alvarez.

* * * *

Henry had assessed the situation and known he only had one chance to get it right.

Thank God, he had.

“Son of a bitch. You weren’t bluffing,” the man Jimmy had called boss said to Morgan.

Morgan had already spun around and grabbed Jimmy’s gun. Henry felt his tension ease considerably now that the tables had been turned.

“You okay?” he asked his brother.

“A little embarrassed for not having seen this second bruiser,” Morgan replied, using his thumb to indicate Jimmy. “But otherwise, yeah, I’m fine. Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, I had an itty-bitty complication. Do you want to call Adam, or shall I?”

“In a minute.” Morgan walked over to the man standing, hands raised, close enough to the Piper he could lean against it. “You want to tell me what this is all about, Rogers?”

“Listen, white hat, you have no idea what the hell it is you’ve stepped into. Just let me get what I need to get, and get gone. It’s nothing to you, or anyone else here, for that matter. But I warn you. Stop me, and you’ll be inviting a world of pain and misery down on this sleepy little burg of yours.”

Henry didn’t like the sound of that at all. He shot a gaze at Morgan, who only shrugged. “I have no idea,” Morgan said. “But there is one more member of this gang, so if you’ll keep an eye on the door—”

That door opened and Henry felt