Was the unlucky female really an operative playing the innocent card? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. This op was a headache and a half. Time for the next plan: secure the package, and everyone could fend for himself.

Winters ignored the men and smiled as polite and professional as a gladiator on a bad day.

“Not sure what this is all about.” He gestured to the men at her sides. “But hand it over.”

“No, pendejo. She is coming with us.” The man answered for her, flexing his sausage fingers around her bicep. Her mouth opened with unvoiced pain.

“Wasn’t talking to you, was I?” He couldn’t place the Spanish accent, and an international-fucking-incident wasn’t his idea of an easy in-and-out. Next time he was offered a cakewalk assignment, Winters would ignore his sweet tooth.

Team Tagalong pivoted away, woman in hand, and merged into the constant flow of mindless travelers.

So, it’s going to be like that.

She was dragged more than she walked. The second man hovered close, hiding her reluctance from any interested spectators.

Winters sidestepped in front again. He had orders not to engage. Extract and secure only. Extracting was a pain when he couldn’t throw down. Besides, airports weren’t conducive to altercations given their national security issues.

“Hold up. We have business to discuss. That package is leaving with me, mi amigo.” Dickhead would have worked better, but the Spanish translation for that term of endearment slipped his mind.

The woman. She was an unknown, though she looked like she sat in the front car of the world’s scariest rollercoaster. Pale color. Wide eyes. Pinched brow. He gave a once-over of the sugary outfit and superglue-grip on the package. She didn’t act like an operative, but chameleons were tricky to spot.

One half of Team Tagalong pressed a blade into her torso.

Come on. You’re pulling this stunt here? He rolled his eyes high to the terminal rafters. A legitimate coffee run would be needed after this hassle. Gas station coffee wouldn’t cut it.

The operative let the woman’s sweater cover his weapon. Maybe he was smart. When the blade pierced the fabric, she let out a quiet whimper. It was the first sound she made in his presence. Her pink glossed lips quivered, and her gaze ricocheted among the three men.

Winters rocked on the heels of his well-worn combat boots and lifted his hands. It took practiced patience to pull up short. But there were better ways to get that package than to engage in the middle of a commuter-swamped airport, where God only knew how many law enforcement agencies and security cameras patrolled.

He fell back and reached an alcove, ducked in, then flipped his cell phone open. Headquarters needed an update, and he needed intelligence. His boss picked up and grunted his usual hello.

“I got problems, man. Team Tagalong blew by my ass, snagged the package and a girl.”

“Freakin’ fantastic.” Jared Westin had one inflection for all occasions, calloused, full of grit and gravel. Every day. Every time. “What do you need?”