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yelled, it was possible he had.
    “This condition is nonnegotiable,” she passed along before endeavoring to moisten her dry lips. Didn’t work, considering her throat was as parched as an Alabama creek bed in August. Worth gave her all the reasons that McBride’s proposal was completely out of the question then he told her what she needed to hear. Promise him whatever you have to, but get his butt up here.
    “Thank you, sir.” She severed the connection and tucked the phone back into its holster. “You’ll be in charge.”
    McBride’s eyes tapered with suspicion. “That easy, huh?”
    She refused to allow him to bully her. “You have my word.”
    He laughed, one of those soft sounds that lacked any glimmer of amusement and reeked of arrogance. “I hate to tell you this, Agent Grace, but I find that less than reassuring. You see, I know a rookie when I meet one.” He reclaimed that step he had surrendered, leaned close enough to plant his hands on the counter on either side of her. “ You can’t guarantee me shit.”
    She fought the trepidation tugging at her composure. No more beating around the bush. “We’re wasting time. You’re either going or you aren’t. If you want to help that little girl, then I would suggest that you get dressed so we can get this done. Otherwise,” she added, her temper temporarily overriding her good sense, “get out of my way. I don’t have time for the macho methods you evidently consider charming.”
    He didn’t move. The fear that she had pushed too hard—that she couldn’t handle this man—welled … clawed at her, but she kicked it back, refused to submit to it. She wasn’t about to let him see that he could get to her so effortlessly. If she gave him that inch, he would take a mile she didn’t have to spare. She might lack his experience, but she was the one with the badge. And the gun.
    His haughty gaze dropped to her mouth. “I gotta tell you, Grace, you got some great lips.”
    Enough. She flattened her right hand against his chest, pulled her lapel aside with her left, leaving her weapon in plain sight. “Back off.”
    One corner of his mouth tilted shamelessly, but he straightened away from her, his hands lifted in mock surrender. “No need to get testy.” He dropped his arms back to his sides and all signs of any amusement or smugness vanished. “What kind of transportation do we have?”
    The sudden turnabout had her grappling. She reached for calm, couldn’t find it handy, so she settled for quietly furious. “Private plane. It’s waiting at the airport in Marathon.”
    Surprise lifted his brows. “Well, that’s traveling in style.”
    “Mr. Byrne insisted, considering the time crunch. The Learjet belongs to him not to the Bureau.”
    McBride considered her a moment, stretching her patience to the limit, then said, “I’ll need to shower first.”
    He was going.
    The overwhelming sense of relief was almost more than she could hold inside. She shored up her professional deportment by hanging on to a little of that fury he’d ignited. “Make it fast. Our time is limited.”
    He acknowledged her order with a nod and walked away.
    She wanted to kick herself for watching. For admiring the way his jeans gloved his lean hips. That he got to her on that level was not only infuriating but startling. No one ever got to her that way.
    As if he had felt her gaze on him, he hesitated, turned back once more. “Just so you know, Grace, I’m doing this for the kid. Not for you. And definitely not for the Bureau.”
    He swaggered off, leaving Vivian struggling with emotions she couldn’t begin to label—she was grateful for that small mercy. It was better not to know.
    Keeping former Special Agent Ryan McBride under control wasn’t going to be an easy task. The man he had become was far more than a loose cannon.
    He was dangerous.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    5:00 P.M.
1000 Eighteenth Street
Birmingham, Alabama
18 hours remaining …
     
    Three floors.