"Down, down; we wanna go down!"
As he waited, Cade's mind returned to the moment that the blonde had dragged
the car out of the hotel's driveway. A Crown Vic's roof came almost even with
his shoulders. She'd been tall enough to easily see over it, so that made her
between five-seven and five-ten.
And her legs. By God, she'd had magnificent legs. Even from across the
street, he'd seen that she'd had the long, solid legs of a fitness diva.
How had she happened to be on hand to deal with the car bomb? He'd never
seen or heard any reports of flying blondes in Atlanta. Chances were she'd been
on tap just like more than half of the other people he'd met during this
operation. That would make it likely that she'd been in town at least a few
days, stashed somewhere as an ace in the hole.
It had to have been one hell of an explosion up there. Cade wondered if
she'd still been hanging onto the car when it blew. Yeah, probably. She couldn't
very well let go of it. Damn.
Motion in the lobby below caught his eye; the guy who'd been taking pictures
in the street was cradling the camera and leading a small herd of people through
the dense throng of conventioneers, heading toward the front doors of the hotel.
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