Honor Reclaimed

by Tonya Burrows

  He’d promised Gabe he’d look after her.

  Several sets of hands locked around his ankles and dragged him away from the house. Away from Phoebe.

  No, he couldn’t leave her. Being with her…for the first time in years, he’d been able to just live. He’d felt alive and whole when he was with her and he wouldn’t give her up. She was his connection to humanity, to life. The good to soothe the decayed pieces of his soul.

  “Phoebe!”

  No response.

  Except the hands on him, yanking him somewhere against his will.

  Inside his mind, past collided with present and he screamed until his voice gave out. He was still in captivity. He’d never been rescued and those hands on him weren’t friendly. They were dragging him into the center of the village for more humiliation, more torture. Everything else—his new teammates, the mission to rescue a black ops soldier, the taste of Phoebe’s kiss—it had all been nothing but a cruel trick of his imagination.

  Someone crouched down in front of him and he lashed out. The man ducked and his cowboy hat went flying.

  Wait. Cowboy hat? Not a turban.

  Seth blinked.

  For a long time, he couldn’t make sense of the face his eyes showed him. A sharp jaw covered with several days’ worth of stubble. Kind blue eyes. Brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Not one of his captors. When his brain finally caught up and placed a name with the face, shame burned like a coal fire in his gut. Jesse Warrick. A friend. Sort of.

  “Hey. Hey.” Jesse snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Seth. Focus on me. You back with us? Don’t make me sedate you, pal.”

  He was free, with friends. Free.

  And yet his body refused to listen to logic. It took every ounce of self-control in him to stop struggling against their hold, and his muscles twitched at the forced inactivity.

  Chest heaving, he stared at grim faces surrounding him. Gabe held his arms twisted behind his back at a painful angle and Jean-Luc and Marcus each had a leg pinned to the earth. Again, memories of being held down threatened to rip his sanity into shreds, but he held on, focused on the here and now.

  Friends.

  These were the good guys.

  The. Good. Guys.

  His gaze snapped to the collapsed house. “Phoebe?” he croaked in a voice that didn’t sound like his own. “Where is she?”

  Gabe’s grip loosened. “We don’t know,” he said. And was that understanding in his tone? “But the house is gone, Seth. There’s no getting inside.”

  “I’m good now. Let me go.” The hands holding him lifted and he climbed to his feet, his eyes glued on the tiny opening he’d tried to make bigger.

  C’mon, Phoebe. Come out of there.

  What was left of the house shifted again, more slabs of mud crumbling inside.

  Despair dragged him to his knees as a cold wind swept off the mountain and kicked swirls of dust into the air around him. His eyes watered, but he refused to look away.

  The men murmured behind him. He ignored them. But then Gabe, of all people, settled down beside him in the dirt.

  “I know what you’re feeling right now,” Gabe said softly. “During our last mission, I thought I lost Audrey.”

  Seth didn’t bother glancing over. “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “And I haven’t lost Phoebe. She’s still in there. I don’t know why—why she won’t answer me, but—she’s coming out.” He’d have hope, like she’d told him to, and he’d hang on to it with every cell in his being because that protective, intelligent, courageous woman was the first good thing that had come into his life in a very long time.

  Stupid of him to take so long to see it, but he’d make damn sure she’d know if—no, he had to have hope. When they got her out.

  “I’m so sorry, Seth.” Gabe squeezed his shoulder. “We have to keep moving. Zak is in no condition to stay in these mountains.”

  “Go. I’m not leaving here.”

  The words conjured up another flashback, one he now realized he’d visited many times in his dreams. Fourteen months into their captivity, just him and Omar Cordero left. Awakening to blood-curdling screams that lasted all night until their captors finally flung Cordero’s limp body into the room.

  The rattling breaths of approaching death.

  Seth assuring him they’d get free.

  No. I’m not leaving here, Lieutenant. Tell Theresa I love her and I’m sorry.

  Seth dropped his head into his hands. He never had gone to see Omar’s wife. Had never told her that her husband’s final thoughts had been about her.

  He hadn’t been able to save any of his men.

  And he could do nothing to help Phoebe.

  A horrible numbness filled him, similar to the cold detachment he’d felt for weeks after his rescue. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  Gabe exhaled slowly, but didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Too much time had passed without a sound from her and every one of the men standing there knew what that meant. If Phoebe were alive and trapped, she’d be calling out for help by now.

  “But Zak?” Seth rasped. “There’s still hope for him.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said. “There’s still hope. He’s in bad shape and will probably lose his leg, but if we get him to a hospital as soon as possible, he’ll survive. Thanks to you.”

  Straightening, Seth wiped at his eyes. Nobody gave him shit about the tears, not even Ian, who was standing off to the side of the group, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the ground.

  Amazing. Somehow Phoebe had managed to win even that asshole over.

  Just went to show how truly special she was.

  He may have failed Omar Cordero, but, goddammit, he was going to do right by Phoebe. “We’re coming back for her,” he said. “She’s not staying here. We’re coming back with the right equipment to dig her out.”

  And if it was the last thing he did, he’d make sure the world mourned her loss with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kabul

  Quinn sat upright in bed, every trained sense he had going on high alert. He couldn’t put his finger on what had tipped him off—the house was quiet, everyone sound asleep, and he heard no unfamiliar sounds.

  But something.

  Something…

  What?

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and checked the time on his phone: 0520. When he’d done his rounds twenty minutes ago, he hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t waiting another forty minutes to check again when every fiber in his being told him something. Was. Wrong. He grabbed his rifle and edged down the hallway to Harvard’s door.

  He rapped his knuckle against the wood. “Harvard.”

  A thunk. Voices. At least two, trying to be quiet. Scrambling.

  What the fuck?

  Quinn’s heart rate jacked up and he raised his weapon, all ready to burst into the room and take down whoever was on the other side.

  The door opened and Harvard poked his head out. “Uh, Quinn. Hi. What’s up?” He was shirtless, showing off lean muscles that the last few months of training had added to his once-broomstick-thin body, and his pants hung low on his hips, unbuttoned. His hair was mussed as if he—or someone else—had been running their fingers through it all night.

  Well, shit. No wonder he hadn’t put up a fight about being left behind at the shelter.

  Quinn shouldered his rifle. “You can come out, Zina. I know you’re in there.”

  Red bloomed across Harvard’s cheeks as Zina came to the door in a bathrobe, her hair just as mussed, her lips puffy, cheeks reddened by stubble.

  “Uh…” Harvard said, rubbing the back of his neck like a teenager caught in the act by dear old dad.

  Quinn snorted at that mental image. Yeah, right. As if he’d ever qualify to be anyone’s father. He held up his hands. “No judgment here.”

  After all, how could he cast stones after his one-night stand this
summer with—

  Mara.

  Goddammit. There she was again. He’d been doing such a good job blocking her out of his mind too.

  “Is there something wrong?” Zina asked, clenching the bathrobe to her chest. If she was at all embarrassed, she didn’t show it, but maybe that was because worry lit her pretty features.

  “I don’t know,” Quinn admitted. “I got this feeling…and it’s probably nothing,” he added when her eyes widened. “Still, I wanted Harvard to run a check with the security cameras he installed.”

  “Absolutely,” Harvard said. “Give us a minute.”

  The door shut and Quinn heard their murmurs, the unmistakable sound of a kiss. Yeah, maybe he’d give them a bit more space. He walked over to the top of the stairs and peered down to the dark first floor.

  Harvard reemerged a few minutes later. “Camera’s showing no activity.”

  Damn. Wincing, he rubbed his temple where a headache was starting pound. If everything was secure, why did he feel so uneasy? Probably just head trauma–induced restlessness, but he still didn’t feel right about going back to bed. “I’m going to walk the grounds. Just in case.”

  “All right,” Harvard said. “And since I’m up, I’ll check out a few things online. See if I can’t dig up more intel on Siddiqui or the bomb he wants to buy.”

  Guilt prickled up the back of Quinn’s neck. “No, don’t do that. Go back to Zina.”

  “Nah, that’s over.”

  He said it so offhandedly, Quinn gaped in surprise. He’d never pegged Harvard for the one-night-stand type. That was more Jean-Luc’s specialty. And his own. “Didn’t your relationship just start?”

  “It’s not a relationship. We had sex and now it’s over. What?” he said defensively when Quinn continued to stare. “It’s a perfectly natural stress release if both parties know and agree to the terms going in.”

  “You make it sound like a…loan contract. It’s sex.”

  “Which is a kind of contract between two consenting adults.”

  Quinn blinked. He couldn’t wrap his mind around— Where the hell did this kid learn about fucking, from a law textbook? “But it’s sex. It never wraps up all neat and tidy like that. It’s dirty and rough and the aftermath is—”

  Now Harvard was blinking at him, owl like, and he realized he was giving away far more about his own fucked-up sex life than educating Harvard on what a healthy sexual relationship should be. “Uh, can we pretend this whole convo never happened?”

  “Yeah,” Harvard said, dragging the word out. “That works for me. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything more on—”

  A bell sounded from Harvard’s room and he ran toward it. Quinn waited a beat, then started downstairs when it didn’t seem like he would be back.

  “Wait,” Harvard said, coming to the top of the stairs. He waved a paper in one hand and grinned. “I got a lock on Siddiqui’s car. It’s sitting in a restaurant parking lot only two freaking miles from here. What do you say we go slap a tracking device on the thing?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christ, there was so much death in these mountains. So many bodies, enough to haunt Seth’s already-troubled dreams for centuries.

  His throat closed as he stood by his horse on the hill overlooking the destroyed village. As soon as Jesse got Zak stabilized and ready for travel, they’d be leaving. And then…

  No. He turned away and continued saddling his horse. He couldn’t think about Phoebe—had to focus on something else. Didn’t have the capacity to deal with the sharp edge of grief threatening to cut away the numbness of shock.

  Then he saw it. The saddlebag carrying Phoebe’s clothes, her camera. She never had a chance to retrieve any of it…

  So why was it hanging open?

  Who the fuck had gone through it?

  He did a visual sweep of the contents. Her scarf—the red one she’d worn during the drive from Kabul to Asadabad—was missing.

  Movement in the village below caught his attention and he grabbed his rifle, peered through the scope.

  Ian picked his way through the rubble toward the dog, who had still not left his spot in front of one of the half-collapsed houses, most likely the home of his former owner. And in Ian’s hand was a length of…

  Red scarf.

  Moving fast and silently, Seth maneuvered down the hillside and reached the house just as Ian leaned over the poor, forgotten animal.

  He lifted his weapon. “What are you doing, you sadistic son of a bitch?”

  Ian glanced back with a raised eyebrow. “You got the son of a bitch part right.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to fuck with me, Reinhardt. I’ve had a really bad fucking day. Give me back the scarf or I end your miserable existence, and it’ll be one of the few things I won’t lose sleep over.”

  Ian sent him a wicked grin and knelt down.

  Seth’s finger tightened on the trigger, but then relaxed as the dog’s tail wagged. Ian spoke softly and buried his hands in the animal’s scruff, giving the dog a good rub that sent his bushy tail whipping, then he held the scarf under the dog’s nose and said firmly, “Phoebe. That’s Phoebe.”

  Seth lowered his rifle. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to give him Phoebe’s scent.” Ian stayed focused on the dog. “Thing is, I’ve worked with some bomb-sniffing dogs in the past and this guy’s not trained, but he’s smart and he already has an attachment to her. We might be able to use him to find her.”

  Seth’s lungs ached, his chest so tight breathing became a chore. “She’s dead,” he said in a strangled voice that didn’t sound like his own. He looked across the village toward Tehani’s family home, now nothing but a pile of rubble. “Nobody can survive that.”

  “I don’t think she was in Tehani’s house,” Ian said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “C’mon, this is Phoebe we’re talking about. Do you honestly believe she’d just sit around and wait for us to get back? No. She was exploring, looking for the villagers, and I think she was in this house when the bombs dropped. That’s why the dog won’t leave this spot. He knows she’s in there.”

  Seth stared at the semi-collapsed house. The wreckage wasn’t as severe as Tehani’s home and if Phoebe was trapped inside—Jesus, it could be survivable. A dangerous bubble of hope expanded in his chest. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll stall Gabe.”

  …

  Phoebe started awake to a loud scratching sound. Her ears rang and a pounding, dizzying headache made her nauseous. Blood, lots of it, caked her face, clogged her nose with the smell of copper and death. Her tongue tasted like dirt and was about as dry, pasted to the roof of her mouth.

  What happened?

  She shut her eyes, struggled to recall…something. Had she been in some kind of accident? Natural disaster?

  No. No, that wasn’t right. She was in Afghanistan…

  With Seth.

  He’d been the last thought to flash through her mind before unconsciousness sucked her under. Where was he? Was he okay?

  She lifted her head. It hurt like hell, but at least she still had a head to lift—definitely a check in the plus column. Her arms and legs all seemed to work too, albeit painfully. Another positive check.

  In the negative column—she couldn’t move more than a few inches in any direction. Nor would her parched throat work enough to form a call for help. She tried, again and again, but produced no sound. Panic coated her tongue and she shoved at the debris blocking her in. She did not want to die. Not here. Not like this. Not when a scarred and tortured man would spend the rest of his life drowning in guilt over his perceived failure to protect her, even though there was no way he could have known…

  Bomb.

  That’s right. She’d been searching through the empty homes, looking for clues to the villagers’ whereabouts, when a plane had dropped bombs on the village.

  And even though Seth couldn’t have known it was going to happen, he was going to destroy himself if she died here.
<
br />   And she didn’t even want to think of what it’d do to her parents, her little brother. Nate was in high school—still so young—and he’d never admit it out loud, but he looked up to her with near hero worship.

  She wouldn’t let Nate down. Wouldn’t let Seth self-destruct.

  Desperate, she clawed at the mud. Dug for all she was worth and managed to move a chunk of collapsed wall. A hole opened up, almost big enough. Maybe—if she flattened herself out and moved slowly—she just might be able to wiggle through to safety. Or into another mud prison. She had no idea what lay on the other side, but she had to try and pushed forward with her legs.

  God, what she wouldn’t give for a bottle of water.

  More scraping sounded from outside. It was the same sound that had awakened her and she strained her ears. Listening. Listening.

  Seth?

  She wanted to scream his name, but no matter how much air she pushed out of her lungs, the best she could do was a tiny whimper of sound.

  No, wait. That whimper wasn’t from her.

  She shifted and her leg came up against a warm, furry body. A…dog? Yes! He scooted in beside her until they were nose-to-nose and gave her a sloppy hello lick.

  Joy burst through her. Tank the Wonder Dog. The amazing animal had come to find her. She hugged him tight, reveled in the warmth of his scruffy coat. He barked excitedly and the sound caused her head to spin, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t alone anymore.

  Good boy, Tank.

  With numb fingers, she unknotted her scarf from her neck and tied it around the dog’s. She nudged him to go. It took a few tries, but she finally got the stubborn animal to shimmy out the same way he’d come in. She watched his progress, then wiggled herself around until she could see the path he’d used. He’d dug a hole under one of the heavy slabs of wall that had kept her trapped.

  Oh, Tank. Such a good, brilliant boy.

  She’d kiss that dog when she got out.

  Every nerve ending in her body screamed as she pulled herself through the hole, but she saw light and it was enough to keep her going. Then she heard Seth’s voice: “That’s her scarf. She tied her scarf around his neck.”