Honor Reclaimed

by Tonya Burrows

  “Hollywood,” Gabe said and held out a hand in greeting. “I didn’t expect you personally.”

  “I was already in the area taking care of personal business,” Tuc said and accepted the handshake.

  Okay, maybe she hadn’t completely turned over a new leaf, because excitement hummed in her blood at the possibility of getting the scoop of a lifetime. What kind of business would one of the richest men in the U.S. have in a war zone while dressed in fatigues with a rifle slung over his shoulder?

  She felt eyes on the back of her head and glanced over her shoulder. Seth was staring at her. The open disgust on his face extinguished all sparks of excitement and filled her with a biting shame. He’d always hate that she was a member of the media, wouldn’t he? And she hadn’t even told him about the scathing pieces she’d written about him. When she did, he’d never speak to her again—which, yes, was exactly why she kept putting it off. She didn’t want him to hate her.

  God, but she should have told him before last night. It had been wrong not to.

  Sick to her stomach with guilt, she folded her arms in front of her and refocused on Gabe and Tuc’s conversation.

  “This everyone?” Tuc asked, scanning the group. “We can’t stay on the ground long here. Too many Taliban in these hills with RPGs.”

  “We have two more,” Gabe replied. “Sergeant Hendricks, plus a woman and a toddler we’re taking to the shelter.”

  “And the dog,” Ian spoke up, his hand resting on Tank’s head. “He’s coming with us.”

  To her surprise, Tuc offered no protest. “All right. Let’s pack them up and go.”

  “What about my guys at the shelter?” Gabe asked. “Did you bring them up to speed?”

  Tuc nodded. “I did, and I sent a couple men to help them beef up security there. After we take Hendricks to a hospital, the rest of you will come with me to a safe house where we’ll have better access to technology. Oh, and why didn’t you mention my local asset had been compromised?”

  “Last thing on my mind right now,” Gabe admitted.

  “Yeah, well, some forewarning would have been nice. I had to shoot my way out of an ambush at his house.”

  Phoebe started. Did Tucker Quentin just say he’d shot his way out of an ambush? Okay, yes, he used to be an Army Ranger, but he downplayed that aspect of his past so much that the mental image of him going all Rambo on some terrorists caught her off guard.

  She must have made a sound of surprise, because Tuc turned in her direction, then he looked at Seth. His jaw slid to one side and for a horrifying second, she got the feeling he was about to spill all of her secrets.

  But how could he know?

  She bit down on her lip, her heart hammering as his gaze settled on her again. Please don’t.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, then spun away. “Been here too long. We need to move.”

  …

  When Tuc Quentin said “safe house” what he meant was a sprawling, multimillion-dollar mansion that Seth guessed was probably built off the profits of opium sales. Tuc confirmed as much as they piled into the elevator from the rooftop landing pad.

  “Took it off a drug lord,” he said casually and punched the down button when Phoebe asked about the house.

  “Oh, I’m sure he was happy about that,” Phoebe said.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t care one way or another. He went on an extended vacation.”

  Translation: Tuc and his men had made the house’s former owner disappear. Seth wondered if she got his meaning and glanced over to see her staring at the billionaire in the same awed, somewhat greedy way she had back in the village when the guy first stepped off the bird.

  Which pissed Seth right the hell off. Again. He’d barely restrained himself from stalking over to her and throwing her over his shoulder in a testosterone-fueled bid for ownership the first time. Now, in the close confines of the elevator, he gave serious thought to doing Tuc bodily harm.

  So what if the tabloids had dubbed Tuc the world’s sexiest man? And, yeah, so what if he was everything Seth was not. Wildly rich. Free of scars. And if he carried any baggage, he hid it well behind that Hollywood-bred smile of his.

  Phoebe still had no right to stare at the guy like she wanted to lap him up.

  When the elevator reached the main floor, Tuc held the door open and looked at Phoebe. “This is your stop.”

  She scowled. “Um, no. I don’t think so.”

  “I know so.” He nodded to Jesse, who passed the sleeping boy to her. “Zina’s already with the kid’s mother. She’s worried about you. Take the boy and go talk to her.”

  Smart man, Seth thought with a tiny amount of grudging respect. Hit her with the one thing she couldn’t refuse: Zina. Get her out of the way while keeping her safe. It was more than he had been able to do for her. Yet another plus in the Tuc column.

  “Fine.” She huffed out a breath, and cradling the boy, she stepped into what looked like a huge living room.

  “And send Quinn and Harvard to the basement level,” Tuc said before letting the door close. “She’s a feisty one.”

  Several of the guys grunted in agreement. Seth just stared at the back of his head and tried to figure out if that was a compliment or an insult. Either way, he wanted to end the guy.

  A few more floors down, the doors slid open again and Tuc led the way to a long, windowless boardroom. Or more aptly, a war room. Screens covered one whole wall. A few of his people worked at the highest of high-tech computers, like something out of a sci-fi movie. Harvard would have a geek-gasm over all the fancy toys in this place.

  Tuc picked up a remote, aimed it at the largest screen, and up popped a 3-D floor plan of a mansion almost as big as the one they stood in.

  “My men,” Tuc introduced, motioning to the two men standing behind the computer terminals. “Rex, my medic. Devlin, my computer guy.”

  The lankier of the two—Rex—gave a big, toothy smile like a crocodile considering its next meal. Devlin, with his dark, slightly slanted eyes, was one of those unreadable silent types. Actually, kind of like Quinn.

  Speaking of, the elevator door slid open and Quinn joined them, followed by Harvard.

  “How’s Sergeant Hendricks?” Quinn asked and sat down at a long table in front of the screens. The rest of the team also took seats around the table.

  “He’ll live,” Gabe said.

  “Good. Another point in the win column.”

  “Not yet.” Gabe joined Tuc at the front of the room to study the map. “What are we looking at?”

  “One of Jahangir Siddiqui’s homes,” Tuc said. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the picture into an aerial satellite view.

  Marcus whistled. “Why can’t we have toys like this?”

  “Because HORNET is meant to travel light and fast, get in and get out. You already have most everything you need to get the job done. Usually,” Tuc added after a beat. “Not the case this time. You don’t have the right equipment or enough manpower so we’re here to lend you a helping hand.”

  “Thank you,” Gabe said.

  Tuc nodded once, then again flipped the view of Siddiqui’s mansion. “Thanks to the tracker Quinn planted on his car, we know this is where he’s staying and we think this is where he’ll meet Zaryanko to make the trade for the bomb.”

  “Okay,” Gabe said. “So let’s talk logistics. What are we up against, force-wise?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “What do you mean the compound was attacked? Wasn’t that the plan?”

  Cold as ever, Askar didn’t flinch from Siddiqui’s rage. He stood his ground and spoke as if he hadn’t destroyed a perfectly good afternoon with his report. “It was a team of six Americans, sir. I believe they were after the traitor.”

  Muscles quivering, Siddiqui paced across the foyer of his home. Even though Zakir Rossoul hadn’t talked, he’d figured the man had ties to the Americans. And he’d known they’d probably come looking for their comrade, but how could they have found
the compound so quickly?

  Unless.

  He stopped pacing. “Tehani. She must have told them where to look.”

  “Makes sense,” Askar said.

  Siddiqui whirled on him. “Find my wife. I’m sure she’s with that American whore journalist who has been snooping around. Find them both and bring them to me. They’re ruining my plans.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did the Americans get to Rossoul before you killed him?”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Askar said without inflection. “I left him for the bombs to finish, but if they found him first, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to tell them anything.”

  “Let’s hope not. Go clean up, then meet me in my office in five minutes. We have a meeting.”

  He waited until Askar disappeared up the stairs, giving himself several minutes to calm down before he walked to his office and plastered a welcoming smile on his face. It was important that he didn’t appear ruffled or overeager.

  “Mr. Zaryanko,” he said to his visitor in English. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  The man standing in front of his desk offered a wolfish smile. He wore a charcoal business suit and his long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the back of his neck. “Please,” he said, his English heavy with a Russian accent. “Call me Nikolai.”

  Siddiqui held out a hand. “Jahangir. Have a seat.”

  Nikolai sat. “If it does not offend, I’d prefer to use your last name. Easier for my Russian tongue to pronounce.”

  Siddiqui nodded and took the leather chair opposite Nikolai rather than put the space of a desk between them. A power move like that might offend a man such as Nikolai Zaryanko, and he needed to keep the man happy if his plans were to succeed.

  “I apologize for my delay. One of my wives was giving me problems.”

  “Ah, you Muslims. I cannot imagine. One wife is too many and you have four.”

  “A Russian wife, perhaps,” Siddiqui said, keeping his smile firmly in place despite the outrage roaring through him. “An Afghan wife knows her place.”

  “That they do,” Nikolai agreed. “I’ve had several Afghan women in my brothels. They are always very popular with the customers. Very…hmm, how do you say? Accommodating. You train them well.”

  Siddiqui relaxed into his chair. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk business.”

  Nikolai waved a hand in an impertinent go-ahead gesture that turned Siddiqui’s stomach. Still, he continued to smile. He needed this man, but he wasn’t going to make that need known. That would only drive up the price.

  His office door opened and Askar slid into the room, silent as a ghost. It would be so easy to give his personal attack dog the signal to kill and take what he wanted—except his window of opportunity was closing fast and killing Nikolai would only delay the deal. As much as it pained him to pay the exuberant price Nikolai was sure to ask, further delay would prove even more costly.

  “All right, you have my ear.” He leaned forward in his seat and linked his hands between his knees. “What will it take to have The Suitcase in my possession by the end of the week?”

  Nikolai flashed that wolf’s smile again. The price he named was exorbitant.

  Siddiqui sat back in his chair. “That’s robbery.”

  “It’s the price of doing business.” Nikolai stood. “And no, I will not negotiate. If you’re not willing to pay, I know plenty of others who are.”

  Siddiqui watched him walk toward the door and didn’t move, expecting to call Nikolai’s bluff. But the Russian left the room.

  He was serious. He really wasn’t willing to negotiate.

  Fuck.

  Siddiqui pushed out of his chair. “Bring him back,” he ordered Askar and a moment later, his soldier led an amused Nikolai through the door.

  “Change your mind?”

  “You have a deal,” Siddiqui said. “But we need to make this happen today.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Two days.

  According to Tuc’s intel, they had two days to prepare. The team spent countless hours in the war room, running scenarios. What if this, what if that, covering all their bases. They spent just as much time running short training missions with Tuc and his men.

  No room for error.

  The afternoon before the raid, they performed one last training exercise, a mock run at an abandoned mansion similar to Siddiqui’s.

  It went off without a hitch.

  Back on the helo, Seth relaxed into his seat, flying high on the job well done, feeling lighter than he had in years. He’d fucking done it. He hadn’t frozen up once during any of the missions.

  They actually had a shot at pulling this off.

  He wasn’t the only one revved, either. The mood on the helo had done a complete 180 from the ride in, the men now joking and laughing, releasing forty-eight nonstop hours of tension.

  Quinn, in the seat across from Seth, smirked under the dirt and paint coating his face. “Hey, Ace,” he called over the rotor noise and leaned forward. “Nice shooting. Knew you’d show those motherfuckers.”

  “Which ones? The baddies or these assholes?” he asked, tilting his head toward the rest of the team.

  “All of them.”

  “Oorah!”

  Quinn held out a fist. Seth met him halfway and knocked their knuckles together as the bird started its descent. He glanced out the door and saw Phoebe standing on the roof next to Tuc Quentin, shielding her eyes from the prop wash. Her loose shirt whipped around her body, alternately showing flashes of skin at her belly and plastering itself to her curves.

  All of his exuberance coalesced along his spine and nailed him in the balls. Instant. Hard-on.

  As soon as the helo’s runners hit the rooftop, he hopped out.

  Tuc gave them a round of applause. “Nice job, guys.”

  But Seth’s focus had narrowed to one person, the woman in front of him who looked torn between wanting to smile and wanting to smack him. And holy hell, that shouldn’t have been a turn-on but if he got any harder right now he was going to have trouble walking.

  She opened her mouth as he approached and he slid a hand around the back of her neck, dragging her to him, covering her mouth with his own. Claiming. Branding.

  He swallowed her gasp and her fingers dug into his shoulders, but she didn’t fight him. Perfect. He was sick of fighting with her. And fighting with himself about her. He wanted the easy intimacy they’d had together in the village before he’d gotten all screwed up in the head again.

  He wanted her.

  He backed her up into the elevator without ever lifting his mouth from hers. Vaguely heard some cheers and lewd comments behind them and flipped the guys off over his shoulder. Laughter boomed as the doors slid shut.

  Alone.

  At freaking last.

  He cupped her waist, skimming his hands under her shirt, filling his palms with her breasts. Her nipples stood erect under the fabric of her bra and he slid his fingers inside the cup, finding those gorgeous little peaks with his thumb. She trembled under his touch, broke her mouth from his on a moan as the elevator doors slid open again on the second floor.

  Damn, was there any sexier sound than that?

  Bed. He had to get her into his bed. Get her naked. And bury himself as deep inside her as he could.

  “Whoa,” she gasped and slapped a hand to his chest when he would have scooped her into his arms. “Hold on just a dang minute.” She took a moment to catch her breath. Then she poked her index finger at his sternum. “For the past two days, you’ve treated me like I was contagious, avoiding me at all costs. And now you’re trying to back me into a dark corner and have your way with me? I don’t think so, buddy.”

  She ducked out of his embrace and caught the elevator door before it closed her in with him again. He wasn’t quite fast enough and had to ride the elevator up a floor. He burst from the car as soon as the doors opened again and raced down the swooping staircas
e to the room she’d been given on the second floor, spotting her at her door. “Phoebe.”

  Chin raised with indignation, she ignored him and again, he wasn’t quick enough. Got there just as the door slammed in his face. He tried the knob, found it locked, and scowled at the wood. “Phoebe, open up.”

  “Nope. You’re being an asshole.”

  Oh, was he ever going to regret the day he told her to call him out on that.

  “C’mon. Can we talk?”

  “We could’ve if your tongue wasn’t down my throat. Go away. I’m taking a shower.”

  He groaned and pressed his forehead against the door. Phoebe. In the shower. Not the mental image he needed when he could still hammer nails with his cock. Damn thing hadn’t shown any interest in any woman for years and now suddenly it wouldn’t behave when he needed it to.

  Voices echoed down the hall and he shoved away from the door, following the sound until he found the rec room, where Jean-Luc and Marcus had started a game of pool.

  “Hey, man,” Marcus said and straightened from the table to chalk his cue. “That was a quickie. We figured we wouldn’t see you until just before go-time.”

  “She shut me out of her room.”

  “Bummer. Well, we’re not as pretty but you can hang with us for the evening. We’re celebrating Zak’s good prognosis. And taking advantage of our excellent accommodations while we can.”

  “Can’t drink, though,” Jean-Luc muttered and lifted a bottle of water in toast. “Orders direct from our esteemed capitaine since we still have a mission to complete. So, up for a game of pool? No, wait.” He scowled. “You play pool like you play poker? ’Cause if so even I’m not stupid enough to play you.”

  “Pool’s not my game,” Seth admitted, eying the table. “Never was very good at geometry.”

  “All right then. I take that back. Care to join us, mon ami?”

  “Nope.” Struck with a sudden idea, he crooked a finger at Marcus. Like hell he’d let Phoebe shut herself away from him. Now that he had his head on straight again, they had to talk. “Need you, Deangelo.”