SEAL of Honor

by Tonya Burrows

  Gabe moved away from the basement door to the set of stairs on the other side of the kitchen, thinking the guy might try to come down them and escape. The stairwell curved and he could only see as far up as a landing. He put a foot on the bottom step, intending to clear the area, when he heard rustling behind him.

  Jesse emerged from the basement carrying Bryson Van Amee in a fireman’s carry.

  “How bad?” Gabe fell into step beside him as he humped his unconscious cargo across the kitchen.

  “He’s severely dehydrated and tachycardic,” Jesse said. “Another day of this and he’d be in serious trouble.”

  Gabe held up a hand before they reached the patio and scanned the yard again. A body lay cooling at the edge of the patio, blood soaking through the front of his hoodie sweatshirt, his eyes frozen half open. Otherwise, the yard was empty and silent, the pop of gunfire coming more sporadically now.

  “We’re clear. Go!”

  Jesse took off like a swimmer from the block, jarring Van Amee, who moaned with each rattling bounce. They made it across the yard and vanished into the trees at the edge of the property. From there, it was only a short jog to the helo in a clearing on the next property over. Gabe could already hear the rotor powering up.

  Almost home free. Time to round up the rest of the guys and beat feet out of there.

  Gabe pivoted to go find Jean-Luc—and his bad foot went out from under him. Goddammit. With adrenaline firing his system, he hadn’t realized how bad the pain had gotten, like someone had repeatedly stabbed a knife in between his toe bones and then left it there. One second he was up on his feet, jogging toward the side yard. The next, down on his hands and knees in the dewy morning grass with a scream lodged in the back of his throat.

  And that’s when he saw them. Jacinto Rivera and Rorro Salazar creeping through the trees, trying to escape.

  For all of point-oh-three seconds, Gabe considered closing his eyes, turning away, and pretending he hadn’t seen them. Capturing them wasn’t part of the op. In fact, as far as his client was concerned, it was mission complete. Bryson Van Amee was safe in friendly hands. No ransom exchanged. No money lost for Zoeller & Zoeller Insurance. Handshakes and cigars all around.

  He didn’t have to bring Jacinto and Rorro to justice. He didn’t have to risk himself or his men like that. But it went against every fiber in his being, every code of honor he’d ever set for himself, to let them get away.

  Then there was Audrey to consider. He thought about the pain and worry and fear these two asswipes had caused her over the past few days. And it wasn’t over. Bryson was safe but had a long road to recovery, and Audrey was going to worry for him, fear for him, for a long time to come. Especially if his captors were still free. For that reason alone, Jacinto and Rorro needed to pay.

  Gabe groaned and limped to his feet, commanding his bad foot to hold. It did. Barely. He took off at a hobbling run, very aware that if Jacinto and Rorro continued circling the property like they were, they would run directly into the helo.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  Rorro raised an assault weapon, peppering him with bullets, and his foot gave out again as he pivoted to find cover. Cursing, he hit the ground and rolled behind a decorative brick wall before returning fire in short bursts. Rorro grabbed his older cousin, used him as a living shield at the same time as a bullet came from nowhere and skipped off the top of Jacinto’s head. They both collapsed.

  Gabe peeked over the wall to see who had saved his neck. Quinn stood not twenty feet away at the edge of the yard, pistol in hand and a quirk on his lips. He holstered the weapon, closed the distance between them, and held out a helping hand.

  “Man, you ever get tired of me saving your ass?”

  Gabe clasped the offered hand and climbed to his feet. “Never.”

  Another bullet ripped into the earth near Quinn’s boot and he stumbled backward with a shouted curse as Rorro, covered in his cousin’s blood, crawled out from under Jacinto’s body and fired wildly in their direction. Gabe let loose a short, controlled burst from his own weapon and Rorro crumpled face-first into the blood-soaked ground.

  “Okay,” Quinn said and huffed out a breath. “Now we’re even.”

  “Never,” Gabe repeated. “I’ll always have your six, buddy.”

  All around, the gunfire came to an abrupt halt, a chilling silence spreading out in its wake. Gabe whistled between his teeth and waited, praying….

  Five whistles bounced back and he breathed a soft sigh of relief. His men had stopped firing because the tangos were dead, not because they were. Now, as per the plan, they’d rendezvous at the helo.

  Quinn slung an arm around his waist. “C’mon.”

  He hobbled across the yard with Quinn’s help, met the rest of the team at the edge of the neighboring property, and performed a quick head count as everyone climbed aboard the helo. Yeah, it was very Mother Hen-ish of him, but it made him feel better to know Marcus, Ian, Jean-Luc, Jesse, and Harvard were safe and sound.

  Gabe shut the door behind him and circled a finger in the air. “Let’s go.” He moved through the crammed confines of the helo’s belly and crouched down beside Jesse, who was still working over Bryson Van Amee. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s awake,” Jesse said. He had started an IV and squeezed the bag every few seconds, pumping fluid into the drowsy man’s veins.

  “Yeah?” Gabe pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Mr. Van Amee, can you hear me?”

  Bryson’s brown eyes, so very much like his sister’s, focused blearily on Gabe. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper of sound, and hearing him over the rotor was impossible, but Gabe nodded.

  “All right. You’re safe now, and someone really wants to talk to you. Audrey,” he called into the phone over the noise of the helo. “Say hi to your brother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LOS ANGELES, CA

  It was over.

  The call came in that Bryson Van Amee was safe and headed back to the States as soon as doctors stabilized him, and a cheer rang up from all the federal agents in the room. They high-fived, congratulated each other and Frank Perry like they’d all had a hand in the op that saved Van Amee’s life.

  Danny Giancarelli just shook his head and pulled on his coat. He had no doubt Perry the Prick would make sure his face was all over the top media stations today, basking in the glory of the success.

  Well, let him.

  Gabe Bristow and his men sure didn’t seem like media whores, and all Danny wanted was to spend the final night of his so-called vacation with his wife and kids.

  He passed his partner in the foyer.

  “Gonna try to make it to the coast?” O’Keane asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Traffic will be a bitch.”

  “Probably.”

  O’Keane looked toward the great room, where the other agents were packing up equipment. “Crisis averted. That was something, wasn’t it?”

  Danny didn’t bother pretending he had no clue what O’Keane meant. “Yeah. Something.”

  “Can’t help but wonder,” he mused. “All those phone calls you made last night? They wouldn’t have had anything to do with this privately funded rescue operation…”

  Danny gave him a friendly thump on the back. “See ya Tuesday, buddy.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what I figured.” He lowered his voice. “Whatever you did, you saved the man’s life. Good job.” As another agent walked by, he plastered a smile on his face and said normally, “Give Leah and the kids my love.”

  Giancarelli stepped outside. The morning air was crisp and cool, the sky a gorgeous cerulean with feather-like wisps of clouds. It promised to be a beautiful day, perfect for stretching out on the beach with his wife while his kids played in the surf. He couldn’t wait.

  His mind was already running ahead, a hundred miles down the highway, pulling up to the cabin with his kids squealing in delight at his arrival, and he almost tripped over Chloe Van Amee. She sat on
the front steps, hugging herself.

  “Whoa, hey. Sorry.”

  She blinked up at him, and he’d have to be blind not to see the glazed expression of shock in her dark eyes.

  “Mrs. Van Amee, are you okay?”

  She nodded, but it was an obvious lie. Sighing inwardly, Danny postponed his trip for another few minutes and dropped to the step beside her. Yes, he wasn’t her biggest fan, and he especially disliked how little she had to do with her sons, but he couldn’t leave her sitting here like this, alone and in shock. He put an arm around her shoulders. She felt tiny and fragile, Barbie meets china doll.

  “It’s over, you know?” he said. “Bryson is safe now. He’s coming home to you and your sons in a couple days.”

  “I—I know. I know. He’s okay. In the hospital and he’s…okay.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself and raised shaking hands to cover her face. “I just—what about the men that took him? What happened to them? Are they…still out there somewhere?”

  “I don’t know. Would you like me to find out?”

  She looked at him, studied him with eyes far too world-weary to belong on the face of a selfish, pampered socialite like Chloe Van Amee. “Is it bad of me to hope they’re dead?”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” He gave her a light squeeze then stood. “Lemme make some calls, okay?”

  BOGOTÁ, COLOMBIA

  “We have the final casualty report.”

  Gabe turned from the ICU room’s observation window as Quinn approached.

  Please, he thought, say all ten tangos are dead. Then he could call Giancarelli with the news and tell Audrey—

  Scratch that, he would not tell her anything. It was easier on them both if he just faded away now. But he’d make sure the news got to her that it really was over, that the threat was completely neutralized.

  If the threat was neutralized.

  He studied Quinn’s impassive expression and swore under his breath. “How many got away?”

  “The police reports Harvard hacked into only list nine casualties of the ‘gang fight’. Rorro Salazar’s unaccounted for.”

  “No, they have to be wrong. I hit him in the chest. It was a kill shot.”

  “They found a Kevlar vest near Jacinto’s body. Bullet still lodged in it.”

  “Goddammit.” He looked through the window again. Audrey slept fitfully with her head on Bryson’s bed, his hand gripped in both of hers as if she was afraid to let go of him. “The little shit should be dead.”

  “Agreed. The men are packing up to go home, but we can stay a few more days if you want to go after him.”

  Tempting.

  Very, very tempting.

  Except he was exhausted past his limit and so were his men.

  And he had to get away from Audrey. The longer he stood here staring at her, the harder it was to leave. He had to put the safe distance of a continent between them before he did something stupid, like beg her to come with him when he knew she wouldn’t.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “No. Everything we have on him says that without Jacinto, he’s not much of a threat. Let’s chalk this up as a win and get the hell out of here.”

  Quinn nodded, but hesitated and looked through the window at Audrey and Bryson. “Are you going to say goodbye?”

  “No.” Turning away, he fell into step beside Quinn without a backward glance. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, and his chest burned with the pain of it.

  It was easier this way.

  Quinn stayed silent until they reached the parking lot and climbed into the 4Runner. He started the engine, but then sat there, hands on the wheel, gearshift still in park. Then he turned in his seat and opened his mouth as if to say something.

  “Don’t.” Gabe shut his eyes, blocking out the concern so evident in his best friend’s usually stoic expression. “What did you do with Cocodrilo?”

  Quinn shut his mouth with a click of his teeth, then gave a resigned sigh. “We handed him over to HumInt, Inc. They’ll make sure he’s passed to the right agency for prosecution.”

  “Good. Then let’s get outta here.”

  Quinn still didn’t shift into drive. “Gabe, man, you can’t leave her like this without—”

  “Just drive.”

  …

  Audrey felt eyes on her and lifted her head. The observation windows across the room were empty, nobody out in the hallway. She must have been dreaming, caught somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, because she swore she’d heard Gabe’s voice just a moment ago.

  Unlikely. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he called to tell her Bryson was safe.

  Sitting up, she rolled her neck around on her shoulders and tried to stretch the crick out of her spine. Goodness, she needed a real bed and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Then after a good meal and about a gallon of coffee, then maybe she’d have the strength to face Gabe again.

  She wasn’t about to let the stupid man push her away out of some misguided sense of honor. What they had was not a fling—she’d had enough flings in her life to know that for sure—and what she felt for him was not a fluke of the circumstances. It was real and deep and, truthfully, a little bit frightening.

  Bryson’s hand shifted in hers. She gazed down at him and her eyes filled with tears yet again. Crap. Hadn’t she cried enough today? First out of relief, then out of sorrow when she finally saw Bryson. With his left eye sealed shut, his lips cracked and bleeding, he looked like he’d gone several rounds with a heavy-weight boxer and lost every one. His skin was papery and so pale his veins stood out in stark contrast on his arms and the backs of his hands.

  How could they do this to him, a man who never even raised his voice in anger?

  His hand shifted again and she realized he was squeezing her fingers. Was he awake? She studied his face. It was hard to tell with everything so swollen, but his one good eye was definitely open.

  “Brys?”

  “Hi, sis,” he whispered.

  If those weren’t the two most beautiful words anyone had ever said to her. She couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They poured down her cheeks, soaking into his hospital johnny as she hugged him as tightly as she dared.

  His hand settled on her head. “Don’t cry. Please.”

  “Sorry. Can’t…stop.” But she managed to choke back the sobs. “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d never be able to tell you I love you and I’m sorry I’m not the sister you want me to be and—”

  “Shh. You are, sweetie. I wouldn’t change you for anything.”

  “But the condo and the money and my paintings—”

  “Audrey, I was wrong about all that. I just wanted you to be happy.”

  “I am.” She thought of Gabe and smiled. “Brys, I’ve met someone. One of the men that rescued you. He’s—well, I love him.”

  “The big guy out in the hall?”

  She sat up, but the hallway was still empty.

  Bryson made a sound that might have been a laugh. “He’s not there now. He left, but he stood there for a long time just staring at you.”

  “He…left?” She shook her head, eschewing the doubts before they entered her mind. Gabe probably just went to help his men do whatever they did after a mission. Debriefing or whatever. He’d be back. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

  “Does he love you, too?” Bryson asked.

  She smiled. “I think so, but he’s being stubborn about it.”

  “Hm.” He closed his eye and was silent for a long time. She almost thought he was asleep, but then he asked softly, “Want me to kick his ass for you?”

  Audrey laughed at the absurdity of that mental image. “Thank you, Brys, but how about you relax and work on healing first? The doctors say you’ll be okay enough to travel to a hospital in the States tomorrow. Chloe and the boys will be waiting there.”

  “My boys.” A tear trickled from his good eye. “I’ve been such an idiot. I kept
thinking I’d never see them again and they wouldn’t even remember me as anything but a—a sperm donor. Do you think they’ll forgive me? I’ve missed so much.”

  “That’s the great thing about kids.” She tucked the sheet around her brother’s shoulders and leaned over to kiss his bruised forehead. “They’re remarkably better at forgiving and forgetting than adults.”

  …

  Bone-deep tired, his side aching from the hole in it, heart aching because, God, he really did not want to leave Audrey, Gabe hobbled aboard the plane with Quinn to find his team already there. He’d expected a rowdy celebration with lots of noise and possibly alcohol, but the whole lot sat quiet as churchgoers. They must all be as exhausted as he was. He nodded at them and took his seat, leaned his head back, and shut his eyes.

  “Bristow,” Ian said in his usual caustic tone. “There’s something I need to say to you. Sir.”

  He groaned. “Save it. I’m not in the mood, Reinhardt.”

  Clothing rustled behind him, a lot of moving and shifting of bodies. Jesus, what was the guy doing now?

  Gabe glanced over his shoulder. Ian stood in the center of the aisle, one arm in a sling, the other raised, his hand forming a blade across his forehead.

  As one, the rest of the men stood and saluted.

  Gabe looked at Quinn in surprise, but he was also standing.

  “Sir,” Ian said without the slightest hint of mockery. And was that…respect…in his dark eyes? “We’re glad to have you back.”

  Humbled, flattered, Gabe pushed to his feet and returned their salute. “It’s good to be back. At ease, gentlemen.” When they didn’t lower their hands or sit down, he smiled. “Relax, guys. Hit up the bar in the back. You deserve it. You did good. We did good.”

  “No, Sir,” Marcus said.

  “Our mission’s not over,” Ian said. “With your permission, we’d like to finish it.”

  The warehouse, Gabe realized. After everything, they still wanted to get rid of that damn warehouse. Well, why the hell not? “You up for it?”