SEAL of Honor

by Tonya Burrows

  And it still looked sexy as sin on her.

  “Come here.” He held out a hand, his wedding band glinting in the soft glow of his desk lamp. When she set her hand in his and he pulled her onto his lap for a kiss, he thought, not for the first time, that he was the luckiest S.O.B. alive.

  Leah drew back and soothed her thumb down the crease between his brows. He’d been noticing more and more of those creases in the mornings when he gazed into the mirror to shave. Around his eyes. His mouth. His forehead. He looked more like his father every freakin’ day. Luckily, he hadn’t started losing his hair yet like Pop, but it still made him feel old, especially when his wife was as hot at twenty-nine as she’d been at eighteen.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is the Patterson case bothering you?”

  “No.”

  One brow arched the way it did when the kids told a lie, and she gave him a dubious expression.

  “Yeah, okay,” he admitted, “it’s bugging me.”

  His last case, a local hostage situation involving a girl named Sylvia Patterson and her ex-boyfriend, hadn’t had the same happy-ever-after as the Van Amee case, ending in a murder-suicide.

  “But not how you’re thinking,” he added. “I did everything in my power to save that girl. It wasn’t enough, but that’s part of the job. You accept it and move on. You have to or you’d drive yourself insane with guilt.”

  “Like Marcus did,” Leah said.

  “Yeah, like Marcus.” He sighed. “I am sad the girl died, but dwelling on it won’t change that, so I’ve put it out of my mind.”

  “Then why are you sitting here in the middle of the night, looking up”—she leaned over to get a peek at his computer screen—“whatever it is you’re looking up. Is that in Spanish?”

  “Yeah.”

  She blinked. “When did you learn to speak Spanish?”

  “I can’t speak it,” he said. “I can read it okay, enough to get the gist, anyway.”

  “Huh. Just when I think you can’t surprise me anymore. What are you reading about?”

  He hesitated for a heartbeat before answering, “The EPC.”

  She huffed out a breath. “That’s what you’re still hung up on? I thought the Van Amee case was one of your success stories.”

  Not really his. It was Gabe’s, Marcus’s, and the rest of their team’s. If it wasn’t for them, he had no doubt Bryson Van Amee would be dead and Jacinto Rivera and Rorro Salazar would be in the wind somewhere, millions of dollars richer. Okay, technically Rorro was still in the wind, but the little shit wasn’t considered much of a threat since the supposed brains of the operation, Jacinto, was dead.

  Except, Jacinto wasn’t known to have brains, was he?

  Man, his head hurt. Danny shut the laptop with a slap of his palm and rubbed his temple.

  “Honey,” his wife soothed and laid her head on his shoulder. She smelled good, like the raspberry body wash she used. “Let it go. That case was a win. I don’t understand why you’re still obsessing over it a month later. This isn’t like you.”

  “God, Lee, I know. But the whole thing stinks and I can’t figure out where the smell is coming from.”

  “Okay.” She scooted off his lap, grabbed the ottoman from in front of his easy chair across the room, and sat on it cross-legged so that she faced him. “Maybe you need a fresh nose.”

  Danny smiled. “Have I shown you lately how much I love you?”

  “No, but we can get to that later.” She gestured a c’mon motion with her hand. “Lay it out for me, G-man.”

  “All right.” He opened the laptop and called up the Word file he’d been keeping since the end of the hostage situation. Then he laid it all out for her. Everything from the abduction of Bryson Van Amee in front of his apartment right on through to the rescue by Gabe and his men.

  “Everything we know about Jacinto Rivera says he was a thug, plain and simple,” he told her. “He couldn’t have masterminded something as sophisticated as rigging a limo with ether gas to knock Bryson unconscious. Someone had to have been pulling his strings, but according to the website I was reading, the EPC has denounced Jacinto for the ransom attempt and claims no responsibility.”

  Which was not their modus operandi. And that was bugging him.

  “They like people to know they are capable of snatching anybody from anywhere,” he continued. “Angel Rivera likes propagating that reputation, but yesterday, again according to that site, he publicly disowned his remaining family.”

  “Wait, wait.” Leah raised her hands to stop him. “‘His remaining family.’ Are you sure that’s what it said? You didn’t mistranslate?”

  He opened the laptop, called up the website from the browser’s history, and reread the paragraph. “No, that’s exactly what it says.”

  “Well, that’s an odd word choice, don’t you think? I mean, wasn’t Jacinto his only brother?”

  “Yeah, he was. Maybe it’s a cultural thing?” Danny mulled it over for a second, spinning his wedding band around on his finger. “No, wait, I think there was a sister…” He called up another file and scanned over the information. “Claudia Rivera. She’s been missing since August of ’05, presumed dead.”

  Leah opened her mouth, but froze before uttering a sound and her eyes went huge behind her glasses. She scrambled off the ottoman and out of the room.

  “Um, Lee?”

  She came back, flipping through an old baby name book they’d bought five years ago when they discovered they were expecting the twins.

  “Jesus, Lee. You still have that thing?”

  “It’s fun to look at. Besides,” she said and sent him a sly sideways smile. “You never know when we might need it again.”

  “Oh, no.” He held up his hands. “We agreed to stop at three.”

  “Actually it was two, and the third was a surprise. I’m not entirely against a fourth, but it’ll have to be before I turn thirty-five.” With that, she turned her full attention to the book, leaving him sitting there catching flies with his mouth.

  “Lee, c’mon, I’m getting too old to do the whole newborn thing again. The twins practically killed us, remember? You can’t drop that bomb on me and expect—”

  She slapped the book down in front of him and pointed to a name. “Look. I found your bad smell.”

  He picked up the book. Read the passage once. Twice. And—holy shit—suddenly saw the whole case in a new light. “Yeah, baby, I think you did.”

  DOMINICAL, COSTA RICA

  For a man who didn’t know how to cut loose, Gabe was doing a very good job of it. She’d never seen him so laid-back, so relaxed, so…content. He lay stretched out beside her, his scarred leg draped over both of hers, his eyes closed. If it wasn’t for his fingers combing idly through her hair, she’d think he was asleep, he was so utterly limp.

  She propped herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him. He looked like a happy, well-satisfied man, and it gave her a little thrill that she’d had a hand in putting that expression on his face. She wanted to paint him like this with the moonlight spilling through the windows, sparking off his dog tags.

  Her wounded warrior. Her strong SEAL. Her muse. Her love.

  God, did she love him.

  She smiled and poked him in the ribs until he groaned and opened one eye. “What is it, woman? I want sleep. You wore me out.”

  “Earlier, you mentioned an international office. Where?” She hoped not on the other side of the world, or else she’d never see him.

  Both eyes open now, his expression turned serious. “Well.” He moistened his lips. “I was thinking here in Costa Rica.”

  “Not Europe?”

  “We might open one there eventually, but no. Not Europe.”

  “Because of me?”

  “There were several reasons. Pricing, location, local laws… But you were the biggest factor in my decision,” he admitted and rolled over so that they were nose to nose. He curled one arm up underneath his pillow and traced a finger down her c
heek with his free hand. “I know you love it here and couldn’t ask you to move. So I’m coming to you. I, uh, hoped—I was going to ask you—”

  Gabe stopped short, drew a breath. She’d never seen him look so nervous, and a little thrill jittered around her belly.

  Was he going to…?

  No, she wouldn’t even think it yet, too afraid she’d jinx herself.

  “Audrey,” he said softly, “will you move in with me?”

  Okay, as far as proposals went, it wasn’t quite what she’d been hoping for. But it was a start. A very good start. She’d have to warm him up to the idea of marriage, because she fully intended to be his wife before the year’s end.

  She leaned in to kiss him. “Technically, you’ll be moving in with me.”

  Relief filled his beautiful golden eyes. “Is that a yes?”

  Silly man. Had he honestly thought she’d turn him down? “Of course it’s a yes.”

  With a hoot of triumph, he rolled her underneath his body and kissed her dizzy. His hand stroked the curve of her waist to her hip and dipped between her thighs, nudging her legs apart as his knuckles brushed her most sensitive spot. She was tempted—oh, wow, especially when he did that with his fingers—to let him keep going, but a knock sounded at the front door.

  She slapped her hands against his chest. “Hold up, bub. Someone’s here.”

  “Ignore it,” he murmured and scooted down her body until his lips grazed her inner thigh, his tongue snaking out to tantalize the sensitive flesh there. “I have plans for you.”

  Her belly muscles clenched at the thought. Maybe…

  The knock sounded again, more persistent than polite this time. Damn. She squirmed out from underneath him. “They’re not going to leave.”

  “Audrey…” Left balancing on his hands and knees on the mattress, he hung his head and heaved a long-suffering sigh.

  “Oh, poor baby got his favorite toy taken away.” She smacked his very fine butt. “We’ll play later. Get dressed.”

  “Naked’s more fun.”

  “Also inappropriate for company.” She found her discarded sundress wrinkled and still a little damp from their earlier swim, but it’d do. She pulled it over her head and started toward the bedroom door.

  “Audrey, wait.”

  She turned at the odd note in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Back was the tension the day had bled out of him. Very slowly, moving like a cat stalking its prey in the moonlight, he slid out of bed. “Look at the clock. Who would be visiting at this time of night?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe it’s a neighbor. I do have them, you know.” Except the closest one was a mile down the road, and Gabe was right, midnight wasn’t a normal time for an old-fashioned neighborly visit.

  “Stay here.” He leaned in and kissed her soundly before she could protest. “Please. This doesn’t feel right. Let me check it out first.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded, her own anxiety spiking at the worry she saw in his eyes as he pulled on a pair of cargo shorts. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” After another quick, reassuring kiss, he disappeared down the hall with his gun in hand.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  Heard nothing and her heart kicked into high gear, drumming a cumbia beat out on her ribcage until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She peeked out into the hall and saw Gabe standing at the screened front door, scowling at a dark shadow on the other side.

  “Audrey?” the shadow called. “Is that you? Who is this guy?”

  At the familiar voice, she let out a breath of relief and walked to Gabe’s side. He gave a slight nod, conceding to the false alarm, and holstered his weapon.

  Jesus, she was going to kill him for scaring her like that.

  She hit the porch light, illuminating her sister-in-law’s face. “What are you doing here, Chloe?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SAN DIEGO, CA

  Goddamn Gabe Bristow. And Quinn. And their team-fucking-building.

  Marcus dropped his bag inside the door of his condominium and shuffled on legs that felt like Twizzlers as far as the oversized leather couch before collapsing face down into the cushions.

  Bruised. Blistered. Sunburned. Parched. Dirty.

  His aches had aches.

  And he was pretty sure his aches’ aches were reproducing like rabbits. But, hey, at least he got to come home and sleep in his own bed tonight, unlike the rest of the guys, who were stuck in a hotel near the naval base.

  SERE training. Ha.

  They might as well call it break-you-till-you-cry-for-your-mommy training. Welcome-to-the-ninth-circle-of-hell training. Expose-and-exploit-your-every-weakness training.

  But he hadn’t cracked. None of them had, not even scrawny little Harvard. They all bent to their limits and past, but they hadn’t cracked. As soon as his body stopped throbbing, Marcus thought he might find some pride in that.

  Take that, Navy SEALs.

  Marcus jolted awake to the sound of his cell phone vibrating near his head. He hadn’t been aware of falling asleep, but he’d rolled off the couch and now lay with his head partly under the coffee table. When he pried his eyes open, he saw the cell doing a jig across the glass top. He could even see the caller ID.

  Giancarelli.

  If it was anyone else, he’d ignore it, drag himself into the shower and then pass the fuck out in his king size, sleeping-on-a-cloud memory foam bed for three days. Or four. Hell, a whole week.

  But it was Giancarelli. His best friend. The guy he’d ditched for nearly two years without so much as a see-ya-later because he’d been feeling sorry for himself.

  Marcus groped around the edge of the table until he got hold of the phone. He didn’t have the energy to sit up. “Yo.”

  “Shit, don’t tell me you’re drunk,” Danny said.

  Drunk? Yeah, probably sounded that way, Marcus realized. “No. Overtired. What’s up?”

  “I need to get a hold of Gabe, but I don’t have his number.”

  “Can’t. He’s in Costa Rica with Audrey.” The fucker. Living it up with his woman in a tropical paradise while his men were all but tortured by his SEAL friends.

  ’Course, Marcus had to admit, the man did deserve some down time after being taken hostage, beaten to hell, and shot.

  “What about the other guy? Quinn?” Danny asked.

  The urgency in Giancarelli’s voice penetrated the fog in his brain. He finally scooted out from under the coffee table and propped his back against the couch. “What’s going on?”

  “I know who was pulling Jacinto Rivera’s strings. I know who was behind the abduction plot. The FBI won’t give me the time of day until I have the proof, but Bryson Van Amee needs protection ASAP.”

  Marcus snorted and tried stretching out his legs. Christ, even his bone marrow ached. “Protection? From who, his airhead wife?”

  Giancarelli’s silence spoke louder than anything he could have said and Marcus sat up straighter. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

  “Do I sound like I’m kidding?” Giancarelli said. “It’s Chloe. Which my extremely beautiful and intelligent wife realized is a nickname for Claudia. As in, Claudia Rivera, who disappeared from Bogotá in August, six years ago. And guess who popped up in the States in September, six years ago. Chloe Smith, who became Chloe Van Amee about three months after that.”

  Jesus Christ. If Giancarelli was right….

  Marcus hauled himself to his feet and powered up his laptop. When the internet came up, he wasn’t surprised to find Harvard online and tucked the phone into his shoulder to type out an instant message: H, GOT A ? 4U.

  As he typed, he asked, “How sure are you about this, Dan?”

  “Pretty damn. I know it in my gut.”

  And Danny had a good track record with gut feelings. “Okay. Hang on.” He set aside the cell and typed another message.

  CAN U DO A BCKGRND CHK 4 ME?

  Harvard was quick to respond: NAME?
>
  CLAUDIA RIVERA SALAZAR.

  ALREADY HAVE IT. DO YOU WANT ME TO SEND IT TO YOU?

  Marcus smirked at Harvard’s need to use proper English, even in instant messages. PLZ & THX. He picked up the phone again, but set it down and typed, HAVE CHLOE VAN AMEE 2?

  NO, Harvard answered. NEVER SAW THE NEED TO LOOK AT HER.

  PLZ CHK HER 2 PDQ & SEND INFO 2 ME.

  The computer beeped with an incoming email. He brought up Firefox to access his inbox and raised the phone to his ear again. “Danny, you still there?”

  “What did you find out?” he asked.

  “Harvard sent me an email. Just a sec.” He read it over, swore loud and long, and opened the picture attachment just as his IM dinged with another message from Harvard: HOLY SHIT.

  The pic opened and Marcus stared into the face of a teenage Claudia Rivera. IM dinged with another picture, one of Chloe standing next to her husband.

  IS THIS CHLOE VAN AMEE? Harvard asked.

  YEP, he typed and said to Danny, “Just got a picture of Claudia and one of Chloe and I’m looking at them side-by-side. I think you’re on to something. Chloe’s about fifteen pounds lighter, has bigger boobs, fuller lips, a straighter nose, and blonde hair, but there’s still a strong resemblance. Too strong to be a coincidence.”

  Danny cursed. “It’s always the spouse, man. It’s so obvious and yet we overlooked it because she acted her part to a T. Academy Award-winning stuff. She doesn’t even have an accent. Except…” He paused. “I did hear it once or twice when she said certain words. Couldn’t place it at the time, but I remember wondering about it.”

  “All right, listen,” Marcus said. “I’m going to have Harvard send everything he finds your way. Try to get the Bureau involved. I’ll contact Quinn and see if we can set up a protective detail on Van Amee. Keep in touch.”

  He hung up and was in the process of changing his clothes when his phone rang again. He expected Giancarelli, but it was Harvard.

  Switching the phone to speaker mode, he tugged off his dirty shirt and picked a clean one out of his dresser. “Nice timing, man. I was just about to call—”