Harvard did a double take.
And there it was.
“Quinn?” He leaped to his feet and opened his arms like he was about to give one of those backslapping hugs.
Quinn held up his hands to ward him off. “Mara’s not safe yet. We still have work to do.”
“Yeah, uh…” A flush worked up Harvard’s neck. Dropping back into his chair, he adjusted his glasses. “I assume Gabe’s already filled you in—”
“Not yet,” Gabe said and proceeded to do just that. Once they figured out where Zaryanko was holding Quinn and Mara, they had planned to have Ian set a charge as a distraction for the rescue, and then they’d hump it over the border to Ukraine, where Jace Garcia was waiting with the plane.
Then it was Quinn’s turn to talk. He took the guys through the events of the last forty-eight hours, but when he got to the shoot-out, he hesitated. He still couldn’t be entirely sure he’d seen Liam Miller, but…he decided to mention it anyway.
As he spoke, Gabe’s usual unreadable expression hardened. He had sat down in one of the kitchen chairs to take pressure off his foot during the lengthy discussion, but now he stood. “What the fuck do you mean Liam Miller is alive? I saw him after Audrey shot him. It was a fatal wound.”
Quinn shook his head. “I know what I saw, man. It was Liam.”
Gabe dragged a hand over his face. “Goddammit. Where’s the sat phone? I—I need to call Audrey.”
Harvard dug around in a box and found the only satellite phone they had. Gabe grabbed it and walked from the room.
“Shit,” Harvard breathed, staring after him. “I’ve never seen him that shaken.”
“If I’m right and Liam’s alive,” Quinn said quietly, “and he knows we’re here, there’s a good chance he’ll try for Audrey. She did almost kill him. He’ll want to get even.”
“And Audrey’s on the other side of the world,” Jesse snapped. “Ask me, we should be more concerned ’bout Mara.”
Quinn stared at the medic in disbelief and a roiling heat filled his stomach. He stood. “If you think I’m not tied up with worry for her and the baby, you’re a fucking idiot, Warrick.”
Jesse stood as well, and his chair banged against the wall hard enough to leave a divot in the floral wallpaper. “Family is off-fucking-limits, Quinn. Off. Limits. You know what that means?”
“Yeah, I do.” His jaw ached and he realized he was grinding his back teeth. “I also know that Mara is her own goddamn person, free to make her own choices. You have no right to control her life.”
“I was trying to protect her from the likes of you!”
Quinn flinched internally, the words hitting like a physical blow. The likes of you. Meaning the bastard son of a crack whore and an alcoholic murderer, the kid from the way wrong side of the tracks. Yeah, who could blame Jesse for not wanting him in Mara’s life?
But he didn’t let his thoughts show and leaned across the table, got in Jesse’s face. “You weren’t protecting her. You were smothering her. You’re no better than her jackass stepfather.”
“You know what, fuck you, Quinn. If it wasn’t for your inability to keep your dick in your pants—”
“Enough!” Gabe’s voice boomed from the doorway, shocking the room into silence. “We have work to do, and this bickering is a waste of time.” He limped over to the head of the table and stared down the length of it, very much like a king presiding over his knights.
Which, as much as Quinn loved the guy, really grated on his last paper-thin nerve. “Our leader has spoken. Tell us, oh great one, what are your commands?”
Gabe’s brows climbed toward his hairline. “For you? Something anatomically impossible that none of us want to see. Here.” He tossed his cane across the six feet of space separating them, and Quinn caught it. “Use that so I have a good goddamn reason not to drag it around with me.”
And now he felt like a complete asshole. What the hell had happened to his infamous control? Where was the man that his BUD/S instructors had started calling Achilles because they had been so determined to discover a weakness? The warrior who’d never let them find one? He’d taken everything they had thrown at him and asked for more.
Christ, he’d give anything to be that man again.
“Gabe, I don’t know where that—” Quinn shook his head, blew out a long breath, and tossed the cane back. “I’m an asshole.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Didn’t accept the semi-apology, but didn’t reject it, either. Typical. Very little hurt his best friend, but Quinn knew that snide remark had cut deep and wished he could recall it.
Gabe left the table and crossed to the other side of the room, where Jesse was pacing furious holes in the floor. They exchanged a handful of words too soft for Quinn to hear, then both looked up as he approached.
“Warrick, man, if you want to have it out with me, fine. I get it. But Gabe’s right. Let’s find Mara first.”
Jesse shrugged off Gabe’s restraining hand. “Don’t talk to me right now, Quinn. Seriously, just—don’t.”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You gotta know that.”
Jesse whirled around, broadcasting his intentions so loudly the next block probably heard them. Quinn had plenty of time to maneuver out of the way of the punch, had plenty of time to launch a counterstrike that would have taken the medic to his knees in less than a heartbeat.
But he didn’t.
Jesse had to get this out of his system, so Quinn took the full force of the blow without even twitching in defense. Blood bloomed on his tongue as his lip split. His vision flared white, rivaling a flashbang for brightness. He even staggered a little from the shift in his equilibrium when his brain rattled around in his skull, but he stayed on his feet—
Or not.
He blinked and realized he was staring up at the ceiling. Not the kitchen ceiling, either. He was in a bed with a thin, uncovered mattress, and something was poking him in the ass.
What the…?
Another blackout. Christ, they were happening more and more frequently now.
“You’re a fucking medic, Jess,” Gabe was saying from somewhere nearby. “You of all people should know you don’t punch a guy with brain trauma in the head.”
Quinn blocked out their voices, squeezed his eyes shut, and breathed a soft sigh of aggravation. Now both Gabe and Jesse knew how bad of shape he was in.
He sat up on the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands. He didn’t look over when he heard a door close, nor at the distinctive tap of Gabe’s cane as it crossed the room.
“So,” Gabe said. He pulled up a rickety chair and sat down, his boots directly in Quinn’s line of sight.
All right. Quinn mentally steeled himself, then straightened to meet his best friend’s gaze. Apparently, it was time for that talk he’d been putting off for far too long.
“You know about the blackouts,” he said, point-blank.
Gabe nodded. “Since Colombia. Jesse told me about them after he did your physical in Bogotá.”
“Goddamn Jesse.” Quinn rubbed both hands over his face and then sighed in resignation. “And that’s why you’ve been sticking me with B.S. bodyguard assignments. First Mara, then the shelter girls in Afghanistan…”
“Yeah, that’s why. I know it hurt you to leave the teams. Believe me, I know exactly how much it hurt. I didn’t want to take HORNET away from you, too.”
“But,” Quinn added since the word hung in the air between them like an anvil waiting to drop. “I’m a danger to have out in the field.”
“Yes, you are. And you know it, which is why you’ve been accepting those B.S. assignments without protest.” Gabe was silent for a moment. “Have you been checked out?”
“I’ve gone to specialists,” he hedged. “They don’t know what’s causing it.” Which was why he’d stopped going months ago. After a while, all the inconclusive testing seemed pointless.
Gabe scowled down at his bad foot like he wanted to ri
p it off. “That fucking car accident.”
“Yeah,” Quinn agreed softly. “That fucking accident. Do you remember that day?”
Gabe winced. “In vivid detail, unfortunately.”
“I wish I could.”
“No, Q, you don’t. I was awake the entire time. The whole four hours I was pinned in that car, I didn’t pass out for more than a few seconds at a time. Wouldn’t let myself until they got me free. I remember every painful second of it. Keeps me awake sometimes, remembering it.”
That was a surprise. Gabe’s nickname in the teams had been Stonewall because he was usually just about as reactive as one. Nothing much rattled him beyond fear for his wife’s safety, so those memories must be a special type of hell to keep him awake at night.
Still, Quinn would prefer the nightmares. “There’s this blank spot in my mind. I can remember dinner the Friday before the accident, right down to how much it cost, what my waiter’s name was, and what I left for a tip. Then…nothing until I woke up in the hospital. Almost a whole month—just gone. Like it never fucking happened.”
“Pretty sure with brain trauma that’s normal,” Gabe said.
“Yeah, that’s what the docs all say. Thing is, I’ve had this nagging feeling since I woke up in the hospital. Like there’s something I have to do or… Fuck, I don’t know.” Full of restless energy, he stood. Paced across the small bedroom, then returned. “Before the accident, did I tell you anything?”
Gabe snorted. “You never tell me shit.”
“Gabe, I’m serious. I need to know what I said, what I did.”
Gabe hesitated. “You acted pissed off about something when you picked me up that morning, but I brushed it off as a bad night or a lack of caffeine or both. Whatever had your dick in a twist, you never said anything about it to me.”
Quinn stopped moving, a sudden thought pinning him in place as surely as glue on the bottom of his boots. “Do you blame me?”
“What?” Gabe said with an expression of genuine surprise.
“Do you blame me for the accident?”
“What?” he repeated with a shake of his head. “Shit, no. Why would I?”
“Because I was driving.”
“Q, c’mon. It was that asshole in the pickup truck’s fault. It’s damn lucky he didn’t hurt anybody else weaving in and out of traffic like he was. When he shoved us into that semi, there was no stopping it, no avoiding it. The same thing would’ve happened had I been behind the wheel. Hey, hey.” Gabe stood and caught his shoulders, forcing him to stop pacing. “Listen to me, bro. I don’t blame you.”
Quinn let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for nearly two years. Gabe didn’t blame him for ruining their SEAL careers. Good to know.
Now if only he could stop blaming himself.
Outside the bedroom door, he heard the team moving around. Jean-Luc cracked a joke, as usual. Harvard laughed. Jesse told them both to fuck off.
Good men. They all were.
Quinn was going to miss them.
Mind made up, he drew a breath and met Gabe’s eyes. “I’m resigning as HORNET’s XO.”
“Whoa. Wait a second, Q. You—”
“No, you’re right. I’m a liability. I shouldn’t even be going on this op now, but—well, this one’s non-negotiable. I have to find Mara. But once she’s safe…” He glanced toward the door and something cracked in the vicinity of his heart. “Yeah, I’m done.”
Chapter Fourteen
Gabe said nothing for several endless minutes. Finally, he walked toward the door but paused next to Quinn and handed over two slips of what Quinn first thought were white paper.
No, wait. It was a photo, ripped in half.
“I went by your place before I left Washington,” Gabe said. “Your house was ransacked. Looked more like someone was searching for something than a run-of-the-mill burglary.”
What the hell was going on? He shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t have anything anyone would want.”
Gabe shrugged, then motioned to the photo. “On my way out, I found that on the floor. The rest were destroyed beyond saving. Thought you’d want it.”
He left.
Quinn stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door until he worked up the nerve to look at the photo. He knew what he’d see, and chills raced through his body as he turned the two pieces over.
Samuel and Bianca Quinn. Their faces smiled up at him from the ruined photo. The doctor and the ICU nurse who’d felt bad enough for a poor, abused ten-year-old that they’d agreed to open their home and hearts to him as he recovered from the gunshot inflicted on him by his own father. They were the one bright spot in the darkness that was Quinn’s life. For six all too short years, they were his family. Not Big Ben and Cherice Jewett, the man and woman who’d given him life. No, it was Sam and Bianca, who had shown him life could be good.
Quinn bowed double over the photo, his heart riding high in his throat, choking off the dry sobs that racked his body. Gabe had said the few other photos he had of them were destroyed. They were gone. Now he had nothing left of them but unreliable memories that got fuzzier and fuzzier each day.
Whoever did this would pay.
No, fuck that. Whoever did this would die.
On a shaky breath, Quinn straightened and dragged his hands through his overgrown hair. Sorrow and rage iced over into a solid layer of determination. He spotted the bag Gabe had packed for him in the corner of the room and snapped it up before going in search of the house’s bathroom. The guys and Lanie looked up as he passed through the kitchen, but nobody said anything—not even Jesse.
The bathroom was a closet off the living room, but it had all the amenities of a Western bathroom, including a shower with hot and cold running water. He set his bag down on the toilet and took stock of his appearance in the scratched mirror over the sink. It showed him a man he barely recognized. Sunken eyes, cheekbones that stood out in stark relief on a face that hadn’t seen a razor blade in a very long time. His dark blond hair had grown so long that it brushed the tops of his shoulders and hung in limp tangles.
Look at him. Sam and Bianca would be so disappointed in what he’d become these past few months. Drunk and self-medicating when he wasn’t on a mission with HORNET. Perpetually pissed off at the world, at himself…
He’d become Big Ben after all.
Christ.
Bile burned on the back of his tongue at the realization, and he unzipped his bag. His battery-powered razor lay right there on top, and he said a mental thank-you to Gabe for packing it and his shave kit. After hunting up the crappy pair of scissors he kept in the kit, he hacked off chunks of hair, cutting it as short as he could with the dull blades. The razor got the rest and tamed his beard. He jumped in the shower, dipped his head under the cold water, and scrubbed his hands over the remaining stubble, then cleaned up with the small bar of soap from his shave kit. He found a T-shirt and fresh pair of urban-print cammies at the bottom of his bag and pulled them on without bothering to dry off. Gazing up, he met his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror.
That was more like it. The man staring back at him looked more like the Quinn he remembered from before the damned car accident that destroyed his career.
All conversation came to a halt when he returned to the kitchen. Their stares brought on an uncomfortable flush along the back of his neck. Damn. He must have looked in bad shape before if this was their reaction to seeing him looking somewhat like himself again.
He cleared his throat. “What’s going on?”
Silence.
“Guys?”
“Oh.” Harvard dropped his gaze to the radio in his hand. “Uh, I was just saying I haven’t been able to raise Seth, Ian, or Marcus by radio. The radios suck, so the one they have could have just crapped out, but still. And Garcia missed his last check-in, which could mean trouble. If our exfil route is compromised…”
“Let’s work on finding Mara first,” Gabe said. “Worry abo
ut Garcia later.”
Quinn nodded his agreement. “I’ll try Seth’s phone.” He fished his cell out of his leg pocket and turned it on, pleased to see that Ian and Marcus’s efforts installing satellite dishes and signal boosters on nearby buildings had come to fruition. For the first time since he got his phone back, he had a signal. Weak, but maybe enough to—
A text message popped up from a number he didn’t recognize.
in car license t219ax going NE
“What the hell?” He read it again. And again. And then scrolled down when he realized he had several other messages from the same number.
nz sent me 2 olesea says i go 2 dubai 2morrow
hide phone now leaving on please find me travis
Every last molecule of air hissed out of his lungs. He swayed a little as the room started a spin that couldn’t be healthy.
“Q?” Gabe said, concern in his voice.
“It’s Mara.”
All motion in the room stopped and suddenly Jesse was by his side, snatching the phone from his hand.
“Thatta girl,” Jesse murmured.
Lanie grabbed the phone next and grinned. “Way to go, Mara.”
Quinn smiled a little, pride shining a brief beacon of light inside his dark soul. Mara was smart. Stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Resourceful.
And his.
Even if she never forgave him for…well, everything, his heart had her name carved into it for eternity. He’d known it from the very first time she’d kissed him in her living room all those months ago—exactly why he’d tried to run as fast and as far away from her as he could.
What a fucking fool he was.
Quinn took the phone from Lanie and passed it to Harvard. “Can you track a Transnistrian license plate?”
Harvard winced. “You know I hate to doubt my own abilities, but I’m not entirely sure it’s possible. Because Transnistria is unrecognized, there might not be any records to trace. Or, if there are, they might not be digital. I can take a peek, but it will take time we can’t afford.”
“Do it,” Quinn said. “Fast as you can.”
Harvard gave a solemn nod and sat behind his computer, his fingers already tickling the keyboard like an expert pianist. “I’m on it, boss. Wait.” He straightened away from his computer and smacked his palm against his head. “I’m an idiot. We don’t need to trace the license. All we need is the phone. There are so few cell towers in the country that finding out which the messages pinged off should give us a search area.”
Broken Honor Page 12
