Broken Honor

by Burrows, Tonya

  “Urban was one of ours.”

  “Urban was corrupt,” Gabe said, then froze as the fourth guy stepped forward. His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The guy pointed his weapon at Gabe and fired.

  Twice. In the chest.

  At the same time, Bauer spun and shot at Jesse and Lanie, grazing them both.

  Quinn didn’t have time to process the shock and horror as Gabe collapsed face-first into the snow. He could only act on his instincts, and his instincts were screaming for him to get the hell back to Mara at all costs, because Urban hadn’t been the only corrupt SEAL on Team Ten and who knew how many others were involved?

  Jesse must have been thinking along the same lines because, despite the bleeding wound in his shoulder, he lunged at Bauer. “Quinn, go!”

  Lanie followed his lead and went for her weapon. She got off a lucky shot as one of the other SEALs charged her, and he went down. Still, the odds were not in their favor.

  Quinn ducked, just missing a bullet from the same man who had shot Gabe. He scooped up his weapon and returned fire, but the coward ran.

  Fucking ran. No way that guy was a SEAL, but Gabe had recognized him, so who the hell was he? Quinn wanted to give chase. The asshole deserved a bullet for every one he’d put in Gabe—

  Gabe.

  Christ. He couldn’t leave him just lying here, bleeding out in the snow. Wouldn’t do it. He watched the shooter disappear, then swung his weapon toward Bauer, squeezing off several rounds. Bauer retreated into the tree line and returned fire, the bullets hitting the ground way too close to Gabe’s head. Cursing, Quinn grabbed Gabe’s legs and pulled him toward the cover of the shed.

  “No,” Gabe said through clenched teeth. “No, no, no. Stop. Stop. Stop.”

  He rolled his best friend over. Oh, Christ. Blood. There was too much of it spreading across the front of Gabe’s chest, the bright red a gory contrast against his winter camouflage jacket. If he didn’t get medical help fast, he was not going to make it.

  “Okay. Okay. We’re covered now. Where you hit?” As the firefight abruptly ceased, plunging the airfield into a hair-raising silence, Quinn dropped to his knees and pulled apart the front of Gabe’s coat. He didn’t have the level of medical training Jesse had, but he had enough to know he didn’t have the skill to treat this wound. The first bullet had impacted Gabe’s vest and spun him just enough that the second bullet tore into the unprotected area under his arm. Quinn could stop the external bleeding, but there was no way of fixing the internal damage without surgery.

  And without surgery, the wound was fatal.

  Still, he had to do something.

  He found the case of tampons he’d started carrying since Jesse told him they worked better than combat gauze to stop bleeding. Ripped open one of the packages and pressed the bullet-shaped cotton into the wound.

  Gabe groaned. “Quinn. Get—outta here. Mara—the team—” He fumbled in his leg pocket and brought out two envelopes, thrust them at Quinn’s chest. “Go. That’s—order.”

  He knew what they were without looking—good-bye letters to Gabe’s wife and brother. No. That wasn’t happening. Not today. Not ever. He clasped Gabe’s hand, gave it a hard squeeze. “I’ll be giving these back to you later.”

  Gabe’s smile was weak and bloodstained. And in that moment, they both realized he was lying. Gabe was already fading, his breathing labored. If he didn’t get to a hospital fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

  “Keep—Au-Audrey—safe for me.”

  “I will. Until you heal.” Quinn tucked the notes into a pocket. He glanced around, searching for Lanie and Jesse, and spotted movement in the woods. Someone had called in reinforcements. Man, they could do with some of that themselves.

  Holding his hand over Gabe’s wound, he found his phone in his pocket. No signal. Fucking figured.

  The crunch of a boot on the snow had him swinging his weapon up in an automatic reaction. Jesse and Lanie all but dragged each other behind the meager cover of the shed.

  “Friendly,” Jesse croaked.

  Quinn lowered his rifle. “Sitrep?”

  “We took one out, wounded another. They retreated into the woods. No doubt waitin’ for reinforcements. They’ll have us pinned down before long. We need to move now.” Jesse straightened away from Lanie and made sure she was steady on her feet before kneeling to examine Gabe’s wound. His jaw tightened. Quinn saw exactly what he’d feared in the medic’s eyes. They couldn’t move Gabe anywhere but to a hospital. If he’d even make it that far.

  “Take over here. Do what you can.” When Jesse’s hand replaced the pressure of his own on the wound, he stood. “They want me. If I turn myself over—”

  Lanie shook her head. “We’ve seen them. They’re not going to let us go.”

  “She’s right,” Jesse said. “Our best chance is you. Go warn the others, call Tuc Quentin for backup, and make sure Mara’s safe. We’ll take care of Gabe.”

  Mara.

  He had to go back to her.

  Quinn squeezed Gabe’s hand again to draw his attention, only to realize the big guy had gone unresponsive. His chest constricted and leaving them was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but Jesse was right. Someone had to go now or none of them would survive this, and Gabe needed Jesse to stay.

  “Go,” Lanie said and readied her rifle. “I’ll cover you.”

  Quinn took one last look at the man who was more like a brother to him than a friend, motionless in the snow with a red stain spreading beneath him. That wasn’t going to be the final image he had of Gabe. Audrey was not going to lose her husband, and Raffi Bristow was not going to lose his hero big brother.

  Hang on, buddy. I’m bringing back help. You just hang on a little longer.

  “Go!” Lanie said again and sprayed bullets into the woods.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mara woke to an urgent need to relieve her bladder and realized she was alone. When she fell asleep, she’d been in the midst of strong, capable men, all of them fussing over her like she was someone important. Even Ian had scrambled to make her comfortable by giving her a leather motorcycle jacket from his pack. Going by the way Jean-Luc and Marcus started mercilessly teasing him about it afterward, the act of kindness must have been very uncharacteristic. She had to remember to give him a thank-you hug when she returned the jacket. He looked like a man who had received too few hugs in his life.

  Crammed into the van with them, she had felt as secure as she could without being tucked into Travis’s arms and soon found that she could no longer keep her eyes open. She had drifted off to the sounds of their voices joking and laughing, congratulating each other on a mission well done.

  But now the van was silent, empty, and for those foggy moments between sleep and full wakefulness, she panicked that it had all been a dream. Lanie and Jesse both hovering like mother hens. Jean-Luc making her laugh with that delicious Cajun accent. Sad-eyed Ian, so willing to give up his jacket. Affable Marcus, sweet Harvard, quiet Seth…

  Had her imagination conjured them all?

  And Travis…?

  No. His arms had felt real and solid around her for those too-brief moments he’d held her in Olesea’s kitchen. And his cruel words as he led her to safety still hurt too much.

  Your baby.

  Well, she thought as she sat up and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes with both hands. If that was the way he wanted it to be, fine. Her baby. Nobody else’s.

  Mara glanced around the van, hoping to find that one of the men had had the foresight to grab her tennis shoes from the foyer in Olesea’s house. Seeing as she was barefoot, she couldn’t very well walk out into the snow. She saw nothing except a discarded snow camouflage outfit. Between Ian’s jacket and the silver Mylar blanket someone had draped over her, she was warm enough, but one look at the van’s windows told her how cold it was outside. Fog from the heater and her breath had iced the windows and crystalline spiderwebs glittered across the gla
ss in the moonlight. It would have been pretty if it wasn’t so potentially deadly. She pulled on the white camouflage coat over Ian’s jacket and wiggled into the pants. A born and bred Texan, she wasn’t used to this kind of cold. The more layers, the better. Now if only she could find something for her feet—

  She pushed aside someone’s pack and found what she’d been hoping for. Her tennis shoes. Yes! She stuffed her feet in and tied the laces.

  Voices outside the van caught her attention, and she crawled over to the door with the intention of telling Travis or whoever was on the other side that she urgently needed a bathroom.

  But the voices…

  She stopped before opening the door, her hand on the lever, and a chill clawed over her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. The voices were wrong. American, yes, but where was Jean-Luc’s singsong Cajun lilt? Even Travis had a slight blue-collar Baltimore accent that delighted her southern ears when he said “youse” instead of “y’all.”

  Careful not to make any noise to alert the men outside to her presence, she scraped ice off the window with one nail and peeked out. Jean-Luc, Seth, Harvard, Marcus, and Ian sat on their knees in the snow, their hands raised and locked behind their heads. A group of men stood several feet away with rifles pointed in their direction.

  Oh, no. Had Zaryanko’s thugs come to take her back? Somehow, that didn’t seem right. She’d seen most of his thugs, and none of them had been American. Still, the possibility of it terrified her. She ducked below the window and pressed a hand to her chest, trying to convince her heart that it didn’t need to jump out of her throat.

  Where was Travis? The rest of his team? Were they hurt—or worse?

  No, she wouldn’t even think it.

  She sucked in a fortifying breath. Okay, she’d come this far. She could handle this, too. She just had to breathe and think…and observe. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to look out the window again. Not knowing where they were or what they were doing to the guys was so much worse than watching. She sat up on her knees, lifting her head just enough that she could see through the frosted glass.

  One of the men had shouldered his gun, tied Jean-Luc’s and Harvard’s hands behind their back with zip ties, and was now working on securing Seth’s hands. Seth seemed to be hyperventilating and struggled like a wild animal. One of the men whacked him over the head with the butt of his rifle, and he collapsed into the snow.

  All of their captors wore snowshoes, the same camouflage as Travis and his team, and the same gray-and-white face paint. For all she could see of their features, they might as well have been abominable snowmen with guns.

  Once everyone was secure, the man who had tied them up started walking toward the van. Mara inched away from the door until her back pressed to the steel partition that separated the cargo area from the seats up front. She tried the small lever that would open it.

  Locked.

  Trapped.

  The partition opened suddenly, and a hand clamped over her mouth before she even had the chance to draw in a breath and scream. None too gently, the hand’s owner yanked her backward through the partition and threw her into the passenger seat before slamming the door shut and flipping the lock.

  “Buckle,” Travis ordered and cranked the van’s engine. “And stay low.”

  “W-w-what about the guys?”

  He grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her head toward her knees. “Ow! Travis—”

  “Get down!”

  She heard it then. The blast of gunfire. The ping of bullets bouncing off the van’s exoskeleton as the wheels spun, searching for traction in the snow. Finally, the van lurched forward, and Travis hit the gas.

  God, this couldn’t be real. This wasn’t the kind of life she lived. She was a veterinary technician who worked not because she had to but because she loved it. She was a daughter who put up with her mother’s tyrannical husband out of sheer loyalty. A sister who looked up to her big brother with something close to hero worship. She ran errands and took care of her pets and kept a clean house and stayed in close contact with all of her friends. She’d enjoyed a glass of wine here or there before she’d become pregnant, but she didn’t drink to excess. Didn’t smoke, had never tried drugs, didn’t indulge in any other risky or self-destructive behaviors. She’d led a safe, normal life…

  Until Travis Quinn. He had destroyed so much more than her heart when he walked out her door and, suddenly, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive him for it.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged her knees and focused on breathing. Just like they taught in birthing classes, which she’d have to register for. And she didn’t have a partner. She turned her head enough to look at Travis. Such a strong profile, an angular jaw with a sexy dimple in the center of his chin. He also had dimples on the rare occasions he smiled.

  Would the baby have his straight nose? His dimples?

  Travis must have sensed her gaze, because he glanced down just as the tears she’d tried so hard to keep at bay overflowed her defenses.

  His lips compressed into a thin line, but she saw no softening in his expression. He’d closed down on her at Olesea’s, and she doubted he’d ever open up again. And right now, she didn’t know if she even wanted him to.

  “It’s okay,” he said stiffly. “We’re out of range now.”

  Slowly, she sat up and stared out the window. Trees and darkness. Up ahead, in the splash of the van’s rattling headlights, there was nothing but more darkness, more of the bumpy road. She sniffled and scrubbed away her tears.

  “Are you crying because we left the guys?” Travis asked after a long moment of silence.

  Disbelief that he even had to ask roared through her. “Yes! And because I want my old life back! And because I’m trapped in the middle of frozen nowhere and I have to pee and I don’t have a partner for my birthing class and the baby will have your nose and your dimples and I won’t be able to stand it when I see a smile and I’m reminded of you!” She paused for a breath but couldn’t seem to stop the tirade now that she’d unleashed it. She glared at him, putting everything she felt into it. Fear. Anger. Pain. So much pain. “And because if I could do one thing in my life over, I’d go back to July and leave you to die of heatstroke in that car in front of my apartment. I really, really hate you, Travis Quinn.”

  His mouth opened but no sound came out, and he closed it again. He exhaled a breath that, if she didn’t know any better, she’d think was a suppressed sob. When he spoke, his voice was a little hoarse. “I know you do, Mara, and I’m sorry for that. As for the rest, I don’t know how I can help. Once we’re a little farther away, I’ll stop to let you pee and—yeah. The…birthing…partner thing, you don’t want me for anyway. But don’t worry about the guys. They can take care of themselves.”

  “How can you say that? You just left them there! In the cold, with a bunch of armed men!”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I didn’t have a choice. They killed—” His voice broke and she looked over at him again. Dread wrapped icy fingers around her spine at the tortured expression on his normally stoic face.

  “Killed who?” Oh, why did she ask that? She didn’t want to know. Was terrified to know. What if…?

  Travis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort of it. “Gabe.”

  Relief crashed over her with such force she slumped back in the seat. Not Jesse. Or Lanie. Thank God. Then the relief twisted into a dull blade composed of equal parts sorrow and shame that cut deep in the vicinity of her heart. Her cousin and best friend were both alive—as far as she knew—but Gabe…

  He had been Travis’s best friend, hadn’t he?

  She reached for his hand, surprised at how cold and stiff his fingers felt on the steering wheel. “What happened?”

  He pulled his hand away on the pretense of wiping his eyes. “We were ambushed. We let down our guard and Gabe was shot. He was bleeding out in the snow and instead of taking him to a hospital
, I left—” In a burst of emotion fiercer than any she’d ever seen from him, Travis swore and banged his fists against the steering wheel. “What am I supposed to tell his wife? She’s going to hate me for not taking care of him like I promised. She’s going to…” He trailed off, his outburst hanging in the air like a thick, wet blanket, making it hard to draw a decent breath.

  “What about Lanie?” Mara whispered. “Jesse? Are they…?”

  “I don’t know.” He keep his eyes on the road, but she had a feeling his reluctance to look at her had little to do with the driving conditions. “I had to get back to you. I couldn’t risk Bauer and his guys sending you back to Zaryanko’s people. Or worse.”

  “And yet you left your men with them.”

  “My men can take care of themselves,” he said with a lot less conviction in his tone than before. “And they all know and accept the possibility of sacrifice. Your safety is our first priority.”

  Our priority. Not my priority.

  She reached over and set a hand on his muscled forearm. “We need to go back, Travis. We need to go help your team. Help Gabe. If there’s still a chance he could be okay—”

  “No.” His profile was set in stone, not letting even the faintest hint of his thoughts through. He glanced over, and in a passing sliver of moonlight, she thought she saw wetness glimmering on his cheeks. “We can’t go back. I’m not willing to risk you.”

  Claws of pain dug into her heart, and she rubbed at her chest. “At the expense of your best friend’s life?”

  “Yeah,” he said and returned his attention to the road. His voice was raw. “Even at the expense of Gabe’s life.”

  Oh God. If he were willing to sacrifice his best friend for her, what else would he sacrifice?

  Chapter Twenty

  “We’ll crash here for the night.”

  As Travis shifted the van into park, Mara blinked open her gritty eyes and looked around. More darkness, more trees, but the landscape had flattened out while she was trying and failing to sleep. “Where’s here?”

  “We’re still in Transnistria, if that’s what you’re asking. We can’t leave until I figure out how to get us through the border checkpoints into Moldova and then to the air force base in Romania.”