Broken Honor

by Burrows, Tonya

  “Why not take me to the closest consulate?”

  He gave her a dry look before he crawled out of his seat and ducked into the cargo area of the van. “My former teammates are after me. They want me badly enough that they killed my best friend. Do you really think they wouldn’t warn any government officials of my presence in their country? If I show my face at a consulate, the marines stationed there will arrest me”—he snapped his fingers—“like that. Someone high up has to be involved in this, too, and then it will only take some paper shuffling to get me where they want me. Besides, the only embassy I’d be comfortable taking you to is in Bucharest, and the air force base is closer.”

  She stretched out a crick in her neck before following him. “Won’t the air force arrest you?”

  “Yeah.” Grim lines hardened his mouth as he shook out a sleeping bag from his pack and laid it on top of the pallet she’d slept on earlier. “But the air force is a completely separate entity from the navy. They’re less likely to be corrupted by…whoever the hell is behind this.”

  “The lesser of two evils?”

  “Pretty much. At least if I turn myself in to the air force, I might live long enough to set foot on U.S. soil again. Hell, maybe I’ll even get a shot at a decent trial.”

  “Trial for what?”

  “For killing Todd Urban.”

  Outrage seared the lining of her throat. “But you did it to protect me. He kidnapped me!”

  Travis pointed a finger at her. “Exactly the reason I need to keep you alive. You’re my get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “Oh, of course.” She snorted in disgust. “Silly me for thinking you’d want me alive because I’m carrying your child. Or, say, because you care about me.”

  “Dammit, don’t make me sound like a heartless asshole.”

  “I don’t need to. You do a good job of sounding heartless all by yourself.” She sat down with her back to the wall of the van and ignored his creative cursing. Folding her hands across her belly, she watched him put together a makeshift bed until the silence between them started to weigh on her, pressing down on her lungs, making breathing difficult. “Are you physically incapable of carrying on a genuine, personal conversation?”

  Without a word, he grabbed another pack from along the wall and unbuckled a second bedroll. He tossed the second sleeping bag over the first with a lot more force than necessary. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped forward.

  “What I said before…it came out wrong.” He turned toward her with an expression of complete exasperation. “I do care about you, Mara.”

  The words sounded like he had to drag them from his throat. Not exactly the romantic declaration she’d fantasized about when he showed up on her doorstep again. God, that felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a few days.

  “If you truly care, then you have a strange way of showing it.”

  “It’s the only way I know how,” he snapped. “If you want to be cuddled, I’m not your guy. I told you, I’m not gentle.”

  I don’t do gentle, Mara.

  As much as she hated herself for it, heat crackled over her nerve endings and her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bra at the reminder of the way he’d held her pinned up against her living room wall. “I remember.”

  In the bright moonlight filtering through the windows, she thought she saw those same heated memories flare in his eyes.

  “I do, too.” He sucked in a breath, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “It’s one of the few things I haven’t forgotten.”

  But then his gaze dropped lower and settled on her belly and the heat fizzled, replaced with the snowy indifference he had down to an art. He stared at her as if the baby was a potential threat and he had to calculate a strategy to combat it.

  “Travis.” She reached for his hand and placed his palm over her belly. “This is our baby.”

  He jolted like she’d electrocuted him and yanked his hand back so fast he whacked his elbow on the wall. He gritted his teeth against a curse and hurried to finish laying out the sleeping bags.

  Mara sighed. “You’re never going to be okay with this, are you?”

  “Honestly?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know, but it’s not on the top of my list of concerns at the moment.”

  “It should be.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that, but my head’s all kinds of fucked up. I really can’t imagine what a nice, respectable woman like you ever saw in me.” As if he realized he’d said too much, he pulled back the edge of one sleeping bag and motioned for her to lie down. “Now let’s get some rest. We’re hidden well enough here. We should be safe until morning.”

  Beyond exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she was past the point of arguing with him and nestled into the makeshift bed. Travis had zipped the two sleeping bags together on three sides, making them into one big sack. He slid in beside her before zipping up the final side and, despite his earlier comment about cuddling, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his too-lean body.

  “You’ve lost so much weight.”

  He grunted. “This changes nothing, Mara. It’s only a survival tactic to keep us warm. Body heat.”

  Mara couldn’t put her finger on it, but something in his tone told her he was lying. Maybe he was even trying to convince himself of it. But everything had changed. She had Travis in her life again, and she was safe with him. He was a warrior, born to right wrongs and built to protect. For all of his faults, she knew that to be one undeniable truth about him.

  The van’s floor was hard under her back, and the blankets were cold, but she didn’t care. He threw off a furnace of heat beside her, and it all felt like a small slice of heaven after living in Zaryanko and Olesea’s cold world for…

  How long?

  “What day is it?” she asked. “I’ve lost track.”

  “The fourth of January. Well, probably fifth now,” Travis said after a second of thought.

  Five days. She’d lost nearly a week of her life. “With everything…needing to move and, well, everything else…I completely missed out on the holidays this year. Christmas, New Year’s. It’s like they never happened.”

  “They’ll come back around,” he replied with a complete lack of enthusiasm that she couldn’t understand. She’d always adored the holiday season.

  “Don’t you like Christmas?”

  Under her cheek, his shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “I’m not religious.”

  “Even so, you can still enjoy it as a celebration of life and love and family.”

  “Family?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, right, except when you don’t have one. Then Christmas is just a day like any other.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, but he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed and all she could see was his throat and stubbled chin. “Don’t you have a family?”

  “I did. The SEALs.” His throat worked as he tried to swallow. “But they’re dead to me now.”

  “Your parents?”

  “The only parents I want to remember are dead.”

  She thought about the picture he’d had in Olesea’s kitchen. The one that had sent him into a rage. “But what about—”

  “I’m going to sleep now. You should, too, Mara.”

  She settled against his shoulder and bit her lip. His reluctance to touch her belly was starting to make sense. He wasn’t doing it to be a jerk. It was the self-defense mechanism of a child who never knew what it meant to be part of a family.

  But they’re dead to me now.

  Those words, spoken in that carefully emotionless tone of his, said so much more about his life than he probably intended. He’d suffered loss the likes of which she couldn’t begin to understand. Her father’s death when she was eight had left a gaping wound in her heart that refused to close, so how must it feel to have lost everyone you ever cared about?

  Jesse had been right. Travis Quinn was a very lonely man.

  On
impulse, Mara lifted her head again and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the affection in any way, but she knew he wasn’t asleep yet. His breath caught.

  “You’re not alone anymore, Travis,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Airfield near Tiraspol, Transnistria

  When Tucker Quentin had financed the redesign of HORNET’s jet over the summer, he’d not only included dorm-like rooms for the team, but also a prison barracks down below for any captives they might take on a mission. Although the billionaire head of HORNET’s parent company probably hadn’t reckoned said prison could be used against them if there was, say, a traitor in their midst.

  Fucking Jace Garcia. Jesse had known he was trouble from the second he’d laid eyes on the man. Should have listened to his gut.

  The door to the prison slammed open, flooding the room with light, and Jesse raised an arm to shield his eyes. Five big somethings landed in a chaotic heap on the floor between the bunks. Ever since he, Lanie, and Gabe had been dragged aboard the jet, they’d been kept in complete darkness, and his pupils didn’t adjust to the change fast enough. He only caught the impression of five men before the room plunged into blackness again.

  Lanie stirred. She’d been asleep beside him on the narrow bunk—more out of necessity than any kind of attraction, since Gabe occupied the only other bed.

  “Who is it?” she whispered close to his ear.

  He set a hand on her shoulder, once again thankful that their captors had removed the zip ties before locking them in. “Not sure.”

  “Jesse?” Jean-Luc’s groggy voice said from the floor. “That you?”

  Shit. Jesse stood and blindly groped his way toward Jean-Luc’s voice. “Cajun, who’s with you?”

  Jean-Luc hissed out a breath. “Ian. Seth. Harvard. Marcus. We fucked up. Didn’t notice…ambush. Until too late.”

  “What about Quinn and Mara?”

  “Far as I know, he got her—” His voice caught and he inhaled sharply. “Got her away in time.”

  Jesse’s searching hand landed on someone’s face and came away wet. Ian? He ran his hands over the rest of the EOD tech and found Ian’s left arm twisted at an unnatural angle. “Lanie, I need help. Ian’s unconscious and bleedin’ bad. Pretty sure his arm’s broken.”

  A few feet in front of him, he felt the air stir. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness again, he could see Jean-Luc limping up the aisle toward him.

  “I’ll help,” Jean-Luc said.

  “No. You’re injured, too.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Unless ‘fine’ has been redefined as ‘stubborn asshat,’ you’re not fine. Sit down, Cajun, before you fall down.”

  Lanie’s slim figure appeared next to Jean-Luc and guided him over to the wall. “Let Jesse do the doctoring. It’s the only thing he’s good at.”

  “Merci.” Jean-Luc groaned as she helped him sit down. “I like ya, Lanie. F’true.”

  “You like all women, Cajun.” She laughed and leaned over him. Jesse heard the unmistakable sound of a smooch and had to ruthlessly beat back an irrational surge of jealousy. But…damn. Why’d she have to kiss freakin’ Jean-Luc, of all people? And where had she kissed him?

  “Lanie, help me.” As soon as the words left his tongue, he knew he’d put too much command in his tone, but fuck it. He couldn’t have her standing around kissing one of his teammates while another was possibly bleeding to death on the floor. For once, she didn’t argue with him and together they hefted Ian onto the bunk she had abandoned moments ago.

  Once they got Ian settled, Lanie went to the door and pounded on it hard enough that she’d probably have a bruise on her hand. The noise must have echoed through the whole plane, because footsteps sounded on the other side, coming down the stairs in a hurry.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “We have wounded in here. How about some lights?”

  Jesse shook his head. He had to admire her bravado, but it wasn’t going to—

  The overhead light flashed on, momentarily blinding him.

  “Thank you,” Lanie said. Whoever was on the other side of the door hesitated for a moment, then the sound of his footsteps faded as he climbed the stairs again.

  “Nice job.”

  She smirked. “It’s ’cause I have tits. Guys just can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

  Jesse snorted. “Nobody’s goin’ to mistake you for a damsel in distress, Delcambre.” Now that he had sufficient light, he studied his teammates. Seth’s right eye was swollen shut, his lip was split open, and he was sitting against the wall, staring off into space like he was shell-shocked. Which, given his past, he probably was. Ian’s complexion rivaled plaster for colorlessness. Jean-Luc, Marcus, and Harvard looked like Carrie on prom night, they were all so drenched with blood. Whatever else happened out there, they’d put up a hell of a fight.

  Ian’s eyes popped open, and he tried to sit up, but Jesse placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “Relax, Reinhardt.”

  “What happened?” Ian blinked a couple times and lifted a hand to scrub blood out of his eyes.

  “We were ambushed,” Seth answered, his voice far away.

  Ian craned his neck until he could see Seth and scanned the sniper as if looking for serious injuries. “Hey, Hero. Stay with us.”

  Seth blinked and straightened his shoulders. “Don’t call me Hero, asshole.”

  Ian nodded, apparently satisfied that Seth was okay, and settled against his pillow again. He heaved out a breath before visibly gathering his strength and pushing himself upright. “Has anyone seen Tank?”

  “He’s here.” Jesse motioned to the bed where Gabe lay, still as death. Tank was stretched out beside him, keeping watch.

  Ian climbed to his feet and shuffled over, cradling his broken arm to his chest. Tank’s tail thumped twice, but it was a halfhearted greeting, and he still didn’t move from Gabe’s side. Ian rested his good hand on the dog’s head and stared down at their boss’s pale face for a long time. “How did this happen?”

  Jesse scowled over at the door. “Jace Garcia sold us out.”

  …

  “¡Oye! I’m on your side. Or did you cabrones forget that already?”

  At the sound of Jace Garcia’s annoyed voice, Liam glanced up from the maps spread across the table in front of him. Two of the SEALs muscled Garcia up the plane’s steps with their weapons pointed at his back.

  “What’s going on?” the captain asked, straightening away from the table. Captain Cold, his men called him. It was a fitting nickname, considering whom he’d been willing to kill to get this job done. Even Liam had higher moral standards than that guy.

  “We found him sneaking around down by the prisoners,” Bauer said and shoved Garcia forward.

  Garcia straightened his jacket and snarled something in Spanish, then added in English, “I wasn’t sneaking anywhere.”

  “Yeah?” Liam studied the pilot, but damn, he was starting to feel sluggish, his mind fogged, and he didn’t see anything in Garcia’s face to arouse suspicion. Was he losing his edge? Probably. It had been a long time since his last hit, and the bag of coke in his coat called to him. He slipped a hand into his pocket, drew it out, and dumped some on the table. Over to his left, Captain Cold made a disdainful sound, and because of that, he took his time with the whole process. Picking a card from his wallet, smoothing the coke out, lining it up. “So what were you doing down there with the prisoners, Garcia?”

  The pilot ignored the two weapons pointed at him and stepped forward. “The woman asked for light. I didn’t see the harm in turning it on. They have wounded down there.”

  Liam bent over the table and snorted three lines in succession. The rush was instant, leaving him giddy. He laughed. “Having a change of heart about betraying them?”

  “No,” Garcia said. “My heart goes where the money is, and they weren’t paying me for this op.”

  “Mmm.” Head buzzing, Liam wiped
at his nose and scanned the notes and maps left on the table by the jet’s previous occupants. Looked like this area had served as HORNET’s makeshift war room. And now he was in command of their nest.

  Perfect.

  He picked up a notebook with Gabe’s handwriting in it and grinned as he flipped through the notes.

  Ah, Gabe and Quinn. Those two had always been too meticulous, too honorable, too goddamn good. If the shine on their saintly halos got any brighter, they’d start blinding people.

  But halos didn’t stop bullets, now did they?

  Liam’s gut jittered with excitement that the legendary Gabe Bristow was dying down in the belly of the plane at that very moment, trapped with all of his honeybee minions, and there was nothing any of them could do to save him. That was the only reason Liam hadn’t ended Gabe’s life on the spot. A slow death was much more satisfying.

  When this was all over, he’d take Gabe’s corpse to Costa Rica and pay the spunky Mrs. Bristow a visit. What grieving widow didn’t want to see her husband one last time, after all?

  “So what’s the plan?” Garcia demanded, and his impatient tone severed the pleasant line of Liam’s thoughts, dragging his wandering mind back to the here and now.

  “We find Quinn,” Captain Cold said.

  Liam held up a hand for silence. He was in charge here, not the captain. He met the pilot’s stony gaze. “Tell me. Why turn on your team?”

  Garcia’s face remained carefully impassive. “As I said, they weren’t paying me. I have no loyalty to them.”

  “Right.” Liam tapped his fingers in quick secession on the table, then pushed out of his chair, because his skin was threatening to jump off his bones if he didn’t move. “Nor to me. Should I be worried about that, mate?”

  “The only loyalty I have is to myself and my family. But I’ll tell you what you can count on, amigo. My well-established sense of self-preservation. I’ll do what I have to do to keep breathing, so don’t put me in a position where I might stop, because then I’ll have to turn on you, too.”