Liam clapped. “Now that, I believe. Don’t you?” He directed the question to Captain Cold, who said nothing in response, just pulled up a file on his laptop and passed it across the table.
Liam stared down at the screen, waited for his eyes to focus on the jittering words there. “Ah, Garcia, we seem to have your dossier. Ex–air force, huh? And your record has more than a few dings. Ex-cartel, as well? Now that’s interesting. Wonder if we share any mutual friends in Mexico?”
Garcia ground his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’m not a part of that world anymore.”
“Maybe not.” He glanced up and pinned the pilot with a glare. “Still, why the fuck would Gabe trust you?”
Garcia shrugged. “I lied. Didn’t tell him everything, and he didn’t have access to the redacted portions of my file.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Cold said, then added in an undertone, “Should’ve taken the Pentagon job, Gabe. It would have kept you out of all of this.”
If Liam wasn’t mistaken, there was a touch of regret in the captain’s voice. Maybe Captain Cold wasn’t as cold as he wanted to appear? Pity, that. Emotions made people unpredictable. Liam would have to keep an eye on him.
“So,” Garcia said after a beat of silence. “What’s the plan?”
“It’s need to know,” Cold said.
The pilot bristled. “And I need to know if you expect me to fly this jet anywhere. I can’t just pick it up and throw it like a paper airplane. There are checks to be done…unless you want us to end up in the Atlantic when the engines quit.”
Liam smiled. Now Jace Garcia, on the other hand, was all emotion. It made him unpredictable, sure, but not as much as the captain, because a hothead could always be relied upon to be a hothead. “For now, we wait.”
Garcia let another beat of silence pass. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I know Quinn’s been dealing with some…mental issues.” He sent an amused sideways glance toward the SEALs. “Isn’t that right?”
Bauer’s lip lifted in a sneer. “The captain told us to make it look like an accident, so Urban and I made it an accident. Nobody could have known Quinn and Gabe would survive that crash.”
Cold made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and Liam laughed. “You’re all lucky Quinn cracked his skull and his memory loss has worked to your advantage this long. But sooner or later, Quinn is going to fuck up. And when he does…” He returned to his seat and reclined back, sighing as satisfaction buzzed through his veins. “I’ll finally have the pleasure of killing him.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Quinn slapped the van’s dashboard and experienced a sense of déjà vu. The day he met Mara, he’d been beating on his rental car for its faulty air conditioning. “A/C CPR,” he’d called it. Except this time, it was more like whole-car CPR. And it wasn’t one hundred degrees out. And he was in fucking Transnistria instead of fucking Texas.
Quinn drew a breath and forced a leash of restraint on his frustration. Okay, so the van wouldn’t start. Judging by the tick tick tick sound when he cranked the key, the battery was dead. He stared out the windshield at the pitted dirt road that had never seen a plow and had little more than faint ruts left by a vehicle long since gone. No way was he getting a jump out here.
On the off chance he had a signal, he searched his many pockets for his phone. He didn’t know whom he’d call—maybe Tucker Quentin?—but realized it was a moot point when he turned it on and checked the screen. The phone’s battery was still holding up, but there wasn’t even half a bar of signal. In the military they’d had an acronym for middle-of-nowhere places like this: BFE. Bumfuck, Egypt.
He rested his head against the steering wheel. Dammit, he should’ve kept on driving last night, should’ve gotten Mara as far away from his former teammates as he could. Which had been his general plan until his world started graying around the edges and he feared he’d have another blackout. It tended to happen in times of stress or when he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, so pulling over on this secluded road for some shut-eye had seemed like his best option. If he went zombie, where would that leave Mara? Unprotected, that’s where, and he would die before he let that happen again.
He turned in his seat and gazed through the open door into the cargo hold. She always slept curled up on her side, tucked around her stomach into the smallest ball she could manage, as if she wanted to retreat from the world even in sleep. That innate vulnerability of hers had been a turn-on at one time. Something in him needed to protect and care for those that couldn’t do it for themselves. He was sure a shrink would have a field day dissecting that character trait, but there it was.
The air inside the van was warmer than outside but still cold enough to cause frostbite or worse if they stayed too long. He hated the thought of her traveling anywhere in this weather, but what choice did they have?
He ducked into the cargo hold, knelt beside Mara, and reached for her shoulder, intending to shake her awake. Almost without his permission, his palm skimmed down her arm to her waist instead. He hesitated over her stomach, his hand trembling.
“C’mon,” he muttered to himself and wiped his damp palm on his pant leg. He had to get over this ridiculous fear of touching her stomach. It was distracting and…well, ridiculous. Still, he kept picturing scenes from Alien and found himself holding his breath as he slowly, oh, so slowly laid his palm across her belly, touching her as if the baby was a bomb that would explode at the slightest jostle.
Mara gave a soft sigh in her sleep, but nothing else happened. He let out his breath in a whoosh that left him a little dizzy.
Her belly was softer than he’d expected and worry chased away the dizziness. Wasn’t it supposed to be…Christ, he didn’t know. Like a rock? And protruding more? He had no idea what was normal. What if something was wrong? The only thing he knew about this pregnancy shit was the part he’d had a hand in. He’d never even been this close to a pregnant woman before. It was embarrassing to admit, even to himself, but he’d always shied away whenever he’d seen a baby bump in public.
Gabe had ragged on him mercilessly about his almost-phobia for years. Not that the guy was completely phobia-free himself. He’d avoided babies with near-religious zealousness, always saying, “Nothing that small should be that loud.”
What a pair they had made.
Gabe.
An arrow of pain sliced Quinn in half at the memories, and he bent over, laying his cheek on Mara’s belly. He’d lost another person he loved. His best friend. His brother.
First his adoptive parents. Now Gabe.
He couldn’t risk falling in love with this baby. Wouldn’t risk it. Bad things happened to the people he loved.
“Travis?” Mara’s voice, all soft and sleepy, nearly broke the dam he’d constructed to hold back his emotions. Her hand lifted to stroke his hair, and it felt so good. Too good. And horrible, because it was a reminder of something he could never allow himself to have. Something like her waking in his bed every morning after running her fingers through his hair all night as they made love.
Christ.
He locked down everything soft and tender he felt toward her. It was wrong to fantasize about her like that when he was somehow the reason she was in danger.
Keeping his back to her, he sat up and pressed his fingers to his eyelids. Told himself to man the fuck up and do the right thing. Keep her at arm’s distance to keep her safe.
She touched his back. “Trav—”
“We need to go.” Damn, was that his voice, all rough and thick? He cleared his throat. “Dress warm. The van’s battery ran down during the night, so we’re continuing on foot.”
“On foot?” she echoed. “To Romania?”
If it were only him, he could do it. Or die trying. But it wasn’t just him anymore. He glanced over his shoulder to see her mouth parted in a small, sexy O of disbelief, and he remembered all too clearly that night in her bed when her
mouth had…
Yeah, whoa, okay. Better to avoid looking at her from now on.
“No,” he said and winced at his harsh tone. But he wasn’t going to dial it down. If she hated him, she’d stay away from him once they were home. He’d make sure all of his enemies knew she meant nothing to him, and she’d be safe. “We’re going with plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
“Still working on it.”
“Great.” Sarcasm weighted heavily in the word as she scooted out of the sleeping bag. “Plan B.”
“I’ll think of something.” Quinn grabbed the nearest pack and riffled through it for supplies. Luckily for them, Jean-Luc, Seth, Harvard, Marcus, and Ian had left all of their stuff in the van. Not so lucky for the guys, but like he’d told her before, they could take care of themselves.
After a pause, he heard Mara moving around behind him and resisted the urge to check on her.
“I have to pee again,” she said finally.
“Hold it.”
“God, you’re such a—a—jerk!” She planted her hands on his back and shoved him. Not hard, but enough that he wobbled in his precarious half-crouching position.
“What the—” He started to turn toward her, but she pushed him again. This time, he did lose his balance and smacked into the wall.
“Pregnant women pee. That’s what we do.” Fury etched lines between her brows, and she kicked out a bare foot, catching him in the shin.
“Okay. Okay.” He held up his hands in helpless surrender. “I’ll take you outside, find you a place—Mara, no. Shit, don’t cry.”
“You should know this stuff! You would know all this if you hadn’t disappeared without leaving me any way to contact you.” As tears streamed from her eyes, she fisted her hands and hit him again, pounding on his chest to punctuate each word. “Why couldn’t you have just left it a one-night stand? Why did you have to come back and break my heart? You asshole!”
At a complete loss, Quinn caught her wrists and drew her into his arms. He soothed a hand down her back, tucked her head underneath his chin, and started a gentle side-to-side rocking motion. He had no clue what to say, but obviously this was about way more than needing a bathroom break, so he made soft shushing noises and let her cry it out.
Long, long minutes passed before she lifted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her nose red, cheeks splotchy. She wasn’t a woman who cried prettily, and yet…
Christ, she was still so beautiful to him.
He tucked a limp strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay now?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I deserve it and more.”
“Yes, you do.”
Despite everything, he smiled. He liked this bold, mouthy version of her even more than the shy mouse she’d been when they first met. And maybe he’d gone straight-up masochist, but her new attitude was kind of hot.
He caught a tear on his finger and flicked it away. “Don’t look now, your backbone is showing.”
She arched a brow, then her gaze dropped pointedly to his lap. “Don’t look now…”
Laughing softly, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and swept away more tears with his thumbs. “I can’t help my reaction to you.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re still attracted to me?”
Christ, he shouldn’t tell her the truth. This was the perfect opportunity to push her away, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t lie, couldn’t hurt her like that.
“Ah, Mara.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “Always. That’s never going to change.”
Her lips curved into a trembling smile, and he was transported back to her house, when she’d opened the door in her robe and he’d wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel her mouth against his.
He couldn’t help it. He had to taste her again. Just one more time…
…
Travis caught her lips with his and swallowed her gasp of surprise. Then his tongue caressed her lower lip and begged entrance, and all other thoughts vanished, consumed by flames of pure lust. Somehow, he always did that to her. Had the power to sweep away her rational mind and replace it with a wild seductress she hardly recognized. His tongue invaded her, claimed, thrusting in a pantomime of sex as his hands curled into her hair and held her head still for the kiss.
Commanding. Rough. Her Travis, kissing her like there was nothing broken between them. God, how she’d missed him.
All the memories of long, sleepless nights filled with yearning coalesced into a desperate need. She wrapped her arms around his neck and poured her soul into the kiss, trying to explain every emotion that was too complicated for words. She didn’t know if she loved him, didn’t know if she wanted him long-term, couldn’t take him walking away from her again somewhere down the road.
But right now, in this moment, she wanted him.
She rubbed her aching breasts against his hard chest, wanting nothing more than to peel away the layers of clothing separating them, to feel him flesh to flesh again. His hands slid to her shoulders, slipped down her back, pressed her closer…and he froze. His lips stopped moving against hers. His muscles locked up until he might as well have been a marble statue.
“You won’t hurt me,” she assured, still breathing hard from his kisses. “Or the baby.”
No reply.
The baby. Right. Her pregnancy freaked him out, so the reminder of it probably sent up big, flashing off-limits signs in his mind. The frustrating, impossible man. Mara pulled out of his arms, her hands bunching into fists at her sides.
Do not smack him. Do not smack him.
Why couldn’t he see past the pregnancy? She was still the same woman she’d been before the baby. A little fatter, yes, but her weight gain hadn’t bothered him one bit when he’d held her up against her apartment’s wall and pounded into her with savage intensity. Her sex dampened at the memory, and she clenched her thighs together to relieve the throb of need.
She wanted him, but he had to understand that if he wanted her, he had to want all of her, including the baby.
Do not smack him.
Mara sucked in a fortifying breath before lifting her gaze to his. “Okay. I’m trying really, really hard to understand this…issue…you have about the baby, but I thought we’d at least gotten past the—”
She realized he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were open, but he stared over her shoulder. She whipped around, half expecting to see something terrifying behind her, but there was only the van’s wall.
“Travis, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t acknowledge her in any way. Just continued to stare at the wall with a vague, out-of-focus look in his eyes.
“Travis!”
He turned his eyes toward her, followed by his head in a slow, almost robotic sweep. “Who?”
Oh, God. Something was wrong with him. First the migraine, and now he had the same blank look in his eyes that he’d had when Zaryanko dragged him from the hotel.
“Quinn!” Her voice cracked. “Travis Quinn. You.”
“No,” he said and his features scrunched in confusion. “Paulie.”
“You’re not making sense, Travis, and you’re really starting to scare me.”
“My name’s Paulie. Benjamin Paul Jewett Jr. Granddad’s name is Travis. I gotta go home,” he added and crawled toward the doors. “Big Ben will be mad.”
“Travis—Paulie, wait.” She reached for him, but he shrugged out of her grasp and opened the door. Snow swirled inside with a burst of frigid wind. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Big Ben will be mad,” he said again and jumped out of the van.
Mara scrambled to the door, but she was too late. His figure disappeared into the snow at a full-tilt run. She stared after him for a long time, until her nose started to run and her eyes stung from the cold. With her breath hitching on a sob, she closed the door and leaned against the van’s wall. He’d come back. As soon as he snapped out of it, he’d come back fo
r her. Maybe even before that. He had to come back.
Tears burned on her cold cheeks. She stared at the pack he’d left on the floor.
Yes, he had to come back. He wasn’t wearing his boots.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He had to go back.
Quinn blinked and looked around, his heart stuttering at his unfamiliar surroundings. A house. He sat at a kitchen table, a spoon poised midway to his mouth. He stared at the plate in front of him. Some kind of meat stew and a corn porridge. He’d eaten half of it and could still taste the spices and onion on his tongue. How did he not remember eating that? Or even sitting down at a table to eat?
Had to go back.
He dropped the spoon and shoved away from the table so hard his chair banged on the floor. The constant hum he’d heard since coming around stopped, and only then did he realize it was not a hum. It was conversation. Three people he didn’t recognize sat around the table, staring at him in open-mouthed surprise: an older woman with a round, pleasant face and white hair tucked underneath a bright red-and-green head scarf; a man who looked close to the same age as the woman and had a wide nose and skin hardened to leather by too much time in unforgiving environments; and an androgynous child of about five with a fringe of blond hair held out of pale blue eyes by a red headband. The small room consisted of the creaky four-person dining table and nausea-inducing candy-striped wallpaper.
“Where am I?” The question came out as little more than a croak. “Where’s Mara?”
The man and woman shared a glance, then the man stood up. He motioned to himself and spoke in broken, heavily accented English. “I am Rustam Belyakov.” He indicated the woman. “My wife, Valentina.” And the child. “My granddaughter. Nadejda.” Then he said something long and complicated in Russian.
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t speak—”
Nadejda said something to Rustam and received a nod of approval. She jumped up from her chair and took hold of Quinn’s hand, tugging him toward a splintered wood door as she chattered happily in Russian. He glanced back at the older couple, who both watched him go with frowns of concern.
Broken Honor Page 18
