Phoebe raised a shaking hand to her mouth, each new word hitting like a physical blow. “No, I wouldn’t—I didn’t say a word about Zak. I was just trying to stop Siddiqui.”
“Yeah, well. He’s not going to be president now, so there’s that. But he still has the nuke and now he’s gone to ground, so you only succeeded in stalling him. And pissing him off.”
“You’ll find him.”
He made an ugly sound of derision. “It’s not my job to find him.”
Seconds ticked by and Seth didn’t seem inclined to say more. He stood and crossed to the opposite side of the room, rolling his shoulders as if to shake her memory off. It was a completely dismissive gesture. No, not just dismissive, but a nonverbal I never want to see you again.
Phoebe didn’t blame him for his anger, but after everything they’d shared, it couldn’t end like this. All these vicious words couldn’t be her last moments with him.
Trembling, she chanced a step forward. “Seth—”
“No.” He whirled and pointed a finger at her face. His lips pulled back in an ugly sneer. “Do you want to know what makes Emma so much better than you? She never lied to me. Yeah, she started dating another man while I was gone, but she thought I was dead and Matt was there to help her through the loss. When I came home, she told me flat out she had fallen in love with him and wanted to marry him. And yeah, maybe I had trouble coping with the breakup, but that’s on me, not her. She’s not a liar, not a cheater, and even better, she never poisoned a whole population’s views against a man who was too sick and injured to defend himself.”
She winced, but took another step toward him.
“Stay the fuck away from me.” He shouldered past her, but paused in the doorway to glance back. A shutter slammed closed over his expression. No more hurt. No more anger. His eyes turned glacial. “If I ever see any of your names on another article about me or my men, you’ll sure as fuck hear from my lawyer.”
Her knees gave out and despair dragged her to the floor. “Kathryn Anderson is dead.”
“Good.”
And so, she realized, was Phoebe Leighton. At least as far as he was concerned.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A light snow started falling as Phoebe climbed out of the car provided by Tucker Quentin, flanked on either side by Quinn and Harvard. None of the other HORNET guys had wanted to escort her back to the shelter. She couldn’t blame them for that, but nor would she regret her decision to go public. She still believed it was their best option, not only because both the American and Afghan people deserved to know about a very real threat, but because it was also the fastest way to make sure Siddiqui’s political career died.
And it had.
Under tremendous pressure from the UN and his own people, the Afghan president had finally renounced Siddiqui’s seat on the National Assembly and his name had been removed from the presidential ballot. Whatever his plans, he was going to have a difficult time seeing them come to fruition now that the UN planned to launch an investigation into his actions.
So she didn’t regret it. She only wished she’d had time to talk the guys over to her side before she went public.
She turned to the men and offered them a smile that probably looked as forced as it felt on her lips. “Thank you. I’ll be okay from here.”
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’re going to see you inside and make sure the perimeter is secure.”
“Besides,” Harvard added, “I wouldn’t mind seeing Zina again.”
Quinn sent him a sideways glance that could only be described as smug. Or at least as smug as the poker-faced man got. “I thought that was over, ended all neat and tidy. Like a contract.”
“Uh…” Harvard flushed bright red and scrambled ahead of them to open the gate.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Quinn said.
“A contract?” Phoebe asked, but she was too tired and emotionally wrung out to be genuinely curious. She followed Quinn into the courtyard and waited while he did a visual sweep of the area.
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a tiny smile. “It’s a long story.”
“One he’s not going to tell,” Harvard added with a pointed look at his teammate as he shut and locked the gate. “Or else I’ll turn him into an internet meme. With kittens. And unicorns.”
Quinn actually shuddered. “No worries, H. You—fuck! Get down!” In a burst of motion, he grabbed Phoebe and all but threw her behind one of the shelter’s ramshackle cars. She saw Harvard collapse where he’d been standing a second before she heard the actual shot that took him to the ground. Blood spread in a dark-red pool under him and he didn’t move.
She scrambled to make sense of what just happened. One minute Harvard was standing there being adorably awkward and the next…
She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, God.”
“Stay here by the wheel,” Quinn said. “Don’t lift your head.” Crouching low, he ran to Harvard’s side and scooped him up in a fireman’s carry, saving him from a second bullet that went into the ground where his head had been less than a second ago.
He laid Harvard behind the car and tossed her a cell phone. “Call for help.” He leaned over Harvard, checked his pulse and airway, then pulled off his jacket and used it to stanch the blood flow. “Phoebe. Hey! Focus. We need help. Call Gabe. Seth. Someone.”
She had been gripping the phone in both hands, frozen, staring at the blood. Help. Yes. They needed help. She ripped her gaze from Harvard’s graying complexion and tried to dial. She shook so badly, it took two tries to hit the buttons, but finally, it was ringing.
A shadow fell over them and she looked up in time to see a man swing the butt of his weapon in an arc toward Quinn’s head.
“Watch out!”
Her warning came too late. The rifle connected with a sickening crack and Quinn crumpled, unconscious, on top of Harvard’s body.
Realizing she still held the phone, she screamed into it, not sure if anyone was even on the other line. “Seth! Help! We’re being attacked! We’re—”
The man grabbed the phone, threw it on the ground, and stepped on it. The crunch of plastic sounded like a bullet and she flinched, scrambling for the car’s door handle. If she could get inside…
He caught her by the throat and shoved her against the car. The back of her head slammed into the door and her vision went white for a long five seconds. When it cleared, he was directly in front of her, so close she picked out hints of copper and green in his brown irises.
His chapped lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing teeth that hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years. “Seth. Is. Dead.”
Panic rocketed through her. Seth dead? How could he be dead?
No. No, he wasn’t. Seth was at Tuc’s safe house, angry but alive. “You’re lying.”
“Seth. Is. Dead.” His fingers tightened around her windpipe—and she stopped struggling.
English.
He was speaking perfect English.
Perfect American English.
“Who are you?” She stared into those copper- and green-flecked brown eyes as tears started pouring into his wiry beard. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Askar!”
They both jolted at the voice and all of the emotion in his gaze vanished in a blink. It was if he’d locked it all away inside his head, leaving nothing but an empty, breathing husk.
“I have the woman,” he said in Pashto and hauled her upright.
“No! What are you doing? You’re American! You. Are. American. Please, don’t do this.” He showed no indication he understood a word she said and shoved her toward the front door of the shelter, where Jahangir Siddiqui waited with a silver suitcase in hand.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Seth! Help! We’re being attacked! We’re—”
The line went dead.
Seth’s knees gave out from under him and he would have collapsed if two pairs of hands hadn’t caught him.
“Seth!” Cord
ero’s voice, so clear he swore the man was standing beside him again. “We’re under attack. Holy shit! There’s hundreds of them.”
His men. They shouldn’t have died. Shouldn’t have even been on their way to the forward operating base in those mountains. He’d volunteered them for the mission when Jude Wilde’s team was pulled out.
And they’d all died. All but him.
The hands on his arms lowered him into a seat and as his butt hit the leather, he came back to himself.
We’re being attacked…
Not Cordero’s voice this time. Phoebe’s.
Phoebe.
Seth bolted out of the chair, knocking it backward into the war room’s computer terminal.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Harlan?” Gabe said from his seat across the table, where he’d been trying to puzzle out a new plan of attack with Tucker.
“That was Phoebe.” His mouth was so dry, he barely got the words out. “On Quinn’s phone. She said they’re under attack.”
Gabe stood and leaned over the table. “Where are they?”
Chest tight, Seth gazed around the room, saw realization and dread dawn on each man’s face. “Guys, I think Siddiqui’s at the shelter. He’s going after Phoebe.”
For a beat, there was nothing. No reaction, no movement, no sound. Not even the whisper of an indrawn breath.
Gabe shoved away from the table. “Our guys need us. Let’s move!”
…
Phoebe winced as Siddiqui tied a length of rope tightly around her wrists behind her back. He’d set up shop in the shelter’s dining room and had both Zina and Tehani tied up, too.
God, how long had they been here like this, trapped, at this bastard’s mercy?
After checking the knot on her binds one last time, Siddiqui straightened and his lips brushed her cheek, sending a shudder of pure revulsion through her. “You, Phoebe Leighton, have been nothing but a pain in my side since you arrived in my country.”
God, she hated this disgusting man. She met his gaze with a challenge in her own. “I’m also the reason you’re running scared right now.”
“Do I look scared?” he scoffed.
“You should be. What did you do with Quinn and Harvard?”
“Phoebe,” Zina said, a plea in her voice. “Please don’t provoke him.”
“Is that their names?” He laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re here, locked up with the whores from this so-called shelter. You’ll all die together. I assume you know by now what that suitcase is behind you.”
She would not look over her shoulder, refused to give him the satisfaction of her fear. “So your grand plan is to blow up the whole city of Kabul?”
The smile that slunk across his face was downright bone-chilling. “Once Askar returns with our helicopter, yes. This city—our government—is full of traitors and infidels, but if Kabul is decimated in a nuclear attack, who do you think will be blamed? America? Oh, I hope so. And then in the scramble to point fingers, the Taliban will come in, restore order, and take back the power the West stole from them.”
Phoebe shook her head. “The only thing you’re going to accomplish with this plan is killing a lot of innocent people. And how many of them were your supporters?”
He waved a hand. “Of course I regret Afghan lives will be lost, but this is war. I will detonate this bomb.” He surged forward like a striking snake, gripped a handful of her hair, and yanked her head backward. “And guess who is going to be at ground zero?”
“Leave her alone!” Tehani shouted in Pashto and kicked out with her bound feet. Her legs were too short to reach him, but that didn’t matter. In Siddiqui’s eyes, the act of defiance was enough to warrant a punishment and he released Phoebe to backhand the girl. Her lip split open.
“And you, little whore,” he said in Pashto, “were always more trouble than you were worth.”
“I’d rather be a whore than be your wife.” Tehani kicked out again and he caught her foot, squeezing her ankle until she cried out.
“That can be arranged.” Siddiqui let go of the girl’s leg and grabbed a roll of duct tape. “But first you’re going to learn how to be silent.”
“Oh my God,” Zina sobbed as he started wrapping the tape around Tehani’s head, muffling her screams.
Phoebe saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked toward the foyer. Askar was just standing there, watching, and her breath caught in her lungs.
Oh God, this was it. He was back with the helicopter and he and Siddiqui would leave and—
Askar pressed his finger to his lips in the universal signal for silence, and she realized with a jolt he’d shaved off his beard.
American.
Askar was American.
She gave a slight nod to show she understood and he melted back into the shadows of the foyer without ever alerting Siddiqui to his presence.
Was he on their side now?
Her heart kicked into a gallop as Siddiqui blocked her view and pulled out a length of tape. Just before he pressed it over her mouth, she smiled at him. “You’ve already lost, Siddiqui. You just don’t know it yet.”
…
Blurry, too-bright light stabbed into Quinn’s retinas and he blinked against the assault. The headache was instantaneous, but whether that was from the blackout or his previous injury was anyone’s guess. A bit of both, probably.
Good thing he had a damn hard head.
Soft dark-brown hair tickled his cheek and he squinted, trying to focus his bleary eyes. A woman was leaning over him, one with dark eyes and coffee-and-cream skin. She spoke, but he couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in his ears. They sounded melodic, though. Like…Spanish?
“Mara?”
What was she doing here? She didn’t belong here and yet he reached up and touched her face, unable to resist the temptation of having her skin under his fingers again.
Except, no, this wasn’t right. Mara’s skin was silk, not the coarse and scarred flesh under his fingertips now.
And Mara didn’t belong here.
The woman jerked away from his touch and horror filled her features. Wait, not a woman. Girl, he realized as his battered brain came back online. One of the shelter girls. Her hair was uncovered and tangled. Her face—
Jesus Christ.
Quinn bolted upright. It was Saboora, the only girl at the shelter who refused to take off her burqa, even in the comfort of her own home. Now he got why. She was horribly disfigured, missing half her nose and her eyebrows. The pupil of one of her eyes was washed out and sightless. Old burn wounds, long healed over.
“Saboora,” he whispered and his voice sounded like he’d inhaled an ash cloud. He coughed, then tried again. “Where’s Phoebe? Harvard?” He couldn’t think of the Pashto words he needed to communicate, but she seemed to understand just fine. She pointed across the room—one of the shelter’s classrooms—and he stood, wobbling a little on his feet as he picked his way over to where Harvard lay. Two of the older girls sat on their knees beside him, working to stanch the blood flow. His skin held the same color and consistency of candle wax.
Quinn’s heart took a nosedive into his stomach. “Is he breathing?”
One of the girls glanced up. Quinn couldn’t remember her name, but he recalled Zina saying something about her being one of the shelter’s success stories, having just been accepted into nursing school.
“Yes,” she said in English. “Needs hospital.”
Quinn staggered and dropped to his knees next to Harvard. The kid’s blood soaked into his pant legs and he cursed himself for blacking out when he was most needed. “Harvard, you hang on, kid.”
To his surprise, Harvard’s eyes opened a crack. “Gabe was right about me. Too…green.”
“No, not at all. You’re a born fighter and I’d want you at my six any day. Hey, Eric, you hear me? Any day. So you keep right on fighting and we’ll get you help.”
Quinn got to work putting his limited battlefield medical knowledge to u
se and checked the wound, a through-and-through that had gone in high on the left side and exited Harvard’s back near his shoulder blade. Thankfully, the hole wasn’t too ragged on either side and his bleeding had slowed considerably, but Christ only knew what the internal damage looked like. Lots of important shit in there the bullet could have ripped up.
Across the room, the doorknob rattled.
Quinn automatically reached for his weapon. Gone. Of course.
And he was in a fucking classroom.
Keeping his eyes on the door, he backed toward the teacher’s desk and checked the drawers. The deadliest thing in there was a paper clip. He’d have to go hand-to-hand with whoever came in.
He pressed a finger to his lips, telling the girls to keep quiet, and soundlessly crossed to the door. It opened to the left, so he stacked up along the wall to the right and waited.
The door inched open—and then whoever unlocked it walked away.
What the fuck?
Sweat pouring down his spine, Quinn gave it a good five minutes before he moved, very carefully nudging the door farther back. He visually cleared the hall to the left, which led to a back door that let out in the courtyard. It was their best shot at an escape.
Opening the door a bit more, he glanced to the right and tensed at the shadow waiting at the far end of the hall.
Askar.
Quinn didn’t know if he’d be able to take the coldhearted bastard in hand-to-hand. Maybe at one time, but he’d been too battered over the years and didn’t have the reflexes he used to. But what other choice did he have? If he succeeded, he’d free the girls and they could take Harvard with them while he searched for Phoebe. If he didn’t…
Honor Reclaimed Page 25
