“What did you do to Van Amee?” he asked, remembering the man’s black eye.
“Had a little fun.”
Jacinto held back his wince. He was always torn between disgust and sorrow when it came to his young cousin. Rorro seemingly had it all: money, intelligence, movie star good looks, privileges and opportunities other children in Colombia would kill for—but all that glamour hid horrible secrets, ones that made Jacinto’s dysfunctional home life look like a fairy tale. Little wonder the kid turned out as loco as he was.
“I told you,” Jacinto said as gently as he could manage. “You cannot have him until after we get the money.”
Rorro flopped a hand in the air. “He tried to escape. I had to punish him.”
“What?”
“Last night. No, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my fault.”
It most certainly was his fault, but Jacinto wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Did he get far?”
“Only to the patio.”
At least he hadn’t made it off the property, onto the street where anyone could have spotted him.
Jacinto shot a look at the dead man, who was starting to stink with the release of bodily gases and fluids.
“You’re staying in tonight, Rorro. I mean it. We can’t risk him trying to escape again.” And the clubs downtown would be much safer with the little shit tucked away at home. “This will be all over tomorrow.”
Rorro flashed a smile that was all boyish charm, a hint of the kid that Jacinto had once adored like a little brother. “Then we’ll leave here?”
“Yes,” Jacinto said. “We’ll leave.”
He felt only the tiniest prick of regret for lying as he walked inside the house and started upstairs. He had no intention of going anywhere with his psycho cousin. Once this was over, he wanted to be able to sleep soundly at night without the fear of ending up with his throat slit open like that poor bastard stinking up the hot tub.
Jacinto stepped into his bedroom and shot home the deadbolt lock on the door.
…
Gabe passed out on her three times. Twice at the small airfield after he landed the helicopter, and once in the taxi from the airport to the safe house.
The first two times Audrey was able to wake him. This time, he was out cold, and she had no idea how to get his big body from the taxi into the house. She’d hoped to find Quinn and the rest there waiting for them, but no such luck. The place was dark and silent.
C’mon, Gabriel. Wake up again for me.
She tried tugging on his arm, but that only succeeded in making him slouch sideways in the taxi’s backseat. The driver eyed her in the mirror.
“He’s drunk,” she explained in Spanish and then sized up the driver. He was a big guy, more fat than muscle, but moving Gabe would be much easier with his help.
“I’ll pay you extra,” she said when he balked at the suggestion.
Grumbling, the cab driver slid from behind the wheel, and together they managed to half-carry, half-drag Gabe as far as the front entryway.
Ah, the power of the almighty peso.
Audrey didn’t dare turn on any lights, having no idea what the cab driver might see inside the room, so she fished in Gabe’s pants pockets, paid him with every bill left there, and ushered him out as fast as possible. She helped Gabe down to the floor and went to the window to make sure he was gone before hitting the overhead light.
Harvard’s computer hummed on the table in the corner. Marcus’s fedora hung forgotten from a lamp. A box of cold pizza with one measly slice left sat on the table in the center of the room on top of a map, which had a circle around the address Mena had given Gabe.
So they hadn’t abandoned the house. They’d followed Gabe’s orders to check out the address.
Frantic, Audrey searched for Jesse’s medical bag. She’d seen him retrieve it from a bookshelf…
Gone.
Of course the medic wouldn’t leave home without it, but was it too much to ask for him to leave a scrap of gauze behind?
Behind her, Gabe groaned and she spun to find him up on his hands and knees. She’d once teased him about being the Terminator, but, God, he really must be. She hurried to his side and soothed a hand over his head.
“Shh, shh. Lay down, sailor. We’re safe. You got us home. We’re safe now.”
Either he wasn’t fully conscious or he took her words to heart, because he collapsed back to the floor without a word of protest. The too-small coat he’d found on Mena’s helicopter bunched up around his shoulders and she saw that he was bleeding again, blood soaking through the bandages and the side of his dress shirt.
All this time, during the whole four-hour flight from Cartagena to Bogotá, he’d been bleeding when she thought she’d patched up his wound. Duh, of course he’d be the color of flour and as weak as a newborn. He’d lost most of his blood.
She wanted to cry. Hot tears even leaked from her eyes, but a sobbing fit wasn’t going to help him so she dashed them away. Spotting Quinn’s coat on the back of a chair, she figured he wouldn’t mind her ruining it if it saved Gabe’s life and bundled it into a compress. Gabe sucked in a sharp breath when she pressed it to his wounds, which was a good sign. She hoped. She remembered an episode of Grey’s Anatomy—or was it House, M.D.? Whichever, she remembered them saying that if a patient responded to painful stimuli, they were not in a coma.
So now what?
Audrey had no clue what else to do for him, so she sat on the floor, keeping pressure on the compress with one hand, stroking his hair with the other. And she talked to him.
“You stay with me, Gabriel, you hear me?” She tried to keep her voice strong, commanding, positive, but her tears spilled over in earnest and choked the words. “You need to stay here so you can save my brother and protect the world from the bad guys like Cocodrilo and Mena and Liam and—and you’re going to come to Costa Rica and swim with my dolphins. Your men need you to stick around, too. Quinn… God, he really needs you, you know? He seems like a very sad, lonely man and he…he just needs you. And so do I.”
Gabe didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard her in any way, but she kept talking. “You hear that? You have to stay with me because we all love you. I love you, and I’m not ready to lose someone else I love. I’m still grieving for my parents, and I might have to grieve for my brother. Please, please don’t make me grieve for you, too. Please, I—”
A phone vibrated somewhere in the room and Audrey shot to her feet. She hadn’t thought to look for one, figuring everybody had taken their phones along, but hallelujah, someone had forgotten theirs.
She found the source of the bzz bzz bzz under the pizza box and a stack of papers and flipped it open. It was Marcus’s phone—she could tell from the internal wallpaper of a surfer catching an enormous wave. She reminded herself to plant a big, fat, wet kiss on him when she saw him again.
Marcus had a text from someone named Giancarelli, but she ignored it and called up Quinn’s number. Dumped straight into voicemail. Next, she tried Jesse and got the same. So she called Harvard’s number, thinking he was the most likely to be somewhere he could answer. Beethoven’s Fifth swelled from the bedroom off the living room. She shut Marcus’s phone and pushed open the bedroom door.
Harvard.
Skinny, tousled, and sleepy-eyed, he sat on the edge of the bed in only a pair of white briefs, fumbling around for his phone. When it stopped ringing before he got to it, he groaned, gave up the search and flopped back to the mattress.
She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Harvard!”
He bolted upright. His dark hair hugged his head on one side while the other stuck up in a near mohawk. “What?” He squinted at her, then scrambled for his glasses and put them on crookedly. “Audrey? Christ, is that you?”
“Gabe’s hurt,” she said. There would be time for lengthy explanations later. “Do you have any way of getting hold of Quinn?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Uh…let me…it�
�s here somewhere.” He groped around in the bed for a radio and hit the talk button in Morse code. Three short bursts, three long, three short.
A moment later, Quinn responded in a whisper. “This is Achilles. Go ahead. Was that a S.O.S. call?”
“Affirmative.” He looked at Audrey, realized his glasses were askew, and straightened them. “Stonewall is home.”
Pause. “Say again.”
“Stonewall is home and needs medical attention ASAP.”
Another pause. “Aye aye.” Quinn’s voice was tight with emotion. “ETA fifteen minutes. Out.”
Relief washed over Audrey in a great wave that took the last of her energy reserve with it. Safe. Finally. Gabe would get the help he needed and she could relax, breakdown, throw a tantrum—everything she hadn’t had the luxury of doing in the past thirty-six hellish hours. She slumped against the door’s frame, suddenly so very weak.
Harvard, sweet man, was right there, propping himself under her arm. He hid surprising strength in that rangy body, taking her weight easily, but he still wore only his briefs and looked like a whitewashed broomstick in underwear.
Audrey had to laugh at that mental image, though it came out sounding more like a sob. “You always did strike me as a tighty-whitey guy.”
“Yup, that’s me.” He either didn’t care that he was nearly naked in front of her or hid his embarrassment well. Back in the living room, he guided her to a chair. “Boring as vanilla pudding.”
“I like vanilla pudding.”
“Sit down,” he coaxed. He spared Gabe’s motionless form the briefest of glances before focusing all of his attention on her. “Are you hurt?”
“No. No, I—I—I’m bruised and blistered, but—just help him. He’s been shot. Please. I don’t want to lose him.”
Harvard’s eyes widened behind the lens of his glasses and she realized how telling that statement was. Well, they’d all find out sooner or later.
She met his gaze with a challenge in her own. “Yes, I’m in love with him.” At Harvard’s disbelieving laugh, she nibbled on her lower lip. “Is that a problem?”
“Nope.” He grinned, but sobered up fast. “Not for me, at least.”
Meaning some of the others might take issue with their relationship. Namely, Quinn. “Do you think it’ll cause problems?”
“Can’t say. If it does, they’re both professionals. They won’t let it get in the way of finding your brother.”
“God. Bryson.” She rubbed her forehead. “Is it horrible of me that I haven’t thought about him in hours?”
“Not at all, sweetie,” he said, but she knew he was just trying to comfort her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gabe’s eyes felt like someone had hot glued them shut by the lashes. It took three tries to pry them open, and then he had to blink several times before he got a load of the white plaster ceiling overhead and a line of florescent lights turned on low. Bags hung on a pole to his right, one filled with a clear fluid and the other with a dark red substance that could only be blood.
Hospital.
Hello, déjà vu.
Except this time, unlike when he woke in the hospital in Virginia after the car accident, he remembered exactly where he was and what happened to him. Colombia. Shot.
Audrey.
He searched the small room for her with his eyes. Nothing but a visitor chair, TV, and dresser.
Okay. He refused to panic and squashed the instinctive surge. If he made it to a hospital, she’s the one who got him here. Good chance she was also here somewhere, unharmed. Maybe off getting food and a cup of coffee or having whatever minor injuries she had tended.
God, he hoped they were minor. His were serious enough for the both of them.
Speaking of, time to take stock of his condition. Gabe drew a breath and shifted in the bed, expecting pain, but instead got little more than a numbed-out tugging sensation in his side.
Not bad.
His foot hurt more than the bullet wound. A pull on the sheet covering him showed it wrapped in an ace bandage and caught in a splint. Crutches leaned against the wall across from his bed. And he was not naked or in a johnny gown, thank God, but dressed in hospital scrubs. Perfect.
He swung his legs over the side and sat up. Dizziness swamped him, but only for a second, and he studied the IV pole when his double vision merged back into one picture. A painkiller, no doubt. Saline. Both of those he could do without and pulled the tape, sliding the needles out of his arm. Machines started beeping and he jabbed the off button. Last thing he wanted was for some pushy nurse to come running.
Gabe hesitated over the bag of A neg still hanging from the pole. It was almost gone, but he’d bled hard and probably needed every drop of the transfusion. Instead of unhooking it, he grabbed the bag and took it with him. His foot held okay, so he ignored the crutches and peeked out the door.
In the dimmed hallway lights, a clock jutting from the wall halfway down the corridor said 2300. With everyone tucked into bed and the staff whittled down to the skeleton night shift, that made things extra convenient. Should be no problem to find Audrey, get back to his team, and finish this whole goddamn catastrophe of a mission.
He slipped into the hallway and—shit, footsteps coming his way. The fast, sure, quiet stride of someone on a mission. He faded back into his room and waited for them to pass, but the steps slowed as they reached his door.
Yeah, figures. He knew it was too easy.
He pressed his back to the wall at the left of the door. Across the room, his bed, in plain view of anyone in the hallway, was a rumpled mess and obviously empty, but there wasn’t much he could do now to disguise that fact. Besides, if those heavy footsteps belonged to a nurse doing nightly rounds, he’d eat his dog tags.
Possibilities raced through his mind. One of Mena’s men come to get revenge? Or one of Cocodrilo’s men? Or, hell, with the rotten luck he’d had lately, it could be someone totally unrelated to this whole mess yet just as dangerous.
The man paused outside the door, then stepped quietly into the room. He moved two steps before he realized the bed was empty and started to turn, but Gabe was already on him, an arm around his neck in a hold meant to put him to sleep in less than a minute. The guy tensed in automatic reaction like he wanted to fight back. His arms even came up, but then he relaxed and his hand tapped out against Gabe’s arm in a very familiar way.
“Gabe,” he choked.
Quinn? Gabe spun him around by the shoulders. Dim light spilling in from the hallway cast deep shadows around his nose and eyes. Exhaustion, worry, and relief ravaged his normally stoic features, his gray eyes red-rimmed and haunted.
Gabe clasped Quinn’s head in his hands, just to make sure this was real, make sure he wasn’t still unconscious and dreaming of his best friend. He wasn’t. Quinn’s head was a solid mass under his hands, skin warm, beard stubble abrading the cuts on his palms.
He let out a relieved breath. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, bro.”
“Same here, man. When I heard that shot over the phone—” Quinn’s voice came out thick and he paused to clear his throat. Then he drew Gabe into a hard hug.
Gabe wasn’t a big hugger by nature, but with a brother as physically affectionate as Raffi, it was something he’d gotten…well, if not comfortable with, than tolerant of over the years. Still, he didn’t know who was more stunned by the contact: him or Quinn, who abruptly released him and backed up, looking anywhere but at him, uncomfortable with even that small amount of affection.
Well, shit. Audrey was right. He had never paid attention to it before, but Quinn was one very sad man. Lost. Drifting. Alone.
And days ago, someone might have used the same words to describe him. Not sad, because while he was no roses and sunshine optimist, he’d always done his best to retain an ounce of humor even when his world looked the bleakest. But drifting, lost, and alone? Oh yeah, he’d been the poster child.
Until Audrey. Odd that he’d find such a so
lid anchor in a woman most people considered flighty.
Of course, her anchoring effect was only temporary. Despite her confession of love—yeah, he’d been out of it, but he’d heard that nonsense loud and clear—he had no illusions that whatever he and Audrey had would last past the end of this mission. They hadn’t talked of a long-term commitment, or short-term for that matter, and even if they wanted to give it a go, she lived in Costa Rica, which was three-thousand-plus miles from his home in D.C. How would that work?
Quinn cleared his throat, wiped a hand over his face, then finally looked at Gabe. “You should be lying down.”
“Nah. I’m fine.”
“Gabe, you were shot.”
“Believe me, I know. How bad was it?”
“All considering, Jesse said it should have been worse. It tore up some muscle, but missed all your vital organs and only needed stitching. You got lucky. An inch over would’ve been a direct gut shot. His biggest concern was the amount of blood you lost, which is why you need this.”
Quinn grabbed the bag of blood from Gabe’s hand and returned it to the IV pole. He eyed the two other disconnected IV lines, but said nothing about them. “So don’t fuck around with this until it’s gone.”
Hearing how close he came to death, Gabe sat on the edge of the bed. Better not to press his luck any further. “Where’s Audrey?”
“She’s in the waiting room down the hall. She didn’t want to leave your side and threw one hell of a hissy fit until Jesse poured a mild sedative into her.”
Ha. He’d have paid to see his men handle one of Audrey’s hissy fits.
Quinn was looking at him with an odd expression. He shoved aside thoughts of Audrey. “What’s wrong?”
“You.” He frowned. “You’re…different.”
“I’ve been hiked all over Hell, beat to a shit, and shot. Yeah, I’m not exactly in top form.”
“No. You’re…” He made a rolling motion with his hand as if looking for the right word, but then gave up and glanced toward the hallway. “What’s with you and her?”
SEAL of Honor Page 19
