Ah. That’s what this was about. Probably should have seen it coming. Since he hadn’t, he’d blame whatever was in those IV bags for addling his brain. “Nothing.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Jesus Christ.” Anger exploded inside Gabe, so hot, so primal, that it took him by complete surprise. He didn’t get angry. Or if he did, he converted it into cool motivation. Always calm, unflappable, a rock, a stone wall.
But he definitely wasn’t feeling very stone-like right now and rolled his hands into fists in the sheet on either side of his hips to keep from hitting something. Or someone.
“Don’t go there, Q.”
Quinn stared back, unrepentant. “It’s a legit concern. For all we know about her, she could be behind her brother’s kidnapping.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”
Silence stretched taut between them. Gabe didn’t care what Quinn thought. He knew down to his bones Audrey didn’t have it in her to mastermind something like this, nor did she have the connections to do it, and he was not budging. Neither, it appeared, was Quinn. So they could sit here trying to stare each other down and waste time, or move on to another more relevant topic.
Gabe bit the bullet and spoke first, even as he inwardly continued to seethe. “Are we in Bogotá?”
After a second more of stubborn silence, Quinn nodded. “Affirmative.”
“The address I gave you. You check it out?”
“We have visual confirmation that Jacinto Rivera is staying there with an as-of-yet unknown kid of about sixteen,” Quinn said, sliding flawlessly from the role of concerned best friend to XO giving his superior officer a sitrep. “Harvard’s checking into the property, but he’s running in circles chasing aliases and dummy corporations. Whoever owns that house does not want it known. We never would have found it. We just don’t have good enough equipment. Or enough manpower.”
Something Gabe planned to fix. If they were going to do this whole private contractor thing, they were going to do it right from now on. No more of these half-assed, trial-by-fire missions.
“The kid’s name is Rodrigo ‘Rorro’ Salazar. Jacinto’s cousin,” he explained. “His deceased father owned the house. Did you see any sign of Bryson?”
“No visual confirmation, but when Jacinto arrived he went into a basement. There’s a small rectangular window on the south side of the house and Marcus saw the lights come on. By the time he got to the window, Jacinto had shut them off again, but he saw movement down there. They are definitely holding someone. What are the chances it’s not Bryson?”
Slim, Gabe thought. Everything they had pointed to Jacinto Rivera as Van Amee’s hostage taker. Were the chances good enough to risk his team in an extraction operation? He wasn’t sure. But did he really have a choice? No. They were out of time. Bryson was out of time.
“Is the team around?” he asked.
Quinn nodded. “Jesse’s in the waiting room with Audrey, and Harvard’s still back at the safe house. Marcus and Ian were heading to the cafeteria for coffee and snacks when I came down to check on you. I left Jean-Luc at Jacinto’s house. He reported in about ten minutes ago. All’s quiet.”
“Good. Leave him there, but get him on the phone and everyone else in here for a briefing. We need a plan.”
“Hooyah,” Quinn said.
…
Once everyone crammed around Gabe’s bed in the small hospital room, he gave them the rundown of what he knew about Jacinto and Rorro. He left out that he’d gotten the information from the now deceased Luis Mena since it would only cause a stir. He also left out his run-in with the probably deceased Liam Miller-slash-Collington because Quinn had more of a personal beef with the guy than he did. There would be plenty of time for those war stories after they got Bryson Van Amee home safe.
The guys then briefed him on what they knew. He agreed that the bomb-making factory they had stumbled over in their search for Jacinto Rivera had to be decommissioned, but it wasn’t a priority now.
It came as no surprise when they told him Cocodrilo claimed the EPC had no knowledge of Van Amee’s abduction. The more Gabe learned about the situation, the more he thought Jacinto and Rorro were acting on their own. The team also apparently had Cocodrilo held as a drugged and bound “guest” at the safe house, though there was some disagreement over what they should do with him.
“Turning him over to the authorities won’t do shit,” Ian said. “He’ll be free and back terrorizing people before breakfast.”
“What do you suggest we do with him?” Jesse drawled. “Oh, wait, we all know the answer to that.”
Interesting. Gabe studied the pair and made a mental note for future reference to keep them apart since they seemed to be about as compatible as fire and gasoline. He’d eventually have to work out that animosity between them. Just one more problem in a long list he had to deal with if this team was going to function smoothly.
“Easy, gentlemen. Let’s focus on Bryson right now. He is what’s important here.” He shifted in bed to pin Ian and then Jesse with silencing stares. He hated that he couldn’t do this standing up, but his strength was fading fast and he needed to conserve every ounce of energy. He regretted ripping out the IV pain medication, which Jesse had blasted him about as soon as the medic stepped into the room. Pain flared through his side every time he moved, and much to his annoyance, he couldn’t sit up straight without the head of the adjustable bed to support him.
With the pair grudgingly subdued, Gabe focused his attention on Marcus. “What can you tell me about the FBI agent in charge of Bryson’s case?”
“You want my professional opinion, boss, or personal?” Marcus asked.
“They’re different?”
“Only in that my personal is much lower.” Marcus snorted. “Frank Perry’s a know-it-all jackass who actually doesn’t know squat about shit. And, yes, that is my professional opinion. Perry’s a wannabe hotshot who rides on the coattails of everyone around him until all the hard work is done. Then he’s suddenly front and center to get all the credit. Or, if it goes to shit, he fades into the background and lets everyone else take the blame. Believe me, the Van Amees did not win the FBI agent lottery with him. He’s known around the office as Perry the Prick.”
“So he won’t be willing to work with us.”
“Not on your life.”
So much for that idea. “We’ll have to come up with another—”
“But,” Marcus interrupted, “the lead negotiator, Danny Giancarelli, is a good friend of mine. Or, uh, was. He has no more love for Perry than I do, and I’d bet my left nut he’s bound in so much red tape right now it’s driving him crazy. I’ve spoken to him once already, and I believe he’s frustrated enough to help.”
“Get him on the phone,” Gabe said. “We need to know anything he can tell us about the ransom demand and the instructions for the drop. Once we know the specifics we can coordinate our rescue operation to go down before any money is exchanged.”
…
“Who are you?” Agent Danny Giancarelli had a smart and no-nonsense voice tinged with the barest hint of his Italian roots. Gabe liked him instantly. “What exactly is your stake in this?”
“Same as yours,” Gabe said. “I want Bryson Van Amee home with his family, safe and sound. Name’s Bristow. I’m CO of HumInt Consulting, Inc’s hostage rescue team.”
“Who hired you? Not the family,” Giancarelli said without a shred of doubt.
“No, not the family, but I can’t divulge my client’s name.”
And he didn’t particularly want to admit Van Amee’s greedy insurance company hired him because they didn’t want to pay out the kidnap and ransom insurance that Van Amee no doubt paid a ridiculous premium to have. Especially not with Audrey sitting right beside him, listening intently to every word. She’d come into the room midway through the team’s briefing, looking tired, tousled, and worried, and sat beside him like she had ev
ery right to be there. Which she did.
A few eyebrows arched when he laced his fingers with hers and unsubtly raised her hand to his lips, staking his claim, but everyone kept their mouths shut. Smart men.
At first, her presence had been a comfort, a balm soothing the distress he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling since he woke. Now, as he spoke with Giancarelli on the phone, having her beside him felt more like a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was stupid, but he kind of liked the knight in shining armor fantasy she’d built up around him and hated to tarnish it, but he couldn’t mince words with Giancarelli either. Not if he wanted to get the information he needed to save her brother.
“And my client doesn’t matter,” he added. “Our end goal is the same.”
Giancarelli said nothing.
Since he didn’t hang up, Gabe took that as agreement and continued, “You don’t believe paying the ransom will save Bryson’s life any more than I do.”
Giancarelli sighed. “What I believe doesn’t matter much around here.”
“It does on my end.”
“Yes,” the agent answered after a second’s pause. “I think Marcus is right. By sending that money to the HTs, we’re condemning Mr. Van Amee to death.”
“If you give me whatever information you can about the HTs and the ransom, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Another pause. “Put Marcus back on.”
Gabe handed the phone to Marcus, who raised it to his ear and said, “Danny.” Then, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He glanced up at Gabe then said definitively, “Yes,” probably in answer to a question about Gabe’s legitimacy. He listened some more. “Well, funny story there. When I’m stateside I’ll buy you a beer and tell ya all about it.” After a moment, he nodded and handed the phone back to Gabe. “He’s willing to hear you out, boss.”
Giancarelli said, “What do you want from me?”
“We’re about ninety-five percent sure where Van Amee’s being held.” Gabe relaxed against the tilted head of the hospital bed. His stitches pulled as he reached for the notebook Harvard had brought him and flipped to a clean page. “We just don’t know what we’re dealing with as far as opposition and what our timetable looks like. You’ve been in contact with the hostage takers, correct? What can you tell me about them?”
“I’ve only talked to one,” Giancarelli began. “He has me call him Angel.”
Gabe wrote “Angel” in the notebook and circled it twice. As in, Angel Rivera, Jacinto’s brother. Was Jacinto just using his brother’s name, or was the FBI dealing with the man himself? If Angel was involved, things could get messy fast. Jesus Christ. “What’s his state-of-mind like?”
“He puts on a good front,” Giancarelli said, “but you ask me, he’s nervous. He doesn’t strike me as a professional.”
Which didn’t jibe with what they knew about Angel Rivera, who had at least ten kidnappings under his belt that Harvard had been able to dig up, and possibly more that hadn’t been attributed to him.
Gabe added a question mark next to Angel’s name even though he was now about ninety-eight percent sure that Jacinto was acting on his own, using his brother’s name. “What about accomplices?”
“Thing is, I’ve only heard one other voice in the background…”
“But,” Gabe prompted, because he heard it in the dot-dot-dot Giancarelli put at the end of that sentence.
“But nothing. I’ve heard only one other voice and it’s…high pitched. Like a woman’s or a boy’s. Probably more boy than woman because it has that squeaky adolescent sound to it, know what I mean? I’ve never been able to make out enough of what he says to translate.”
Gabe bet that squeaky adolescent voice in the background was Rorro. “When exactly is the ransom exchange supposed to go down?”
“I’ve managed to push it back until Tuesday. I’m going to try and talk them down another couple mil and get them to postpone again next time they call, but I don’t know how successful I’ll be.”
“Have they given specific instructions for the exchange yet?”
“Well,” Giancarelli said on a drawn out sigh, “it’s not a dead drop. As inexperienced as I think they are, the HTs were smart about that, at least. They want the money transferred to an offshore account.”
Where they probably had someone waiting to launder it till it shined, Gabe thought. Not a big stretch of the imagination if Rorro kept his racketeer father’s connections.
“Once they confirm the transfer,” Giancarelli continued, “they claim they’ll send Bryson in a taxi back to his apartment.”
“Yeah?” Gabe finished writing the information down, ripped out the sheet, passed it to Quinn, and made a motion that he circulate it throughout the room. “That’s putting a helluva lot of faith in the bad guys.”
“Yep. And I told Perry that, but he’s convinced we’re dealing with professionals. I don’t know how much you know about international hostage negotiation—”
“Not a lot,” Gabe admitted. “I was a SEAL. I usually came in after negotiations failed.”
“All right. Quick and dirty lesson,” Giancarelli said. “If you have to get taken, you want it done by professionals, because you’re more likely to come out alive at the other end. It’s nothing more than a business transaction to them. Professionals don’t want to kill anyone. In fact, they go out of their way not to kill. It’ll hurt their reputation if they become known for not upholding their end of the bargain.
“The EPC,” Giancarelli continued, “has a reputation for returning hostages unharmed, and Frank Perry thinks we’re dealing with the EPC.”
“But not you.”
“Let’s just say I’m not convinced and leave it at that. I have no proof I’ve been talking to someone other than Angel Rivera. It’s just my gut reaction.”
“So because of the EPC’s rep, Perry wants to trust that the HTs will return Bryson alive after they get their money.” Gabe shook his head. That wasn’t a good idea on so many different levels. “I can see why you’d have a problem with that, Giancarelli.”
“And unfortunately, my hands are tied. It makes me sick that two little boys are about to become fatherless and it’ll be the FBI’s fault, my fault, but I still can’t do a damn thing to stop it.” He hesitated. “Marcus says I can trust you, and I trust Marcus. If you promise you can stop it, I’ll believe you and do whatever I can to help.”
Gabe looked up and met Audrey’s eyes, saw the hope and fear there, and squeezed her hand. “I can and will stop it,” he told them both softly. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
If a man sound of mind, if not of body, wants to walk out of a hospital, they should damn well allow him to without all this hassle. Gabe scowled at the powerhouse of nurse blocking the door of his room, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. He didn’t need Audrey to translate. The woman’s posture and tone said it all. You. Are. Not. Leaving.
Ha. He’d like to see her stop him.
The nurse and his doctor were not happy. Hell, Jesse and Audrey were not happy either, but, dammit, he was going to be in on the raid. Period. He’d spent too many hours these past two days planning this raid, and had gone through too much shit this past week in the name of saving Bryson Van Amee’s life. Bitter or sweet, he would see this snafu through to the end.
Finally, the nurse backed away. Despite the language barrier, he understood Audrey had talked her down. Had to admire the woman. She had a knack for people. For talking and listening and truly caring about what they had to say. Left to his own devises, he would have steamrolled over the nurse, but man, this made things so much easier.
Audrey stood with her back to him and stared at the now empty doorway. She wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself as if chilled, and Gabe ached to hold her, even took two steps toward her before he caught himself. If he held her in his arms right now, there was no guarantee he’d let go, and he had a job to do. She had distracted him enough already. To the point that he’d almost gotten himself
KIA’d not once, not twice, but three goddamn times.
Audrey drew a breath, let it go in a rush, and faced him. “She’s gone to get the paperwork stating you’ve refused medical treatment.”
“All right. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He’d been in the process of changing into an olive green t-shirt and cammies when the nurse interrupted, and finished now, skimming the hospital scrub bottoms down his legs. It hurt to bend over and pull them off, but he clamped his teeth together and worked through the pain.
Pain was a SEAL’s best friend.
Audrey made an exasperated sound. “Oh, for God’s sake. Sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re weaving on your feet.”
Shit, he was, wasn’t he? He made himself stand still by force of will and the room started spinning around him. Two days flat on his back in bed may have helped his healing side but had done shit for his equilibrium.
Audrey planted a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him down. The fact that his legs buckled under such light pressure did not hurt his ego. Much. But the fact that she was now undressing him like a mother did a baby, with nothing sexual to it at all, smarted big time.
“I can do it.”
She slapped away his hands then reached over to yank the privacy curtain shut around the bed. “No, you can’t. You were shot less than forty-eight hours ago.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said mildly, but Audrey seemed not to hear him.
“Jesse says you’re an idiot for not letting yourself recuperate and I agree, but you’re too much of a pigheaded jerk to listen to either of us!” She pulled his shirt off over his head. “You need to be careful not to rip out your stitches or you’ll start bleeding again. You don’t need to lose any more blood. And that splint on your foot is going to limit your movements. You won’t have the mobility you’re used to, so no running or jumping out of freaking airplanes or whatever it is you do on these insane missions.”
Was she…? Shit, she was. Crying. Fat tears pouring down her cheeks.
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