SEAL of Honor (19 page)

“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 every 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.

“Whoa, whoa. Aud, stop.” He reached for her, but she jerked out of his grasp and refused to meet his eyes. Damn, she might as well have shoved a stake through his heart. Would have hurt less. He rubbed the center of his chest. “I’ll be okay. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” With jerky movements, she flicked away tears before yanking off the scrub pants and throwing them aside. She snapped up the cammies and stuffed his feet into the holes. Even as angry as she was, she was careful not to jar his bad foot. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere in your condition. Especially not out after dangerous terrorists.”

“My condition?” He almost laughed, but wisely choked it back. “C’mon, this is nothing. I’ve done far more in far worse shape.”

“I’m sure you have.”

The bitterness in her voice surprised him. “Audrey, I’m trying to save your brother. Don’t you want him home safe?”

“Of course I do.” She stopped trying to dress him and laid her head on his bare thighs, wrapping her arms around him. Her tears felt hot on his skin, her sobbing breaths tickling his leg hair.

God, she had to notice the way his body, battered as it was, responded to her touch. How could she not? His erection was at half-mast, right there by her cheek, straining toward her, all but begging her to turn her head and—and, oh baby, she did.

“But not at the expense of losing you.” Her breath whispered over his flesh before she kissed him, a light caress of her lips down his shaft. The contact jolted and sizzled through his nerves like electricity. As she opened her mouth and took him in deeper, it nearly broke every careful link of control he’d spent his life forging. Again. He couldn’t afford that, not now when everything was situation critical, not when it left him feeling so raw and exposed afterward.

He gripped the back of her neck, intending to pull her away but managing only to draw her lips up to his. She hiked up her skirt and fumbled to straddle him.

“Audrey,” he groaned and gripped her rear, guiding her down.

She gasped and her head fell back in pleasure. The ends of her hair tickled his legs. “Oh, please, Gabe. I need this. I’ll be careful not to hurt you.”

Gabe snorted a laugh. “You’re not going to hurt me. The nurse—”

“Two pump chump, remember? I won’t last.”

God, he realized, neither would he.

Her eyes, still spilling tears, never left his, and he saw her heart there, his for the taking if he wanted. He did. Christ, did he ever want it, want her. So much that he ached with a sweet need to make her his forever. But he couldn’t. It was impossible. He couldn’t be the kind of man a woman like her wanted for the long haul.

Then she started to move against him and Gabe strived for control even as coherent thought fled and sensation engulfed him. Every lift of her hips off his cock was a slow, painful death, and he felt the loss of her warmth in even the darkest pit of his soul. Every languorous slide down was his salvation.

Control. Yeah, right. With her, it was nothing but a pretty illusion, and he was already lost. In her eyes. In her body. In her soul. He’d never had any control when it came to her.

Then it was over, the aftermath as crushingly silent as the joining had been sudden and intense, leaving them twined together, boneless and gasping, his face buried in the crook of her neck, her cheek resting on top of his head. He could hear her pulse thundering, matching his beat for beat, and closed his eyes.

Yep, he was raw again. As much as he enjoyed sex with Audrey—and, God, did he ever enjoy it, enjoy
her
—he did not like the way he felt right now. Like a throbbing, open wound. If she wanted, she could easily pour salt into him and scar him for life. And he had enough scars, thanks.

It was too much.

“Promise me you’ll come back safe,” she whispered against his hair.

He refused to open his eyes, afraid of what he might see in her face, but even more afraid of what
she
would see in
his
. “I’ll do my best.”

“No. You
promise
me, Gabriel. I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

All right. He’d known this conversation was coming. He could handle this, tell her like it is. Despite the cold, hollow ache that flash froze into a lump of ice in his chest.

“Audrey.” He touched her cheek and waited until she met his gaze with red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t love me. We’ve been through hell, and in order to survive, we’ve had to rely on each other in ways most never have to rely on another person. It’s natural to feel the way you do now, but it’s not love. Believe me. I’ve been here before.”

Christ, he hoped that little speech hadn’t sounded as canned and phony to her as it had to his own ears.

But she seemed to believe him. The hurt of it shone in her eyes. “So you always sleep with the women you help?”

No
,
you were the first. The only. You were…so much more.

Ha. Like he’d say that little gem of a thought aloud and kibosh his whole argument. Sure, she was special to him, and he had a feeling she always would be, but what he felt didn’t matter. A month, six months, a year from now, when the fear and adrenaline faded to nothing but bad memories, she wouldn’t feel the same about him anymore. He just knew it. If he hung around, if he let her continue thinking she was in love, it’d put them both in an awkward place when she realized she wasn’t. Better to extract himself now, before they reached that point.

Jesus, he never should have let things go this far between them to begin with, never should have allowed himself to give in to how much he wanted her.

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, searching for the right words to let her down easy without crushing all that wild spirit he admired so much. “Sometimes when you face a deadly situation, the natural reaction is to want to experience life. Sex is one of the good parts of life.”

Scoffing, she shoved him. Not hard, but enough that he knew she was seriously pissed. She stood, giving him her back, and he thought—hoped—maybe she’d see the logic and let it go without a fight. Then she whirled to face him and—surprise!—indomitable woman that she was, she called him out.

“You are such a jerk.” She jabbed a finger at his nose. “This between us is more than sex and we both know it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, so you can’t tell me—”

“It’ll fade.”

She shook her head. “No. I know myself better than that. Why are you trying to push me away?”

That was the question. The more he talked, the less he believed his own bull. God help him, he wanted her even though it made him feel so exposed. Maybe he loved her, he didn’t know. Never had any experience with the emotion to know if that’s what all the roiling, turbulent feelings of admiration, joy, fear, and lust meant. Even if it was love—not that he was ready to cop to that yet—but hypothetically, even if it was, they couldn’t…
He
couldn’t…

This was all too much. She was too much. And he was not nearly enough for her.

Okay, his thoughts were rambling, not making a whole hell of a lot of sense even to him. He rubbed the center of his forehead and then did something he’d never done before in his entire thirty-three years of life: he stood, pulled up his pants, grabbed his shirt, and chickened out.

“Audrey, I have to go.”

Standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest in a stance that was both defensive and vulnerable, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t. Please, Gabe. Stay here and let your team handle it.”

He couldn’t. Why didn’t she get that? He wasn’t one of those commanders that sat safely behind the battle line while ordering his men to charge into the fray. Injured or not, if they had to put their lives on the line for the mission, he’d be right there with them, fighting shoulder to shoulder.

Not that he expected that kind of opposition today. If all went well, his team should be in and out with Bryson before anyone was the wiser. If all went well, the entire op should last no more than ten quiet minutes.

If all went well.

That thing called Murphy’s Law might try to turn it into a clusterfuck, but they were prepared for that, too.

Audrey stared at him, waiting for an answer, and he just shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” Feeling like an utter coward, he edged around her and out the door. “I…gotta go. I’ll call you when we have Bryson.”