Seal of Honor(45)

A quick look at Google Maps had shown the area mountainous, dense with overgrowth and lacking any decent roads in or out. A damn good place to hide, inaccessible except by air or foot, and they didn’t have the time to hike in. Gabe’s phone hadn’t moved yet, but that could change at any moment. Flying was their best—and only, in Quinn’s opinion—option.

Quinn looked over his shoulder at the men in the cargo hold. Jean-Luc, Ian, and Jesse sat grim-faced and geared up, ready for action. The decision to leave Marcus behind had been unanimous since he had no military training. He was a little peeved, but hopped right on the phone trying to get a hold of a man named Giancarelli, one of his former FBI friends, to get a sitrep on the case.

Harvard had also wanted in on the op, and it had been a hell of a time talking the kid out of it. He’d only relented after Quinn pointed out that he was the only person who could work the tracking program on the computer needed to find Gabe’s phone. His voice had been a constant presence in Quinn’s ear since leaving Bogotá, keeping him updated on the GPS and any new info Marcus found out.

And Quinn had a brain-splitting headache. Jesus, he hoped they found Gabe. He was so ready to hand back command.

“Let’s be ready to move,” he told the guys, unfastened his harness, and climbed into the back with them. He unlatched the sliding door and wind rushed inside, stealing his breath as he watched the helo drop closer to the ground. The moment the skids touched down, he motioned the men out with one arm, sent an OK signal over his shoulder to the pilot, and followed them out into the waist-high grass of the field. The pilot took the bird up again, blocking out the morning sun long enough that Quinn’s eyes adjusted to the brightness and he scoped their surroundings.

They stood in a deforested field high on the slope of a mountain, with its white-tipped peak rising over their heads to the north and a treacherous climb down to the south. The guerilla camp was two miles to the east, over some rugged terrain, and he hoped like hell the guys were up to the task of hiking it.

The plan was for the pilot to circle the camp and offer air support while they infiltrated from the ground. Not knowing how many tangos they were dealing with, and the fact that both Jesse and Jean-Luc hadn’t seen battle in years, put them at a distinct disadvantage, so the helo’s support was a major plus.

Once on the ground, Quinn pointed to Ian and Jesse and motioned for them to go south. Both experienced mountaineers—and, whoa, who’d have thought Ian had hobbies besides blowing shit up?—they carried climbing gear with their packs. Should they run into any steep drop-offs, they wouldn’t have to waste time finding an alternate route. Quinn and Jean-Luc would approach from the north. They also carried climbing gear, but he prayed they wouldn’t need it. He’d rather go back to doing log PT in BUD/S than climb any damn cliffs.

The team would rally at the coordinates of Gabe’s phone. And if there was a benevolent higher power out there somewhere, they’d find Gabe and Audrey alive and in one piece.

…

The gunfire had settled down a while ago, but even as she strained her ears, Audrey still hadn’t heard Gabe’s all-clear whistle. She sat under a giant, leafy bush, shivering, swatting at the ants crawling up her legs, struggling to hold it together.

Blood. Violence. Death.

Death. Oh God, what if he was dead? What if that wicked knife hit an artery and he was bleeding out onto the ground while she cowered?

Another blast of gunfire ricocheted off the mountainside and she jumped.

Okay, this sucked. She wasn’t a natural-born coward, but being tossed light years out of her comfort zone apparently turned her into one.

No. That wasn’t true. She wasn’t a coward. Now that her initial shock had worn off, she wanted to help. But didn’t violence breed violence? At least that’s what her mother had drilled into her childhood psyche. Violence solved nothing, but Audrey couldn’t see how cowering peacefully under a bush during a firefight solved anything, either, and for the first time in her life, she wished she had a gun for a violent purpose. So she’d never killed anything more than a paper cutout. She was a good shot, but faced with taking an actual life, she had no idea if she’d be able to do it. She’d definitely not do it as easily as Gabe had.

Gabe.

Cripes, she didn’t know what to think of him now. Part of her had always known he was dangerous. Deadly, even. A Navy SEAL trained to kill quickly and quietly. Even so, she never really assimilated that Gabe with the sarcastic, overbearing, and oh so tender one who needed a good lesson in manners, who spit fire at the idea of being nursed, who held her so gently and fended off her nightmares.