“No way.” Jesse shook his head. “I don’t care who he is. He’s a human being and you still went way too far, Lector.” He stressed the nickname with venom.
Ian snorted. “Why don’t you go spout that righteous shit to the families of all the people this asshole’s tortured and murdered, huh? Let me know how well that works out for you.”
“Shut up!” Quinn stepped between them and wondered how the hell Gabe dealt with shit like this without losing his mind. He could tell Jesse was itching to tend to the injured man and motioned him forward. “Jesse, go ahead and take care of him. And you—”
Ian’s shoulders stiffened and Quinn had a sudden flashback to his youth. When Big Ben finished beating his mother and turned on him with a belt in hand, that look in his liquor-glazed eyes, and slurred, And you, you little bastard…
Well, shit. When that happened, he used to tighten up exactly like Ian did just now. Had someone once also used the contemptuous Ian Reinhardt as a punching bag? It seemed unbelievable—and yet the proof was there in his dark, wary eyes and defensive stance.
Imagine that. Quinn had something in common with the psycho.
“Good job, Ian.” He said the words he’d so wanted to hear from his own father before he was old enough to realize they’d never come, and nodded in a show of approval. Abused kid to abused kid.
Ian looked so taken aback the expression on his face was almost comical. Blinking, he dropped the bad boy act and sounded apologetic when he muttered, “Uh, thanks.”
Quinn waited a beat, letting Ian have a moment to compose himself. When his ever-present sneer returned, Quinn nodded and got back to business. “So, what did you find out?”
Chapter Thirteen
Coming back to consciousness was almost always as painful as getting KO’d in the first place, because it happened with a killer headache, churning nausea, and, in Gabe’s case, a foot that ached like a son of a bitch. Even so, his first thought before he opened his eyes was of Audrey. Was she safe? Was she still hiding somewhere in the jungle, or had she been abducted by the men who jumped him?
Goddamn, they shouldn’t have gotten the drop on him like that. He’d been too focused on the threat of Cocodrilo, too afraid for Audrey’s safety, that he didn’t see them until it was too late. And they weren’t stupid like the guerillas—the moment they noticed his bad foot, they attacked the weakness, taking his legs out from under him. Once he hit the ground, he’d known it was game over. Oh, he still fought with every skill he possessed—it wasn’t in him to do anything else—but it’d been with the certain knowledge that it was a hopeless fight. He was actually surprised he still drew breath, albeit painfully.
No matter. He had to get up, move out, and find Audrey.
Gabe pried open his eyes—and there she was, his lovely Audrey, kneeling beside him, haloed in sunshine. Freshly washed, her wet hair hung in a loose braid over one shoulder, and a filmy white dress hugged her slim body. Almost afraid she was a hallucination, he reached out a dirty hand and touched her cheek.
Warm. Soft. Real.
The crisp scent of citrus and clean woman drifted over to him as her hand covered his, and damn if his eyes didn’t burn.
“You’re okay.” His voice sounded like a bullfrog’s croak.
“So are you,” she said softly, lacing together their fingers. “A little beat up, but the doctor said you’ll be fine.”
Doctor?
With his fear for her safety assuaged, their surroundings started to sink in. A hotel? Had to be. He lay on a plush, very large bed with translucent bronze drapes billowing from the canopy. A mural covered one whole wall of the wide-open room, giving the illusion you were staring out over a city in Greece. Directly across the room was a wall of windows that opened to a balcony and gave a breathtaking view of the sea, but it sure wasn’t the Mediterranean. More like the Caribbean, since he was fairly certain they were still in Colombia, despite the room’s decor. But how did they end up on the coast when they’d been in the heart of the jungle? And how long had he been out? And…
“What doctor?” He sat up, ignoring Audrey when she started making noises about him lying still. “Where are we? What happened?”
“Gabe, please, take it easy.”
Not a chance. The more he saw of this room, the less he liked the situation. This was no hotel, but someone’s private home. An extremely wealthy someone’s private home. He rubbed his hands over his face and bumped a butterfly bandage stuck to his forehead. He ripped it off, tossed it aside.
“What the hell’s going on?”