Seal of Honor(51)

Luis Mena, not a bad thing. That’s like saying Hitler was misunderstood. And, whoa, she talked to him over lunch? She had to be out of her flippin’ mind. “Do you have any idea what that man’s done? What he’s capable of doing?”

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard the horror stories same as everyone else in the Western Hemisphere. But he isn’t our enemy.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “He’s everybody’s enemy.”

She pursed her lips. “Okay, I can’t argue that. But you know that old saying about the enemy of my enemy. Will you just hear me out?”

“No.” He abruptly stood. Audrey lost her balance and fell backward on her butt.

“Gabe!”

“Get up. We’re leaving. Now.”

“And you’re more than welcome to,” a pleasant, barely accented voice said from the doorway.

In one quick move, Gabe had Audrey off the floor and tucked safely behind him as he faced one of the most hated men in this half of the world.

Intel put Luis Mena close to seventy, but nobody knew for sure. Steel gray hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache showed his age, but he still had the toned body of a much younger man. Topping out at several inches under six feet, he was a thin man with stylish black-framed glasses and a surprisingly warm smile. He looked like someone’s grandfather—and, in fact, he had several grandchildren and one infant great-grandchild—but that appearance belied his true persona. That of a stone-cold killer.

“We’re leaving,” Gabe said again.

Mena stepped aside and motioned to the open door. “As I said, you are more than welcome to go, but I would very much appreciate it if you and your lovely wife joined me for supper first.”

Audrey shifted uncomfortably behind him at the word “wife.” Interesting. But not important right now. “I don’t think so.”

“Pity.” Mena waited until they were almost out the door before adding, “Because I think I know where to find Bryson Van Amee.” He smiled when Audrey pulled Gabe to a stop. “That is, if you’re interested, Commander Bristow.”

Gabe kept his face impassive, but something—a flicker in his eyes, a tightening in his shoulders—gave away his surprise because Mena laughed.

“Yes, I know all about you, Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Bristow, former commanding officer of the American Navy SEAL Team Ten, bravo platoon, forced into retirement due to an injury sustained on your way to a training operation last year in Virginia.” His smile took on an edge. “Training, I was told, that was meant to help you and your team take down my business.”

How did Mena know that? Gabe managed to show no reaction, but—shit. The objective of that training mission had been highly classified information that most of his team hadn’t even known.

Audrey looked up at him, worry in her eyes. He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze, still making sure to keep his body in front of hers. Which, naturally, drew Mena’s attention right to her.

“I was quite surprised to find out you have a wife,” Mena said. “None of the information I have on you—which really isn’t much, I’m ashamed to say—mentioned a spouse.”

“It’s recent,” Audrey blurted.

Jesus Christ, woman. Give him more ammo against us, why don’t you? Gabe tightened his grip on her hand, hoping she got the hint to stay quiet.

This counted as a massive clusterfuck if he’d ever seen one. How they’d ended up married he had no idea, but it put her in even more danger than she realized. Married meant he cared for her—and, dammit, he did—which meant Mena could use her against him. If he’d known Mena thought they were husband and wife from the get-go, he would have treated her the way his father treated his mother, coldly and with disinterested tolerance. If he didn’t care, she was not worth Mena’s time. She’d be safe.

But the fact he still held her hand and used his body to protect hers nixed that plan. Any fool could see how much he cared.

“Recent, you say?” Mena’s brows climbed toward his hairline behind his glasses. “I see. Well, I suppose congratulations are in order, then. We’ll drink the finest bottle of Bordeaux in my collection with dinner to celebrate.”

“We’re not staying.” The thought of sitting down to a civil dinner with this generation’s Hitler soured his stomach.

Audrey tugged his hand. “Yes, we are.”

“No.” He tried to force patience into his tone and failed miserably. “We’re not.”

“Gabe! He wants to help us find Bryson. How can you refuse that?”

Because nothing Mena did came without a high cost. He wasn’t offering to help out of the goodness of his heart—he didn’t have one—and his motives were most likely pure as sin. “We’ll discuss this later. My team—”