SEAL of Honor Read online

  And let the games begin.

  Jean-Luc grinned to himself, switched on the cumbia rock station, and stood on the gas.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Night closed in fast on the jungle floor, throwing dank shadows across the path, slowing their progress to a crawl. Just when Audrey thought she couldn’t possibly take another step for fear of breaking an ankle out of exhaustion and lack of visibility, they emerged into a clearing soaked in the orange-red glow of evening sunlight. Pretty pink and red flowers bloomed in neat rows across the field. As a backdrop, blue mountain peaks stretched toward the saturated sky, with wild green jungle climbing as far up the slopes as the mountain allowed. For a moment, she forgot her aching feet, her exhaustion, her bone-deep fear, and yearned for her paints. She would never be able to do the stunning scenery justice on canvas, but boy, did she want to try. She’d paint it in soft, warm watercolors and call it, End of the Road.

  Beyond the colorful field sat a cluster of thatched-roof huts that she prayed was their final destination. The guerillas all but dragged her through one of the rows between the flowers, seemingly as excited to get there as she was. Gabe would be waiting—she couldn’t think otherwise—and the notion of seeing him again spurred her onward even with overwhelming exhaustion plaguing her every step.

  As soon as they renewed their forced march up the switchback, they’d been separated again despite his efforts to stay with her this time. Hours had passed since he and his guards disappeared up the trail ahead of her. The first hour after she’d lost sight of him, she kept thinking they’d turn a corner in the path and find him waiting. During the second hour, with still no sign of him or his guards, she wondered if they’d taken him somewhere else. The third, as fatigue started dragging her down, she spiraled toward depression, fearing he’d been led to his death like a lamb to slaughter, and that she was next.

  Then she spotted him, seated on a crate by a sputtering fire, eating a plate of rice with his fingers. The flood of relief made her knees go weak. Gabe was no lamb. More like a mountain, as tall and sturdy and rugged as the one they’d spent the day climbing, the only solid thing she could anchor to in all this craziness.

  Spotting her, he stopped eating, a handful of white rice halfway to his mouth, and his ears reddened with embarrassment. That was…kind of cute. She had noticed the careful way he ate back in the Jeep with the empanada, but now, given the situation, it was even funnier. Who’d have thought the big, bad former SEAL had the table manners of her grandma.

  Without a word, she sat beside him and scooped up a handful of rice. He gave a faint smile lined with fatigue and pain and continued eating, leaving the last half for her. When they finished, the guerillas prodded them toward one of the huts. Gabe was limping now, and each time he put weight on his bad foot, his mouth tightened with pain.

  Audrey wedged herself up underneath his arm. He made a move to push her away and she tightened her hold.

  “Don’t you even think about it, bub.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Liar. You need help.”

  “It’s okay, Aud. I’m fine. I can do it—”

  “Gabe. Shut up.”

  He grumbled under his breath, but then, surprisingly, his arm circled her waist. That he didn’t put up more of a fight just went to show how much pain he was actually in. They must have made quite a sight hobbling across the camp together, because the guerillas all stopped eating to watch. Some pointed and laughed. Others returned to their meals like it was SOP to have two injured and exhausted Americans in their midst. Well, it probably was.

  Bastards.

  Audrey mentally spit the vilest curses she could think of in both English and Spanish at them until they locked her and Gabe inside the hut. She helped him sit on a pile of feedbags, then stamped her foot and fumed at the closed door.

  Gabe chuckled softly. “Are you done cursing them out yet?”

  She stamped her foot one more time for good measure before facing him. He lay stretched out on the feedbags, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing in slow, deep breaths. His complexion had drained of color and held the faintest tint of green.

  God, he must really be in pain, and here she was feeling sorry for herself. She settled onto the dirt floor at his feet and began working the laces off his boots. His jaw clenched so hard she saw a tick start below his eye.

  “Audrey, stop. It’s fine.”

  “Right. This foot is so far from fine, it’s in another zip code.”

  “Okay,” he said through his teeth. “It will be fine. Just leave it alone.”

  “Not happening.” His grumbles, so like she imaged a displeased bear might sound, made her smile. “How’d you know I was cursing at them?”

  “That you were stomping around like a five-year-old wasn’t a clue?” His mouth flattened, but she thought she saw a small lift at one corner. A smile? “And my youngest brother does the exact same thing. Mostly to The Admiral’s back.”

  “The Admiral?”

  “My father. He doesn’t like us to call him Dad. We’ve always called him by rank.”

  Audrey took an instant and intense dislike to the man. “Oh, yeah? Did he make you salute at the breakfast table, too?” Incensed on his behalf, she pulled a little too hard on the lace and Gabe sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” She gentled her touch. “Better?”

  “Yeah.” He drew another breath. Let it out, and closed his eyes. He was silent for a long time. “And he did make us salute sometimes.”

  Audrey stared up at him in horror. “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I’m not.”

  Good Lord. Military school, a tyrant for a father. What an unpleasant childhood Gabe had endured. If it could even be called a childhood. It amazed her that he escaped with any semblance of sanity.

  She sent up a quick prayer to her parents, suddenly a million times more grateful she’d had them, even if it was for too short a time.

  Audrey got the boot unlaced. His foot was twice its normal size, and sported more shades of purple than she’d ever seen outside a canvas. She bit her lower lip. Should she cut the boot off? Then he’d be barefoot tomorrow if they continued marching. But if she didn’t, the boot might cut off his circulation, putting him in danger of losing the foot altogether, and the loss of a limb would be hard on a control freak like him.

  Okay, the boot had to come off.

  She scanned the walls of the dim, dusty hut. No windows and only one door, most likely locked or guarded or both. It seemed to be a storage shed, packed with feedbags for the mules she’d heard braying somewhere in camp, but nothing to cut through leather.

  Well, duh. Unless their captors were complete idiots, they’d check for anything that could be used as a weapon before putting her and Gabe inside.

  “Left boot,” Gabe said, startling her. He’d been quiet for so long she thought he’d passed out from the pain.

  “What?”

  “Look in my left boot. There should be a Swiss army knife that Cocodrilo didn’t find.”

  How did he do that? He always seemed to know what she was thinking. Unless she was muttering to herself? She did have a tendency to do that when stressed.

  Audrey moved around him, unlaced his other boot, and dipped a hand inside the leg. Her fingers brushed the hard muscle of his calf—did the man have even an ounce of fat on his body?—then closed around a plastic square. His phone. She gasped and flipped it open, only to see it searching for service. Disappointment crashed down on her, bringing tears to her eyes. For a moment there, she thought they would be able to call for help. They’d get out of here, then Gabe and his team could focus on finding Bryson and this nightmare would finally be over.

  But, no. They were still stuck in the middle of the jungle with a useless phone, wasting time Bryson didn’t have. “How’s the battery?” Gabe asked.

  She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes to clear her watery vision and checked the indicator. “Little under half.”


  “Damn. Let’s hope we’re outta here before it runs down.”

  “What good is it? It doesn’t have a signal.” She set the phone aside and dipped into his boot again, this time avoiding his calf and finding the small knife. She opened it and stared at the blade. As far as weapons went, it was pitiable, but she was still glad they had something. She moved back to his bad foot and started cutting.

  Gabe winced. “It has GPS,” he said of the phone. “As long as the battery holds out, Quinn will be able to track us.”

  One good thing, she supposed. Still, she’d rather it have a signal.

  Was the team even still searching for her brother? Or had they abandoned the search to launch a rescue mission for her and Gabe? God, she hoped not. Her brother needed their help. At least she had Gabe. Bryson had nobody, and the thought of him locked away somewhere, alone and frightened, brought on a fresh round of tears.

  “Hey.” Gabe reached out and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I’m more worried about Bryson. Do you think the guys are still looking for him?”

  “I know they are.”

  “Okay.” She sucked in a fortifying breath through her nose. “Then let me take care of that foot.”

  She worked at the boot in silence, using the tension in his body as an indicator of when to take a break. Because God knew the macho man SEAL wouldn’t cry uncle if his life depended on it.

  After what seemed like forever of her going all Jack the Ripper on the boot, it finally lay on the floor in shreds, and his foot ballooned now that the pressure was off it. Scars covered the top of his foot and ran in surgical lines up his calf to his knee. He was missing his middle toe, and another appeared mangled. No wonder he needed the cane.

  “I, uh, know it’s not very pretty,” Gabe muttered. He kept his eyes off both her and his damaged foot.

  “Feet rarely are.” Aching for him, she closed the Swiss army knife then gently picked up his foot and placed it on her lap. “How did this happen?”

  As soon as the question left her lips, she wished she could call it back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about the time he was captured and tortured by terrorists. Or the time he stepped on an IED. Or—

  “Car accident,” he said. “About a year ago now. We were on our way back to base after a weekend leave and some asshole kept playing leap frog with us on I-95—you know, speeding up to get ahead of us then slowing way down. So Quinn tried to pass him on the right and the guy got pissed, cut us off. Quinn swerved to miss hitting him and this semi came up behind us out of nowhere.”

  A semi truck? Audrey’s heart performed a quick swan dive into her stomach. He was lucky to be alive. “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah, I said that a couple times when it blindsided us.” His lips inched up into a hint of a smile. “Sent us over the median. Quinn got thrown through the windshield after the first flip and, lucky him, he missed the face-to-face meet and greet with a concrete support. I was pinned upside down by my leg for four hours. The docs didn’t think I’d keep it. It’s—”

  His voice caught, and she watched emotions battle over his face before he locked them down and cleared his throat. “It’s the reason I’m no longer on the teams. Little tough to be covert when there’s so much metal in there, I can’t even get through airport security without a big hassle.”

  If it looked this bad now, his foot and leg must have been a mess a year ago. It was truly amazing that he was even walking. Then again, maybe not. She’d never met any man as stubborn and indomitable as him, and if he’d made up his mind to walk again after the accident, by God, nothing short of an apocalypse would have stopped him from walking.

  But if he wanted to stay that way, they needed to get him professional medical attention. All she knew about medicine was what she’d seen on House and Grey’s Anatomy.

  She soothed a hand over his calf and felt his muscles jump. “Can you wiggle your toes at all?”

  His big toe moved about a centimeter, but that was it. Probably not a good sign. Okay, now what?

  “I… I think we need to wrap it.”

  “Cut up one of these.” He thumped his palm on a feedbag. “The burlap should work.”

  “Won’t be comfortable.”

  “Neither was the boot.”

  “Good point.” Audrey hurried to drag one of the burlap sacks off the pile and cut it open. The sweet, earthy scent of oats filled the hut as she dumped it out. Using the knife, she cut five strips and went back to his side, again lifting his foot onto her lap. “This will probably hurt. I wish I had something to give you for the pain.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Releasing a long breath, he laid back and shut his eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

  Yes, she bet he had. Pain was a hazard of his former job, but she absolutely hated the thought of hurting him in any way.

  “Just get it wrapped up for me, okay?” he said. “After I stay off it and keep it elevated for the night, it’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

  Somehow, she doubted that. As gently as she could, she set to work wrapping the burlap strips around his foot, starting at his swollen ankle.

  “So,” she said after a moment, hoping to distract him. “You have a brother, huh?”

  “Two.”

  “Older, younger?”

  “Both younger.”

  She smiled a little, thinking of Bryson, and couldn’t help but draw comparisons between her older brother and Gabe. If the situation demanded it, she had no doubt Gabe would and had killed. Bryson wouldn’t take your life if you crossed him, just everything that made your life worth living. Both men were also cocky know-it-alls in their own ways. Both were fiercely protective. Inflexible. Domineering. The biggest difference was in their attitudes. Bryson tried to play nice, he truly did, and he was careful to never be rude even as he cut you down. Gabe didn’t bother.

  Knowing how difficult growing up with Brys had been, she almost pitied Gabe’s little brothers. “Bet you bossed them around all the time.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. “I don’t get along with Michael, my middle brother. He’s too much like our father. He even married an ice queen of a woman who is so much like our mother, it’s frightening. And my youngest brother, Raffi? Nobody bosses him around. He’s … uh, free-spirited. You’d like him. He acts on Broadway.”

  Something changed in Gabe’s demeanor when he spoke of his youngest brother. Audrey couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he…softened. “Tell me about him.”

  “Where to start?” Gabe stayed silent for a moment, then gave a quiet laugh. “I’ll never forget the look on The Admiral’s face the day Raffi announced he was not going into the military. I believe he said something like he wanted to dance and sing and act and he was going to drama school in New York, fuck you very much.” Pride filled his voice. “Priceless. Our old man looked like he was going to shit monkeys.”

  Audrey picked up another strip of burlap, held it in place with her thumb where the last one ended, and lifted his foot to continue wrapping. “Raffi sounds like my kind of guy.”

  Gabe’s smile dropped into a dark scowl. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas. He’s gay.”

  “Even better.” When his frown deepened, she smothered a laugh and finished bandaging his foot, tying the burlap in a tight knot to keep it from slipping. She bent over and placed a gentle kiss on the knot. “There. All done.”

  She looked up to find him staring at her with an odd expression on his face. “What, Gabriel? Nobody ever kissed away your pains as a child?”

  “No. My mother wasn’t exactly…” He trailed off and seemed to struggle with an inner demon for a moment, then shook his head. “Uh, yeah, you know what? I won’t even make excuses for her. She sucked as a mother. She never should have spawned once, not to mention three times.”

  Emotion rose into Audrey’s throat and it took two swallows to choke back the automatic denial that popped to mind. If his mother never had children, he wouldn’t be he
re now. With her.

  Good lord, was that really how he felt about himself? That he never should have been born? What a way to go through life.

  “That’s a shame,” she finally managed. “Every child should have someone to kiss their injuries better.”

  That odd expression of his turned shuttered, unreadable. “Thank you, Audrey.”

  Her heart swelled, which was just plain stupid. A thank you, especially a grudging one, was nothing more than an expression of appreciation, even when coming from a man who rarely said the words. “Any time.”

  Kicking off her boots, she crawled up on the feedbags and stretched out beside him. They lay together in silence, listening to the chatter of the guerillas by the fire. She could make out bits and pieces of the conversation—bawdy observations about her body, crude challenges issued toward Gabe, speculation over how much money they would get from the United States government for two captives, and how they planned to spend said money. As if they would see any of it. She wanted to shout to them that their leaders were playing them for fools, the rich using them to line their own pockets, while they spent their days marching through the jungle, living off blocks of sugar and white rice.

  Did they hold her brother in a camp like this? Maybe he was even somewhere in this camp. Had they forced him to march for miles through the jungle? He wouldn’t last long if they had. Bryson never had been a good outdoorsman, hated camping or anything even remotely rustic. Her lovely little hut on the beach in Quepos, Costa Rica had appalled him so much last year that he’d immediately gone out and bought her that awful condo in the tourist trap section of town. Unable to see past the hut’s lack of comfortable amenities, he just didn’t get it. Didn’t get her. But he tried to help her the only way he knew how, and God love him for that.

  Tears welled. As much as they didn’t see eye to eye, she still loved her big brother. He had to make it through this. She’d try harder to see things his way, she would. Just as long as they both made it out of this hellhole of a country alive.