Page 107 of Seal of Honor
They all thought Rorro had tossed his cousin to the wolves out of fear, but it had been a more calculated move than that. He had deemed Jacinto’s usefulness tapped out and disposed of him like a rancher putting down a lame horse.
A chill shot down Gabe’s spine and nailed him in the ass.
“Where is he now?”
Claudia gazed over at him. In the light of the fat white moon overhead, her plasticized face took on the macabre look of a skull with sunken cheeks and a peculiar hollowness in her eyes. It was the same thousand-yard stare he’d seen in soldiers who had looked death in the face and walked away alive. The same empty, lonely stare Gabe saw every time he looked at Quinn.
“Claudia. Where. Is. He?”
“He thinks it’s Audrey’s fault he didn’t get the ransom money because she called the FBI and ruined everything.” She moistened her lips and looked away. Guilt thickened her voice. “He’s going to kill her.”
CHAPTER 40
Weapon. She needed a weapon.
Audrey looked around and spotted the bedside lamp. It had worked when she thought Jean-Luc was attacking her in Bryson’s apartment in Bogotá, but Jean-Luc hadn’t really wanted to harm her. Somehow, she didn’t think the man banging against the door that she’d barricaded with her dresser felt the same way. His sole purpose was to harm.
Where was Gabe? Had this man harmed him?
Oh, God.
Okay, think. There had to be something in here she could use as a weapon.
Steadying herself with a fortifying breath, she took another look around. Besides the lamp, she had framed photos of Bryson, her nephews, and her parents on the nightstand. Bottles of perfume and lotion rattled on her dresser, more falling with each heave of the man on the other side of the door. The scent from the broken bottles was cloying, flowers and fruits and spices filling her head, making her dizzy, and she promised she’d never put on another drop of the stuff if she lived through this.
Her closet. She must have something in there. She ripped open the door. Hangers. And none of them were even metal. An iron and ironing board. She grabbed the iron and plugged it in. If all else failed, she could hit him with it when it was still hot.
The banging on the bedroom door stopped. She paused for a half second and listened. Didn’t hear anything on the other side but didn’t dare hope that he was gone. That was how people got killed in horror movies. She dived back into the closet and found a broken palette knife missing half of its wooden handle.
Better than nothing.
Up on the shelf: Plastic containers filled with all the miscellaneous junk that she had shoved out of sight, out of mind to sort on some rainy day in the future. Loose screws, plastic doodads, and cords to who knew what. Old birthday cards, tax returns, random junk mail she never threw away.
None of this was going to help her.
Oh, why couldn’t she be in the kitchen? She had all sorts of weapons in there. Butcher knives, frying pans. Her X-Acto knives, carving sets, files, and palette knives three times the size of the one in her hand. Shards of sculpture metal and welding supplies.
Primers, glues, and?—
Paint thinner.
Audrey froze. Despite the overwhelming odor of the perfume, she caught the pungent, piney stench of turpentine, heard the splash of it hitting her door, saw the puddle oozing underneath.
No, no, no, no.
She scrambled backward, away from the growing puddle.
Fumes burned her nose and eyes, and she curled into a ball in the farthest corner of the room, burying her nose in the edge of her shirt. Something fell behind her and hit her shoulder. Gabe’s cane. She snatched it up, hugged it to her chest like a child holding a teddy bear to fend off the boogeyman.
Gabe.
She remembered the fear and wonder in his eyes as he told her how much loving her scared him. Scared him, her brave SEAL. God, the thought of what he might do when she was gone frightened her more than the thought of dying.
No, she couldn’t die and leave him to his own devices. He needed her.
Audrey gripped the cane like a baseball bat and stood, tiptoeing around the spreading pool of turpentine. The easiest way out was the window, but she didn’t dare, too afraid the intruder was waiting for her out there. He probably didn’t expect her to charge out the door, brandishing a cane like a maniac, so that was exactly what she’d do.
She listened but didn’t hear anything in the hallway. Made sense. If her intruder planned to burn her to death, he’d get out before lighting the match. Which he could be doing right at this very second.
