Page 113 of Seal of Honor
Smiling, Gabe shut his laptop and picked up the printed tickets. He’d surprise her with them later tonight after everyone turned in, after he took her to bed and made slow, careful love to her for several delicious hours.
A knock sounded at the door, and Jesse poked his head into the office. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” He sat behind his desk again, still grinning, and Jesse gave him a look like he was worried about Gabe’s sanity, which just made him grin more. “What’s up?”
“Wanted to talk to you about—” Jesse noticed the printouts and paused. Almost, Gabe thought, like he wanted the distraction. “Whatcha got there?”
“Plane tickets. I’m marrying Audrey in Vegas on Tuesday. You’re all invited.”
Jesse’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “Well, hell, I guess congrats are in order, then.”
“Sure are. I’m a lucky guy.”
“You’ll get no arguments from me.” He lifted his beer in a toast. “You’re stupid if you don’t put a ring on that lady’s finger before someone else does. Luckily, I never figured you for a stupid man.”
“Just don’t mention it to her,” Gabe said. “She doesn’t know yet.”
“Lips. Sealed.” He even made a zipping motion across his lips.
“Thanks,” Gabe said. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Jesse’s smile faded. He set his beer on the edge of the desk but hesitated, twirling the neck of the bottle between two fingers.
“I don’t know how to put this…”
“Jess,” Gabe said when he trailed off. “Talk to me.”
“Yeah, all right.” He took off his hat and dragged a hand through his hair in that habitual way he had, then set the Stetson beside his beer. “It’s about Quinn. He’s not physically fit to be out in the field.”
Gabe sat back, taking a long moment to absorb that news. Jesse and Quinn had their issues, but he knew better than to think this was anything other than Jesse’s medical opinion. The cowboy was too good at what he did to sully his reputation with a misdiagnosis.
“Why?”
Jesse blew out a breath and slung one long jean-clad leg over the corner of the desk. He met Gabe’s stare head-on. “Did he tell you why the SEALs wouldn’t take him back?”
“His shoulder’s fucked up, but that shouldn’t factor into our job. What we do isn’t nearly as physically demanding as?—”
Jesse was already shaking his head. “It’s because of the brain injury.”
Stunned speechless, Gabe stared at him for five long seconds. “Uh, whoa, back up. The what?”
“Think about it,” Jesse said. “When you two were in that car accident, you were traveling at what? Sixty-five, seventy miles an hour—and Quinn was thrown through the windshield. Man, he’s lucky to be alive and functioning as well as he is. He sustained massive head trauma and was in a coma for a week.”
Gabe recalled one night when Quinn came into his hospital room to check on him and vaguely remembered the bandages wrapped around his friend’s head. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, too muddled by the painkillers in his system from his last surgery, too focused on healing his foot so he could keep his job. He had wondered, at one time or another throughout the past year, why a messed up shoulder had gotten the best of Quinn, why the great Achilles hadn’t even fought to stay a SEAL like Gabe had.
Now he understood, and his throat tightened. “How bad is he?”
“Like I said, he’s awesome, considering. A goddamn walking miracle, you ask me,” Jesse added. “But he’s not sleeping or eating like he should, and he’s blacking out, losing time. I saw him do it once back in Bogotá, and I have a feeling it’s happening pretty regular.”
“Does he know? I mean, is he losing time and doesn’t realize it, or?—”
“He knows. That’s why he kicked up such a fuss about me doing a physical and seeing his medical records.”
Gabe sighed. “If I pull him off the team, it’ll kill him.”
Jesse stood. “It’s your call, boss.” He settled his Stetson on his head and picked up his beer. “But, fair warning. If you don’t pull him, he’ll black out at the wrong time. Then he’ll wind up dead a whole helluva lot quicker.”
Gabe sat back in his chair and stared at the office door for a long time after Jesse left.
