Page 6 of Seal of Honor
“Don’t give me that shit.” Tucker flashed a smile worthy of his Hollywood roots. “We get out, but we never leave. I’ve been gone from the Army for ten years, but my men still call me L.T.” He held out a hand. “Tuc Quentin.”
Gabe ignored it. “I didn’t know you were a soldier.”
Tuc inclined his head. “It doesn’t fit with the playboy billionaire image, does it? But, truthfully, I’ve always felt more at home on a battlefield than at something like this.” He waved a hand back at the party. “I show people the image they want to see, the one that sells tabloids, because it’s easier than trying to explain that I’d rather use my obscene wealth to take out some of the world’s bad guys and maybe make it a better place.”
Okay. Maybe he’d misjudged Tucker Quentin. “So you’re the guy that put the idea of a private hostage rescue team in Quinn’s head.”
“No,” Quinn said. “I heard Tuc was thinking of putting one together and approached him about funding us.”
Tuc nodded. “On paper, you’ll be employees of Quentin Enterprises, specifically HumInt Consulting, Inc., but save for a quarterly expense report and the occasional contract I’ll throw your way, I plan to have nothing more to do with your team. If you come to me for advice, of course I’ll be glad to give it, but otherwise, it’s yours to run as you see fit.”
“Why?” Gabe asked.
“I already have several teams working for HumInt, plus a multi-billion dollar empire to run.” His lips twisted. “I think I’m quite busy enough.”
“No, I mean, why are you doing this? People don’t hand out free money and expect nothing in return.” Especially not savvy businessmen, but Gabe couldn’t figure out Tucker Quentin’s angle.
Tuc leaned his forearms on the balustrade and studied the garden in the courtyard. He stayed silent.
“What are you really getting out of this?” Gabe repeated.
“Quinn’s right. You’re tenacious as hell. Perfect for this job.”
Yeah, right. Gabe bit back the automatic response. If that were true, if he was perfect for any command position, the Navy wouldn’t have tossed him and his bum foot to the curb. He shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of the pain.
“Why?” Gabe asked again. Meaning, why me? But he’d be damned before putting a voice to that insecurity.
Tuc twirled the stem of his champagne glass between his fingers. “The brother of one of my men was taken hostage recently, and we were unprepared to handle it. I don’t want that to happen again. I’m a big believer in being prepared, and you have an admirable reputation in the spec ops community. I only ask that if I contract you for a job, it’s given top priority. You, of all people, must understand how important my men are to me. They’re family.”
Gabe briefly met Quinn’s stare and then nodded once. He understood, all right, and his respect for Tuc ratcheted up a notch. “Should the occasion call for it, you and your men will have top priority.”
“So, you’re in?” Tuc asked.
Gabe stared out over the garden, which his mother paid thousands of dollars in upkeep for when she hated flowers. Like everything else in his parents’ lives, it was a veneer, a pretty façade that masked the emptiness underneath. He’d been living in a world of pretense and hollow promises all his life until the SEALs gave him a taste of what true commitment and camaraderie felt like. The thrill of danger, the rush of adrenaline, the satisfaction of a mission completed; he missed it all. The luxurious life his parents wanted him to live was monotone and colorless in comparison to the technicolor chaos he had been accustomed to. He wanted, needed, that chaos again. He needed a mission, a fight, a team. A purpose.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the darkening storm clouds in the distance, and the rumble of thunder that followed resonated deep inside him. He wasn’t usually one for signs, but he’d always loved a good storm. Could never resist its primal pull, the raw power that hovered in the air, electric and alive. Just like the anticipation thrumming through his veins now, it was a feeling too tempting to deny. He cast a glance at Quinn, who was watching him with an inscrutable expression.
He took a deep breath, feeling the heavy Virginia humidity wrap around him like a familiar blanket, and turned back to Tuc. “Yeah, I’m in.”
“Good.” Tuc finished his champagne in one swallow and pushed away from the balustrade. “So, Quinn tells me you have a team lined up from the dossiers I gave him.”
Gabe honestly didn’t know and looked at Quinn, who nodded and said, “We had six men submit resumes.”
“Their qualifications?” Gabe asked.
“Couple ex-CIA spooks, an FBI negotiator, a Delta Force medic, an explosives tech…” His eyes slid away for the barest instant before he continued. “And a Marine sniper. They’re all experts in their fields?—”
“Whoa, wait.” Gabe held up a hand. “What sniper?” He got nothing but a whole lot of stubborn silence in response and shook his head in disbelief. “Goddamn. You’re talking about Seth Harlan, aren’t you? The same Seth Harlan that we pulled out of Afghanistan after?—”
“I recommended him for a position. He’s an excellent sniper,” Quinn said with an expression on his face that dared Gabe to argue.
Yeah, well, he’d take that dare.
“Q, are you out of your fucking mind? Harlan’s unstable.”
“He’s better now.”
“Good for him.” When Quinn just gave him a long stare, the kind that always made him feel like a complete ass, he added, “Listen, I give the kid credit for surviving what he did, I do. And I know you have a soft spot for him, but he’s traumatized. Who wouldn’t be? If we’re going through with this, I don’t want that kind of baggage weighing down my team. Think about it. What if he has a psychotic break in the middle of an op?”
