Page 29 of Seal of Honor
“His parents have him. Don’t draw any unnecessary attention to us, Audrey. They’ll notice us soon enough.”
CHAPTER 10
The moment the warning left Gabe’s lips, wheels screeched as the car behind them shot into reverse, kicking up gravel that pelted the Jeep like hail. Shouting, the guerrillas left their captives to run after the escaping car, those wicked-looking guns locked to their shoulders, firing without sense or aim. Bullets peppered the windshield and Gabe grabbed Audrey by the back of the neck, shoving her down. Her breath whooshed out when the heavy weight of his body covered her and jabbed the gearshift into her ribs. Every second felt like forever, every heartbeat her last. She closed her eyes and prayed like the good Catholic girl her mama had raised her to be. Someone was making a hiccuping sound, and for a long, confused moment, she couldn’t figure out who it was.
Gabe’s arms circled her, crossing over her chest so that his hands covered hers where she held them clasped between her breasts. She felt his heartbeat against her back, heard his soft, even breaths in her ear. Calm. Cool. And so insanely collected, he was almost a robot.
Just another jungle jaunt for the man who didn’t know how to cut loose.
Hysterical laughter bubbled up, but caught on the growing knot of fear in her throat. Realizing she was the one making those hiccup sounds, she clamped her mouth shut and ground her teeth to keep more noise from slipping out.
Gabe gave her a tight, reassuring squeeze. It shouldn’t have helped. She shouldn’t have felt safer with him wrapped around her, because he wasn’t any more bulletproof than she was. But, oh God, did it help.
Minutes, hours, days later, the gunfire slowed. Then stopped altogether.
“Stay quiet.” Gabe squeezed her again, lightly this time, and she felt him shift his weight, his face lifting from where he had it buried in her hair. “Oh, fu?—”
Suddenly he was gone, hauled off her by rough hands. The passenger side door flew open and more hands reached in to grab her and yank her out of the air-conditioned Jeep, into the stifling heat of the jungle afternoon. A cacophony of sights and sounds bombarded her senses as the guerrillas shoved her over to stand with the other captives. Monkeys screeched in the treetops, several people were sobbing, others shouting in jungle-accented Spanish. The car that had tried to get away hissed steam from under its hood as its bullet-riddled radiator leaked. Three bodies lay sprawled on the pitted road, seeping bright red blood even as the guerrillas went through their pockets. The air reeked of jungle rot, gunpowder, blood, and bowels.
Two of the men—God, they were more like boys—held Gabe by the arms while a third got in his face and interrogated him in Spanish. “Who are you? Are you police? American military? Answer me!”
Gabe looked as if he was talking about the weather as he shook his head and said repeatedly, “No Spanish. No hablo Español. No Spanish.”
The guerrilla asking the questions hooked the strap of his AK47 around his back and reached to pat Gabe down.
The gun. What had he done with his gun?
Or… oh, God. The gun he’d given her! She’d stuffed it underneath her seat before they left Bogotá, sure it would be of no use.
Audrey looked toward the Jeep, where two other men—boys—were ripping through the contents of the basket Armando’s wife had given her. They stuffed the buñuelos and empanadas in their mouths like they were starving and filled their pockets to bulging with the fruit. When they found the sheet with Bryson’s itinerary, the smaller of the two called out to Mr. Interrogator, who stopped frisking Gabe to read it. They’d called him Cocodrilo. She could see how he came by the nickname. He had dark, beady eyes, a long nose, and a prominent brow that resembled the ridges over a crocodile’s eyes.
Cocodrilo scowled at the printout, then at Gabe. “Who are you?”
“No hablo Español,” Gabe repeated, even though she was certain he knew enough Spanish to understand the question.
“No hablo Español, no hablo Español, no hablo Español,” Cocodrilo mocked and jabbed the butt of his rifle into Gabe’s stomach with enough force that he dropped to his knees, grunting in pain. But he didn’t stay down. Almost as soon as he touched the ground, he was back on his feet. Or foot. He hadn’t used his cane once since leaving Bogotá and was favoring his right side a little, but not enough that the guerrillas noticed or else Audrey was sure they’d attack that weakness.
“What if I kill your woman?” Cocodrilo motioned with one hand, and a guerrilla grabbed Audrey by the wrist and dragged her over. He drew a long blade, dirty with mud and God knew what else, from his belt and made a show of pointing it at her pounding heart. “Will you speak Spanish then?”
Gabe’s jaw tightened. Apparently, he didn’t need to speak the language to understand the intent. “No, wait. Stop. Don’t hurt her. Hablo…un poco, pero…no hablo… suficiente… ah, goddammit.” He rubbed a hand over his head. “…mantener una conversación.”
Listening to him struggle through the sentence to save her tugged at her heartstrings and tapped into a store of courage Audrey didn’t know she had. Anger replaced fear. She refused to be the stereotypical damsel in distress, not when knowing the language gave her a distinct advantage over her wannabe knight in shining armor. She turned to face off with Cocodrilo, startled to realize she was taller by a good four inches and older by nearly ten years.
“He doesn’t know enough to have a conversation,” she said in Spanish. “I do.”
“Audrey,” Gabe said softly in warning.
“Shut up.”
His eyes widened in surprise. She imagined not many people talked back to him like that and he’d be licking the wounds to his male ego for the next week. Well, too bad. This situation didn’t call for his particular dictatorial brand of management.
“Talk to me,” she urged Cocodrilo. “I’ll translate for him.”
Cocodrilo eyed her up and down. “Who are you?”
“My name is Audrey. That’s Gabe.”
“Why are you in my jungle?” Cocodrilo demanded.
