Page 5 of Seal of Honor
“At least think about it? For me?”
“Fine.” He was so going to find Quinn and throttle him for dragging Raffi into this. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
* * *
It took several hours of elbow-rubbing with political so-and-sos before Gabe finally tracked Quinn down in the crowd. He stood in the most shadowed corner of the room, naturally, stiff in his dress whites, eyeing the horde of D.C.’s most powerful as if he expected an attack at any moment.
Not a surprise.
Quinn had earned the nickname “Achilles” during BUD/S training. A warrior to his marrow, all but indestructible since nobody had found his heel yet. His only concession that this was a party and not an op was the slender flute of champagne he held.
Gabe stalked toward him.
“This place is a terrorist attack waiting to happen,” Quinn muttered and lifted his glass in a salute to the room.
Yeah, it was, and securing the damn mansion had been a nightmare, but that was beside the point. “Seriously, Q, you’re a rank bastard for siccing Raffi on me.”
His lips twitched. “Did it work?”
Gabe thought about the glittering crowd he’d been forced to schmooze with all afternoon and held back a wince. Did he really want the rest of his life to consist of politics and state dinners? Because if he lived in D.C. full-time, the Admiral would guilt-trip him into attending. More importantly, did he really want to live under his father’s thumb again? Oh no. Make that, oh hell no.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It worked.”
“Good.”
“But answer me something first. Why don’t you want to command this private team by yourself?”
“You know me.” He took a long swallow of champagne. “Would rather take orders than issue them.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. You have command in your blood. Me, I’m just one of the rank and file.”
“Quinn—”
“Incoming.” Quinn eyed the Admiral, who had spotted them and was making a beeline for their position. For some reason, the Admiral had never liked Quinn, seeing him as a bad influence even though he was the most squared-away guy Gabe knew.
“Better get back to the party before Admiral Stick-Up-The-Ass blows a gasket,” Quinn said. “Meet me outside in twenty. If you’re serious, there’s someone here I want you to meet. Oh, and you can remember to thank me for saving your sorry ass from a desk job anytime now.”
He wasn’t joking.
Gabe snorted in response. “You really are a bastard.” He waited until Quinn lifted his glass to his lips before adding, “But Raffi thinks you’re hot.”
As he walked away, he had the great pleasure of watching the unflappable Achilles choke on his champagne.
* * *
Gabe slipped outside twenty minutes later and found Quinn and another tuxedo-clad man on the terrace overlooking the garden. Well, if it wasn’t Tucker Quentin. Why wasn’t he surprised to see the multi-billionaire who owned half of the goddamn world had his manicured fingers all over this private team?
He should back out. A man with Quentin’s power and influence and unlimited funds could be dangerous. He didn’t want to end up part of this guy’s personal army.
But he could feel the heat of the ballroom like a fire blazing at his six. All those people with fake smiles and hidden agendas…
No. He didn’t want to live that life, either.
“Ah, the man of the hour. Lieutenant Commander Bristow,” Tucker said as Gabe hobbled toward them. His foot hurt like hell, but he’d left his damn cane upstairs since his father had not-so-subtly suggested it made him look weak. And Bristow men weren’t weak.
“Gabe,” he corrected. “I’m not in the Navy anymore.”
