Page 89 of Seal of Honor
Jesse disappeared down the dark, yawning mouth of the stairs.
Ignoring Ian’s insubordination for the moment, Gabe followed. The stench was alarming—an intense mixture of body odor, dirt, and something metallic that sent a shiver of dread down his spine.
Blood.
The room was small and dim, lit by a single bulb swinging from a wire in the ceiling. And there in the corner, handcuffed to a metal bed frame...
“Bryson,” Gabe breathed.
Audrey’s brother looked like hell: clothes torn, face bruised and bloody, eyes vacant. He seemed unaware of their presence, staring blankly at the far wall.
“Jesus,” Jesse murmured behind him. He quickly moved past Gabe and went to Bryson’s side, opening his medical bag with practiced efficiency. “We’ve got to get him out of here, now.”
“Copy that,” Gabe said and raised the radio to his mouth. “Achilles, Stonewall. We found him. Bryson’s in bad shape. We need our exfil cleared immediately.”
“Roger that,” Quinn said.
Gabe joined Jesse, pulling out a handcuff key from his utility belt. He unlocked the cuffs, and Bryson’s arms dropped like dead weight. The man didn’t react. His eyes rolled back, and he would’ve slumped off the bed if it weren’t for Jesse catching him.
“How bad?” Gabe asked.
“He’s severely dehydrated and tachycardic,” Jesse said. “Another day of this and he’d probably be dead.”
Not on Gabe’s watch. “Let’s move him.”
Jesse, though slighter than Gabe, was strong. He hoisted Bryson into a fireman’s carry like the man weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. Gabe helped steady him, then led the way back up the stairs and through the kitchen, his weapon at the ready.
Gabe held up a hand before they reached the patio and scanned the yard again. A body lay cooling at the edge of the patio, blood soaking through the front of his hoodie sweatshirt, his eyes frozen half open. Otherwise, the yard was empty and silent, the pop of gunfire coming more sporadically now.
“We’re clear. Go!”
Jesse took off like a swimmer from the block, jarring Van Amee, who moaned with each rattling bounce. They made it across the yard and vanished into the trees at the edge of the property. From there, it was only a short jog to the helo in a clearing on the next property over. Gabe could already hear the rotor powering up.
Almost home free. Time to round up the rest of the guys and beat feet out of there.
Gabe pivoted to find Jean-Luc—and his bad foot went out from under him. Goddammit. With adrenaline firing through his system, he hadn’t realized how bad the pain had gotten, like someone had repeatedly stabbed a knife in between his toe bones and then left it there. One second, he was up on his feet, jogging toward the side yard. The next, down on his hands and knees in the dewy morning grass with a scream lodged in the back of his throat.
And that’s when he saw them. Jacinto Rivera and Rorro Salazar crept through the trees, trying to escape.
For all of point-oh-three seconds, Gabe considered closing his eyes, turning away, and pretending he hadn’t seen them. Capturing them wasn’t part of the op. In fact, as far as his client was concerned, the mission was complete. Bryson Van Amee was safe in friendly hands. No ransom was exchanged. No money lost for Zoeller & Zoeller Insurance. Handshakes and cigars all around.
He didn’t have to bring Jacinto and Rorro to justice. He didn’t have to risk himself or his men like that. But it went against every fiber in his being, every code of honor he’d ever set for himself, to let them get away.
Then there was Audrey to consider. He thought about the pain and worry and fear these two asswipes had caused her over the past few days. And it wasn’t over. Bryson was safe but had a long road to recovery, and Audrey was going to worry for him, fear for him, for a long time to come. Especially if his captors were still free. For that reason alone, Jacinto and Rorro needed to pay.
Gabe groaned and limped to his feet, commanding his bad foot to hold. It did. Barely. He took off at a hobbling run, very aware that if Jacinto and Rorro continued circling the property like they were, they would run directly into the helo.
“Achilles,” he panted into the radio. “Got a couple runners... south end.”
For a few agonizingly long moments, there was nothing but silence, then the sharp static of the communication line being opened. “Coming to you.”
There wasn’t time.
Gabe picked up his pace, every step ricocheting up his leg, a white-hot reminder of that damn car accident. But the more he hurt, the more determined he became. The sight of Jacinto and Rorro, their backs to him as they scurried like rats, fueled his anger, fortifying his resolve even as his body screamed in protest.
“Hey!” he shouted to get their attention.
Rorro raised an assault weapon, peppering him with bullets, and his foot gave out again as he pivoted to find cover. Cursing, he hit the ground and rolled behind a decorative brick wall before returning fire in short bursts. Rorro grabbed his older cousin and used him as a living shield at the same time as a bullet came from nowhere and skipped off the top of Jacinto’s head. They both collapsed.
