SEAL of Honor (15 page)

She left her hair down to air-dry and hoped the heavy mass covered some cleavage. In her everyday life, she liked wearing as few clothes as possible and had no problem with flashing a little skin—but not with men like Mena and Liam around. No thanks.

She opened the bathroom door and spotted Gabe staring out the balcony windows at the sunset. Or at least she thought it was the sunset he watched with such unwavering intensity. Either that, or he was scoping Mena’s security set-up.

Sadly, that was more likely.

All Gabriel Bristow saw when he looked at a sunset was a tactical advantage or disadvantage. He wasn’t the type to take a minute to admire the world’s natural beauty, to soak in a pretty moment. She’d have to change that.

Gabe made such a striking picture standing there in the dying sunlight, dressed in a tux with his bowtie undone around his neck and a fatigued expression of pure concentration on his face, that she wished for her paints. She let her eyes roam over his hard body, committing every detail to memory so she could transfer it to canvas as soon as she got back to work. His military-erect posture, feet braced apart, hands folded behind his back. The way the sunlight set sparks of gold and red off his dark hair. The play of light and shadow over his features. His caged intensity, pitiless focus. She’d capture him in acrylic with stark lines, dramatic contrasts, and call it,
The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday.

God, he was beautiful.

A modern avenging angel.

As if sensing her gaze, he turned away from the window slowly, gold eyes focusing all that intensity on her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that jerk of his shoulders was his breath catching. Maybe the dress wasn’t that awful after all if it elicited such a reaction.

Goading him a bit, she did a little turn and prompted, “So?”

“You look…” He seemed at a loss for words and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. “Beautiful.”

The sincerity in his voice stopped her mid-twirl and pleasure warmed her blood like a shot of good Southern whiskey. He might not be ready to admit they had something more than sex, but the emotion behind that one simple compliment came close. “Thank you. Now, do you need help with that bowtie?”

He shook his head and asked softly, “Are you still angry with me?”

How one man could be capable of the cold ferocity she witnessed at the guerilla camp and also such childlike sweetness, she couldn’t begin to fathom. But, Lord, was it endearing to know her SEAL was not always one-hundred-percent sure of himself.

“Oh, Gabe.” She crossed to him and soothed her palms over the lapels of his jacket. “I was frustrated, not angry, and it was over nothing you did. It’s the situation.”

“It is a sucky situation,” he agreed.

“It is, but the shower helped relax me.” And so did the look on his face when he saw her in the purple prom bomb of a dress. If she could have captured that on canvas, she’d call it,
Lovestruck
.

Silly man just didn’t realize he was a goner yet.

She knotted his bow tie, then stood on her toes to kiss him as the door popped open. No semi-polite knocking this time. Liam Miller stood there with a scowl fit to kill. “Out.”

Gabe tucked her in close to his side and together they left the tenuous safety of the bedroom to dine with the devil himself.

Chapter Sixteen

LOS ANGELES, CA

“So how is Bryson doing?” Despite the phone conversation going from strained to explosive in a matter of heartbeats, Danny Giancarelli kept his voice as even and calm as a late-night radio announcer urging people to enjoy some smooth jazz as they drifted to sleep.

The HT, who wanted to be called Angel, had not liked it when he demanded to speak to Chloe Van Amee and Danny answered instead. He’d liked the suggestion that he let Bryson talk again even less.

“He’s fine,” Angel said in thickly accented English. “But he won’t be if you keep stalling.”

“Nobody is stalling, okay? We’re working as fast as we can to raise the funds for Bryson’s release, but it is going to take some time.”

Angel swore in Spanish. “You’re lying. He’s rich. The money is already there.”

“He has money, yes,” Danny conceded. “But Chloe can’t just walk into the bank and withdraw such a large sum from his accounts. The bank has rules and regulations that need to be followed.”

“What about his insurance? The insurance company can pay.”

Insurance. How could the HTs possibly know about the kidnap and ransom insurance policy? Danny gazed up at Frank Perry, who looked completely befuddled. Useless. The insurance rep wasn’t in the room at the moment, and O’Keane gave him a nudge in the side and mouthed, “I’ll find out more about it.”

Danny nodded and sidestepped the insurance question, saying instead, “We’re working as fast as we can through all the regulations, okay? But while we’re doing that, I need to know Bryson is still alive. Can I please talk to Bryson again?”

“No. I’m done with this. You will pay the ransom tomorrow at noon or else I will kill him.”

“I understand, but tomorrow is Sunday and it’s a holiday weekend here in the States. The banks won’t open until Tuesday.”

“It will be tomorrow or never. I have no problem killing him, Agent Giancarelli. I can find another family that is willing to pay.”

“Okay. None of us want that. How about you let me speak to Bryson? I only want to hear his voice, Angel. You can understand why I want to make sure he’s still okay, right? I simply want to ask him some questions.”

“Ask me.”

Danny snapped his fingers for the list of proof-of-life questions that O’Keane and Chloe Van Amee had spent the last hour working on. They had to be very specific, uncomplicated questions, with an easy answer that the HTs wouldn’t be able to guess. Coming up with a viable list was always a lot harder than it at first seemed, especially in today’s technological world where a quick computer search could turn up loads of personal information.

Someone slid the paper across the table and he scanned the list. The first two questions about Bryson’s sons’ middle names and birthdays were far too easy, but the third should work. “All right. Are you still there? I need you to ask Bryson what name he wanted to use if his son Ashton had been a girl.”

Silence.

“Can you do that for me, Angel? Go ahead and ask him for me. I’ll wait.”

Dial tone.

Danny sat back and blew out a breath that puffed up his cheeks. His heart was hammering, adrenaline surging through his veins like a nitrous injection, leaving his engines revving and his hands shaking. He knew from experience it’d take hours to come down if he just sat here, so he pushed away from the table.

“I’m going for a run. Call me if they get back in the next hour.” He doubted it, though. He wouldn’t hear from Angel again until later tonight at the earliest.

He made it about a block before his phone, tucked in the zippered pocket of his running shorts, rang. The HTs got back that fast? Well, color him surprised. He skidded to a halt underneath a palm tree, dug out the phone, and lifted it to his ear.

“Giancarelli,” he answered.

“Danny. Uh, hi.”

For the space of three heartbeats, Danny struggled to make sense of the voice he knew, but hadn’t heard in years. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the number. It wasn’t a Los Angeles number, wasn’t even a U.S. number. “Marcus? Where the hell are you?”

“It’s…” Marcus Deangelo sighed. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

A skitter of fear worked down Danny’s spine. “Are you in trouble?”

“No. I’m working a case.”

“You got a new job? For the government?” Yeah, he doubted that. Marcus and the government hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

“No. I went into the private sector,” Marcus said. “I’m working a hostage case and I need a favor.”

Danny looked at the number on his phone’s screen again. Fifty-seven. It started with a fifty-seven, which was Colombia’s country code. The HT’s number started with the same.

And he knew.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me you’re working the Van Amee case. Who hired you?”

Marcus evaded the question beautifully. After all, the man hadn’t been one of the FBI’s top negotiators for nothing. “It’s not important. Bryson is what’s important here, and in order to help him, I need any information you can tell me about the case.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Danny shook his head. Marcus wanted him to do
what
? “Hold up. I don’t hear a word from you in nearly two years. Nada. How hard is it to pick up the phone and say, ‘yo, I’m still alive. How’s
la famiglia
? By the way, I’ve found a new job’? And now you want me to forget that and do you a solid by giving information on a case I’m working? Info you know—
know—
I cannot divulge.”

“So you’re the negotiator?” Marcus asked, completely undaunted.

Danny shut his eyes. Dammit. “I can’t talk about this.”

But Marcus either didn’t hear him or ignored him. “Why are you going through with the ransom payment? Is Bryson’s business partner or wife pushing you to it? What happened to the whole the-U.S.-doesn’t-negotiate-with-terrorists thing?”

“You know that’s more of a theory than practice.” Danny turned and started back up the street toward the Van Amee house. “And I’m just the mouthpiece in this. Perry the Prick’s in charge.”

“Shit.” A moment of silence. “Can you just—I’ll take whatever you can give me. You
know
paying the ransom will all but sign Bryson’s death certificate.”

Marcus had a point there. This case was bound for tragedy if they didn’t get control of the situation. And fast.

“C’mon, Dan,” Marcus said. “Help me out. We’re poking around in the dark down here.”

Up ahead, O’Keane stepped out of the house and waited there, arms crossed. Danny slowed his pace. “Listen, Marcus. I can’t promise anything, but… I’ll call you back.” He hung up and broke into a jog for the hundred or so yards of driveway. “Did the HTs call again already?”

“No.” O’Keane arched a brow. “The wife still mad about you canceling the family vacation this weekend?”

For a second, Danny didn’t get it. Oh, right. Marcus’ phone call. O’Keane thought he’d been speaking to his wife.

“No,” he answered. “Leah and the kids went out to the coast without me.” He looked at his phone. Goddamn Marcus. He shook his head and pocketed it. “She was…just checking up.”

CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA

“Bryson works for me,” Mena said and sipped his wine, taking a moment to let that news flash hit home.

No.
Even as her mind instantly rejected his words, Audrey’s throat tightened. He wasn’t lying. Why would he? Except maybe to play with her and Gabe, but hadn’t he already gotten his fill of that through the long, agonizing first two courses of the three-course meal? He’d refused to talk about Bryson through the lemon dill crab cake appetizers, or the stuffed veal chops main course. He’d ignored Gabe’s repeated demands for answers and instead rambled on like they were old friends catching up as each new dish arrived. The food had tasted like wood to her, was about as appealing although Mena most certainly had only the best of chefs in his kitchen, and she spent more time pushing it around her plate than eating.

Finally, when the classic Colombian dessert of
pastel de tres leches
arrived, Mena dropped his bomb and then sat back with that Cheshire Cat smile, scrutinizing her face for a reaction.

Unable to swallow, she returned her wine glass to the table with a hand that shook. Gabe’s solid hand landed on her thigh and squeezed in a silent “I’m here” reminder.

That small gesture meant more than any words of reassurance he could have spoken. She grasped his hand under the table and met Mena’s amused gaze. “What does my brother do for you?”

“Little things.” He flashed a grin. “Nothing too…
involved
…yet, I assure you, although I admit I was working him up to it.”

Oh God, Bryson.
“Why?”

“He was very good at what he did, moving merchandise efficiently in and out of countries. Truly the best I’ve ever met, and I only deal with the best. I cannot suffer fools, which is why I was extremely displeased when Bryson never showed for our afternoon meeting on Thursday. I never thought him a fool, but I started to wonder if I had miscalculated with him and sent people to…find him.”

“So the day Bryson was taken,” Gabe clarified, “you two had a meeting. Here in Cartagena or in Barranquilla?”

“Here, of course.”

The itinerary
, Audrey realized. Gabe was trying to pin down Bryson’s plans for that day, trying to figure out who he had dealings with and who might want him out of the picture.

She sat forward. “Do you know why Brys planned to go to Barranquilla before meeting you?”

Mena gave her an indulgent smile that said he thought a woman didn’t belong in this conversation. Yes, well, to borrow a phrase from Gabe’s book, fuck him. Woman or not, she deserved to hear all the details.

“It was not for me,” Mena finally answered when she didn’t back down, his smile straining a little around the edges. “Perhaps he had other business to attend to there. Bryson was a busy man, and as long as his other business did not interfere with mine, I saw no need to keep tabs.”

Uh-huh. Somehow, Audrey doubted that. And it didn’t escape her notice that Mena kept referring to her brother in the past tense. “You said you know where he is. Did you kill him?”

“I said I might know.” He sent an aggravated look toward Gabe. “Really, Commander Bristow, you should muzzle your wife until she learns some tact.”

Outrage burned through Audrey. She opened her mouth to give him a piece and a half of her mind, but Gabe squeezed her thigh hard. She closed her mouth and looked over at him. His expression was dark and shuttered as he leaned toward Mena.

“She’s far more tactful than I am. Now answer her question. Where is Bryson?”

Mena’s jaw slid to one side. Then he motioned to Liam with a flick of the wrist.

Gabe tensed up beside her, readying for who knows what, but Liam simply laid a map out on the table and went back to skulking in the corner like a good little minion.

“I don’t have an exact location,” Mena said and poked a finger at the map. “But I think he might be here.”

Heart hammering, Audrey stood to get a better look at the street map of Bogotá. Mena’s finger rested on an intersection in a well-to-do part of the city barely a mile from Bryson’s apartment.

Gabe also stood and leaned over the map. “What makes you think he’s there? And why haven’t you gone in after him if you want him back so badly?”

Both good questions. Audrey had a feeling he smelled a trap. In fact, even her untrained nose caught a whiff of one.

Mena lifted a negligent shoulder. “Politics, mostly. I do want Bryson back because, despite what you and your government think of me, Commander, I’m not a monster without friends. I like him, consider him a good friend, and I want him safe again. I also want his captors punished for making me lose hundreds of thousands of dollars a day by taking him from me.

“However,” he continued, “I have a rather tenuous relationship with the EPC’s generals. If I send men in after Bryson, and the EPC is involved, the damage to that relationship could be irreparable, thus making me lose more money.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re so worried about your relationship with the EPC, why send Liam and his men in to destroy Cocodrilo’s camp?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Hm. So where exactly do you think he found us?”

Mena stared at Gabe for a long moment, then turned that lethal gaze to Liam, a vein bugling in his temple. “Is this true? Did you
attack
Cocodrilo against my specific orders to leave him alone?”

“I did what I had to do,” Liam said. “He killed four of my men in that shootout on the highway, including Estaban’s baby brother. He was not going to get away with that.”

Mena pinched the bridge of his nose and waved a hand as if shooing off a pestering fly. “Get out of my sight. We’ll discuss this insubordination later.”

“Sir—”

“Leave,” Mena said and pulled a gun from under his suit coat. He pointed it directly between Liam’s eyes. “Or die. Your choice, Señor Miller. I do not care either way.”

Liam backed up a step. Then another. After shooting a hate-filled look at Gabe, he disappeared into the house.

“Imbecile.” Mena replaced his gun and returned to the conversation as if he hadn’t just threatened a man’s life. “As I said, my ties with the EPC are tenuous—even more so now—and to keep them from attacking my business, I need to stay on their good side. I’m not convinced they are involved, because this scheme is a little too advanced for them. They are uncouth, uneducated brutes. Still, I did not want to take the chance of sending my own men in to find Bryson.”

He sent Gabe a sly smile. “But, you, Commander. I have no qualms about sending you. In fact, if the EPC kills you in the process, they will have removed a massive thorn from my side. It will effectively kill two birds with one stone, as you Americans like to say.”

Gabe straightened away from the table. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not happening.”

“All’s the pity.”

“And until you give me one good reason why you think Bryson is held there, I’m not sending my men within ten blocks of that neighborhood.”

“So cautious. An admirable quality in a mercenary.” He returned to his seat, picked up his wine, and studied Gabe over the rim. “Truthfully, you put Señor Miller to shame; have made me see his unreliability. His job will be opening up very soon. I don’t suppose you would be interested…”