Chapter 27

Gabe passed out on her three times. Once after he landed the helicopter in the clearing, but she’d managed to rouse him enough to get him to the nearest town. They were lucky enough to land near a pilot’s house, and he’d seen their hard landing. He’d already been on his way to investigate when they stumbled out onto the road in front of his car, where Gabe again lost consciousness.

Between Audrey and the pilot—whose name she never did catch—they managed to get Gabe into the car. The pilot wanted to drive him to the nearest hospital. He seemed confused when she insisted they had to get back to Bogotá tonight but asked no more questions when she offered the roll of money she’d found in Mena’s desk if he’d fly them the rest of the way to the city.

Gabe woke again, groggy and disoriented, as the plane made its final descent to a private airfield in Bogotá. Audrey had to guide him, practically carrying his weight as they staggered to the waiting car she’d managed to order through an app on her phone. Gabe lost consciousness again as soon as he collapsed onto the backseat, head lolling against the window. His skin was deathly pale under the harsh cab lights. The driver, a grizzled old veteran with scars from a past Audrey didn’t dare pry into, took one look at Gabe and began muttering prayers under his breath. And when she gave him the address of the safe house, he looked at her like she was crazy.

“He needs a hospital,” the driver insisted, glancing warily at Gabe’s unconscious form in the rearview mirror.

Audrey shook her head firmly.

“No hospitals,” she said, her grip tightening on Gabe’s hand. “Just take us to the address. Please. And hurry.”

The driver grumbled but complied, accelerating through the city streets as Audrey watched Gabe with a sense of growing desperation. His breath was shallow and ragged, his skin clammy to the touch. Audrey had seen men die before; she had a sickening feeling that she was watching it happen again.

“This isn’t on me,” the driver growled as they pulled up outside the nondescript building that served as the team’s HQ. “You’re the one killing him, lady.”

She’d hoped to find Quinn and the rest there waiting for them, but no such luck. The place was dark and silent. She stared at Gabe in dismay. How was she going to get him inside?

C’mon, Gabriel. Wake up again for me.

She tried tugging on his arm, but that only succeeded in making him slouch sideways in the taxi’s backseat.

The driver eyed her in the mirror. She eyed him back, sizing him up. He was a big guy, more fat than muscle, but moving Gabe would be much easier with his help.

“I’ll pay you extra,” she said when he balked at the suggestion.

Grumbling, the cab driver slid from behind the wheel, and together, they managed to half-carry, half-drag Gabe as far as the front entryway.

Ah, the power of the almighty peso.

Audrey didn’t dare turn on any lights, having no idea what the cab driver might see inside the room, so she fished in Gabe’s pants pockets, paid him with every bill left there, and ushered him out as fast as possible. She helped Gabe down to the floor and went to the window to make sure the taxi was gone before hitting the overhead light.

Harvard’s computer hummed on the table in the corner. Marcus’s hat hung forgotten from a lamp. A box of cold pizza with one measly slice left sat on the table in the center of the room on top of a map, which had a circle around the address Mena had given Gabe.

So they hadn’t abandoned the house. They’d followed Gabe’s orders to check out the address.

Frantic, Audrey searched forJesse’s medical bag. She’d seen him retrieve it from a bookshelf…

Gone.

Of course, the medic wouldn’t leave home without it, but was it too much to ask for him to leave a scrap of gauze behind?

Behind her, Gabe groaned, and she spun to find him up on his hands and knees. She’d once teased him about being the Terminator, but, God, he really must be. She hurried to his side and soothed a hand over his sweat-damp head.

“Shh, shh. Lay down, sailor. We’re safe. You got us home. We’re safe now.”

Either he wasn’t fully conscious, or he took her words to heart because he collapsed back to the floor without a word of protest. The dress shirt bunched up around his shoulders, and she saw that he was bleeding again, blood soaking through the bandages the pilot had helped her wrap around him.

All this time, during the whole flight from Cartagena to Bogotá, he’d been bleeding when she thought she’d patched up his wound.

Panic ripped through her, a visceral, sharp sting that snapped her back into action. Spotting Quinn’s coat on the back of a chair, she figured he wouldn’t mind her ruining it if it saved Gabe’s life and bundled it into a compress. Gabe sucked in a sharp breath when she pressed it to his wounds, which was a good sign. She hoped. She remembered an episode of some medical show saying that if a patient responded to painful stimuli, they were not in a coma.

So now what?

Audrey had no clue what else to do for him, but the team had to be back soon, right? They just had to wait it out, so she sat on the floor beside him, keeping pressure on the compress with one hand, stroking his hair with the other. And she talked to him.

“You stay with me, Gabriel, you hear me?” She tried to keep her voice strong, commanding, positive, but her tears spilled over in earnest and choked the words. “You need to stay here so you can save my brother and protect the world from the bad guys like Cocodrilo and Mena and Liam and—and you’re going to come to Costa Rica and swim with my dolphins. Your men need you to stick around, too. Quinn… God, he really needs you, you know? He seems like a very sad, lonely man, and he… he just needs you. And so do I.”

Gabe didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard her in any way, but she kept talking. “You hear that? You have to stay with me because we all love you. I love you, and I’m not ready to lose someone else I love. I’m still grieving for my parents, and I might have to grieve for my brother. So, please, please don’t make me grieve for you, too. Please, I?—”

A phone vibrated somewhere in the room, and Audrey shot to her feet. She hadn’t thought to look for one, figuring everybody had taken their phones along, but hallelujah, someone had forgotten theirs.

She found the source of the bzz bzz bzz under the pizza box and a stack of papers. It was Marcus’s phone—at least, she assumed so from the photo of a surfer catching an enormous wave. She reminded herself to plant a big, fat, wet kiss on the man when she saw him again.

Marcus had a text from someone named Giancarelli, but she ignored it and called up Quinn’s number. Dumped straight into voicemail. Next, she tried Jesse and got the same. So she called Harvard’s number, thinking he was the most likely to be somewhere he could answer. The Imperial March from Star Wars swelled from the bedroom off the living room. She followed the sound and pushed open the bedroom door.

Harvard.

Skinny, tousled, and sleepy-eyed, he sat on the edge of the bed in only a pair of white briefs, fumbling around for his phone. When it stopped ringing before he got to it, he groaned, gave up the search, and flopped back to the mattress.

She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Harvard!”

He bolted upright. His shaggy hair hugged his head on one side while the other stuck up in a near mohawk. “What?” He squinted at her, then scrambled for his glasses and put them on crookedly. “Audrey? Holy shit.”

“Gabe’s hurt.” There would be time for lengthy explanations later. “Do you have any way of getting hold of Quinn?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Uh… let me… it’s here somewhere.” He groped around in the bed for a radio and hit the talk button in Morse code. Three short bursts, three long, three short.

A moment later, Quinn responded in a whisper. “This is Achilles. Go ahead. Was that a S.O.S. call?”

“Affirmative.” He looked at Audrey, realized his glasses were askew, and straightened them. “Stonewall is home.”

Pause.

“Say again.”

“Stonewall is home and needs medical attention ASAP.”

Another pause. “Aye aye.” Quinn’s voice was tight with emotion. “ETA fifteen minutes. Out.”

Relief washed over Audrey in a great wave that took the last of her energy reserve with it.

They were safe.

Finally.

Gabe would get the help he needed, and she could relax, break down, throw a tantrum—everything she hadn’t had the luxury of doing in the past thirty-six hellish hours. She slumped against the door’s frame, suddenly so very weak.

“Hey, Audrey.” Harvard, sweet man, was right there, propping himself under her arm. He hid surprising strength in that rangy body, taking her weight easily, but he still wore only his briefs and looked like a whitewashed broomstick in underwear.

Audrey had to laugh at that mental image, though it came out sounding more like a sob. “You always did strike me as a tighty-whities guy.”

“Yup, that’s me.” He either didn’t care that he was nearly naked in front of her or hid his embarrassment well. Back in the living room, he guided her to a chair. “Boring as vanilla pudding.”

“I like vanilla pudding.”

“Sit down,” he coaxed. He spared Gabe’s motionless form the briefest of glances before focusing all of his attention on her. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I—I—I’m bruised and blistered, but?—”

“You’re bleeding.” His hand came away from her arm red, and she looked down at the wound in shock.

“Really?” was all she could muster, staring at the fresh blood dripping down her arm. She’d completely forgotten about the bullet’s grazing blow. She felt a pulling sensation there, but no real pain. It was distant and surreal, like a scene from a movie she wasn’t a part of.

“Yes, really.” Harvard had already crossed the room, opening a cabinet and pulling out a first aid kit. He was back before she could blink, pressing a clean cloth to her arm with one hand as he pulled out disinfectant wipes and rolls of gauze.

Efficient. Calm.

Harvard was in his element here, providing a sense of comfort and control that Audrey desperately needed. She took over holding the cloth and waved him away.

“I’m okay. Help Gabe. He’s been shot in the chest. Please, help him. I don’t want to lose him.”

Harvard’s eyes widened behind the lens of his glasses, and she realized how telling that statement was.

Well, they’d all find out sooner or later.

She met his gaze with a challenge in her own. “Yes, I’m in love with him.” At Harvard’s disbelieving laugh, she shot back, “You heard right. Now stop gawking and do something.”

Harvard grinned but sobered up fast as he took the First Aid kit over to Gabe and saw all the blood. He got to work, doing what he could until Jesse arrived.

“I’m sorry,” Audrey said after a second of silence. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m scared and on edge, and I—” Her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat.

“You love him,” Harvard finished. “I get it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nope. Not for me, at least.”

Meaning some of the others might take issue with their relationship. Namely, Quinn. “Do you think it’ll cause problems?”

“Can’t say. If it does, they’re both professionals. They won’t let it get in the way of finding your brother.”

“God. Bryson.” She rubbed her forehead. “Is it horrible of me that I haven’t thought about him in hours?”

“Not at all,” he said, but she knew he was just trying to comfort her.

Before she could respond, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed outside, and a moment later, the door burst open. Quinn strode through, panic dancing behind his icy gray gaze. Jesse and Jean-Luc were close on his heels, followed by Marcus and, finally, the scary Ian.

“Where is he?” Quinn demanded, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Gabe. He stopped short. “Fuck.”

“Jesus.” Jesse’s long legs crossed the distance between the door and Gabe’s side in three strides. He dropped to his knees and opened his medical kit. “Status?”

Harvard quickly briefed him on Gabe’s injuries and what preliminary care he had managed to give.

Audrey watched as Jesse worked with a quiet intensity, wiping away the sweat dotting his forehead every so often with the back of a bloody hand.

Quinn stood at a distance, watching Jesse work, his gray eyes dark and unreadable. Somehow, he looked alone even in a room full of people, and she realized her initial assessment of him had been right—he was a very sad and lonely man.

She crossed to his side. “Gabe will be okay.”

Quinn looked at her sharply, eyes narrowed.

“He will,” she insisted. “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

“That he is.” His words were quiet and heavy with a weight that came from years of camaraderie and battles fought side by side. “And the most stubborn. He wouldn’t dare leave us.”

Audrey nodded, her hand seeking Quinn’s as they silently stood watch. He stiffened at her touch but didn’t pull away until Jesse straightened away from Gabe.

“Bullet’s out,” Jesse said, his dark blue eyes stark against the blood smeared on his face. He shot a scrutinizing look at Quinn and Audrey’s joined hands before wiping his own on a clean towel. “He’s stable, and I’ve stopped the bleedin’, but he needs a transfusion.”

Quinn subtly shook off her grip and moved away from her. “Then let’s get him to a hospital.”