Broken Honor (28 page)

“But I didn’t.” Quinn shrugged. “What can I say, I’m stubborn like that. Only thing I can’t figure out is why you got Liam involved. You had to know he wouldn’t play by your rules.”

“He was supposed to be an easy scapegoat,” Jasper said after a beat of silence. “All we had to do was dangle the possibility of revenge, and he was on board. If things went sour, the shit was going to fall on his head, not mine or Michael’s.”

“That worked out well. There’s now a shitstorm bearing down on you.”

“We didn’t expect him to kill everyone. He was making money off us, too, and we assumed he wanted to keep our business arrangements intact.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing about criminals. Can’t trust ’em. Which is why, Jasper, I didn’t come here alone. So that gun you’re reaching for to kill me? Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Behind him, the SUV’s door opened. He pointed downward, and Jasper gazed at the red laser dot centered over his heart. The hand that had been inching toward his side froze.

Quinn didn’t bother concealing his smile. “You remember Seth Harlan, don’t you?”

Jasper swallowed hard.

“Good. Then you know he doesn’t miss.”

Several police cars screamed into the lot, and Lanie and Marcus climbed out of the first one with Danny Giancarelli, HORNET’s FBI contact.

“Hey, Quinn,” Giancarelli said casually, as if they’d just run into each other at the store or something. “How’s it going?”

“It will be going a helluva lot better if you tell me we got him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Marcus said.

Giancarelli nodded. “Heard the whole thing, loud and clear.” He unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt, grabbed Jasper’s wrists, and secured them behind his back. “Jasper Bristow, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and…a whole shitload of other charges. You have the right to remain silent…”

Quinn walked toward Gabe’s father, stopping on his way to pick up the crushed flash drive on the pavement. “They were both fakes, but this one? Nothing inside but a microphone designed by Harvard. Indestructible, since we figured you’d try to destroy it.” He tucked the remnants into the pocket of Jasper’s coat, then turned as Jace Garcia approached. “Like you said, once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Garcia dropped the cash into an evidence bag one of the FBI agents handed him. “Helps to know which side the traitor is betraying before you trust them.”

Jasper stared down at his pocket in shock, then lifted his gaze.

Quinn leaned in, got in his face. “Keep it as a memento.”

As Giancarelli pulled Jasper away, Seth and Jesse lowered their weapons and came out from behind the open doors of the SUV.

“Could have warned us about Garcia,” Jesse said.

“Had to make it look real. Thanks for the backup,” Quinn said to Seth.

The sniper shrugged and shouldered his rifle. “Hey, my rescue was part of the reason they kept trying to kill you. It’s the least I could do. But,” he added with a crooked half smile, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home to Phoebe now.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Home sounds like a damn good plan.” He turned to Marcus. “Did you and the FBI have any luck tracking down Liam?”

“No. We lost him in Istanbul. He’s gone to ground.”

“He’ll reappear. Eventually. He always does.”

Marcus clapped him on the back. “We know he’s alive now. We’ll be ready for him next time.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

Marcus clapped him on the back one more time, then walked over to join the rest of the team by the SUV. Jesse started to follow, but Quinn grabbed his arm.

“Hey, Jesse? Can we talk?” He motioned away from the SUV with his chin, and the medic broke away from the group, following without protest.

Once they were out of earshot, Quinn turned to him. “I need your help.”

“This about Mara?”

“Yeah. Listen, I want to be in her and the baby’s lives, but…thing is, what the fuck do I know about being a good father, about having a family? I’ve never had one.”

“Bullshit.”

The vehemence in Jesse’s voice brought Quinn’s head around. “You got something to say, Warrick?”

“Bull. Shit,” Jesse repeated. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again, you got more of it than a cow pasture. You see those men standin’ over there? Why do you think they’re here? Why do you think they all dropped what they were doin’ to hop on a plane, fly halfway round the world, and dig you out of the black hole of Europe?”

Quinn opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Uh, I assumed it had more to do with Mara and the baby than—”

“You really did scramble that brain of yours, didn’t you?” Jesse shook his head and pointed at the team. “Right there is your family. Yeah, it’s fuckin’ crazy and dysfunctional and infuriatin’ as all hell—but speakin’ as a guy with more relatives than
The Brady Bunch
, I can tell you that’s how families are. And the one we’ve cobbled together here? It ain’t half bad.”

Quinn stared at the men, watched them interact. Seth and Ian were leaning against the SUV, no doubt taking verbal jabs at each other as they liked to do. Harvard, Marcus, and Jean-Luc had gathered around Harvard’s tablet and were watching something intently until Jean-Luc cracked a joke that made them all laugh.

Christ. He’d always looked at them as a team. Had practically brandished that word, “team,” around like a shield to keep a modicum of distance between himself and the guys.

But they were more than just a team.

He faced Jesse again. “What do I need to do to win her back?”

Jesse grinned and looped an arm around his shoulders. “Grovel, pal. And grovel hard.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

El Paso, Texas

“Hawkeye! How many times do I have to tell you, the box isn’t for you?” Mara bent over and picked up her cat, who mewed his disapproval at being removed from the cardboard box yet again. She scratched him between the ears, then set him on the floor and took a moment to stretch her aching back before she finished packing up her dishes.

“Hey, Mar?” Lanie called from the living room. “What do you want me to do with this bag?”

“What bag?”

“This one.” She came through the kitchen door and held up the canvas duffel. “Found it in the back of the closet. Doesn’t look like anything of yours.”

“Because it isn’t.” At first, Mara didn’t recognize it and took it over to the table to unzip it. Inside, she found two changes of men’s clothing, a small toiletry kit, a combat knife in a leather sheath, and a mystery novel. She picked up the book and ran her hand over the cover. Remembered how Travis had sat in her living room that first night of his assignment as her bodyguard, feigning interest in the book, pretending he wasn’t the least bit attracted to her.

She opened the book. He’d marked his spot with a receipt—only ever made it to page fifty before lust got the better of them both.

Her vision blurred. She snapped the cover shut and replaced the book, then zipped up the bag. “I completely forgot I had this. It’s Travis’s. He left it here in July. You should take it to him.”

Lanie shook her head and reached for a box of tissues, held it out. “Nah, girl. You should give it to him yourself.”

She sniffled and rejected the offered tissues. “No. I’m done crying. And I’m done with Travis.” She wiped away the tears with the backs of her hands. “God. What did I ever see in him?”

“Besides a hot bod?”

Mara snorted. “Besides that. And you shouldn’t be looking at his bod.” When Lanie didn’t say anything more, she glanced over. “You’re supposed to back me up here. Where’s the Ben and Jerry’s–filled man-bashing pep talk? That’s like a post-breakup law in the BFF handbook. I’m starting to feel cheated.”

Lanie bit her lower lip, indecision battling over her features, then she heaved out a sigh. She grasped Mara’s hands in her own. “I am so proud of you…but you’re wrong.”

“Ben and Jerry’s is never wrong.”

“I can’t agree more, but that’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m talking about Quinn. You’re wrong about him.”

“If you think that, then why are you proud of me?” Mara tried to pull away, but Lanie held on tight.

“Girl, you’ve spent your entire life letting people walk all over you. I’m happy you finally stood up for yourself, but pushing Quinn away wasn’t right. Do you have any idea what a disaster he was until we found you at Olesea’s?”

“Disaster?” And there were the tears again, threatening to spill over.

“Total FEMA-level state of emergency,” Lanie said. “Honestly, it would have been pathetic to see him like that if I didn’t know how much that man cares about you. He’s a good man. Sad, lonely, and God knows his head’s fucked up six ways from Sunday. But a good man.”

Mara shook her head. She didn’t want to hear this. Especially
not from Lanie. She wanted the Ben and Jerry’s and righteously indignant man bashing. “I—I can’t.”

Lanie squeezed her hands. “You keep saying that, but what is it you’re so sure you can’t do?”

“I can’t fix him,” she blurted, and her cheeks heated when Lanie lifted a brow. “I mean, there’s something broken in him, and it’s not his head injury. I understand that. It’s deeper than that. It’s this self-loathing that makes him put himself in unnecessary danger, and no matter what I do or say, I can’t make it better. I can’t fix him.”

“But if you fell in love with him as he is now, why do you want to fix him?”

Mara opened her mouth and realized too late she didn’t have an answer.

The corner of Lanie’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “Mara, you have a one-eyed cat, a three-legged dog, and every day you wear a watch that doesn’t tick. You like broken. It’s kinda your thing.”

Across the kitchen, Hawkeye jumped into the box again and BJ was standing up on her one hind leg, peering over the edge like she was trying to decide if she could get in, too.

Mara called the dog’s name softly. Her curled tail swished and she gave a goofy doggie grin before clumsily hopping up and over the edge of the box.

And, crap, Lanie hadn’t only hit the nail on the head, she’d driven it home with one strong blow of logic. Mara had never thought of her animals as broken, although many people would. Nor had she ever considered fixing her dad’s watch, although anybody else would.

So why did she think she had to fix Travis?

“Oh…” She sank into a chair and dropped her head heavily to the table. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard love does that to people.”

Mara turned her head to the side and scowled at her best friend. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

“Maybe a bit.” She held her fingers an inch apart. “At least this much.”

Mara pushed herself upright. “Don’t get too smug there, Ranger Delcambre. You think I didn’t notice the googly eyes you and my cousin were making at each other? Everyone noticed.”

Lanie winced. “Everyone?”

“Yup. Everyone.”

“Shit.”

“I’ve heard love does that to people,” Mara mocked in singsong.

“I’m not in love with Jesse.” Lanie sighed and pulled out another chair at the table. “I’m…madly, deeply in lust. God, he is so hot, and I bet he’s packing more than a fine ass in those Wranglers.”

“Oh. Ew.” Mara stuck out her tongue in disgust. “No, I don’t want that picture in my head. Pass the brain bleach.”

“You brought it up, girl.”

“And you made sure I regretted it.”

“Teaches you not to deflect a conversation.”

“Lesson learned. Now I’m never going to be able to look at Jesse again without thinking about his…Wranglers. So much ew.”

They sat in amused silence for a few minutes until Lanie leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand. “So? What are you going to do about Quinn?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not something I have to decide right now, is it? He’s still in London and—”

Her doorbell rang.

Lanie grinned. “You sure about that?”

Mara shoved away from the table so hard she frightened Hawkeye and BJ from the box. The both scampered toward the bedroom. “Travis is here? Right now? And you knew he was on his way?”

“Jesse called this morning and asked if I could hang out here until Quinn got in. Which, you know, I was here anyway helping you pack, so no big deal.”

Nerves jangled around in her belly. “Oh, shit. No big deal?” She ran a hand over the messy topknot of her hair and cringed. “Lanie! You could have at least told me to shower and get dressed before he got here.”

Lanie tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Why? He’s seen you braless with messy hair before. Obviously, or you wouldn’t be knocked up right now.”

“Ugh. You’re so not a girl sometimes.” She hurried toward the master bathroom and called over her shoulder, “Stall for me. I’ll be out in five—no, ten minutes.”

She shut the bathroom door, cutting off Lanie’s groan of complaint, and stripped off her ratty shirt and cotton shorts. Her heart raced as she hurried through a shower. She’d had the same excited-anxious feeling during another shower months ago, when she’d made the decision to throw caution to the wind and sleep with Travis. It was only fitting and somewhat poetic that this new chapter of their lives also started with a shower.

She took the time to braid her hair and slather on her favorite berry-scented lotion before digging through her closet for something presentable but also comfortable. She spotted the blue maxidress she’d been wearing the day she met Travis. Its cut was loose enough and the fabric stretchy enough that it still fit her, so why not wear it again? Full circle.

She slid on a pair of sparkly flip-flops and crossed to the door—but stopped before reaching for the knob.

Why wasn’t any noise coming from the living room? At very least, she should hear Lanie and Travis making small talk, but there was no sound of voices. Someone was definitely out there, because she could hear the scrape of footsteps—too heavy to be Lanie’s—on her tile floors. But why weren’t they talking? Had Lanie left? But she wouldn’t do that without at least calling a good-bye into the bathroom.

Mara released the doorknob and stepped back. Every instinct she had screamed,
don’t go out there!

She kept backing away until her legs bumped her bed, and she sat down. Her room was all but empty, everything packed away for her impending move out of the duplex she could no longer afford. There was nothing available to use as a weapon, and those footfalls she’d heard were coming closer.

“Marisol, I know you’re in there.” The voice slithered over her skin as the door creaked open, and she got her first look at Liam Miller. He was thin and wild-eyed, and his smile chilled her to the bone. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

…

Grovel.

Okay, he could do that. Right? He’d never groveled before in his life, but how hard could it be?

Quinn realized he was standing in front of Mara’s duplex, bouncing back and forth on his feet like a yo-yo, and told him
self to stop. He had to calm
the fuck down, but he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous. What if she wouldn’t listen to what he had to say? If she just flat-out turned him away, where would that leave him?

Out on the sidewalk wearing this ridiculous shirt, that’s where.

All right. Enough stalling.

He sucked in a breath and strode to her front door, only to discover it was open about five inches. All of the nerves jangling inside him went silent.

He wasn’t armed. Hadn’t thought he’d need a weapon for groveling.

Fuck it. He’d have to improvise.

He pushed on the door with the flat of his hand and saw Lanie sprawled on the floor just inside the entryway. There was some blood under her head, but he couldn’t tell if it was a fatal wound or not. He crouched beside her, checked for a pulse. She was breathing, and her heart beat strongly, if a little slow, under his fingers. The blood seemed to be mostly from an open wound over her eyebrow, as if someone had coldcocked her with something heavy.

And that someone had to be Liam Miller. This situation had the crazy bastard’s stink all over it.

He’d made a huge fucking miscalculation in thinking that Liam would go to ground until things cooled off. He’d been thinking like Liam was still the man he’d known, the SAS operative who was smart and careful to a fault, and not the batshit-insane man who had managed to kill eight well-trained people before launching a car-sized bomb at an innocent family’s farm.

Christ. That right there should have been his first clue Liam had gone completely wacko and couldn’t be predicted.

“I know Quinn will be here any minute.” Liam’s voice floated out from the bedroom, and Quinn’s stomach jolted, the nerves flooding back. Mara was alone with that nutcase. In the bedroom.

He left Lanie where she lay, moved farther into the house. He detoured to the kitchen, hoping to find a butcher’s block, but everything was packed away in cardboard boxes, stacked in a neat pile for the movers.

Fuck. There had to be something—

He recognized the canvas duffel sitting on the table. It was the same one he’d been missing for months, the one he’d thought he’d left in Colombia back in May. But he hadn’t left it in Colombia. He’d left it here. And there was a combat knife inside.

“I’ve enjoyed watching you this past week,” Liam continued in the bedroom. “Listening in on your conversations was…thrilling, but it’s time to end this now.”

“What are you going to do?” Mara’s voice. She sounded terrified, but there was a core of steel underneath that had Quinn’s chest swelling with pride. She had said she wasn’t strong, but she wouldn’t think that if she could hear herself now.

Hang on, baby. I’m here.

Liam chuckled. “I doubt you want to know.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” she demanded. “You don’t even know me!”

“I know you belong to Quinn, and that’s enough.”

Quinn moved on silent feet toward the bag and pulled on the tab of the zipper. Slowly, one clasp at a time, it came undone with a soft hiss, and he reached inside, searching for the knife.

“I don’t belong to him,” Mara said.

“Of course you do. You’re carrying his child.”

“That means we had sex,” Mara said, and her voice took on a surprising edge. “You think I wanted this? I’m not even keeping it.”

“Nice try, but I’ve been listening to you, remember? You love that kid and you love Quinn and I can’t think of a better way to make him suffer than killing you both in front of him.”

Mara cried out in pain.

Yeah, fuck the element of surprise.

As blood thundered in his ears, Quinn tucked the sheathed knife into the back of his jeans and kicked over one of the chairs at the table. “Liam!”

Liam appeared in the bedroom doorway, dragging Mara along by her braid. He pressed a gun to her temple. “Hello, Quinn. Nice shirt. Did you enjoy my parting gift at the Belyakov farm? Explosive, huh?”

“Stop with the games, Liam. You’ve wanted a shot at me for years.” He spread his hands. “So here I am. Take it. I won’t fight you. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me—if you let Mara go. She’s completely innocent in this.”