Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

The bazaar was a vibrant place, full of movement and color that put Seth’s teeth on edge. Vendors who could afford tables stood under bright umbrellas, shaded from the sun and wind. Those that couldn’t just spread their wares out on blankets on the ground or in rusted wheelbarrows, selling everything from sheep heads to dried fruit, fabric, and even toys.

The cacophony of voices and the press of bodies made Seth’s skin crawl, awakening memories he’d rather keep buried. Vendors called out in rapid-fire Pashto or Dari. Or, occasionally, even broken English when they spotted a Westerner. A lot of chatter, haggling. Laughter. Yelling. Honking from the crowded street as cars weaved around pedestrians. The putter of motorbikes zipping through stagnant traffic. Traditional music filled the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

It all combined into a quagmire in Seth’s mind that had him about ready to jump out of his skin. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder every time someone pressed in too close behind him. Couldn’t control the jitter that made him tense up at every contact or loud noise.

Fuck, he had to get over this. Kabul was a relatively safe place—or at least as safe as any city in this godforsaken country could get. Logic dictated he had nothing to fear here. These were just every day, average people going about their lives. Just like citizens in America or Europe, some of these people had no interest in politics and only wanted the endless warring to end. Not everybody had a political agenda. Or even a religious one.

They weren’t all the enemy.

This was another test, he reminded himself and sucked in a calming breath through his nose, inhaling the scents of people, spice, smoke, garbage, and exhaust. Of all the men Gabe could have sent to the market to meet Fahim, he’d selected Seth to go with Jean-Luc, even though several of the guys had done tours in Afghanistan and they all had at least a basic understanding of the two main languages used here. Certainly enough to go to the market and meet with an asset who supposedly spoke perfect English.

So of course this was a test. With good reason, Gabe wanted to see if he could handle being back here and he’d be damned before he failed.

Had to pull it together. Stay alert. Stay focused.

And most of all, stay fucking calm.

Their cover was French businessmen, and he wore a loose linen shirt over khaki pants, a far cry from the hoodies he’d lived in since his rescue. He thought he’d be okay without one, but in the end, he’d been unable to forgo the sweatshirt. He pulled the hood up over his head, hoping it would help with the ever-present sensation of being watched that crept along the back of his neck. A pair of aviator sunglasses concealed his piercing blue eye and the very noticeable scar that slashed across his useless eye.

As they weaved their way through the market, Jean-Luc was his usual cheerful self, just as comfortable halfway across the world as he was in his beloved New Orleans. Laughing, joking, conversing with the locals in flawless Dari. At the moment, he carried on a spirited debate with a teenage boy over the price of a scarf.

Seth kind of hated him for his blasé attitude.

“Li’l voleur ,” Jean-Luc said good-naturedly and returned to Seth’s side with his hard-won scarf.

“You paid too much for it.”

“Mais, I know. Like I said, kid’s a little thief.” But he smiled as he looped the scarf around his neck. “Gotta give him credit though, huh? Besides, what I’m gon’ do with a pocket full of Afghani bills if we end up runnin’ ‘round in them mountains? Up there, it’s just good for wipin’ your derrière. But a scarf? Ah, mon ami , that’s somethin’ you can use.”

So there was a method to Jean-Luc’s madness after all. Because of his propensity to joke around more than anyone on the team, it was sometimes hard to remember he housed genius-level intellect behind that mischievous grin.

But, still, these little shopping excursions were taking too much time. And Seth got twitchier with each passing second. Time to get their job done and get the fuck out of here. “All right, you got your scarf. Now let’s find Fahim and?—”

“Ooh. Shiny.” Jean-Luc strayed from the path to another vendor’s blanket of goods.

Seth stopped walking and heaved a sigh. “You’re as bad as a crow feathering its nest.”

A sudden memory of Emma bobbed to the surface of his mind. She’d ooh ed and ahh ed over the sparkly shit when they’d picked out an engagement ring before his deployment. Actually, kinda the same way Jean-Luc was now.

“Scratch that,” Seth said. “You’re more like an engaged woman in a jewelry store.”

Jean-Luc held up a hand, his knuckles adorned with different rings of varying sizes. “Ah, see, you have much to learn, young grasshopper. Women love the sparkles, yeah? Me, I love women. So I buy the sparkles, give ‘em to the ladies, and next thing I know…” He winked. “I get laid.”

“Jesus Christ. Does your every thought revolve around getting laid?”

“ Mais oui , pretty much. Don’t everybody’s?”

“No.” He hadn’t thought about sex since…well, since that night after he bought Emma her ring. And, in all honesty, the idea of getting naked and sweaty with anyone ever again had bile surging into his throat. Hell to the no.

“See, that’s what’s wrong with the world today,” Jean-Luc said. “Everyone’s so damn repressed. Politically, religiously, emotionally, sexually. We all just need to say, ‘fuck it,’ let that mess go, and have some fun. Live a little, mon frère .”

“Yeah, sure. That’s the problem with—” Paranoia crawled up the back of Seth’s neck, and he turned to scan the marketplace. Was it him, or had the crowd thickened? He glanced from face to face, looking for the slightest hint of malicious intent. Save for one woman who seemed to be staring at him—it was hard to tell for sure through the veil of her traditional blue burqa—nobody paid any undue attention to him. So maybe it was nothing. Hell, with his track record for paranoid outbursts, it probably was nothing. But he swore he’d felt unfriendly eyes on his back moments ago, and he wasn’t going to ignore his gut instinct again. Not after the way Ian had gotten the drop on him in the swamp back in Florida.

He tapped Jean-Luc’s arm. “We need to go.”

“Yeah?” The Ragin’ Cajun’s easy smile faded, but unless you were up close and personal with him, nobody else would have noticed the slight shift in his demeanor. He continued to examine the ring selection like everything was still hunky dory. “What’d ya see?”

“Nothing.” And didn’t that make him feel stupid? “Just… gut feeling.”

“You don’t have the best track records with gut feelings, you know.”

“Yeah, but—” Seth cut himself off, spotting a man standing off to the side of the crowd, a cell phone raised to his ear. He carried on a very intense conversation with someone on the other end of the line and kept glancing in their direction.

Well, shit.

All kinds of alarm bells sounded in Seth’s head. It was more than a gut feeling now. It was a goddamn fact and a strange sense of calm settled over him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years. “Hang on. Something’s going down at your eight. We need to find cover. Now.”

“Roger that.” Jean-Luc didn’t argue and dropped the rings, much to the vendor’s disappointment. He nodded to the indoor portion of the bazaar and, without another word, they made a beeline toward the awnings spread out like colorful fans from the side of the mud building. The man with the cell phone’s curse carried over the ambient noise and he tried to follow them, shoving his way through the crowd.

“You see him?” Seth asked.

“ Oui , good catch. Guess being a paranoid bastard has its uses.” They found cover behind an empty vendor booth just inside the building and waited, backs pressed against the wall.

The man jogged past, now shouting into the cell phone. His voice faded as he disappeared into the crowd.

“ Merde. ” Jean-Luc reached into his pack for the sat phone he’d gotten from Harvard before leaving the plane. “We don’t have long before they figure out we’re still inside. I’m gonna give Gabe a heads up. Something about this whole sitch is fucked. Nobody should know who we are or why we’re here. Keep an eye out, grasshopper.”

As Jean-Luc tried to reach their commander, Seth edged out of the booth far enough to see what was going on around them. He kept his gaze moving like he’d been trained, always scanning, watching, assessing. He saw the woman in the blue veil again—at least he thought it was the same woman—but he didn’t see the guy with the cell phone. Still, that didn’t mean they were free and clear. Obviously their Number One Fan had buddies willing to join the party.

Whatever the party was.

Jean-Luc hung up the phone. “Piece of shit. I got nothing. We outta here. The only person who knew we would be here was Fahim, so either someone got to him, or he was never on our side to begin with.”

“Damn. We need supplies.” Since it was usually much easier to secure supplies in-country than go through the international hassle of bringing their own, Fahim had been the mission’s lifeline. “Going up into the mountains, we’ll be wading deep into enemy shit. Without weapons, it’s suicide. And I’ve been there, done that, got the fucking blood-stained T-shirt and I’m not up for a repeat, thanks.”

“We’ll find another supplier,” Jean-Luc said without much concern. “Trust me. Gabe’s back-up plans got back-up plans. And if there’s one thing this team’s good at, it’s improvisation. We clear?”

Seth checked the area. There was the woman again. Was she… following him? “Clear.”

“All right.” Jean-Luc dusted his hands together. “So what you say to some escape and evasion, huh?”

That woman…

Something niggled at the back of his mind. Most likely paranoia again, but he had to be sure. “No, not yet. Wait here a sec.”

Jean-Luc snorted. “Fuck that. You ever see a horror movie? The pretty one always dies first when they split up and I’m too young to bite it. We’re sticking together.”

Seth rolled his eyes and ducked into the crowd.

Jean-Luc was right on his heels. “Whoa, now. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you just smiled. Did it hurt?”

He flipped the Ragin’ Cajun off over his shoulder. But, yeah, he was smiling. It felt really damn good to be part of a team again.

It couldn’t be him.

Phoebe shook her head and stared down at the eggplant she was holding. What the hell? She didn’t need eggplant. She set it back on the table and, distracted, she continued past several other vendors offering different kinds of veggies.

Could it be him?

She glanced up at the same moment the man in the hooded sweatshirt looked in her direction and for a breathless heartbeat, she thought their gazes locked. Of course, that was silly. He was wearing sunglasses and her face was covered by the burqa. Still, his gaze stayed on her for a beat longer than necessary. She felt it like a sizzle of electricity over her skin before he continued his scan of the crowd.

Dammit, she just couldn’t tell with the sunglasses and that hood up over his head. It looked like him, but why would he be back in Afghanistan? No doubt this was the last place on Earth he’d visit.

Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. It wasn’t the first time she thought she’d seen Seth Harlan in a crowd, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Guilt was nasty like that.

The man and his blond friend disappeared indoors, where bread and dried fruit was sold. She didn’t need either, but…

She followed.

Because if it was him, she could finally—do what? Apologize? Yes, that’d go over well.

Hi, Seth. You don’t know me, but I wrote some really horrible things about you two years ago and I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for ruining your life…

Right.

It most likely wasn’t him anyway, but at least now she had a distraction from the frustration roiling under her skin. She’d taken her photos of Tehani—face blurred to preserve the girl’s identity, of course—and the bomb vest to the Ministry of Women’s Affairs and had gotten nowhere. It was like nobody cared that Tehani’s husband, obviously a man of power, was using his young wives as suicide bombers when he tired of them.

She just didn’t get it. What was the point of having a Ministry of Women’s Affairs if she couldn’t even get past the front desk to talk to the minister? She’d just have to try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. If all else failed, she’d take it public herself. If there was one thing she could do well, it was creating a media firestorm.

Which, of course, brought her mind back to Seth Harlan.

Pausing just inside the door, Phoebe searched for the man in the hooded sweatshirt. The two men should be easy enough to spot. Blonds like his friend tended to stick out here in a land full of people with brown skin and dark hair.

Except she couldn’t find them. A lot of people wandered up and down the aisle, but none were the hooded man or his companion.

She frowned. Now hold a second. They couldn’t have vanished.

Unless her mind really was playing tricks.

She wandered back outside and looked around. Nope. Whoever he was, he’d given her the slip. Sighing at herself, she decided she was too tired and frustrated to continue shopping and cut through the market with the intention of returning to the shelter.

Crossing streets in Kabul was a bit like a real-life version of Frogger. One wrong move and splat! Game over. Getting to the other side in one piece always took patience and no small amount of skill. Unlike natives who darted out no matter what was barreling their way, Phoebe preferred to play it safe and wait for a break in the traffic. Sometimes it took a while, but waiting was better than ending up a road pancake.

As she stood on the curb, she sensed a presence looming too close behind her. Alarm crawled up her spine and she toyed nervously with the strap of the bag on her shoulder. She usually didn’t have problems going out alone in Kabul—as long as she wore the burqa, men saw her as a modest Muslim woman and left her alone. It was when she wore only a head scarf that she ran into trouble. Her light copper hair and pale skin stuck out in a crowd, so as much as she hated the burqa as a symbol of oppression, it also provided a modicum of safety. She understood why many women feared to give it up.

Finally, the traffic lulled and she nipped between a lumbering bus and a taxi. Whoever was behind her stayed on her butt and his shadow fell over hers as the sun sank to their backs.

Probably just someone going in the same direction as her. Nothing to get worked up about. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes locked on the back of her head. Her heart kicked into a panicked gallop and sweat trickled into her eyes under her veil.

Oh crap. If she was being followed, she couldn’t lead this person to the shelter.

Making a split second decision, she darted back across the road, barely avoiding a motorbike that jumped onto the sidewalk to get around the stalled traffic. With a squeak of surprise, she dropped her basket and stumbled backward.

An arm clamped around waist from behind and jerked her against a lean, hard body as a big hand clamped over her mouth.