Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

That eerie calm returned, almost like a sheet of ice had dropped between Seth and the world. He hauled the struggling woman into an alcove. He heard Jean-Luc call his name and order him to stop, but fuck that. This woman knew something and he was damn well going to find out what.

“Who’s after us?” he demanded, turning her around and shoving her against the wall. He hadn’t spoken Pashto since his rescue twenty-one months ago and the words felt at once foreign and familiar on his tongue. This was one language he doubted time would ever erase from his memory. “Who are you? Why were you following us?”

Behind him, Jean-Luc swore in a long string of Cajun French. A hand gripped his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Seth. Let her go. You keep this up, you gon’ have some pissed off husband or brother or father comin’ after your head. And, trust me, that’s not an experience you want.”

“Nah. They’ll just punish her.” And he would not feel guilty about that.

He would not .

She was the enemy.

The woman stilled. He hated not being able to gauge her expressions and yanked up the veil.

Jean-Luc swore again and tried to pull him away. He knocked the guy’s hands off and stared down into a pair of wide eyes. They were an interesting color, somewhere on the border of green and blue. He bet in better lighting, the blue of her veil brought out the blue in her irises.

He gave his head a quick shake to dislodge the utterly unimportant thought. Christ, his mind was all kinds of fucked-up.

“Oh my God. It is you,” she said. In English. With a slight accent hinting at… upper class New England.

Wait. What? She was no Afghan woman. What the hell was she doing here?

He let her go and backed up a step as she shrugged out of the burqa , folded it, and tucked it into the bag on her shoulder. She was a petite thing with curly hair that, like her eyes, wasn’t quite one color but somewhere on the spectrum between golden brown and coppery red. She wore it pulled back in low tail, the end of which brushed the middle of her back.

Okay. Not exactly what he’d expected.

She watched him like she’d come face-to-face with a ghost. “I can’t believe you’re here . I thought maybe you were you—I mean, of course you’re you. But when I saw you, I—” She broke off, shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

“No, you’re not and you need to start. Who are you?”

She drew a breath and threw back her shoulders. “My name is Phoebe Leighton. I’m a freelance photojournalist working on a story about a women’s shelter here in Kabul.” She motioned vaguely toward the street, but he didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Jesus. Should have figured you for a fucking journalist.”

“Excuse me?”

“You act like you know me,” he said, ignoring her outrage. “But I’ve never met you.”

“Of course I know you.”

“How?”

And there was that look, the concerned one that came across people’s faces when they were wondering if he was crazy. He gritted his teeth against it. “How?”

“Because,” she said slowly, “everyone in the States knows who you are. Or at least every journalist in the States worth her salt does. You’re Seth Harlan, the Hero Sniper. The POW rescued from Afghanistan by the Navy SEALs. Which, begs the question, why are you here?”

Hero Sniper. Christ, how he hated that ridiculous media-issued nickname. “I’m vacationing.”

Phoebe snorted and raised an eyebrow toward Jean-Luc, who had surprisingly kept his mouth shut all this time. “Now you, handsome, I don’t know.”

Jean-Luc grinned. “I’m more than willing to help ya out with that, cher .”

She laughed. “I just bet you are. So. Seth.” She refocused those amazing, blue-green eyes on him. “Are we done assaulting innocent women now? Because, thanks to you, the shelter’s groceries are sitting in the middle of the road and I need to go back and buy more.”

“I don’t think so.” He caught her arm as she tried to make an escape. She was fast and almost got away from him. He pushed her against the wall again, this time keeping his hand clamped to her thin shoulder. “What do you have to do with the men following us?”

“What men?” she asked in exasperation, trying to shake him off.

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Jean-Luc said. Must be he decided to play the good cop in this interrogation, which suited Seth just fine. He didn’t like the way his stomach jolted every time she turned those eyes on him, and treating her like a bad guy somewhat dampened the sensation. He again caught her as she tried a duck and run maneuver.

She made a small distressed noise in her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Those men were following us and so were you. Are you telling me there’s no connection between you at all? Because I’m a paranoid bastard?—”

“He is,” Jean-Luc said.

Seth ignored the interruption. “And I have a hard time with coincidences.”

She fisted her free hand on her hip, obviously changing tactics and going on the defensive. Again, fine by him. In his football days, he’d been known for his ability to break through defensive lines.

She scowled at him. “Well, that’s just too damn bad because I don’t know the men you’re talking about. I already told you why I was following you. I thought I recognized you.”

“And you often follow the people you recognize?”

“I didn’t know for sure until just now and—what can I say? Curiosity killed the Phoebe. It’s a curse.”

Jean-Luc gave a choked snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Seth glared back at him.

Jean-Luc merely shrugged. “What? She’s feisty. I have a thing for feisty women.”

“You have a thing for all women.” He looked at Phoebe again, found himself staring at her pursed lips.s gaze settling on her pursed lips. Which was wrong. He made himself meet her eyes, noticed a flicker of…

Panic.

The little fucking liar.

He couldn’t begin to guess why that pissed him off so much. Maybe because the shriveled nub of humanity left in him had wanted her to be telling the truth.

He tightened his grasp on her arm until she sucked in a sharp breath. “We should take her back with us. She’s hiding something.”

She tried to jerk her arm free. “I’m not!”

They both ignored her.

“How do you know?” Jean-Luc asked.

“It’s in her eyes.” If one good thing came out of his captivity, it was his ability to read people and judge motivations. There were some days his ability had been the only thing keeping him sane. He could always tell when his captors were in the mood to hurt him and was able to separate himself from his body to a certain extent, lock himself deep inside his own head. He could also tell when they’d leave him alone and even estimate how long he’d have before they came back. He’d cherished the days they’d left him shackled in a dark room and held on to?—

Memories.

Jesus, the memories.

His grip loosened and Phoebe took the opportunity to break free, using her petite stature to her advantage and ducking underneath his outstretched arm.

“Shit! Grab her!”

Jean-Luc tried, but she was already forging a path into the crowd.

Cursing, Seth gave chase, except his bigger size hindered him. She was able to duck, squeeze, and dodge around people while he could only shove them aside or plow over them. But at least she was easy to keep track of with that tail of copper hair streaming behind her, glinting in the last pink rays of the setting sun. And another plus—the men in the market noticed her immodest clothing and were now trying to stop her as well, finally detaining her next to the frantic jewelry vendor’s blanket.

The commotion created a void in the crowd and Seth put on a burst of speed for the last fifty yards. Which, shit, was a big mistake. By the time he reached her, he was moving too fast, didn’t have enough room to stop, and the laws of physics kicked in. His forward momentum sent them both skidding across the blanket of trinkets as gunfire cracked the air over their heads. Her bag flew up and smacked into his side like a brick as he threw his weight sideways. Even though he took the brunt of the fall, she still gave a muffled whimper of pain when they landed. Hot wetness spilled over his hand from her arm. Her face, inches above his, had gone white, her pupils wide in shock. Her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat.

She was bleeding.

Some fucker had taken a shot at her.

All around them, chaos erupted. The crowd screamed and scattered as the gunshots continued in the tat-tat-tat-boom of an automatic weapon.

Seth’s heart lodged in his throat, which was a damn good thing because it kept his stomach from revolting at each shot.

His men screaming.

Dying.

“You shot me,” Phoebe whispered in disbelief, and the tremble in her voice brought him slamming back to the present just as bullets peppered the ground nearby.

Phoebe screamed. He hauled her to her feet and pointed her in the direction of the nearest buildings. “Move!”

Bullets danced at his heels as he followed. When she turned in a blind panic to run in the opposite direction, he grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her out of the fleeing crowd toward a narrow opening between two buildings. There was barely room enough for the both of them to stand side-by-side, and the alley reeked of piss, but cover was cover. He’d take it over standing out in the kill zone.

Seth pinned her against the wall with his body and pressed his face into her hair, hoping the hood of his sweatshirt would hide the copper glint from passersby. With any luck, the deepening shadows of evening and his dark sweatshirt would completely conceal them.

If the bad guys didn’t have night vision. Or thermal capabilities.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His hands shook, and he flattened them to the wall on either side of Phoebe’s head. Adrenaline afterburn. Just adrenaline. He’d be fine in a second…

Yeah, right.

He was one more gunshot away from completely losing his shit. His throat closed, his lungs seized up, and pain squeezed his heart like it wanted to pop the thing out of his chest. The wall was the only thing holding him up. The wall…and the woman trapped trembling between it and his body.

He sucked in a breath, and the sweet citrus smell of her hair invaded his senses, intoxicating and strangely calming. Even as Phoebe’s heart thundered against his chest, his slowed, and he focused on the dueling sensations. Her rate was way too fast, and—yeah, it probably made him a prick— but her terror relaxed him. She was frightened so he couldn’t be. She needed him.

“You shot me,” she muttered into his sweatshirt, her voice little more than a dull accusation.

Seth leaned back to take stock of her condition. She wore a cotton button-up open over a tank top, and the sleeve had been slashed open by a bullet’s path, leaving a gouge in her upper arm. Her pale flesh was angry and inflamed around the wound, but the blood flow was already slowing to a trickle. Painful, but not serious.

“I didn’t shoot you.”

“Who else would it have been?” she demanded, her shock boiling away into temper.

“Good question.”

“ You were the only one chasing me.” She shoved him, but he didn’t move. “You tackled me!”

“And I saved your life. That bullet was meant for your head. Who have you pissed off lately besides me?”

“Nobody!”

“Call me cynical, but I find that hard to believe. Why did you run from me in the first place?”

“Why did I run?” Her tone dripped with disbelief, even as tears cut streams through the dirt smudging her face. She cradled her wounded arm to her belly. “Seriously? You were manhandling me. Why would I not run?”

Seth clenched his teeth and let go of her, backing up as far as their narrow space allowed. The commotion in the market had quieted, and he needed to get a handle on the situation. “Stay here.”

“Where am I going to go?”

He pointed a finger at her nose. “Stay.”

Her chin hitched up. “I’m not a dog.”

“Stay. Here,” he repeated. She harrumphed. Figuring that was the best response he was going to get, he crept to the mouth of the alley and checked around the corner. The shooting had stopped, and the crowd had mostly disappeared. Police sirens wailed in the not-too-far-off distance. Several bodies lay on the ground but, thank fuck, none of them were Jean-Luc.

Phoebe peeked out under his arm as the first squad car pulled up to the scene. “Oh, thank God. It’s the police.” She tried to squeeze past him.

“Goddammit.” He caught her shirt and yanked her back, once again pinning her with his body weight. “This is not a good thing.”

“Are you kidding me? If you didn’t shoot me—which, by the way, I still kind of doubt—then I need to report the incident so they can find the person who did.”

“They won’t give a fuck someone shot at you.”

“Of course they will. They’re the police.”

He stared down at her in disbelief, but her mulish expression didn’t change. “Jesus. You really don’t get it, do you? How long have you been in Afghanistan?”

Finally, a flicker of uncertainty showed in her blue-green eyes. “A couple of weeks.”

Figures.

He hated to be the one to bust her rose-colored glasses, but someone had to do it before she got herself killed. “You can’t trust anyone here.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me, but between me and the cops, I’m the lesser of two evils.”

“Call me cynical…”

He ignored having his own words thrown back at him. “We need to get out of here. You said you’re staying at a shelter. Where is it?”

She shook her head. “I can’t take you there. Most of the women who live there are petrified of men.”

He sighed. “Fine, then you’re coming with me. Unless you want to tell me what you’re hiding...?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe you.” He clasped a hand around her good arm. “Let’s go. And act natural.”

Act natural , he said. Like it was completely natural to be a hostage.

Phoebe tried to pull free from his grasp, but it was no use. Pain throbbed from her wound up into her temple, and her stomach churned with nausea, sapping her strength. Not that she would have had any shot at escaping him while at full strength. Whatever his mental issues, the man was built like a warrior, all whipcord muscle.

Which made him all the more dangerous.

She could scream. Attract the police officers’ attention that way. As he firmly guided her up the street in the opposite direction of the market, she glanced back. There were several police cars around now, and the whole area was blocked off. At least two ambulances sat in the street, and just beyond, gawkers and media had begun gathering around the barricades.

If she screamed, she’d bring a lot more attention to Seth than just the police. Good.

She opened her mouth but closed it again without making a sound. A man stood near one of the barricades, his gaze scanning the crowd as he spoke on a cell phone. She’d seen him once before. Or, no. Twice. The first time was right before she noticed Seth and his blond friend. The second was when she was trying to escape them. This guy had been one of the men trying to stop her.

Was this one of the men Seth had been questioning her about? He thought the men had been following him, but if that was the case, why had they been so intent on stopping her ?

The man spotted her and pocketed his cell phone in the inner lining of his jacket. And his hand stayed there, resting on something as he broke into a jog.

Oh God, he had a gun.

“Uh, Seth?”

He glanced back at her, then noticed the man. “Fuck. Move.” Lengthening his stride to just short of a run, he all but dragged her in his wake. She struggled to keep pace until a furtive glance over her shoulder showed the man gaining on them. He carried the gun in plain sight now.

Fear was a damn powerful motivator.

She raced ahead, staying at Seth’s side, zigzagging through narrow alleyways, darting across busy streets. When he took a sudden turn to the left, his grip on her arm slipped and she staggered. She dropped to her hands and knees in the hard-packed dirt, chest heaving, lungs burning from overexertion. Blood trickled from her wound and her arm ached down to her fingertips.

Seth reached out to help her up. “C’mon.”

She noticed her surroundings for the first time since they started running, but had no idea where she was, had never seen this empty four-way intersection before. The buildings around her looked residential and rundown, and if she had to guess, this wasn’t part of the city many Western eyes saw. She looked back the way they’d come. The man with the gun was nowhere in sight.

Seth stood there, hand outstretched, panting as hard as she was. He wiggled his fingers. “Phoebe. We have to keep moving.”

She could try to run, get away from him. But the street ahead, narrow and soaked in unwelcoming shadows, didn’t look like any place she wanted to be on her own. The sun had completely disappeared behind the mountains now and with thick gray clouds rolling in overhead, it promised to be a dark, cold night.

God help her, she didn’t want to face it alone.

She accepted his hand.