Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Oh God, was Phoebe ever grateful to see civilization again—even if it was this tiny village along the river. But having used this place as a stopover in the past, she knew the people here, knew they would lay their lives down for their visitors if the Taliban came looking.

Normally, the Pashtun idea of nanawatai or “asylum” made her uncomfortable because it meant her presence put everyone in the village—men, women, and children—at risk. But not after today. No, now she was just so damn grateful to have that extra layer of protection. Since the Taliban didn’t want to make enemies out of the locals, they usually respected when the villagers enacted nanawatai . That meant she and the guys had peace tonight before they pushed deeper into enemy territory tomorrow.

She planned to savor the peace.

The village’s policeman—one of the men who had escorted her and Zina the first time—wasn’t happy they were going back. He claimed to hear rumors coming out of the mountains about people dying up there by the dozens. For the sake of Tehani’s family, she hoped that wasn’t true.

Even so, the policeman gave up his home for their use. There wasn’t much to the mud building—a main room with several smaller bedrooms in back. No running water, and the bathroom consisted of a ditch out behind the house. Not five-star accommodations, but each of the rooms had an actual bed with sheets and blankets, and Phoebe was so ready to collapse into one.

Jean-Luc and Marcus had already zonked out on bedrolls in the living room area. More power to them, but she wanted a mattress.

Jesse had set up a makeshift treatment center and was in the process of wrapping a bandage around a snarling Ian’s heavily tattooed chest. Apparently, the bullet had cracked a rib when it impacted his vest, and he’d been in tremendous pain ever since, which had done nothing to improve his already sterling personality.

“Hey,” Jesse said and eyed her as she passed. “You okay, darlin’?”

She smiled at him. “That charming drawl won’t work on me, cowpoke. I’m a city girl.”

He grinned. “Da-yam.”

Ian merely grunted. He looked like he’d rather have his teeth dug out with a spoon than be anywhere in the same vicinity as the medic and, really, Jesse didn’t appear all that thrilled with his patient either. Amazing they hadn’t taken the other’s head off yet, and she suspected they were only tolerating each other because Gabe had ordered Ian to get patched up. Definitely some history between them and more than a little bad blood. Maybe Seth knew why they hated each other.

Then again, Ian seemed to be an equal opportunity hater. She really didn’t like the man all that much.

“Seriously, though,” Jesse said, sobering. “Are you okay? No injuries?”

“I’m good.” Thanks to Seth , she added silently. He had amazed her today. He spent so much time warring against his inner demons that, like the rest of the team, she’d feared how he’d react when faced with an actual enemy. But today, he proved they had nothing to worry about. In the heat of battle, he’d been more comfortable in his own skin than she’d ever seen him.

Which, honestly, was kind of terrifying.

“Have you see Seth?” she asked the two men and, to her surprise, Ian responded.

“Saw him go into one of the bedrooms. Said he needed space.”

“Please tell me you didn’t give him shit about it.” One room was hers and by tacit agreement among the men, Gabe got another—probably because of the injury that forced him to use a cane most of the time. She’d heard the men good-naturedly arguing over the third and final bed, but Ian didn’t have a good-natured bone in his body.

Ian’s jaw tightened. “He pulled me outta the kill zone. Man wants space, he gets space.” With that, he shoved Jesse away, grabbed his shirt, and stalked over to an empty bedroll already laid out on the floor.

Okay. Not the response she’d expected. Was it possible she had completely misjudged the cantankerous Ian Reinhardt?

Jesse huffed out a breath in exasperation and started packing up his medical kit. “Will you let me know if Seth needs any treatment? He wouldn’t let me look at him.”

Heat flooded Phoebe’s cheeks. Was he insinuating she’d get close enough to Seth to see any injuries? Well, it was a nice thought. Not the possible injuries, of course. But as far as getting closer to Seth? Oh boy, did she want it. Despite her better judgment, the very idea of skin-to-skin contact with him filled her with the kind of feminine yearning she hadn’t felt in years.

She promised Jesse she’d report any injuries and checked the rooms one at a time. Gabe was in the first one, the wooden door open to the hallway. He sat on the bed with his bad leg elevated and the photo of his wife in his hand. She decided not to disturb him and slipped past his door to the next, which proved to be an empty room. At the last room, the ill-fitting wood door sat slightly ajar and she peeked through the crack. Not to spy or anything, but if he seemed to really need space, she’d leave him to it.

Seth knelt by a shallow bowl on the floor, splashing water on his face, and she’d never in her life seen any man look so alone.

“Seth?”

At her voice and soft knock, his bare shoulders tightened and he straightened away from the bowl. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were getting cleaned up. I’ll come back.” Okay it was a little fib, but she didn’t want him to know she’d been watching. She paused half way out the door and glanced back. “But, for the record, when someone knocks on the door, you say ‘come in’ not ‘what do you want?’”

He sighed and ran his hand over his head, wiping away the excess water that dampened his short hair. “Wait. You’re right. I’m being an ass.”

As he climbed to his feet, she faced him again and got an eyeful of nearly naked male. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts and he was…

Scarred.

Holy shit. She took several steps toward him before she realized what she was doing. Reached out, but thought better of touching him when he flinched. Battling a fierce rush of anger that brought tears to her eyes, she fisted her hands at her sides. Of course, she’d known some of the details of what had been done to him, but having it all laid out like map of torture in front of her? Damn. She didn’t even have half a clue of what he’d endured.

“Seth,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you.”

“Please don’t.” He turned away and reached for the clean shirt folded on the bed. “I don’t—want you looking at me like that. I get enough pity at home. I don’t need yours, too.”

“I don’t pity you.” To prove it, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, let her palms slide down over the rough skin of his arms. “I’m amazed by you. Look at what you survived and yet here you are, back in the place it happened? I can’t even begin to fathom the courage it must have taken to come here.”

“It had to be done.”

“No. It didn’t.” But that he thought so made him one of the most honorable men she’d ever met. She traced a raised C-shaped scar on his bicep. “Do they still hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Sometimes it feels like my skin isn’t big enough for my body, but it’s more an annoying discomfort than pain.”

“Do you see a specialist about it?”

“Not anymore. Nothing else for the doctors to do.” He shrugged. “I’m healed up as good as I’m going to get. Just gotta live with it now.”

But living with it shouldn’t cause him discomfort. And, now that she thought of it, she might even have something to help. “Lay down. I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room and grabbed her pack from the spot she’d left it in the main portion of the house. She got a raised eyebrow from Jesse, and said, “He’s not injured,” before returning to find Seth hadn’t moved. He still stood next to the bed, hands at his sides.

She pointed to the mattress. “Go on. Lay down.”

The thin white scar across his forehead puckered as his brows drew together. “I’m sorry?”

“On the bed. On your stomach.” She swung her bag off her shoulder and dug around inside for—Ah ha. There it was. She brought out the bottle of lotion her mother had given her before she left for Afghanistan.

His mouth opened then closed. Opened again. Closed. He cleared his throat and very casually fisted his hands together in front of his shorts, assuming a kind of parade rest stance as if protecting his goods.

“Uh, Phoebe, I’m not sure where you’re going with this but?—”

“Stop.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not going to jump you or anything.” Not unless you ask , she added silently and immediately cursed herself for it. So much for keeping her distance. She motioned him toward the bed. “Go on. My mom’s a massage therapist and I’ve picked up some tricks over the years. Plus, she gave me this really great lotion”—she wiggled the bottle back and forth—”that softens skin like you wouldn’t believe. It might be able to help with that tightness you were talking about.”

His expression eased, but he still didn’t move. “You don’t have to help me.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

“Because you need it.”

Again, his brows furrowed. “Is this some sort of compulsion of yours?”

“I just want you to feel better.” She planted her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Is that a crime? What’s with the third degree?”

“I don’t understand you,” he muttered.

She flopped her arms in exasperation. “What’s there to understand? I’m offering to give you a massage.”

He said nothing more, but he didn’t have to. That guarded look in his eyes said everything. Had he been so damaged by his captivity that simple kindness escaped his understanding?

God.

Her throat tightened. She’d show him kindness existed.

Starting with a massage.