Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

A light snow started falling as Phoebe climbed out of the car provided by Tucker Quentin, flanked on either side by Quinn and Harvard. None of the other HORNET guys had wanted to escort her back to the shelter. She couldn’t blame them for that, but nor would she regret her decision to go public. She still believed it was their best option, not only because both the American and Afghan people deserved to know about a very real threat but because it was also the fastest way to make sure Siddiqui’s political career died.

And it had.

Under tremendous pressure from the U.N. and his own people, the Afghan president finally renounced Siddiqui’s seat on the National Assembly, and his name was removed from the presidential ballot. Whatever his plans, he would have a difficult time seeing them come to fruition now that the U.N. planned to launch an investigation into his actions.

So she didn’t regret it. She only wished she’d had time to talk the guys over to her side before she went public.

She turned to the men and offered them a smile that probably looked as forced as it felt on her lips. “Thank you. I’ll be okay from here.”

Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’re going to see you inside and make sure the perimeter is secure.”

“Besides,” Harvard added, “I wouldn’t mind seeing Zina again.”

Quinn sent him a sideways glance that could only be described as smug. Or at least as smug as the poker-faced man got. “I thought that was over, ended all neat and tidy. Like a contract.”

“Uh…” Harvard flushed bright red and scrambled ahead of them to open the gate.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Quinn said.

“A contract?” Phoebe asked, but she was too tired and emotionally wrung to be genuinely curious. She followed Quinn into the courtyard and waited while he did a visual sweep of the area.

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a tiny smile. “It’s a long story.”

“One he’s not going to tell,” Harvard added with a pointed look at his teammate as he shut and locked the gate. “Or else I’ll turn him into an Internet meme. With kittens. And unicorns.”

Quinn actually shuddered. “No worries, H. You—fuck! Get down!” In a burst of motion, he grabbed Phoebe and all but threw her behind one of the shelter’s ramshackle cars. She saw Harvard collapse where he’d been standing a second before she heard the actual shot that took him to the ground. Blood spread in a dark red pool under him, and he didn’t move.

She scrambled to make sense of what just happened. One minute, Harvard was standing there being adorably awkward, and the next…

She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh God.”

“Stay here by the wheel,” Quinn said. “Don’t lift your head.” Crouching low, he ran to Harvard’s side and scooped him up in a fireman’s carry, saving him from a second bullet that went into the ground where his head had been less than a second ago.

He laid Harvard behind the car and tossed her a cell phone. “Call for help.” He leaned over Harvard, checked his pulse and airway, then pulled off his jacket and used it to staunch the blood flow. “Phoebe. Hey! Focus. We need help. Call Gabe. Seth. Someone.”

She had been gripping the phone in both hands, frozen, staring at the blood. Help. Yes. They needed help. She ripped her gaze from Harvard’s graying complexion and tried to dial. She shook so badly that it took two tries to hit the buttons, but finally, it was ringing.

A shadow fell over them, and she looked up in time to see a man swing the butt of his weapon in an arc toward Quinn’s head.

“Watch out!”

Her warning came too late. The rifle connected with a sickening crack, and Quinn crumpled, unconscious, on top of Harvard’s body.

Realizing she still held the phone, she screamed into it, not sure if anyone was even on the other line. “Seth! Help! We’re being attacked! We’re?—”

The man grabbed the phone, threw it on the ground, and stepped on it. The crunch of plastic sounded like a bullet, and she flinched back, scrambling for the car’s door handle. If she could get inside…

He caught her by the throat and shoved her against the car. The back of her head slammed into the door and her vision went white for a long five seconds. When it cleared, he was directly in front of her, so close she picked out hints of copper and green in his brown irises.

His chapped lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing teeth that hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years. “Seth. Is. Dead.”

Panic rocketed through her. Seth dead? How could he be dead?

No. No, he wasn’t. Seth was at Tuc’s safe house, angry but alive. “You’re lying.”

“Seth. Is. Dead.” His fingers tightened around her windpipe—and she stopped struggling.

English.

He was speaking perfect English.

Perfect American English.

“Who are you?” She stared into those copper- and green-flecked brown eyes as tears started pouring into his wiry beard. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Askar!”

They both jolted at the voice, and all of the emotion in his gaze vanished in a blink. It was as if he’d locked it all away inside his head, leaving nothing but an empty, breathing husk.

“I have the woman,” he said in Pashto and hauled her upright.

“No! What are you doing? You’re American! You. Are. American. Please, don’t do this.” He showed no indication he understood a word she said and shoved her toward the front door of the shelter, where Jahangir Siddiqui waited with a silver suitcase in hand.