Chapter Twenty
Bonheur. Xìngfú. Schast’ye. Felicidad. Glück. Saeada.
Jean-Luc knew many words for happiness, but none of them adequately described how amazing it felt to just walk through the drizzling rain on his own two feet. The air was hot and miserably wet, but he didn’t care at all because at least it wasn’t canned and filtered hospital air that smelled of bleach, blood, and death.
As they crossed the hospital grounds, he fell into step behind Claire, and then stopped altogether and raised his face to the sky. Rain splattered over him and he closed his eyes.
He was alive.
By all accounts, he shouldn’t be, but someone was looking out for him somewhere up there in the great unknown. Maybe he didn’t deserve this second chance, but he’d sure as hell not waste it.
“Jean-Luc, are you okay?”
He smiled at Claire’s question and jogged over to join her at the entrance of a tent. “I’m fine. Enjoying the moment.”
She gave him a puzzled look but said nothing more. “This is where Marcus has been staying. There’s an extra bed inside with your name on it. There are showers two tents over. I’m sure you’re wanting to clean up.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded. “When you’re done, meet me over there.” She pointed at another tent across the compound, the one closest to the river. “It’s the mess tent. It’s early for dinner, but I’ll have one of our cooks warm something for you.”
He caught her hand. “And later…”
She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze before dropping it. “Later.”
A whispered promise.
Jean-Luc watched her walk away, caught somewhere between amusement and arousal. Claire was…something else. Unlike any woman he’d ever known. He was as attracted to her mind as he was her body, which was new for him. He’d always kept his past lovers at a distance. He’d taken pleasure in them, and them in him, and then they’d parted ways without ever taking the time to know more about each other.
With Claire, he wasn’t convinced he’d want to kick her out of his bed and part ways. Just the thought of never seeing her again bloomed an ache deep inside him. But what if she wanted no more than his usual slam, bam, thank you, sir?
Merde.
Either way, he had the unsettling feeling that he’d break more than the voodoo curse of celibacy tonight and everything would change. It was both thrilling and kinda terrifying. Did he really want to venture into the land of—gulp —monogamy?
He shook off the thought and ducked into the tent. It was dim inside, lit by only one battery powered lantern with its batteries on the last of their juice. Two cots, not much better than the ones in the hospital, sat off to each side.
Marcus lay on one, but jumped up when the flap door opened. He had his weapon in hand and looked as if he hadn’t slept in months.
Jean-Luc held up his hands, and Marcus blinked like he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real or not. Then he lowered the weapon. “Oh. Hey. It’s you.”
“Just little ol’ me.” Jean-Luc had never seen him so jumpy. The guy was usually solid, but exhaustion had made him ragged around the edges. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” Marcus ran a hand over his face. “And I should be the one asking you that. Are you feeling all right?”
“Fit as a fiddle. Actually better. My knee’s not even bothering me.” An old injury from his short-lived high school football career usually flared up whenever it rained, but he felt not even the slightest twinge despite the downpour outside. And hadn’t Claire said something about his injured arm healing faster than it should have? She’d said the stitches could come out, and it didn’t hurt anymore. Well, put two and two together and that could mean only one thing.
He grinned at the thought. “Pretty sure I’m a superhero now. Like Deadpool.”
Marcus laughed, and to Jean-Luc’s complete shock, the laugh morphed into something that sounded very close to a sob. Marcus stepped forward and grabbed him in a hug hard enough to test those superhero healing abilities.
“I thought I was going to lose you, too.” Marcus’s voice was muffled by his shoulder. “I saw you in that bed and all I could picture was Danny dying in my arms. I couldn’t go there again.”
Jesus, the guy was coming apart at the seams. Truth be told, the whole thing made Jean-Luc uncomfortable. He’d never been good with the deep emotional stuff, preferred to keep everything light and airy and easy. He awkwardly patted Marcus’s back. “Hey, now, mon ami, I’m okay.”
Marcus hung on for several moments more, then as if he realized what he was doing, he straightened his shoulders and stepped back. “Sorry, man.”
Jean-Luc waved a hand dismissively. “No worries. I get it.” And he did, but that understanding didn’t make the whole sitch any less uncomfortable for him. “But you look like shit warmed over, and that coming from a guy who was on his death bed less than five days ago, is saying something. You gotta take care of yourself. Danny wouldn’t want you to kill yourself over him.”
“I’m not going to kill myself.”
“Yeah, not with a bullet, but you keep going like you have been, you’ll get the same result.”
“Now you sound like Jesse.”
Jean-Luc winced. Jesse Warrick, HORNET’s medic, could be a naggy fils de putain. Being compared to him wasn’t a compliment.
“I promised Leah I’d find the guy who took her husband from her. I’m not stopping until I do.” Marcus turned away, went back over to his cot and grabbed his pack from the floor. “So let’s finish this mission and get Claire to safety.”
As long as the virus was here, Claire wouldn’t leave without a fight. “She won’t go.”
“She won’t have a choice.”
“No, I won’t force her. Our best bet is to protect her here until she’s ready to go.” But they’d need more manpower for that. It was only a matter of time until Defion found her, if they hadn’t already. The virus crisis may keep them away for a bit but if this thing dragged out, they wouldn’t wait forever. “Have you contacted Tuc, Gabe, or anyone else on the team?”
Resigned, Marcus let his pack thump back to the floor. “No.”
Yeah, he figured as much. They were likely personae non gratae with HORNET right now, but he didn’t think Tuc or Gabe would leave an innocent woman in danger just because he and Marcus had gone AWOL. He’d have to swallow his pride and ask for their help.
Marcus sat down on his cot. “You want to contact them, don’t you?”
Either the guy had picked up mind reading abilities in the last few weeks or Jean-Luc was broadcasting his every thought on his face.
“Tomorrow,” he decided. “First, I gotta know more about the virus situation. The guys are all family men now—except Ian and Harvard, but I won’t even ask them to come if there’s any risk of exposure.”
Marcus frowned. “What was it like?”
He said nothing for a moment, because even with his grasp of multiple languages, he couldn’t find the words for the pain he’d experienced. “Remember Siddiqui?” They’d stopped the Afghan warlord from purchasing a suitcase nuke a couple years ago, but not before the violent bastard had destroyed so many lives. “Or how about Rorro Rivera?” The little shit had been a psychopath. “Or, the king of the asshole baddies, Liam Miller?”
“Yeah, what abut them?”
“It was so painful, I wouldn’t even wish this virus on them.” And there were innocent people—children, babies—dying of it as they stood here chatting. His throat closed up. “Yeah. It was bad.”
Annnd now would be a great time for a subject change.
He crossed to the other cot. A rucksack similar to Marcus’s sat on top and he picked it up. “This mine?”
“I grabbed some supplies before I left Lagos. Didn’t know what you’d have, so I went on the assumption you’d need everything.”
He looked inside. Basic toiletries and survival gear, clothes, boots, ammo, and a weapon. A solid pistol but it wasn’t his Beretta 92, and he gave himself a second to mourn the loss of his favorite gun. That weapon dated back to his CIA days, and had saved his ass more times than he could count. He supposed it was probably somewhere at the militant camp, but he had zero desire to go back there.
He also found a fixed blade combat knife and thigh holster in the bag, as well as a folding karambit, a boot knife, and a machete strapped to the outside. He pulled out a box of condoms and had to laugh. Usually he was the one supplying the condoms to his teammates, not the other way around.
In a side pocket, he found his gris-gris and smiled in relief at the familiar weight of the protection charm. He thought he’d lost it when they were attacked. He kissed the small leather pouch and slipped the cord around his neck, then grinned over his shoulder.
“You do know the way to my heart, mon ami.”
“Yup. Sharp pointy objects, frilly drinks, and pretty women.”
“Could use one of those drinks now.” And he had eyes for only one pretty woman, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud unless he wanted a good ribbing from Marcus. He grabbed a fresh change of clothes and the toiletry kit. “But I guess I’ll settle for a shower.”
“Wasn’t going to say anything, but yeah, you need one.”
“Embrasse moi tchew.”
“Dude, I’m not puckering up anywhere near your ass until you clean it.”
Jean-Luc gave the finger on his way to the door, but was laughing. It was good to see a little spark of the old Marcus again. Maybe the guy would be okay after all. “Meet me in the mess hall in twenty. I have some questions for Claire about the virus.”
Marcus settled back on his cot. “Wouldn’t miss it.”