Chapter Twenty-Four
4:23 a.m.
Trinity Sands Resort
Cabana 47
Jesse was losing his goddamned mind. Half his team and his son were all in incredible danger. Meanwhile, the other half of his men and the woman he loved were taking on a rescue op with nothing more than a couple of stolen guns and a pocketknife. And what was he doing? Hobbling around the beach, waiting for a call that might never come.
I should be with them.
He stopped and stared toward the hotel, as if concentrating hard enough on the glow of lights above the trees would somehow solve everything. He took a step in that direction—and froze when his phone rang.
Goddammit.
He had a part to play like everyone else, and that was his cue. He sucked in a breath and hoped like hell he didn’t fuck this up.
He answered, but only heard distant voices and looked at the screen. It wasn’t Briggs calling.
“Connor?”
“Dad.” Connor’s voice was little more than a whisper and Jesse’s stomach cramped with dread.
“Everything okay?”
A pause. “Schumacher’s not on our side.”
“What?”
“I overheard him talking to someone on the phone this afternoon, and he kept saying they weren’t ready to go to war yet. Then again, just a few minutes ago, he reported to the guys downstairs. Then he made another call and said he was out of options and had to get out because things had gone to shit here. I-I think he’s here to kill someone.”
Fuck. How could that be? They’d thoroughly vetted every one of the recruits. Harvard had run the background checks himself. Had Schumacher decided to switch teams mid-game, or had he been playing for the other side all along?
A Defion plant in their training program.
Holy shit. Had Schumacher infiltrated the program to get close to someone in HORNET? But then why was he reporting to Briggs, when it was likely Briggs and crew had gone rogue from Defion?
“What do I do, Dad?” Connor asked.
“Do not let Schumacher anywhere near Jean-Luc.” Though if Jean-Luc had been the target, the Cajun would be dead by now. No, it was someone else. But who?
“We made him leave the room. Dr. Peters doesn’t like him.”
“How is she?”
Connor hesitated. “I don’t think she’s going to live much longer. She’s really pale.”
“How about Jean-Luc? Is he still bleedin’?”
“No. We used the quick-clot stuff from your kit like you said. He looks better, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“He might not for a while.” Depending on how much blood he lost, he might not wake up until he had a transfusion. “Listen, Connor. Lanie is on her way up to you with Seth, Ian, Marcus, and Danny. They’re gonna get you out of there very soon, and when they do, you need to tell them what you told me about Schumacher. Let them handle him.”
“Why aren’t you coming with them?” Connor sounded so small, very much like the boy who was once afraid of the monster in his closet and thought his dad was a superhero.
“I…” Want to be there. Want to hold you the moment you’re safe and know you’re okay. But he couldn’t manage to say any of that out loud. “I had to stay behind.”
“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Connor snorted derisively, trying to sound tough, but even over the phone, Jesse heard the emotion his son was battling back. “You were never there when I needed you. Why would it change now?”
Jesse nearly choked on the knot in his throat. “Connor…I didn’t stay away all those years because I wanted to. Your mother…” He trailed off, sighed to try and dislodge the ever-tightening knot. This wasn’t the way he’d planned on this conversation happening, but he had to make his boy understand.
Just in case things went FUBAR.
“For a long time, your mother didn’t want me around you. And I’m not blamin’ her,” he added quickly. “She was right. At the time, I wasn’t fit to be anyone’s parent. Hell, I was barely fit to be human. She was protectin’ you in her own way. And then, by the time she—” He stopped short, struggled to find the right words.
“When she didn’t care anymore,” Connor finished for him. “When she had a whole new family and didn’t want me around anymore. You can say it.”
Jesse winced. He couldn’t even deny it. He was ashamed of himself for being too weak to deal with life when Connor was younger, but he was even more ashamed of his ex-wife for casting their son aside when the boy turned out to be too much like him.
“I’m sorry, Connor. Jesus, I’m so sorry. Neither of us did right by you.”
Connor said nothing. The silence was the nonverbal equivalent of an eye roll.
This wasn’t going well.
Jesse didn’t want to point fingers at his ex when he was just as culpable for their failure as parents. He took a minute to sort his thoughts, then tried again. “By the time I was well enough to be a good father to you, the gap between us was already so big. Felt like I was starin’ across the Grand Canyon at you on the other side. I wanted to reach you, but I didn’t know how to make up for…everythin’. I still don’t, but if you’ll let me, I’d like a shot at tryin’.”
Another long silence, but this one was somehow softer, not as tense. Finally, Connor cleared his throat. “I think…I’d like that.”
All at once, his lungs opened up and it was like he could finally breath after drowning for years. “Okay. Okay. This will all be over soon. Lanie’s on her way up to you now.”
“I like her, too, Dad,” Connor said softly. “She’s…nice. Just so you know.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m glad you think so. I want her in our lives.” It was a revelation. A truth he hadn’t known until the words were spilling out of his mouth.
Jesus, he should’ve told Lanie before she left.
The phone beeped to indicate another incoming call. He checked the screen and recognized the number Briggs had called him from before. “Hang tight, Connor. Lanie will be there any minute. I have to go. I love you, son.”
Heart cracking wide open at Connor’s protest, he ended the call and accepted the incoming video call from Briggs. Nothing showed on the screen but the tile floor of the hotel’s lobby.
“Your hour’s up,” Briggs said.
Jesse checked the time. “Not yet. We have five minutes.”
“You’re cutting it close.”
“We can’t find the women. We think they escaped with the rest of the hotel staff and guests.”
“You’re lying. You have one of the doctors locked upstairs with your man. He could’ve brought her down at any time.”
The picture lifted to show one of the masked men holding a gun to Gabe’s head.
“Do it,” Briggs ordered.
“No! Wait! Our guy upstairs is injured. He’s unconscious. He can’t bring her down.”
“Then you should’ve told those kids in there to open up and let us take her. Do it,” Briggs said again.
Gabe drew a deep breath, but he didn’t shut his eyes. He unflinchingly stared death in the face—again. But the shot never came. The man holding the gun seemed to falter. His arm dropped to his side as if the gun was suddenly too heavy.
“What are you doing, old man?” Briggs demanded. “Shoot him.”
The man coughed up blood and slumped to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor. He wasn’t simply defying orders. There was something seriously wrong with him.
“Briggs, listen to me. Your man’s in trouble. Do you have a medic?”
“What?” Briggs snapped. He’d put the camera down to help his guy, and now all Jesse could see was the skylight in the ceiling. Too bad they didn’t have some tear gas. Drop a canister or two through that skylight and this whole situation would be over pretty damn fast.
“Do you have a medic on your team?” Jesse asked again, shouting to make sure he was heard. “Or a doctor among the hostages? Your guy is sick.”
Briggs didn’t answer. Instead, there was a grunt, like the huff of air a man made when he was punched solidly in the stomach. The sound of bodies thunking together in hand-to-hand combat. The camera spun as if someone had kicked it, but Jesse could still only see the ceiling. Still, he watched the small screen intently. Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard must have used the moment of distraction to their advantage and launched an attack against the hostage takers.
For one shining moment, Jesse hoped maybe this was the end of it. Gabe and Quinn were professionals. The former SEALs knew what they were doing. They’d gain the upper hand and everyone would finally be safe.
No such luck.
Jesse flinched at the bang of a gunshot followed by screams. Then silence that lasted so fucking long, he thought he might pass out from holding his breath in gut-wrenching anticipation.
Finally, the camera moved. Someone picked it up and pointed it at the group of hostages. One down, blood spreading in a pool around a brunette head. He squinted at the screen, wishing the picture was bigger.
Was that…Harvard?
The camera shifted, and Jesse released his breath in relief. The Tangos had Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard on their knees, hands locked behind their heads. Harvard was bleeding from a gash over his eyebrow, but that was better than a bullet in the brain. Quinn’s lip was split and swollen, and Gabe was going to have a massive black eye soon. His lid was already swelling shut.
The camera zoomed in on the dead man. Mid-twenties, maybe. Brunette with blue eyes that stared, glassy and sightless, at the ceiling. His expression was one of frozen shock. Nearby, a woman about the same age had crumpled into a sobbing heap while the other hostages tried to comfort her.
“You have another hour,” Briggs said, almost mechanically. Like he, himself, was in shock.
That was the voice of a man who hadn’t meant to kill anyone. That was a man having second thoughts. Jesse could use that.
“Briggs. How’s your man?”
A pause. “He’s breathing blood. How do you think he is?”
“Let me come in and treat him. And anyone else who needs it.”
Briggs gave a humorless laugh. “I was right about you, medic.”
“Yeah, you were. I hate seein’ people die needlessly when I can do somethin’ to help them. Let me help your guy, and in return, you’ll release one of mine.”
Another pause. “Which one?”
“Gabe.” Jesse didn’t even think about his answer. While his cousin would probably have his head for not getting her fiancé and the father of her children out, he knew Quinn was physically okay. Same with Harvard. Gabe, though, was still on the mend and hadn’t been in great shape when he went to bed last night. The video glimpses had been too shaky to make a diagnosis, but Gabe looked a bit gray. He never should have gone on their training mission and he certainly didn’t need to be dealing with this. He needed out of there, and Jesse knew both Quinn and Harvard would agree.
“I choose the hostage,” Briggs said after another pause. “Not one of your guys.”
Jesse gritted his teeth. Told himself to relax. Any hostage release was a good thing. “All right. Fair enough.”
“You come in empty-handed. I don’t even want to see your phone.”
“I’ll need a first aid kit.”
“We’ll find you one. You have three minutes to show. Take longer, and the deal’s off.”
Briggs hung up. Jesse gave himself a second to calm his racing heart, then tapped out a fast text to Lanie. The team had to know he’d be inside. He didn’t wait for a reply, but tossed the phone aside and started running. Three minutes was barely enough time to get to the beach in front of the main building, not to mention into the lobby, and he couldn’t risk showing up even a second too late.
He ran flat out, ignoring the pain in his bad ankle, until he reached the beach in front of the hotel. Only then did he hobble to a stop and check his watch. Thirty seconds left. Heaving in a breath, he ran again, his limp more pronounced with each step. He reached the front entrance just as Briggs held up a phone. On the screen, a timer counted down the last few seconds.
Jesse curbed the impulse to rush inside and stopped on the other side of the glass from Briggs. “I’m here,” he called loud enough to be heard through the glass. “Release a hostage.”
Briggs’s lips compressed, but then he looked at his guy propped against the wall, gasping for breath, and relented. He called one of his other men forward with a hand motion. A moment later, the door opened, and they shoved a woman out. The front desk clerk. She was wide-eyed and babbling in terrified French.
Jesse went to her and grasped her shoulders briefly, telling her, “You’re okay now. Run to town. Get help.”
He knew she spoke basic English, but he didn’t know how much had gotten through her fear and he didn’t have time to repeat himself.
Without another thought for his safety, he walked inside and was greeted by the business end of several weapons.
“Search him,” Briggs ordered.
He cooperatively raised his hands and locked his fingers behind his head as two guys slid cautiously toward him. He scanned the room and took stock of the hostages as one man patted him down. The other kept a weapon trained on him, and he made sure not to so much as sneeze. Both of these guys appeared to be nervous, and he didn’t want to set off anyone’s itchy trigger finger.
From across the room, his gaze locked with Gabe’s. The boss didn’t look happy with him, but fuck that. He counted at least five serious injuries among the hostages. Gabe looked like he’d keel over at any minute, and he, Quinn, and Harvard were all bleeding from various wounds. Then there was the Tango who most likely needed a hospital.
Gabe lifted his brows in silent question. Knowing he was asking about the rest of the team, Jesse flicked his gaze to the ceiling. He hoped that was enough to convey they had a plan, but he couldn’t take the time to make sure Gabe understood. The moment the Tangos finished patting him down, someone shoved a heavy-duty first aid kit at him.
“We removed everything sharp,” the guy said in the rough voice of a heavy smoker. “So don’t get any bright ideas.” He then pushed Jesse toward the downed hostage taker.
“What’s his name?” he asked as he knelt beside the man and opened the kit. Thankfully, it was more like his field trauma kit than a typical first aid. Seeing as this was Tuc Quentin’s hotel, he shouldn’t be surprised. Hollywood took the Boy Scouts’ “always prepared” motto to extremes.
“You don’t need to know,” the heavy smoker said.
Did these guys really still think they were going to get away scot-free? With Briggs found out and Tucker working on the problem back in the States, it was only a matter of time until the rest of their names came out. Their op was beyond FUBAR’d. Obviously they just didn’t realize it yet.
Jesse spared a quick thought for Lanie and the guys—it was up to them now—and then got to work.