“It was my first year with the teams,” he started. “We were in Beirut on a recon mission when we got the call about a hostage situation in the British embassy.”
“I still don’t know why the hell they called you guys in,” Jem interrupted, and Gunner stared at the back of Jem’s head, the familiar
She would’ve laughed, but it would hurt too much. The truck’s steady rhythm and Gunner’s voice soothed her in a way not much else would’ve at the moment.
“Our objective was recon during the day, and then we were supposed to go in, grab the hostage, take out the gunman, all while the hostage negotiator with the CIA was distracting him,” Gunner continued. “It was a good plan.”
“It was a shitty plan and you know that now,” Jem corrected.
“It was meant to minimize bloodshed and unrest,” Gunner shot back.
“It was already too late for that shit.”
Gunner stared at the back of Jem’s head, then muttered to her, “He’s right. The gunman garnered all sorts of unwanted attention—purposely—from the media and the locals. By the time my team got there, it was a barely controlled mass hysteria in the streets. The local police were close to losing total control of the situation. They’d called in soldiers to help, but that seemed to make things worse. The gunman was already agitated and unstable, and he started to lose it when the soldiers rolled up the street.”
“In a goddamned tank. Tell her that,” Jem prompted.
“You just did,” Gunner pointed out. “The gunman—his name was Kassim—”
“I thought it was Amir.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m the one who got shot, so yeah.”
“Jem got shot?” she asked.
“Just a little bit, honey,” he told her.
“Anyway, Kassim shot out the window, yelled to us that he was taking the first one out,” Gunner said. “The hostage negotiators weren’t there yet—”
“Probably having lunch discussing the psychology of the hostage or some shit like that. Hostage negotiators are never there when you need them.”
“That’s the first true thing he’s said so far,” Gunner said.
“Who’s crazy now?” Jem added.
“You still are.” Gunner looked at her. She was smiling a little. “So anyway, all of a sudden, I hear some guy yelling, ‘Fuck this shit.’ And this crazy-eyed person steps through the crowd. Cuts through it like butter, Avery. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or maybe they were just backing away from the crazy.”
Jem snorted at that.
“So this one guy—another agent, I think—says, ‘Sir, we’re waiting for the negotiator. Please don’t make the situation worse.’ And so Jem turns to him and says, ‘I’m the negotiator,’ and he keeps walking. He’s beyond the police lines at this point and everyone just goes quiet watching him walk into the building. Even the gunman’s looking out the window, and he’s kind of stunned at the death wish Jem had going on.”
“Again, the second true thing Gunner’s said all night,” Jem added.
“And so he’s inside and the gunman’s all freaked out, starts firing at him immediately, but he’s wired and so his shots are going all over the place. And Jem’s just walking toward him, weapon drawn, not firing. Just walking straight at him. And finally, he gets right up on the guy. Right in his face. And he just takes the gun from him. Tells the people to get the hell out of the building.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “How did you know what happened inside the building?”
Jem started laughing, that crazy laugh she’d come to know so well. “Tell her, Gun. Tell her how you followed me inside the building.”
“Even then, I knew someone had to watch your back.”
“I had it under control.”
“What happened to the gunman?” she asked.
“Jem waited until everyone got out safely. Then he shot the guy dead and told everyone he’d done them a favor by saving them the cost of an execution. I visited him in jail,” Gunner said wryly.
“I was only detained, not arrested,” Jem told her. “Ridiculous red tape.”
“He tried to get into the hostage negotiating team right after that. Used that as proof he’d do a good job,” Gunner said with a roll of his eyes. “I told you—twenty pounds of crazy stuffed in a five-pound bag.”
“But he’s our crazy,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, he is,” Gunner confirmed. “Crazy and I will get you through this.”
“Crazy just found the perfect motel.”
Under the cover of night, Gunner carried her into one of the adjoining motel rooms and put her on one of the beds. She was holding the blanket tight, shivering uncontrollably. Her body was wet with blood, although the cuts had stopped bleeding considerably, thanks to the pressure bandages.
“Come on,
“She doesn’t want you to see this, man,” Jem told Gunner.
“I don’t have a choice. I need to help her.”
“Get her comfortable and give me half an hour.”
“What are you going to do, find a doctor?”
Jem pointed and for the first time, Gunner noted they were across the street from a clinic with an ER. “Gotta be someone in there who’ll help and keep their mouth shut.”
“Jem—” Gunner started, but the man was already out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Gunner focused on Avery, who was trying to make sure the blankets were covering her. Keeping her calm and from going into shock were two things he could do. Uncovering her now would make things worse, although he wished to hell he’d brought his medic bag. Being helpless never sat well with him, but this . . .
“I’m . . . okay,” she managed to say.
“You’re comforting me?” he asked. “You never cease to surprise me, Avery.”
“I promise I’ll be okay. You’re what got me through.”
“For you,” she murmured.
Chapter Sixteen
The twenty-four-hour clinic had seen better days. Jem eyed the staff, assessing them quickly, and focused in seconds on the female doctor who was talking to a young woman in the waiting room.
Her hair was in a messy bun, a pencil stuck through it. She was touching the woman, who looked like a prostitute, kneeling in front of her. Reassuring her.
She’d be perfect. Especially because it didn’t take her long to get up and walk away from the main part of the clinic. He slid past the waiting area where there was too much chaos and not enough security for anyone to notice him and followed her into the back room.
He would recruit Dr. Drea Timmons as urgently and persuasively as possible.
When she whirled around to face him, she looked more angry than terrified that he’d followed her in here and blocked the only exit. The locker room was small and crowded, with a cot in the corner.
This had happened to her before, and he was suddenly oddly protective of someone he was attempting to kidnap.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to scream. Simply went to punch him in the jaw, landing a semisuccessful and damned good right cross, but he subdued her in seconds. At that point, she looked suitably impressed and fearful. And then irritated when he drew his weapon.
