Page 42 of Between Love and Honor

“You sounded a little like James Bond there calling Miss Moneypenny. More friends in high places, I presume?”

He punched another number into the phone. “Something like that.”

“Miss me already?” Adam joked when he answered.

Ben’s chuckle was a bit hollow. Apparently, he was on the run with someone whose skills with guns were comparable to his friend’s. The fact that Adam was renowned to be the best sharpshooter in the world had Ben a little on edge. Hell, everything about the woman made him edgy.

“Avoid the townhouse,” he warned. “We had company.”

Adam bristled through the phone. “Everyone alright?”

“Everyone on our side is,” Ben replied, hoping like hell Quinn actually was on their side.

“Where are you? What can we do?”

“Nothing. I’ve got this.”

“Bennett—”

He ended the call. His purpose was to keep Adam from walking into something that wasn’t of his making. Not to involve him in whatever game Ronoff was playing. The assassin had been surprised Quinn was alive. It was probably better she’d shot both of them so that information didn’t get back to Ronoff. Still, the question of what Ronoff wanted from Ben remained. Not to mention how Quinn fit into the puzzle.

“Annie Oakley, perhaps you could slide the gun under the seat and check the back for a jacket or something.”

She did as he asked and handed him one of Griff’s hockey jerseys. The damn thing smelled like it hadn’t been washed in months. It was large enough to pull over his head easily, though, so Ben really couldn’t complain. Just outside the main gate, he pulled over to the curb and began to cautiously maneuver the jersey over his head, grunting as he did so.

“Oh, my gosh,” Quinn cried. “That’s not sweat, that’s blood. He stabbed you!”

He swore as he pulled the jersey over his injured shoulder. “Yeah, but lucky for you, I’ll live. I’ve had wounds that were much worse.”

She seemed genuinely surprised at that.

Ben snorted in annoyance. “Let’s hope this thing doesn’t soak through this jersey in the next three minutes so we can get past the MPs.”

Pulling his ID from his wallet he drove to the gate. The military policeman leaned in through the window to get a better look at his ID before he caught sight of Quinn and gave her the once over.

“Where are you two headed?” the MP asked, his eyes still drinking her in.

“Over to the marina to meet a friend,” Ben replied, grateful the guy was so focused on the passenger seat. The blood was already leeching through the white jersey. Quinn gave the MP one of her dazzling smiles.

“Lucky friend,” he said before backing away and waving them through.

“Is there a hospital on this base?” she asked once they’d cleared the gate area.

“Don’t need one. I’ll be fine.” Griff’s jersey, not so much.

She huffed beside him. “Why must men be such boobies?”

He laughed and then instantly regretted it when his shoulder began to burn more intensely. The marina came into view none too soon. He steered the car toward the coast guard cutter berthed in the last slip, its engines already fired up. When he parked, he grabbed the burner phone and the Glock. Quinn reached beneath the seat for the Berretta.

“Leave it,” he commanded.

She looked as if she was going to ignore him before thinking better of it. Wisely she grabbed the containers of food instead. When they got out of the car, Ben immediately felt woozy. He ended up leaning on the hood for balance. It was that or faceplant on the asphalt. Quinn raced around to grab him, still delivering a dissertation on the idiocy of men, but Ben was too busy concentrating on keeping himself upright to listen. They hurried up the gangplank where they were greeted by the first officer.

“Is there a medic on board?” Quinn asked before Ben could get a word in.

“I’m fine,” he argued. “I just need a bandage and clean shirt.”

The first officer exchanged a bemused look with her before they both hauled him off to sickbay just as the cutter was pulling away from the dock.

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