Stronger than Sin (Sin Hunters)

by Caridad Piñeiro

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  Copyright Page

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

  “I said I would. I needed to see how you’re doing,” Liliana said.

  He gave another shrug, seemingly indifferent except she sensed undercurrents beneath. Dangerous ones.

  “I’m here. I’m alive. Consider your obligation fulfilled.”

  “I’d like to make sure you’re okay. Are you hungry?”

  Some emotion finally cracked the stern lines of his face. A hint of a smile and glitter in eyes that had gone to slate gray. He took a long stride toward her, until bare inches separated them. Laying a hand at her waist, he bracketed her side with it, sending her insides quivering.

  Jesse glanced down at Liliana, sensing the tremor in her body.

  She was as aware of him as he was of her. At his touch, her gaze had gone wide, revealing eyes that were nearly black with desire. When she moistened her lips, the last of his restraint disappeared.

  He bent his head, whispered against her lips. “I’m hungry, but not for food.”

  Stronger Than Sin is my twenty-fifth published novel and, because of that, very special because of how hard it is to hit that milestone. It takes a great deal of personal sacrifice on the part of a writer, but it also takes a lot of support from so many. I’m dedicating this novel to my husband, Bob, and my daughter, Samantha, who have been there for every joy and disappointment in my writing career. I’d also like to thank all the rest of my family who has been there for me, as well as my mom, who never got to see this dream come to fruition. I couldn’t have done it without the many valuable lessons my mom gave me and that helped make this dream possible. Finally, to all my friends who have stood by and cheered me on and offered commiseration when things didn’t work out quite as they should. My thanks to one and all who have helped make this milestone possible.

  PROLOGUE

  Meadowlands, New Jersey

  Mid-November 2008

  Slant right on two,” Jesse Bradford said, clapped his hands, and led his offense out of the huddle.

  Squaring up behind the center, he watched as the other team’s defense adjusted, linebackers, safeties, and linemen shifting positions in answer to his team’s formation. Glancing back and forth, he realized he was going to have to call an audible if they were going to have any chance of breaking through the defense for the last few yards to the goal line.

  He changed the play and barked out the new count. From the periphery of his eye, he noted his wide receivers responding, as well as his linemen. The defense swung into action, attempting to compensate for his team’s actions.

  With a final call, the center snapped the ball solidly into Jesse’s hands. He took the two or three steps back and turned in the direction of the fullback coming up from behind him.

  Faking a handoff, his fullback plowed ahead of him toward the left, further opening the hole at the line of scrimmage created by his tackles and guards. His wide receivers raced for the end zone, pulling the linebackers away from the line. Seeing his opportunity, Jesse tucked the football tight against him, whirled, and raced for the opening.

  Feinting and dodging, he avoided the first hit at the line, lowered his head, and plowed forward. With his size and strength, he was a match for most on the field, so the first solid contact slowed him but didn’t take him down.

  The goal line was now just a few feet away, and with a powerful surge, Jesse launched himself toward the end zone.

  He was in midair when the lineman clipped his thigh.

  Pain seared up his leg and into his gut as he spun around from the force of the hit.

  When he landed, the impact drove the air from his lungs. Light-headed from both the lack of oxygen and the agony in his leg, he saw the lights from the stadium dance around in his vision before a shadow fell across him.

  Black and white. A zebra raising its hands to signal a touchdown while more shadows came to dance in his vision. Blue and gold this time. Marauder colors.

  Suddenly a voice came from directly beside him. “Jesse, man. Are you okay?”

  One of his teammates in the blue and gold, only Jesse couldn’t move. Couldn’t think of anything but the blinding agony in his lower body.

  The zebra started tweeting more loudly and waving his hands erratically. The ground beneath Jesse shook from the thundering vibrations of people racing his way.

  Sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, Jesse finally focused, but when he did, the pain became overwhelming, filling his every conscious moment.

  Another shadow fell across his face. Jesse turned his head and from beyond his faceguard saw one of the trainers.

  “Don’t move, Jesse,” the trainer said, but as he touched his hand to Jesse’s thigh, pain exploded through Jesse’s brain, greater than any he had ever experienced. Blinding him with its intensity until darkness overwhelmed his vision, pulling him to blessed unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 1

  Jersey Shore

  Two years later

  Liliana Carrera stared over Carmen’s shoulder at the images her friend had brought up on the monitor.

  She studied the cells, smiling as she comprehended the results of the blood test. “This is good, right?”

  Carmen looked up at her. “Really good. There’s a noticeable reduction in the white blood cells, plus there are fewer signs of inflammation and an immuno-response.”

  All good, Liliana thought. It meant that the inhibitor complex they had been refining for the last several months was less toxic to Caterina’s system. But less toxic wasn’t necessarily enough. Liliana had to be sure the inhibitor was controlling the nonhuman genes implanted in Caterina’s body by the rogue Wardwell Laboratories scientists.

  “What about the gene replication? Any sign that it’s slowing down?” Liliana asked.

  Carmen moved away from the microscope to the end of her worktable, where assorted stacks of paper crowded the surface. “What did you notice during the physical?” Carmen questioned.

  “There was some evidence of the gene expression in spots, but based on my gross examination, I would say that the patient’s eye and skin tones had remained stable,” Liliana replied.

  Carmen tsked and shook her head. “Why, Dr. Carrera. You sound downright clinical,” she chided.

  She had sounded way too distant, Liliana realized. With a shrug, she explained. “I`m trying to keep emotion out of this, but it’s hard, because I can’t think of Cat as only a patient. She’s my sister-in-law, and I care for her a great deal.”

  “And your brother loves Cat beyond words,” Carmen added as she grabbed a sheath of papers and headed back to where Liliana was standing.

  As Liliana waited, Carmen flipped through the reports and said, “Now you know why I like my quiet little lab. Dealing with live patients is just too damned hard.”

  Even though her friend lacked people skills, there was no denying Carmen was a dedicated physician. Her work in the pathology lab routinely saved others, and her assistance over the last several months in dealing with Caterina had been invaluable.

  She placed her hand on Carmen’s shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far with Caterina if it wasn’t for your help.”

  Carmen smiled and nodded, but her full, generous lips thinned into a tight line as she flipped to the last test analysis.

  With a shake of her head, she said, “Your physical exam might not show the glowing skin caused by the genes, but we’ve only made a little progress in slowing down the replication.”

  Damn, Liliana thought, but she tried to keep positive. “Well, the good news is that our new inhibitor complex is t
aking less of a toll on her system—”

  “And it’s slowed the multiplication of the nonhuman genes somewhat,” Carmen chimed in, trying to sound optimistic.

  “We just have to keep on refining,” Liliana said and patted her friend on the back.

  “What do you want to try next?” Carmen asked, but Liliana’s cell phone went off, and as Liliana checked the caller ID, she realized it was the hospital administrator.

  She lifted her index finger, asking Carmen to wait for a moment, and answered.

  “Dr. Carrera.”

  In brusque fashion, the administrator’s assistant advised, “Dr. Hellman wishes to see you immediately.”

  “I’ll be there in a few—”

  “Immediately, Dr. Carrera. It’s quite important,” the assistant shot back before she abruptly ended the call.

  Carmen had clearly overheard the exchange. “What bug is up his ass now?”

  Liliana wished she knew. She only hoped it wasn’t more blowback from her breakup with the hospital’s chief of surgery. The rumors had been rampant after she ended their engagement and moved out on him, but she had kept silent about her reasons for the decision. To admit that she had been about to marry a man who liked using her as a punching bag and mentally abused her would not have instilled confidence about her ability to judge people’s character.

  “Don’t know. I’ll be back down later.”

  She hugged her friend and hurried through the twists and turns of the sprawling hospital grounds to the administrator’s office. His assistant jerked her head of bottle blond hair in the direction of Hellman’s door as soon as she saw Liliana. “Go right in. He’s waiting for you.”

  Liliana knocked on the door and then entered at his command.

  A stranger in a dark blue suit was seated before her boss, and as she walked in, he rose and faced her, hands crossed in front of him in a way that screamed cop or military. His short, neatly buzz-cut salt-and-pepper hair and tall, lean body completed the look.

  Hellman stood, as well, and swept his arm in the direction of the man. “Dr. Carrera. This is—”

  “Special Agent Hank Whittaker. FBI,” he said, held out his hand, and smiled. It was a shark’s smile, wide and toothy. No emotion showed in his flat gray eyes.

  She shook his hand. A sandpaper grip was firm and dry against her palm.

  Liliana wished she could say the same of her hands. Nervous sweat had erupted at the mention of his title. As she sat down, she wrung her hands, hoping he was not here about Caterina or her brother Mick. She hoped he was here about Edwards and Morales, the renegade Wardwell scientists who had kidnapped and genetically altered Caterina and were still on the loose.

  “How can I help you, Special Agent?” she said while keeping a wary eye on the man.

  “Four months ago your brother and Caterina Shaw were involved in an incident with Wardwell Labs.”

  If the murder of three people and kidnapping amounted to an “incident” in his brain, she wondered what he would consider to be a serious event.

  With a hesitant nod, she confirmed his statement. “Wardwell illegally implanted a series of gene fragments in Caterina. She’s currently under my care, but there’s little I can say about her condition due to patient-physician confidentiality.”

  Her administrator coughed uneasily and said, “Dr. Carrera. Special Agent Whittaker—”

  “Isn’t interested in having you breach your fiduciary obligations. But the FBI is interested in your assistance with a similar patient.”

  Liliana inched up higher in her chair. “A similar patient? You’ve found the missing Wardwell patients?”

  Whittaker shook his head. “Unfortunately not, although we believe we’re close to determining where the Wardwell patients are being held captive. Luckily, another patient did manage to escape—Jesse Bradford. You may know him.”

  Liliana did know him, but as first impressions went, they had not been good. “I was in the ER one night. Gave him ten stitches after a local bar brawl,” she said and swiped her index finger along her brow to demonstrate where she had worked on him. “A year later he came to the hospital for rehabilitation. After an injury, if I recall, but I wasn’t involved with that.” But she had heard the rumors about his rudeness and temper.

  Whittaker inclined his head and examined her through slitted eyes. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Dr. Carrera. After all, the man had just found out his multimillion-dollar career was over.”

  Having faced adversity more than once in her life, she was certain it was still possible to do so with class. And even if she mustered some compassion for the man, she was doubtful as to how his escape from the Wardwell scientists involved her.

  “I’m a little confused, Special Agent. What does Jesse Bradford have to do with—”

  “We want you to treat him and continue to work on ways to control the hybrid genes created by Wardwell. We understand you’ve made some progress with Ms. Shaw’s condition,” he stated with a confident hunch of his shoulders.

  She turned her full attention to her administrator. “Is this patient presenting the same health issues as Ms. Shaw? If not, I’m not sure how I can assist.”

  “You and Dr. Rojas are familiar with the gene therapies and inhibitor complexes that Wardwell developed,” Hellman replied, surprising her. She didn’t realize he had taken such an interest in her day-to-day workload. Normally Hellman was oblivious to the routine things in the hospital.

  “Plus Mr. Bradford’s problem is bone-related. As an orthopedic surgery resident, that’s your specialty,” Hellman quickly added.

  Shaking her head, Liliana faced the FBI agent. “What I can do is limited. I’m not an expert in genetic engineering or its complications.”

  “But you are apparently familiar with the problems created by the Wardwell gene therapies and how to control that damage,” Dr. Hellman insisted.

  Before she could answer, Whittaker jumped into the fray. “We need to know if Bradford’s bone loss is continuing and the extent of the gene replication in his body. We may also need you to administer the inhibitor complexes and improve on them. I assume that this is similar to what you’re doing with Ms. Shaw.”

  Liliana couldn’t dispute those statements. “I do have some familiarity with those processes, but again, it’s limited. If Bradford isn’t presenting the same symptoms as Ms. Shaw—”

  “The FBI can help you assemble a team with more expertise in the genetic-engineering area, as well as skilled lab personnel. Since the FBI hopes to recover the other patients shortly, we’ll provide the facilities and supplies, plus pay for your time and all expenses. Anything you do, however, will be need-to-know. No statements to the public or anyone other than your immediate team.”

  There was a tone in Whittaker’s voice that had a note of finality, as if this was a done deal whether or not she agreed. Glancing at her administrator from the corner of her eye, she noted that he was nodding emphatically, as if he, too, understood there could be no argument. His next words confirmed it.

  “I will make arrangements with the hospital board so that you may revise your schedule here at the hospital. Dr. Rojas, as well, if you wish for her to assist.”

  Heat blossomed deep in her center because she was once again being controlled by others. By men. Rising slowly from the chair, she inclined her head in Hellman’s direction and then faced Special Agent Whittaker.

  In measured tones, she said, “I appreciate the confidence you have in my abilities and know that this could also be a wonderful opportunity to assist Ms. Shaw.”

  Whittaker narrowed his eyes as he examined her. “I hear a ‘but’ there, Dr. Carrera.”

  There was definitely a big but there, and it wasn’t just feeling as if she had no control over what she was expected to do. She didn’t like the vibe coming from Whittaker. She suspected he was demanding and didn’t tolerate differing opinions. But on top of that, she wasn’t quite sure he was trustworthy. Because of her suspicions she said, “I have to th
ink about this offer, Agent Whittaker.”

  Without waiting for their reply, she stormed from the office, determined to be the mistress of her own fate.

  Jesse paced the short width of the cage in which he had been imprisoned for almost nine months now. It was where Edwards and Morales had taken all their former patients when they had left their facilities at Wardwell Laboratories.

  They had been caged like animals, since the two scientists no longer thought of them as humans. Or maybe they never had.

  More than once Jesse had tried to escape but had never made it farther than the door to the warehouse holding the cages. A combination of Taser blasts and the powerful mind-altering drugs used to control the patients had kept him a prisoner. After the third attempt and an injection that had made his brain seem like grape jelly, Jesse had stopped trying to escape, focusing instead on surviving in the hopes that someone would set them free.

  And now it seemed like that moment might be at hand.

  Back and forth, back and forth he paced and went slowly mad as he waited for Morales to return. He didn’t much care for the little man, but the scientist was the key to his freedom and to the safety of his little sister.

  So Jesse continued to pace, his anger growing with every second that passed, until his rage was so alive that it became stronger than him.

  Stronger than his will.

  With a blood-curdling scream, he stalked to the back of his cage, where his captors had placed a heavy body bag, and began to punch it, his big fists pummeling the inanimate bag. In his brain it was Morales he was beating to a bloody pulp.

  The first few punches stung his fists, and he reminded himself of the damage such pain meant. Every little injury produced bone, even in places where bone was not meant to be. So Jesse somehow mustered control over the animal within and measured the force of his blows, relying on the quantity of them to drain him of the violence created by the genes Wardwell had implanted in his body.

  A fine layer of sweat covered him by the time he finished, and deep depressions showed in the bag. Glancing down at his hands, Jesse noted they were slightly reddened but undamaged. Of course, the almost imperceptible hardening of his skin across his fists had helped protect him from further hurt. Unlike the harmful repairs on other parts of his body.