Stronger than Sin (Sin Hunters)

by Caridad Piñeiro

  And she hoped that she had become a better judge of a man’s character, but if she had, why did she find herself attracted to Jesse?

  An even stronger gust of wind whipped down the street, lifting the hem of her robe and snaking beneath to chill her to the bone.

  Time to go in, but as she settled down on her sofa, ready to let the monotones of the nightly news lull her to sleep, her troubled mind continued to race.

  She grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and powered it up. As it finished booting, a tiny prompt flared to life in the corner, indicating that her sister Bobbie was online.

  She launched Skype and called her, and soon Bobbie’s voice came across the computer speakers.

  “Hola, hermanita,” Bobbie said, the tone of her voice morning bright, but then again, it was well into the day in Iraq, where her sister was serving another tour.

  Hopefully her last tour before coming home for college.

  A second later, the video clicked to life, too, and there Bobbie was, dressed in camo. Behind her sister, other female soldiers milled about and the framework of bunks and neatly made beds were visible.

  “Hola, Bobbie. How’s my lil’ sis?”

  “Better than you, I think. You look tired, Lil,” Bobbie replied, leaning toward the web camera as if by doing so she might get a better look.

  “It was a long day. How are things there?” she asked, worry creeping in as it always did when she thought about the way her sister risked her life.

  “Things are okay. I can’t really say much, Lil,” Bobbie replied, and Liliana understood.

  “I know,” she said with an intense sigh that her computer faithfully picked up and transmitted to her sister.

  “But things aren’t okay with you, I can tell. What’s up? Troubles at work?” she asked, and a moment later, a burst of laughter erupted behind Bobbie. Her sister turned, checked it out, and then returned her attention to her computer.

  “So, is it work?” Bobbie prompted again.

  With a shrug, Liliana replied, “You might say that. He’s a patient.”

  Bobbie grimaced. “Tough one. Hippocratic oath and all that.”

  All that. Jesse was definitely all that, but also so much more that confused her. “He’s very handsome,” she told Bobbie and quickly added, “And younger.”

  “Legal, I hope,” Bobbie kidded, dragging a laugh from her sister.

  “Definitely legal, hermanita.”

  Bobbie’s brows knitted together. “Will he be your patient for long? Can you wait it out?”

  Images of Jesse’s body with its patches of bone and the wildly glowing plug of bone marrow flashed into her brain. She didn’t know how to control that. At least not yet, but even if she did…

  “Hell, no, Lil. Don’t tell me he’s dying,” Bobbie shot out, concern coloring her tones despite her harsh words.

  No, Jesse wasn’t dying on her watch. But she also didn’t know how long it would be before he stopped being her patient.

  “It’s complicated,” she said, totally uncertain.

  Bobbie’s brows became even deeper furrows. “Complicated? Tell me the first word that pops into your brain when you think of him.”

  Shock and awe, Bobbie’s stock in trade.

  “Sexy,” she shot back, grinning devilishly at the stunned look on her baby sister’s face.

  Bobbie shook her head and then chuckled. “Got me. So what’s the second thing you think?”

  Liliana shifted her gaze away from the webcam as she pondered it. Word after word popped into her brain before they all coalesced into one apropos description.

  “Unpredictable.”

  Hooting and clapping her hands in amusement, Bobbie replied, “Unpredictable. To a woman who thrives on being practical—”

  “Not necessarily,” she said, but Bobbie quickly countered with, “You own a ten-year-old sedan that no one under sixty would be caught dead driving.”

  “It’s reliable.” A predictable and boring response from a predictable and boring woman. Liliana only hoped that the webcam couldn’t pick up the blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

  A loud sound came across the connection and Bobbie turned to look over her shoulder. Bodies rushed back and forth in the background and Bobbie leaned closer to the camera.

  “Gotta roll, hermanita. Be careful with Mr. Unpredictable.”

  “Stay safe.” A moment later she was staring at a blank screen where her sister’s beautiful face had once been.

  Worry for her sister’s well-being piled onto all her other concerns. Grabbing her cross, she murmured a quick prayer for her sister and then turned her attention to the television screen. She flipped through channels until she found one where a narrator was providing excruciating and monotonous detail about some nearly extinct furry creature living in some little-known forest. Leaning back against the arm of the sofa, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.

  Half listening to the blah-blah-blah of the speaker, she allowed her mind to wander.

  Predictably it roamed to thoughts of Jesse, but she didn’t battle them. Maybe dealing with him in her dreams would help her handle him in real life.

  Carmen was just locking up the lab when Ramon pulled his police cruiser into the parking lot.

  Even in the dark she could see his perfectly white teeth in a broad smile. As she hurried to the driver’s side of the car, he opened his window and leaned out slightly. From inside the car came the aroma of something spicy.

  She inhaled deeply. “Hmm. That smells good.”

  “I had Tia Mariel make up a sampler from their daily specials. Do you want to go to my place or yours?”

  Her place was positively spartan, with few amenities for comfort, possibly because up until Ramon, she had spent most of her time either in the hospital or helping out with some cancer research at a local university laboratory.

  “Your place,” she replied without hesitation.

  Ramon laughed and wagged his head. “One of these days we’re going to go shopping and get you some toys.”

  “Why? You’ve got enough of them for both of us. Besides, I like spending time with you at your place.”

  Ramon shot a look at the bulging knapsack she was carrying and pointed to it. “Does that mean you’ve got a change of clothes in there ’cause you plan to spend the night?”

  “It does,” she answered without guile. Man-woman things, like patient-doctor things, were out of her arena. She preferred directness in her life, including her relationship with him.

  She liked that he was just as direct.

  “Good. My house—and my bed—are way closer than yours.”

  She walked around to the passenger-side door and opened it. Sitting on the seat were a dozen red roses.

  “For me?” she asked as she tossed her knapsack onto the floor of the car.

  “Didn’t want you to think it was all about the sex. I like you. A lot,” he said, grabbed hold of the roses, and urged her to take them.

  The last time she had gotten flowers was from her father at her med school graduation. Tears stung her eyes as she slipped onto the seat, took hold of the flowers, and pressed them to her chest.

  “Gracias,” she said, her voice husky with emotion.

  Ramon leaned over, grabbed her seat belt, and snapped it shut. After, he brushed his lips against hers and whispered, “Have to take care of my girl.”

  The feminist in her wanted to rear up, demand that he acknowledge she was a woman and quite capable of taking care of herself. Hell, she’d been doing so for quite some time.

  But as her gaze met his, all she could see was caring and not a desire for subjugation. Cradling the straight line of his jaw, she leaned forward and kissed him, leaving no doubt in his mind about what was in her heart. About what she wanted.

  When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily and Ramon shot a half glance at the bag with the takeout food in the backseat.

  “Do you think that’ll keep in the oven?�
�

  Carmen smiled, reached down, and covered the very obvious proof of his need beneath the khaki of his police uniform. “I think it can wait.”

  Ramon’s eyelids fluttered as she caressed him until desire dragged them close and a rough groan escaped his lips. “Dios, you’ll get us arrested if you keep this up.”

  With a final stroke, she primly sat back into her seat.

  “I’ve heard handcuffs are quite popular—”

  He silenced her by gently placing his finger on her lips. “Don’t go there—otherwise I don’t think we’ll ever make it to my place.”

  She kissed the tip of his finger and said, “Then please hurry home. I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too,” Ramon replied, but from the wicked grin on his face, she knew it wasn’t about the food. It was about her, something new and decidedly different in her life—being the center of someone’s attention.

  She kind of liked it.

  Liked him and let her brain wander to whether he might let her try the handcuffs later that night.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jesse had been dreaming of her when he fell asleep. Fantasizing about her in the middle of the night when his desire had become so strong, it had woken him. He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep since. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there waiting for him. Arms opened wide to hold him close to her silky-smooth skin. Her ample breasts crushed to his chest as he encircled her with his arms and brought her body flush to his.

  He gulped in a breath and opened his eyes, painfully erect once again. Or maybe his erection had never ebbed during the course of the long night. It made him wonder if he should do as all those annoying commercials instructed and call a doctor, since it had to have been hours that he was aroused.

  Problem was there was only one doctor who could take care of this particular problem.

  Rising, he noted out his window that the bright colors of the dawn were pushing away the night sky. In no time at all, the sun would be full, and so he decided it was time to get up anyway. Maybe a nice warm shower would help him get rid of his little problem.

  Well, not so little, he thought pridefully.

  Shoving aside the sheets, he ambled to the shower, pulling his hair off his face. Scrubbed his morning beard, which rasped loudly in the quiet of the morning.

  In the bathroom he stared into the mirror. Considered how he might appear to her. With his shaggy hair and stubble, he was likely not her type. She probably was used to those carefully manicured types in expensive designer suits.

  He brushed his teeth, and as he was scrounging around for his deodorant, he noticed the scissors in the drawer. He reached for them almost before he knew what he was doing.

  Grabbing his hair in bunches, he snipped and measured. Trimmed a few inches here and there, shaped it as best as he could until it seemed a trifle neater. Then he shaved, scraping off the stubble to reveal the clear skin beneath.

  Passing a hand across his face, he nodded in approval and headed for the shower.

  With the water as hot as he could stand it, he let the liquid cascade down his shoulders and across his midsection from the jets along the sides of the stall. Soaping up, he ran his hands across his body, flinching as he encountered the large patch on his right side and the smaller but just as troubling spot on his left.

  Those physical reminders of his damaged state worked more effectively than any cold shower.

  Damaged goods wouldn’t appeal to any woman.

  Rinsing off quickly, he stepped out of the shower, toweled down with brisk strokes, and returned to his bedroom to dress.

  Whittaker was there, Bruno and Howard beside him. In his hand Whittaker held a small kraft envelope. Howard grasped a black rod that looked way too much like the cattle prod Morales employed in his twisted games. But then Howard whipped his arm and the rod extended to about two feet in length.

  Two feet of hard, threatening metal.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, striding right up to the trio. If there was one thing he’d learned over his many years of competition, it was to never show your fear.

  Whittaker got straight to the point. “I gave you a mission yesterday.”

  “I tried—”

  Howard snapped the steel rod across his left side, just below the bony patch. The blow pounded into his ribs, bringing punishing pain.

  The force of the strike was enough to drop him to his knees. Nausea came on strongly, making him dry heave before the embers of anger flared to life.

  He was on his knees, struggling for control, when Whittaker opened the kraft envelope and removed something from within.

  Photos, he realized, and then the embers the beating had stoked smoldered more powerfully as Whittaker flashed the images of his younger sister before his eyes.

  “She’s looking good. Howard snapped these last night,” Whittaker said and tossed them to the floor before Jesse.

  Howard whipped him again, this time across his back.

  Jesse went down on all fours from the wallop, his head hanging down, facing the photos of his sister.

  Whittaker leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Next time you fail, she’s toast.”

  The rage he had been trying to bank erupted like a backdraft denied air for too long.

  He lunged forward, tackling Whittaker to the ground with a thud that shook the floor.

  Howard was quickly on Jesse, striking at him with the steel rod, but Jesse blocked the blow and, with a swipe of his leg, took down Howard, as well.

  He jumped to his feet, met Bruno’s stunned gaze. Before Bruno could reach for his gun, Jesse knocked him out cold with one punch.

  Bruno’s body had barely hit the ground when Whittaker and Howard were both on him, pummeling him with their fists and landing another powerful swipe that brought him to the ground.

  They then began to kick at him, raining blow after blow until Jesse managed to grab Whittaker’s leg and force him down once again. He landed a jab that stunned the other man and thought all he had to do was get past Howard and—

  Howard hit him hard, across the side of the head.

  The crack of the steel rod sent him staggering backward as the warmth of blood trailed down the side of his face.

  His knees hit the bed and he crumpled to the ground. Black circles danced before his eyes, and he was having trouble breathing. Each inhalation brought excruciating pain in his side.

  He was going to die.

  And he was going to have failed his sister, he thought as darkness threatened to overtake him. He sucked air through his nose, trying to lessen the pain, and pushed back at unconsciousness.

  With blurry eyes he saw Howard approaching, his nose bloody. A purpling bruise was already forming on the side of his face and he held the long, lethal rod in his hand.

  He raised it, and Jesse prepared for the blow, but suddenly Liliana called out, “What the hell is going on?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Liliana.

  A moment later she was at his side, her hand at his neck, feeling for his pulse.

  Liliana, he thought again.

  “I’m here, Jesse,” she said, and he realized then that he had said her name.

  He dragged in a breath, groaning as his ribs protested the movement, slight as it was.

  “Try not to breathe so deeply. You may have a broken rib or two,” Liliana warned as she ran her hand across his side, where a deep purple bruise had already formed.

  Fear gripped her hard as she noted all the other contusions on his body.

  Glaring up at Howard, who still stood by threateningly, a dangerous-looking rod in his hand, she commanded, “Back off.”

  Howard held his ground while Whittaker scrambled to his feet. The FBI agent approached, looking not much better than Howard. An angry scrape stretched across one cheekbone. One eye sported a shiner, and blood dripped from the side of his mouth.

  “I need to get Jesse to a hospital,” she said, worried about his assorted injuries and how his body would r
eact to the damage. Her one hope was that the plasmapheresis treatment they had run the night before had filtered out enough of the bone-producing proteins to prevent the formation of any bone at the various points of damage.

  “No. He’s a risk to others and to this assignment.”

  “He may die—”

  “But many more may die if this mission is compromised,” Whittaker countered.

  “He’s right,” Jesse said, the words weak and choppy.

  She stared at Jesse. Like Whittaker, he had an assortment of bruises on his face and a gash on the side of his head, which was bleeding profusely.

  She grabbed a piece of gauze from her medical bag and placed it over the gash. Applied gentle pressure and Jesse flinched.

  “If we don’t get you to a hospital—”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be okay,” he replied and moaned from the pain of speaking.

  Liliana rose from where she had been kneeling by Jesse’s side.

  “Help me get him into bed. Gently. If his ribs are broken, they could puncture a lung.”

  “Serve the bastard right,” Howard muttered beneath his breath, but a second later, he and Bruno—who had finally gotten to his feet—were slowly lifting Jesse onto the bed.

  Behind them, Whittaker hastily plucked some papers from the floor and stuffed them into his jacket pocket.

  Liliana left Jesse’s side and stalked right up to Whittaker. She was so close her nose nearly bumped the bottom of his chin. “What happened here?” she asked.

  “Bradford just went crazy,” Whittaker said, but he looked down and to the left, and a little tic played at the corner of his mouth. Sure signs that he was lying.

  “What if I can’t treat his injuries here?”

  “I won’t authorize a trip to the hospital,” Whittaker reiterated, glancing over her head to where his two men were placing Jesse on the bed.

  With a lean forefinger, Whittaker pointed to them. “Time for you to get to work. Maybe call Dr. Rojas for some of that inhibitor.”

  An uneasy feeling crept into her gut. Not only had he lied to her about the reason for the beating, this was the second time in as many days that he had brought up the medication that she and Carmen had been refining.