Lethal Game

by Julie Rowe

  “Level three, yes. Level four, no. Level four requires an entirely separate air system for the lab tech and the sample. We haven’t quite found a way to do that so the lab can be broken down into bags.”

  “What about oxygen tanks, like firefighters?”

  “No. It’s not just about the personnel. Level four pathogens have to be kept isolated completely. They can be airborne.”

  “That is a problem.”

  He said it like he’d found a puzzle he wanted to solve. Should she compliment him on his apparent intellect, or would he find that insulting?

  He sat down on the floor next to the bag and braced on arm on his knee. “So, tell me what I need to know so I don’t get in your way or irritate the hell out of you?” He gave her a crooked smile.

  Holy shit. A man who could probably kill people with one hand and was considerate? A man who was built to protect and was smart enough to read her body language and extrapolate reasonably accurate insights about her emotions?

  Not possible.

  “Okay, now this is too good to be true,” she said, leaving her microscope to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips. “No man is this perfect. What’s wrong with you? Did that explosion scramble your brains?”

  He put his hands up like she had a gun on him. “Hey now, no need to get upset. I’m just trying to be accommodating.”

  “Yeah, telling me what you think I want to hear.” It was an insidious kind of lie. She knew all about the lies people tell to keep a dying adolescent hopeful. It seemed like they were all she’d heard after being diagnosed with cancer. Lying to make someone happy in the short term never resulted in anything good in the long term.

  He frowned and lowered his hands. “What’s wrong with trying to get along with people?”

  “I don’t want a cardboard cutout for a partner. I want someone who’s going to be honest with me about who he is. Otherwise how can I possibly anticipate what you might do in a dangerous situation?”

  “You’d rather I was an asshole?” he asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

  “At least assholes are honest.”

  He studied her for several seconds, his lips tightening. Finally, he let out a gusty breath. “Look, my job is to keep you safe, or as safe as is possible in our line of work. I have to be adaptable to do that. I’m probably going to nag you to death with questions until I wrap my head around what exactly it is that you do. I’m trying to make your life easier, not more difficult.”

  He didn’t get it. And that was okay.

  Thank God he wasn’t perfect.

  She opened her mouth to tell him she wanted him as he was, but he added one more comment to his explanation. “I’m trying to make my life easier too, if that helps any.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and absently scratched his left shoulder.

  He meant that. He was genuinely trying to fit in and not paying lip-service to his assignment. She might be able to work with that.

  She slowly sat on the floor a few feet away from him. “Tell me about yourself.”

  He took in a breath, but she wasn’t finished. “Tell me about your work. You’re a Green Beret, right? I don’t know much about what makes you different from other soldiers or why you’d make a better backscratcher than a marine or some other guy.”

  “You know more than a lot of people. They think a Special Forces soldier is the same as a marine or an Army Ranger. We’re not.”

  She waited silently for him to continue.

  “Every group of highly trained soldiers has a specialty. For Navy SEALs it’s rescue and targeted attacks, Army Rangers it’s advance scouting, Green Berets or Special Forces soldiers are infiltrators and trainers. Special Forces soldiers are trained in more than just fighting techniques, weapons and tactics. We’re expected to learn multiple languages, understand other cultures and work within indigenous armed forces. We train other armies to use the latest weapons, adapt strategy to fit their cultural needs and environment.” He stopped and tilted his head. “What your boss said is true. We’re taught to throw the fucking box out and that the more creative you are, the better off you are.”

  “How long have you been in the Special Forces?” She’d give a little and use the name he seemed to prefer.

  “Since I got out of college. Six years.”

  “What’s your degree in?”

  He gave her a hang-dog look. “You’ve got to swear not to laugh.”

  “Why? Are you planning to say something funny?”

  “No, but everyone laughs anyway.”

  “Um, I’m not very good at that. If it’s funny, I’m going to laugh.” She’d been told her practice of telling people exactly what she thought was a vice rather than a virtue. Better he found out now than later.

  He stared at her for a couple of seconds. “Are you always this...honest?”

  She grinned at him. “Are you calling me an asshole?”

  He banged his head on the wall behind him. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “You already answered that question. Answer mine.”

  He sighed. “French literature.”

  She couldn’t have heard that right. “What?”

  “French literature,” he said louder.

  “Really? Isn’t that one of the most useless degrees to get, a language fine arts degree?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “Yes it is. Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

  He probably spoke French, and he said they liked their soldiers to speak multiple languages. “How many languages do you speak?”

  “Why, so you can call me an asshole in all of them?”

  She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his frustrated tone. “I only know English, so that’s unlikely.”

  He muttered something under his breath then said, “I speak seven. English, French, German, Spanish, Arabic, Dari and Urdu.”

  He looked so irritated she couldn’t help herself. “Is that all?”

  He gritted his teeth and said, “I’m a Communications sergeant. I specialize in—”

  “Communications?” she finished for him, coughing instead of laughing outright at his annoyance.

  “I can use any gun, rifle or rocket launcher ever made. I’m a qualified sniper and I particularly enjoy setting traps to capture or kill enemy personnel. I’m an expert in combat jujitsu and I’m an instructor for the Special Operations Combatives Program. Hand-to-hand combat.”

  Her bodyguard was a ninja. Now that was interesting. She folded her legs and hopped up on her knees. The grin on her face felt...strange, but there was no stopping it. Here was an opportunity to learn something that might help her reach her goal. “So,” she began, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Can you teach me some more self-defense moves?”

  He bared his teeth in an expression that was even scarier than his blank face. “I don’t teach defense. I teach offense.”

  There was a difference? “Oh.” Rather than feel threatened by his display, she found it...exciting.

  “Why was your self-defense training omitted from your training?”

  “I’m a specialist. They accelerated my intake.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea to omit the training, but they wanted me deployed as fast as possible.”

  He studied her with a frown on his face then said, “Is that the only reason?”

  She sighed. No avoiding a direct question. “I also have a medical condition that would have kept me from getting into the military if my skills weren’t so desperately needed.” She held out her hand. “I get some pretty big bruises sometimes.”

  He examined it, then nodded. “I can modify things so you don’t accidently injure yourself.”

  “Awesome.” When had her breathing gotten so fast and choppy? No. She wasn’t... She didn’t think he w
as good-looking, did she? He was built like a tank, which should have scared her to death, but it didn’t. He didn’t.

  He stared at her. “This is serious, Dr. Perry. Not a game or something you use to impress people. If you do it wrong, you can kill someone.”

  “I’m taking it seriously, I just...” She stopped to try to find the right words. “No one has ever taken the time to show me that sort of thing. I never played sports in school because I was always years younger than my classmates. In college, I was so busy with my classes and other...” Summing up the weirdness of her adolescent years in one word was not easy. “Stuff. I never had any opportunities to learn how to do something physical.” Ha. Like her parents would have allowed her to do anything that might result in an injury, no matter how slight. “My spatial orientation isn’t very good, so I’d probably be terrible at martial arts, but I’ve always wanted to learn Tai Chi. It looks relaxing.”

  Con’s face lost its hard edge. “I could teach you that. It would be a good place to start, especially if you’re not used to a lot of physical activity.” He looked her over—what he could see of her with her legs tucked underneath her, anyway.

  What did he see? A normal woman of twenty-four, or could he tell she was different? Most people only ever saw the differences and never the parts of her that longed to be ordinary.

  “You seem in good shape now.”

  She was about to tell him about being sick as a kid, which had resulted in a couple of medical oddities making any sort of physical training difficult, but Max’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

  “What the hell are the two of you doing on the floor? Having some kind of Girl Scout meeting?”

  “I wish I’d had a chance to be Girl Scout. They learn all kinds of cool things,” she said as she got up, giving Max a cool look. What was his problem? “Connor was checking out my portable lab and telling me about some of his training and skills.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes. Did you know he’s a hand-to-hand combat instructor for the Special Forces? He’s going to teach me how to defend myself.”

  Con nodded and slowly got to his feet as well, his gaze not on Max’s face, but on a spot behind her boss. Was someone else there?

  Max asked another question before she could check for herself. “Is that it?”

  “No. He also speaks seven languages and is qualified to shoot any weapon the Army has.”

  “I’m a combat jujitsu instructor for the Special Forces and I’m good at it,” Connor said, crossing his arms over his chest, his low voice rolling across the room like a storm. He glanced at her, but it was quick, his gaze going back to that spot just outside the door.

  “I don’t think that kind of advanced training is appropriate for Dr. Perry, Sergeant Button.” Another man appeared from behind Max. General Stone.

  Sophia had only met the general once, when she was first stationed here four months ago. He’d looked at her, nodded, and left.

  She didn’t like the look on his face now. Angry and impatient.

  “Sir,” Connor began. “She’s completely deficient in her self-defense training. Why wasn’t she taught fundamental hand-to-hand in basic?”

  “She’s a doctor, brought in under medical dispensation, that’s why,” the general barked. He took several steps toward her and she found herself backing up into Connor as the general invaded her personal space.

  Idiot. Both men were going to think she was some kind of frightened child. She’d faced far worse things than a man with a war on his mind. She lifted her chin and was about to ask the general to step back, but Connor slid around and in front of her.

  The general stopped his advance, nodded in a satisfied way and stepped back.

  “I disagree, sir,” Connor said, shifting to one side before she could ask. “That’s exactly the reason why she should have all the fundamentals, plus some.”

  “You have a problem with your orders, Sergeant?”

  “No, sir. My orders are to act as bodyguard, translator and Special Forces liaison for Dr. Perry. She’s a high-caliber asset with unique abilities and knowledge. Self-defense skills should be required for such an asset.” He glanced at Max, and Sophia was surprised to see censure in his gaze.

  Max turned to her. “You want to learn self-defense?”

  “Yes, I do.” She managed to restrain herself from bouncing on her feet with eagerness. “Within reason, of course.”

  Max glared at Connor. “Do not put a single bruise on her, understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sergeant, as you mentioned, she’s an asset we can’t afford to lose,” the general said. “Are you prepared to take total responsibility for her training and safety?”

  Connor’s face froze for a moment, then hardened. His lips twisted into a scowl. “Are you sure you want me to have that responsibility? You know I won’t follow the rule book when it comes to her safety. I will train her. I will ensure that she can defend herself vigorously.”

  “I’m beginning to think, in Dr. Perry’s case, that might be necessary.”

  Connor thought for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes, sir. I accept Dr. Perry as my responsibility.”

  “Good.” General Stone bared his teeth and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  Max and the general left the office.

  The general’s warning had levels of shit to it she’d never smelled before.

  Wait. Teaching her martial arts, even Tai Chi, was going to put him into close physical contact with her. He might see more of her than she wanted him to. See the big, ugly bruises that often appeared on her body even when she hadn’t walked into something. See the scars on her arms where the doctors had to cut into her to search for veins damaged from IVs.

  She wanted him to treat her like any other soldier, but working with him that closely might prove to him that she was anything but ordinary.

  Chapter Four

  “What the hell was that all about?” Sophia asked.

  “A test,” Connor replied. “I think.”

  He’d been close, so close to failing that test. The general knew exactly what he was asking of him when he asked if Con would take responsibility for Sophia.

  Con alone had survived the IED that blew up the vehicle half of his team had been in. Five men who’d been his brothers in every way but blood. Five men who died, leaving him behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and his own. He wanted another mission that would put him in a position to deal a little payback, and if he got killed doing it, it was a price he was willing to pay.

  He’d tried to get assigned to another team, but his temper, so well controlled before the blast, hadn’t lasted past the first battle simulation. He’d beat the crap out of an “enemy” soldier before recalling that it was just a simulation.

  Stone was testing him all right, testing to see if what Con needed to pull himself out of shit creek was a protection mission for a woman who needed it more than anyone he’d met in a long time.

  He’d be stuck like glue to her for months.

  “They were both very adversarial,” Sophia said staring at the door. “Almost as if they were trying to make us mad.”

  “No almost about it. That’s exactly what they were trying to do.” Connor looked at Sophia, reined in his anger, and asked, “Bruise easily?”

  She blew out a breath. “I had a childhood leukemia. The chemo and radiation therapy resulted in below normal bone density. I also have idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura.”

  He was going to have to add a new language to his list: Medicine. “In English, please?”

  She sighed like it was the fiftieth time she’d had to explain it. “My bones aren’t as strong as they should be. And my body doesn’t make enough of one of the cells in my blood that’s responsible for cl
otting.”

  He couldn’t keep his eyebrows from rising. “Okay, now I understand why Max was so uptight about you learning hand-to-hand. We’re going to start with Tai Chi and a few escape maneuvers that aren’t fancy, but are effective, and with a minimum of contact between you and an attacker.”

  “You can minimize contact with an attacker?”

  “Yep, ’cause there’s one rule and one rule only that’s king in hand-to-hand.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The only person you can control without question is yourself. If you know yourself, your strengths, limitations, reactions and responses, you win the fight.”

  “Is that Confucius?”

  He couldn’t stop the smile. Did she have any idea how freaking cute she was when she got all serious? “Nope. That’s Connor Button. It means I’m going to teach you how to cheat. I’m going to teach you how to fight with whatever is in the room, no matter where you find yourself.”

  “Cool.” She hummed a little. “Okay, your turn. What was General Stone so worried about when it comes to you?”

  How much should he tell her? “I had to fight to earn my return to duty. Getting blown up and requiring months of physical therapy doesn’t look good on a soldier’s record.”

  “And?”

  “And, if this assignment hadn’t come along when it did, the best duty I could have gotten was full-time instructor back in the States.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except my job here isn’t done.” It wouldn’t be done until he’d avenged his dead. He sure as hell couldn’t do that as an instructor.

  “Tell me about your injuries.”

  Her question was a shot to the gut. The last thing he wanted to remember was the days spent lying on a hospital bed, unable to get up and walk to the can by himself. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “I know what it’s like to feel powerless.” Shit, she wasn’t backing down an inch. “To be inside a body that won’t do what it’s supposed to do. I understand pain and I understand how hard it is to rebuild strength in muscles weakened by lack of use. It’s frustrating. It makes you angry. You feel a fear that’s bone deep.”