Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  Rocco jumped out and popped the trunk. He grabbed a bag and beat feet to the door. “Good night, good luck.” He went inside.

  The three of them sat in the car. Silent. Cash closed his eyes, remembering the last day, their last conversation, the horrible ache that ate him alive when he lost her.

  “Cash?” she whispered into the dark.

  Her voice made his spine tingle.

  “Oh, screw that, Nicola. Talk to me first.” Roman had every right to be pissed. And if he knew the half of it, he’d be pissed at both of them.

  She opened her car door, and they did the same. Three doors slapped shut, one right after the other.

  Suburbia was scary quiet. She took a step and tripped. As swift as he could, Cash stepped in, catching her. Nicola’s body fit just the same in his arms as it always had. His muscles remembered how she felt against him. A shudder shivered up the nape of his neck and down the arms wrapped around her torso.

  She locked eyes with him. Older. Wiser. And somehow more beautiful than ever. He should hate this woman. He did hate her, but until she looked away, he was stuck in a trance.

  Relief and emptiness swirled in his chest. He rubbed his sternum with his free hand, wishing the feeling away.

  Instead of focusing on the old Nicola, he needed to look at this one. “How bad’s your ankle, Nic?”

  She didn’t answer, instead trying to right herself, smoothing the sexy dress that softly clung to her curves. Christ, he didn’t remember a tenacious streak. But then again, he didn’t really know the Nicola who pulled from his grip.

  She hobbled toward the front door, the dress dragging behind her in a grand, out-of-place fashion, and turned to the stupefied men in the driveway. “I need a secure phone. Can either of you help me with that?”

  A secure phone? On top of asking if they were going to kill her? Make that stupefied squared. Cash looked at Roman, who looked just as confused with a little “what-the-fuck?’ painted across his forehead.

  “Yeah, we’ll help you.” He looked at Roman, mouthing, “what’s happening?”

  The door shut. Cash and Roman stood unmoving in the driveway.

  “That’s my baby sister, and hell if I know.” His voice trailed off. “We buried her body. There was a body. My mother cried for months.” Roman’s voice bottomed out.

  They leaned against the Range Rover. Two men and too many emotions. Roman dropped his head into his palms, and Cash stared into the night sky.

  No big brother should go through what Roman did, holding his mother’s hand, consoling her alongside his upset father through a closed-casket funeral. There had been little choice when her body had burnt to smithereens. Check that. When they’d thought her body went up in smoke. Turns out her tall, lean body had just left them in the dark driveway.

  Cash wanted no part in remembering that awful day. How he’d said he loved her, how they were going to tell Roman that his best friend was nailing his little sister. That’s not what it was, not at all. Not even close. But that’s how a dude would see it. Roman was gonna flip, and Cash was going to explain that she conjured up images of dum-dum-da-da and a poufy white dress.

  Pushing away from the Rover, he wanted to knock off the mirror or kick the hell out of the side panel. Anything to burn off the acid churning in his gut. Shit, too much time had passed. Young love. What bullshit.

  Cash eyed Roman. “You okay, man?”

  Roman cleared his throat. “No. I’m not okay. My dead sister’s alive and… working for Antilla Smooth?” He paused, as if looking into Cash’s soul. “That’s what happened earlier? You saw her? You thought I knew?”

  That logic seemed so flawed now, but at the time… at the time, it was the only thing he could comprehend. And working for Antilla Smooth? That’s not all she was to Smooth, but Cash would keep that tidbit to himself. It’d destroy his boy. Nicola in the arms of a decrepit arms dealer. It went against everything he and Roman lived for.

  The Nicola he knew wouldn’t touch a bastard like Smooth. But then again, he didn’t know Nicola. He knew a liar.

  Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Four

  Nicola bunked down in the bedroom the farthest away from the guys. Who was she kidding? They were just the guys, like this was just another day. Roman and Cash. The two most important men in her life, even if it’d been an eternity since she’d felt their touch or heard their words.

  The day she’d walked away from her loved ones had been the worst day of her life—until today. She pinched her eyes closed, remembering their stunned faces. The pain and anguish. And the anger. Who could blame them? She certainly couldn’t. She blamed herself, though. She had no choice.

  Yes. Today was officially the worst day, and the former was a helluva bad day to knock out of contention.

  Her bedroom had a bathroom—well stocked with first aid supplies—like any good safe house. What the hell were Roman and Cash doing running around with guns and slipping into safe houses? Her mind raced. A million maybes skittered through her thoughts. Did they wonder the same about her?

  Both men had Popeyed out since she’d last seen them. They were massive. Different builds, but no question, given her run-in with Cash’s arms, they’d taken their passion for working out to a whole new level. Roman was stocky and square, broad top to bottom. Cash had some lank to him. Long legs, powerful chest. His chest had been sinful before, but now it was downright deadly.

  She shook away the thought of Cash. No need to hopscotch down memory lane. Her cuts needed tending, and daydreaming wouldn’t stave off infection. She cleaned them, dousing each raw mark in hydrogen peroxide. A smear of antibacterial ointment and she’d be okay.

  Her elbow was another story. She’d have to wrap and sling it. Immobilization was key to recovery, but showing a blatant sign of weakness to three men who saw her as theirs to protect wouldn’t work.

  Another beautiful dress ruined. The wardrobe was a serious perk of her job, but the dresses never made it home. She’d known this one was headed for the dumpster when she’d wedged herself out the window. But damned if she hadn’t hoped she was wrong, somehow. Nope. It was just a stupid dress anyway. But it felt like the only thing she could focus on without curling up into a crying ball.

  A soft knock on her door stole her breath. Having no idea what to say or how to explain, she didn’t move to answer it. The handle turned, and it slipped open. Cash stuck his beautiful head of blond hair—shower damp and face free of camouflage face paint—into the room. He looked older and harder. Tanner. Maybe a few lines around his eyes. The baby face was gone, replaced by something chiseled.

  He held out a phone like it was a pass code and he was requesting entry. She nodded. As he stepped in, he held up his other hand. Clothes as another offering.

  “Phone. T-shirt. Pants. Figured you needed to change.” He sounded as unsure as she felt.

  The air was heavy and the room much smaller than she’d realized. His eyes pierced straight to her soul, squeezing the soft part she’d tried so hard to hide. Nicola nodded again. “Can I have the phone?”

  “You can have the phone and the clothes.” He placed the items down on the dresser but didn’t move.

  “All right. Thanks.” He took up half the room as he waited, expectedly, for something from her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Nope. Not how it’s going to work. Our phone—I’ll stay for your call.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t have much in the way of options here, Nic. Your big brother is raging or grieving upstairs, going through mood swings like a mental patient, trying to get his head on straight. And I’m…” Pain shone in the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He closed them and took a deep breath. When he finally opened them again, he cleared his throat. “I’m here to monitor your phone call.”

  His voice carried bitterness and torment. She was an evil bitch. Her eyes tingled with tears wanting to burst free. Again. Instead, she scooted across the bed, self-conscious that her trashed silk gown clung to he
r body. “Fine. You can stay.”

  “Like I said, you don’t have much option.”

  She grabbed the items off the dresser and settled back on the bed. “Okay.”

  She was the devil incarnate, evil’s bitchy step-sister. How could she have done this to the two of them? To her family? She wanted to call Mom and Dad more now than she had any other night. Mom would hate her. She should. But Nicola needed her mom, needed her hug. Un-spilled tears tried to escape again, and she breathed them away, focusing on Cash.

  He leaned his hulking frame back, put one boot against the wall, and continued to watch. She turned around on the bed but kept an eye on his reflection in the mirror. Nicola punched the number into the phone, waited, and entered another series of numbers.

  Beth answered on the first ring, as was her custom. “Hey, girl. Didn’t expect you again.”

  “Gabriella was compromised. She avoided a hit. But not by much.”

  “You’re hurt?”

  “Minimal.” Nicola never offered signs of weakness when she didn’t know who listened. Her best friend would understand by the tone of her voice that minimal was bullshit, but nothing a bath in Bactine wouldn’t fix.

  “Gotcha. And who are you with?”

  “Friendlies.” I think. “The situation is… complicated.”

  “Why can’t you give me more?”

  “Because my friend—” She glared at Cash in the mirror. “—is too nosey for his own good. For now, I don’t need an extraction plan. I’ll make contact tomorrow.”

  “Do I need to be worried?”

  That was the best friend asking, not her handler. The two components were often at odds, and Beth knew Nic would never answer in the affirmative, even if it were the case.

  “I’ll see you soon enough and explain in person. Night.”

  Nicola clicked off the phone and slid it behind her, not wanting to make eye contact with Cash. He ambled from the wall, one heavy footstep slowly following the next. The noise wrapped around her. She dropped her eyes. Her hands went clammy. The thump, thump, thump of her heart could’ve vibrated the safe house.

  Cash’s boots stopped, and she fought the need to look up.

  A finger wiped away her resolve. It touched the bottom of her chin and lifted until he held her gaze. Have mercy. Sapphire eyes and a sad smile made her bleed on the inside.

  “It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was hurt and husky.

  “You hate me?”

  “I might.” He smiled again, taking the bite out of their reality.

  “I had reasons.” But with him standing in front of her and Roman upstairs ready for a riot, they didn’t seem worth a shit.

  “Seems like a lot has changed.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Nice dress.” His eyes wandered slowly down her neck, down the dress.

  For the length of the look, she held her breath, unsure why or how his gaze made her skin blaze. She stammered to fill the silence. “I thought the only upside of this day was I could keep the dress.”

  He chuckled, breaking the heated glance. “How are we gonna do this, Nic? You want to just explain, or should I start an interrogation?”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “But I won’t.” She stared at the comforter, smoothing a wrinkle. “You and Roman. You look different. You… I guess we all grew up.”

  “A lot of time has passed.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “So you did.”

  “I know it doesn’t—”

  “Enough with the apologies.” The harsh change of tone surprised her. He pushed on. “You want to talk now? To me? Roman? Hell, to Rocco?”

  “I already said—”

  “And I don’t care. The way I see it, you’re having a bad day because boyfriend-dearest finally got what he deserved.”

  “What?” She recoiled. The words felt like a slap across the face. He couldn’t possibly think she and Antilla were a thing. Then again, seducing the blood-hungry prick was part of her cover.

  “Don’t play me for stupid, Nic. You and Antilla Smooth.”

  “Cash, you—”

  “I have no idea what you’ve been up to for ten years, so start talking, or you may need to classify me as something other than a friendly.”

  “He wasn’t my lover.”

  “I don’t care.”

  His face said otherwise, and the panging in her head shouted that he needed to know.

  She tried to move away from the Antilla line of fire. She might’ve had a compromised operation, but she wasn’t going to pass out details of a covert operation because of past feelings. Too many unknowns. “Why were you out there? And Roman? Both of you decked out like—” Like snipers… Oh, holy hell. He raised an eyebrow, watching her connect a few scattered dots. She’d been on an adrenaline cocktail, then shocked by their meet-and-greet, and now, the jagged pieces started to align themselves. “One of you took Antilla out?”

  One of them ruined her operation? Everything she’d put in for months? The good guys finally had a chance, and they destroyed it?

  His jaw gnashed before it set, and he spoke through his teeth. “What’s it to you?”

  That was confirmation enough. Cash and Roman blew up her mission, shattering any chance to further infiltrate Smooth’s world, to take out illegal arms dealers. No!

  She lunged at him. It was the wrong move, an amateur move, but she wasn’t thinking like a trained agent. Screw her busted foot and arm. Nicola landed square in front of him. What was she going to do unarmed? Shake him to death? They’d already confiscated her only gun.

  With her one good arm, she beat his chest, pounding out every frustration and emotion that ached within her. The bedroom door flew open revealing Roman and Rocco poised, ready to do… something. She looked up at Cash towering over her, his face cold. Emotionless. She realized she’d been screaming. Her cheeks were wet. Shit, fucking tears. Years of training with the best disintegrated in one night.

  Roman looked at Cash. “What the fuck?”

  “She’s upset that I blew her boyfriend’s brains on the carpet.”

  Roman’s face fell until disappointment snarled onto his face. “Boyfriend?” He turned from her, muttering something to Rocco while walking back down the hall.

  Cash whispered, “I can’t believe I loved you.”

  God, no. This was all wrong. She didn’t know enough about who they were or why they were there. Explaining her part could have exponential effects on the CIA’s other operations.

  Why had she run into them tonight? Aching to tell the truth, aching to remember his love, Nicola looked in the mirror as she collapsed onto the bed. Maybe she was too weak for the job. Self-doubt ate at her like she was back on the Farm, in her first week as a recruit when every man, and the handful of women, had eyed her like lunch. She hadn’t been much, just potential, and she still felt the need to prove herself.

  She could do this: act like the agent she was trained to be and stop reacting. Emotions shouldn’t dictate action.

  I can’t believe I ever loved you. Don’t react. Don’t move. His voice clanged through her memory. Her internal orders didn’t work.

  “Wait!” Nicola jumped off the bed as best she could, and bounced on one foot to the door.

  But Cash was gone, taking the phone and leaving her the clothes. She tore off the mess of a dress, moving as fast as she could, threw the t-shirt over her head and—

  And, oh God, did the shirt smell like Cash Garrison. Clean soap and a masculine, peppery scent. On one foot, with one good arm, she balanced with the shirt covering her head and just inhaled, immediately transported back to college. She was in her second year, and he was finishing up his fourth. They lay in bed, naked. His balled up t-shirt served as her pillow.

  This shirt smelled like her past. A distant memory. A deep hurt blossomed in her chest.

  Oh, no. She was going to break her cover.

  She finished p
ulling it on but grabbed the collar and held it to her nose. Just one more time. Just enough to relive the memory.

  Cash told jokes. Always made her laugh, but at that moment, in that memory, he was dead serious and unsure how he would tell Roman they were together. At the time, they’d said together forever, and it’d been time to tell her brother. After she’d walked away, she’d cried for weeks. It still hurt.

  She shook her head. Time to get this over with.

  Nicola hopped down the hall, limped up the stairs, and found the men at the kitchen table, passing a bottle of Gentleman Jack. Roman stood up, staring at her limp. Cash threw back a shot.

  Rocco waved. “Not much in the fridge. Power bars on the counter. But if you feel like joining us, shot glasses are next to the sink. We’re drinking to shitty days. Cheers.” He downed a shot.

  “Nicola.” Roman eyed her. “Are you okay?” He smashed glare at Cash. “What’s with the yelling? Dickhead said—”

  “She’s not welcome here.” Cash scowled and poured another shot.

  This wasn’t going well, and she’d been in the kitchen, oh, two point five seconds.

  “Shut your face, Cash.” Roman glared at the table. “Are you ready to, I don’t know, talk about this?”

  “No.”

  Roman sat down. Nicola grabbed a shot glass and sat down at the square table across from Roman with Rocco and Cash on either side of her. The lights were dim, and the table’s wood grain was suddenly very interesting. Instead of studying it, she grabbed the bottle of Jack, poured herself a shot, and threw it down.

  It burned. It was perfect.

  The kick gave her a shiver. God, she needed that. So she did it again.

  When she looked up, Roman and Cash eyed her, maybe a little shocked to see her drinking like that since last time they’d seen her, she was all hi, I’d like a pink drink with my pink paper umbrella. Well, she still liked pink drinks. That hadn’t changed.

  Damn, could she handle three shots in a row with nothing in her stomach? Nope, probably not. She slid the shot glass back a few inches.