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

  Vince grunted and went back to his coffee. Picked up a muffin from a box in the middle of the table that Dancer had brought from a bakery around the corner.

  “According to Thomas Brown the picture was in the family mansion for years. But according to Admiral Chambers it was stolen from him in nineteen-ninety.”

  Marsh looked up at the ceiling. Given the prominence of both families he was facing at a royal screw up.

  “We need to talk to Chambers again. Verify his account of the theft.”

  “He’s back,” Dancer ran his hand through his hair, which flopped awkwardly back in his eyes. “Got a flight out of Anchorage last night.”

  Anxiety bit along the edge of Marsh’s nerves. He had a job to do and a position to uphold. Neither melded with protecting Josephine from a killer 24/7.

  “I guess we’re going to Boston.” He grimaced.

  “What about…” Vince glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin toward the open door.

  Marsh rested the base of his spine against the kitchen counter. Leaving Josephine in NYC meant leaving her vulnerable. Vince could protect her, but Marsh needed to know she was safe.

  “She’s coming too.”

  “She won’t like it,” Vince stated with a shake of his head.

  There was a creak of a hinge and the soft tread of bare feet across floorboards. Josephine padded to the doorway, looked at the three men in her kitchen and silently held her hand out for coffee. He picked up the mug and handed it across, their fingers brushing and the spark of contact making her blush. Dancer caught Marsh’s eye. Raised a knowing brow.

  Ignoring the other agent, Marsh stared into Josephine’s eyes. “You need to come to Boston with us.”

  A soft breath escaped her lips, “Has he killed again?”

  He cleared his throat. It was a sensible plan. Josephine would buy it. “No, this isn’t to do with the Blade Hunter case. I have to go to Boston as part of the investigation I’m leading.” He stared into cobalt eyes that were slowly freezing over. “This way we can keep an eye on you rather than leaving you exposed and threatened in NYC.” He tried to hold her gaze, but it was like she was disappearing before his eyes.

  “I won’t run away from this asshole. Not this time—”

  “It isn’t running away, it’s being smart.” Marsh plowed right on over her concerns. “Bring everything you need to paint and we’ll set you up somewhere—”

  “My canvas is twenty-foot high.” Remoteness echoed through her voice like she’d turned herself off.

  “Work on something else for a few days.” His voice got louder, unconsciously trying to penetrate the armor she was building around herself.

  Her eyes turned to his, empty—none of the passion, none of her usual spirit.

  “I have a commission to finish.” She bit her lip. “It might not be important or worthy—but it’s mine and I’m not giving it up for that sonofabitch.” She was looking right through him, but not seeing him. She was seeing that knife-wielding bastard. “Vince can look after me.” Backing out of the room she smiled vaguely at them all, her pale skin turning even whiter in the morning sun.

  “Josephine.” Panic crept in to his tone. She said she wasn’t running away but she was lying. He’d expected fireworks, but he had expected to get his way. This distance was beyond him and he’d never seen her retreat into herself before. “Pack your stuff because we’re leaving at noon.”

  There was no reply, just the click of the lock on the bedroom door and the expectant weight of silence.

  “Well, that went well.” Dancer slugged down the last of his coffee, licked frosted sugar off his fingers. “Want me to get the tranquilizers or can you manage?”

  * * *

  The light was perfect. If she could concentrate on color, on how to make the folds of the Statue of Liberty’s toga look both fluid and solid at the same time, everything would be fine. Squeezing out permanent green, some phthalo green and a blob of cobalt green deep acrylic, she stared stupidly at her palette. Her hands shook as feeling slowly crept back into her senses.

  This was never going to work. Being with Marsh was never going to work.

  He couldn’t protect her forever and she didn’t want him around purely out of obligation. Neither did she want to put him in danger or have to worry about him. She closed her eyes and swayed. She was an idiot.

  She should have run that first day but she’d hesitated and that had been her first mistake.

  Liberty’s upraised arm mocked her. This painting was supposed to represent the indomitable spirit of New York City. It was supposed to represent the phoenix rising from the ashes of grief and the courage of the people of this great city. But how could she hope to do it justice when she couldn’t even walk the streets without a bodyguard? She despised what her life had become. She wasn’t some weak little drip who hung on a man’s word and expected him to take care of her. Neither did she want to be the dumbfuck blonde in a horror flick who got caught by a monster with a big sharp knife.

  Marshall Hayes got under her skin in a way no man ever had before. She wanted to believe in him, wanted to lean on him, and knew she couldn’t risk it.

  Sunlight filtered in through the tall glass windows and worked tiny beads of sweat on her temple. At age nine she’d learned the key to survival was keeping quiet. Keep your head down, don’t get involved. Don’t expose your emotions. Run, hide, watch, survive, strike out when necessary, and keep your goddamned mouth shut. Her father’s image rose up in her mind, calling her names because she’d had the audacity to resemble her mother. What would Walter Maxwell have done different if he’d known his wife had been murdered rather than left him? Josephine frowned for a moment. It would have been another excuse to drink himself to death. No wonder her mother had gone off with another man. Marion had saved her, taken her in, and in the end Josie had repaid that debt with painful death.

  Painful death had a habit of following her around and she couldn’t stand the idea it might be Marsh this time as a result of some vain effort to save her. But she was not letting a man—not even a good man like Marsh, and definitely not an evil bastard like the Blade Hunter—control her life.

  Her fingers closed around the handle of the paintbrush and she dipped it in the thick cobalt green. Stepped across to the stepladder and put her foot on the first rung.

  “Are you going to listen to reason?” Marsh’s voice came quietly from the doorway and her blood revved.

  All last night they’d clung to one another. But he made her feel exposed and she couldn’t afford that vulnerability. Shaking her head, she daubed on the first light coating of paint across the right hand side of the statue. She couldn’t bring herself to face him.

  “Are you going to tell me why not or just ignore me again?” The Boston accent was even flatter than usual and cold enough to make her shiver. In the cottage in Vermont she’d refused to talk to him for thirty-six hours straight. Then she’d seduced him. She didn’t know how many mistakes one person could make in a lifetime but it looked like she was trying to find out.

  “I can’t run away when he’s out hunting other women.” She lifted her chin, ignored the fine tremor that ran through her when she turned to look at him standing there in a dark navy suit and scarlet striped tie. So beautiful and powerful; her throat hurt looking at him. “I’m staying. You go.”

  “Didn’t last night mean anything to you?” His voice held an edge that started to piss her off.

  Wobbling slightly on the ladder she said, “Last night was good, Marsh, but I’m not gonna play in your bed until they catch this guy. I have work to do.”

  “You think I want you in Boston so I can fuck you?”

  She climbed off the ladder and met him head on. Heat and anger burned off him like jet fuel. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned.

  “You think I can’t last a few nights without sex when I’ve been celibate for months?” Amber battled with jade as his pupils flared.

  “I don’t know! I
don’t know about any of this.” Her voice rose. “None of it makes sense.”

  With sharp jerks he took the brush and palette from her rigid fingers and placed them on the table. “One thing makes sense.”

  Josephine inhaled a jagged breath as he grabbed the material of her shirt in a fist and pulled her flush against his body. His lips crushed hers, fury and frustration ripe in the pressure and clash of his teeth.

  His other hand pressed against the small of her back, bringing them in intimate contact and sending blasts of desire pulsing from her breasts to the apex of her thighs.

  His lips turned gentle, belying his anger, his teeth nipped at her mouth until she responded and her hands crept up around his shoulders. She closed her eyes against the weakness that assaulted her, gripped him hard as dark emotions rose up. His kiss slowed and she tasted gentleness, opened her eyes and caught a brief glimpse of pain before he drew away.

  “This isn’t about sex, Josephine. You know whatever is happening between us is much more than just sex and I don’t like it any more than you do.” His words were weary and tore at her resolve. “But you coming with me to Boston is about stopping that bastard slicing you open with a sharp blade and finishing what he started all those years ago.”

  Nausea curled through her, as she knew it was meant to. He was trying to scare her. As if she needed any reminders. But she didn’t intend to get caught by this psychopath.

  She pulled away. “Vince is here.”

  He paused and looked over his shoulder on his way to the door. “But I wanted to do it… I wanted to be the one who kept you safe.”

  Her Last Chance: Chapter Twelve

  Paint speckled toes peeped out of turquoise sequined flip-flops. The ragged hem of her jeans tickled the sensitive bridge of her foot. But neither sight nor sensation eased the tension in her jaw or set of her shoulders. Fury burned a thin line of rage through her bones. She seized onto it in a desperate attempt to help herself focus.

  Josie grabbed a new size-twenty brush and an industrial-sized tube of China White and threw it in her basket. New sponges, Conté crayons, and a sharp triangular palette knife followed.

  Shoving past Vince, she flung him a glare.

  Men.

  With a smack, she dumped the basket at the checkout, stared stonily at the gum-chewing clerk who slowly registered her presence and began scanning her purchases. So what if she was acting irrationally? None of this was her fault. This bastard was ruining her life and Marsh was trying to control it. She wanted her independence back. She needed the space to think.

  “He wants to keep you safe.” Vince’s low voice murmured in her ear, but rather than easing her mind, he fired the fury higher.

  “I thought that’s what you were for.” She flung him a dismissive up-and-down scowl.

  The store clerk stopped chewing and glanced nervously at Vince who blocked out most of the light. Vince’s gaze flickered to the clerk and he cocked a questioning eyebrow back at her.

  Her hissy fit was attracting the wrong kind of attention. “Don’t worry about him, he’s my bodyguard and a decorated war hero,” she reassured the clerk.

  “Anyone ever told you you’re about as subtle as a chainsaw?” Vince murmured directly into her ear.

  Gathering her supplies, she marched out of the shop and onto the street, fought the wind as it whipped her thin black sweater against her skin. It felt colder than it should have. A frigid wind cutting down from the Maritimes with the sharpness of bear claws. She shivered. Painting and anger had been the only things she could think about since she’d argued with Marsh that morning. Good job she’d been dressed before she’d run out of paint else she’d probably be standing here naked.

  Unable to concentrate on her commission, she’d put Liberty to one side and blasted pure emotion onto a fresh canvas. The result looked like road-kill and it turned her stomach when she’d recognized the inspiration for the image.

  Skillfully avoiding tourists and New Yorkers alike she strode along the sidewalk. She should contact Agent Walker to see if there was any news. Marsh wasn’t running this show; he was just trying to protect her.

  The aroma of pizza competed with gas fumes as she stood on the curb, checked for traffic and jaywalked across to Bleecker, not caring if Vince followed or not. Turning onto Grove Street she looked over her shoulder and found Vince in her shadow. Silent, scary, alert.

  And it pissed her off.

  The Blade Hunter was pulling her strings, making her dance to his tune, giving her a new life with new rules and she didn’t like it. She’d spent her childhood being controlled by others.

  The faces of mutilated women flashed vividly through her mind, her mother’s face…a girlhood memory distorted by time and gruesome crime scene pictures. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she came to a standstill in the street.

  “You okay?” Vince asked from behind her.

  “No, but I’ll live.” Hopefully. Then she spotted Marsh standing across the road outside her apartment building looking upwards at the windows. She thought he’d already left for Boston, but he looked like he’d been standing there for hours.

  Vince put a hand on her shoulder. “Be smart.”

  “Why? You need a vacation, sweet-thing?” She squinted up at the big man.

  White teeth flashed like headlights on high beam. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “This is a vacation, cupcake.” He gave her a gentle push.

  Great. She was a wimp surrounded by superheroes with big frickin’ guns.

  Marsh turned toward her as she stumbled forward. “You come to your senses yet?” His words grabbed her temper by the scruff of the neck and gave it a good shake.

  “I’m staying.”

  Disappointment flickered in the hazel of his eyes and it hurt. Dammit, this was why she didn’t get involved. Being alone was a damn sight easier than trying to live up to someone else’s expectations. And knowing she’d miss the SOB when he left sat about as well as waiting for a serial killer to strike. But maybe it was better this way.

  Hoisting her bag of supplies under one arm she unlocked the front door. Marsh stepped up behind her and she glanced sideways, watched Vince raise a hand in farewell.

  “He’s grabbing enough food and gear to last the next forty-eight hours.” His voice was neutral and gave nothing away. It didn’t have to. He’d made his opinion perfectly clear.

  “He doesn’t have to stay the whole time.” She flung the door open, shocked when Marsh twisted her in his arms and pushed her up against the front door, his hands in a vise-like grip on her arms.

  “Why do you act like you don’t even care?”

  The hair on her nape rose. She kept her mouth closed.

  “Why do you act like nothing ever bothers you?” Strain etched every muscle. His shoulders trembled and the skin around his mouth was deathly white. Her nerves hummed like a wasp. She’d pushed him too far.

  “What would you do if he came after you?” He jerked away like he couldn’t stand to touch her for a moment longer. “What would I do?”

  Heart pounding, she started up the stairs.

  “Josephine!” The anguish in his voice made her swing to face him. The light in his eyes vivid and bright, wringing out emotions she didn’t know how to deal with.

  “I can’t do this, Marsh. I don’t even know how to be in a relationship under normal circumstances.” To her horror tears spilled out. “Right now I can’t think of anything except getting through this alive.”

  Bolting up the stairs her footsteps rebounded through the stairwell. Her heartbeat raced faster and faster, her lungs bursting with the need for oxygen, but she couldn’t take a breath.

  She’d made it to the second floor before Marsh began to follow. She wasn’t running away from him. She needed some space. And you keep telling yourself that…

  At the top of the stairs she stopped so fast she skidded on the smooth floor.

  The door to her apartment stood ajar. Did I leave it open? She slowed, uncertain. The
wood was crushed beside the handle. It had been jimmied.

  “Stand behind me.” Marsh unclipped his weapon.

  Waves of adrenaline caused blood to pulse through her ears. She grabbed the back of Marsh’s jacket and held on for dear life.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Her heart hammered and sweat began to run down her forehead, dripping into her eyes.

  Reaching behind his back with one hand, he pried her fingers loose and captured them in his. Bringing them to his lips he gave her a brief kiss and a tight smile before motioning her behind him as he hugged the wall. Never taking his eyes from the doorway, he took out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number, thrust the phone into Josie’s hands.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  Marsh held his finger to his lips and mouthed, “We wait.”

  “For what?” she whispered back.

  A door crashed open below and boots clattered up the stairs.

  “Back up.” Marsh smiled. The effect was terrifying.

  Vince arrived at the top of the stairs with his pistol drawn, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and a deadly expression on his face.

  Wordlessly the two men moved into position and swept into the apartment the way she’d seen a thousand times on the TV. Marsh dragged her inside, the grip on her wrist so tight it hurt, but she wasn’t complaining. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone—a great moment for that epiphany. God, she was a stubborn fool.

  The lounge looked undisturbed. Marsh and Vince tag-teamed every possible hiding place, checking the kitchen, bathrooms, closets.

  Josie stood in the center of her studio stunned. He’d taken the painting…

  Lightheaded, she allowed herself to be maneuvered into the guestroom as they checked under the bed and inside the built-ins. Nausea crept into her throat. He’d been here. A shiver of repulsion slid over her skin. She followed Marsh back into the living room. More footsteps echoed up the stairwell and voices shouted. Agents Dancer and Walker burst into the apartment, but Marsh and Vince never glanced up. They were focused on the last remaining possible hiding place for an intruder. Her bedroom.