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

  “I haven’t even seen her in years.” Chambers’ hands fought for purchase on Brook Duvall’s fingers, but the senator wasn’t giving up easily.

  “You’re lying!” Tears started to flow again and Brook looked up and seemed to realize what he was doing, or maybe who his audience was. He stumbled off the older man and crawled onto his chair, wrapped his arms over his head and wept.

  Chambers sat up, loosened his tie, undid his top shirt button and wheezed out a breath before he could speak. “You’d know all about lying, wouldn’t you, you fucking queer.”

  Oookay.

  Marsh scraped his fingers over his eye sockets as he stared at the broken figure of the next would-be president. There had never been a hint of scandal. “You’re gay?”

  Duvall said nothing, sat with his face hidden against his knees, shoulders shaking.

  “Did you ever do her?” The admiral asked with a leer. “Because she was rabid by the time she got to me.”

  “She’d need to be,” Cochrane muttered under his breath.

  Chambers climbed to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. Duvall sobbed harder and Marsh noted the PA stood at the door, directing a vicious look at Chambers.

  “So Pru was a beard?” asked Detective Cochrane.

  Duvall sat up straight, his gaze going to Geoffrey in the doorway and Marsh put the final piece of the puzzle together.

  “It was her idea.” Duvall palmed the tears off his cheeks. “We met in Savannah when her father was still alive.” He glanced up and caught Marsh’s gaze. “I think he abused her, but she never talked about it. She never talked about much.” He gave a bitter laugh, “She caught me with Geoffrey in a compromising situation at some house party the Huntingfords threw.” Brook closed his eyes.

  “Geoffrey and Pru are…were second cousins. She knew I had political aspirations, and as she found me,” he glanced at his PA, “us, literally in the closet, it didn’t take long to convince us that we could actually make a marriage of convenience work. Plus, I was in the Navy…” He looked away from Marsh into the flames. “You know how the military loves homosexuals.”

  “So lying to the American people is an ethical way to start your political career and an okay way to win the Presidency?” Marsh questioned.

  Cochrane snorted while Admiral Chambers sank stiffly into the second chair with a smirk.

  Geoffrey came over and poured himself a large one. “All those years…” He turned and looked at his boss, his lover, shaking his head as if they’d lost everything. “I never thought it would end this way.”

  “Did you kill your wife?” Detective Cochrane asked, a hard expression closing down his features.

  The senator looked surprised. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. She get fed up of the arrangement? Threaten to spill the beans?” Cochrane had a viable suspect in his sights, and leverage to make a powerful man talk. “Spouses are always top of the pile when it comes to murder.”

  “But I thought a serial killer murdered her?” He didn’t know they’d ruled Dancer out as the Blade Hunter. Duvall’s eyes ricocheted violently, a pinball gone crazy. They came to rest on Geoffrey and he held out a shaking hand that the other man took.

  “You lovebirds got an alibi for last night that doesn’t involve each other?” Cochrane’s New York accent got thicker with each word.

  The senator and his PA looked at each other frowning. “We were in the Hamptons.”

  The admiral laughed, a nasty ugly sound.

  “What about you, Admiral? Got an alibi?” Marsh’s words stopped him cold.

  “Me?” The old goat had the gall to look affronted.

  “Yesterday, you find out Prudence took a painting that might be worth as much as fifty million dollars.” Marsh watched the old man’s faded brown eyes grow cold. “You have an alibi for last night?”

  “I wouldn’t have killed the bitch until after she’d told me where the painting was.” His lips twisted as he looked into the fire.

  “But the bitch, as you so politely put it, is dead,” Marsh said quietly. “And I think she knew her killer.”

  Everyone spoke at once.

  “What?”

  “Oh my God…”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Hey! One at a time!” Cochrane pointed at Geoffrey. “You said, oh my God, like you knew something?”

  Geoffrey sat on the arm of Brook’s chair, stiff as cardboard. “It’s just…”

  “Spit it out,” Detective Cochrane ordered. Marsh let him lead.

  Geoffrey glanced uncertainly at Brook. “Pru was heavily into S&M and I know she was seeing someone, but I don’t know who it was.”

  The admiral snorted. “She was a sick bitch. Wanted me to whip her. If she was still alive I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “Shut up! That’s my wife you’re talking about and no matter what kind of marriage we had, I loved her.” Brook sat up in his seat, vibrating like he was about to go for Chambers’ throat again.

  “Where’d she keep her stuff?” They might have a solid lead.

  “Stuff?” Brook was oblivious, but Geoffrey knew exactly what Marsh was talking about.

  “In her room.” Geoffrey stood up and walked to the door, visibly shaking. “I’ll show you.”

  The PA led them down a corridor, to a bedroom dressed in deep crimson and gold. Opulent drapes, a king-size four-poster bed with a painting of a naked woman curled up against a red backdrop on the wall above it. An ornately carved trunk sat behind the door, sporting a big fat padlock.

  “I could shoot out the lock.” Cochrane started to unclip his weapon.

  “I think someone might know where the key is?” Marsh tilted his gaze to Geoffrey.

  The man squeezed his eyes shut. “She wanted me to try it on. That was all. She wanted to tell me what she was into.”

  “She tell you a name?”

  He shook his head. “We were friends even as children but lately she’d drifted away…”

  “Just get us the damn key.” Cochrane looked nervously around the bedroom. Marsh felt it too; a creepy sensation trickling through his bones as if Pru’s ghost lay curled on that bed purring, beneath the painting that shared an uncanny likeness with her.

  Geoffrey left and quickly returned, lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced at the door to make sure the admiral and the senator were out of earshot. Neither man had followed them and Marsh hoped they didn’t kill each other while they were gone. He inserted the key and the mechanism opened easily.

  “She tried to get me to dress up in this stuff.” He looked up, eyes wide. “I was curious, you know? Not about the sex.” He shrugged. “About the gear.”

  He opened the lid and inside was a black leather whip, crops, paddles, masks and leathers.

  Geoffrey reached out as if to touch something and Cochrane slapped his hand. “That’s all the S&M I’ve got in me. Touch anything else and I’ll shoot you.”

  Geoffrey backed away. “But, oh my God, my DNA is on that stuff.” Geoffrey started to cry and Marsh felt like growling in frustration. Because the Blade Hunter was still out there and had given them more evidence than they could process in a week.

  Unless it was good old Geoffrey, which wasn’t impossible but didn’t seem likely. Although the women weren’t raped, merely tortured.

  He closed the lid, careful not to touch anything with his bare hands. “We need to get this to the lab.”

  Cochrane nodded.

  “We need Pru’s telephone records and address book.” Marsh frowned. “What about email?”

  Geoffrey’s shoulders drooped and he swept a quick look around the room. “She had a laptop, but I don’t see it here.”

  “Are we going to need a warrant to get this information?” Marsh asked.

  Geoffrey shook his head. “No. Brook might not have loved Prudence in the traditional sense, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to find the bastard who killed her. And so do I.”

  * * *

  “How far we gotta walk and
why can’t we take a cab?”

  “I walk everywhere. It’s good exercise.” Josephine smiled up at Vince, glad to be out in the fresh air. Being protected was stifling. Living in fear was crippling. This guy wasn’t going to attack her in broad daylight. There was no reason not to pretend some things were normal.

  The streets were full of dead leaves. An overfull trashcan rolled and littered the street. Metal fire escapes snaked up walls, parked cars lined the streets, and tall trees competed with concrete lampposts for the sun. Manhattan at its finest.

  “I guess you were too poor to take cabs when you were younger, huh? And now even with a psycho after you, you’re too tight?” said Vince.

  “Ha.” She liked the fact Vince didn’t baby her. She’d rather be baited than coddled. But what she really needed was movement and space. She needed endorphins and she needed a physical release. They were walking down Sullivan Street in SoHo. Not far from where she was meeting her client. She wasn’t ashamed of her poor roots, took pride in having actually made something of herself with a little help from her friends.

  “After my mother left, even food was a luxury in our house,” she told him. Then she remembered the kindness of Marsh’s parents, and their generosity. It was nothing to do with how much money they had—although that helped—it was to do with a goodness of spirit.

  Being poor wasn’t anything to be proud of. Surviving her childhood was.

  Her mood dropped. Before they’d left the apartment, Walker had phoned her to ask for a DNA sample. They’d exhumed a body that might be her mother and needed to compare her DNA.

  “I feel sick.” She needed to catch her breath. She sagged against the wall of a drycleaners, but the smell of chemicals coming from the vent was strong enough for a glue-sniffer to get high. Gagging, she moved on, leaned against a corner convenience store that carried everything except fossil fuel.

  “You pregnant?” Vince grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him.

  She shook her head. “I got my period this morning.”

  “That explains a few things.” He raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “Like what?”

  “Like the tears. Like the bitchiness—”

  “I wasn’t bitchy.” Tears welled in her eyes again. Shit.

  “That’s right, and you’re not moody either. Come on, sunshine.” Vince hauled her along the street, stopped at the intersection waiting for the lights. She moved automatically, putting one foot in front of the other. What would it be like to be pregnant? To have a child to love and care for? To have a relationship with a man she loved, a family.

  “I feel like this is my last chance…” The words popped out of her mouth.

  “Did you phone him? Did you tell him?” Vince peered down at her, eyes darker than coal, full of compassionate irritation.

  She looked away. “No.”

  “Do it. Do it right now.” Vince stalked back from the edge of the curb and heaved out a massive pissed off male sigh.

  Fine. She could do this. She faced her reflection in the dirty streaked window of the corner store. Her heart hammered against her ribcage in distinct beats as she dialed Marsh’s number. It rang four times before she got bumped. “Damn.” Looking over her shoulder, she caught Vince’s eye. “Voicemail.”

  “Just tell him you love him!” Vince dragged massive fingers through his close-cropped hair and looked like he wanted to crush something. Probably her.

  “Marsh. I called to say…” Her voice was rough and sounded more angry than loving. She tried to clear her throat. “To apologize for everything. I’m sorry Dancer got arrested, sorry I got in the way of you doing your job.” The words I love you stuck on her tongue. She did love him. She didn’t want to but apparently this wasn’t something she got to decide. She licked her lips but words dried up. Maybe if they were face to face, she could squeeze them out, but talking to a cell phone?

  She couldn’t do it.

  A car engine revved down the street.

  Pissed, Vince threw his hands wide and began crossing the junction as the lights changed.

  Tires squealed and a horn honked as a vehicle peeled away from where it was double parked and raced toward the intersection. Josie didn’t even have time to scream as the SUV plowed straight into Vince and threw him high into the air. The car braked sharply and he slid off the hood.

  Time stopped.

  Her body was in motion though her mind was still screaming back on the sidewalk. She dialed 911 as she ran toward him. “I need an ambulance. Someone’s been hit by a car on the corner of Sullivan and—”

  Someone was pulling her shoulders. She tried to shake them off, tried to give the operator exact details about where they were and Vince’s condition. His leg was bent awkwardly beneath him. Blood poured from his thigh and a head wound. She touched his face, careful not to move him. He was unconscious.

  Hands grabbed her but she pulled away. “Get off me!” She turned to shake off whoever the hell was manhandling her, but froze when she recognized him.

  Red hot anger surged through her veins. “You hit him with a car!”

  He grabbed her but she fought him. He wrapped both arms around her waist, trapping her arms to her sides and holding her to him, walking backwards to his SUV.

  “You should be grateful.” A hate-filled whisper seared her ear as she kicked wildly. “I was going to shoot the moron, but he was standing right there.”

  She started to scream and someone shouted at him to stop. But they were too late. He threw her in the car. Stabbed a needle into her ass. It hurt as he slammed down the plunger.

  He ran around the hood, flashing a gun to keep passersby back. Josie grappled with the door handle but her fingers felt spongy and couldn’t grasp anything. Vince lay in an ever-increasing pool of blood. Her vision wavered in and out and then started fading at the edges and she knew she was about to pass out. He’d got her. The man who’d killed her mother. He finally had her exactly where he wanted her. She was as good as dead.

  Her Last Chance: Chapter Eighteen

  “Just tell him you love him!” Vince’s voice was distinct against a background of traffic noise.

  Marsh and Sam Walker were back at St. Mary’s Church going through records. All of a sudden this investigation had so much freaking evidence it was going to take weeks to process and something told him this wasn’t a coincidence. They didn’t have weeks.

  He listened to Josie’s message, knew she was struggling. Apologies were not her strong point. Revealing emotions was not part of her persona. The heaviness around his chest lightened because he’d been about to phone her.

  Just tell him you love him.

  But instead, after a long silence, she hung up.

  Shit. Groaning, Marsh ran his hands over his face. The woman was tearing his heart to pieces. Goddamn her for not saying the words he was desperate to hear. Needed to hear. But who was he to talk when he hadn’t been upfront either?

  He hit call return and didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when it was busy.

  “I love you. We are not done talking about this.” He hung up and saw Walker staring at him strangely.

  “She dump you?” Walker asked.

  “Not for the first time.” Marsh met his gaze head on. “Make a move on her and I’ll re-arrange your face.” He’d turned into a jealous ass.

  Walker shrugged. “It’s her call.”

  Yeah, didn’t he know it.

  He looked across the small room at the agents carefully laying the church papers three deep on two tables. Anything with a date on it was being filed by the year. Anything without a date was being read and separated into an African pile, missionary pile, charity organizations, personal correspondence, etcetera.

  They were all doing everything to catch this asshole and get their fellow agent released. Aiden glanced up. “I think I’ve got something.”

  Marsh strode to his side. “What is it?”

  “Receipts for an apartment rental in Queens
the year Josephine was attacked.”

  Walker hovered behind them. “Local PD checked with the building’s owners, but it was prior to computerization and they didn’t keep records that far back.”

  There was no name associated with the document aside from that of the church. Marsh picked up a sheaf of papers, handed a stack to Walker. “We need to find this guy fast. I have a sick feeling Pru Duvall was the appetizer.”

  They worked as quickly as possible. Scanning documents as the cold air blasted them from the street through the open window.

  And then he saw it. The name that pulled it all together.

  Joshua Faraday.

  “Father Malcolm.” His voice cut through the din of the small room crowded with federal agents and cops.

  “Yes?” The father squeezed past two agents and stood beside Marsh, peering over his elbow.

  “Joshua Faraday?” Marsh watched the man’s face as his memories bloomed. Excitement lifted his mouth. “Yes, yes, that’s the man. I’d forgotten his name, but now you’ve said it, it was definitely him.”

  Aiden stilled beside him. He got it.

  “How old was he?” Marsh asked.

  “He wasn’t a young man, maybe late forties?” The priest seemed hesitant.

  It was a little older than the profile estimated, but that could be wrong. Or… “Did he have any family?”

  The priest scowled down at the stained carpet, his mouth tight. “I do believe his whole family came with him—wife and children.”

  “Philip and Gloria?” Aiden asked from Marsh’s side.

  A smile spread over the priest’s face. “Why, yes, and I believe his wife was Nancy, lovely lady.”

  Philip Faraday fit the profile exactly. A quiet rage filled Marsh. The asshole had been under his nose the whole time. Worse, Aiden had handed him back the painting a few short hours ago. Faraday might not get the full fifty million but he had the connections to get enough to disappear.

  He looked at Walker, “Find out where Joshua Faraday is today. If he’s still alive. We need an arrest warrant for Philip Faraday, and bring his sister in for questioning.” The agent turned away to make the call.