by Julie Rowe
“Why?”
“The man might have left the Army, but the Army hasn’t left him. He strikes me as a man who follows the rules. All of the rules.”
The sound of several voices drew their attention to the front of the building. A dozen people, all dressed in CDC protective gear, had entered the building.
“Time to address the troops,” Gunner said and strode forward.
It took some time to bring everyone up to speed. Thanks to their data management system, everyone had a record of all the samples she and Gunner had taken and their field test results.
Dozer returned. “Someone fucked around in the brewery’s inventory tracking system,” he said with a sour expression. “Right now, it shows all kegs of the craft beer as in-house and unsold. It’s going to take our IT guys a few hours to untangle the truth from the lies.”
“Shit,” Gunner said. He exhaled, and she could almost feel his exhaustion.
“We need to grab some sleep, anyway,” Joy said.
Dozer looked directly at Gunner. “Good point. Check your phones when you wake up. I’ll let you know what we find.”
“Sounds good,” Joy said.
They were directed to a CDC truck large enough to support a half dozen portable decontamination showers. They showered off the outside of their protective suits before moving to a second shower that got them clean to the skin. Clean clothing waited for them.
Dozer was talking on his cell phone only a few feet from the exit of the showers, and he held up a hand. He pocketed his phone and held out a small envelope. “There’s a hotel about a mile from here. Your room keys.”
“Our rooms are next to each other, right?” Joy asked.
Dozer slanted a speculative look at her.
“Oh, fuck off,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “We need to be close so we don’t waste time wandering the halls looking for each other if we get an emergency call-out.”
Dozer put up his hands. “Whoa, I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Your face did.”
“Not my intention.”
“You were practically shouting it,” Gunner said. He sounded…tired. Tired? Gunner?
Dozer lowered his hands slowly. “I was wishing I had more people who were team players, and wondering how I could clone you two.”
“Oh, yeah?” She so didn’t believe him.
“Yeah. Tight teams of two get more done than any groups of four or six people who haven’t worked together before.”
“We need to go,” Gunner said dryly. He glanced at the envelope then got into the van’s driver’s side.
Neither of them said anything until they’d left the brewery behind. The bubble of professionalism she’d managed to create to compartmentalize what she’d done—shot a man—thinned and thinned until it disappeared into nothing.
“I overreacted back there,” Joy said, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to keep herself together.
Gunner’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he kept his eyes on the road and his voice steady. “That guy did everything a good suicide bomber is supposed to do, right down to wearing a vest realistic enough to fool someone who’s seen the real thing before.”
Joy shivered.
He glanced at her, and she realized he’d seen it.
“Mike killed him, not you.”
“The security guards—”
“They were just the weapons he used. You got him down. He’d still be alive if Mike Creek hadn’t ordered his people to tase the bomber over and over.”
“Do you think he knew?” Her voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears.
“What?”
“That his vest didn’t actually have any explosives in it?”
Gunner sighed. “No, I don’t think he knew. He acted as if it were real.”
“What did he say after you tackled him? I didn’t catch it all.”
“He whispered, this wasn’t supposed to happen yet. It’s too soon. Not the right place a couple of times.”
“So, Mike Creek is in this up to his eyeballs.”
“Yeah. I also think Mike doesn’t give two fucks about what happens now as long as his brother suffers.”
“That’s messed up.”
Gunner looked at her, his concerned frown etched deeply into his forehead. “Did that psychologist stare down her microscope at you?”
“Her microscope?”
“Her eyeballs examined, evaluated, and eliminated me at the molecular level.”
She noted his downturned mouth. “I think it’s standard practice for anyone involved in a shooting.”
He grunted. “Like neither of us has been in a situation like that before.”
No, they’d both seen more than their fair share of violence.
Gunner’s hands clenched on the steering wheel.
“What?” she asked.
“It doesn’t make sense.” Gunner glanced at her, his head tilted to one side. “Mike is a narcissist, but I don’t think he’s stupid. Why would a spoiled rich kid ruin the source of his money?”
Joy opened her mouth, paused, then closed it before saying slowly, “That’s a good question.”
“I get that he’s been marginalized, and he knows big brother is going to run the company, but if it goes under, so does his lifestyle. He’s too selfish to just throw it all away.”
“How does suicide guy fit into things?” Joy asked.
“Mike got the E. coli from someone, somewhere.”
“Someone who told him how to do the most damage with it.” The implications of that made her stomach hurt. “How many more people are involved in this? Is it terrorists or a few disgruntled idiots who want to make a statement?”
“Anyone who uses violence, or in this case a biological weapon, to kill people is a terrorist. What we don’t know is whether or not FAFO is involved, or if they’re just trying to take credit. If they are involved, are they a homegrown group, or did it originate outside the States?”
“First it was El Paso, then that drug lab in Utah. Americans born and bred.” Joy suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
“There are a lot of angry people who, for one reason or another, decide the best way to fix our country is to kill a lot of people and start over. And there are groups and individuals who would be happy to arm your pissed off next door neighbor in the hopes that he kills you, along with the rest of the neighborhood.”
“Oh my God.” The idea that the disgruntled could obtain and release bacterial or viral pathogens on an unsuspecting population… “Do you think Homeland is working with this theory?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” One side of his mouth curled up. “That guy, Dozer, strikes me as a man who doesn’t leave any stone unturned.”
Releasing a deadly pathogen into a healthy population was unthinkable. For what? Power? Money? Unless you had a cure or vaccine ready and available, it would be suicide.
“Do you think they know?” she asked in a whisper.
“Know what?”
“That their weapon is just as likely to kill them as anyone else?”
“If someone else is pulling the strings, maybe not. Maybe they were promised some kind of miracle drug or antibiotic.” He stressed antibiotics.
“Idiots,” she said.
“Yeah.”
Gunner turned into the hotel’s parking lot. They got out of the van, grabbed their go-bags from the back, and went inside. He moved like he’d just run a triathlon, with exhausted muscles and blisters on his feet.
The young woman behind the check-in desk smiled as she gave them their room keys, as well as each other’s room key as a security measure.
Their rooms, on the fourth floor, were at the end of the hall, next to each other.
Joy checked her watch. “See you in five hours.”
Gunner gave her a stiff nod then went into his room.
That bothered her for some reason, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
Her room was plain. A king size b
ed, TV, and desk and chair. She pulled her toiletry bag out of her luggage then went into the bathroom and stripped. The hot water from the showerhead felt good. She let the water wash away her fear, anger, and panic and massage the tension out of her muscles.
Eventually, she had to get out. Drying off seemed to take a long time. Putting pajamas on even longer. She was running out of energy quick.
She flopped on the bed, too tired to crawl under the covers, and dozed as she listened to the sound of the shower running in Gunner’s room.
She thought she’d taken a long shower.
A couple of minutes later, her eyes opened. His shower was still running? A quick check of the time confirmed his had been on at least thirty minutes.
Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes a hot shower was the best medicine. Still, he needed sleep, too.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to the water run, worry a tightening cog in the pit of her stomach.
Another five minutes passed.
Another five.
Fuck it.
Joy rolled to her feet, grabbed the envelope containing her room key and his, then left her room. She knocked on Gunner’s door. Hard.
No response.
Knocked again. Harder. If he didn’t answer, she was going in without an invitation.
“What?” a male voice asked.
“Open the door, Gunner.”
Seconds passed.
The door opened a crack. “You should be asleep.”
“So should you. Did you leave your shower running or something?”
He sighed and opened the door wide enough for her to enter.
She closed the door, then realized he wasn’t wearing anything but a towel around his waist. He ducked into the bathroom, releasing a cloud of steam into the room. The shower was still running.
“Your own personal steam room?” she asked.
“Sort of,” he said, coming out, the towel now riding low on his hips, revealing his lean muscular chest, broad shoulders, and an arrow of muscles over his hips that could lead any woman into sin.
Who needed hot water? She had her own version of smoking hot right in front of her to raise her temperature.
“Joy?”
She jerked her head up at the sound of her name, a blush heating her checks. Busted.
“What’s up?”
You? No, she couldn’t say that, but boy she wanted to. “Sorry. I heard your shower running and running, and thought I’d make sure you hadn’t drowned or something.”
He ran a hand through his damp hair and turned away from her.
A fine patina of scars marked his upper back and shoulders. She stared at them. What could have made them?
The muscles of his back flexed, tensed, but didn’t release.
“Gunner?”
He turned. “I can’t get the sound out of my head.” His voice was rough with…pain?
“What sound?”
“The shot that put a hole in the leg of the idiot wearing the fake vest.” He breathed out and in again. “It’s all tied up with the sounds of the bullet that killed…” He laughed without humor. “Killed my wife, Sandy. Two different continents and three years apart, but I can’t think of one without the other.”
His words were blows to her body, and she took a step back. “That’s what triggered you.” It came out a whisper. She’d turned his worst nightmare into reality. Her mouth dried up, and she wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. She was his partner. “I’m so sorry.”
His gaze focused on her, and he frowned. “This is the first time since coming back to the States that I’ve been close to gunfire. I didn’t know I’d react that way.” He shrugged. “Not that bad, anyway.”
Guilt forced her eyes to avoid looking at him. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t be here. She should go back to her own room, get that promised sleep she’d been looking forward to.
He ducked his head to catch her gaze. “You had no way of knowing what my reaction might be, just like I won’t always know when some event might emotionally hijack you.” He snorted. “I’m calling it a win, since I didn’t kill that asshole with my bare hands like I wanted to.”
“You wouldn’t have—”
“Oh, no?” he interrupted, the same feral expression on his face now as right after the shot.
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday 12:26 a.m.
Gunner watched shock widen Joy’s mouth and eyes. It disappeared, erased by her indignation.
“No. You wouldn’t have. One punch doesn’t make you a killer.”
When he would have interrupted to correct her, she kept talking.
“It makes you human.” She strode up to him and poked his chest. “Like everyone else.”
Her support lifted a weight off of him, but he also wasn’t going to lie to her or himself. “I can’t afford to react like everyone else. I need to keep a lid on my emotions, or I really will flip my shit some day and make some situation much, much worse.”
He was a doctor, sworn to heal, yet he wanted, no—needed—to hurt that little shit, Mike. Craved doing violence to him like it was candy or cocaine.
“I don’t believe you’d have done much more than punch him, even if you could have gotten away with really hurting him.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
She thought she knew him, thought she’d seen all there was to see. There was a gaping wound in his soul, a deep, dark well of pain that terrified him, and it had almost gotten out. Almost escaped his control. He would have done a lot more than punch the target of that rage and pain. He would have killed it.
“Yes, oh,” she said with a prim pout to her lips.
He wanted to kiss those plush lips. Kiss and suck and bite them until she forgot how to speak.
“I’ve seen you deal with all kinds of assholes. You have a loud bark, but you don’t bite.”
Was that a challenge? He allowed a sensual smile to spread across his face. “I’ve been known to bite.”
“Uh-huh.” She shook her finger at him again. “No changing the subject.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing that annoyed finger then sucking it into his mouth.
She gasped and tugged, but he held on, flicking the sensitive pad with his tongue. He bit. Only hard enough to get her attention then sucked the small pain away. She leaned toward him, her focus on his mouth, her jaw dropping open.
He took it as an invitation. With one quick pull, he jerked her into contact with his body, slid his free hand around her back, and kissed her.
She moaned, then her body trembled and tensed, as if she was about to pull away.
No. He needed her too much, needed her acceptance of him despite how damaged he was. If she turned away, rejected him now, he’d lose containment of the black death that lived in the pit of his soul.
Seduce her, that dark voice whispered in his head. Beautiful and tough, she could handle all of him.
Violence transformed into passion, need, and an awe of the woman in his arms that allowed him to gentle his kiss. He teased her, making her follow him until she became the aggressor. He took a step backward, and she followed. Another step, and another. The bed blocked his way.
Gunner took over the kiss again, moving smoothly around until the bed was behind her, then he pulled back and allowed the towel to drop to the floor.
She glanced down.
He used the moment of distraction to grab the hem of her sleep shirt and lift it up and over her head, but he didn’t remove it entirely. The fabric tangled up her hands, and he used her off-balance position to carry her down to the sheets.
“Gunner, I—”
He kissed her, soft and sweet, hoping he could tempt her into sin deep enough to forget all protests and promises to stay in her own room.
“I need you,” he whispered.
She hummed a positive sound, and her body relaxed in his hold. The relief that surged through him made him dizzy.
Slowly, he slid both hands un
der her back and lifted her higher onto the bed. He crouched over her, kissing her while his hands began working her pajama pants down her hips. Her neck, an elegant curve that tempted him to learn it with his lips and tongue, drew him down to her collarbone. He nipped her there then sucked the small wound until she squirmed.
He swept her pajamas off, discovering her wearing only a plain white thong.
The scrap of fabric was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He stared at it, wanting to tear it away, rip it into shreds, but she made a sound and said, “Is this a good idea?”
He smiled as he looked her over, all spread out for him to feast on. “It’s the best damn idea I’ve ever had.”
Her breathing sped up, causing her breasts to shimmy. When she tried to bring her bound hands down he pounced, trapping her wrists on the bed above her head.
He leaned down and kissed her soft, succulent belly, which made her giggle, so he kissed her there again. Her laughter was champagne in his blood. His route upward was circuitous and took a long time. So long, that she began to beg in a continuous litany, “Please, please, suck them, bite them.” She tried to arch her back, lift her breasts higher, but he held her down.
Still…who was he to refuse a lady’s request?
He explored her generous breasts, fascinated with how sensitive they were. Every place he touched with his lips or tongue wound her tighter and tighter. She made the sexiest sounds. Finally, he sucked one tight nipple into his mouth, pulling hard, and she damn near came off the bed.
He couldn’t wait, not another second. He had to be inside her, had to feel, in the most basic of ways, connected to her.
He moved to the edge of the bed so he could grab the condoms he’d shoved into his go-bag. It had been wishful thinking, or so he’d thought.
He got a condom on and returned to suckle and nip at her delicious breasts. He waited until her gaze was glassy with pleasure and her body shaking with the need to orgasm before he pressed one leg up high and wide, then entered her with one smooth, hard thrust.
She sucked in a deep breath, and detonated.
He sealed her mouth with his, stealing her scream of pleasure all for himself. He wanted more, wanted every sound, shake, and shiver. Her pleasure fed the dark place inside him, calmed the rage, and it felt so fucking good, he just wanted to watch her climax over and over.