Not a problem. There was a 24/7 convenience store down the street and she could use a quick walk. Be good to get out, stretch her legs.
She cleaned up her workstation and secured the lab, leaving the lights and music on since she’d be back shortly. It was a warm night, thick with the promise of a summer storm, and she breathed deeply of the damp air as she stepped out onto the empty street.
“Dr. Tiffany Peters?”
Automatically, she started to turn toward the male voice, but a niggling sense that something was off in his tone made her stop short. That niggle became a full-blown danger alarm when he crowded into her space. Oh God, was he going to mug her? And she’d left her pepper spray in the lab. She grabbed her retractable badge, intending to swipe it and duck back into the safety of the building. “I’m sorry, I’m busy.”
“You’ll make time for me. You have something I want.” The man wore a balaclava and held a gun.
Her heart kicked and her hands began to shake as he jabbed the barrel into her spine. She fumbled the badge. He grabbed it from her and swiped it. The lock disengaged with a ca-chuck, and her badge retracted to the clip on her lab coat.
He nudged her with his gun. “Get inside.”
“I-I don’t have anything to give you.”
“You have Akeso. The wonder drug.”
All of the blood rushed from her head, leaving her dizzy. Akeso had the potential to save millions of lives in the right hands. In the wrong hands, it’d just become another cure the poor couldn’t afford. No. That couldn’t happen. She resisted his urging long enough to inconspicuously unclip her badge from her lab coat and subtly kicked it into the bushes outside before the door shut. She couldn’t let them into the lab. “Akeso is just…research.”
“No,” he said calmly and held out Paul’s phone. Her text shown on the screen. “It’s more that that, and you’re going to give it to me.”
How did he have that phone? Terror gripped her by the throat. “Where’s Paul? What did you do to him?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the masked man said. He nudged her down the hallway toward the lab’s door with the tip of his weapon. “Open the door, Tiffany.”
A chill scraped down her spine, but she held her ground. Inside the lab, her techno music continued to thump. “Akeso isn’t here. I used the last of it for testing. I don’t have all of the research, either.”
The man spun her around and shoved the gun under her chin. “Then where is it?”
She pressed her lips together, shook her head.
The man swore. “It’s with your partner, Dr. Claire Oliver. Where is she?”
“N-not here.”
“Where. Is. She?” The barrel of the gun pressed harder into her flesh with each word, but she clamped her jaw shut and shook her head again. He would kill her—she was fairly certain of that—but she wasn’t going to say more.
Suddenly the gun left her chin. She risked a look up at him, and saw his smile spread under the mask. He had a mustache. The red-blond bristles of it poked through the fabric. Blue eyes. Red-blond hair. Stocky. She was good with details and had to remember every one.
She flinched as he reached out, but he only ripped a flyer off the corkboard beside the lab doors. The flyer advertised the infectious diseases summit in Martinique next weekend.
He shoved it toward her face. “Claire will be there with Akeso, won’t she?”
Shit. Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut. “No. She’s not going. She’s on a research trip in Brazil.”
“Bullshit. She’ll be there.” He stuffed the flyer into a pocket. “And so will you.”
Then, almost in slow motion, he brought the butt of the gun down against her temple. She felt the crack of it, but strangely there was no pain as the world tilted sideways. The floor was cold under her cheek. Her eyes unfocused, refocused, unfocused again, like when the eye doctor tested her for new contacts.
The man leaned down and scooped her into his arms just as unconsciousness dragged her under.
Chapter Five
Friday, July 17
6:00 p.m.
Alta, WY
Quinn and Mara’s new house was a mile as the crow flies from Jesse’s. Usually he walked across the fields, or sometimes he saddled a horse and rode over. But one look at the dark clouds spreading out over the mountaintops in the distance told him to take the truck. They were in for one of Wyoming’s infamous storms. The air already snapped with electricity.
He glanced back at his house as he pulled open the driver’s side door. His parents had come over from their place on the other side of the ranch to stay with Connor, but he felt better knowing the storm would keep the kid inside and out of trouble while he was gone.
Hopefully.
He hopped up into the cab. The truck was old and rattled with each bump as he turned it around in the dirt patch in front of the barn and pointed it toward the road. By car, the trip was more like six miles since the road skirted along the edge of Warrick land, and he took the time to let his mind wander to his impending meeting with Gabe and Quinn.
Lanie was probably right and they only wanted to go over plans for the upcoming training exercise. It was the first time the recruits would be away from the facility and no doubt they wanted to make sure everyone had his medical stamp of approval. And the recruits all did. At this point in their training, they were all a bit dinged up, but the only real medical issue had happened weeks ago when one recruit broke his leg after falling off the ropes course. He’d been treated and sent home with an invitation to come back once he healed. Other than that, the rest of them were in the best shape of their lives.
But if this little meet-and-greet was just to discuss the recruits’ medical histories, why the hell wouldn’t Gabe just come out and say it right there in the barn?
Lightning flashed over the mountains, momentarily lighting up his rearview mirror. He spotted a lone figure jogging along the road behind him and slowed, intending to offer the runner a lift.
Dammit. It wasn’t one of the recruits. It was Lanie.
Why’d he have to glance back just then? Now he couldn’t not stop. He guided the truck over to the shoulder and waited.
She slowed as she approached, her feet crunching on the hard-packed dirt, ponytail swinging behind her. Sweat glistened on her brown skin and her chest heaved with each indrawn breath.
He tried to keep his eyes on her face, and his mind on anything other than the way her tank top stretched tight across her breasts. “Not goin’ to outrun the storm.”
She arched an eyebrow. She did it often, and sometimes he wondered if she was even aware of the quirk.
“Was that your way of offering a lift?” she asked. “Or are you challenging me, cowboy? Because I can’t back down from a challenge.”
He ground his teeth. Never took much for her to get under his skin and that, he knew, she did on purpose. “Get in the truck, Lanie.”
She winced. “With the mood you’re in, I think I’d rather take my chances with the lightning. I’ll probably walk away less singed.”
“Fine.” He put the truck in gear. Lightning gashed open the sky behind them and a gentle rain splattered his windshield. It wouldn’t be gentle for long. Not with the way that cloud was rumbling. He wanted to drive away, leave her to try to race the storm back to the training center, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his foot off the brake.
“Lanie,” he said through his teeth. “Get in the truck.” He had to unlock his jaw to add, “Please.”
She wiped at the sweat and rain dripping into her eyes. “Oh. Well, since you asked so nicely.” Sarcasm was heavy in her tone, but she circled around the hood to the passenger side.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed out a soft sigh of relief, and forced himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. Like a burr under the saddle, she was a nagging annoyance, pricking at him with her mere presence. Why couldn’t she have stayed in El Paso working for the Texas Rangers? Why did she have to go and throw in
with HORNET? It had been so much easier to ignore her when he’d only seen her every ten years or so. Now that she was practically his next-door neighbor, he was lucky to get through a day without catching at least a glimpse of her.
The door’s hinges squawked as it opened and the old leather bench seat creaked under her weight as she settled in. He silently thanked God the drive was only a few minutes long. As it was, it was going to feel like forever. He turned up the radio. Hopefully some classic country would curtail any attempts at conversation.
“How’s Connor?” Lanie asked over Garth Brooks singing about his friends in low places.
So much for hoping for silence. “I don’t know.”
She turned the radio down and stared over at him. “You didn’t talk to him?”
“I tried. He locked himself in his room.”
She scowled. “Did you try to talk…or lecture?”
“I was only tryin’ to tell him his behavior was unacceptable and—”
“Oh, Jesse.” She sighed. “Do you even remember what it was like being a teenager?”
Not really. In truth, he hadn’t gotten to be one for long. He’d spent most of his teenage years helping out his increasingly disabled dad on the ranch, and had joined the Army before the ink was dry on his high school diploma. Then, while in basic training, he’d gotten a letter from his girlfriend with a sonogram attached. Before he was even nineteen, he’d been a husband and a father. He’d had to grow up damn fast.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, he picked a fight with Schumacher—”
“Connor said Schumacher started it.”
He glanced at her. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who started it. Connor needs to learn to control himself. He needs to learn when to hold his temper and walk away or else—”
He’ll become me.
He stopped short of saying it. Didn’t dare re-open those healed over wounds.
“Or else what?” Lanie asked, a soft, all-too-knowing look in her eyes. Another reason she was dangerous. She was longtime friends with his family, knew all the ugly details of his life. She knew his temper, always boiling right under the surface, threatening to break free if he didn’t keep a tight lid on it. Knew about the spiral of depression and drink that ended his Delta Force career and helped seal the fate of his failing marriage to Connor’s mom. Knew about the two other failed marriages in his past.
And, goddamn her, she never condemned him for any of it.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road in the increasing darkness. “Kid just needs to learn. Nothin’ more to say about it.”
He turned onto the lane that led to Quinn’s house, where a handful of cottages huddled around the T-intersection. Back when this land used to be part of the Warrick family ranch, the cottages had been lodging for ranch hands that had families since they were close to the main road and kids could catch the school bus. Now they served as guesthouses when the guys were at the training facility—except for the first house in the row with the bright yellow shutters. Lanie had bought that one off Quinn and Mara when she decided to join HORNET. She’d since repainted it in ridiculously cheery colors and added on a room. Jesse didn’t have a clue what that extra room was for since he’d never asked and he sure as fuck had never been inside, but she’d managed to turn the ramshackle place into a cozy, welcoming home.
He stopped the truck at the side of the road by her mailbox, but she didn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon. The air in the cab grew thick, started getting uncomfortably warm. He was aware of her scent, sweat and rain and something sweet like berries. It wrapped around him, more seductive than any bank-busting bottle of perfume. He didn’t want to want her, but she was such an appealing combination of hard and soft, tough but gentle. She could take care of herself in a fight and wanted to be considered just another one of the guys, but he couldn’t see her like that. Lanie Delcambre was distinctly woman, and his body was very aware of that fact whenever she was around.
“I have a meeting to get to,” he said finally.
She nodded and climbed out. But before shutting the door, she met his gaze. “Connor is not you. Talk to him, cowboy.”
Was he that transparent? “How about you stop meddlin’ in things you have no business meddlin’ in?”
She grinned. “Meddlin’”—she stressed the word, mimicking his accent— “is what I do best. Ask Mara.”
Jesse sat there for several long seconds and watched her dash through the rain to the house.
Dayam. That smile.
As always, he felt a little like she’d socked him in the gut with it. All she had to do was flash some teeth and crinkle her dark eyes and all the oxygen rushed out of his lungs. Every-freakin’-time. It pissed him right the hell off.
He slammed the truck into drive and powered up the dirt road to Quinn’s as lightning chased behind him. The weather tonight suited his mood. Dark and stormy with the potential for massive destruction.
Lanie was dangerous. She challenged the control he’d spent years perfecting, and he was so damn terrified one of these times she’d snap it like a twig. And if she did, they’d have a good time together, sure, but he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t go back to the man he’d been when he left the Army. All that anger. All that darkness. He didn’t want to be that again. Couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t.
So, control. He’d just have to choke up on the reins and make sure he didn’t lose it.
He parked behind Quinn’s SUV and stared through the windshield at the house. He couldn’t go in there as wound up as he was. He had to calm his sorry ass down.
He’d taken a few yoga classes when he’d left the Army—though he’d deny it with his last breath if anyone asked him about it. He’d been hoping to find peace. He’d felt like a pussy the whole time—but he had learned a few breathing techniques that did help him chill out when his temper sneaked up on him. He channeled his inner yogi now and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Concentrated on the simple act of sucking in oxygen and releasing it, and studied the house in front of him like he was going to be quizzed on it later.
Quinn and Mara’s house was two stories, arts-and-crafts style, with a wraparound porch. Rustic, welcoming, and new enough that the elements hadn’t worn the shine off it. As they were building it, he’d privately thought it was too big, but now that his cousin was pregnant again, he got why they’d opted for so much space. The rate they were going, they’d have their own army in a matter of years.
And good for them. They’d both had less-than-stellar upbringings. If they found peace by filling their home with children, more power to them. And God help them when their kids became teenagers.
Then again, he couldn’t see Quinn and Mara’s daughter acting out like his son was now. Bianca was a doll, and as pretty as one. The thought of seeing the little girl brightened his mood some and finally his blood pressure began to ease down.
Soft yellow lights glowed invitingly behind the windows, fighting off the encroaching darkness. Mara had chosen Santa-sleigh-red Adirondack chairs and strings of tiny white lights for the porch. Quinn—the man who bled desert beige and olive drab—hated the color and the fairy lights, but he’d indulged her like he always did.
As Jesse hopped out of the truck and dashed through the rain, he noticed two large figures in those chairs, watching the storm roll in.
Gabe’s cane was propped next to his chair and his legs stretched out in front of him. Quinn was as relaxed as Jesse had ever seen him, feet resting on the bottom rail of the porch fencing. Of course he still wore his combat boots. You could take the SEALs away from the man, but you’d never beat it out of him. He lifted his beer in a hello salute before taking a swig. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking. Alcohol didn’t mix well with his migraine meds, but Jesse decided to let it pass without comment this time. He didn’t have to watch the guy like a hawk anymore since Quinn now took his medical issues seriously, but the habit turned out to be a har
d one to break.
Gabe wasn’t drinking, but his medical problems were far newer than Quinn’s. Jesse didn’t know the specifics since he’d only treated Gabe in the first few hours after he was shot, but there had been a helluva lot of damage. The bullet had pinged around inside him like a pinball. He was damn lucky to be alive, but he was likely subsisting on a cocktail of pain meds and would be for years to come.
“Quinn. Gabe.” He nodded to them, then motioned to the storm with a jerk of his chin. “Bet ya don’t see storms like this in Costa Rica.”
“We had a few,” Gabe said, and if Jesse wasn’t mistaken there was a note of something—was that wistfulness?—in his tone.
Well, of course he’d be wistful. He and his wife Audrey hadn’t spent any time at their Costa Rican home during his recovery and they both probably missed the place. It was just strange hearing something other than command in the big guy’s voice.
Jesse looked toward the screen door as a burst of female laughter drifted out of it. “Audrey’s here?”
“Yup,” Gabe said and picked up his bottle of water from the table between them. “We’re looking to build a house.”
Jesse swung around. “Here?”
The two men shared a look, then Gabe grabbed his cane and pushed to his feet. He was moving a little slower than he had been earlier in the day. Not bad, though. He’d come a long way.
“Let’s take this into Quinn’s office,” Gabe suggested.
Whatever this was.
Jesse waited for them both to go inside before following. Toys scattered the living room, and they had to navigate around the dolls and stuffed animals to get to the office door. Mara and Audrey were at the kitchen island, conversing over…were those tubs of Ben and Jerry’s? Probably. That had been Mara’s main craving during her last pregnancy.
And the sight of the ice cream reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He detoured to the kitchen, drawn by the scent of something cooking. Bianca was in her high chair beside her mother, smashing what looked to be peas between her chubby fingers.
Code of Honor (HORNET) Page 3