The door banged shut behind her, and she jumped.
He gestured toward the seat across from the one he’d occupied. The engines roared to life.
She faltered. “Where are we going?”
He reached into an overhead compartment and drew out a plush blanket. “D.C.”
The plane lurched forward, and she stumbled. He grasped her arm, shooting an electrical jolt up her bicep.
His eyes darkened. “I’d wondered.”
“Me too.” As kids, they’d been combustible. So she hadn’t imagined the spark from years ago. She blinked confusion from her vision and allowed him to settle her into the seat. The second he covered her legs with the warm blanket, she finally took a deep breath.
He sat down, gaze somber. “You haven’t responded to my proposition.”
Her head jerked back. “This isn’t, I mean, you—” She gestured around the luxurious plane.
His lips twitched. “No. I did not execute a military extraction and secure three private jets to force you into making up your mind to meet me in person now that I’m settled in the States. Finally.”
She plucked at a string on the blanket. “I didn’t think so.” They’d kept in touch through the years, and when he’d sent her an email two months ago, saying he wanted to meet up with her, she’d needed time to think about it. “I was hoping to use my vacation time in Hawaii to consider, well, us.”
Thoughtfulness, sexy and focused, crossed his rugged cheekbones. “I appreciate that. I’ve been wondering lately if I should’ve fought the divorce.”
Fought it eight years ago? Surprise and a silly feminine hope flushed through her. They’d been married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-five. They’d spent more time apart than together during the marriage with him in the military and her pursuing various degrees. “We were just kids.” The plane lifted in the air, and she tried to relax against the leather. “You said you work for the government now, Deacan.”
“I do.” He tugged a table from the wall and secured the legs.
“Which branch?” she asked softly. What in the hell was going on?
He reached into a duffel bag to retrieve a laptop. “Doesn’t have a name.”
Yeah, she’d figured. Supersecret, code-name, hidden organization. “In your email, you said you had your head on straight and had finished your time as a soldier.”
He placed the laptop on the table to their right, facing them. “I do. I work in the States and for the most part invent strategy and the like. No more violence, and I’ve dealt with the anger.”
She nodded, her body rioting at his nearness. The gun strapped to his leg hinted at another agenda, and she needed time away from him to really figure out if she wanted him in her life again—even as a friend. Leaving him before had nearly destroyed her, and she’d built a good life in Seattle. A safe life. Okay, a boring life. “Why am I here?”
His very presence affected the oxygen, because her lungs quit working properly. He smiled, as if knowing, and waited until the laptop came on. “You’re here because of this.”
She leaned toward him and turned to the side to see a picture of a round blue shape covered by long spikes. Definitely a bacterium. “Coccus shape, mobile, looks a little like Staphylococcus.” She frowned and squinted. “I don’t recognize it, though.”
Deke exhaled, and impressive muscles shifted beneath his shirt. “No. It’s new.”
She blinked. “New?” Fascinating, but not unusual. Her heart started to thrum harder. “What’s the rate of growth?”
“It duplicates in an hour.”
Fast, but not unheard of. She leaned back. “What’s going on, Deacan?”
He scrubbed both hands down his face. “You’re the best microbiologist in the country.”
She bit back a snort. “Lynne Harmony would disagree with you.”
He nodded. “Perhaps. It’s probably a tie between you.”
Now wasn’t the time to discuss Nora’s best friend from graduate school. “Why am I here, and why are you here? It’s no coincidence.” If the bacteria had been weaponized, then the CDC would be on it. “I work for a private company, not the government, and this isn’t one of our samples or, ah, mutations.”
“I know you work for a private company. Of course.”
Yeah, she made her own schedule and only worked on projects she believed in. The government wouldn’t allow her such freedom. Plus, the money was much better. “You know I don’t trust the government.”
“I do know.” Deke punched a couple of keys, obviously unwilling to debate the issue. A picture of a rock came up on the screen.
“Looks like a meteorite,” Nora said slowly.
“Aye.”
Her brain clicked into gear as her mind connected a pathway from the bacteria to the meteorite. “No way. Really?”
“Yes. A group of twelve Stanford students took a field trip to the southern Nevada desert to go meteorite hunting, which is actually quite an industry out there. They found a good ten pounder and cut into it, each taking a piece. Apparently bacteria spores were let loose.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? Bacteria from outer space.”
She glanced at the innocent-looking rock. “Well, yeah. I mean, NASA has been worried for years that we’re sending bacteria into space with each shuttle mission, and we’ve actually tested bacteria that survives in the outer atmosphere.”
He cut a hard look at the screen as if facing an enemy. “But from space.”
She grinned. “Our entire planet was formed by materials from outer space. The bacteria on earth came from galaxies away when our planet formed. This isn’t a surprise.” She sobered. “That little blob might be the find of the century, but I wouldn’t be here unless something else is going on.”
He shut the laptop and faced her. “The students each took a piece of the rock, and all came down with fevers. Initially E. coli was suspected because they ate a box of doughnuts that morning, but the locality of the infection was in the brain, so anything abdominal was quickly ruled out.”
“You want my research.” For five years, she’d worked for BioGlax Pharmaceuticals, trying to create an antibiotic for drug-resistant bacteria. “Why isn’t the CDC on this?” If her phone wasn’t still in Maui, she’d call Lynne and ask that very question.
“They are. The head of the CDC National Center for Emerging and Zoonotic Infectious Diseases, your good buddy, Lynne Harmony, requested your help,” Deacan said. “I offered to meet your plane and get you up to speed.”
“What?” Nora shook her head. Not only would Lynne never ask for help, she’d call herself and not have the military hijack Nora’s vacation. “Lynne would’ve called me. We usually talk at least once a month.” But they’d both been busy, and they hadn’t talked in maybe, what? Two months?
“I have the CDC team locked down. No communications out or in.”
Nora blinked. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and have.” Deke cocked his head to the side, all patience.
Awareness cascaded through her, and the hair on the back of her neck lifted. “Exactly who do you answer to, Deacan?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“Deke?” she snapped.
He sighed. “The president. But that’s just between us, darlin’.”
Anxiety filled her abdomen. “The president. The actual president?”
Deke sighed. “Yes. Two years ago, after he’d been elected, I was on detail for a foreign trip. It went south, I saved his ass, and we had one of those foxhole situations that’s top secret. Became buddies of a sort, and I’ve been working with him since—trying to move into more of a strategy and planning position instead of shooting and killing.”
Emotion colored his words, although his expression remained stoic. For years, she’d wondered if his humanity would succumb to his need for action and adventure. She’d be crazy to get caught up in his world again. But she’d worry about Deke and his employment later, once she figured out why her vacation had been cu
t short. “All right. What happened to the students?” Something told her she didn’t really want to know the answer.
Deacan kept her gaze captive. “All twelve were hospitalized, infected with the Scorpius bacteria.”
She frowned. “Scorpius?”
“Yes. The meteorite was probably one of many that fell last year after the Scorpius Comet passed by the earth, hence the name. We had to call it something. Damn bug.”
“Not a bug. Bacteria is different.” Her brain spun. “The bacteria is airborne?”
“No. The kids all took a taste of the rock. A five senses type of thing.” He shook his head. “Tasted salty, apparently.”
Breath whooshed from her lungs. “That’s unfortunate, but I’m glad the infectious agent isn’t airborne.” Of course, neither was Ebola, E. coli, or meningitis. “Give me the rest of the facts.”
He sobered. “One student seems to have recovered fully. Nine died. Two are experiencing what can only be termed a psychotic break.”
Holy shit. “Nine died? Scorpius killed that high of a percentage of infected?” Unbelievable. She calculated the statistics. “I’m assuming you have medical and historical profiles for each of the students?”
“Yes.”
Sand, salt, and oil covered her arms, making them itch. She rubbed her elbows, hunching into herself. “The two survivors with mental issues. Any other symptoms?”
“Odd brain scans and low activity in the frontal lobe,” Deke answered.
Nora frowned. “All right. How far has the infection spread?”
He lifted dark eyebrows. “Why do you think it has spread?”
She leaned her head back against the headrest. “You wouldn’t call in a second team unless we were facing a pandemic. How many?”
“Not many.”
She studied him. He’d always been tough, but as he’d shed the look of youth, he’d gained a masculine hardness with an edge. Sexy and dangerous. Intriguing enough that her instincts yelled for her to stay away from him while her heart dared her to jump right into his fire. “What’s the urgency?”
Deacan leaned toward her, bringing the scent of wild forest and man. “The survivors continue to carry the bacteria.”
Nora blinked. “You mean they’re still contagious after surviving? That’s unheard of.”
“Yes. Trace amounts of the bacteria have been found in their saliva. If they bite and break the skin, well . . .”
“Are you sure?” Finding a cure was crucial, although many people were carriers of deadly bacteria, like MRSA, and they rarely infected people.
“Yes.” Deacan leaned even closer. “One of the infected students is the president’s daughter.”
Nora stilled. “One of the survivors?”
“One of the two experiencing what seems to be schizophrenia. Maybe.”
She breathed out. “Oh.”
Deacan gripped her knees through the blanket. “It gets worse.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Aye. She bit the president. He’s fighting the fever right now.”
Chapter Two
Deke finished showing Nora around her new digs in D.C. just as dawn broke. For now, the government had taken over a nice condominium high-rise a block from the Washington, D.C. office of the CDC, which normally dealt with policy issues. “We’ve created an emergency command post in the D.C. office of the CDC, and we’ve commandeered a new building with secured lab space for your research, as well as this condominium building,” Deke said.
Nora shook her head. “This is serious, Deke. We should be at CDC headquarters in Atlanta.”
“No. We need the experts here, close to the president, so we transferred Lynne Harmony’s entire team from Atlanta for now. Her apartment is one floor up.”
Nora whirled on him. Brown eyes, brown hair, fiery temper. A woman born in Argentina with the mind of a statistician and the body of a goddess. “I do not work for the government, Deacan.”
God, he’d missed her.
For now, he had her exactly where he wanted her, and he intended to make good use of his time.
She somehow glared harder.
His lips tickled, and he bit back a smile. “You’re going to get a migraine if you don’t relax your shoulders.” Did she still get migraines? He hoped not. One time she’d been in so much pain, he’d wanted to knock her out until it passed.
“Fuck you,” she said quietly but with impressive authority.
He let the grin loose. “When did you start swearing?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Graduate school. I’d ask when you turned into such an asshole, but I already know the answer.”
He lost the smile. Yeah, she knew exactly when he’d turned into a dick. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Huh?”
He’d never apologized, now had he? “I said that I’m sorry. Sorry I left you for war when you were only eighteen and returned so fuckin’ damaged. Sorry I was a jerk to live with.” He leaned back against her closed door, his gaze remaining steady. “More sorry I let you go when I did.” Although she’d done well without him.
She blinked. “You’re forgiven. Now you should leave.”
Quick, wasn’t she? Yet she didn’t hide her emotions any better now than she had in the past. “I’m not forgiven.”
“You are,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “We were young, and it was a long time ago.”
Yeah. Eight years seemed like an eternity. “I have somebody in Seattle packing you several bags of clothes, and I have extraction teams rounding up your team from BioGlax Pharmaceuticals.”
Her shoulders straightened in pure defiance. “I would like clothes, but for now, I need to call my team and provide an explanation. The guys with guns will scare them.” She dropped her chin, and her fingers played with a string from the small white top.
He shoved down a groan, remembering full well how those fingers had felt wrapped around him. “Sorry—no calls about Scorpius. We have the building blanketed and are monitoring every call.”
Anger heightened her high cheekbones. “You can’t do that. The government can’t do that.”
“Yet we have.” He’d been entranced by her naiveté from day one. That and her serious side. The woman couldn’t relax unless seriously wrestled to the ground. One of the highlights of their marriage had been his taking her down and exploring how to play and just have fun. Who lightened her load now? “You seeing anybody?”
Her mouth dropped open and then shut just as quickly. “You’re joking.”
“No.” He wasn’t. Not even close.
Her chin lifted. “None of your business.”
“You’re my wife. It is my business.” The words escaped in a full-on Scottish brogue before he could think twice.
“We’ve been divorced for years.” Bright red spiraled through her high cheekbones, and educated precision clipped her diction. Her brains, her sheer intelligence, had intimidated him once.
Now they impressed the hell out of him. “The second I saw you, I forgot about the divorce.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s why we haven’t been in the same state for eight years.”
Actually, he’d been across seas, then dealing with the aftermath in his brain. Now, after years of working through the hell, he was calm. Settled. Alone. And alone, without her, was the last thing he wanted to be. “I’ve changed.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good,” he whispered.
She blinked, and a cute frown wrinkled between her brows. “We’re not doing this right now. Leave, Deacan.”
She was the only person in the world who’d ever used his full name, and the second she slipped back into using it, his world righted itself. Until that very moment, he hadn’t realized he’d been off. “You want me to leave?” he asked.
Her stubborn chin lifted again. “Yes.” Then she waited, daring him. Definitely daring him.
This was the most fun he’d had in years. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal.”
Her lip curled. “No deal.”
He shrugged. “I could stay all night or put you under guard. Work with me.”
She hissed and pressed both hands to her curvy hips. “You’re going to blackmail me?”
He wouldn’t, but besides anger, he could see something else in the eyes that still haunted him late at night. Interest. Definite interest. “Yeah. One dinner. You and me.”
While he’d deny it to his grave, he held his breath as he waited for her answer.
Curiosity. Deep and glimmering, her eyes were full of questions. “Why?”
Why indeed. “I want to know you again.”
Her head jerked.
Yep. She’d never expected the direct approach—not with her crappy childhood. Her mom had died when she was a toddler, and her father, a genius statistician with a definite antigovernmental agenda, had moved her to the States to be raised by a nanny. Not horrible, but not with much warmth.
She’d never been able to turn away from warmth.
His heart beat faster. So close. Finally. So close to her. He smiled and tried to appear harmless. “One dinner, and you’re free.” They’d always been too different, but he’d thought that his new job, new life, would be soothing to her. Well, before Scorpius had risen.
She rubbed her nose, her body visibly relaxing. “One dinner tonight—just to catch up.”
“One dinner and one kiss.”
She breathed out. “No kiss.”
“Just one.” He opened the door. “Unless you’re afraid.”
She scoffed.
His lungs compressed. Years ago, the woman could never resist a challenge. Hopefully she hadn’t changed.
She hovered, for the slightest of moments, obviously fighting the impish side of herself. Her head went back. The devil lit her smile, she glided toward him, stood up on her toes, and brushed her lips across his.
Heat flashed into his belly so fast his vision narrowed in focus. To one woman and one moment. “That wasn’t a kiss.” His voice lowered to a huskiness he couldn’t hide.
Her head tilted in a flirty move he remembered well. “Oh?”
On the Hunt Page 11
