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

  He looked at the glass shards and busted accessories. “Fuck me.”

  “No kidding, right? I’m going to kill him.”

  “That’s Cash?”

  She nodded.

  “Think you could’ve mentioned me?” Jackson asked.

  “It seemed complicated at the time.”

  “A sucker punch to the dome uncomplicates shit fast. He’s going to be tough to partner with if you don’t. Or maybe that was your angle all along.” He laughed. “Or maybe, subconsciously, you just don’t want to let go of me.”

  “No. I just… didn’t find the right moment.” And she barely lived there. Why bring up her ex as a roommate?

  Jackson rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I bet.”

  “You seriously okay? ‘Cause I need to get back into the shower.”

  “Call your boy.” Her phone was in pieces on the floor, and he caught sight of it when he cracked his neck. “Temper, temper. You love the macho type, don’t you?”

  “Are you jealous, Jacks?”

  “Want me to be?” A sad smile flashed across his face. If she didn’t know better, she’d feel bad.

  “Nope.” Jacks was such a good guy. Maybe unsure of his platonic place in their friendly relationship, but he epitomized a comfortable closeness.

  “Too bad for me then.” He took a deep breath. “Then, no, I’m not jealous.”

  Nicola leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You’re a catch, Jacks.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Catch and release.”

  “That was jealousy. I heard it.” She tried to fuss over him. Maybe he needed an ice pack.

  “Nope. Sorry, babe. That’s the chemicals in your shampoo making you hallucinate.”

  Nic walked to the kitchen, stepping over all the Tupperware and napkins she’d thrown in her search-and-find mission. She fashioned an ice pack and brought it back to Jacks, who sprawled on the couch, leaning his head back. The view would be enough to make some women swoon.

  She handed him the ice pack, apologized again, and jumped back into the shower. Jackson was a male model lookalike with a pretty boy smile that made all the girls at the FBI giggle, blush, and forget about the agent badges clipped to their hips. They were all skip-down-the-hall happy if he threw them a smile. They also got all knock-a-bitch-out when she visited him at work.

  Drama, drama. Nicola hated drama but felt like she was drowning in overprotective men. She re-washed her hair and considered how the conversation with Cash would go. If she could get a hold of him. Nothing pleasant would come of that discussion.

  Toweling off, Nic found her burner phone and buzzed Beth. She needed to clear her head before going wheels up with the butler.

  “Yes?” Beth answered after a short ring. Her voice was hesitant. Of course she’d be concerned the call wasn’t from Nic’s personal cell.

  “Cash and Jacks just met.”

  “Oh, bet that was fun.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Well, how bad did it go?”

  “Um, I forgot to mention Jackson to Cash. I’m pretty sure Cash thought Jacks and I were, um, showering together.”

  “What I wouldn’t do to shower with that man. I bet he’s totally hung. Is he hung? He’s totally—”

  “Focus, Beth.”

  “Fine. Focused.”

  “Cash knocked him out.”

  “Oh my God! Well, you know Jacks wouldn’t put up a fight with those precious bomb tech hands. It’s like he’s a freaking brain surgeon or something.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking it went something like, “hi,” punch.”

  “You have to talk to Cash. Explain everything.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “I could walk away and survive without him.”

  “What!” Beth yelled into the phone.

  “I did it once, though it about killed me.” And now, could she do it again? No. She couldn’t…

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “I’m better alone. Bad things happen when I’m involved with others.”

  “Nic, you can’t blame Cash. He shouldn’t have knocked Jacks out, but shit. You didn’t tell him. He had no idea. Guys like that, they go all ape shit whenever they think some man checks out their girls. Jackson’s lucky to be alive.”

  “First, I’m not his girl. I’m a girl he has an attachment to, and the sex happens to be… volcanic. He feels protective and possessive. Give it a few weeks, and I’d bet he wants to get back to his bangin’ ways. Until then, there’s carnage. First, Roman was hurt. Now, Jackson.”

  “You need to call him.”

  “That’s what Jackson said too.”

  “But you called me instead.”

  “Yup.” Nic nodded into the phone.

  “Call him and say, ‘Cash Garrison, this is Nicola Garrison, and I love you.’”

  “What! I don’t love him.” She scoffed and scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  Beth laughed into her ear. “Yeah. And I’m not on a Mojave dry spell right now, wondering if your ex is hung.”

  “You can have him.”

  “Eh, you know who I wouldn’t mind? Roman. I met him when you and Cash brought in David. Nothing to complain about in the looks department.”

  “Ew, he’s my brother. Besides, he’s as bad as Cash. They’re all assholes.”

  “Someone’s beeping in. Call Cash, and check in later with David and Cash updates. Bye.”

  Nicola finished packing and grabbed her burner phone again. Time to call Cash. Hmm, if only she knew his phone number. She went back to the hall and picked up the pieces of her cell to see if it would turn on enough for an address book search.

  Nope.

  She sent Beth a text, asking her to track down Cash’s number. Beth was good. The best damn handler she could’ve wanted. Until the number appeared in her phone, she was content to sit on the bed and watch for it.

  * * *

  Cash banged on the door. The wrought-iron security door rattled. It was after hours, but that '69 Mustang Boss 429 sat in its spot. The hood was still warm, so wherever she’d gone, she was back.

  “Open up,” he yelled at the security camera.

  Click. The door unlocked, and he pulled at it before the last deadbolt disengaged. Finally, he was in the dark room and heading down the hall. Sugar’s steps came from her office.

  “What the hell, Cash?”

  He stormed toward the indoor range and didn’t wait for her to catch up. “Load me up. Now. High powered anything.”

  “Cash—”

  He slammed to a stop and spun around. “I’ve never asked for anything, but I am now. Right now. I want a gun and ammo.”

  She stared at him for a second and turned around. He continued toward his destination, picked a firing stall in the middle, and propped his elbows on the wall. Fuck me, my head hurts. He tucked his head into the nook of one elbow and pinched his eyes shut, hiding his face from the whole damn world.

  He heard Sugar’s heels before she spoke. “What crawled up your ass?”

  Where to fucking begin? And why would he confide in Sugar? “Nothing.”

  He peeked at the weapon. That he could deal with. She placed the Colt Competition rifle and high capacity magazines in front of him. Cash straightened from his woe-is-me position. Making quick work of it, he loaded the lightweight long gun but didn’t move to the wall. Neither of them donned their ear guards. He just stood there, big-assed gun in hand and big-assed problems on his mind.

  Sugar spoke softly. “She seems like a good woman. Certainly has a set.”

  “Seems. Perfect description. She seems like a decent person.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Are your feelings hurt over a chick?”

  “Back off, Sugar. Not in the mood to talk about it.”

  “Well, shoot or talk. One or the other, buddy. Otherwise, you’re going to accidentally lose it and punch someone just because. I’d like it to not be me.”

  “Too late, a
nd no accident about it.”

  Minutes ticked by in the dark. The illuminated target provided the only light. Taking the line, Cash threw on his ear guards, clicked the safety to rock ‘n’ roll, and let it fly. The kickback felt good. The power and fury released by the trigger press helped. Some. Not a lot, but no other solutions popped into his head. He released the empty magazine and backed out, pulling off his ear guards and placing the rifle on a nearby stand.

  “There’s someone else.” It was all he could say, all he would admit. Sugar laughed. Screw her. Screw them all. “What’s so damn funny? You think this is karma or something?”

  “Hell, no. But I think you’re wrong.”

  “Trust me. I’m not.”

  “She told you that?” Sugar shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes. Twenty-twenty, perfect freakin’ vision.”

  Sugar laughed again. “You only know what you think you saw. Just like what she saw with me and you.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why? Because we’ve screwed?”

  He shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

  “Big fucking deal, Cash. So the woman’s had sex. Unless you walked in and—”

  “I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this shit.”

  “Bang out another mag. You’ll feel better.”

  He slammed in the fresh magazine and turned down range. Before the safety flip, he called to Sugar as her heels clacked away.

  She popped her head back into his stall. “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you ever have someone serious? You and me. You and whoever. It’s never serious and steady.”

  “Cause it’s more fun that way.”

  “Truth. Why not?”

  “Cause it’d take some asshole with big boots and a big cock to tie me down.” She winked at him. “You’re lacking the attitude problem, as is every other man out there. So, I do my thing and don’t lose a wink of sleep at night. It was fun, Cash, and I suspect we won’t happen ever again. At least I’m hoping not, cause I kinda like that Garrison girl.”

  His gut twisted. I kinda liked her too.

  Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Twenty-Two

  The hangar and private jet looked the big money part. Nicola shifted in her Ferragamo heels, ready to get this trip over and into the done column.

  The catering company loaded the last cart broadside, and Nicola figured the trip had another upside. Playing the part of a well-to-do socialite also meant an on-board chef ready to make some five-star dinner as they flew overseas. Lobster. This trip called for some serious lobster and something with truffles in it.

  After the Town Car dropped her off, Nicola had breezed through the private check-in for charter flights out of Dulles International. The TSA woman had been far more intrigued with Nic’s new Tom Ford sunglasses than her almost-the-real-deal credentials. She’d have to thank Beth for airbrushing the headshot. Her skin looked flawless, and there was no way someone would call her passport and license fake. They were as genuine as you could get, considering they were made by the U.S. government.

  Her cover name for the trip was Sarah Beth Pennington. Pretty, with an old money flair. Not too memorable, but specific enough to provide support for another CIA undercover team who needed an additional layer of back story. Plus, she could keep this round of designer duds. That included this very cute, very out of her price range, Jil Sander shirt dress that she now rocked. It fitted and flared in all the right spots. Cash would’ve liked it. Too bad.

  It didn’t go unnoticed that a few items in her Louis Vuitton luggage didn’t fit and weren’t intended to. Beth hadn’t purchased Nicola’s long legs petite-sized pants for nothing. Nope. Beth was the petite one, and that was all right with Nic. She eyed her carry-on. The luggage was a loaner. It’d have to be returned. Eventually.

  “Gabriella,” David the Butler said from behind her. Her back shivered and shuddered as if a thousand spiders skittered across her skin. “Oh, pardon. Nicola. Either way, a beautiful name.”

  Nicola rolled her eyes. His way of speaking wasn’t just for his butler gig with the Smooth family. Every time she’d seen him since the Smooth showdown, he’d had the same mannerisms, inflection, and cadence. Slimy bastard. No doubt, the ass was a double agent. “Hello, David.”

  “Oh, you sound so cold. We’re only here because you don’t trust me, and the powers that be want us to play nice. I’m willing if you are.” He looked at a paper in his hand. “Sarah Beth, is it? Lovely.”

  She eyed his plaid sports coat and D & G pleated trousers. Yeah, he looked the part of Mister Pennington. His handler did good work. Together, they’d look the part, even if sleazy and slight of build wasn’t what did it for her.

  Cash did it for her. Her mind flashed back to him. Tan muscles flexed and rippled when he moved. Blond hair, the occasional blond scruff, and soul-piercing, sapphire eyes haunted her memory. Her stomach slung sideways, thinking about his chiseled jaw and full lips. How he trailed kisses down her stomach and—

  “Nicola, eyes are on us. Or Sarah Beth, rather. So many names, you’d think I’d be used to it in this job. I believe the Captain is ready and waiting.”

  Buzz kill. “Dav—”

  “Michael. Michael Pennington.”

  “Whoever you are, the Captain won’t think anything of a married couple bickering. You’ve been put on notice. We’re bickering, and I’m not talking to you right now.”

  David flashed a smile. The bile in her stomach sloshed.

  “You don’t mean that, dear.” He extended his elbow.

  No time like the present. She had work to do. “Fine.”

  Nicola pulled out her powder compact to pat her nose and removed the first, microscopic listening bug she was to plant on David. Slipping it onto her finger, she closed her compact with a tight smile and locked arms with him, dropping the clear plastic listener onto his sleeve.

  They boarded and went through the whole routine. The Captain had the face of an old-school Pan Am pilot with a present day uniform. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was a model hired for the part of charter Captain, and the real captain was in his late fifties with a gut and balding hairline.

  The stewardesses made their appearance next, but the chef was who Nic was really interested in. Finally, he said his hellos, talked about his best friends Mario Batalli and Wolfgang Puck, and made his way back somewhere. Hopefully to find me a lobster.

  Nic’s phone rang. It was Beth. Nicola stepped aside from David, who made use of the leather seats and flat screen television. Closing the door to the lavatory, she activated the small jammer which would allow her phone to work but block out listening devices. “Hello?”

  “Did you call Cash?”

  “Tried, no answer.” Nicola picked at her fresh, light pink manicure. It had to last the weekend and wouldn’t if she kept that up.

  “I could find him on satellite if you want.”

  She couldn’t ask for a better best friend. Or one with more resources. “I don’t want to know where he is. I could guess, but what’s the point.”

  “I want to know. Where is he?”

  “Probably with Sugar.”

  “Ass! You want thermal images? You want to know where she is? Consider it done.”

  “Let me re-phrase. Cash is probably fucking Sugar just to prove a point.”

  “Oh.” Beth paused. “That sucks. Nothing we’d want to see on thermals. I could just track down his truck. See where it is—”

  “Not worth it. He’ll have to pick up the phone when I call in a few hours. I left him the details about when I was to meet up with David. He should be able to lock into the transmitting data from the listening devices. Cash, if nothing else, is a professional. The job’s the job. He’ll work it and move on. I’ll give him my details like I should.”

  “Sorry, girl.”

  “At least it was fun.”

  * * *

  Twenty-two hundred hours. Right on time. Cash held his phone in
front of him and glared at it as he walked out of the Granville Bar and Grill, an extra-large meat lover’s pizza balanced on his palm, burning his skin off. No frozen DiGiorno deep dish tonight. If he didn’t have to wait for Nic’s intel dump, there’d be major bar action going down, shot-glass first, to accompany the omnivore overload he had planned.

  The phone continued to ring. This was the first time he’d ever hesitated to jump into the action, even if the action was only to receive and document intelligence. Nic had called before she left stateside, and he knew that had nothing to do with hopping on a plane with that dickhead. Nope, it was all about towel boy, but this call was scheduled. It was work. It had to be answered.

  He answered her like he would Jared. “Yeah.”

  “Hi.” The sweet quietness of her voice made his heart hurt. Damn it. And damn her.

  “Do you have an update?” Cash knew his voice was harsh, worse than when he spoke to the guys in the field. There was a definite hint of fuck you.

  He balanced the phone against his shoulder, pressed to his ear, and put the pizza on the roof as he unlocked his rig. Click, click. The doors unlocked, and he grabbed the pizza and got in. Two mosquitoes floated in and out of his cab. Maybe he should’ve rolled the windows up before he went inside. Maybe he’d think about anything and everything but how he felt when it came to the angelic voice on the phone.

  “Anything to report?” he asked.

  “Cash, I—”

  “Anything on the job to report?” He put the key in the ignition and turned. Ping. It cha-cha-cha-ed, but didn’t turn over. God, he didn’t have time for this—

  Oh, damn.

  Nic blabbered something. He didn’t hear it. He wasn’t listening. Cash closed out all the outside noises and replayed the last thirty seconds of his conversation. Blah, blah, blah. Ping.

  He put his hands on the steering wheel and ratcheted down his breaths the way only a good sniper could. Very slowly, very calmly, he began to say her name.

  “What? Are you even listening to me?”

  “Nicola. I’m at the Granville bar in Fauquier County.” He spoke as evenly as possible, trying not to move his mouth, his lungs. “I just activated a detonation trigger tied to my ignition. Most likely there’s a failsafe under my seat. I need you to call Jared. Now. The Granville in—”