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

  Unfortunately the surgical wing was also within Harrison’s domain and this morning she dreaded it, their fight the night before still fresh in her brain.

  The bruises glaringly evident on her body.

  As she reached the surgical floor and noted the group of residents already gathering for rounds, she braced herself, wondering if any of them would ask about the incident Carmen had mentioned. Liliana walked toward them, aware of how some of their heads were bent together in discussion until they saw her and broke apart.

  Clearly they had heard the rumors.

  Straightening her spine, Liliana approached, determined to not let hospital gossip and her association with Harrison weigh her down.

  * * *

  From the stairs, Mick was able to see that Caterina had not yet gotten up that morning. Of course it was still early for most. Barely seven.

  He had already been up for hours, his butt planted in his office chair to search for additional information on Wardwell and its two founders. Waiting to call his old buddy Franklin.

  Franklin Pierce might have been his friend for nearly a decade, but if Franklin was being paid anything close to what he was, that old friendship might not count for anything. Especially since they hadn’t really seen each other very much in the last couple of years.

  Taking one of the prepaid burner cell phones from his file cabinet, Mick dialed the personal cell phone number he had for Franklin. If his ex-Army Ranger buddy answered there, he might be one up on him, assuming Franklin hadn’t shut off the GPS tracking on the phone.

  Leaning back into his leather office chair, Mick waited while the cell phone rang.

  With each ring, he wondered if Franklin had changed at all over the years. If his old buddy was still as trustworthy as he had been during their days in the military and after?

  His old friend answered with a sleepy, “Hullo?”

  In the background a baby cried, possibly awakened by his early morning call. That didn’t stop Mick from engaging the GPS tracking service from the phone company he had hacked.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a dad now, Franklin,” he said, the tenor of his voice friendly as he waited for the website to return a location for Pierce’s signal.

  “Man, oh man. Is it really you, Carrera?”

  A muffled voice said, “Who is it, honey?” as the wailing sounds of the baby grew louder.

  A second later, the GPS identified the location of the cell phone – a building in a residential section of South Philly. Probably Franklin’s home judging from the area and the clear signs of family in the background noises of the call.

  “An old friend,” Franklin answered the woman and then the ambient sounds in the room faded.

  Franklin was leaving the woman and child behind in the room as he walked away to make their conversation more private.

  “Old? Hell, Franklin. I’m not as ancient as you are,” he said playfully, prompting his friend to chuckle and reply, “But this old man can still kick your ass.”

  Mick doubted it, but didn’t say. “I know you’re on the Shaw job, old man. I need you to back off.”

  A heavy and tired sigh drifted across the phone line. “Can’t do. I need the money.”

  “You need it enough to have your goon kill a helpless woman? She was shot by your em-ploy-ee,” he said, injecting each syllable of the last word with sarcasm.

  Franklin’s words were hushed as he spoke. “My man says she attacked him. That she wasn’t human.”

  Mick forced himself to laugh to attempt to dissuade his friend from such thoughts. “Come on, Franklin. She’s just a frickin’ musician. Tell your man to stop using the crack. If you give Edwards his money back and quit the job, we’ll be five-by-five.”

  “Can’t do. Seriously. It’s my kid, Mick.”

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Ten

  “Is something wrong?” Mick asked, concern for his old friend rising up.

  “My daughter’s sick and I need the cash,” Franklin replied.

  Mick surged forward in his chair, planting his boots firmly on the ground as he dragged a hand though his short-cropped hair in frustration. “Don’t bullshit me.”

  “No bullshit. Some kind of anemia and the insurance doesn’t cover all that much for the treatments. I’m going broke from the medical bills.”

  In his days as a Ranger, Mick had understood the meaning of trust. So had Franklin. They had survived more than one hairy mission together by relying on each other.

  He decided to rely on that trust. Well, trust and a little fear.

  “There won’t be anywhere for you to hide if you’re not being square with me.”

  “I am telling you the truth. I’ll give you the doc’s name if you want.”

  He didn’t want and it occurred to him in that moment what to do. “Give Edwards his cash back. Tell him you didn’t bargain on Shaw being a psycho.”

  “Is she? A psycho?”

  Mick supposed that was as good an explanation as any. “Definitely a major EDP. Anyone who manages to catch up to her needs to watch out.”

  “But I gotta get the money somehow,” Franklin said, the tones of his voice holding a desperation Mick had only heard once before – during their last mission together when everything had gone to hell.

  “Just tell me how much you need and I’ll wire it to your account. You still have the account, right?” he asked, thinking that Edwards’ check in his wallet would go a long way toward helping his friend.

  “Still have the account, although it’s virtually tapped out,” Franklin readily admitted.

  Franklin had always been good about keeping that safety account with a nice amount of cash, much like he did. Enough money to last for a couple of years if he needed to disappear. Things had to be pretty bad for his friend to dip into that emergency stash.

  “The money will be in your account in the next few days.”

  “I can’t take the money for doing nothing,” Franklin replied, pride evident in his tone.

  Mick laughed to ease his friend’s ego. “Who said you were getting it for nothing? I need you to help me out with some things. Are you game?”

  “I’m five-by-five with that. I’d rather work for you than Edwards.”

  “Good. Do you still have that secure e-mail account?”

  When Franklin confirmed that he did, Mick said, “I’ll send you some instructions and a cell phone number where you can reach me. Keep your ear to the ground on this case. If you find out anything, send a message to my secure account or call me. Roger that?”

  “Roger, Mick. I’ll be watching your back.”

  “I’m counting on it. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Mick hung up and rose from the chair, needing to stretch his legs after the many hours of sitting at his desk. He hurried to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for his captive and then returned upstairs.

  As he reached the door to the bedroom, he paused when he realized Caterina had somehow made a tangle of the sheets which had once covered her body. The shapely length of one leg was now exposed along with her breasts.

  Rather nice, perfectly shaped breasts, he thought, dragging his gaze from them because to continue looking would create too many problems.

  He couldn’t think of her as a woman. Especially not an attractive and strong woman who someone had obviously abused.

  She was his assignment.

  She was a violent murderer.

  Best to keep those two thoughts first and foremost, he reminded himself as he tightened his hands on the edge of the tray and walked to her bedside.

  Placing the tray on the nightstand, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and with his eyes turned away from those too womanly breasts, he carefully raised the sheet back over her upper body.

  Not carefully enough.

  Caterina snapped her eyes open and seeing him, strained against her bindings, yanking on them and twisting her body from side to side, the calm of the night before lost.

  He held up both hands in a
gesture meant to calm her and crooned, “Easy, Cat. Remember. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  * * *

  Caterina recalled that voice, offering peace and comfort in the dark of the night. The deep timbre of his voice resonated calm within her and slipped into her consciousness. It was a pleasing tone, reminding her of something musical.

  Focus. Focus, she urged herself even as she tugged at the bindings keeping her prisoner.

  His words in that musical timbre finally penetrated into her brain.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  Something else registered as well. The smell of food.

  Her stomach grumbled loudly and she stopped tugging at the bindings.

  She was hungry. Incredibly so.

  Caterina dragged the words into her consciousness and said it aloud.

  “Is that food?”

  He chuckled and smiled. “Yes, it’s food. If you stop struggling, I’ll help you sit up so you can eat.”

  She did as he asked and he became all action guy, bending to allow her greater slack on the ties on her left arm. When she moved that appendage, the motion brought a painful reminder that she had been shot the night before.

  She glanced at her shoulder, noting the clean white gauze bandage taped to her skin.

  A second later, the ties loosened on her other arm and she tried to sit up, but the room spun and tilted unsteadily as she did so.

  He was immediately there, providing a solid place for her to rest her head until the wave of dizziness passed.

  He took a moment to drag the sheet upward so she could hold it to her and cover her nakedness before he was in motion once again, returning to the other side of the bed and the chair that sat there.

  The sight of the chair stirred a recent memory.

  Him sitting in the chair, the dim light from the lamp casting harsh shadows across his face, making him look too fierce and too scary. But then she remembered his gentleness as he held her hand and calmed the fears that plagued her.

  Who was the real man? she wondered, but that thought was immediately replaced when a fork laden with scrambled eggs came into her line of sight as he began to feed her.

  She snapped forward, removing the bite of food from the fork, but then he offered another and another until the final clink of metal against china.

  With the retreat of the fork came a second desire.

  “I’m thirsty,” she rasped, suddenly aware of how parched she was and how long it had been since she had drunk or eaten anything substantial.

  He raised a bright red plastic glass. “Can you handle this on your own?”

  The ties were loose enough for her to drink with the cup, which prompted her to realize that he hadn’t trusted her with the fork because it would make an effective weapon.

  Considering that she had risked so much to be free of the lab, he had probably been right not to trust her with the fork. She wanted to be free. Wanted to be safe from Wardwell so she could find out what they had done to her. Why someone had killed Dr. Wells.

  But first, she needed to get control and regain her strength.

  She bopped her head up and down emphatically, incredibly thirsty, and when he offered up the glass, she took it and peered at the liquid within.

  Bright white milk.

  She must have seem confused to him since he said, “I know you’re probably used to champagne, but – ”

  “I like milk,” she said as a memory popped forth in her mind. One of her as a child sitting beside her mother and eating wonderfully nutty cookies with ice cold milk.

  She drank down the milk almost greedily, and then returned the empty glass to him.

  He placed it on a small tray sitting on the nightstand, then braced his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.

  He had large hands. Nicely shaped with elegant fingers. Along the knuckles of one hand were a series of scars from old nicks and cuts. He wore no rings or other jewelry. Only a large black watch with lots of buttons.

  She watched him, uncertain.

  * * *

  Mick watched her, equally puzzled. She had eaten like a bird, literally pecking the food off the fork. The action instinctive.

  The milk, however, had created some kind of thought process within her. A small smile had inched across her lips and her eyes – those amazing cerulean blue eyes – had widened with remembered pleasure.

  “Do you know who you are?”

  “Cat,” she immediately answered but with a hint of question in her voice. It made him worry that the response was merely a repetition of what she had been hearing from him since last night.

  “Do you know what you did?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she looked away from him, down to where her hands clutched the sheet to her body. After a quick shake of her head, he pressed forward.

  “Do you remember Dr. Wells?”

  She nodded and began to pluck and wring the sheet with her fingers.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  He leaned forward until she couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze, confronting her with his presence and the question she needed to answer.

  “No,” she said and closed her eyes. She mumbled something unintelligible before she started a rhythmic rocking.

  She had used his last ounce of compassion last night and this morning he didn’t have time for a Rainman act. Grabbing her forearms, he lifted her toward him as far as the restraints allowed and brought his face close to hers.

  “Open your eyes, damn it.”

  She did as he commanded, but averted her gaze, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. As she did so, the blue hue of the sheets immediately bled onto her skin.

  “What happened that night? Why did you kill Dr. Wells?”

  She shook her head and struggled against his grasp, surprisingly stronger than the night before.

  He held on tightly, bracing his legs on the ground. Maintaining his balance and control even as she attempted to break free.

  “Please let me go,” she finally said, but he held on, needing to break her and get an answer to her questions.

  “Who killed Wells?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried and fought him, twisting from side to side as she attempted to break free.

  A sharp piercing trill broke into their battle.

  His cell phone.

  He tossed her onto the bed, so forcefully that she bounced up for a moment before turning onto her side and curling up into a fetal position. Small, indistinct noises escaped her lips as she nearly became lost on the sheets, blue on blue, except for the dark wealth of her hair.

  He looked at the caller id and mumbled, “Shit.”

  Liliana. Hopefully with some news.

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Eleven

  “Tell me you’ve got something. Anything.”

  Mick had expected sisterly chiding. That none came was worrisome.

  “DNA analysis will take a day or two, but the tox screens came back. She’s been medicated with an assortment of hallucinogenic drugs, including some dissociative ones.”

  Meaning that maybe she wasn’t a raving loon, Mick thought. Maybe something was scrambling the signals to her conscious mind from other parts of her brain accounting for her erratic behavior.

  “I’d ask why, but unfortunately I think I know why – someone wanted to control her,” he said.

  “As in mind control?” his sister asked.

  He shot a quick glance at Shaw. Her knees were drawn close to her chest, her arms around them as much the restraints would allow. Her earlier cries had subsided, replaced by incoherent mumbling. Some parts of her were beginning to lose their camouflage, returning to the normal color of human skin.

  Interesting. A fight or flight response?

  He shook his head, wondering, and left the room to keep the discussion with his sister private. Leaning against the wall in the hall he said, “CIA experimented with LSD and other psychedelic drugs in the fifties and sixties. The MK Ultra Project. May
be someone took a cue from that.”

  “If that project involved an assortment of alkaloids, that’s a possible scenario. The tests showed small traces of LSD, larger amounts of ketamine, and some other spikes of unknown origin, although they contained nitrogen, like most alkaloids.”

  Mick walked back to the door and examined Shaw as she rested fitfully on the bed. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Shaw could have coded last night when we medicated her. The sedative together with all that crap might have clobbered her heart rate and breathing.”

  “We can’t administer anything else until these other drugs are out of her system,” Liliana said.

  Another voice intruded from a distance. “Dr. Carrera. You’re needed in the ER.”

  When his sister replied, her words were muffled, as if she had covered the mouthpiece with her hand. Then she came back on the line. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Roger, sis. Call as soon as you’ve got anything else,” he said and hung up.

  He stalked back to the side of the bed and glanced down at Shaw. She had quieted somewhat, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t become agitated again, especially considering the mix of drugs someone had pumped into her.

  The LSD alone could have residual effects that might linger for some time depending on how much of it she had received and for how long. He’d even heard of cases where people went tripping years after receiving the drug. Since Liliana had mentioned that the traces of LSD had been small, he hoped the effects might be gone within a few days.

  With the drugs out of her body, Shaw might become more coherent and cooperative, although doubts lingered about her condition. And about the weird traits she was exhibiting.

  Extra-human strength.

  Skin that went all camo when she lost control.