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

  “I thought you guys were done already,” the guard asked even while he was pushing forward the log book for him to sign.

  Mick scrawled a name in the visitor book along with a time as he answered, “State lab boys needed another sample. Asked me to come down and get it so they can finish up their investigation and release the crime scene.”

  He held up a briefcase as if to confirm that he intended to put the evidence within it.

  The security guard nodded and handed over a visitor’s badge. “Third door on the right. Then go through the breezeway into the next wing and follow the hall to the very end. You’ll need the badge to open all the doors.”

  Mick shot him a quick salute and did as the man said, swiping the badge at the door to access the breezeway before he walked down to the end of the hall. Even if there hadn’t been crime scene tape everywhere, a quick peek through the glass panel in the door would have confirmed that something major had gone on in the room.

  Blood spatter marred the walls and a larger splotch stained a spot in the center of the floor. Pieces of lab furniture, shattered beakers, microscopes and other equipment, littered the room. Across the room, large pieces of plywood closed off what had once been a large plate glass window.

  Mick slipped beneath the crime scene tape, swiped the card to open the door, and entered the laboratory where he took photos with a camera and made mental notes of everything in the room, including the destruction in various areas. Then he strode to the lateral file cabinets along the far wall. The doors of the cabinets were dented and blood-splattered.

  He cracked open the first drawer. Lots of files, but with very few papers. The second drawer was more of the same.

  The next lateral file was locked.

  He removed a locksmith’s pick from his suit jacket pocket, slipped it into the opening. A few pokes and twists and the lock on the cabinet popped out with a ka-thunk.

  Patient files filled the top drawer. Files with red labels which read “Terminated” took up the bulk of the space. The name on the last file in the cabinet was Jenkins.

  He closed the drawer and opened up the second one.

  Bingo. Shaw’s file was smack in the middle. He removed it and for good measure, grabbed two of the nearby files with the troublesome “Terminated” stickers.

  He tucked the files into the briefcase and locked the cabinet, returning it to its original state. He hurried back out into the hallway and as he did so, a woman in scrubs turned the corner and headed toward him.

  When she realized he was by the door to the lab, she paused, clearly uncertain.

  “Detective Ramirez,” he said, reached into his jacket and extracted the badge.

  She nodded and he said, “Do you work here? In the lab?”

  “I did until Dr. Wells was murdered. They’ve closed up the facility for now,” the woman said, fingering the hem of her shirt nervously. She motioned to another door further up the hall. “I was just going to pick up some samples in there.”

  “Where are the patients?” he asked.

  The woman shrugged. “Gone. Dr. Edwards thought it would be better to move them away from the violence.”

  And away from anyone who could question them about what really went on the night Wells was murdered, he thought. Edwards was certainly trying to cover up the incident. Since it had been two days since they had met, he wondered why his client hadn’t already called him about the progress he was making on the case.

  “Thank you for your time,” he said and with a polite bob of his head, he exited the Wardwell facilities.

  Outside the building, he hurried around the exterior of the structure to the spot where Caterina had supposedly made her escape by tossing a heavy piece of lab equipment through the glass. Several large pieces of plywood sealed off the damage.

  He bent down and examined the base of the makeshift plywood barrier and bits of broken window glass glinted in the sunlight.

  Very little glass.

  Someone might have cleaned up, but if the glass had shattered as badly as indicated in the police reports, he would have expected a fairly large area where bits of the window glass would have been broadcast by the force of the blow.

  He stood and surveyed the area in a six foot or so radius from the window.

  Nothing, which didn’t seem possible to him even if someone had cleaned up. Human nature being what it was, they would have focused on the area close to the window and likely missed the farthest most pieces scattered by the impact.

  The lack of glass raised another possibility in his mind – that the window had been broken from the outside, spewing bits of window glass inward.

  He made a note to review the police reports again when he returned home.

  The files in the briefcase were heavy, dragging at his arm as he rushed back to his car. Dragging on his conscience as he recalled how many red “Terminated” labels there had been in the two drawers.

  If either he or Franklin had completed their mission, would Shaw have been the next patient with the “Terminated” designation?

  He intended to find out just what that status meant and who it was that responsible for the deaths of so many.

  * * *

  Mick paced the length of the living room in his home, his booted feet sounding loudly on the polished wood floors, making him wish for once that he had put carpet down. The carpet would have muffled the sound, but then again, it would also provide stealth to an intruder.

  Not that he had ever meant for his chosen profession to intrude in this place, even though he had secured this home as thoroughly as he had his apartment/office.

  A car door slammed outside and he went to the door and peered out the spyglass.

  Liliana was hurrying up the walk, medical bag in hand once again together with a white paper bag with the familiar logo for his family’s Mexican restaurant. His stomach growled in anticipation of what was in the bag, although acknowledging his hunger was tempered by his responsibility for the young woman tied to the bed upstairs.

  At the door he disarmed the security system and admitted his sister. Re-armed the system once she was safely inside.

  “You’ve got news – ”

  “And nachos in addition to some other goodies,” she said, holding up the bag. Inclining her head in the direction of the stairs, she said, “How’s the patient?”

  He tracked her gaze up the stairs as well and shook his head. “Determined to get free and luckily, more coherent than yesterday.”

  “Considering the dissociative properties of some of the drugs she’s received, that’s surprising.”

  Liliana walked down the hall toward the kitchen and Mick followed. She placed her medical bag on a kitchen chair and went to the oven. After she turned it on, she placed the contents of the bag there.

  It occurred to Mick as he watched her that his baby sister had the mom act down pat.

  “We can eat and talk about the test results after I check out . . . You said her name was Cat? Any last name?”

  He hesitated, unsure of just how deeply to involve his sister. He had never brought home any risks and hated that he’d had to do so with this case.

  Because of that, he said, “Let’s leave it at just Cat.”

  “Justcat? An unusual surname wouldn’t you say, bro? But it seems appropriate for such an unusual woman.” She grabbed her doctor’s bag and brushed past him on her way to the guest room, but she stopped short at the foot of the stairs.

  “Has she had a chance to relieve herself? Or to move about to avoid the risk of DVT?”

  “About an hour ago, although she was none too pleased with my company in the john. Also gave her some of my sweats to wear.”

  Seemingly satisfied, his sister went to check on her patient.

  At the door to the room, Liliana stopped, surprised by the sight of the cello in the corner and the music playing softly. “Is that – ”

  “Tony’s old cello. I snuck by the house and borrowed it. Left him a note that I needed it f
or a friend.”

  “I can’t remember the last time our baby brother played it,” Liliana said.

  “That’s why I figured it wouldn’t bother him. Thought it was worth getting the cello since Cat responded favorably to the music.”

  Liliana nodded and walked to the bed. As she had the night before, Caterina grew fretful at the sight of her.

  His sister placed her medical bag on the ottoman by the chair where Mick had slept the night before. Then she sat down and placed her hand on Caterina’s pale blue forearm. In her best bedside manner, her voice soothing, she said, “How are you feeling today, Cat? How is your arm?”

  Caterina eyed Liliana up and down before her movements quieted and, as they did, the camouflage staining her skin receded like the wash of a wave along the shore.

  “My name is Cat,” she said.

  Mick muttered a curse under his breath, growing frustrated by Caterina’s apparent lack of progress.

  His sister glared at him. “Why don’t you go get some dinner for Cat?”

  Caterina looked from the young woman sitting beside her to the man who had earlier identified himself as Mick. Her captor, since she recognized that she had escaped one prison merely to end up in another.

  Mick shot an annoyed look at them, but did as she asked.

  The woman scooted to the edge of the chair and patted her arm reassuringly. “Don’t mind my brother. He means well.”

  Brother? she thought and examined the doctor more carefully.

  She and the man shared the same dark brown hair and eyes. Mick’s skin was a darker color, like the burnished wood of her cello.

  Yes, my cello.

  She had remembered that during the many hours that she had lain in the bed, listening to the music that continued to play softly. Recalling how her fingers would shift along the strings while her bow worked against them to bring forth the strains of a symphony.

  When the man had brought in the beat up old instrument, she had known it wasn’t hers, but even despite that, had twisted on the bed until she could touch the wood. Feel the cool of the varnish beneath her fingers. Pluck a string or two only to wince at its out-of-tune sounds.

  “My name is . . .” she started to repeat, but then her mind processed another thought which yanked a wide grin to her face. “Caterina. Caterina Shaw.”

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Fourteen

  The young woman seemed taken aback by her revelation.

  “Caterina Shaw, the cellist?”

  She nodded and said, “I play the cello. I’m a musician.”

  The young woman whispered, “OMG,” before recovering her poise.

  “I’m Liliana. Mick’s sister and a doctor. May I look at your arm?”

  Her arm. The one where she had been shot. She moved it and experienced a slight pull, but little pain. Feeling an unexpected sense of security with the other woman, she nodded and permitted her to check the wound.

  “It’s knitted closed and almost completely healed,” Liliana said with some surprise in her voice. “I’m going to take the stitches out so it may feel a little weird.”

  As the doctor cut the stitches and then pulled them out, it felt like someone tracking a thin string over her flesh, but there was no pain. When she finished, the young woman placed a fresh bandage on her arm and returned to her seat.

  “Are you feeling better? You seem more alert.”

  Amazingly she was feeling almost . . . human. The long periods of rest had allowed her to focus and with that focus had come more and more memories. Despite that, there were still some ideas that failed her and she was frustrated that communicating her thoughts remained difficult.

  “I feel . . . well, but . . . confused at times.”

  Liliana nodded and grasped her hand, the gesture comforting. “Someone drugged you.”

  “You. Dr. Wells. Dr. Edwards,” she offered, remembering that they, too, had regularly injected her during her stay in their lab.

  “Did Wells and Edwards hurt you?” Liliana asked even as her brother walked back into the room with a tray.

  “Dr. Wells was my . . . friend.”

  “We’re your friends also, Caterina,“ Liliana said.

  “Caterina?” Mick immediately chimed in.

  Liliana shot him a sisterly look filled with condemnation. “Caterina Shaw. The world famous cellist. She seems to finally have remembered who she is.”

  As Caterina glanced at Mick, she caught part of a look between the two siblings, but like so many things, she had trouble understanding the meaning of it.

  Mick stood by his sister, holding the tray of food, but he shifted his attention to her. “If I undo the ties so you can eat, do you promise not to put up a fight?”

  The idea of being free, if only for a short moment, firmly pushed away any ideas she might have been having about how to get away from this place.

  “Promise,” she said and held up her bound wrists.

  With an annoyed exhale, he handed his sister the tray. “Hold this.”

  He went to the legs of the bed and one ankle at a time, he untied the restraints. Then he shifted to her arms, removing them as well.

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved at even the small liberties.

  A second later, he placed the tray over her lap and the aromatic smells teased her nostrils, creating a deep loud rumble in her stomach.

  The scents kindled memories from the deepest recesses of her brain. Suddenly she was a child again, her mother beside her.

  Mick sat on the edge of the bed, examining her as she contemplated the food. “You remember something.”

  “My mother,” she said, straining for more and he helped her along.

  “Your mother was Mexican. Did she cook food like this for you?”

  She had, Caterina realized, only it had been a long time since she had eaten similar food. Since she had seen her mother. With that realization, a wellspring of sorrow rose up, bringing tears to her eyes.

  “My mother is dead.”

  Liliana squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  With the barest hint of sympathy Mick advised, “It happened a long time ago. When she was six.”

  “If anything that makes it harder,” his sister scolded.

  My dad is dead as well, she remembered, but that knowledge brought only a scintilla of the pain of her earlier memory.

  Mick motioned to the food on the plate. “Eat up. You need to build your strength.”

  She dug into the meal with the plastic fork he had provided.

  An enchilada she recalled. The corn tortilla was filled with flavorful cheese and covered with a delicious chili pepper sauce. Beside the enchilada rested refried pinto beans and yellow rice with vegetables.

  With each forkful she ate, her hunger grew until the plate was clean.

  “Hungry?” Mick asked, arching a brow as she contemplated the empty plate.

  “Sorry, but it was good. Can’t remember eating anything so good. Long time ago.”

  Once again, Liliana reached out and offered a reassuring pat on her arm. “Don’t be sorry. My mother will be happy that you enjoyed the food.”

  “Drink,” Mick commanded and she did, gulping down the sweet grape juice in the plastic glass he handed her.

  When she was done, he tied her back up. She wanted to protest, but at her first chirp, Mick silenced her with a threatening glare.

  “We’ll be back later,” Liliana said and grabbed hold of her brother’s arm, dragging him out of the room.

  Caterina lay back against the sheets, the music relaxing once again. The fullness of her stomach satisfying until the tastes that lingered on her tongue elicited more memories of her mother.

  She did something she knew she had not been able to do before.

  She cried for her mother’s loss until the pain emptied from her body, leaving behind only the memories of the precious times they had shared.

  Then she curled up into a ball, her hand outstretched until her fingers touched the curve of
the cello, and waited for her captor to return.

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Fifteen

  In the kitchen, Mick placed the dirty dishes in the sink and said, “Can you fill me in while we eat?”

  “Trying to get rid of me so quickly?” Liliana challenged as she set the table while Mick removed the aluminum take-out plates from the oven.

  He paused, faced her, and leaned his hands on the edge of the counter. “I was hoping you could stay the night just in case I need help with Cat.”

  His sister hesitated, then surprised him by saying, “Actually, I was hoping you’d let me crash here for a little bit. Just until I can find somewhere else to live.”

  He walked to her side and cupped her cheek, applying gentle pressure to raise her gaze upward.

  “You’re doing the right thing. If you want me to take care of him for you – ”

  “I appreciate the offer, big bro, but I need to handle this on my own.”

  He nodded. “Use my bedroom. It’s more comfortable and I need to keep a close eye on Cat.”

  “Caterina Shaw,” she challenged. “The famous cellist and according to the local newscasts, a murderess.”

  He remained silent, which prompted his sister to ask, “You’re not denying the latter?”

  “Don’t have enough information to either deny or confirm.”

  He returned to the counter where the take-out containers rested as his sister said, “Lose the military speak.”

  “Yes, sir,” he teased as he placed the aluminum containers on the trivets his sister had laid out on the large oak kitchen table.

  Liliana chuckled, sat down, and quickly served them a sampling of the food their mother had prepared. It steamed on their plates and the aroma enticed. The first few minutes at the table were quiet as they took the edge off their hunger, but then Mick said, “When you called you said you had more news.”

  She nodded, blew on a bite of tamale on her fork. “Surprising news. My friend wasn’t expecting any results for a day or so, only she was able to get an analysis earlier than she thought.”

  Mick paused his eating. “Some new test procedure?”