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

  Liliana sat on the lab stool next to her friend, peered back around the lab to make sure they were alone and whispered, “You didn’t say anything to anyone, did you?”

  Carmen emphatically shook her head. “You asked me not to, but I couldn’t resist doing further analysis based on the results from the electropherogram.”

  She tucked her hand into her lab jacket pocket and fingered the test tube there, worried that she maybe had made a wrong choice to involve Carmen. “Please tell me you didn’t involve anyone else.”

  “I didn’t,” her friend reiterated. “But I will tell you that what I found was a mix of human gene fragments spliced together with those from squamates and amphibians.”

  “Squamates and amphibians?”

  “Lizards. Frogs,” Carmen quickly supplied and then added, “Probably because some amphibians have the ability regenerate the tissues in their bodies in a way that’s identical to the original tissue.”

  “So if someone had harm to a particular kind of tissue it could be replaced?”

  “You join a little piece of the tissue before it was damaged with the right kind of amphibious genes and you could conceivably regenerate mounds of new injury-free tissue,” Carmen said.

  Which might explain why Caterina was now able to see, Liliana thought. If the cancer had left behind even a small part of her optic nerve, it could have been regenerated to possibly restore her eyesight. But that didn’t explain the skin thing or the weird auras that Caterina claimed to have experienced.

  “Earth to Liliana,” Carmen said and snapped her fingers in front of her face.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about the possibilities.”

  “Revolutionary,” Carmen said in awed tones.

  She tightened her hand on the test tube, but then relented and pulled it out of her pocket. As she held it out to her friend, Liliana wondered if it was glowing a little more than it had the last time.

  “May I?” Carmen asked as her hand hovered over the sample.

  “Would you check this out? See if the replication is still as fast as you thought?”

  “That’s easy. Ask me to do something hard,” Carmen quipped, clearly unaware of the importance of what was happening, much less of the real reason behind the request.

  Something hard?

  “Can you find out exactly what kind of lizard or frog? Let me know what might happen if those non-human genes keep on replicating.”

  For the first time, Carmen grew serious. “This is more than some science experiment for you, isn’t it?”

  Liliana narrowed her eyes and examined her friend, trying to decide just how much Carmen needed to know. After a hesitation, she finally said, “It’s much more than that. Life and death more than that.”

  Carmen leaned against the edge of the lab bench and cautiously placed the test tube on its surface. Leaning forward, she took hold of Liliana’s hands. Carmen’s were smooth and slightly cold from the temperature in the lab, which explained why Carmen always wore a sweater – usually a funky one -- beneath her white jacket.

  “I’m sorry, Liliana. I didn’t realize it was something personal. Of course I can try to find out, although it may be a little beyond my expertise,” her friend said.

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Liliana hugged Carmen, hard and quick, and then made a hurried escape from the lab, only as she walked out it was right into Harrison.

  His presence surprised her since he normally had little to do with the pathology department. He snared her upper arms in a cruel grasp and jerked her to the side.

  “Is that why you haven’t been around? Playing both sides of the field now?” he whispered through clenched teeth and shook her hard, rattling her teeth.

  “Stop it, Harrison.” She pushed against his chest, trying to break free.

  Her actions didn’t deter him. He shook her roughly again. Moved forward until her back was against the wall and he had boxed her in, preventing her escape.

  “But that’s where you’ve been. With Carmen.”

  She forced her forearms up between them and shoved him back, regaining her space. Recapturing a piece of herself.

  It surprised him that she was fighting back. He stepped away and stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Strange considering they had been involved for two years. Engaged for the last six months.

  Engaged until right now.

  She pulled the ring off her finger and held it out to him. “This is over, Harrison. I won’t be your punching bag anymore.”

  He stared at the ring in her hand, then returned his gaze to her face. He placed his hand over the ring, but grasped both the ring and her hand in his much larger one and squeezed painfully. The pressure forced the ring against her palm and as the strength of his grip increased, the sharp prongs of the elaborate diamond ring cut into the flesh of her hand.

  She tugged to escape, but he only held on tighter.

  With another sharp tug, she finally broke free and the ring dropped to the floor, pinging against the tiles until it came to rest.

  Harrison only shot it a sideways glance as he drove her up against the wall once again. Bending down from his greater height, he warned, “I will not let you do this to me, Liliana.”

  He surged away from her, gracefully swooped down to recover the ring from the ground, and then head toward the elevator bank. As the door opened and one of the other doctors stepped out, he offered them an engaging smile and warm greeting.

  He received a genial response which grew confused when the doctor noticed her standing down the hall.

  She forced her own smile at the female physician as Harrison swept by her and into the elevator.

  After a steadying breath, she took her first hesitant step to return to her rounds.

  Her second step was more certain. Stronger. Imbued with the knowledge that it was a very important step.

  It was the first step toward her new life.

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Twenty

  The home was one of welcome, filled with warm vibrant colors that reminded her of Mexico. Imbued with the touch of family which roused more memories of other times.

  Happy times with her mother.

  Caterina ran her hand over the rough-hewn oak sideboard. Regretted the roundish dents left behind by her fingers. She traced the rough edges of the cast iron candelabras which were crudely elegant as they rested on the wooden surface. They were beautiful even despite the lack of gloss or adornment. Simplistically functional like the man who owned them.

  Leaning toward the fat pillar candle on one of them, she inhaled deeply, but only a hint of the fragrance remained.

  He didn’t spend enough time in this place to use them or keep them fresh.

  If the house was well-maintained, it was by someone else’s hand, she suspected.

  The rumble of the garage door opening alerted her that he was back.

  She walked to the kitchen and stood just a few feet away from the side door that led into the garage.

  He came through a moment later. The alarm began its warning chirp, but he quickly shut it down and as he turned, she realized he was hurt. A bloody slice of skin was stark against the black of the clothes he wore. His face had a multitude of scrapes and bruises as did his hands.

  It would have been too stupid to point out the obvious. Instead she grabbed the top rung of a kitchen chair and swung it around. Pointed to it and said, “Sit. I’ll go get something to patch you up.”

  His eyes narrowed as he said, “Since I’m the one who knows where everything is, shouldn't I go?”

  “I’m sure I can find the supplies.” She jabbed her index finger at the chair again. “Sit before you bleed all over the kitchen.”

  He stalked toward the oven, snagged one of the kitchen towels hanging from the door handle, and wrapped it around the wound on his forearm. When he took two big strides toward her, she controlled the urge to flinch, but miraculously, he obeyed her and plopped down onto the kitchen chair.

&n
bsp; “There’s a small linen closet in the master bathroom. Medical kit is in there,” he said and cradled his injured arm to his midsection.

  She rushed upstairs and found the kit right where he said. Grabbing the plastic olive green box with the red and white cross, she hurried back downstairs, but stopped short as she entered the kitchen.

  He had pulled off his black sweater and the naked expanse of his shoulders was leanly muscled. On the one shoulder he bore a bruise in the shape of a hand – her hand.

  Caterina bit her lip and walked around him to the table where she laid the medical kit on the table. While she opened the gear, she glanced at him sideways, slowly inventorying the damage to his body.

  On his left shoulder, the vivid imprint of her hand from where she had grabbed him earlier that day.

  Further down, a series of reddish blotches sure to turn into more bruises.

  She skipped over the sight of his lean sculpted abs, her hands shaky as she took out some gauze and butterfly bandages from the medical supplies. As she removed the pre-packaged alcohol pads, she said, “Let me see your arm.”

  He shifted the chair to better face her and it squeaked against the tile floor. Laying his hand flat on the table, he splayed his fingers against the thick wooden surface to allow her to examine the wound.

  She winced as she noted the length and depth of the knife cut.

  “That looks like it’ll need stitches.”

  He grunted in agreement. “Lil can close it later if we clean it up.”

  She nodded and ripped open a few alcohol pads. Wadding them together, she faced him to start the clean up, but as she did so she noticed the cuts, scrapes and bruises on his face. Once again she winced, earning an amused chuckle from him.

  “Don’t worry. The other guy looks worse.”

  His comment, undeniably macho as it was, dragged a chuckle from her before she dabbed at the areas around the wound. Gently she wiped away the dried blood and smudges of dirt. Tossed aside the dirty pads and opened up new ones.

  As she gingerly cleaned the knife slice in his arm, he sucked in a breath and his fingers turned white as he pressed down on the table from the sting of the alcohol against the open wound.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and guilt rose up even more sharply as she once again took note of her handprint against his collarbone and shoulder.

  * * *

  Mick tracked her gaze, but shrugged off her apology. “You didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Doesn’t make it right or any less painful I suspect,” she said and brushed the tips of her fingers across the bruise.

  That touch – innocent and honest – ripped through his body, tightening his gut and creating an unexpected and unwanted reaction.

  From the tremble of her fingers a millisecond before she yanked her hand away, she clearly had experienced something intense as well.

  When he raised his head and examined her features, he couldn’t fail to notice how her irises had widened and a blush – a very human blush – had blossomed across her cheeks.

  Needing to return their interaction to a more neutral place he said, “Can you put some butterfly bandages on it for now? Cover it up for me.”

  She shifted away from him and her fingers pecked at the contents of the kit, picking and choosing the supplies she would need. After they were ready for use, she carefully applied the butterfly strips and then covered the area with gauze she taped into place.

  “Thank you,” he said, but she clearly wasn’t done tending to him.

  “Lift your head.” He did as she asked, amused by the command in her voice that was at odds with the tenderness of her touch.

  Carefully she tended to the cuts and scrapes on his face, the look on her face intense as she worked. Concerned and guilt-ridden.

  He tried to reassure her as with light strokes she cleaned a scrape on his chin. “Like I said, the other guy looks worse. Besides, the fight had little to do with you.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said and leaned one hip against the edge of the table as she worked.

  “The guy I fought has a problem with me. We used to work together.”

  “In the Army?” she questioned as she started to pick up the dirty swabs and remnants of gauze and tape, shooting him a half-glance as she waited for his answer.

  “They’d never take a psycho like him into the Army.”

  He rose from the chair and the motion brought him close to her. Too close. Her shoulder brushed against the wall of his chest, creating that skitter of reaction once more.

  Her head snapped up. Her eyes were that intense ocean blue once more, the pupils wide. The blush even stronger across the high slashes of her cheekbones. She licked her lips in a nervous gesture and the moisture glistened on her lips.

  Very luscious womanly lips.

  He dipped his head down, hesitating when he was about an inch away. Warning himself that if he took a taste . . .

  He did, barely brushing his lips against hers. Experiencing the hitch in her breath that spoke of surprise. Experiencing shock at the moment where surprise became acceptance.

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Twenty-One

  Caterina joined her lips to his, the need for human contact overwhelming any caution about the logic of what she was doing.

  His lips were warm and surprisingly soft beneath hers. Mobile as they gently explored hers, pizzicato plucks playing at her heart strings.

  She laid her hand against his chest to steady herself. That rock hard chest. Too warm beneath her hand. His skin tempting and smooth.

  So smooth, she thought as she skimmed her fingers down the length of his body.

  He ripped away, toppling the kitchen chair behind him in his haste to be away from her.

  Raising his hands, he said, “That should not have happened. I’m sorry.”

  She hated that he was right. It shouldn’t have happened. “I’m sorry as well, but I just needed it. I didn’t mean to use you.”

  “It’s the satisfaction of surviving. I’ve been through it before. It’s a natural reaction after a battle,” he said and she imagined that he had experienced this same feeling before. The conquering hero coming home to whatever woman awaited him in that place. Celebrating the victory over an opponent. Thumbing his nose at Death.

  She understood all too well. Her father had been a warrior in a suit, vanquishing opponents in the marketplace. He would come home, drunk with victory and liquor. Beating his chest and belittling her mother’s accomplishments and joys. Diminishing them to aggrandize himself until her mother had stopped believing in herself.

  Until her mother had ceased to exist.

  “I understand,” she said, not that she approved. But she couldn’t control herself from reaching up and running her fingers across her lips to savor the lingering feel of him.

  His gaze tracked that motion too intently, but then he shuttered that gaze. His face turned stony and his lips thinned into a tight line as he reined himself in.

  “I’m going to go get changed,” he said and hurried away from the kitchen.

  She watched his retreating back, wondering about the kind of man he really was. If there was anything to him other than the warrior who lived only for his own gain and success.

  A gain that had to be substantial, she assumed, thinking that Edwards would be willing to pay a great deal to get her back. Would Mick tire of the challenge she seemed to be presenting and turn her over to Edwards for that bounty? Or was he a man of honor beneath the dangerous and hard persona he insisted on displaying to others?

  As she stood there, considering it, she realized either scenario was risky for her. And she realized that just like she had refused to let her father determine where her life would go, she couldn’t just rely on him to get her life back for her.

  She had to find a way to take care of it herself.

  * * *

  The scientist stared at the bloodied and dirtied face of Matthew Mad Dog Donnelly. Examined with annoyance and frustration th
e leaves and bits of twig glued to him by the drying mud.

  “You assured me you could deal with Carrera,” he said and gestured to the cabinet on the wall. One shelf was completely empty. The shelf which had once held half a dozen vials of the inhibitor medication necessary for controlling the gene replication in their patients. It would take only a day to make more of the compound, but with the vials taken, Shaw could easily last another six months or more.

  “I can take care of Carrera,” Mad Dog reassured, rubbing at his wrists which still bore the markings from the cable ties Mick had used to secure him.

  The man inspected the paid mercenary, circling around him the way a guard might a prisoner, hands held behind his back. Assessing the dirt all along his body and the bruises and scrapes on his face.

  “Carrera has Shaw,” he said.

  Mad Dog denied it with a quick shake of his head. “Carrera said he was still looking for her.”

  “He has Shaw,” he nearly shouted and jabbed at the tell-tale empty row in the cabinet. “He took the medicine necessary to treat her.”

  Mad Dog’s gaze flickered to the empty space before he pulled his shoulders back and a steely glint came into his glacial ice-blue eyes. “If he has her, I’ll deal with both of them.”

  “I won’t pay extra for Carrera,” he said, but a twisted gleam took hold in the mercenary’s eerie crystal-cold eyes.

  “When the time is right, Carrera is a dead man,” Mad Dog said.

  The scientist walked up to the hired man and peered at Mad Dog. “Do you know what Machiavelli said about enemies?”

  At the mercenary’s hesitation, he said, “The injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge.”

  Poking a finger into the hard wall of Mad Dog’s chest, he warned, “Don’t play around with a man like Carrera. Eliminate him.”

  Sins of the Flesh: Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mick controlled his grimace as Liliana finished tying off the last stitch in his arm. Barely a flicker crossed his face and skirted across his skin thanks to his restraint.