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

  “Why what?” His voice was as cold and flat as his eyes.

  Vague bits of memory floated along her consciousness like fish darting in a pond.

  The screech of car tires then the muffled thump of a body hitting the asphalt.

  “Is Vince okay?” she asked slowly.

  He shrugged. “I doubt it. I hit him pretty hard.” He smiled, but no light reached his eyes.

  The horror of Vince being hurt made her stomach wrench. And, oh god. Marsh. He was gonna freak and figure this was all his fault—as if he could keep everyone he cared about safe when this man was hell bent on destruction. Tears filled her eyes. The love she felt for him was so strong, his dedication to the law so convincing, she’d almost believed they had a chance of something normal. But this wasn’t normal, and if the guy with the knife had his way she’d be dead soon. She didn’t want to be dead. She didn’t want to miss her chance of something normal, something wonderful.

  She was fully clothed. He’d taken her boots, but thankfully not her clothes. Yet. There was blood on her t-shirt and she frowned.

  “Why?” she asked again. She narrowed her eyes at him, glared with every ounce of hatred she held in her heart. “Why are you doing this?”

  He slapped her cheek. He stood breathing heavily beside the bed, the knife gripped between whitened fingers. And then she recognized him from a vague childhood memory.

  “You’re the missionary’s son.”

  Shadows flickered in the depths of his eyes.

  “I saw them together, you know.”

  His eyes flashed.

  “You don’t think their actions hurt me just as much as they hurt you? You selfish miserable asshole.” Anger gave her voice strength. “You killed her, didn’t you? You killed my mother.”

  “Your mother was a whore.” Teeth flashed as he bared them, leaning close. “She dragged my father into hell and he burned!”

  “He looked like he was in Heaven the last time I saw him—”

  Blood exploded on her tongue as he backhanded her.

  “He was a good man.”

  “What the hell happened to you then?” she yelled.

  It was foolish. The knife was at her throat, stinging her flesh as he held her down, hand so tight to her scalp her eyes stung. They stared at one another for a long moment. The strength in his body incredible, the light in his eyes pure evil.

  “When I found you on that fire escape I was going to kill you.” His breath touched her lip, the tiniest bit of spittle hitting her. Revulsion was ice cold on her skin. “But you were so pathetic, the look on your face. Sorrow. Heartbreak. Anguish.

  “Maybe that’s why I didn’t kill you—all that little girl innocence destroyed right in front of my eyes by adults who should have known better.” He laughed and she flinched. “I felt sorry for you. Then when I looked for you again all these years later, and heard you were an artist in NYC—I knew. You were waiting for me.” He glanced toward the painting then looked back and caught her gaze. “It’s a circle of death and it closes tonight.”

  The light in his eyes was crazed…and yet he seemed incredibly controlled as his fingers gripped her hair and the knife, already slick with blood, pressed against her flesh. Fear was growing inside her, the need to scream out her terror all consuming. He’d admitted killing her mom without an ounce of compassion. The sonofabitch made it sound like it had been her mother’s own fault.

  “Did you kill him too?” God, she hated him, with every atom of her being. “Your father? Did you kill that cheating bastard?”

  Breathing hard, he blinked, released her and heaved himself away from the bed.

  “She killed him.” He turned to face the window as lightning illuminated everything in cold blue before thunder shook the house again. “We’d been in Africa for ten years and the trip to America was supposed to be special. My father offered to look after someone’s plants while they were away on a week’s vacation.” He shrugged and walked closer. “It was the sort of thing he did all the time. We never gave it any thought, until I spotted the secretary from church walking along the sidewalk, and I saw her go into that apartment. I knew what was going on then.” His eyes grew hard again. “He committed suicide when we got back to Africa—condemned himself to purgatory. Because of her.

  “She was beautiful, your mother.” He leaned over the bed, closer, and she held absolutely still as he nicked her earlobe with the point of the knife. It hurt like hell, but she kept her mouth shut. I won’t kill you if you don’t make a sound. “Just like you. She cried so hard when I put my knife inside her.” His smile was evil incarnate. “She screamed out my name.”

  All these years she’d strived only to survive; not to live, to survive. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. “There’s something wrong with you. You’re twisted and warped—”

  He lunged at her, but she jerked to the side, the knife sinking into the pillow beside her head. Shit. Why the hell couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

  Because fear wasn’t enough. Survival wasn’t enough.

  But death didn’t look so great either.

  She froze as he lay sprawled on top of her. She could feel his heartbeat thumping through his black sweater, through her t-shirt and into her body. This was not a good time to discover she needed help.

  Marsh. Damn you. Save me. Please, save me.

  He moved until he sat astride her, the fury in his eyes making her wish for their previous flatness.

  The knife tore through her t-shirt as if it were silk. Severed her bra with the same stroke and there she was, exposed from the waist up, the indelible scars on her flesh catching the light in a series of crosses.

  “You like your handiwork?” The bitterness was ripe on her tongue, but his mood had changed. The anger gone. Calm back in its place. He slammed his fist into her jaw and the world tilted on its axis as her eyes rolled back.

  * * *

  Riding through an electrical storm in a helicopter was not a way to deal with someone’s phobia. But right now he and Dancer were both facing their worst nightmares.

  Marsh wore a dark t-shirt from the gym bag he kept stowed in the trunk of his car. He’d left on the tailored slacks because they were deep navy but swapped his shoes for dark-colored trainers. Both he and Dancer had on bulletproof vests.

  Walker had called them en route with the news that Senator Duvall had a beach house in the vicinity of the signal coming from Josie, and Marsh had to believe this was the right place. He forced the image of her blood-soaked corpse from his mind.

  Lightning flashed across the heavens, making the froth of the breakers glow in the blackness of the night. The pilot placed the chopper gently on the beach, sand whipping in every direction. Trees struggled against the wind and rain blotted out the landscape.

  Marsh could barely hear the chopper over the storm. Dancer was deathly pale but had a determined look in his eyes Marsh hadn’t seen before. This was personal. For both of them.

  Marsh jogged up the sand, the footing heavy, debris stinging his cheeks and making him squint. There it was, up ahead—a rambling old beach house on the North Fork.

  Marsh’s heart kicked up a gear as he spotted a light on in one of the upstairs rooms.

  Josie.

  He ran, not caring if Dancer could keep up or not, desperate to get to Josie before Philip Faraday hurt her.

  And still the loose sand slowed him down, filled his running shoes and made his legs move agonizingly slowly. There was grit in his mouth that he spat out.

  It had come down to this.

  With most law enforcement agencies in the world looking for Faraday, it had come down to Marsh and Dancer running along a sandy beach, racing to beat the clock.

  Fuck.

  There was a path up through the dunes and Marsh took off, immediately hitting a boardwalk and picking up speed. Dancer was right behind him, the thunder and wind drowning out any noise they made.

  Marsh crashed to a halt. There were outdoor security lights.

  S
hit.

  Marsh didn’t know if they worked or not. He looked up at the window and saw a shadow cross in front of it. And then over the howl of the wind, over the boom of a storm-crazed sky, he was sure he heard Josie screaming his name.

  Her Last Chance: Chapter Twenty

  She screamed as he cut off her pants and left her lying naked on the bed like a damn pig waiting for butchery. She trembled with fear. Her carefully choreographed fate was spelled out in the monster’s eyes.

  He smiled.

  Fury blinded her.

  Without him seeing, she’d managed to loosen one wrist from the bindings. The monster with the knife paced a few feet from where she lay, muttering. And she’d loosened one lousy wrist.

  She was going to be sick.

  Lightning flashed and held for a few seconds before thunder rolled and the night went black.

  She watched the knife. Him constantly squeezing and stroking it. Revulsion and terror warred inside, but mainly she was pissed.

  The mattress sank as he climbed over the end of the bed and she wished to God she’d freed a leg so she could kick him in the face.

  Her friend Elizabeth had been raped.

  That idea terrified her even though he hadn’t raped the other victims. Ugh, her stomach roiled. Finally she had to accept she was a victim. Josephine squeezed her eyes shut and tried to keep her knees close together, remembering her shattered friend the night after Andrew DeLattio had finished with her. Well, Andrew DeLattio had gotten his and this bastard would get his too.

  What had Elizabeth said?

  Fingers gripped her knees and yanked them roughly apart. She flinched as cold metal pressed against her leg. Bit her lip, knowing begging wouldn’t help. Rape was about domination. That’s all she remembered and right now it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure he was dominating her in every way.

  The knife moved up her body, scratched her soft skin in a scoured line along her abdomen. Blood welled where the blade occasionally sank deeper. Death by a thousand cuts.

  She gritted her teeth on a flinch. “Why does it turn you on so much?”

  His eyes glittered, his voice hoarse. “It’s the only thing that turns me on.”

  “Not sex itself?”

  He flinched.

  “Have you ever had sex?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Do you even have a dick?”

  His lips pulled back, madness in his eyes. “Is that what you want? Me to fuck you? Are you nothing but a dirty whore like your bitch of a mother?”

  She slammed the base of her palm into his nose the way Elizabeth had taught her. He screamed and reared back. She tried to free her other wrist but he was back, lunging at her. She grabbed for his knife hand, desperate to keep it away from her body. Knowing she wasn’t strong enough. Knowing he would kill her but unwilling to lie silent like a doll as he hurt her. Not this time.

  He reached over and transferred the knife to his other hand, blood pouring into his mouth and dripping onto her bare skin. Revulsion turned her stomach but she saw excitement stir in his expression. His hands shook.

  “I wonder how long it’ll take you to die if I stab you here?” Pain exploded like a firework as he plunged the knife deep into her shoulder. She arched off the bed as agony flashed through her body, tore through her brain.

  It hurt so freakin’ bad she was definitely going to die. Blood flowed from her body in a hot wet rush. Thoughts of Marsh invaded her, calmed her. She loved him. And he loved her. She’d gotten one thing right. She knew that now.

  Now that it was too late.

  She felt herself zoning out into a much better place. Maybe one day Marsh would get over her and meet someone else. Someone to give his mother those grandchildren she craved. It was a pity it couldn’t be her.

  He slapped her cheek. “You’re not slipping away that easily.”

  She spat at him and it landed smack on his lips.

  Fury burned in his eyes and he raised the knife as if to finish this thing once and for all. Finally.

  An explosion jerked him away from her. A warm spray of blood hit her face before he dropped onto the hard wooden floor.

  Relief was so profound she almost stopped breathing.

  “FBI. Put down your weapon or I’ll shoot.” Marsh walked across the room, his gun in a two-fisted grip. He didn’t look at her as he walked around the end of the bed to the monster bleeding out on the floor.

  A sound gurgled in the monster’s throat. It sounded a lot like ‘Help.’

  “Is he still alive?” Josie whispered.

  “Not for long.” Marsh told her, ignoring the injured man as he undid her bonds. “Are you okay?”

  Josie remembered she was stark naked, her shoulder bleeding like crazy. The naked part didn’t matter right now. Her voice was high pitched and frightened. “He drugged me with something, but the only damage is the cuts you see.”

  Marsh’s eyes flicked nervously over the stab wound in her shoulder. It was a little bit more than a cut, but she wasn’t going to think about it that way. She did not intend to die. Not now. The guy on the floor groaned again. Her gaze flashed to the edge of the bed.

  Dancer cuffed him. “He’s going to bleed out long before the ambulance gets here.” The grim satisfaction on his face told its own story. So many people had suffered so much at this man’s hands.

  “I hope so.” She wanted him dead.

  “Even if he lives he’ll never hurt you again,” Marsh told her, freeing her other wrist. For once she believed him. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind him paying for his crimes.”

  Finally she was free but too weak to lift her arms. Everything already hurt. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “How’s Vince?”

  Marsh touched her hair and kissed her brow. “He’ll live. You will too.” He ripped off his t-shirt and padded it hard against her shoulder. Crap! She wanted to touch his face but didn’t have the strength. He tugged the sheet around her and lifted her in his arms. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll watch him until the locals turn up,” said Dancer. His eyes looked tired and bleak. Whatever he saw in Marsh’s expression made him say, “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid. I’m happy to watch him suffer.”

  Marsh gathered her against his chest and she felt safe and secure, but her shoulder screamed with pain, and her head felt like it was floating two feet away. “I’ve got you. We need to get to a hospital.” He strode out of the room and down the stairs, each step jarring and making her grit her teeth against the pain.

  Love and tenderness mixed with stark fear in his eyes.

  “I’m not going to die, Marsh. I’ve got too much to live for.” She’d survived. She was bleeding and battered, but she’d left that dark ugly place and gone instead to a place filled with hope. “I love you,” she admitted, free of the fear that had stalked her life. Not just the killer who lay upstairs bleeding, but the fear of getting close, getting hurt.

  She needed to live.

  He squeezed her harder. “I love you too.”

  She could hear the sound of the surf, and something else. A deep thrum. And a fierce blast of wind and sand. She pressed her face into his chest. Marsh tucked the sheet tightly around her body and then hugged her hard against him. “Ever been in a helicopter before?”

  “No, and I hate flying,” she admitted through gritted teeth. Pain radiated through her body in a single throbbing pulse. Shivers raced over her as a cold wind pierced the thin shroud covering her.

  She was jostled and jarred and then laid flat across two seats. She felt that weightless sensation as they took off but she couldn’t enjoy it. Strong warm fingers gripped her hand, then pressed hard against the wound in her shoulder. At first it was agony before slowly easing into numbness. She clung to those fingers, clung to the pain. She wasn’t losing the battle now. Marsh had beaten the Blade Hunter and she’d faced her demon and survived. She drifted into unconsciousness as the loud throb
of rotors pounded through her blood.

  * * *

  She woke up in the hospital, her shoulder tightly bandaged and a dull ache radiating all the way up to her neck and down her back. Marsh gripped her hand so firmly her fingers tingled, but she liked it.

  “Hey.” Her voice cracked. “Can I get a drink, please?”

  Marsh leaned over and poured her a glass of water from a jug beside the bed. He raised her up with the automatic control and kissed her gently.

  Placing the straw between her lips she took a sip of water and relished the cold freshness that cooled her throat. His hazel eyes locked onto hers. “How do you feel?”

  “Alive?” She laughed and almost sobbed as she remembered her ordeal. “Did he make it?”

  He shook his head. Relief swept through her in a massive wave. Good. He was dead and that was good.

  Marsh was smudged with dirt and blood, and wearing running shoes with dress pants and a dark green scrub top.

  Not the smart, dapper Marshall Hayes she was used to.

  “Where’s Dancer?”

  “Checking on Vince.”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  Marsh nodded and took the cup from her.

  She closed her eyes in relief and sagged against the pillow. “I thought Vince was dead when that car hit him.” Tears ran down her cheeks and unable to stop them she drew up her knees and sank her face into the pillow. The bed sagged as Marsh gathered her in his arms. He pulled a handkerchief out of nowhere and she laughed, but then sobered at his expression.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “There’s something I never told you and you’re not going to like it…”

  Everything inside her froze. Maybe he didn’t really care for her. Maybe he’d fed her a line as part of the job.

  Lines of tension radiated around his eyes and mouth. “You asked me how I found you, at the beach house?”

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “Yeah, it does.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair then looked her in the eye. “First of all I need you to know that I do love you. Nothing will ever change that. God knows, I tried.”