by Julie Rowe
“Good to know.” Then he let loose the reins.
His first thrust nearly finished him, and he had to concentrate on not coming, because there was no way he was going to leave her wanting.
He found an angle that made her gasp and grasp at him, and sped up, taking her hard. It wasn’t long before she screamed out an orgasm, then he allowed himself to follow her.
It took a couple of minutes for him to catch his breath. He pulled out of her and got off the bed to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. When he returned, she was already asleep, her face serene and breathing deep and even.
She hadn’t asked him to stay or return to his own apartment, just passed out. As a demonstration of trust, it was a powerful one. His chest tightened, shallowing out his breathing.
That kiss had changed things between them, and he didn’t want to return to the friendly coworker relationship. He wanted more than one night. He was going to have to show her the value of having her very own in-house doctor.
Breathing deeper, he crawled into bed with her, but before he could scoop her up, she rolled over and snuggled up to him.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to work so hard after all.
…
Joy woke as she always did, at zero five hundred. What was different was the fact that she was completely entangled with a man’s body. And both of them were naked.
Gunner lay on his back with her on his chest. He had one hand tangled in her hair and the other looped over her waist. She had one leg over his groin, and he had a hell of a boner.
Memories of a few hours before flooded her brain and body. The hot impact of his kisses, the drugging pleasure of his hands on her breasts, and his cock—dear God she loved his cock. It filled her so full he hit every nerve ending inside her. Achieving orgasm with a new partner had always been hit or miss for her. Mostly miss. Not with Gunner. He’d hit a home run off the first pitch.
Now she was all hot and bothered again. Whatever was she going to do about that?
It was time to get up, wasn’t it?
She nosed the nearest of his nipples then licked it while her hand circled and teased the other. It didn’t take long before his breathing hitched. Changing tactics, she caressed his cock then slid down to lick the head and blow on it.
He tensed and groaned, so she nibbled, sucked, and played with him until his hands were in her hair and he was swearing the air blue.
“Holy fuck, Joy. Shit, shit, shit. Joy, you’re stripping all my neurons down to the atom.”
Good. She wanted him ravenous for her.
He kept swearing as she worked him into a frenzy, and she loved every second of the satisfaction and pleasure it gave her to watch him come undone.
He groaned and rolled her onto her back before she realized what was happening.
She took in a breath to laugh, and he slammed his mouth down on hers. His hands were everywhere and he surrounded her with his body as if he feared she’d melt away into a mist.
His urgency fired up her own, and when he moved down to suck at her nipples and rub her clit, she found herself ordering, “Take me. I need you now.”
“No,” he growled. “Not until you come first.” He looked at her with a gaze and smile so hot they could have lit an iceberg on fire. “And second, and third.”
Panic drove her hands to push at his chest. “I want on top.”
He laughed then and put his mouth on her sex, and sucked.
It sent her over a cliff she hadn’t known she’d been backed up against, the pleasure burning through her a shock.
He kept up the assault, adding fingers that teased her until she was delirious with need.
When he plunged one in, she came again.
This time when she finally came down from the high, he was kissing his way up her body. “Want another?” he asked in her ear when he got that far.
“Oh yeah,” she groaned, tilting her head to one side so he’d have better access to the tender, sensitive skin of her neck.
He flipped her over onto her belly, then put his hands on her hips and pulled her up onto her knees. His hands coaxed her legs wider apart, then he took his cock and rimmed the entrance to her body with it.
Over and over until she thought she’d lose her mind.
She tried to impale herself on him, but his grip on her hips prevented that.
“Now, now,” he said in her ear. “Patience.”
“It’s overrated,” she ground out, desperate for the orgasm he promised.
He plunged into her without any warning, and it felt so good she collapsed onto her elbows.
“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling all the way out and moving away.
“What?” she wailed. He wouldn’t leave her hanging like this, would he? “No. Where are you…”
The answer became apparent when he grabbed another condom from her meager supply in the nightstand. “That’s twice we nearly had sex without any protection,” he muttered as he rolled it on. “You short-circuit my brain.”
She opened her mouth to complain it wasn’t all her fault when he slammed home in one stroke. Surprise, pleasure, and a tiny bite of pain drove all thought out of her head, leaving only the desperate need to feel more, take more, give more.
The build to orgasm wasn’t gradual, more of an uphill sprint at a hell of a steep angle. It crashed into her a moment later with thunder and lightning. A few seconds later, Gunner groaned out his own pleasure.
It took a couple of minutes for them to catch their breath. Gunner pulled out and disposed of the condom.
“Hey,” he said from the bathroom. “Want a shower? I’ll wash your back.”
“Deal,” she said, rolling with effort out of bed.
“You’re sure not a morning person,” Gunner said as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower running gave her a bit more impetus to get in there.
She followed him into the shower stall. “You’re not one, either,” she said, examining his smile. “Usually.”
He ducked under the spray. “Yeah, well, there’s this sexy woman I work with who managed to wake me up feeling pretty fine.”
The over-the-top, love-struck expression on his face made her laugh. “You just got laid. Of course you’re in a good mood.”
“It’s not just about the sex, Joy,” he said, surprising her with a serious tone. “You know that, right?” His gaze was steady now, with no trace of humor.
Good, since she liked him, too, and didn’t want to work with anyone else.
Chapter Ten
Monday 5:28 a.m.
Gunner wasn’t sure what was going through Joy’s head. She was too casual, too cheerful.
His concern must have shown on his face, because she rolled her eyes at him. “Gunner, you just knocked me out for the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time.” She poked his chest with one finger. “I deeply appreciate how carefully you’re proceeding this morning. A lot of people would say what we just did was a bad idea, but I don’t believe that.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “What do you think about us sleeping together?”
“I think that for most folks it would be a disaster, but for you and me… We’ve both been banged around by some pretty serious shit. I need that connection with someone, I need a partner I can trust with the weird crap that might come out of me.” She shrugged. “Because if I worked with anyone else and a mental shit storm hit me, they’d lock me in a looney bin.”
“Huh,” he said with exaggerated casualness. “And all I have to do is give you an orgasm or two.”
“Exactly, and quid pro quo.”
“I’m not sure anyone has tried sex as therapy for PTSD.”
“Maybe you should apply for a government grant and do a study?” she suggested with a grin.
Smart-ass. He leaned down and kissed her. “I don’t know, I might need more evidence of success with this approach.”
“I think I could go along with that,” she said, her voice husky.
Her hand
s slipped over his wet skin, and they kissed for a long time before he lifted his head and stepped back. “As much as I’d like to have you in the shower, we don’t have time for it.”
“Not into quickies?”
“Nope,” he grinned at her. “I like to take my time.”
She blinked. “Wait. Take your time? Last night…was that your idea of fast?”
He nodded, and a blush spread across her face.
“God, you’re going to drive me insane with anticipation.”
“Those are the best orgasms.”
“Oh my God,” she said then laughed out loud and ducked under the water to rinse out her hair.
They arrived at the CDC office fifty minutes later, clocking in at zero six thirty. Rodrigues was waiting for them in their office.
“Did you sleep?” Gunner asked her. She looked like she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
“I got four hours, which is plenty for me,” their boss replied, sounding almost pleased that he asked. She handed them both a large-ish smart phone. “New phones. Both have a direct link to the lab results connected to this case, so you’ll see them as soon as they’re in the system.”
“Sweet,” Joy breathed, her fingers dancing over the touchscreen in a flawless ballet.
Gunner tucked his new phone into a pocket and asked Rodrigues, “What do we know?”
“Henry is currently ripping the bacteria apart by individual RNA base pairs until he figures out why so many of the infected are dying and why they’re dying so quickly.”
“That could take a while,” Joy pointed out dryly.
“What about the beer?” Gunner asked. “A lot of the positive results came from the same brand of kegs.”
“That’s what you two are going to do. Find out how the bacteria was introduced to the beer. Was it during the bottling, or were the bacteria somehow introduced to the beer between leaving the brewery and arriving at their final destination?”
“What about the public?”
“We’re announcing a warning and issuing a recall for all Frank Creek beer in about an hour.”
“That ought to be fun,” Gunner said with more than a touch of sarcasm.
Rodrigues gave him a quelling glance. “Find the source. I’d rather not have to shut down the entire beer industry right before spring break.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The address for the brewery has been sent to your phones. Go.”
They headed out with twenty field test kits and five times that in sample containers.
“I don’t think we’re going to get a warm reception at the brewery,” Gunner said. “I hope we won’t need the police.”
“They’re not going to be happy, but I don’t think anyone who’s innocent would lose their shit over us wanting to get to the bottom of this.” She shrugged.
“We’re about to tell them their beer has killed several people and made many more seriously ill,” he said. “Then, we’re going to call into question their entire set of production procedures. I’ve seen people lose their shit over less.”
“This is the United States, not a third world country. We’re not the enemy.”
“I’d feel more confident about that statement if you sounded like you believed it.”
She sighed. “I’m trying to be rational here.”
“What does an outbreak of deadly E.coli have to do with rational anything? The second we identify ourselves as CDC, they’re going to do one of three things.” He held up a hand and extended one finger. “Deny everything and freak out—complete with ringing of hands, abject apologies, and more denials of any wrongdoing.”
He held up a second finger. “Deny everything, including any possibility of the bacteria entering their beer at their brewery or at any time before the customer bought the keg and took it home.”
He extended a third finger. “Deny everything, call their lawyers, deny us access to their facility, and when we don’t leave, have their security people toss us out on our asses.”
Joy snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”
Gunner thought about that for a second. “You know, I’d pay to see you hand some rent-a-cop his ass.”
She grinned, and it was evil. “So, you like to watch?”
“I also follow ambulances and go to racetracks hoping to see a car crash.”
She laughed, a full-throated sound that calmed him faster than any words could have done.
He drove to the brewery while Joy went through the company’s website, reciting the information and the many types of beer they produced. She swore when she reached their events page.
“Fuck. They have an event happening right now. Some kind of outdoor beer fest with live bands and a barbeque.” She kept reading. “They’ve sold several hundred tickets.”
“How long have they been in business?”
She clicked through the site. “Thirty years. Nothing interesting until a couple of years ago when the patriarch of the family died and the Creek brothers found a recipe in a safe deposit box.”
“Brothers?” Gunner asked. “How many?”
“Two.” She glanced at him.
“They get along?”
“Nothing here about that.”
“I call dibs on being bad cop.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re always bad cop. When am I going to get a turn?”
“When we come across someone you can’t stand, let me know.”
She shook her head. “Tell me again why that makes you bad cop?”
“I can’t stand most of humanity.” He paused. “Present company excepted.”
“That’s just because I have a vagina.”
“Yeah, so?”
When she didn’t say anything, he glanced at her and found her shaking her head. “What?”
“Jerk,” she muttered, but there was laughter in her voice.
That made him smile.
The brewery was located on the north side of the city at the edge of an industrial area. It had a large parking lot, and the lots on either side of it had FOR SALE signs planted in front. One of those lots had a couple of large tents set up.
They parked the van at the end of one row of cars, got out, donned their protective gear, gathered the rest of their equipment, and walked toward the main entrance of the brewery.
They were still several feet away from the doors when a man wearing a black quasi-police uniform with the word security printed on it in large white letters came out in a rush. His eyes wide, he stopped about ten feet away and raised a hand, palm facing them. His other hand, visibly shaking, rested on a Taser holstered above his right hip.
“Stop.” It came out in a squeak.
They stopped and waited for the security guard to continue, but he seemed unable to speak. After several seconds and swallowing hard a few times, he asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you wearing…that?”
“We’re with the CDC,” Gunner said. “Here to take samples and conduct—”
The guard interrupted him. “You can’t go inside like that. You’ll freak out our customers.”
“Who’s in charge at the brewery?” Joy asked. “Perhaps it would expedite matters if we talked to them.”
“Mr. Creek, but he’s…strict. Without a warrant, he won’t let you go inside the building. Not wearing…what you’re wearing.”
“We’re not the police, and we don’t have a warrant. What we do have is something better,” Gunner said, holding out the papers.
“What’s better than a warrant?” the guard asked, looking confused as he took the papers and glanced at them.
“An order,” Gunner told him. “From the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The agency we work for.”
“Disease?” the guard asked absently as he read the first page. “Why would—”
“There are a number of details involved, something I need to have a conversation about with Mr. Creek.” Gunner took the papers from the guard. “Please, lead the way.”
>
“But—”
He looked ready to argue for hours, so Gunner added, “This is time sensitive. Either take us to your boss or get out of the way.”
The guard hesitated for another moment then turned toward the entrance. Gunner followed, while Joy brought up the rear.
The room beyond the front doors was set up like a winery tasting room, but this space was all about beer. There were antique wooden barrels, beer making and beer drinking items tastefully placed all around. Several bar-height tables dominated the center of the room.
A woman wearing dark jeans and a collared shirt with the Frank Creek beer logo on it came toward them wearing an expression of shock, worry, and horror on her face.
“Jessie,” she hissed at the guard. “Get these people ou—”
“I have an order instructing this brewery to stop all sales and ingestion of beer until the CDC completes its investigation,” Gunner interrupted. He held up the papers.
“Investigation?” the woman asked, looking from Gunner to Joy and back again. “What investigation?”
“This isn’t the best place to discuss it,” Joy said. “We need to talk to Mr. Creek. Could you show us the way?”
The woman nodded. “He’s in the office.” She hurried across the room and through another set of doors on the other side.
The space beyond the doors was huge. The walls on the left were lined with large metal vats that narrowed into a funnel at the bottom. A bewildering number of metal pipes snaked through the room, turning the space above them into a rat’s nest.
To the right was another door leading to a separate space. Above the door to this room was a sign reading OFFICE.
Gunner followed the woman through the door.
A long desk faced the door, and behind it sat a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray through her blond hair.
She frowned at their guide. “Rhonda, what—”
“These people are from the CDC,” their guide said. “They need to talk to Mr. Creek.”
The receptionist glared at all of them, but she got up and went down a hallway behind her.
Leaving Joy and him standing in awkward silence.
Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of someone besides the receptionist, though she appeared from the hallway first. The man following her was maybe forty, tall, fit, and sporting a military-short haircut. He also carried himself like a soldier, with the straight posture that was just a touch too controlled.
