by Julie Rowe
“Yes,” she argued. “It is my fault. I was stupid. I thought I could be the hero. But that’s not what happened. I was caught, captured, and caused a situation where you had to act. You, already coping with an injury, loss of blood, and no sleep.” She stood at the stove, the spoon in her hand, shaking.
“I’m not dead.”
“But you could have died,” she said. “You very nearly did.”
“That was a choice I made,” he replied, resolute. “I chose to help. I chose to use you and the arriving police as distractions. I chose to put myself in harm’s way.” He stood and took a couple of steps toward her. “And I would make those same choices again.”
She was breathing heavy, trying not to cry, he realized.
“Why?” The word broke some barrier inside her, and sobs began shaking her body.
“Because I love you,” he said, taking another step toward her. “Because, no matter what you do or where you go, I’m going to be there to guard your back. I’m going to be there no matter how difficult or shitty the situation is.” He stopped a few feet away. The last distance between them. She had to choose to cross it.
She had to choose him.
“I love you,” he said again and held out a hand.
For one long second, she didn’t move.
For one long second, his heart stopped beating.
She closed the distance and took his hand as if afraid he’d break.
He tugged a little until she stood, stiff and shaking against his body. He locked his arms around her.
“I’m not letting you go,” he said, his voice almost harsh. “You had your chance to turn me away, but you didn’t. You’re mine now, and I’m yours.”
She nestled her face against his neck and began to cry, great heaving sobs, as if her heart were breaking.
With her resting against his body, he could have stood there forever. Pain and an overall weakness in his muscles had him rocking back and forth with the effort it took to remain standing.
Joy drew away to look at him with a frown, which transformed into surprise and regret. “Come on, you need to sit down.” She tugged him toward the dining table chair he’d vacated then considered him again. “Nope, the sofa.”
He thought about refusing, but when she sat down with him, close and warm, he didn’t argue.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Joy rested her head against his chest and sniffled. He hugged her, let his head rest on the back of the sofa, and shut his eyes. The tightness that had gripped his chest for the past week eased. The drain of stress hormones from his system was nearly tangible.
He had nowhere to go besides here.
Joy sniffled again.
All he needed was for Joy to be on the same page as he was.
“Henry said you’ve been trying to quit working for the CDC.”
She sighed and nodded.
“Why?”
She lifted her head to stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why do you think?”
“I think you’ve yourself convinced you’re at fault for a lot of things you had no control over.”
She made a noise that was part disagreement and part sorrow. “I thought I’d be okay with using my sidearm in a dangerous situation. I had no trouble using it when I was in the Army or after, at the firing range, but I couldn’t do it at the water treatment plant.” She stopped to take in a couple of deep breaths. “I couldn’t pull the trigger. I froze, and as a result, the second FAFO terrorist caught me.” She looked away. “So, you see, it was my fault our plan didn’t work.”
“Bullshit,” he said, leaning down so he was nose to nose with her. “You were tired, stressed, and still under the effects of your worst experiences taking center stage in your head.”
“Yes, but you—”
“Made some pretty stupid decisions, too,” he interrupted. “I chose to put myself in harm’s way. I’m going to have to face the repercussions of that choice. Maybe not today, but soon.”
“What do you mean, repercussions?”
“I don’t think Rodrigues is going to be happy with what I did.”
“And what I did.” The smile she gave him was so sad, his heart hurt to see it on her face. “I think it would be best if I left the CDC.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t leave. She doesn’t want you to. I don’t want you to.”
Joy shook her head, tried to pull away.
Gunner tightened the arm he had around her. “I thought we established,” he whispered, “that it was too late for you to back away from me.”
“Gunner,” she said, tears in her voice again. “We’re going to get fired. I won’t ruin your career.”
“I have it on good authority we’re not.” He tugged, and she leaned her forehead against his chest. “We’re going to need some time to recover from all our injuries, both visible and not so visible. But our jobs will be there when we’re ready.”
“I’m a mess,” she said. “Confused. Chaotic. Confounded.”
“I’d say that’s normal for anyone who’s been through DEFCON five level crap.” He sat his lips near her ear and whispered, “Partners?”
She lifted her chin, so she could make eye contact. “Partners.” Her lower lip quivered. “I love you, too.”
Joy blossomed inside him, so fast and hard it almost hurt. His mouth was on hers the next moment, and she was kissing him back with an intensity that matched his. Her lips were soft yet firm, and her taste drove him wild, but the frenzy didn’t last. His heart was more than willing, but his body wasn’t ready for anything strenuous yet.
She gentled her kisses then gazed at him with eyes showing no sorrow at all. “Still want some soup?”
He looked into her face, her beautiful eyes, and said, “I want whatever you’d care to give me.”
“Sleep with me tonight?” she asked, her cheeks a bright red.
He smiled. They were going to be all right. They were going to make it just fine. “Just try and get rid of me.”
Epilogue
A week after Gunner knocked on her door and refused to go away, Joy came home to find him sitting on her couch, working on his laptop. Her pulse leaped like it always seemed to when she saw him after being apart for any more than five minutes.
It still surprised her to find him waiting for her in her home after she’d gone out. She kept expecting him to return to his own place. It was, after all, only one floor above hers.
A cup sat on the table in front of him, along with the remains of an apple. His skin was no longer the unhealthy pale it had been the week before. He looked relaxed, comfortable, and irritated.
“What?” she asked, closing the door behind herself.
“What, what?” he asked with more than a bite in his bark.
“You look like you’re ready to strangle someone.”
He grunted, winced, then focused on his computer screen. “Rodrigues called.”
Some of the happy fizz in her bloodstream fizzled out.
When he didn’t elaborate, she carried on into the kitchen with her groceries. “What did she say?”
“She’s coming over here to talk to us about our current roles with the CDC.” He put air quotes around the last few words.
All her fizz vanished.
Damn it, that sounded ominous. She didn’t comment. What would be the point? One of them was likely to be asked to leave. She’d already offered, but Rodrigues had asked her to hold onto her resignation until she’d had a chance to review all the reports on the incident that resulted in Gunner getting shot.
“Did you try to quit again?” His voice sounded much closer than the couch.
She spun around, her hands full of milk and sandwich fixings, to find him an inch away and closing in.
She backed up a step. He followed her.
“Did you try to quit?” he repeated, his voice deceptively soft. He only talked like that when he was really mad.
She backed up
another step. “No.”
He kept pace.
She bumped into the counter behind her. Gunner kept coming, caging her in with his arms and body.
There was something sexy about a growly Gunner, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with Neanderthal behavior. She cocked her head. “You know, given your state of health, I could take you with one arm tied behind my back.”
He wasn’t backing down. Not a bit. “Why is our boss making a house call?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll both find out when she gets here.”
He glared at her for another long moment then retreated a step, then two.
She slid out then resumed putting the groceries away. “What’s really bothering you?”
She turned to look at him. He was standing in the middle of her rather small kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her like she was a loaded weapon left unattended in a firefight.
“If she isn’t here to fire us, she’s here because she’s got a problem.”
“What makes you say that?”
Gunner raised an eyebrow. “We’ve had a week to recover. A week to recall everything that happened, didn’t happen, and who was involved. We sent in our reports a few days ago, and she’s had a chance to read them.”
“Yeah.” Joy winced. “It stinks. The whole situation stinks.”
“Like week-old fish.”
She started a fresh pot of coffee in the coffeemaker then looked at him. “How far up the chain do you think it goes?”
Gunner shifted his weight slightly. “I think we don’t know, and that’s just the first rung on a long ladder of problems.”
A knock on her front door had Joy moving toward it. She looked through the peephole then opened the door and let Dr. Carmen Rodrigues inside.
Their boss walked in far enough for Joy to close the door, then stopped and took in Gunner, who’d moved from the kitchen into the main room. He hadn’t lost his frown or his hard stare.
Rodrigues took in a breath. “Is that coffee? Fresh coffee?”
“Yes,” Joy said. “Would you like a cup? And maybe a sandwich?”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
Joy slipped past Gunner into the kitchen.
“So,” Gunner said with false casualness. “Just came over for a snack?”
Joy looked at him and frowned. Was he trying to get them fired?
The next moment, Carmen started to laugh. She kept laughing until Joy came out and handed her a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” she said, lifting the cup and looking at Gunner. “I needed this.”
“You came here for a coffee, a sandwich, and a grump?” Joy asked her.
“I came to talk with some people who are exactly who they are.” She sipped her drink and smiled. “I don’t think either of you know how rare that is.”
Gunner gave Joy a look. “Called it.”
“What did you call?” Carmen asked.
“You have personnel problems,” Joy said, setting a plate with a sandwich on the coffee table. “Please, sit.”
She sat, put her cup on the table in front of her, then rubbed her hands over her thighs like she didn’t know what to do with them. When she spoke, her voice came out even, inflectionless, dead. “Dozer was shot earlier today.”
“What?” Joy and Gunner said at the same time.
“He was in motion, turning, so the wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Punctured left lung.”
Her hands were clamped in one place on her thighs, knuckles white. She was barely holding on to her control.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s in surgery now.”
“Why are you here?” Gunner asked. “And not at the hospital?”
She gave Gunner a sad smile. “Our DS is watching over him, and he’s armed. I’m here because I need your help. I need somewhere safe for Dozer to recover.”
“Homeland can take care of their agents,” Gunner said.
Rodrigues shook her head. “Since Dozer is in surgery, I beg to differ.”
“What happened to the shooter?” Joy asked.
“Killed by another agent.”
“Where did this happen?”
“As he was getting into his car outside the Homeland office.”
“Only a moron would shoot someone on the doorstep of a Homeland Security office,” Gunner said.
“Or the shooter was meant to die,” Joy said slowly.
“Like some kind of suicide bomber?” Gunner asked, but he was already nodding. “Yeah, whoever wanted Dozer out of the picture probably wanted all the loose ends tied up nice and tight. The dead tell no tales.”
“Speaking of dead men, Mike Creek committed suicide.”
Joy glanced at Gunner. He looked as shocked as she felt. “Wasn’t he in custody?”
“Yes, somehow he still managed to hang himself.”
“How big a problem do we have?” Joy asked softly.
“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to suspect that what we can see of this FAFO group is really just the tip of the iceberg. The majority of it is below the waterline, out of sight. We still haven’t found the source of the E.coli. Homeland and the FBI are working on it, but there’s been no new information.”
“So, someone else might try poisoning a random city’s water supply again?”
“It’s possible. Homeland Security is quietly increasing security at water treatment plants across the country, but there are thousands of them.”
“It could take years,” Joy breathed.
Rodrigues looked at them both. “Can I count on you two to help?”
“Of course.” Gunner’s frown deepened. “But I’m still on medical leave.”
“That makes you the perfect person to hide Dozer.” She gave both Joy and Gunner a wry smile. “In fact, I’m going to add a couple of notes in your files. Officially, I’m here to check on your recovery and instruct you to take another couple of weeks off to recover from your injuries.” She turned to Joy. “I’m also here to offer you and your partner permanent positions on the Outbreak Task Force—join our first-in teams—first in to a new health event, last to leave.”
Joy pointed at herself and Gunner. “Our personal relationship isn’t a problem?”
“No. We need tight teams. People who can weather difficult, sometimes desperate situations. Years of research have shown that teams with personal relationships, trust, and respect have the best chance at managing critical situations.”
Joy stared in shock at her boss. “We’ve only been together for a week.”
Gunner nodded his agreement.
Rodrigues laughed and stood up. “You two have been tight since the moment Joy walked into the office you share.” She shook her head. “I need more people like you, not fewer.”
“I see,” Gunner said slowly.
“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Rodrigues said, and her tone implied she’d wait until she got the answer she wanted.
“We’ll keep him safe,” Joy said.
“Or at least out of trouble,” Gunner added.
Rodrigues snorted. “Thank you. I have to go, but…thank you.” She stood and headed for the door. “I’ll be back with him as soon as he can be moved.”
Joy and Gunner watched at their boss left.
“She didn’t drink her coffee or eat her sandwich,” Joy said, glancing at the food and drink sitting on the table.
“Were you able to eat while I was in surgery?”
“No.” Joy stared at the door. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Only if he fucks it up with her.”
Joy glanced at Gunner. “You don’t think he will?”
“The way she talked about him,” Gunner said, meeting her gaze without hesitation. “It’s how I feel about you.”
She blinked.
“Stop that,” he growled at her.
“Stop what?” Irritation sharpened her tone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
> “Stop looking so damned surprised every time more than an hour has passed and I’m still here. Stop looking so shocked every time I so much as hint at how much I love you.”
Her jaw dropped open.
He threw his hands up in the air. “This is exactly what I mean.” He strode over to her, cupped her face, and kissed her. It was no quick peck. Rather a long, slow exploration that left her out of breath.
“If I ask to move in,” he said softly, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her nose, and her cheek, “are you going to panic?”
“Um…” He wanted to…what?
“I like spending time with you, being in the same space, talking, cooking, arguing…” He smiled at her. “I love it all.” He shrugged. “Besides, Dozer can stay in my apartment then.”
He was serious. Completely, madly serious.
“Sounds like you’ve got this all worked out.”
“All I know is what I want, and that’s you.”
Something inside her chest, something wound so tight it had been slowly strangling her, loosened. “I want you, too. I’ve just been afraid to believe I can have this.”
He gathered her closer to him. “This?”
“You. Happiness. Love. A real life.” Her throat closed up.
“You deserve all of that and more,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re amazing. Strong, smart, and so beautiful you take my breath away.”
“I love you.” Joy hugged him close, dropping every wall and barrier between them. “Stay with me.”
Gunner kissed her temple then pulled back to gaze into her eyes.
So much heat, commitment, and love in his face.
“Always,” he said.
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Acknowledgments
To my editor Robin, thanks for hanging in there with me on this one. You’re amazing.
About the Author
Julie Rowe’s first career as a medical lab technologist in Canada took her to the Northwest Territories and northern Alberta, where she still resides. She loves to include medical details in her romance novels, but admits she’ll never be able to write about all her medical experiences because “Fiction has to be believable.”
