Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (25 page)

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A DANGEROUS LEAP
Book one of Gulf Coast Rescue

Raised by navy parents, Kelly Bishop learned how to pack light
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way. Now she’s ready for a new start in Florida, eager to prove herself as the
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Ian knows what he wants and he knows how to get it. And what
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Life-or-death situations leave little time for distraction—or
doubt. When a tropical storm becomes a hurricane and a dangerous enemy reveals
himself, their air station springs into action, and Kelly and Ian may not have
the chance to decide whether they want to take the leap...

Gulf Coast Rescue
continues August 2015 with JAYHAWK
DOWN.

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Lethal Game

Julie Rowe

Security is mostly a superstition.

—Helen Keller

Chapter One

It had taken him three airplanes and over twenty-six hours to travel more than seven thousand miles, and now he was going to have to kill someone.

Ten feet from his hotel room door.

All Special Forces Weapons Sergeant Connor Button wanted was to find a bed and crash for a few hours.

What he did not need was witnessing some idiot striking out with a hot blonde and not taking it well.

She’d just removed his hand from her waist.

The man put it on her shoulder and tried to bring her closer. “Aw, come on, sweetheart.”

She slid away, her voice clear across the short distance. “No.”

Okay, dude, time to retreat. Only, the guy didn’t. He grabbed her by the back of the neck, hard enough to make her gasp in pain, and leaned down, his mouth aimed for hers.

She slapped the moron, but he didn’t get that hint either, just grabbed her hand and twisted it behind her back.

Con had to make himself stand still for a second. One second, so he could throttle back the instinct to beat the stupid fuck to death.

Fine. His jaw flexed. He wouldn’t kill the asshole, but he could hurt him real bad.

Con dropped his duffel on the floor and stomped toward the woman and the moron whose arm he was about to break.

In several pieces.

Small ones.

The stomping got the moron’s attention. He glanced up, saw Con coming and his eyes went wide. He let go of the woman so fast she wobbled, off balance and fell to the floor. Con stopped to help her while moron ran like a track star down the hall and around a corner.

Good call, asshole.

Con bent down and offered his hand to the woman. “Are you okay?”

Her head jerked up and she stared at him with eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She scooted away, leaving his hand hanging in the air, then stood. Her shoulders went back and her chin rose.

He almost smiled. She was so not interested in another man getting all up in her business. He’d make sure she was all right, then he’d back off.

“Ma’am, did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, retreating a step.

Blue-green eyes stood out in a face framed by white-blonde hair hanging in a sheet down to the middle of her back. She was also stacked, though she wasn’t showing it off. She was following military clothing requirements, wearing long pants and a collared shirt one size too big, buttoned up to her neck. An asshole had just tried to sexually assault her, but Con would bet a year’s pay that had he not come along, moron would have had his hands full of a pissed-off female trying to smash his balls into paste.

He glanced down.

Her mouth was pressed into a thin angry line, but her hands were shaking.

For the first time in months something other than anger or despair slammed into him.

He knew just how she felt. Hyped up on adrenaline and looking for a target.

It surprised him so much he opened his mouth to make some inane comment or other to show her he was no threat, but she raised a hand to stop him.

She spoke a quick, firm “Thank you.” And then she was gone, inside the room closest to her. The click of the lock being engaged echoed down the hall.

He blinked at the empty hallway. He wasn’t sure she was okay, but those shaking hands and that locked door sent a pretty clear signal that she didn’t want another man anywhere near her.

Sometimes other people just made things worse.

He sighed, strode back to his bag, checked his room number again and discovered he was next door to the blonde.

At least he wouldn’t have to go far if moron came back.

* * *

So much for getting some sleep. He’d lain awake, alert for any noise that might indicate a problem in room next door, but it had been church-quiet. He got up at zero seven hundred base time, then went in search of his new commanding officer, Colonel Maximillian. The man had an interesting reputation, but he trusted what his buddy, Jacob “Sharp” Foster, a former Special Forces soldier, had to say about him. Everyone else said the colonel was one bullet shy of a magazine. Sharp had warned him that the colonel wasn’t exactly regular army, but he gave a shit about his people, and that was number one for Con. If your CO had your six, at least you didn’t have to take your attention off what was coming at you.

The colonel had a fancy lab that didn’t exist on the base, according to official records. Officially, the lab that did exist on paper was rated for level two containment. Good enough to run the sort of tests any big city hospital conducted. In reality, the lab was capable of level four containment testing. The stuff you needed to wear a bio-suit for and breathe your own oxygen supply.

Con had to pass through two internal checkpoints to gain entry to the nondescript building that was his destination. Colonel Maximillian’s office was the first one inside the prefab rectangle that housed the lab and offices. A soldier who didn’t look a day over sixteen sat typing on a computer facing the entrance to the building.

The kid’s gaze darted over Con’s uniform, then he stood and saluted. “Private Eugene Walsh.”

“Sergeant Connor Button, Special Forces.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Maximillian is expecting you.” Walsh extended his hand in the direction of the first office. “Go right in.”

Con gave him a nod, then walked into the office.

He saluted the salt-and-pepper-haired man, who stood and saluted back. “Sir, Sergeant Button reporting for duty.”

“Welcome, Sergeant.” The colonel came around his desk and offered his hand.

Con shook it once, twice, then released a hand that hadn’t tested him beyond what would be considered polite.

“Take a seat,” the colonel said, gesturing at one of the chairs facing his desk. “I’d like to go over your assignment and answer any questions you might have.”

“Thank you, sir.” Con sat and adopted a neutral body posture, back straight and hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was harder than it should have been.

The last time he’d been in the Middle East he’d been deployed with his unit, attempting to ascertain the military strength of two groups of extremists in Northern Iraq and Syria. Both groups had threatened multiple American and allied targets, as well as calling for sympathetic citizens to carry out terrorist acts inside their own countries.

The last time he’d been in the Middle East, he’d been the only survivor of an IED that took out their vehicle. Fortune had smiled on him that day. He’d been thrown clear.

More and more often, he wished he hadn’t been so lucky.

Colonel Maximillian continued to stare at him and seemed content to not say anything for several moments.

Con waited with the patience of a man who’d waited days for just the right moment to take a shot at his target.

Finally, the colonel asked, “How much do you know about your mission here?”

“Probably not enough.”

Maximillian’s face didn’t change. “Sharp said you were smart. Are you, Sergeant Button?”

“That would depend on your definition of smart.”

“Observant, creative, organized, able to see unusual relationships between people and information.”

“Sir, you’re looking for Sherlock Holmes. He’s a fictional character.”

A brief smile crossed the colonel’s face. “How would you describe yourself?”

“Flexible, determined, fuck the box.”

Colonel Maximillian’s forehead lowered over his eyes. “Were you aware General Stone had some reluctance in assigning you to this mission?”

“Not directly, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

“Oh?”

How many conversations like this had he had recently? Five, six? “Sir, I received injuries in an attack that killed all the men in the armored vehicle with me. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t hesitant.” No officer wanted to have a suicidal or homicidal soldier on a mission. Survivor’s guilt could lead to either one. Or both.

“Do you consider yourself fit for duty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Goddamned why-questions. Why judged, weighed and measured what was in a man’s head. What was in his head was not pretty, and not to be shared.

“Sir, I signed on to serve my country. My service isn’t done.”

Maximillian tilted his head to one side. “That is one of the best non-answers I’ve ever heard.”

Fuck it. Con leaned forward and said in a less civilized tone, “I got thrown off the horse. I need to get back on and finish my ride.”

“And if you don’t?”

Con’s throat closed up. “That thought can’t be in my head.”

The colonel’s face lost its sharp inquisitiveness for a moment, replaced by a surprising level of comprehension. A second later it was gone and he was flipping through pages on his desk. “You’ve had some problems with your temper since you returned to duty.”

“I’m working on that.” Anger was easy. Acting on it was even easier.

The officer considered Con for a couple more seconds, then nodded briskly. “My Biological Response Team is tracking a very dangerous man who’s created his own extremely deadly strain of anthrax. We managed to prevent an attack on a base in Afghanistan, but not before nearly one hundred people died of the infection. We think he’s not done. We think he’ll continue to strike at high-quality American or allied targets, and we don’t know where he is or where he will attack next.”

Con straightened. Hunting down a homicidal nutcase wasn’t the sort of duty he’d taken on before, but it sounded dangerous. Good.

Holy fuck he was messed up.

Maximillian continued. “We were successful in preventing the last attack because we had one of our infectious disease specialists embedded with an A-team training members of the Afghan military. General Stone agrees with me—until this man is found, we need more cooperation between my team and army Special Forces. I asked for specific men to work with my people. Men who are not only well-trained and smart, but also creative and who can take a step back and support his teammate or to take charge of a situation if that’s what’s needed. Jacob Foster says you’re that kind of man. Are you?”

Con knew his face didn’t show any of the thoughts running through his head.

What kind of monster creates that kind of poison?

It might be nice to have a specific enemy, with a face and a name, rather than a faceless one who could be anyone.

The need to kill, to avenge his dead, was a relentless voice in the back of his head. This mission could get him the opportunity to give himself that, and maybe a measure of peace.

“Sir.” He paused, trying hard not to come on too strong. If he lost this chance, he might not get another. “I’m a team player. That means I’ll play whatever role is needed by the team.”

Colonel Maximillian smiled. “Do you mind working with a woman?”

“No, sir. Sharp mentioned the possibility I’d be paired with a woman.” Man, woman, two-headed alien, he didn’t care as long as they shared a common enemy.

“You’re okay with that? No hesitations?”

The colonel seemed unusually concerned.

What the hell? While he might smack down a fellow Special Forces soldier, he’d never lay a hand on a woman.

“Sir, I’m the youngest of five children with four older sisters. Working with or for a woman is nothing new to me.”

“Good.” Maximillian nodded. “I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but the doctor you’re going to be working with is somewhat...high strung.”

“High strung?”

The colonel shook his head. “That’s the wrong description. She’s young, she’s a genius and she has absolutely no idea how to talk to anyone who isn’t a scientist or doctor.”

That didn’t leave a whole lot of people. “Genius, as in graduated from medical school really young?”

“She’s twenty-four and is the youngest physician in the USA to have a double speciality in virology and hematology.”

“Virology, I get. Hematology?”

“The study of blood cells.”

If she was an overachiever, he could work with that. “So, work is her life, and before that, it was school?”

“Exactly.”

“S’okay. My second-oldest sister is married to a physicist. He speaks math, and we get along just fine.”

Maximillian quirked an eyebrow. “You speak math?”

“Nope. I speak barbeque. Everyone has something to say about properly grilling a steak.”

The colonel laughed. “You’ll do. Time to meet her.” He stepped out of his office and led the way down a hall. “Oh, and call me Max. It’s shorter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Max sighed as he opened a door with a key and preceded Con inside.

The room they entered was part office and part lab, with a couple of desks and two tall microscopes set up on the end of each. Papers and boxes of slides littered both surfaces. Only one of the desks was occupied.

A woman sat looking through the lens of one of the microscopes. Her hair was white-blonde and pulled back into a severe bun. She wore an army uniform with a lab coat over top. When she saw Max, she pushed away from the scope, stood and moved to meet them.

It was the blonde from last night. With her hair pulled back, she could have passed for even younger than twenty-four.

Fucking gorgeous. He took that thought, hog-tied it and shoved it into a dark corner. His personal mission left no room for anything beyond a professional relationship.

She also looked ready to rip someone’s head off.

“Sophia,” Max said. “This is your new partner, Weapons Sergeant Connor Button.” He turned to Con. “Connor, this is Captain Sophia Perry.”

Her mouth, pressed into a thin line, convinced him to pretend last night hadn’t happened. He nodded at her respectfully. “Good to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is who you found to babysit me, Max? A fossil?”

Damn, she came out swinging. Maybe he’d let her win this bout. Con managed to keep a straight face and said in a hesitant voice, “I’m only twenty-nine.”

“Would you rather I pair you up with someone who follows all the rules and regulations?” Max asked her, irritation showing in his rigid posture. “This guy—” he pointed a thumb at Con “—hates inside-the-box thinking as much as you do.”