Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (6 page)

Chapter Six

The heat sucked every bit of moisture out of the air. Grace’s tongue felt two times too big for her mouth, and at the pace Sharp set, all she wanted to do was hang it out and pant.

He had them moving toward the nearest hills at a ground-eating trot, his head roving from side to side, watching for possible threats. After a few minutes, the terrain changed from barren stony hills to low scrub brush and washout ravines, the only sound the skitter of small creatures running for cover.

Was there room for her under one of their rocks?

Sharp came to a stop, his head poised to listen, one hand extended behind him with his palm out in a stop gesture.

She stopped.

He waved that hand toward the ground.

She crouched, the butt of the Beretta rough against her palms. Her stomach tightened until breathing was painful. It had become second nature for her to hold the weapon at ready, safety off during training, but at this moment it felt wrong. She was a doctor, a surgeon. Her muscles should remember what to do with a scalpel, not a gun.

Nausea threatened, but she beat it down with ruthless anger. No time to panic, freak out or let her inner pansy ass out to throw up on the situation. That bitch had already had enough airtime today.

There was only room for the soldier to be in control.

She closed her eyes for five seconds. Took in three deep breaths and deliberately relaxed her shoulders. They would get through this. They had to. She wasn’t ready to die, and Sharp didn’t look like he was interested in it much either.

They waited for a long time. Shadows grew and lengthened like pulled taffy, turning the desert into a moonscape of craters and valleys an eternity from home. The pack on her back gained weight with every passing second, and the sample container dug invisible claws into her side.

Finally, long after the muscles in her thighs and calves began to burn, his fingers lifted in a come-closer sign.

She walked slowly, quietly until she was right behind him, then reached out with her left hand and placed it on his shoulder so he’d know she was there.

His reaction was a subtle relaxation in the muscles under her hand. “Stay on my ass,” he whispered, the sound more of a sigh than a vocalization.

She attempted to reply as quietly. “Understood.”

He moved forward, weapon ready, the butt of his rifle anchored in the hollow of his shoulder.

She followed, keeping as close as possible without tripping over him.

They traveled for what seemed like hours, following the ravines until Sharp paused extra-long looking at a collection of prickly brush perched about ten feet up from the bottom of the ravine.

He signaled her to remain where she was, then rushed up to the vegetation. A second later she couldn’t see him at all.

Grace waited, growing unease twisting in her chest until she could barely breathe. Finally, Sharp appeared out of the darkness as if he were made of the same shadows cast by the half-moon in the sky.

He waved at her to follow and she found herself climbing the rocks, sliding behind some low brush and into the dark.

A cave.

The opening wasn’t large. She had to bend over almost in half, but it opened up a bit more a few feet inside.

A snap echoed softly, then an orange glow-in-the-dark stick lit up and illuminated the cave. It wasn’t high enough for Sharp to stand up in it, but she almost could. There were animal tracks on the dirt floor of the cave, but none were large or looked recent. The cave ended after about ten feet, making it just large enough for the two of them to be comfortable.

She snorted at the thought. Comfortable was not a word she’d be using to describe her situation for the foreseeable future. Her father had always told her a comfortable soldier was a lazy soldier, but he couldn’t have meant this.

“Is this place safe?” she asked, afraid to speak too loud in case the cave created an echo.

“As safe as we’re going to get,” Sharp said. “I’m going to go out, scout around and see if I can erase any tracks we might have left on our way up here.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Wait here. No noise, no moving around.”

“Got it.” A second later he was gone, a silent ghost among the shadows.

She knelt down, unslung the container of samples, placing it in a small nook near the mouth of the case, then took her pack off. Inside were three water bottles. She took one and drank slow and careful from it, stopping before her thirst was quenched. They were going to have to ration it and she might as well start now.

The temperature outside the cave was dropping fast, but inside, it was still warm. She sat down, using her pack as a back brace, and watched the entrance for Sharp’s return.

At first she kept a careful watch, every sound bringing her to attention and leaning forward to check for someone sneaking close. After a while she began to recognize insect noise and birdcalls. All good things to hear. It was when they got quiet that she would have to worry about another human being in the area. After a while, her muscles began to relax, her mind drifted and flashes of memory struck like snakes after prey.

The smiling face of the soldier next to her on the plane was shoved aside by his death mask.

Her anger at the senseless killing of her teammates by the Afghan men. The freeze of seeing their bodies lying still and bloody on the ground after she shot them.

Hope at finding Rasker alive.

Anguish at giving him permission to die.

Conflicting emotions, images and utter confusion at having no escape, no outlet for the cacophony, threatened to suck her into a tornado of despair with the power to drown her in her own guilt and self-doubt.

She should have died too. She should have been able to protect and help those men, yet every one of them now lay dead in the helicopter’s carcass, their blood coating the smoking broken bones of the aircraft and the greedy sand beneath it.

She was the reason those men had gotten into that doomed machine.

Their deaths were on her hands.

A sound broke through the mental haze and she realized something, someone, was closing in to the entrance to the cave. Her hands moved before she could decide what to do, the Beretta poised and ready.

A voice floated through the night with a stealth she could only dream of someday accomplishing. “Doc?”

“Sharp.” She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and her arms fell to her sides. She had no strength left, no armor for her feelings and no skills left to cope with the meltdown she could feel beginning inside the core of her soul.

He slipped inside the cave, but stayed at the entrance, anchoring branches he must have taken from other brush and bushes, creating a screen to hide them.

“Where did you get all that?” she asked quietly.

“Here and there.” He moved back from his handiwork and took a look at it. “That should do for camouflage.”

He seemed concerned. “Are we going to need it?”

“Yeah.” His response was a sigh she felt more than heard. “I went back to take a look at the crash site.”

When he didn’t continue, she asked, “And?”

“It was being watched.”

“By who?”

“Several whos. From several locations.”

It took her a moment to digest his answer, but when she did, nausea threatened again. “We can’t go back, can we?”

“Not if we want to stay alive.”

“Will they look for us?”

“Probably.”

“How will our guys even know we survived if we’re not at the helicopter? Couldn’t we find a closer place to wait? So we’ll hear them coming?”

“In my opinion, closer isn’t safe. There are extremists all over these hills and they’re now waiting for a rescue helicopter, too, so they can try to shoot it down. If we jump up and wave our arms in the air, they’re going to shoot us first.”

“Point to you. How will our people know we survived?”

Sharp’s reply took a moment or two. “There aren’t enough bodies.”

“What do you mean? At the crash site? There are plenty of bodies. More than there should be.” She was responsible for some of those bodies.

“Not American soldiers. They’ll look and they’ll count. The bastards who shot us down are most likely looking for whoever killed their men. They know we’re out here, hunkered down somewhere, waiting for help. They’ll be watching for a chance to kill us before we can be safely extracted.”

“What are we going to do, then?”

“Our guys can’t leave the wreckage to be picked over. There are a lot of useable supplies and gear on board. Plus, they’re going to want to recover the bodies. We’ll have to wait until a full retrieval team gets here. Then we can make a run for it.”

“How long until that happens?”

He shrugged. “Maybe six to twelve hours. If we stay hidden and quiet, we have a good chance of making it.” He scuttled farther into the cave. “In the meantime, why don’t we figure out where you’re wounded?”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t hurt.”

“Doc, you’re bleeding from somewhere. I found a blood trail one of us left, and since you bandaged me up already, it sure isn’t me.”

Sure, she had a few sore spots, her left arm ached, as did her left calf, but she was sure they were just bumps and bruises. “I’m fine.”

“I know that, but it isn’t relevant to this conversation.”

Wait,
what did he say?
“Are you trying to
flirt
with me?”

“I don’t know. Is it working?” He gave her a once-over that was
so
not appropriate.

“It’s pissing me off.” She wanted to smack him, yell at him, beat her fists against his chest.

He shrugged. “I’ll take pissed off over nothing at all.”

“Stop talking. You’re not making any sense.” She glared at him, daring him to say something more.

He smiled grimly at her. “Doc, get your butt over here.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t kidding.

Pffft.
She wasn’t bleeding and she’d prove it. Grace pushed to her feet, crouching a little so she didn’t hit her head on the ceiling of the cave, and looked down.

There was a wet spot on the dirt where she’d been sitting. She palpated it with two fingers and brought the bit of sand closer to her face so she could smell it. The bitterness of iron coated the back of her throat.

Blood.
Shit.

Sharp wasn’t going to let her live this down.

“Doc?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” She moved farther in. “Let’s check my left side. It hurts more than anywhere else.”

“Where exactly?”

“Bicep and calf.”

He reached for her leg, then wrapped his hand around the muscle. She was surprised by the sting of pain that went with it. “Ow.”

“Looks like something here. Where else?”

She sat down and he did the same exam to her arm.

“Blood here too.”

She was an idiot. “I can’t believe I got hurt and didn’t know it.”

“Adrenaline is a marvelous thing,” Sharp said as he urged her to take off her body armor. “I’ve seen guys keep running, fighting or firing after getting hit with a fatal strike. Your brain can keep going for a surprisingly long time before it realizes you’re dead.”

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “If you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s not working.”

“Just keeping it real, Doc.” Sharp turned away to open his pack and pull out one of the first-aid kits. “Let’s start with your leg.” He gave her left leg a moment’s consideration, then lifted a hand toward her fly.

She stepped back before she could stop herself and he froze.

He dropped his hand, wiggled his eyebrows at her and said, “Take off your pants.”

Chapter Seven

Grace bit her lips. No. She wasn’t going to laugh. It wasn’t funny.
He
wasn’t funny. “Are you trying to make me want to kill you?”

“No. Not really.” He seemed to think about it for another second or two. “Okay, maybe a little.”

She hovered between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. Her best buddy was trying his hardest to help her, but she wasn’t entirely sure his flirting was all fun and games. There was a serious glint in his eye she’d never seen before.

“You’re nuts, you know that?” she asked as she began removing the gun holster strapped to her right leg, then moving on to the belt with forty-two different things hanging off it. “You’ve been cracking jokes since the crash, and none of this is
funny
.” Oh God, her face was wet. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“I’m angry, but not at you.” The smile on his face lost its razor edge. “Never at you.”

Tears clouded her vision and her chest stuttered with silent sobs she refused to let out. One escaped and strong hands and hard arms grabbed her up and she found herself drawn onto Sharp’s lap, her head buried in the hollow of his shoulder. She shook both of them with the force of her restrained cries.

Her father would be mortified if he knew she was crying on someone’s shoulder. She’d heard his stories of operating in sandstorms during the Iraq War. He’d survived horrible situations with his sense of humor and dignity intact. Why couldn’t she?

She was so focused on keeping quiet, controlling the crest of grief flooding through her, she lost track of time. Eventually, she came back to herself only to realize her situation was no less emotionally explosive and dangerous now as when she started crying.

She faced Sharp, straddling his lap with her knees on either side of his hips, plastered to him like a lover who took what she wanted. Between her legs she could feel his response. No amount of clothing could hide the long, hot length telling her he was big all over.

He wanted her.

It was the crazy situation, not because he
actually
wanted her.

So why did feeling his erection between her legs, proving they were both still alive, give her so much pleasure?

She wanted him.

Was it wrong to want, to feel something other than horror and fear? If she moved against him, would he offer the comfort of his body?

Of course he would. He was a good man, the kind of man who’d do everything he could to help her get through this until they were safe.

She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t use him like that.

Grief and guilt formed a tsunami of nausea that rolled up from deep in her gut, and she tried to jerk herself out of his tight embrace. How sick did she have to be to want a man only an hour after being in a crash that killed several men, after
she’d
killed men?

Sharp held her tighter. She fought, pounding his back and using the strength of her thighs to push away from him. He held her tighter still and whispered words of reassurance that made no sense in her ear. He should be angry at
her
, she hadn’t been able to save Rasker’s life.
His friend’s life
.

She shoved, punched and pushed until her muscles trembled with exhaustion. Panting, she stilled, waiting for an opportunity for him to relax his vigilance, and finally understood what he was whispering to her.

“It’s okay, Grace. You’re good, honey. You’re good. I’m going to keep you safe, I promise.” Over and over he repeated the words.

“Sharp?” she managed to say, her heartbeat a thunder of drums in her ears.

“The bad guys don’t know where we are. You’re safe.”

“Sharp?” she said again. “I’m okay, sort of, now.”

He sighed and held her even tighter for a moment. “God, I thought you were never coming back.”

“Neither did I.” She trembled and returned his embrace, her hands flexing against his body armor, needing to feel him, solid and real. “What’s wrong with me?”

“We’ve all got ghosts haunting us,” he said, his voice rumbling out of his chest. “You need to let go of a few of yours, that’s all.”

She tilted her face up to tell him to stop placating her, she needed the truth, but never got the chance to say a word.

He kissed her.

His mouth was hard and hot on hers, his tongue stroking past her lips, his taste waking something cold and alone inside her.

So good.

Oh God, no kiss had
ever
felt this good before.

A voice in the back of her head whispered that this was bad. This would change things between them.

A whip of pleasure silenced the voice, blinded her to everything else, and she kissed him back, groaning, needing this connection to the real world. To him. Her hips rocked against the erection confined to his pants and she lapped up the growl that came out of him as a result.

“Grace.” He jerked her closer, pressing her pelvis against him with one hand on her lower back as he rocked upward.

She wanted that.

She needed him. Now. Her hands clawed at his body armor, trying to rip it off. When that didn’t work she shimmied backward far enough to work her hand between them to find the long length of his cock, then squeezed.

He wrenched his head away, breathing hard. “
Fuck.
”

Grace nipped and sucked at his neck, but his hands pushed her away so he could catch her gaze with his.

“Grace, honey, slow down,” he crooned to her.

She blinked, desire a fog clouding her mind. “What?”

“Tell me you’re with me, sweetheart.” His words were spoken with the same gentleness a man might use to coax a wary animal or small child.

The fog lifted and reality, with all its cold, harsh truths, intruded.

They’d survived a helicopter crash, killed extremists who would have killed them, and there was no guarantee they would survive the next twenty-four hours, let alone get rescued.

Oh, and her best friend turned out to kiss like something out of her most intimate fantasies.

She still had his cock in her hands.

She stroked him through his clothing. “I don’t want to slow down or stop.” She did it again and got a groan out of him. “Are
you
with
me
?”

“Oh, holy fuck,
yes
,” he hissed between gritted teeth.

She nibbled on his neck again and was rewarded with hands cupping her ass, his fingers curving under her bottom and stroking her through her pants.

Her breathing had become as ragged as her pulse. What he was doing with his fingers had to be illegal.

“What,” he growled into her ear, “will get you off?”

At that moment, he stroked over her, his fingers finding her clit through her clothes, his thumb rimming the sensitive tissues of her body. It didn’t matter that there were several layers of clothing between them. It felt like they were skin to skin.

She shuddered and whispered in his ear, “Penetration.”

He reacted like she’d shocked him with an electrode. He jerked her up and took her mouth in a kiss so carnal she was surprised they hadn’t self-combusted. His tongue fucked her mouth while his hands shifted her back until he could open her pants and get his hand down the front of them. His fingers found her clit and began to circle it.

Then he put the other one down the back of her pants. One long finger entered her and began fucking her hard and fast.

She ground and rocked against him until she thought she was going to lose her mind. The orgasm that resulted blew every circuit she had.

He was still kissing her when she finally came down from the high enough to recognize it was his turn to lose it.

She sucked his tongue into her mouth, opened his pants and took him in hand. Not a small job. He filled her palm, a handful and then some, his length a delicious tease.

He growled into her mouth, took over the kiss, and his hands were everywhere. Touching her, grasping her, making her wish they were naked in a bed with a locked door between them and the rest of the world.

When he came, his whole body shook, his head falling back as he gave himself over to it. She stroked him until the shaking stopped.

His head came down and he looked at her like she was someone he’d never seen before. “Penetration, huh?”

His question cleared the haze clouding her mind.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. She was plastered to him, his taste in her mouth, his lips so close to hers she could feel every breath he exhaled on her face. Her hand full of his cock. “We just...”

Had sex. In a cave. With God only knows how many bad guys trying to kill them.

She didn’t even want to think about the best-friends label she’d stuck on his forehead, now irrevocably ripped off.

He must think her a fool. She let go of his erection, now at only half-mast, and tried to jerk herself out of his arms. “I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have—”

“Whoa,” he interrupted, kissing her temple and gathering her close despite the stiffness of her body. “Nothing to be sorry about. I started it.”

“Then I attacked you.” She rested her head against his shoulder and relaxed a little. How was she ever going to look him in the face again?

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting it,” he said. “I figured kissing you might distract you a little from the shit we’d been through, but you know, if I have to defend myself against a beautiful woman and give her an amazing orgasm...” He sighed theatrically. “It’s hard being me.”

She snorted into his shirt. Shock. That must be what she was feeling. There could be no other explanation for the burst of humor grabbing hold of her frazzled nerve endings and calming them. Not only calmed, but made their situation a tiny bit humorous.

She lifted her head and looked him right in the eye. “You are the strangest guy I have ever met.”

He raised a brow. “That’s a good thing, ’cause a minute ago you were trying really hard to fly apart.”

“Yeah. I guess I was.” Now what was she going to do? How was she going to look at his face without remembering the expression he wore when his own orgasm overtook him? She shivered, the pleasure in watching him a glow warming her from the inside out.

“Hey,” he whispered into her ear. “Can you move back a little so I can get at my pocket?”

Her hand was sticky, and she scooted backward, intending to get off him entirely. He stopped her.

“Whoa, hold still.”

She froze. Had she done something wrong?

He opened a pocket and pulled out a package of Wet Wipes. After quickly cleaning himself, he offered her one, as well. He took it from her when she was done and put the used wipes into a small sealable plastic baggy from the same pocket.

“What else have you got in there?” she asked, momentarily distracted.

“Shampoo, hand sanitizer and a little Vaseline.”

She blinked. “Vaseline?”

“Yeah, you never know when you’re going to need to lubricate...something.”

She swallowed hard, staring at his chest. “How bad did we just screw up?”

He didn’t answer right away, and after a few seconds, she finally looked up to meet his gaze.

He considered her for a long moment. “You know I care about you, right?”

She nodded.

“And you care about me?”

She nodded again.

“Then where’s the mistake? ’Cause I don’t see one. We needed each other.”

“That’s it?” She couldn’t quite believe it was as simple as he made it sound.

“Does it have to be complicated? Would you have rather screamed murder at the top of your lungs?”

“I suppose not, it’s just...intimacy isn’t casual for me.” If it was casual for him, she didn’t know how she’d ever look him in the face again.

“Hey.” He leaned down to catch her gaze again. “It’s not for me either.” He kissed her forehead.

He made it sound like sex was a coping mechanism. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

He grunted. “Nope. Never survived a helicopter crash, killed a bunch of bad guys and had to calm down a woman having a panic attack before.”

She nodded. “Okay, you can let go of me now.”

He didn’t just drop his arms, he gradually released her, comfort-rubbing her back before she found herself in front of him on her butt in the sandy dirt of the cave.

The need to crawl right back into his arms was overwhelming.

She stared at him, her whole body trembling, trying to figure out what to say or do next. She had no idea. He’d surprised her, done nothing she’d expected.

She’d done nothing she’d expected. She didn’t know this other Grace, a woman who took her pleasure, and gave it, without hesitation.

He watched her, his shoulders relaxed, his hands limp as they dangled off his knees, but his eyes were far from tranquil. She’d seen that look on his face, the one where the wrinkles around his eyes flexed and the furrow between his brows appeared. It was the one he wore when he was waiting for an attack, or preparing to make one. Battle ready.

Her breathing became deeper, labored, and she had to focus on it before she could calm herself down. “Stop looking at me like I’m a bomb about to go off.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Are you kidding? You already went off. I’m just waiting to see if there are any aftershocks.”

“I’m not going to go screaming out into the night,” she said, then paused. “I don’t think.”

His gaze examined her with unrelenting focus. “Is something else bothering you?”

She didn’t know if he was asking her about the crash, her reaction to their lovemaking or something else entirely. It didn’t matter. She was done talking. “No.”

He didn’t react except to ask, “Who am I?”

“You’re Sharp—Jacob Foster.”

When he didn’t respond, she added, “Special Forces Weapons Sergeant Jacob ‘Sharp’ Foster.”

He shook his head. “I want to know who I am to
you
.”

The sneaky bastard. Did he think he was some kind of weekend psychologist?

She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. “Right now, you’re an irritant, like all men who think asking the same question a different way is going to get you what you want. But when you’re not being an ass, you’re usually my best friend.”