Search & Destroy Read online

  The tech guided his bed back to the floor and into his room. Carmen wasn’t there, but DS was, sitting in her chair, a tablet in his hands. A couple more nurses came into the room and got him all hooked up.

  “Missing any of your marbles?” the old man asked.

  Dozer snorted. “The mother ship took most of them a few years back.”

  The old man laughed. “You seem to manage fine with what you have left. What’s the situation with you and Rodrigues?”

  The question was phrased to sound normal, but Dozer wasn’t fooled. DS was fishing for information, and when that man wanted to know something, he didn’t stop until he found the answer.

  The only way to distract the bastard was with the truth.

  “Her people getting hurt has rattled her, I think,” he said slowly. “Plus, I didn’t die, so she’s afraid whoever dropped that shot is going to try it again.”

  The older man grunted. “Why would anyone want to kill you?”

  “Maybe whatever I saw in that storage unit before it exploded could lead us to the morons playing with deadly bacteria and viruses. And if there’s a tie with the FAFO bastards who boasted they caused the outbreaks in Texas and Utah.”

  DS studied Dozer’s face with the unrelenting gaze of a father having the talk with his daughter’s boyfriend on prom night. “Since you came out of surgery to plug up that hole in your chest, she hasn’t allowed you to be left alone in this room. She’s terrified.” DS crossed his arms over his chest. “Why is that?”

  “If you’re asking me to explain why a woman does anything, I’ve got nothing. Half the time she seems angry with me about something she won’t explain.”

  “Quit trying to change the subject.” DS drew out the words like they were taffy. “She’s taken a personal interest in you. A very personal interest.”

  “She’s not Army,” Dozer pointed out. “And I think she’s taking all this as a personal insult.” Deflect, deflect, deflect. “The explosion was a direct attack against the CDC and her investigation.”

  DS gave him a look that clearly said he wasn’t fooled.

  Someone walked into the room. He knew the sound of that stride—a woman. Carmen.

  “John?” she asked.

  “Here,” he said as the concern in her voice punched his heart rate into a higher gear and his headache into knockout territory.

  She arrived at the foot of his bed. “As soon as we hear back from the doctor, you’re going to be transferred to another health-care facility. One with better security. Richard, please stay with him until he’s settled in. I have to leave for Washington right away.”

  “Any new intelligence about the FAFO?” Dozer asked.

  “No, but we’re not waiting for them to make a move this time. The Surgeon General, the head of the CDC, and Homeland Security want to get ahead of them. But before we can do that, we need to figure out if there’s a pattern to their attacks. What their goals are and where they might strike next. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.” Her jaw was clamped so tight he wondered if her dentist could see the marks on her teeth. She didn’t want to go. Because of him?

  “You said a couple of days before.” He tried to sound nonchalant, like it was only a small matter of when she got back, but her gaze sharpened.

  “You will follow every order and suggestion the doctor gives you.” Her tone offered no other options. “Say it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Did she think he didn’t want to recover as soon as possible? Or maybe she just didn’t trust him to do the smart thing.

  “I’m not an idiot. I’ll do as I’m told.”

  Her mouth twisted like she’d eaten something very sour.

  He was getting very tired of being on her shit list.

  Fuck.

  “I’ve got him,” DS said.

  She didn’t move.

  “Don’t worry,” Dozer said, finding the wherewithal from somewhere to keep his tone light. “We’re going to do each other’s nails and braid our hair.”

  “I even brought a big bag of those crappy little beads,” DS said with a sarcastic lilt to his voice. “We’ll look like we spent the last week on some beach in Mexico.”

  “I’m surrounded by comedians,” Carmen muttered. She walked up to his bedside and checked his IV and his pulse. “Get better or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  Her glare became superheated, and she leaned closer. Was she going to kiss him? Yes, please.

  She froze, her face pink, then shook her head, turned, and left the room.

  Damn it.

  DS chuckled.

  If he didn’t want to hear about this until the end of time, he’d better distract the old man quick.

  “So, your real name is Richard?” Dozer asked.

  DS grunted.

  “Does your last name start with an ‘s,’ by any chance?”

  “Suckler.”

  Dozer paused to digest that answer. “Did your parents hate you that much?”

  “I’m Drill Sergeant or DS, take your pick,” the old man said with all the friendliness of a grizzly coming out of hibernation. “Call me anything else, and you’ll regret it.”

  “Emergency contact only.” It was hard not to laugh. “Got it.”

  The doctor came in with one of the nurses to give him the news his scans showed significant improvement in the reduction of brain swelling. He’d need to remain in the hospital for some time yet for continued monitoring and to give his ribs and the hole in his chest a chance to heal, but he was out of danger. The staff were going to let him move a little bit, but he was to stay still and prone as much as possible.

  The doctor went on about further restrictions in physical activity and all the things he couldn’t do that would exasperate his concussion and broken bones. It was a long list.

  As soon as the doctor was done talking, DS went with the nurse to fill out paperwork, leaving Dozer to contemplate all the ways he could convince Carmen not to look for a permanent person to take over his role as the liaison between Homeland Security and the CDC.

  He couldn’t stop her—that much was a given—but he could paint the others to look like idiots or assholes.

  As if she didn’t already think he was one himself.

  Fuck, he had it bad.

  …

  Thursday, March 20, 1:40 p.m.

  Dozer was transferred to a VA hospital in Atlanta three days later, a place with extensive rehab facilities and excellent security. His name had been adjusted, as DS called it, to J. Michael Dodger, and he had a whole new medical history, which said he’d received his injuries during a bar brawl.

  If DS wasn’t keeping him company, it was someone else from the Outbreak Task Force. Joy Ashiro and Gunner hung out with him most afternoons for the first week. Gunner even did some physiotherapy alongside him. The grumpy bastard had also gotten shot by FAFO terrorists when trying to keep them from poisoning the water supply for the French Quarter in New Orleans. Midway through the second week, Joy and Gunner were put back on duty and sent to take the lead in a series of new outbreaks of Norovirus on a couple of university campuses in the Northeast.

  He was sorry to see the pair go. Their sarcastic commentary during PT sessions was both entertaining and motivating.

  Henry, a CDC lab tech and veteran Special Forces soldier, also took turns keeping Dozer company, since this was the same hospital he used for any issues with his prosthetic leg. Henry did not talk for fun, but he was all kinds of interested in discussing the FAFO. They came up with several theories about why they were trying to use bioweapons—greed, lust for power, and revenge—but none of them really fit.

  Homeland still didn’t know the origins of the FAFO, despite all their resources. There were hints they were connected to several different, competing groups out of the Middle East, but no solid evidence.

  Dozer demanded his computer so he could keep up with paperwork and scour the internet for any mention of the FAFO.

  Two weeks after he’d been m
oved to the VA hospital, a car bomb went off in Washington, D.C. It was nowhere near any government buildings, but it raised the alert level for law enforcement all over the city, and every government or military building tightened already-tight security. He wanted to get on a plane and make sure Carmen was okay by doing an inch-by-inch inspection of her entire body. It would take him hours, but there was an edge of desperation to the desire he found troubling. He practically shook with the need to see her, ensure her safety, and wrap her in Bubble Wrap.

  If only he could go back and fix whatever it was he’d done that made her run from him in Afghanistan nine years ago. She’d trusted him then. But ever since he’d walked into her office as her assigned liaison, she’d treated him like a stranger.

  He got the message—keep things professional.

  The same heat simmered beneath the surface of every conversation as it had nine years ago, though. He’d never forgotten her, never stopped wanting her, never gave a second thought to his plan to seduce her all over again.

  She was a puzzle he found endlessly fascinating, and she challenged him in so many ways. He wanted to call her, to find out how her meetings were going, to find out if she was getting through to all the political people in Washington who had no idea how dangerous the FAFO might be with the wrong pathogen in their hands. To find out when she was coming back.

  Instead, he’d had to make do with watching a couple of interviews of her with reporters, providing verifiable facts and explaining medical shit so almost anyone could understand what the CDC was doing and why. Poised and professional, she handled some of the fiercest journalistic piranhas with calm confidence.

  He was so fucking proud of her.

  He missed Carmen. Missed her quiet, missed her sharp wit and intellect. He wanted her sexy voice in his ear and her body under his hands. Even nine years later, he could still remember how she felt—warm with silky-soft skin that shivered under his touch.

  They were driving him nuts, his memories of her. He wanted to feel her again, and if he didn’t soon, he might just finally lose all the marbles DS claimed he didn’t have.

  A week later, his doctors finally gave him permission to go home to convalesce.

  Dozer was packing up his go-bag when someone knocked and came into the room. Someone with a curvy figure, hair corralled into a bun on the back of her head, and a glare on her face.

  Fuck, he’d missed her.

  “Hello, stranger.” He put every moment of thinking about her into his voice. Instead of smooth, it came out rough. Shit. He cleared his throat and tried for casual. “I thought you were in Washington.”

  She paused, either his words or his tone throwing her off. “I was. I answered questions until I damn near lost my voice.” She said it like someone would say they’d had to stick their head in a guillotine.

  He pasted a smile on his face. “Good work.” The circles under her eyes were almost black, and the rest of her face looked paler than usual. “Did you just fly in?”

  “No, I got in last night. I went into the office early.”

  “So, no sleep?”

  She frowned.

  Something was bothering her. Her shoulders were almost hunched over, and…had she lost weight?

  “You’ve got bags under your eyes, and you’re missing your usual energy.” Shit, that came out sounding like a damn accusation. Way to go, asshole. He cleared his throat and resumed packing. “I mean, maybe you’re working too hard.”

  When she didn’t respond, he stopped to give her his complete attention.

  “What happened?”

  She took in a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

  “About…?”

  “Your role with the CDC and whatever it was you were doing in Afghanistan after…”

  She wanted him gone. He could tell by the closed-off expression on her face and the slightly lifted set of her chin. She expected him to fight her. Was waiting for it. Braced for it.

  It set off an emotional bomb deep in his chest and woke the pissed-off protector inside him. The one who wanted to grab hold of her and kiss her until she looked at him with the world in her eyes again. He would not let anyone hurt her, not even himself.

  Some of it must have shown on his face, because she backed up a couple of steps.

  If she got any whiter, she was going to faint.

  He slid closer to her and said with all the softness he could muster, “You look like you just took a gutshot. So, I’m going to ask this again. What happened?”

  “Two men from the Justice Department met me at the airport last night. They wanted me to go with them to give them a statement about the incident in Afghanistan.” She put air quotes around the word incident. “They were very unfriendly when I said no.”

  “They’re supposed to be assholes. That’s part of what they do—put the fear of God into people.” He sidled another step closer, within reaching distance. “A lot of sh…stuff happened that day.”

  They’d survived more than one attempt to kill them that day.

  He’d fallen in love with her that day.

  And the next day…she’d run from him.

  The memory combined with the ache of healing bones in his chest, creating a caustic mix of concrete plugging up his lungs.

  The struggle to breathe made him stop and think past the pain, past the panic.

  Wait a second… It had been nine years. They’d given all the reports, statements, and evidence right after the incident. Why the fuck would anyone need anything from either of them now?

  Something about what she said sank in.

  “They wanted you to go with them?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Yes.” Her gaze was angry, confused, and…sad.

  His stomach dropped in a sickening rush, and the world spun in place for a long second. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t. The drill sergeant was picking me up for an emergency meeting with the CDC director, who wanted a report on my briefings in Washington. DS told the two agents exactly how they could go fuck themselves. They tried to intimidate him physically, but, well, you can imagine how that went.”

  “He raised his voice?”

  “He ripped them apart so badly security came to see what all the fuss was about. The two men left after promising things would get tougher for me.”

  The dizziness retreated.

  He was going to kiss that old man when he saw him next.

  “I need to make a call.” He grabbed his phone and punched in the number of a buddy of his in the Justice Department. A minute later, he had his answer.

  “No one from the Justice Department was sent to interview you or bring you in.” He saw his own hand shaking. Someone had tried to take her. In a public place. In front of any number of witnesses.

  Who the fuck could be that brazen?

  “What?” She stared at him, her brow furrowed.

  “Someone tried to take you.” There was a snarl in his voice he couldn’t suppress. “Someone almost got you.”

  When he caught up with that someone, he was going to rip the fucker’s guts out.

  Carmen’s cheeks grew pink, and she swayed toward him.

  He stepped into her personal space and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her gaze was a little fuzzy when she met his eyes.

  That’s right. The only thing between you and being kidnapped last night was a fucking senior citizen.

  Swallowing hard, she steadied herself, her expression coalescing into cold resolve, and asked, “How likely would it be to identify those two men from airport security tapes?”

  He wanted to grin. She might just beat him to the someone and do some damage of her own.

  “Won’t know until we check,” he said with a grim smile. “But don’t make the request yourself. Go through Homeland Security. It’s standard operating procedure for us to review airport security.”

  She pulled out her phone.

  Someone had tried to take her.

  “All I need to do is grab my stu
ff in the bathroom and we can leave.”

  She made eye contact for a second before saying hello to whoever answered her call. Her expression told him she was tired, angry, afraid, and hanging on to her composure by a thread. A couple of assholes had impersonated federal agents and tried to pressure her into going with them.

  He was going to find those assholes and hurt them, too. Slowly. Repeatedly.

  Dozer went into the bathroom, a room large enough to accommodate a wheelchair. He didn’t bother turning on the light as he grabbed his razor and other toiletries. The room got darker when the door slowly closed on its own. Something that happened all the time, but it didn’t bother him enough to want to turn on the light.

  What bothered him was the extremely careful tone in Carmen’s voice when she said, “Can I help you?” to someone not him.

  “Where is Agent Dozer?” a male voice asked.

  The number of people at the hospital who knew his real name and that he was anything more than a veteran recovering from a bar brawl was small. A handful only, and he knew all their voices. This one wasn’t one of them.

  Dozer had been craving violence like a fucking junkie for days. It looked like he was about to get his fix.

  Knowing he was going to beat on some asshole gave him a calm he hadn’t felt since the explosion at the storage unit.

  He stepped out of the bathroom ready to use his fists to say hello to his new BFF.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday, March 30, 1:43 p.m.

  Carmen plastered a polite smile on her face as she answered the young man dressed in hospital scrubs and a white lab coat. He looked around the room like he was sure he’d left something in it but couldn’t seem to see it. Like maybe a sandwich?

  His right hand clenched something inside the lab-coat pocket at his hip. Something heavy. It pulled at the fabric with the right shape to be a gun.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re referring to,” she said, maintaining the polite expression. “My husband just moved into this room.”

  Behind him, the bathroom door opened slightly, and Dozer slipped out without a sound.

  She tried not to look at him but couldn’t help a quick glance, and the young man saw it.