Page 3

C on was a patient hunter . He read through the file and waited for Sophia to come back to her office. What he discovered could’ve easily turned his hair gray.

He’d heard of Ebola in Africa and Middle East Respiratory Syndrome in Asia, but there were dozens of other hot spots of one infectious disease or another all over the world. The file focused on cases in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. It also mentioned locations in South America and the United States where outbreaks of malaria, West Nile, and antibiotic-resistant E. coli were causing hospitalizations, with some fatalities.

Also included were task lists of what responders had done to combat these outbreaks. Some of them required more work than others. Months of medical support for the areas affected might be needed, while others were resolved in a few weeks, or even days.

It all depended on how many people were infected and how easy it was to determine which bug or virus caused the outbreak.

The Army’s policy of using Standard Operating Procedures wouldn’t work. SOPs only helped if the situation was predictable. Infectious diseases typically weren’t.

Sophia walked into the room as he was trying to figure out how any one doctor could be involved in all these cases.

She gave him a tight smile and asked, “Learn anything?”

“Yeah,” he said giving her a once-over. “You’ve got to be half octopus to be involved in all of these outbreaks.”

She blinked.

Not what you were expecting to hear, sweetheart?

He watched her mentally regroup and tilt her head to one side. “What are you reading?”

“It’s a summary of all the current outbreaks your team is monitoring. What I can’t figure out is how any one group can keep track of all this without having a whole lot more people working for them than I see around here.”

“We obtain a lot of information from other groups with people on the ground at the site of the outbreaks. The Centers for Disease Control, the United Nations, Doctors Without Borders, the World Health Organization, and others all share information.”

“Does the information flow both ways?”

“Yes and no. Max determines what information we pass along.”

“Do you have any input?”

“Some. It’s usually case by case.”

She was talking to him, giving him no attitude for the first time since meeting her. “Speaking of cases...I asked why you hadn’t been given any self-defense training. Eugene said it was due to a medical condition. Can you tell me more about that?”

Her back went rigid, but she still answered him. “It’s a blood disorder.”

Hmm, not a lot of help there. Her flat expression did not invite further questions. “There are a couple things I could show you right now that could help if someone ever grabs you like that moron did.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Moves every woman should know.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I’d have to get permission—”

He cut her off. “Nah, we don’t need to go to a gym or anything. I can show you right here. If it’s safe for you. Is it?”

“Does it involve me punching boards or getting tackled?

“No, I will have to put my hands on you, but no hits, kicks, or strikes. I want to teach you what to do.”

She paused, a tiny frown pinching her brows together. “Okay. Show me.”

He stood and moved to the middle of the room, which gave him about five feet of space on all sides. “What you want to do is make whoever has a hold of you let go. That close, neither one of you has a lot of leverage or room for a powerful punch or kick, so whatever you do, it’s got to count. There are three or four top spots you want to aim for.”

“The testicles,” she said right away.

“Yes, but sometimes that pain takes a second or two to register. The kneecap and the toes are equally accessible and hurt like a son of a bitch immediately.” He waved his hands at her to come at him. “Go through the motions.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, now, so if you really have to do it, you won’t hesitate.”

She shrugged and pretended to knee him, kick his kneecap and stomp on his foot.

“Good, now,” he said turning her around and wrapping his arms around her from behind. Her breasts were a tempting warm weight against his arms, her butt cradling him made his cock take notice. Desire curled in his belly, but the memory of the moron assaulting her tamped it down. Teaching her to defend herself was more important. “What are you going to do to get away?” he growled into her ear.

She wiggled experimentally, but he kept his grip on her, which was difficult to do and keep the rising erection in his pants away from her. “I don’t know.”

“Lean forward,” he said into her ear. “Shove your butt back. That’ll give you some space between us.”

She did that.

“Now kick my kneecap with your heel or stomp on my foot. Go through the motions.”

She delivered a slow-mo mule kick to his knee.

“That move hurts. It’ll make it easier for you to get away. If your attacker is still hanging on to you, extend your arms, link your hands into one fist then rotate your arms to break his hold.”

She followed his instructions and freed herself.

She spun around, looking surprised. “You let go.”

He grinned. “Nope. You incapacitated me and broke my hold. Let’s do it again a little faster.”

Excitement changed her face, made her seem younger. She didn’t hesitate, turning to present her back to him.

He wrapped her in his arms again and said, “Do it.”

“Sergeant,” a voice barked. “Take your hands off her.”

Con released her and was three feet away before Colonel Maximillian was finished yelling.

“This is unacceptable. No, it’s reprehensible behavior,” the colonel continued. “Take a seat in my office until the MPs arrive.” He turned to Sophia. “Sophia, I’m sure you’ll want to press charges for—”

“For what?” she snarled. “Him showing me how to defend myself from an attacker who grabs me from behind?”

Max rocked back on his heels. “Say again.”

“Sergeant Button wasn’t assaulting me, he was demonstrating how to get away from someone grabbing me from behind.”

“He wasn’t...oh.”

“Sergeant, can we try again?” she asked Con.

Shit, he was going to have to prove he wasn’t doing anything funny with Sophia before the colonel made that call to the military police.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave him her back and he got a grip on her again. “Go.”

She bent forward, pushing him back with her ass, straightened, rotated her arms around and was free in about three seconds.

“Excellent,” he said. “Now what do you do?”

“Kick you in the testicles and run?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned, gave her boss a narrow-eyed look and hooked a thumb at Con. “I’m starting to like him.”

“Starting?” Con asked.

At the same moment, the colonel asked, “Really?”

She looked at the two of them like they were five years old and she had caught them putting a frog down someone’s shorts. “Don’t let it go to your heads.”

***

S ophia was already at her microscope when Connor walked into her office at 0800 the following morning.

She’d met with Max at 0700 to discuss the more worrisome disease hot spots in their part of the world. Neither had brought up the subject of Sergeant Connor Button.

She’d woken with the decision to accept him as her partner, with conditions, but she wanted to talk to Connor first.

“Morning, Sergeant,” she said with a glance at him before returning her attention to the slide she was evaluating.

“Morning, Dr. Perry.” He paused, then asked with audible curiosity, “What are you looking at?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the slide. “A blood smear. I’m checking the morphology of the cells.”

“Morphology... Size, shape, color?”

“Yes, all that and more. Normal cells look one way. Abnormal, every way else.” And this was where he’d check out of the conversation like every other soldier she’d ever met.

Only he didn’t check out, he tilted his head to one side and asked, “What can change how a cell looks?”

Wait, had that been an intelligent question?

She pulled away from the microscope to meet his surprisingly inquisitive gaze. “Everything from your diet to a virus. Sometimes the change is so specific, I can tell you which vitamin you’re deficient in or which virus you have without doing any other tests.”

“Huh. So—” He cleared his throat. “What else do you do?”

“You tell me,” she said instead of answering the question.

“I think I know the basics. You go into areas where possible biological weapons have been used. Determine what agent has been released, and recommend treatment and cleanup procedures.”

“Change the word agent to pathogen and you’ve got most of it. Treatment and clean-up can be complicated depending on the pathogen.”

“Understood.” He gave her a masculine nod that said the conversation was finished.

He was so wrong.

“That’s a nice, neat description, but in real life, there’s nothing nice or neat about it. It is dangerous, messy, and often disgusting work. I could be wading through dead and partially decomposed bodies for samples, or if the pathogen is nasty enough, having to watch people die before a treatment can be determined or administered.”

She’d been in those destined-to-die shoes and sometimes pitied the doctors and nurses who’d had to appear strong and upbeat, despite their belief she couldn’t be saved.

She’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d lived. In a cancer hospital for children, the word remission had an almost mythical quality to it. A state they all attempted to achieve. Not everyone made it.

“War is never pretty and I’ve seen my share of gruesome.”

Right, he’d been blown up. Body parts were never easy to see, and if those parts belonged to a friend...perhaps he did understand.

“Point taken.” She studied him a little more. She didn’t want a babysitter, a man who’d watch her like the hawk he resembled. He’d see more than he should, but refusing him without a reason Max would accept wasn’t possible. She’d been bothering Max as little as six months ago to get out into the field. If she changed her mind and said she didn’t want to go, Max was going to want to know why.

She wasn’t ready to tell him she was too sick to go on assignment. Leukemia had taken its toll on her body, the chemo and radiation therapy leaving her with weak bones and a disorder that had plagued her on and off for years even after she was declared cancer-free. Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. In the last six months her ITP had gotten much, much worse. Her bone marrow had slowed production of platelets, special blood cells that played a big role in clotting blood. Without them, a person could bleed to death from cuts received while playing with their cat.

She was taking medication that spurred the bone marrow to produce more blood cells, but her platelet count had dipped dangerously low. She was going to have to start infusing units of the tiny cells into her blood in order to maintain a normal-looking life. Unfortunately, transfused platelets didn’t survive near long enough.Units of plasma were another option, but they had the same limitations as platelets.

Her next physical was only four months away.

She wasn’t going to pass.

If her ITP carried on like it was, she might not even survive. The cancer that had nearly taken her life when she was a child might kill her yet. She and Max had talked about a bone marrow transplant in theory about a year ago, when her platelet count had been hovering around the low end of normal. There was no guarantee she’d find a match. Even if she put her name into the system, she’d have to go home, and provide all the reasons for the move. It would effectively end her work with the military.

If she wanted to do something worthwhile, now was the time. Before it ran out. Before the little voice in the back of her head stopped whispering hurry, hurry and started to scream it.

It appeared her partner had the same goal. If she could keep the severity of her ITP a secret, she might... Oh, this was ridiculous. She was kidding herself. She wasn’t going to be able to keep it a secret for much more than a couple of weeks. Unless she and her babysitter were deployed soon, her body wouldn’t have the strength or stamina to do the part of her job she craved to do. She wanted to help people. People who’d been forgotten, abandoned, and abused.

Sophia stared at the broad shoulders of this soldier, so desperate to do his job he was willing to babysit the geek. Could she work with him?

It had taken only an hour to get rid of the last guy Max had tried to pair her up with. Mr. Army Way or No Way had been intelligent enough, but with all the flexibility of a piece of steel. The one before that had treated her like a porcelain cup, fragile and delicate, rushing to do everything for her. Terrified she’d stub her toe and the damn thing would fall off.

She needed a partner, a real one.

“If I take you on, I expect to be part of the decision-making process. None of this it’s for your own good shit. My situation is unique enough that you can’t know what’s good for me or not.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” he replied. “From what I’ve learned from Colonel Maximillian and Private Walsh, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. I’m not here to give you orders, it’s the other way around.”

“You’ll take my orders, no questions asked?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll be honest, I probably will ask a lot of questions, but not to argue. I need to understand what we’re doing and why, so the next time we’re in a similar situation, I’ll know what to do or what not to do.”

That was a pretty good answer, but she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. She couldn’t. The wrong man could end her career months too soon. “Got any other questions?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Quite a few. You’re one of the people who identify which pathogen is causing an outbreak, right?”

She nodded.

“I get how you do that here. I mean, this is a fully equipped lab, but how would you do it in the field?”

“See those large duffel bags?” She pointed around the microscope at three duffel bags, parked along the wall to one side of her desk. “That’s my portable level two lab-in-a-bag.”

Interest sharpened his gaze. “You got one of these for level three or four?”

“Level three, yes. For level three, you add protective clothing and respirators. Level four, no. Level four requires an entirely separate air system for the lab tech and the sample. We haven’t quite found a way to do that so the lab can be broken down into bags.”

“What about oxygen tanks, like firefighters?”

“No. It’s not just about the personnel. Level four pathogens must be kept isolated completely. They can be airborne, and have few or no treatment options.”

“That is a problem.”

He said it like he’d found a puzzle he wanted to solve. Should she compliment him on his apparent intellect, or would he find that insulting?

He sat down on the floor next to the bag and braced an arm on his knee. “So, tell me what I need to know to not get in your way or irritate the hell out of you?” He gave her a crooked smile.

Holy shit. A man who could probably kill people with one hand and was considerate? A man who was built to protect and was smart enough to read her body language and extrapolate reasonably accurate insights about her emotions?

Not possible.

“Okay, now this is too good to be true,” she said, leaving her microscope to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips. “No man is this perfect. What’s wrong with you? Did that explosion scramble your brains?”

He put his hands up like she had a gun on him. “Hey now, no need to get upset. I’m just trying to be accommodating.”

“Yeah, telling me what you think I want to hear.” It was an insidious kind of lie. She knew all about the lies people tell to keep a dying adolescent hopeful. It seemed like they were all she’d heard after being diagnosed with cancer. Lying to make someone happy in the short term never resulted in anything good in the long term.

He frowned and lowered his hands. “What’s wrong with trying to get along with people?”

“I don’t want a cardboard cutout for a partner. I want someone who’s going to be honest with me about who he is. Otherwise how can I possibly anticipate what you might do in a dangerous situation?”

“You’d rather I was an asshole?” he asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

She shrugged. “At least assholes are honest.”

He studied her for several seconds, his lips tightening. Finally, he let out a gusty breath. “Look, my job is to keep you safe, or as safe as is possible in our line of work. I have to be adaptable to do that. I’m probably going to nag you to death with questions until I wrap my head around what exactly it is that you do. I’m trying to make your life easier, not more difficult.”

He didn’t get it. And that was okay.

Thank God he wasn’t perfect.

She opened her mouth to tell him she wanted him as he was, but he added one more comment to his explanation. “I’m trying to make my life easier too, if that helps any.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and absently scratched his left shoulder.

He meant that. He was genuinely trying to fit in and not paying lip-service to his assignment. She might be able to work with that.

She slowly sat on the floor a few feet away from him. “Tell me about yourself.”

He took in a breath, but she wasn’t finished. “Tell me about your work. You’re Special Forces, right? I don’t know much about what makes you different from other soldiers or why you’d make a better backscratcher than a Marine or some other guy.”

“You know more than a lot of people. They think a Special Forces soldier is the same as a Marine or an Army Ranger. We’re not.”

She waited silently for him to continue.

“Every group of highly trained soldiers has a specialty. For Navy SEALs it’s rescue and targeted attacks, Army Rangers it’s advance scouting, Special Forces soldiers are infiltrators and trainers. Special Forces soldiers are trained in more than just fighting techniques, weapons, and tactics. We’re expected to learn multiple languages, understand other cultures, and work within foreign indigenous armed forces. We train other armies to use the latest weapons, adapt strategy to fit their cultural needs, and environment.” He stopped and tilted his head. “What your boss said is true. We’re taught to throw the fucking box out and that the more creative you are, the better off you’ll be.”

“How long have you been in the Special Forces?” She’d give a little and use the name he seemed to prefer.

“Since I got out of college. Six years.”

“What’s your degree in?”

He gave her a puppy-dog look. “You’ve got to swear not to laugh.”

“Why? Are you planning to say something funny?”

“No, but everyone laughs anyway.”

“Um, I’m not very good at that. If it’s funny, I’m going to laugh.” She’d been told her practice of telling people exactly what she thought was a vice rather than a virtue. Better he found out now than later.

He stared at her for a couple of seconds. “Are you always this...honest?”

She grinned at him. “Are you calling me an asshole?”

He banged his head on the wall behind him. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You already answered that question. Answer mine.”

He sighed. “French literature.”

She couldn’t have heard that right. “What?”

“French literature,” he said louder.

“Really? Isn’t that one of the most useless degrees to get, a language fine arts degree?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Yes, it is. Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

He probably spoke French, and he said they liked their soldiers to speak multiple languages. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Why, so you can call me an asshole in all of them?”

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his frustrated tone. “I only know English, so that’s unlikely.”

He muttered something under his breath then said, “I speak seven. English, French, German, Spanish, Arabic, Dari, and Urdu.”

He looked so irritated she couldn’t help herself. “Is that all?”

He gritted his teeth and said, “I’m a communications sergeant. I specialize in—”

“Communications?” she finished for him, coughing instead of laughing outright at his annoyance.

“I can use any gun, rifle, or rocket launcher ever made. I’m a qualified sniper and I particularly enjoy setting traps to capture or kill enemy personnel. I’m an expert in combat jujitsu and I’m an instructor for the Special Operations Combatives Program in hand-to-hand combat.”

Her bodyguard was a ninja. Now that was interesting. She folded her legs and hopped up on her knees. The grin on her face felt...strange, but there was no stopping it. Here was an opportunity to learn something that might help her reach her goal. “So,” she began, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Can you teach me some more self-defense moves?”

He bared his teeth in an expression that was even scarier than his blank face. “I don’t teach defense. I teach offense.”

There was a difference? “Oh.” Rather than feel threatened by his display, she found it...exciting.

“The contractor you work for failed to give you any self-defense training?”

“I’m a specialist. They accelerated my intake.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea to omit the training, but they wanted me onboard as fast as possible.”

He studied her with a frown on his face then said, “Is that the only reason?”

She sighed. No avoiding a direct question. “I have a chronic medical condition that would have kept me from getting into the military.” She held out her hand. “For example, I get some pretty big bruises sometimes.” She cleared her throat. “My skills, however, are desperately needed. As a contractor, I don’t have to have self-defense training, only operational training.”

He examined her hand, then nodded. “I can modify things so you don’t accidently injure yourself.”

“Awesome.” When had her breathing gotten so fast and choppy? No. She wasn’t... She didn’t think he was good-looking, did she? He was built like a tank, which should have scared her to death, but it didn’t. He didn’t.

He stared at her. “This is serious, Dr. Perry. Not a game or something you use to impress people. If you do it wrong, you can kill someone.”

“I’m taking it seriously, I just...” She stopped to try to find the right words. “No one has ever taken the time to show me that sort of thing. I never played sports in school because I was always years younger than my classmates. In college, I was so busy with my classes and other...” Summing up the weirdness of her adolescent years in one word was not easy. “Stuff. I never had any opportunities to learn how to do something physical.” Ha. Like her parents would have allowed her to do anything that might result in an injury, no matter how slight. “My spatial orientation isn’t very good, so I’d probably be terrible at martial arts, but I’ve always wanted to learn Tai Chi. It looks relaxing.”

Connor’s face lost its hard edge. “I could teach you that. It would be a good place to start, especially if you’re not used to a lot of physical activity.” He looked her over—what he could see of her with her legs tucked underneath her, anyway.

What did he see? A normal woman of twenty-four, or could he tell she was different? Most people only ever saw the differences and never the parts of her that longed to be ordinary.

“You seem in good shape now.”

She was about to tell him about being sick as a kid, which had resulted in a couple of medical oddities making any sort of physical training difficult, but Max’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

“What the hell are the two of you doing on the floor? Having some kind of Girl Scout meeting?”

“I wish I’d had a chance to be a Girl Scout. They learn all kinds of cool things,” she said as she got up, giving Max a cool look. What was his problem? “Connor was checking out my portable lab and telling me about some of his training and skills.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Did you know he’s a hand-to-hand combat instructor for the Special Forces? He’s going to teach me how to defend myself.”

Con nodded and slowly got to his feet as well, his gaze not on Max’s face, but on a spot behind her boss. Was someone else there?

Max asked another question before she could check for herself. “Is that it?”

“No. He also speaks seven languages and is qualified to shoot any weapon the Army has.”

“I’m a combat jujitsu instructor for the Special Forces and I’m good at it,” Connor said, crossing his arms over his chest, his low voice rolling across the room like a storm. He glanced at her, but it was quick, his gaze going back to that spot just outside the door.

“I don’t think that kind of advanced training is appropriate for Dr. Perry, Sergeant Button.” Another man appeared from behind Max. General Stone.

Sophia had only met the general once, when she was first stationed here four months ago. He’d looked at her, nodded, and left.

She didn’t like the look on his face now. Angry and impatient.

“Sir,” Connor began. “She’s completely deficient in her self-defense training. If she’s well enough to be here doing the work she does, why wasn’t she given the basics?”

“She’s a doctor, brought in under medical dispensation, that’s why,” the general barked. He took several steps toward her and she found herself backing up into Connor as the general invaded her personal space.

Idiot. Both men were going to think she was some kind of frightened child. She’d faced far worse things than a man with a war on his mind. She lifted her chin and was about to ask the general to step back, but Connor slid around and in front of her.

The general stopped his advance, nodded in a satisfied way and stepped back.

“I disagree, sir,” Connor said, shifting to one side before she could ask. “That’s exactly the reason why she should have all the fundamentals, plus some.”

“You have a problem with your orders, Sergeant?”

“No, sir. My orders are to act as bodyguard, translator, and Special Forces liaison for Dr. Perry. She’s a high-caliber asset with unique abilities and knowledge. Self-defense skills should be required for such an asset.” He glanced at Max, and Sophia was surprised to see censure in his gaze.

Max turned to her. “You want to learn self-defense?”

“Yes, I do.” She managed to restrain herself from bouncing on her feet with eagerness. “Within reason, of course.”

Max glared at Connor. “Do not put a single bruise on her, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant, as you mentioned, she’s an asset we can’t afford to lose,” the general said. “Are you prepared to take total responsibility for her training and safety?”

Connor’s face froze for a moment, then hardened. His lips twisted into a scowl. “Are you sure you want me to have that responsibility? You know I won’t follow the rule book when it comes to her safety. I will train her. I will ensure that she can defend herself vigorously.”

“I’m beginning to think, in Dr. Perry’s case, that might be necessary.”

Connor thought for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes, sir. I accept Dr. Perry as my responsibility.”

“Good.” General Stone bared his teeth and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Max and the general left the office.

The general’s warning had levels of shit to it she’d never smelled before.

Wait. Teaching her martial arts, even Tai Chi, was going to put him into close physical contact with her. He might see more of her than she wanted him to. See the big, ugly bruises that often appeared on her body even when she hadn’t walked into something. See the scars on her arms where the doctors had to cut into her to search for veins damaged from IVs.

She wanted him to treat her like any other soldier, but working with him that closely might prove to him that she was anything but ordinary.