On the Hunt (12 page)

“Odd brain scans and low activity in the frontal lobe,” Deke answered.

Nora frowned. “All right. How far has the infection spread?”

He lifted dark eyebrows. “Why do you think it has spread?”

She leaned her head back against the headrest. “You wouldn’t call in a second team unless we were facing a pandemic. How many?”

“Not many.”

She studied him. He’d always been tough, but as he’d shed the look of youth, he’d gained a masculine hardness with an edge. Sexy and dangerous. Intriguing enough that her instincts yelled for her to stay away from him while her heart dared her to jump right into his fire. “What’s the urgency?”

Deacan leaned toward her, bringing the scent of wild forest and man. “The survivors continue to carry the bacteria.”

Nora blinked. “You mean they’re still contagious after surviving? That’s unheard of.”

“Yes. Trace amounts of the bacteria have been found in their saliva. If they bite and break the skin, well . . .”

“Are you sure?” Finding a cure was crucial, although many people were carriers of deadly bacteria, like MRSA, and they rarely infected people.

“Yes.” Deacan leaned even closer. “One of the infected students is the president’s daughter.”

Nora stilled. “One of the survivors?”

“One of the two experiencing what seems to be schizophrenia. Maybe.”

She breathed out. “Oh.”

Deacan gripped her knees through the blanket. “It gets worse.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Aye. She bit the president. He’s fighting the fever right now.”

Deke finished showing Nora around her new digs in D.C. just as dawn broke. For now, the government had taken over a nice condominium high-rise a block from the Washington, D.C. office of the CDC, which normally dealt with policy issues. “We’ve created an emergency command post in the D.C. office of the CDC, and we’ve commandeered a new building with secured lab space for your research, as well as this condominium building,” Deke said.

Nora shook her head. “This is serious, Deke. We should be at CDC headquarters in Atlanta.”

“No. We need the experts here, close to the president, so we transferred Lynne Harmony’s entire team from Atlanta for now. Her apartment is one floor up.”

Nora whirled on him. Brown eyes, brown hair, fiery temper. A woman born in Argentina with the mind of a statistician and the body of a goddess. “I do not work for the government, Deacan.”

God, he’d missed her.

For now, he had her exactly where he wanted her, and he intended to make good use of his time.

She somehow glared harder.

His lips tickled, and he bit back a smile. “You’re going to get a migraine if you don’t relax your shoulders.” Did she still get migraines? He hoped not. One time she’d been in so much pain, he’d wanted to knock her out until it passed.

“Fuck you,” she said quietly but with impressive authority.

He let the grin loose. “When did you start swearing?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Graduate school. I’d ask when you turned into such an asshole, but I already know the answer.”

He lost the smile. Yeah, she knew exactly when he’d turned into a dick. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Huh?”

He’d never apologized, now had he? “I said that I’m sorry. Sorry I left you for war when you were only eighteen and returned so fuckin’ damaged. Sorry I was a jerk to live with.” He leaned back against her closed door, his gaze remaining steady. “More sorry I let you go when I did.” Although she’d done well without him.

She blinked. “You’re forgiven. Now you should leave.”

Quick, wasn’t she? Yet she didn’t hide her emotions any better now than she had in the past. “I’m not forgiven.”

“You are,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “We were young, and it was a long time ago.”

Yeah. Eight years seemed like an eternity. “I have somebody in Seattle packing you several bags of clothes, and I have extraction teams rounding up your team from BioGlax Pharmaceuticals.”

Her shoulders straightened in pure defiance. “I would like clothes, but for now, I need to call my team and provide an explanation. The guys with guns will scare them.” She dropped her chin, and her fingers played with a string from the small white top.

He shoved down a groan, remembering full well how those fingers had felt wrapped around him. “Sorry—no calls about Scorpius. We have the building blanketed and are monitoring every call.”

Anger heightened her high cheekbones. “You can’t do that. The government can’t do that.”

“Yet we have.” He’d been entranced by her naiveté from day one. That and her serious side. The woman couldn’t relax unless seriously wrestled to the ground. One of the highlights of their marriage had been his taking her down and exploring how to play and just have fun. Who lightened her load now? “You seeing anybody?”

Her mouth dropped open and then shut just as quickly. “You’re joking.”

“No.” He wasn’t. Not even close.

Her chin lifted. “None of your business.”

“You’re my wife. It is my business.” The words escaped in a full-on Scottish brogue before he could think twice.

“We’ve been divorced for years.” Bright red spiraled through her high cheekbones, and educated precision clipped her diction. Her brains, her sheer intelligence, had intimidated him once.

Now they impressed the hell out of him. “The second I saw you, I forgot about the divorce.”

Her eyes flashed. “That’s why we haven’t been in the same state for eight years.”

Actually, he’d been across seas, then dealing with the aftermath in his brain. Now, after years of working through the hell, he was calm. Settled. Alone. And alone, without her, was the last thing he wanted to be. “I’ve changed.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good,” he whispered.

She blinked, and a cute frown wrinkled between her brows. “We’re not doing this right now. Leave, Deacan.”

She was the only person in the world who’d ever used his full name, and the second she slipped back into using it, his world righted itself. Until that very moment, he hadn’t realized he’d been off. “You want me to leave?” he asked.

Her stubborn chin lifted again. “Yes.” Then she waited, daring him. Definitely daring him.

This was the most fun he’d had in years. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal.”

Her lip curled. “No deal.”

He shrugged. “I could stay all night or put you under guard. Work with me.”

She hissed and pressed both hands to her curvy hips. “You’re going to blackmail me?”

He wouldn’t, but besides anger, he could see something else in the eyes that still haunted him late at night. Interest. Definite interest. “Yeah. One dinner. You and me.”

While he’d deny it to his grave, he held his breath as he waited for her answer.

Curiosity. Deep and glimmering, her eyes were full of questions. “Why?”

Why indeed. “I want to know you again.”

Her head jerked.

Yep. She’d never expected the direct approach—not with her crappy childhood. Her mom had died when she was a toddler, and her father, a genius statistician with a definite antigovernmental agenda, had moved her to the States to be raised by a nanny. Not horrible, but not with much warmth.

She’d never been able to turn away from warmth.

His heart beat faster. So close. Finally. So close to her. He smiled and tried to appear harmless. “One dinner, and you’re free.” They’d always been too different, but he’d thought that his new job, new life, would be soothing to her. Well, before Scorpius had risen.

She rubbed her nose, her body visibly relaxing. “One dinner tonight—just to catch up.”

“One dinner and one kiss.”

She breathed out. “No kiss.”

“Just one.” He opened the door. “Unless you’re afraid.”

She scoffed.

His lungs compressed. Years ago, the woman could never resist a challenge. Hopefully she hadn’t changed.

She hovered, for the slightest of moments, obviously fighting the impish side of herself. Her head went back. The devil lit her smile, she glided toward him, stood up on her toes, and brushed her lips across his.

Heat flashed into his belly so fast his vision narrowed in focus. To one woman and one moment. “That wasn’t a kiss.” His voice lowered to a huskiness he couldn’t hide.

Her head tilted in a flirty move he remembered well. “Oh?”

Yeah. He’d forgotten. Actually forgotten how easily she could tempt him and how much the woman liked to play with fire. Even as the thought spun through his head, he moved.

His hands clamped her upper arms, and he dragged her into him. Her gasp breathed heat against his lips. The second her body slid against him, his cock tried to punch through his zipper. Yet he fought his natural inclination and slowly, so damn slowly it hurt, lowered his face to hers.

Then he forgot
slow
.

His lips covered hers, and he drove his tongue inside, swallowing her instant moan. Fire. Lava heated his blood, burning his nerves, lighting everything he was on fire.

He’d forgotten. How, he’d never know. But he’d forgotten the burn.

The incredible, unreal, so fucking deep shot of raw electricity only she could create. Even as he kissed her, bending her back, taking so hard, anger tried to claim hold. Fury at her for taking away
this
. This feeling nobody else on earth could actually experience. The feeling of
them.

He tangled his fingers in her hair and twisted, tugging her head back so he could go deeper. His other arm banded around her waist and lifted. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her body gyrated against him, and her mouth filled his with soft little gasps. The male inside him, the one full of instinct with no intellect, roared for him to take. To yank off her clothes and spread her out on the floor. To feast for hours.

Her fingers curled into his chest, digging through his shirt, nearly unleashing everything inside him he’d tried so fucking hard to tame.

He jerked his head back, his chest panting.

Stunning. Her eyes had darkened further, glowing with hunger. Her lips shone red and tempting. She sucked in air. “No,” she whispered.

“Why not?” he asked, already knowing the answer. When they’d been together, they’d been raw. Real. When they had ended, he’d been nothing. Had she lost herself, too?

She shook her head and released his shirt. “I can’t do it again.”

Yeah. He got that. Relying on training, sucking deep to remember who he’d become, he let her slide to the floor. Then he took a step back. He didn’t know how to be coy, and he didn’t have time for games. Plus, the woman deserved the truth and always had. “I want another chance, Nora.” If for no other reason than to get her out of his fucking blood for good. Out of his dreams.

She blinked, her eyes widened, and she tried to step back, but the wall held her in place. “Absolutely not.”

He respected her, and he’d walk away if she insisted. But too many emotions glimmered in her eyes. Anger. Fear. Denial. Beyond those, beyond the gates keeping him out, he saw something else. Desire. Yeah. It was there. So he smiled and stepped away. “We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight, after what’ll probably be a long day at work for us both. My place—right next to yours down the hallway. You bring the wine.”

 

 

An hour after meeting with her bewildered team and being ferreted to the CDC, Nora strode into Lynne’s temporary office in the D.C. location. “Your jeans are too tight on me,” Nora groused.

“Nora.” Lynne dropped a stack of papers onto her disaster of a desk, hustling around to give Nora a hug. “I’m sorry about the secrecy—I tried to call you.” She leaned back, light green eyes warm but marred by dark circles beneath them. “They took our phones. I had to leave Dean Winchester with a neighbor.”

“You are way too attached to that cat.” Nora forced a smile and studied her best friend. Lynne had piled her curly dark hair up on her head, revealing a graceful neck and very pale skin. At five-six, they were about the same height, but Lynne was definitely more slender. “You look exhausted.”

Lynne laughed. “I am.” She tucked her arm through Nora’s and pulled her from the room. “The jeans and shirt fit you fine. I’ve heard your ex is running the military side of this for the president, but I haven’t met the Scottish bastard yet. Have you seen him?”

“Aye,” Nora said in an imitation of his brogue. “Bossy as ever.”

Lynne tugged her closer. “Sexy as ever?”

“Yes.” Nora sighed. “Definitely bad boy to the bone.”

Lynne sniffed. “Very bad. Doesn’t care about the Constitution at all.”

“I know, right?” Nora stiffened her shoulders. “My team just arrived, and they are not happy.”

“None of us are happy.” Lynne halted as Zach Barter loped around the corner, blond hair ruffled, tie askew.

He stopped, and his eyes bugged out. “Dr. Harmony.
The
Dr. Harmony.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Lynne, this is my assistant, Dr. Zach Barter. He’s, ah, heard of you.”

Zach shoved wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “I’ve read the paper you published last month about sequencing bacterial DNA. Twice.”

“Twice.” Lynne lifted an eyebrow. “That’s nice.”

Amusement bubbled up through Nora. “Actually, considering Zach has an eidetic memory,
twice
is quite the compliment.”

Lynne smiled. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Dr. Barter, although you refused my job offer a year ago.”

Zach flushed a deep red across his clean-shaven face. “I went where the money was, Doctor. I’m a whore.”

Lynne threw back her head and laughed, tightening her hold on Nora. “So is my best friend. Thank goodness she lets me borrow her fancy shoes when necessary.” She launched into movement again. “We’re heading to the main lab to look at the bacterium up close. Want to join us?”

“Well, sure. I’m not much of a lab guy and usually deal with the methodology. Not a big fan of the icky stuff.” Zach pivoted and fell into step. “I’ve been studying the medical histories of the two students fighting what your doctors misdiagnosed as schizophrenia.”

“Stop saying
icky
.” Nora bit back a smile. “Zach. Gentle talk here about other doctors.”

He squinted blue eyes through the glasses. “That was gentle.”

Lynne sighed. “Geniuses.”

“Yep.” Nora glanced at her best friend as they wound through long hallways. Soon red and yellow biohazard signs became visible and then lined the way. “Aren’t we geniuses?”

“Not like I am,” Zach said without a hint of ego.

True. Nora nodded. “What’s the correct diagnosis for the two surviving students who have changed behaviorally, oh brilliant one?”

He scratched his head and tripped over something on the smooth white tile. “Damage to the frontal cortex, I suspect. Scans show a decrease in activity but no physical abnormalities. Emotional changes and lack of empathy are the biggest indicators.”

Nora lifted her head. “Did either of the students exhibit sociopathic tendencies before being infected?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Lynne answered tersely. “We’re just starting to get a handle on this, and I’ve even been studying up on the oxytocin receptor gene, even though it deals with aggressive behavior more so than empathy.”

“Huh.” Nora glanced into a pristine lab with advanced security measures. A red Biohazard Level 4 designation was displayed above one window. “I can’t believe I’m being allowed to play in Lynne Harmony’s lab.”