Chapter Twelve

12:03 p.m.

Someone knocked on Carmen’s door.

Just as well. Dozer was certain she wasn’t going to say anything he wanted to hear. He stepped back, straightened her shirt, then made sure his own clothing was presentable before he went to the door and opened it.

DS and Rawley stood waiting. DS looked bored, while Rawley held himself so rigidly he almost looked like he was made of bone china. One tap and he’d shatter.

He made himself smile, and, fuck a duck, it hurt. “Dr. Rodrigues has been expecting you.”

Rawley ignored him and shouldered his way past him like he was a wide receiver with the ball and only a few feet from the goal line.

DS shook his head and also came into the room.

“I just received a preliminary account of the dead from the bombings,” Rawley said to Carmen. “Twenty-three people. Eight of those worked for the CDC. If you’d talked to me before sending them, maybe I could have prevented those losses.” His tone made it clear he blamed her for the deaths.

After glancing at Carmen’s face, Dozer decided closing the door might be wise.

DS leaned over and whispered, “I’m going to need popcorn for this one.”

Why was it that every single person standing in this office had a short fuse, including him?

Carmen stood and smiled at Rawley. It sent a shiver up his spine. DS was right. She was going to turn the other Homeland agent inside out.

“I didn’t need to talk to you. I discussed the situation with your supervisor before I ever knew you’d been assigned as my liaison. My people were doing their jobs, following every procedure and process in the CDC’s and Homeland’s books. Do you have a problem with those procedures and protocols?”

Rawley didn’t speak for a couple of seconds. Then it was a low “No.”

“Good.” She came around her desk to stand a few feet away from Rawley.

The man turned to face her, his hands held loosely at his sides, like he was readying himself for a fight.

Dozer looked at DS, then moved to flank Rawley on one side, while DS flanked him on the other.

“Here’s what I need from you now,” Carmen said to him. “I’m sending another team to Orlando. This bomb blast has only magnified the potential of an outbreak. Unfortunately, the possibility of it being connected to terrorist activities raises the risk of another explosion to high. My people need more protection. I’m counting on you to organize and provide it.”

Rawley frowned, then tilted his head to one side. “What about investigating the bomber?”

“I believe that also falls under your purview,” she said.

His frown intensified. He pointed at Dozer. “What about him?”

She sighed. “He’s coming along as my personal bodyguard.” She regarded Dozer. “That is all you’re authorized to be responsible for.”

Relief made him dizzy, and he had to brace his legs a little farther apart to keep upright. “Understood, ma’am.”

Rawley gaped at him, suspicion all too easy to read on his face. Finally, he turned back to Carmen. “I have a few logistical questions.”

“Excellent. Do you have them ready now or would you like to send them via email?”

He studied DS and Dozer before saying, “I’ll email them to you. Is it okay if I set up my laptop in your break room for now?”

Dozer cleared his throat. “The liaison has an office just down the hall. It’s full of my crap, but it’s got everything you need to do what you need to do.”

“I’ll show him,” DS said, taking a step toward the door. “Come on, Homeland.”

Eyes narrowed, Rawley looked at each of them for a second, then said, slowly, “Okay.”

DS led the way out. Once Rawley was gone and far enough away that he couldn’t overhear them, Dozer turned back to her. Her face was closed off and unreadable.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Though he expected the apology to pacify her, anger twisted her lush lips. “Shut up.” She went around to sit behind her desk again, giving him her back. “Get ready to move out.”

His jaw dropped in shock, followed closely by indignation. He’d apologized. Goddamnit. “How did I piss in your oatmeal this time?”

Her head snapped up, and she whirled around in her chair, baring her teeth at him. “If you’re sorry for kissing me, fine. But next time you get angry, punch a pillow or something.”

Hold up. She thought…what?

“I’m not sorry for kissing you. What I’m sorry for is grabbing you like some prehistoric asshole right before I kissed you.”

Her expression didn’t change.

She didn’t believe him.

“Fuck it.” He leaned over the desk, slid one hand behind her head so she couldn’t retreat, and kissed her again. She opened her lips as soon as his tongue slid along the seam of her mouth, and he drank her in. She tasted better than any whiskey and went to his head faster than any drug. The little moans that rose out of her throat made him want to tug her onto the desk so he could strip her and take her right then and there.

Except, the door was open, and any lab lizard or asshole agent could walk in and catch them.

He pulled away slowly. “I’m not sorry for any part of that kiss, either.”

Her cheeks were red, and her lips were swollen, and she was so angry he could almost see the steam coming out of her ears. “I hate you.”

God, he loved getting her riled up. He smiled and kissed her nose. “I hate you too, doc.” He released her and stepped back. “I’m going to get my shit together. What’s our ETD?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped, her narrowed gaze attempting to burn a hole through his head. “Maybe two hours.”

Nope, she wasn’t going to calm down any time soon.

“That works.” He paused in the doorway. “Are you going to squawk if I put you in body armor?”

“As long as it will fit under my hazmat suit,” she said, her smile razor-sharp. “I’m fine with it.”

His smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Outstanding.”

He left her staring at him like he was an unknown pathogen and she was the only antibiotic capable of shutting him down.

Dozer strolled down the hall and into his office.

Old office?

Shared office? Whatever.

Rawley was sitting behind the desk, typing and talking on the phone at the same time. He glanced at Dozer as he walked in, but when Dozer waved him off and proceeded to grab a go-bag off the floor, he turned his attention to the two tasks he was doing at once.

Dozer added the body armor to the go-bag. He’d ordered it a few months back but hadn’t seen the need for her to wear it until now. He also opened his ammunition lockbox and packed three extra clips for his service weapon. He tossed in a fourth clip, just for fun.

After putting his backup gun into his ankle holster, he dug out the Bluetooth earpiece for his work phone. He didn’t change out of his jeans and Henley shirt, but he did shove his Homeland Security ID into his back pocket.

Rawley ended his call and stopped typing.

Dozer glanced at him. “Ready to go?”

“Almost. Since there are two locations, I’ve requested a dozen agents, plus a dozen more local assorted law enforcement personnel to form a security team.”

Dozer nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Just make sure they all know I’m riding herd on Dr. Rodrigues. If they get in my way, I won’t be nice about removing them.”

“With your list of injuries”—Rawley’s tone was scathing—“I don’t think that’s much of a threat.”

He was done taking Rawley’s shit. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Rawley rubbed his face. “These people are going to be a disaster to look after. When a bomb goes off, they go toward the danger. They don’t stop and consider the security risks, and they don’t look for follow-up bombs, attacks, or attackers. A dozen people looking after them at each site isn’t enough.” He paused for a moment, looked Dozer up and down, then continued. “And you, you’re as bad as they are.”

“These people aren’t law enforcement. Their focus is on looking after public health. They go to the bomb site, hospital, or refugee camp because that’s their job. Outbreaks like this one are their responsibility. Our job”—Dozer gestured at himself and Rawley—“is to keep them as safe as possible while they go about their work. We don’t get in their way. We don’t bitch to our command or theirs. We help. If you can’t or won’t do that, say so now. Rodrigues will need to request a new liaison ASAP.”

“Or you reclaim the job yourself,” Rawley suggested with a smug smile.

“What part of I’m not officially here did you not get?” Dozer demanded. “I don’t have medical clearance to go back to work yet. So I’m doing the only thing Dr. Rodrigues will let me do, and that’s protect her back. Unofficially.”

“What does that even mean?” Rawley asked, not backing down an iota.

“It means that I don’t get to do any investigation or coordination or speak for Homeland Security. I’m not going to flash my ID around or offer sound bites to the media. As far as you, the entire HS department, and the public are concerned, I’m in an apartment somewhere slowly losing my mind to boredom.”

“You’re not going to shove your way back into the liaison role? Really just sit back and passively watch for threats?”

Dozer threw his hands in the air and said to the ceiling, “I think he’s finally got it.”

“If you’re not tagged medically fit, how are you here, doing what you’re not supposed to be doing?”

Was the guy really this dense?

Dozer took in a deep breath. Maybe using small words would help. “I’ve been working with the CDC for several months now. In that time, none of their employees have ever given less than one hundred and ten percent. They serve America and the world. They’re willing to put their lives on the line in the interest of public health. They’ve earned my respect. They’ve earned the director’s respect. Yeah, I’m beat up. My chest hurts, since my ribs are still knitting themselves back together, but it’s nothing that will slow me down or hamper me from ensuring Rodrigues is safe from any outside safety concerns.”

“Outside?”

“Bacteria and viruses are out of my league.” He studied the man’s confused, frustrated face. “Are we good now?”

Rawley finally nodded.

Dozer picked up his go-bag and left the room.

Narrow-minded, ambitious prick. A prick who could cause a lot of trouble if he didn’t lose his shitty attitude toward the people he was supposed to protect.

The hallway had a variety of people in it in small huddles, their go-bags at their feet. Dozer counted ten.

He made his way past people, knocked on Carmen’s doorjamb, and stuck his head inside. “How’s it going?”

She had changed out of her business attire and into surgical scrubs, including what looked like combat boots on her feet. Scuffed, scratched, and scarred boots. She looked damned sexy in an outfit that was designed not to give that impression—it was the woman who was sexy, not the clothes.

“Need any help?” he asked her.

She pointed at the far wall. “Could you grab those two bags over there?” She pocketed a small tablet, then zipped up the bag on the desk and lifted it. “Let’s get to the airport. We can pick up the rest of our people along the way.”

Our people. He basked in the glow of the warm fuzzy feeling those two little words produced. “Got a hazmat suit for me?”

“Yes. Henry is bringing it up.”

A few minutes later, Henry arrived with another large duffel bag. By that time, the hallway was full of people and their gear, including Rawley.

CDC vans were waiting to take them and all their gear to the airport. He said little but followed Carmen wherever she went. As they trooped into the parking garage, she said, “It’s like I have a huge, armed shadow.”

Dozer smiled. “That is exactly what it should feel like. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

She sucked in a breath, her mouth pulled down and her eyes tight. As if he’d punched her in the stomach.

What the hell was going on with her? “Carmen?”

She put up a hand, palm facing him. “No. Just…no.”

When she turned away as if that moment of pain hadn’t happened, he discovered he’d had enough of this pretending shit.

He leaned in close so he could whisper in her ear. “We need to talk on the plane.” He was sick and tired of her putting up barriers between them. Their chemistry was as mind-blowingly combustible as it was the first day they met, and they’d had the hottest sex he could remember last night, but now she wouldn’t talk to him.

She didn’t look at him or say anything, but her whole body became rigid with what he was guessing was anger. Good. Maybe if he pissed her off enough, she’d yell at him. That would be better than the silence he’d been receiving for months.

Their ride to Orlando was a commercial flight, but the only people on board were Carmen’s people. He made sure to sit next to her. Folks settled all over the plane, and since they didn’t fill it, little groups sat together with space between them.

No one sat immediately behind or in front of Carmen’s and his seats. If they kept it down, he might have time to figure out what was bothering her.

After they took off, he nudged her shoulder. “Are you going to explain why you flinch every time I say something that even remotely refers to a relationship?”

And there it was again: another wince.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked in a low, tense tone, trying to keep his volume down.

“No.” Her answer was knee-jerk fast. “It’s just…complicated.”

“It seems fairly simple to me,” he muttered. “I’m hot for you—you’re hot for me…”

She chewed on her bottom lip.

“What am I missing?” he asked.

She sucked in a deep breath, let it out, then turned her head to meet his gaze. “How old am I?”

For a moment he was too surprised at the question to think straight. He settled on exasperation. “That is a fucking trick question.”

She smiled that irritatingly sad smile again. “Yes, it is, but the trick isn’t on you. It’s on me. How old am I, John?”

Shit. She was using his first name. She only ever used his first name when he was in trouble. The kind of trouble no man wanted to be in. “I don’t know.”

One brow rose. “You never looked it up in my file?”

“Why would I?”

“Curiosity?”

He leaned closer. “Your age isn’t what holds my interest.”

She stared at him steadily, unmoved by his attempt to flirt. “An estimate would be fine.”

“You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Fine, but I want your assurance you won’t get angry with my answer, no matter how off the mark I am.”

“I won’t get angry. You have my word.”

Of all the questions a woman asked a man, this one was completely unfair. They’d met nine years ago, and back then, she was fresh out of medical school. She even joked about still having a price tag attached. She wasn’t just a doctor, though; she specialized in infectious diseases. That would add a few years to her schooling.

Her hair was silver and all-natural. She’d had more than a couple of gray hairs when he first met her. Now, it was almost solid silver. Yet her face didn’t match the age her hair tried to tell you she was. No wrinkles. A few laugh lines, but not many. Not enough.

Maybe she was one of those geniuses who finished high school early. So, maybe she was seventeen when she started university. That would mean at least eight years in medical school, plus nine years since they met.

“Thirty-four.”

She smiled slowly. “That’s not bad. Most people guess older, which, when I tell them my actual age, makes for a lot of awkwardness.”

Everything she said punched him in the stomach. “How old are you, Carmen?”

“Thirty.”

“That would make you…twenty-two when I met you?”

“Twenty-one. I had my birthday while we were running for our lives that…night.”

“Twenty-one.”

Nine years ago, he’d been twenty-nine, nearing thirty, and she’d been… Holy fuck. “You had boyfriends before Afghanistan, right?”