Chapter One

Monday, March 17, 10:10 a.m.

The headache trying to drill its way out of John Dozer’s head was going to kill him, if arguing with the woman standing next to him didn’t do it first.

“I’m fine.” He glared at Dr. Carmen Rodrigues, who wasn’t quite his boss—almost, but not quite—and spread his arms wide. “Yeah, I’m a little beat up, but I’ve been doing physical therapy for over a week now. There’s no reason to keep me here in the hospital.”

Nope, he didn’t want to be in this hospital bed; he wanted to be in Carmen’s bed with her curvy body beneath him, and her dark brown, curly hair spread over a pillow while he kissed, licked, and stroked every gorgeous inch of her.

“Physical therapy to strengthen muscles performed while you’re still in bed doesn’t come close to making you ready to leave.”

He opened his mouth, but she wasn’t done talking.

“Someone tried to kill you, again,” Carmen said, her expression edged with a fury that only made him hotter for her. If an attacker strolled in, murder on their mind, John had no doubt she’d kill them with her bare hands. “Recovering from a gunshot wound, multiple hairline skull fractures, and a severe concussion will take time. You are staying in the hospital until I say otherwise.”

She took a couple of steps closer and thrust her index finger in front of his face. “And you will stop arguing with Gunner and Joy over everything. They’re here to keep you from damaging yourself further.”

“I don’t need round-the-clock babysitters who bicker more than we do to keep me company.” It was the flirting sort of bickering he and Carmen used to trade with each other—a secret language anchored by desire and need.

But that was a lifetime ago, when they were different people.

He missed it so much it hurt worse than all his injuries combined.

“It’s them or protective custody. Which would you prefer?” She vibrated with outrage, which was out of character. Unless she was using it to hide…concern? Overwhelming concern?

The worst of his pain disappeared as hope washed over his body in a wave of warmth.

“Well?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Which is it?”

Joy and Gunner or a couple of Homeland Security agents? No contest. Homeland wouldn’t waste a couple of agents on his babysitting detail. He’d end up with some kids who’d never seen any real action. Someone who’d follow the rules to the letter. At least Gunner and Joy knew which rules could be bent. Or broken.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll stop bitching, but I still think you should convince that overblown doctor to discharge me.”

“You stay until your skull is healed up enough to stop looking like Humpty Dumpty’s on an X-ray or a CT scan.”

There was something in her tone that made his gut tighten. He took another look at her—her professional clothing, and heels that said she was meeting with someone she wanted to take her seriously.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “You going somewhere?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I have to fly to D.C. and speak with the Surgeon General about the frequency of outbreaks, their link to terrorism, and what the CDC is doing about it. There have also been a couple of cases of measles reported in Vermont, which is an odd place for them to be popping up. I want to stop in and check on the situation.”

“So, only gone a couple of hours?” he asked, trying to make it a joke.

It fell flat.

“I’ll be gone a couple of days, which is why I want your promise to cooperate.”

Well, shit. She was going to force him to give his word to be a good boy. As much as he didn’t want to do that, he could see he was dancing all over her last nerve.

“I’ll be good,” he said, putting one hand on an imaginary Bible and the other in the air. “I promise.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“Really,” he added in a helpful tone.

A snort preceded her response. “I don’t trust you.”

All traces of humor and hope drained away, allowing pain to fill him again. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

At one time she had trusted him with her life, but something happened to destroy that trust nine years ago, and she still hadn’t told him what it was.

She stiffened, her mouth pinched tight, but she didn’t argue.

What the hell had he done to deserve this level of suspicion?

He let out a sigh of his own and spoke to her like he would his boss. “I’ll cooperate. I have some terrorists to hunt down, and I can’t do that if I can’t get medical clearance to go back to work.”

She gave him one sharp nod, hesitated, then strode to the closed door of his room. She opened it to chaos.

10:20 a.m.

A shout and the commotion on the floor four feet in front of her had Carmen yelling at John to stay where he was as she slammed the door shut behind her.

A man in his sixties was holding another man facedown with one knee, pinning him to the floor. The senior didn’t seem to have any trouble holding his captive’s hands behind his back.

“Stop wiggling, you little shit,” the older man said, his voice sounding like it was strained through several pounds of gravel. “Or do you want a broken arm?”

“I’ve called security,” a nurse said, a phone in her hand.

“Good,” the man said.

“Drill Sergeant?” Carmen asked. “What happened?” He didn’t like being called that outright, but since he’d spent the better part of thirty years as a drill sergeant for the Army, it got his attention quickly.

“This puke thought he could just walk into our boy’s room.”

“I’m not armed, old man,” the guy on the floor said as he continued to struggle. “I’m a journalist.”

“You’re a fuckwad,” DS said in a tone that sounded almost happy. “You’ve got a knife strapped to your leg.”

A knife? Frost invaded the base of her skull, then shot down her spine to the last vertebra. Was this man trying to kill John, too? No one outside of the CDC and Homeland Security should have known where he was. No one.

Behind her, John’s door opened. “What the fuck?”

She put a hand on his chest to stop him from going any farther, though what he thought he could do with bare feet and pushing an IV pole she had no idea. “Get back in that bed.”

He stared at the man on the floor. “Who’s this? Another fucking incompetent assassin?”

DS’s cackle rose above the outraged profanity-laced denials from his prisoner.

Carmen didn’t allow the noise to distract her. “Bed,” she said, making the word an order. “Now.”

John was going to argue, she could see it on his face, but he met her gaze and…stopped. After a second or two, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He gave DS and his detainee one last hard look then went back into his room.

Carmen closed the door behind him. That was much too easy.

“He’s got a phone.” DS thrust his chin to the right.

Carmen picked it up and searched for text messages and phone calls. “It’s a prepaid throwaway.”

Only one text: Atlanta General Hospital rm 321

A wicked winter wind slid into the room, coating the air in ice, extending its fingers along her ribs, stealing her breath. Someone had sent this information to an armed man.

The sound of booted feet jerked her out of the cold. Two security guards approached, their hands on stun guns holstered at their waists.

Carmen stepped forward. “The man on the ground is armed with a knife.”

That refocused their attention away from DS to the man he held down.

“Got any zip ties?” the older man asked.

One of the guards pulled a plastic tie out of a pocket and secured the suspect’s hands together, then he and DS grabbed the man under the arms and yanked him to his feet.

“Police are on their way,” one of the security guards said.

While it was the right thing for hospital staff to do, the police would just get in her way. Carmen went into John’s room, closed the door, then pulled out her cell phone and called her emergency contact at Homeland Security, currently John Dozer’s supervisor, Mark Rones.

“What’s going on?” John asked.

She pointed at the phone.

As soon as his boss answered, she explained the situation and the need for a couple of Homeland agents to take charge of their uninvited guest.

“What else do you want?” her contact asked. “Because you wouldn’t have called me unless you needed something big.”

“John Dozer has been blown up, shot, and now someone with a knife tried to get into his room. He’s not safe. He needs to be in protective custody.”

“Oh, hell no,” John said. “I’d rather go home with Joy and Gunner. Or DS, even.”

“I don’t have people to spare for guard duty,” Rones said. “Local law enforcement may be able to help, but that’s only a short-term solution. A week or two at most.”

“I’ll handle it, but as soon as he can be moved, I want your permission to”—how could she put this without sounding ridiculous?—“to take him and disappear.”

John stopped ranting and barked out, “What?”

After a three-second pause, Rones asked, “Have you got a place to go?”

“I think so.” She hoped so.

“Fine. Go. Take him. I hope you know what you’re doing, doctor.” He hung up.

She put her phone away. So do I.

Continuing to ignore John’s increasingly irritated questions, she exited the room, closing the door in his face. Again. “Homeland Security is sending a couple of agents to deal with him,” she said to the security guards and DS.

“The police will be here in a couple of minutes,” one of the guards said.

“That’s fine, but this isn’t a simple case of assault. Homeland Security will be taking this man into custody. Excuse me.” She waved at DS to join her as she walked back into the hospital room.

“I can’t believe how popular I am.” John’s voice was saturated with sarcasm. “I should have gotten myself blown up and shot years ago.”

The drill sergeant laughed.

Carmen glared at both of them. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is,” John argued. “I’m stuck here, unarmed, while idiots with knives try to finish me off.”

So, he’d heard enough to figure out the situation.

“You’re not helpless,” DS said. “Your mouth seems to be working just fine, and that IV pole is very threatening.”

John rolled his eyes. “And I have either Gunner, with his own concussion, or an old geezer for a protection detail.”

“Don’t think of me as old,” DS said, his tone mild. “Think of me as skilled, experienced, and irritated.”

“Enough,” Carmen said, then took in a deep breath and met DS’s gaze. “As soon as his doctor clears it, I’m moving John somewhere more secure.”

“Where?” John and DS asked at the same time.

Nothing good could come from the two of them agreeing on anything. “Somewhere no one will be able to find you.”

“That’s going to be quite the trick.” DS angled a thumb at John. “He’s going to need hospital-level medical care for a while.”

“Not going to be a problem.” She gave John a hard stare. “Someone just tried to get in here and stab you with a sharp, pointy object. You’re going.”

“Why didn’t I get sent to this hideaway in the first place?”

“You were on Homeland’s turf, not mine. They picked it. Until this latest attempt to kill you, I wasn’t thinking worst-case scenario. Now I am.”

John Dozer smiled. “Always start with worst case. That way, if things turn out better, you’re not disappointed.”

Cocky bastard.

“So glad you agree.” She turned to DS. “Can you handle the police until Homeland gets here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m going to see if I can track down John’s doctor and find out if we can move him.”

A noise outside the door hand them both tensing. A woman in scrubs appeared.

She smiled at them. “Hi, I need to take John Dozer for an MRI scan.”