Dead Alert (32 page)

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Authors: Bianca D' Arc

BOOK: Dead Alert
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Commander Sykes had been busy while Emily and Sam had been sleeping. Of course, he had the full might of the American military and the backing of the President himself to get this handled. She’d be surprised if he was anything less than efficient in the carrying out of his duties.
“We’re going to stay on station at the ranch and the surrounding woods until we’re certain none of the creatures escaped,” he continued. “The combat team will be patrolling the woods every night for the next week at least, in alternating shifts, flowing in by helicopter. We’ll use the burnt out ranch as our base of operations while the decon teams go through the area with a fine toothed comb. I don’t want any trace of this contagion left behind.”
Nods of agreement met that statement and a few of the folks around the giant table made notes. Sykes tapped a key on the keyboard in front of him and the lights went to fifty percent. A projector came on, displaying a flow chart with names.
“This chart lists all the members of the original science team. The ones marked in red are dead. The yellows are being watched to confirm that they have given up the line of research completely. They’ve already undergone rigorous investigation and have been cleared but they’ll be watched—probably for the rest of their lives, in one way or another. The lady in green is our own Dr. McCormick.” Sykes shot a smile at Sandra and it was clear to Emily there was something going on there. “As you can see, we’ve accounted for everyone from the science team.” He tapped another key and a new chart came up on the screen at the far side of the room. “This lists all those we know have been involved in one way or another. Same color coding applies.”
Emily noted Scott’s name up there in red and her own, listed in green. Just that easily, one life ended and another life went on. A chill went down her spine, remembering how Scott had died. Sam’s hand reached for hers under the table, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance. There were precious few names in green on that chart. Most were red. Red for dead.
It was driven home to her how many people had died because of this science experiment. And she didn’t even want to think about all the people who’d been savaged by the zombies or killed by the scientists and sent out to make more like themselves. So many people had died.
And yet, if not for this awful chapter in the secret history of military science, she never would have met Sam. Life had a funny way of working out sometimes. Good had come of the evil. As she looked around the room, she saw more than a few couples sitting side by side as if they belonged together.
“As of today, we’re in wrap up mode,” Sykes went on. “Before you ask, the team will stay together. For the next few weeks we’re going to be working up on the mountain, making absolutely certain that nothing remains of the zombie research. After that, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Special Operations Command, and the President have agreed that the majority of our little combat group has too many attributes that might set us apart if we were to return to our original assignments. I’ve made the argument and it’s been accepted that the combat team in particular, would be better utilized as a separate Special Ops group. The affected team members will be notified over the next week or so and offered a chance to remain part of the new formulation of our team. This is a turning point for us all. The reason we joined together in this special team has been eradicated. We’ve done our job and achieved our goals with the grateful thanks of the leaders of our services and our nation. We have our pick of assignments. As a result, I’ll be scheduling individual meetings with all of you over the next few weeks. I want you to think about where you want to go from here. I’ll want honesty from you when we meet. You’ve earned your right to choose your destiny—something few soldiers are granted. So I want you to think about it. In the meantime, are there any questions?”
Sykes waited a moment but nobody seemed eager to speak.
“Then I guess it’s back to the mountain for most of you. Then we have a few weddings to attend—including my own. I’d like to officially invite all of you to the party. Sandra and I are getting married the second weekend in November. Hold the date. Details will follow as to location and time.”
Everyone broke protocol then and cheered for the couple. Sykes grinned, accepting congratulations from everyone as Sandra beamed at his side. The meeting broke up soon thereafter, most people stopping to congratulate the commander and Sandra. They looked happy. As happy as Emily felt when Sam took her hand in his and reminded her of the question he’d asked the night before.
“Do you still mean it?” she breathed, while the rest of the room focused on Matt and Sandra. “Or was it just the fatigue and stress talking?”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam looked almost insulted. “You said yes. I’m not letting you back out now.” His hands went around her waist and he dragged her closer. Close enough to kiss, though he didn’t. He made her think about it though, and she wanted it . . . bad.
“I was just making sure,” she told him, wanting that kiss more and more.
“None of that, you two,” Henry chided them as he stepped right next to them. “You’re in uniform.” He sent her a mock stern look that made her laugh.
Sam let her go by slow degrees, letting out a heavy sigh. “He’s right. No hanky panky while in uniform. But wait ’til I get you alone, Em.” He leered at her in a teasing way that made her laugh. Especially when Henry held up one hand and made a face.
“I do
not
want to hear this.” Henry made a show of turning away but she knew it was all in fun.
Henry and Sam had hit it off and she thought they’d become good friends given time. They both loved aircraft and they both loved her. She marveled at that for a moment. They both loved her. In different ways, of course, but Emily counted herself lucky and blessed to have two such wonderful men in her life.
“Sam,” Sykes came up to them as he was on his way out of the room. “I want you to take a couple of days off. You’ve earned it.” He clapped Sam on the back and Emily could see why people responded to the commander’s easy charm and confident leadership. “Thank you again, Ms. Parkington.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
“Please, call me Emily.”
“Emily.” He gave her that full-wattage smile. “After things settle down a bit, I’d like to talk to you more about Praxis Air. There is a possibility that we could take some of those cargooutfitted jets off your hands, or, if you’re willing, we could hire Praxis for some of our travel. Groups like ours like to fly under the radar from time to time.”
Emily was intrigued and more than willing to discuss business with the military. She would have a huge mess to clean up when she got back to Wichita. Scott’s death was going to throw the company into disarray and she had a feeling she was going to end up taking on a lot of the day-to-day responsibility he’d once had.
“By all means. I’d be happy to work with you again, sir.”
“I have to thank you also for bringing Henry to my attention.” He nodded toward her twin. “Because of him and the good work we’ve done on this mission, I’ve been given the go ahead to form a new kind of combat team. Last night’s action will have long reaching aftershocks. I think a lot of good things will come out of our success, and that’s due, in large part, to you, Emily.”
She felt the heat in her cheeks. She wasn’t used to such high praise especially from a man she read as hard to impress.
“Thanks, commander. That really means a lot coming from you. And congratulations on your engagement. Sandra really helped me cope last night. She’s a great person and a fine doctor.”
“You can say that again.” His smile widened as Sandra stopped next to him. The room was mostly empty now except for the five of them.
“So what about you two?” Sandra asked point blank.
Sam surprised her by putting his arm around her waist and drawing her to his side. She hadn’t been sure he wanted to go public so soon, but it appeared she’d been wrong.
“We’re engaged,” Sam announced with simple candor.
“Hot damn,” Henry shook his head but he had a smile on his face.
Sandra and the commander added their smiling congratulations. Emily felt the enormity of the moment. Sam was her future as she was his. They had a lot of logistics to work out and she had an airline to save, but they’d figure it out. Together. Forever.
 
Sam and Emily took the time off that Sykes had given Sam together. They flew back to Wichita where the news that Scott Southerland had died in a freak accident had already been delivered. The cover story had been supplied by the military and the very organized commander. The lawyers were working through the particulars of who exactly owned the majority position in Praxis Air now, but Emily didn’t really care. She’d fix the broken airline with whoever ended up in charge.
She had better things to do over those first few days. Like making love to her new fiancé. They closeted themselves in her bedroom and only came up for air when they got hungry. In fact, with the leisure time, Sam introduced her to some new and exciting things that she knew they’d have a lifetime to explore.
He’d found some silk scarves she’d bought in her travels in Asia and they immediately became instruments of pleasure. He held her captive, teasing her skin with the soft slide of silk, then he added a new twist, tying her hands to the bedpost. She wasn’t sure she would enjoy it at first, having never dared anything like this with the men in her past. When it came down to it, she hadn’t trusted those other men enough to let them tie her up. Sam was a different story. She’d already trusted him with her life. It wasn’t much of a leap to trust him with her pleasure.
Facing death together had brought them an intimacy and a level of trust she’d never experienced in a relationship before. This time, she knew their love was built to last. Few couples went through what they’d faced together. They’d been tested in the crucible and made stronger for it.
“What are you thinking about?” Sam asked as he teased her skin with the soft fringe of one of her silk scarves.
“You.” She squirmed under his skilled touch.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I’m thinking about you, sir, and what you do to me.”
He grinned as he guided the scarf fringe down over her breasts, pausing at the peaks that made her shiver. He watched her with a hungry, patient gaze as the scarf drifted downward over her abdomen, making a ticklish area suddenly become an erogenous zone.
“And what is it, exactly, that I do to you, Captain Parkington?” Using her title was just another part of the wicked game he’d introduced to her. It was a game of gentle dominance and sweet submission and he played it really, really well.
“You drive me crazy, lieutenant. Crazy in the best possible way.”
He lowered his head to spread licking kisses over her abdomen, letting his tongue circle her belly button.
“I like the sound of that, captain. You’ve earned a reward.”
She nearly shrieked when his head trailed downward even farther, pausing between her spread legs to torture the most sensitive place on her body. She skyrocketed upward with his first touch and he held her there, just touching the tips of the stars for an excruciating, incredible time out of time. He knew just how to play her body now. He was the master of her pleasure in every way.
When he moved back, letting her come down just a bit from the plateau of pleasure, she sagged back against the bed. Her arms and legs were tied. He’d secured her hands together above her head. Her legs each had a scarf around the ankle and were spread apart. He’d left enough room for her to squirm but she wasn’t getting free until he untied her.
After the pleasure he’d given her over the past hour, she didn’t really care if he never untied her. But that wasn’t really fair to him.
“Don’t you think it’s time for your reward, lieutenant?” Her gaze drifted upward lazily, over his impressive abs and awesome chest to meet those blue, blue eyes she loved so much.
His smile was another thing she loved and he gave her one now. “I think you’re right, captain.”
He slid over her, taking his place between her thighs, pushing deep. There was no hesitation, no insecurity. He simply glided inside, into the place he belonged. He owned her. As she owned him.
After the long session of foreplay, it didn’t take much to send her into orbit again. He kept her there with a slow, steady rocking rhythm. She couldn’t believe his willpower but he had proved to her time and time again over the past few days that he was in complete control of himself . . . and her. It had become a personal challenge to make him lose control.
She’d succeeded a time or two, but only at the very last moments before climax. That’s when he’d decided to tie her up, so she couldn’t ply her tricks on him, or so he’d said. She knew darn well he’d enjoyed her taking control for those moments, but it was all part of the game and she was a willing player. She’d play with him for the rest of their lives.
And every now and again, she’d come out on top.
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“T
ell me you did not tell the barbarian Scot that he could court me.”
Jemma Ramsden was a beautiful woman, even when her lips were pinched into a frown. She glared at her brother, uncaring of the fact that most of the men in England wouldn’t have dared to use the same tone with Curan Ramsden, Lord Ryppon.
Jemma didn’t appreciate the way her brother held his silence. He was brooding, deciding just how much to tell her. She had seen such before, watched her brother hold command of the border property that was his by royal decree with his iron-strong personality. Knights waited on his words and that made her impatient.
“Well, I will not have it.”
“Then what will you have, sister?” Curan kept his voice controlled, which doubled her frustration with him. It was not right that he could find the topic so mild when it was something that meant so much to her.
But that was a man for you. They controlled the world and didn’t quibble over the fact that women often had to bend beneath their whims.
Curan watched her, his eyes narrowing. “Your temper is misplaced, Jemma.”
“I would expect you to think so. Men do not have to suffer having their futures decided without any concern for their wishes as women do.”
Her brother’s eyes narrowed. She drew in her breath because it was a truth that she was being shrewish. She was well past the age for marriage and many would accuse her brother of being remiss in his duty if he did not arrange a match for her. Such was being said of her father for certain.
Curan pointed at the chair behind her. There was hard authority etched into his face. She could see that his temper was being tested. She sat down, not out of fear. No, something much worse than that. Jemma did as her brother indicated because she knew that she was behaving poorly.
Like a brat.
It was harsh yet true. Guilt rained down on her without any mercy, bringing to mind how many times she had staged such arguments since her father died. It was a hard thing to recall now that he was gone.
Her brother watched her sit and maintained his silence for a long moment. That was Curan’s way. He was every inch a hardened knight. The barony he held had been earned in battle, not inherited. He was not a man who allowed emotion to rule him, and that made them night and day unto each other.
“Lord Barras went to a great deal of effort to ask me for permission to court you, Jemma.”
“Your bride ran into his hands. That is not effort; it is a stroke of luck.”
Her brother’s eyes glittered with his rising temper. She should leave well enough alone, but having always spoken her mind, it seemed very difficult to begin holding her tongue.
“Barras could have kept Bridget locked behind his walls if that was his objective. He came outside to meet me because of you.”
“But—”
Curan held up a single finger to silence her. “And to speak to me of possible coordinated efforts between us, yes but an offer from the man should not raise your ire so much, sister.”
The reprimand was swift and solid, delivered in a hard tone that made her fight off the urge to flinch. Her brother was used to being in command. His tone was one that not a single one of his men would argue with even if she often did. But that trait was not enhancing her reputation. She noticed the way his knights looked at her, with disgust in their eyes. When they didn’t think she could hear them, they called her a shrew. She would like to say it did not matter to her, but it did leave tracks like claw marks down the back of her pride. Knowing that she had earned that slur against her name made her stomach twist this morning. Somehow, she’d not noticed until now, not really taken the time to recognize how often she quarreled with her brother. He was a just man.
“You are right, brother.”
Curan grunted. “You admit it, but you make no apology.”
Her chin rose and her hands tightened on the arms of the chair as the impulse to rise took command of her.
“Remain in that chair, Jemma.”
Her brother’s voice cracked like a leather whip. She had never heard such a tone directed at her before. It shocked her into compliance, wounding the trust she had in her brother allowing her to do anything that she wished. The guilt returned, this time thick and clogging in her throat.
“Has Bridget complained of me?” Her voice was quiet, but she needed to know if her brother’s wife was behind her sibling’s lack of tolerance.
“She has not, but I am finished having my morning meal ruined by your abrasive comments on matters concerning your future. You may thank the fact that my wife has been at this table every day for the past six months as the reason for this conversation not happening before this.”
Bridget, her new sister-in-law, had taken one look at the morning meal and turned as white as snow. No doubt her brother was on edge with concern for the wife who had told him to leave her alone in one of the very rare times Bridget raised her voice in public to her husband. Curan had slumped back down in his chair, chewing on his need to follow his bride when Jemma had begun to berate him.
Her timing could not have been worse.
But hindsight was always far clearer.
“I will not speak against our father and his ways with you, Jemma. However, you will not continue as you have. You were educated well, just as my wife, and yet you spend your days doing nothing save pleasing your whims. You have refused to see Barras every time he has called upon me as though the match is beneath you—it is not.” Her brother paused, making his displeasure clear. “Well, madam, I believe a few duties will help you place some of your spirit to good use.” Curan drew in a stiff breath. “I will not force you to wed, because that was our father’s wish. Yet I will not tolerate anyone living in this castle who does nothing to help maintain it. You may have the day to decide what you prefer to do, or on the morrow I will have a list of duties given to you. Food does not appear from thin air, and you shall help make this fortress a decent place to reside.”
Her brother stood up and strode away, several of his knights standing up the moment their lord did to follow him. Conversation died in the hall and the sounds of dishes being gathered up for washing took over. Jemma watched the maids and cringed. Shame turned her face red, for she noticed more than one satisfied smile decorating their lips.
Standing up, she left the hall, seeking out the only living creature that she could trust not to lecture her.
But that was only because a horse could not talk even if she often whispered her laments against its velvety neck.
In the dim light of the stable, she moved down the stalls until she found her mare. The horse snorted with welcome, bringing a smile to her face, but it was a sad one. Jemma reached out to stroke the light gray muzzle, the velvety hairs tickling her hand. Storm had been her constant companion since her father’s death and she realized that she had never really dealt with that parting. Instead she’d refused to admit that her sire’s departure from this life had cut her to the bone.
Instead of grieving, she had become a shrew, irritating everyone around her, and escaping to ride across her father’s land while the rest of the inhabitants toiled at all the tasks required to maintain a castle keep.
Curan and the others labeled it selfish but in truth it was running. She had swung up onto the back of her horse and ridden out to avoid facing the fact that her father was dead. It had never been about escaping her chores or thinking the match with Barras beneath her, she had sought out the bliss of not thinking at all which removed the need to grieve from her mind. She simply ignored the fact that time was passing, choosing to remain locked in a few hours that never progressed. That way, she didn’t have to face the sadness that threatened to reduce her to a pile of ashes.
Barras . . .
The burly Scot was something else that she liked to avoid thinking about, yet for a far different reason. He looked at her as though he wanted to touch her. Even now, a shiver rippled down her spine at just the memory of the way his eyes traveled over her curves, tracing them, lingering on them while his gaze narrowed and his lips thinned with hunger. Some manner of sensation twisted in her belly and it set her heart to moving faster but she was unable to decide just what it was. Or maybe she had merely avoided naming it to remain locked in her fairy bubble where she didn’t have to face the grieve that wanted to assault her.

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