HeatedMatch (4 page)

Holy crap. Just what they needed today. Another female
stalker hoping to be admitted to the breeding program. Would they continue to
line up for the privilege of becoming a breed mate if they knew what his mom
had gone through? The new Program groupies thought they were signing on for a
man who would love them despite any obstacles because of a scientific DNA
connection. Well, not always.

Today’s groupie looked familiar, but it was hard to get an
identity bead from the tiny, grainy black-and-white image.

“Is that my sister?” Chase demanded, now also staring at the
computer monitor.

“Gavin,” Shep ordered, looking intently at the monitor.
“Please go remove the camera from Ms. Stanton and send her packing.” Then he
leaned over a small box next to the monitor and spoke into it, ignoring the
surprised murmurs circling the room that Chase had a sister who was trying to
step foot on campus. Only a select few knew Chase had a sister born to the
father who’d left the Program long ago.

Adam circled back to his seat, the remaining points of his
lecture forgotten. He tried to refocus, but his attention kept shifting over to
the screen and the woman at the center of it. Loren. It was her. Same hair,
same build. Same sexy little stance as she scoped her surroundings. What was
she doing here? He found his chair and prayed no one noticed his suddenly rapid
breathing and heightened alertness. She was coming closer, he could almost
smell her alluring mixture of flowery shampoo and musky skin already.

“Gentlemen.” Shep interrupted his jumbled thoughts. “One
last order of business before we adjourn… I mentioned this to Adam last night,
as he is your team leader, but now I mention it to all of you. It has not
escaped my attention that not a single one of you has signed up for the
breeding program.”

A loud groan erupted in the room.

Adam barely heard as his buddies shouted protests to Shep.

“It’s archaic.”

“I’m not getting married.”

“What happened to the test tube idea?” Xander asked.

Shep raised a hand and waited for silence. The respect the
men held for him gained him silence in under a minute, despite the strong
vociferous opinions everyone held on the topic of the breeding program. “In
answer to your question,” he turned to Xander, “who would raise the children if
we simply bred them? Despite what many think, this is not
Brave New World
and raising brainwashed children who can’t think or act for themselves has
never been the goal. We need the next generation of soldiers. You are all past
or nearing the age of thirty…”

“Break out the walkers and early bird specials,” Chase
muttered, eliciting a laugh from those seated near him.

Shep continued with a frown for Chase. “Despite your Peter
Pan syndrome, reality and science dictate that you will grow too old to fight
and your sperm loses its potency with every year. While you will still be able
to father children, their enhanced abilities may be compromised.”

* * * * *

A booming, static voice coming from the call box speaker
jerked Loren out of her observations. “Put the camera down, Ms. Stanton.
Someone will be with you in ten seconds to confiscate the memory card.”

Horrified, she turned to judge the distance between her and
the driver’s seat of the car. Close. She could make it. Instinct told her to
run, but then she remembered she was a reporter on a mission. An escape artist
never got the scoop. Facing someone gave her a slight shot at a story. She
stood her ground and observed a tall man jogging toward her. He wore army
fatigues cut off at the knees and an Under Armour tee that did little to
disguise the taut cut of his muscles. The large metal gate rolled open
surprisingly quickly and quietly with none of the squeaking usually associated
with gates.

“Ms. Stanton,” he said as he approached. “Please hand over
the camera’s memory card now.” His voice was pleasantly even-keeled, but make
no mistake, it was an order not a request.

She stared at him for a long second. Something was off. Then
it registered. That was twice now they’d called her by name. “How’d you know my
name?” she asked.

A shadow of a smile crossed the soldier’s face. “That’s
classified information.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered. She took a deep breath and
girded herself. “I’ll happily hand over the memory card after I meet with
Commander Shepard. If I can’t meet with him, you’ll have to physically try for
the card. And, I give you fair warning, I’m trained in martial arts. My dad
made sure of it.”

An odd expression crossed the man’s face. “I don’t doubt
your skills, but Commander Shepard needs the camera, and you are not invited
into our compound.”

“Fine. Then you won’t mind when I write an article about
dancing with one of your soldiers when he was supposed to be guarding
Ambassador Christenson’s baby.” Loren held up her camera, switched the setting
to
video
and held it up to the man’s face. “Tell me on the record. Is
dancing part of your training?”

“Christ!” the man muttered and stared at her as if she had
sprouted an extra head. “Blacker danced with you?”

“Mm-hmm.” She took a purposeful step past the black rolling
gate and onto the grounds of the compound. Gravel and dust kicked up under her
feet as she neatly sidestepped the man’s grab for her camera.

“Loren, hand over the camera.”

“Uh-uh. Not without an interview.” She hugged the camera
tightly to her abdomen and kicked off a sprint toward the building. Admittedly,
not one of her more professional moments, but desperate times and all that.

She didn’t make it far. A scream flew from her lips as his
strong hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her down onto the ground. She
twisted in time to avoid a face-to-dirt collision. Pain radiated up from her
butt into her lower back. She managed to hold her head up, preventing a
concussion, but barely. She held tight to her camera, cuddling it to her chest.

The soldier straddled her legs and took hold of her wrists.
He was strong, stronger than anyone she’d ever sparred against in martial arts
classes. She thrust her forehead forward to slam the man’s nose. Blood ran down
his face and he laughed.
Laughed at her.
She grappled with him a bit
more, but knew it was a losing battle. He was too strong.

Loren was about to admit defeat when another body whizzed by
her and launched himself at the man on top of her. The pair went flying. She
observed from the ground as her original attacker took the missionary position
under the assault of a well-trained foe.

She watched for a moment, still in shock, and then saw her
chance to escape. Loren snatched her purse from the ground, stood and took a
creeping step toward the nearest brick building.

“Hold it!”

She froze in place at the sound of the barked order. Her
first attacker had been strong. This second man was downright terrifying, and
she hadn’t even seen his face, only the back of his dark curls. She stayed
still and surreptitiously slipped her camera back into her purse. The man
turned around and her heart pounded furiously. It was her sexy dance partner
from last night, only he didn’t look harmless now. Maybe it was the absence of
his easygoing grin and lack of tuxedo, but he was full-on scary soldier at this
moment.

Every bit of information the media had shed about the
Program’s genetically enhanced soldiers filed through her brain. How they were
modern-day ninjas, assassins who could break into any secure building, kill
silently and escape even more quickly.

Without pause, she turned on her heels and skidded in the
gravel in a mad dash to the safety of her car. Derrick was welcome to this interview.
She wasn’t suicidal. Her fingers wrapped around the door handle but strong arms
lifted her from behind before she could open the door. She maintained a death
grip on the door and it swung open as the man hoisted her over his shoulder and
turned toward the compound. He held her easily with one hand and used his other
to grab the car keys, ignoring her purse when it fell on the ground. He tossed
them to Loren’s first attacker.

“Take care of the car and her purse.”

She kicked and pounded at him with her fists, but he
maintained a steady pace. Acid in her stomach roiled with each jostling step
and nausea from fear threatened to overwhelm her.

“Let me go,” she shrieked. “Or…or…or I’ll tell your
Commander Shepard you’re kidnapping me.”

The man holding her said nothing, just kept a firm grip on
her and kept walking toward the red-brick building, which loomed closer with
every step.

She used her nails to claw at her captor’s muscled back and
to her annoyance he hissed in reaction, but didn’t release her. Finally she
bellowed, “Put me down, you jerk.” She let out a yelp as her world righted
itself and she was placed back on her feet on solid ground.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the hot, murderous-looking man
told her.

They looked at each other for a second. Her heart raced and
her traitorous body still thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes
on. Last night he could’ve doubled for a younger, larger version of Pierce
Brosnan’s Bond with his hair tamed by comb and product and his hard body
filling a tuxedo. Today, his curls fell in disarray around his forehead and
khakis cut off at the knees showed off powerful calves sprinkled with dark
hairs. A ripped and faded DC101 chili cook-off t-shirt barely covered his
muscular torso, allowing tantalizing glimpses of a rock-hard stomach. He looked
all too edible and sexy.
Killer, killer, killer.
She repeated the mantra
in her mind to nudge her body into some semblance of self-preservation.

He kept staring then muttered, “Come on.” He turned and
started for the compound without waiting for her. She stood her ground,
wavering. She wanted the news story, but all rules that applied to the free
press didn’t seem to be followed here. She had some serious hesitation about
entering a building with a known assassin where the inhabitants thought it
amusing to graffiti the words
We Shoot to Kill
on the entrance.

Her first attacker began laughing like a loon again.
“Blacker,” he called, “she’s not following.” He seemed to think it hilarious
that she again spun to leave, forcing this
Blacker
man to turn back to
retrieve her.

Loren’s heart sped up as Blacker rotated to her, his face a
dark mask of annoyance. Last night, his good looks had made her heart pound.
Today, fear drummed a steady beat in her as he stalked back and took her elbow
in a firm grasp. The first man took off toward her car and then got in and
drove it onto the compound.

She’d found him. Elation and dread spiraled through Adam as
he frog-marched Loren toward the compound. He knew he’d catch shit from
everyone about leaping out of the meeting to Loren’s rescue the way he did, but
damn, if he didn’t want to kill Gavin for daring to touch her. When Shep had
sent Gavin out to intercept her, Adam had a kindergarten flashback, feeling
like a kid raising his hand in desperation. “Pick me. Pick me.”

He’d sat for exactly two-point-eight seconds before he gave
in to his urge, no,
need
, to see and talk to her again.

Of course he’d done his best to let none of his thoughts
betray him, and instead folded his arms impassively. He’d tried focus, but his
gaze kept returning to the video monitors showing various security spots of the
compound. When Gavin had pulled Loren’s legs out from under her, he’d seen red.

He’d leapt from his chair, escaped the meeting and flown out
to cause major bodily harm to Gavin. Protective fury flamed in his gut. He’d be
damned if anyone hurt her.

He threw a side glance at the woman he held on to a little
too closely. Gravel clung to her thick hair and angry red streaks stained her
cheeks. She didn’t drag her feet, but she wasn’t exactly skipping beside him
either.

“You can’t kill me.” She flung her words like a child
throwing a Frisbee. Fast. Spiraling out of control. “My boss knows I’m here. My
boyfriend too.”

At those last words, he tightened his grip and walked
faster. The word “kill” and “boyfriend” clawed at him like a mouse escaping a
cage. Was it serious? Did she love him? The only person he was tempted to kill
was the boyfriend. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “My boss might, but I
won’t.”

“Why should I believe you? Isn’t that what you’re trained to
do? Let me go.” She yanked her arm, but he held firm.

“No can do. Sorry. You were at last night’s party, and we’re
investigating the kidnapping.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m covering the kidnapping for
The
Post
.” A note of hope rang in her voice that perhaps he’d be forced to let
a member of the free press go. Not bloody likely.

“Uh-huh. We’re officially off the case. You should’ve gone
to MPD or the FBI for the official press statement.” He leaned into her,
slightly inhaling her scent and cursing his desire to pick her up and haul her
off to the nearest bed.

“Yes, I should have. If you let me go, I’ll head there now.”
She stopped walking for a minute, but she was SOL today.

For reasons surpassing his understanding, he was once again
disregarding orders just to be close to this woman. He tugged her arm again to
get her moving and they strolled in sight of the main office building. “I’m not
some serial killer you know.” Fuck, why was he defending himself? Maybe because
after last week’s expose, the world thought they were little more than robotic
assassins posing as humans. And for mysterious reasons he couldn’t fathom, he
didn’t want Loren Stanton thinking that about him.

“You’re an ass is what you are.” She narrowed her eyes at
him then shook her head and lowered her voice to a very quiet undertone. “I
can’t believe I thought you were cute last night.”