Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) Page 9

  Grace reached out and put a hand over his fist on the island. “I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t remove his hand from hers because he liked the feel of it. He studied the way her skin was so light against his. Her hand was elegant and refined.

  Then he looked up and met her gaze full force. Her pupils widened as he stared at her. He knew he had to look savage. He felt savage. He wanted to savage her—in a good way, of course. A carnal, hot, sexy way.

  He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it.

  “I appreciate that, cupcake.”

  Her breath sucked in. “You are an infuriating man.”

  “Melissa says much the same. Only not so elegantly.”

  Her hand slid away, across the island until she gripped the edge. He wanted to tug her back again.

  “I didn’t mean—” she began.

  “I know.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know you at all, Garrett Spencer. But I think you’re a decent human being. Mostly.”

  He laughed. “And you’re right. Mostly,” he added with a wink.

  She took another bite of her pizza, her teeth ripping into it almost savagely. His cock throbbed. Grace Campbell was passionate. Focused. Frustrated.

  “Tell me about your research,” he said, and she nearly choked again.

  But she swallowed her water and dropped the pizza into the open box. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” She ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head as if to shake away doubts or frustrations. “I mean, it is bad, but not really. Not if we act to do something about it.”

  “That’s evasive, Grace. You haven’t yet told me what you’ve discovered.”

  She let out a long, defeated breath. Then she put her elbows on the counter and put her head in her hands. “It sounds so terrible—I know it does. I was researching the genome for the flu virus. H1N1 and the Spanish flu, to be precise. And I… combined them. There is no current human antibiotic response to such a combination…”

  She looked miserable. And he was somewhat astounded. Impressed and horrified, really.

  “That’s dangerous information to possess.” That kind of information would make her a target for all kinds of extremists and foreign powers if they knew she had it. In the wrong hands, her research would not be a good thing for the world. A chill ran down his spine.

  If she could do that, what else could she do? That would be the next question on the minds of every scumbag with an agenda. Ebola? West Nile? Smallpox? What the wrong person could do with those as weapons was not a happy thought.

  “I know it. But we’re going to make a vaccine. We’re going to be prepared.”

  “How many people know about this?”

  “Tim, the director—a handful of other scientists. Obviously the media has some clue about something, though they don’t appear to know for certain.”

  “Tim asked you for the information—I assume he meant the precise sequence of steps you took?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t give it to him.”

  “I have no intention, believe it or not. It’s my research, and I’m not letting him take the credit for it.”

  Credit? Hell, he was thinking something much worse than credit. What if Tim Fitzgerald wanted to sell the information? Or what if someone else did?

  And then there was Ian Black, an old friend who’d wanted to have coffee with her sometime.

  Jesus.

  “The man who accosted you—was there anything unusual about him?”

  “Besides the fact he’d gotten past security and had a gun, you mean?”

  “Grace, I’m fucking serious here. Was there anything that stood out to you?”

  She frowned. “I thought he had a very slight accent. But I wasn’t really certain. It all happened so fast.”

  “What kind of accent?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure I’m right.”

  “Tell me how you got away.” He’d read the report, but maybe he hadn’t paid as much attention to it as he should have.

  “I pressed the panic button on my car alarm. He was startled, and I ran. Then I found Tim and the man was gone. He took me inside and called security.” She shrugged. “That was it, until you showed up.”

  The woman had the knowledge to make a supervirus, and she’d been alone in her house for days before her father called in a favor to Mendez. Going back and forth to work, vulnerable and in the open. It was mind-boggling.

  And terrifying.

  “There’s been nothing else? Except for the protests and the media, no one has contacted you?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  “Can your supervirus be weaponized?”

  She looked startled. “That’s not part of my research—”

  “But can it be done? Is it possible?”

  “I… yes, of course. It can be done, but it would take time—and more virus than we have. It’s contained, Garrett. A laboratory experiment in a biosafety-level-three lab. This isn’t level-four stuff—hemorrhagic fevers, that kind of thing.”

  He could only stare at her. “I thought you were a genetics researcher.”

  “I am. Right now I’m specializing in the genetics of viruses—how they mutate, why, et cetera.”

  The idea of it made his gut churn. The things scientists could do in labs. And the things the wrong person could do if they possessed the information.

  The doorbell chimed and Grace jumped. “What now?” she cried.

  Garrett reached for the weapon tucked into his shoulder holster. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GRACE FOLLOWED ON GARRETT’S HEELS as he stalked to the front door. He’d removed his suit jacket, and his white shirt only emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. The shoulder-holster strap, cutting across the white cotton, was sexy as hell for some reason.

  She’d never been turned on by guns or tattooed men before, but something about this one definitely made the blood rush beneath her skin—it rushed to places that throbbed and ached and wished he would touch them and relieve some of this tension.

  Garrett drew up at the door, his gun in his hand, and looked out the peephole. Then he stepped back and motioned her forward. She moved past him, the hairs on her arms prickling at his nearness. Her skin tingled and her heart thrummed.

  She peered out the tiny hole and then stepped back as anger rolled inside her belly. “It’s Jeffrey. What on earth is he doing here?”

  “What do you want to do, Grace?”

  She loved that he asked her. She took a deep breath. “If I don’t deal with it now, he’ll just keep coming back.”

  Garrett nodded as he holstered the gun. And then he opened the door and faced Jeffrey. Her former boyfriend’s eyes widened as he took in Garrett’s size and menacing presence. No doubt her bodyguard had looked a little less intimidating in a tuxedo last night.

  “Grace?” Jeffrey said, peering around Garrett. She could have laughed if she wasn’t so angry—and yes, hurt, since he’d been the one to dump her. This scene was almost a replay of earlier when Tim had stood in her office door.

  It was kind of nice to have a dangerous-looking man standing between her and the world.

  She moved to stand beside Garrett. “I’m surprised to see you here, Jeffrey. I thought you’d made yourself clear about your feelings.”

  Had she really once thought him handsome? His brown hair was a bit long now, curling over his ears and collar. He was tall and thin—not muscular, but not skinny either. Jeffrey had the body of a runner rather than the body of a man who could probably bench-press a runner. Or two.

  Yet seeing Jeffrey still made her belly slide into her toes and her skin flush hot. She’d thought he might be the one once. They’d taken their relationship slowly, becoming friends first and then falling into bed later, and she’d wrongly thought they had the basis for something deeper. Their relationship had ebbed and flowed as their jobs grew intense fo
r short periods and then gave way to more time together.

  She’d thought Jeffrey got it. She’d certainly thought she had—but then he’d told her he was bored and tired of their relationship. It had been a blow to her self-esteem, especially as her youngest sister was just getting married then and basking in the glow of love and belonging with her new husband.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “Alone.”

  His gaze flicked to Garrett, and she could tell by the way he looked at her guard that he didn’t believe there was anything between them. That, regardless of what he might have seen last night, Garrett was not her lover.

  And it made her angrier than she thought she’d ever been. Indeed, this had just been one shitty day so far.

  She stepped back and swept an arm wide. “By all means, come in. But Garrett isn’t going anywhere.”

  Jeffrey shot a look at Garrett. “Grace, this is ridiculous. I just want to talk. Come out here and close the door.”

  “Not happening, dude,” Garrett said in that menacing voice of his. “The lady doesn’t leave my sight.”

  Jeffrey swallowed. Then he spread his hands. “Shit, all right. Look, I just wanted to say that I, uh, I’m getting married and I, uh, thought you should hear it from me.”

  Her belly felt like a stone. “Really? How nice, Jeff. But we split up a year ago—why would you think you needed to tell me?”

  He put a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. “I’m joining your father’s campaign, and I thought—I just wanted to clear the air between us before I did.”

  Her blood turned to ice. Her parents had liked Jeffrey. He’d come to family gatherings—including Thanksgiving at their South Carolina estate once—and she knew everyone had thought they would marry eventually.

  But now he was marrying someone else—someone he’d been seeing for a far shorter time than he’d dated her—and going to work on her father’s campaign.

  “That’s mighty big of you, Godfrey,” Garrett said, sliding an arm around her and tugging her in close. Her body melted just a little at the heat and size of him.

  “It’s Jeffrey,” her ex ground out, his face reddening as he watched them.

  Grace slipped her arm around Garrett—and put her other hand over his chest for good measure. His heart beat strong and sure, and warmth slid through her, heating the chill in her bones. She was so grateful to him right now.

  “Sweetie,” she said, tilting her head up to look at Garrett, “don’t be angry with him. I’m all yours now.”

  Garrett’s eyes were hot as they raked over her face. He gripped her chin with his free hand and kissed her swiftly. Her breath stopped in her chest.

  “You know I can’t get enough of you, cupcake,” he said against her lips. “Such a sweet, sweet body. And so fucking hot.”

  He pulled her tighter to his side and lifted his head to look at Jeffrey. She had to admit she was gratified by the look of surprise on Jeffrey’s face. And part of her thrilled at the words Garrett said to her. Even the cupcake part.

  “Sorry, Jeffrey,” he said, “but I get jealous when I think of anyone but me touching Grace. Thanks for being dumb enough to let her go.”

  “I… I…”

  Grace smiled—and funny enough, she actually felt like smiling at that moment just because Jeffrey’s confusion was so priceless. “It’s okay, Jeff. I haven’t thought about you in months, other than to wonder how you were. We were friends, and I hope we can remain so.”

  “That’s what I came to say,” he told her. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Grace. It’s just that we weren’t right for each other. I’m happy now… and maybe you are too.”

  “Oh yes, very happy,” Grace said. “How could I not be happy with this gorgeous man? We’re madly, passionately in love. It’s just incredible what the right chemistry can do.”

  Jeffrey’s gaze flicked between them uncertainly. Then he stuck his hand out. “No hard feelings.”

  She put her hand in his. There were absolutely no sparks whatsoever. Had it always been that way? “None at all. Guess I’ll see you around since you’ll be working for Daddy.”

  “Yes, of course. Take care, Grace.”

  “You too.”

  Garrett shook his hand as well. “Good luck, buddy,” Garrett said. “And thanks again for being such a dumb ass. I mean no offense, but wow, you did me a huge favor when you and Grace split up.”

  A few moments later, Jeffrey was taking the stairs down to the street, his hands shoved in his pockets as he turned and headed back to where he’d parked his car.

  Garrett shut the door with a thud, and Grace stepped out of his embrace. It felt so nice standing there, but the whole thing was an act and she was determined not to be any more pitiful than she already felt.

  “Damn, what a screwed-up day,” she said. “I think I’ll get drunk.”

  Garrett grabbed her arm and spun her around as she was heading toward the kitchen and the wine fridge. His gunmetal eyes were soft and serious.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  She pulled in a deep breath. “Do I look okay to you?”

  He put a hand on her cheek, slid it into her hair. Her body lit up like someone had set off a firecracker inside. Why was it so different when he touched her?

  “You look pissed. And overwhelmed.”

  She brought her hand up to grip his forearm, whether to push him away or hold him there she wasn’t sure. “I am pissed. And while I really appreciate what you did just now, unless you plan to follow through and take my mind completely off this day with some spectacular sex, you need to get the hell out of my way.”

  He stared at her for a long minute, his eyes searching hers. Her heart beat fast and hard, and she actually prayed he would crush his mouth to hers and kiss her the way he had last night.

  But then he swore and backed away, abruptly letting her go. “I can’t do that, Grace. I can’t cross that line.”

  *

  Garrett watched Grace stomp into the kitchen. But she didn’t get a drink. Instead, she took her bottle of water and her computer bag and headed upstairs, her cheeks red and her chin held high. He stood in the kitchen and blew out a breath when he heard her door slam.

  Dammit, what the hell was he thinking? But he’d hated seeing her so wounded, hated the way she’d looked at that asshole when he’d told her he was getting married and going to work on her father’s campaign. The dude didn’t give a fuck about her. He only cared that he felt better about himself by coming to tell her in person.

  It had nothing to do with Grace and everything to do with him. Asshole.

  And what kind of father let his daughter’s ex-boyfriend work on his election campaign anyway? He didn’t fucking get that. If some dickhead hurt Cammie, Garrett would personally castrate the guy.

  Well, maybe he wouldn’t go quite that far, but anyone who hurt his daughter would never get to do so again. Jeez, he didn’t even like to think of Cammie dating—but he knew it would happen one day, and probably a whole lot sooner than he was ready for.

  And he had no idea how he was going to handle it. Just listening to her talk about having a boyfriend now—and the cute little notes they passed back and forth—made his gut churn. He’d asked Melissa if it was normal for a kid of nine to have a boyfriend, but she’d screamed at him and told him he was an asshole. He’d eventually figured out that it was indeed normal, thanks to his mom.

  Garrett picked up his phone and called in to report what was going on. After his conversation with Grace earlier, he was wondering just how much Mendez knew about her work. But he didn’t get Mendez. He got Matt Girard.

  They talked for a little while, and then he hung up and rechecked all the doors and windows. He looked out on the street, studying the cars and pedestrians. There was a lot of traffic during the day because Old Town was cool, with shops and restaurants and historic buildings to attract tourists.

  But mostly there was nothing happening that was concerning. Still, he looked up at the ceiling and
thought of Grace in her room, on her computer and no doubt angry. She said she was just a researcher, but the things she could do were terrifying when you stopped to think about it.

  It was nearly three in the afternoon when his phone rang. It was too early for the next checkin, so he knew something had to be happening. He answered with a clipped “Spencer.”

  “Iceman.” It was Mendez’s voice—and the colonel didn’t sound too pleased.

  “Sir.”

  “Everything going all right there, son?”

  “Yes, sir. Fine.”

  “Are you near a computer?”

  Garrett picked up the laptop he’d put on the ottoman in the media room. “Yes, sir.”

  “Please go to this site.” He rattled off an address, and Garrett got a bad feeling as he typed it in.

  Sure enough, a picture of him—of him kissing Grace in the hotel last night—popped up on the screen. Shit.

  “It was part of the cover, sir,” he said. “She preferred me to look like her date, not her bodyguard.”

  Which was true, but he could have done that without kissing her. He studied the picture, the way Grace’s arms were around his neck, the way his hands spread across the small of her back and brought her in closer.

  Mendez blew out a breath. “Sometimes I think you boys need a testosterone suppressant. But that would defeat the purpose of making warriors out of you, so I guess I just have to put up with you letting your dicks do the thinking from time to time.”

  Garrett wisely refrained from commenting.

  “I get it, son, I really do. And I don’t doubt you thought it was a good idea at the time, but pictures of one of my soldiers with his tongue down a senator’s daughter’s throat is not a good thing for me, especially when the senator has eyes just the same as I do. But you’re there for a reason, and part of that reason is to fit in when you have to escort Grace Campbell to events. I’m not removing you—but you need to consider this a warning. I don’t want the senator coming down on me like a ton of bricks, so don’t make any more racy photos, got it?”