Special Forces Rendezvous (13 page)

“You,” he admitted.

“Oh, really?”

He kept his tone casual. “I was wondering what your favorite kind of music is.”

“Easy. Classic rock.”

Grinning, he shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t believe me,” she scoffed. “But it’s true. I’m all about the rock icons. Zeppelin, the Stones, Supertramp, ZZ Top.” She cocked her head. “What are
you
into?”

“Same thing. With the occasional hip-hop track thrown in for good measure.”

“Ooooh, a gangsta,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. Gangster to the core. I haven’t picked which gang I want to join yet, but I’m leaning toward the Bloods.”

She laughed, and the melodic sound sent a jolt of heat shimmying up his spine. If someone had told him that he’d become addicted to this woman, he probably would’ve been dubious as hell. With those big doe eyes, small breasts and fragile body, she was definitely not his type, at least not the kind of woman he’d been gravitating toward in the last ten years. Once upon a time, though, he definitely would’ve been drawn to Julia. Her features lent her that air of vulnerability that would’ve appealed to his protector nature.

Protector. Ha, what a joke. Even now, he still tried to delude himself into thinking he was capable of taking care of the people in his life, when all the evidence pointed otherwise. He’d lost everyone he’d ever loved, and the only reason the cycle of heartache had ground to a halt this past decade was because he’d shut himself down. His heart was immune now, locked up tight, and nobody was ever going to penetrate that sucker.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to raise his guard a few more notches. Julia was getting too close. Her razor-sharp intelligence, the wanton sensuality she wasn’t even aware she exuded, her nerves of steel and abundance of courage...he liked everything about the woman, which meant it was time to remind them both of the very temporary nature of their relationship.

“Hey, we made great time,” Julia exclaimed as the sign for Arlington whizzed past the passenger side.

She was right. They’d made the drive in eight and a half hours, and he hadn’t even been speeding. Because he couldn’t draw any undue attention to him and Julia, he’d followed every last traffic law, no matter how badly he’d wanted to rev the damn engine of this sedan and floor it all the way to Virginia.

Flicking the turning signal, he changed lanes, then drove smoothly off the interstate exit ramp. After about a mile, he glimpsed a motel on the side of the road and turned into the parking lot.

“Wait here. I’ll get us a room,” he told her.

A bell dinged over the door of the motel office, but the young male behind the counter didn’t even look up when Sebastian walked in. His gaze was glued to the television in the corner of the ceiling, which was playing clips from the video Raoul Escobar had released to the press.

“Didja see this?” the clerk demanded, sounding awed. “This is some crazy stuff right there.”

“Crazy,” Sebastian agreed. He dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the countertop. “I need a room.”

Without wrenching his eyes from the TV, the clerk slid over a clipboard. “Fill this out.”

Scribbling a fake name, address and credit card number, he slid the clipboard back to the kid, and received a big red key in return.

“Towels in the bathroom. Wi-Fi password is the motel name and your room number. Check out time is 10:00 a.m.” The kid recited the facts without once looking at Sebastian. As Escobar’s angry eyes flashed on the screen, the clerk shook his head. “Frickin’ terrorists! Think they can mess with us? You’re in for a rude awakening, ass munch!”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Sebastian left the office, got back in the car and drove to the spot in front of their designated room. The interior ended up being nicer—and cleaner—than he’d expected. Queen-size bed in the center of the room, a chest of drawers, a small kitchenette area and a bathroom equipped with a handful of fluffy white towels.

He removed his Beretta from his waistband and dropped it on the kitchen table, then bent down to unzip his duffel. He found one of the prepaid cell phones, then pulled out his own to search for Brent Davidson’s number in the contact list. He punched the number into the other phone, and as he waited, he glanced at Julia, who had plopped down at the foot of the bed and was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Davidson,” a brusque male voice answered.

“Brent. It’s Sebastian. Sebastian Stone.”

Silence.

“Brent, you there?” he asked curtly.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.” Disbelief hung from the other man’s voice. “Sebastian! I can honestly say I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

His guard instantly shot up. “And why is that?”

“Hahn said you were living it up in Brazil.”

An incredulous laugh lodged in Sebastian’s throat. Was that the official story? That he’d moved to South America to, what, work on his freaking suntan? Yet he didn’t pick up on a single note of mistruth or insincerity in Brent’s voice. Christ. Maybe that really
was
how the army had justified his absence.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was,” he said noncommittally.

“Well, it’s good to have you back. We’ll have to catch up over dinner. When are you—”

“I need to see you, Brent. Tonight.”

There was a beat, followed by a loud bark of a laugh. “Sebastian, that’s impossible. I took your call because it came from an unfamiliar number and I thought it might be related to this pandemonium bomb I’m trying to defuse. I’m in the middle of a national crisis at the moment. In case you haven’t seen the news, there was a
terrorist attack
on U.S. soil today—”

“Why do you think I’m calling?” he interrupted.

Another beat. “You’re saying you have information about the attack?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Where are you?” Brent demanded. “I’ll send a car to bring you to the Pentagon and—”

“No.” His tone was so harsh that Julia flinched from her perch on the bed.

“What do you mean,
no?
Stone, if you have any information pertaining to this attack, you’d damn well better tell me or I’ll charge you with obstruction—”

“I have every intention of sharing what I know, Brent. But only with you. And only if you come to me. Alone.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Come alone and I’ll tell you.”

A resigned breath floated over the extension. “When and where?”

“Thirty minutes. At the place where we last saw each other.”

Brent paused, as if trying to remember where that place had been. “All right. Fine.”

“And if you bring backup, I’ll know, Brent. I’ll know, and I’ll disappear, so don’t even think about bringing one of your bodyguards.”

There was another pause, followed by a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A click sounded in his ear, indicating the other man had hung up. The second he disconnected the call, Sebastian broke the flip phone in half, then tossed it on the frayed carpet and gave it a few good stomps with the sole of his heavy black boot.

Julia’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that overkill?”

“No such thing.” He gathered up the pieces of the disposable phone and tossed them in the wastebasket, then extended a hand at Julia.

She rose without question and walked right into his arms, the top of her head tickling his chin. He was a full head taller than her, which never ceased to amaze him because the woman often seemed larger than life. He remembered the day they’d met at the clinic, how self-assured she’d been, how confident her gait was as they strode side by side down that hallway. Inside that skinny, delicate exterior, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“Is it wishful thinking on my part if I think you’ll agree to stay in this motel room while I meet with Davidson?” he asked, cupping her angular jaw with both hands.

A stubborn gleam entered her eyes. “Definitely.”

“You’ll definitely stay behind?”

She snorted. “It’s definitely wishful thinking on your part.”

“Figured I’d try.” He dropped a quick kiss on her sassy mouth before pulling away. “Come on, let’s go. I want to scope out the area before we expose ourselves.”

“What area? Where exactly are we meeting this guy?”

“The last place I want to be.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, as Sebastian drove through the gates of the Arlington National Cemetery, Julia instantly reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. Her hazel eyes shone with sympathy. “Oh, Seb, I’m sorry.”

Seb.

He couldn’t control the rush of warmth that flooded his chest. It was the first time she’d used the nickname, and he enjoyed hearing it far more than he should.

“This is where your dad’s buried?” she prompted.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze landed on the endless rows of white headstones. Veterans, soldiers who’d died in combat, military families...all the graves blurred past the window as he drove deeper into the shadow-cloaked grounds. He kept his eyes and ears open, his senses on alert, seeking out any hints of danger. His internal threat meter wasn’t going off, but he still made sure to park the car as far away as he could from their actual destination.

A few minutes later, he and Julia set out on foot, his boots and her sneakers barely making a sound as they crossed the manicured lawn.

“So many of them,” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.

“Too many,” he said hoarsely.

As they got closer to the section where his father was buried, he withdrew his gun from his waistband and held it at his side. He searched the darkened lawn, but his threat readings remained low.

He led the way through the rows and rows of headstones, choking on another lump of sadness. He had to force himself to focus. To sweep his gaze over his surroundings, to stay alert, to stick close to Julia.

When a tall oak tree with low-lying branches came into view, Sebastian headed toward it and came to a stop. Sticking close to the shelter offered by the tree, he pulled Julia to his side and said, “Now we wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Only minutes later, the sound of a car engine echoed in the cemetery and a pair of headlights emitted a pale yellow glow in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian readjusted his grip on the Beretta and eyed the sleek black BMW, which didn’t slow down as it drove right past their section. But Brent Davidson had always driven Beemers, for as long as Sebastian had known him.

“Is that him?” Julia murmured.

“I think so.”

Several more minutes passed, but the BMW didn’t make another appearance, and neither did Brent. Sebastian was just beginning to wonder if they’d been stood up when he heard a rustling sound. His back stiffened, and then the nape of his neck began to tingle and his internal alarm system began to shriek.

“Son of a—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. The cold steel of a gun barrel pressed into the back of his head, and then a deep male voice growled, “Don’t move.”

Chapter 12

S
ebastian snapped into action, spinning around and locking the male wrist with both hands. The charcoal-gray Glock fell out of his would-be assailant’s grasp and clattered to the grass. As adrenaline raced through his blood, Sebastian kicked the weapon away and tackled the other man to the ground in two seconds flat.

Grunting, he straddled Brent Davidson and dug his elbow into the man’s windpipe. “What the hell was
that?
” he snapped.

Davidson began wheezing for air. He batted at Sebastian’s thighs with his fists, but to no avail. The man might have sneaked up on them like a freaking ninja, but now Sebastian had the upper hand and he didn’t intend on giving it up.

“What the
hell
kind of move was that with the gun?” he demanded, sinking his elbow deeper.

Julia’s sarcastic voice filled the night air. “Do you honestly expect him to answer any questions when you’re crushing his trachea?”

Good point.

As the adrenaline sizzling in his veins began to dissipate, he lifted his arm and let the other man breathe. Red-faced, Brent began to cough, sucking oxygen into his lungs so fast it was a miracle he didn’t pass out.

Sebastian took the time to examine the man, noting that Davidson had barely aged since he’d last seen him five years ago. There were some new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but his hair was still as black as night, with only a few strands of silver threaded through it. His blue eyes were sharper than ever, and the body beneath his black suit was surprisingly trim for a man in his sixties who rode a desk all day.

But Brent’s peak physical condition didn’t surprise Sebastian; Brent was a legend in the spec ops community, a former supersoldier who’d kicked more ass and taken more names than Sebastian could only dream of. Brent was probably the only man capable of sneaking up on him like that, and he couldn’t help but feel a spark of grudging admiration that the man had succeeded in catching him unawares. A rare feat, that was for sure.

Still, didn’t mean he was letting this stunt slide.

“Next time you point a gun to my head, be prepared to pull the trigger,” he muttered before easing his weight off Davidson’s chest and standing up.

“Next time you order me to
come alone,
I expect you to do the same,” Brent shot back.

Julia offered a sheepish look. “He has a valid point,” she said.

Brent staggered to his feet, adjusting his striped red-and-black tie before reaching up to rub his neck, which was red and beginning to swell.

Experiencing a tug of guilt, Sebastian fixed an apologetic look at his father’s old friend. “I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t summon you here to tackle you to the ground and nearly strangle you to death.” He had to grin. “But you should know better than to sneak up on a fellow Special Forces alum.”

“Also a valid point.” Brent finally cracked a smile. “It’s good to see you, Stone.”

“You, too, Brent.”

The two men embraced, and then Brent slapped Sebastian on the shoulder and cocked his head at Julia. “Who’s she?”

“Dr. Julia Davenport.”

A wrinkle appeared in Brent’s forehead. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Because I’m supposedly one of the American casualties in the fire that burned down a foreign aid clinic in Valero,” she said dryly.

Recognition dawned in the man’s eyes. “That’s it. Yes, your picture landed on my desk earlier this morning before the Dixie attack.” Now those blue eyes darkened with suspicion. “What the hell is going on here?”

The trio stepped out from the shadows of the tree, each man putting away his weapon. They walked over to the wrought-iron bench five yards away and sat down. Sebastian kept Julia close to his side, keeping a protective hand on her thigh.

“So Hahn said I’m living in Brazil, huh?”

Brent nodded. “Apparently as of nine months ago. Your former CO claims you chose not to re-up. I checked your file after I heard that and it lists you as receiving an honorable discharge last August.”

“So you thought I really skipped town without saying goodbye?”

“Goodbyes were never really your style. I figured you’d get in touch with me eventually. But you weren’t in Brazil, were you?”

“Nope. I’ve been hiding out for the last eight months.”

“What do you mean ‘hiding out’?”

“Someone tried to kill me. Twice.” He clenched his teeth, trying to quell the escalating fury. “First time, they sent someone to run me down with a car. Second time, they cut the brakes of my Ducati.”

“‘They,’” Brent echoed warily. “Who’s they?”

“You tell me.”

A short silence fell, and then Brent’s astonished laughter echoed in the night breeze. “You think I had something to do with the attempts on your life?”

“No, but you must have heard something about it,” he countered. “And it wasn’t just me. Five members of my unit turned up dead once we got stateside after our last gig. They all died of bogus causes, Brent. And then my captain nearly got his head blown off in a drive-by and I almost got splattered all over the pavement. Someone was deliberately trying to eliminate every last man on our team.”

The older man finally displayed a glimmer of worry. “What did your last op entail?”

Secrecy and security clearance be damned, Sebastian outlined that final mission—the deployment to San Marquez, the attempt to save the doctor from the rebels, discovering the village up in flames.

“Cruz and his soldiers didn’t kill those people,” Sebastian said. “They burned the bodies because they feared the virus was contagious.”

“And you’re certain it’s the same virus? This Meridian thing Escobar mentioned in his video?”

“Fairly certain.”

He quickly went on to explain what happened in Esperanza, and Julia piped in with her own play-by-play. Each word she uttered dug a deeper groove into Brent’s forehead.

“So you’re saying that a U.S. military unit was in charge of an op to cover up the testing of a biological weapon on foreign soil?”

Sebastian studied the older man’s face for any sign that they were being played, but those blue eyes reflected nothing but shock and horror. Either the man was a phenomenal liar, or he truly hadn’t known about any of this.

“So
you’re
saying the Department of Defense knew nothing about this?” Sebastian countered.

“
I
sure as hell didn’t. I have no clue whether the deputy secretary or the damn secretary himself is aware of it, but if they are, they’ve kept me in the dark.” Brent rubbed his temples as if warding off an oncoming migraine. “The first time I heard about this so-called Meridian virus was earlier today. I’ve been with the deputy secretary at the Pentagon all day, and he was as shocked as I was by the terrorist attack.”

“Of course he’s shocked,” Julia muttered. “I’m sure whoever authorized this project didn’t intend for the virus to be released
here.
Apparently it’s okay to treat foreigners as guinea pigs, but God forbid any innocent Americans get hurt.”

Brent let out a breath. “I understand your anger, Dr. Davenport. And I appreciate the effort you’ve expended to learn what you can about the virus. Did you bring the sample with you?”

Sebastian noticed Julia’s hand tightening over the strap of the canvas messenger bag on her shoulder. The bag contained the sample and Matheson’s research notes, but he could tell she wasn’t anxious to part with it just yet.

He didn’t blame her. Although he believed that Brent hadn’t been aware of Project Aries, he still didn’t fully trust the man, and that mistrust only deepened when Brent turned to him and said, “You need to come in officially.”

“No way,” he said emphatically.

“I promise you, I will protect you. We’ll take your story to the secretary of defense himself. Barrett—”

“—might be behind this entire mess,” Sebastian finished. “For all we know, Secretary Barrett green-lighted Project Aries.”

“Then we contact the Bureau, place you and Dr. Davenport in protective custody.” Immediately after the words left his mouth, Brent chuckled ruefully. “Don’t bother answering—we both know you’ll reject the offer.”

Sebastian just shrugged.

“How do we handle this, then? I don’t have the authority to negotiate with you, Stone, and I don’t have the time to sit here and chat. In less than forty-eight hours, Escobar and his troop of crazies plan to release a virus that will kill who knows how many innocent people.” Anger colored the man’s tone. “So if you have any useful information about this Meridian virus, hand it over now. Otherwise I’ll have no choice but to place you under arrest for obstruction of justice.”

“Relax, Brent, we have every intention of sharing what we know.” Sebastian took the bag from Julia and held it out. “We contacted a microbiologist to test the sample we got from the well in Esperanza. All his research notes are in here, too.”

As the bag exchanged hands, he quickly gave Brent a rundown of Matheson’s findings, making sure to keep Frank’s name out of it. When he finished, Brent’s face was devoid of color. “It’s that bad?” he said flatly.

Sebastian and Julia nodded.

“Shit.” Jaw tense, Brent abruptly stood up. “I have to head back to the Pentagon. My superiors need to be briefed about this.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep our names out of it,” Sebastian said. “No one can know that Dr. Davenport and I are in the States.”

“It’ll be a lot easier if you just come in with me.”

“I can’t. Not until I know who authorized the killing of my unit.”

“I’ll do what I can to look into that,” Brent promised. Then he hesitated. “And I’ll also keep your names out of this virus inquiry, but with that said, I want your word that you’ll leave the investigating to us from this point on. We can take it from here.” He took a step. “How do I get in touch with you?”

“You don’t.” Taking Julia’s hand, Sebastian helped her to her feet and glanced at Davidson in gratitude. “Thanks for meeting us, Brent. Please don’t make me regret this.”

“I’ll do my best. Stay in touch, Sebastian.”

“I’ll do my best,” he mimicked.

Brent headed off, making it five yards before he stopped to face them again. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you never gave me your word,” he called.

“You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Sebastian called back.

The sound of soft laughter carried in the air, and then Brent disappeared into the shadows.

After Brent was gone, Sebastian drifted toward one of the white headstones ten feet away and stood there for a moment, gazing at the inscription. A moment later, Julia’s quiet footsteps crunched on the crisp grass and she came up beside him. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

He fixed his gaze on the grave. James Marvin Stone. Colonel. U.S. Marine Corps.

“He would’ve wanted me to go with Brent, to turn myself in,” Sebastian murmured.

Julia sounded taken aback. “You really think so?”

“My dad was very by-the-book. He followed the rules, to the extreme almost, and he had a terrifying amount of faith in our democratic system. He would have believed Commander Hahn when Hahn said he didn’t have a target on his back. He would have trusted his commanding officer. And he would have died.”

“Seb...”

Swallowing hard, he turned away from his father’s headstone. “Whatever. He’s dead anyway, so there’s no point in talking about what he would or wouldn’t have done.”

He jumped when he felt Julia’s hand on his arm. Her touch was gentle, warm and comforting. She glided her hand up to his face and ran her fingertips over the stubble coating his jaw.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter what your father would’ve done. It matters what
you’re
doing.” She traced the line of his jaw, bringing a shiver to his body. “And you’re doing the right thing, Sebastian. Right now, we can’t afford to trust blindly.”

He was oddly touched by the reassurance. He leaned into her touch, enjoying the way she rubbed his prickly beard growth with her palm. “We should go,” he said, his voice coming out rough. “I have a feeling tomorrow will be another long day.”

A knowing smile lifted her lips. “We’re totally going to keep investigating, right?”

“No doubt about it, Doc.”

* * *

Julia was wiggling out of her jeans before they even entered their motel room half an hour later. She felt disheveled and grimy from that eight-hour drive, followed by the trek through the cemetery, and the only place she wanted to be at the moment was in the shower. Kicking away the jeans, she slid her black cardigan off her shoulders, then whipped her T-shirt over her head and walked toward the bathroom in her bra and panties.

A wolf whistle sounded from behind.

Rolling her eyes, she looked at Sebastian over her shoulder. “I feel like I just walked past a construction site.”

“Baby, if you ever walked by a construction site wearing
that—
” he indicated her skimpy red panties and matching bra “—you’d cause so many workplace accidents there’d be no one left alive.”

She laughed, then caught her breath when Sebastian started stripping right before her eyes. “I take it you’re joining me in the shower?” she murmured, unable to tear her eyes off his incredible body.

Each piece of clothing he removed provided her with a new delicious body part to focus on. The tanned expanse of his chest, dusted with hair and sculpted with muscle. His trim waist, ripped thighs, long legs. In the unforgiving motel room light, the handful of scars marring his body were more visible. A white one beneath his left pectoral, a puckered one over his right hip. When she’d asked about the scars, he’d simply shrugged and described them as “a couple of teeny battle wounds,” but her doctor’s eyes saw right through that line of bull.

The line under his pec? Definitely caused by a blade of some sort. And the puckered scar? Clearly a bullet wound, and not a through-and-through either, seeing as there was no exit scar.

But apparently knife and bullet wounds were no biggie to a tough guy like Sebastian Stone.

“Jeez, Doc, quit ogling me,” he said mockingly. “It’s my job to ogle
you,
remember?”