Stronger Than Sin (10 page)

The tests had also shown elevated protein levels. “Can we tell what kinds of proteins these are?”

Carmen nodded. “Already working on it. My guess based on everything I’ve seen so far is that they’re—”

“Bone morphogenetic proteins,” she said, thinking the same thing. Given the unusual bone on Jesse’s knuckles, elevated proteins
might explain that bizarre behavior.

Jesse’s words replayed in her head. “Bradford says that the hardness on his knuckles started happening when he punched the
body bag. Inflammation occurs at the site of injury, and that leads to bone formation.”

“So any injury—”

Let’s hope that it’s not any injury,
Liliana thought. That would mean that little by little, more and more of Jesse’s body might become ossified until…

“Please do the analysis. I’m going to go back and see about doing a full physical exam. And talk to Jesse about getting a
bone marrow specimen.”

Carmen nodded and rounded up the last of the papers. After she did so, she said with a smile, “Do you want to hear the latest
about the inhibitor complex?”

J
esse stood on the balcony, staring outward at the dark ocean. It was calm today, with barely a ripple disrupting its moon-silvered
surface. Unusual for this time of year, when late fall winds often whipped up waves and sent them crashing against the shoreline.

The ocean’s peacefulness helped tame the conflict within his soul roused by Liliana and her visit earlier that day.

She had seen his family. Talked to them. Or at least to his mother and father.

He wondered how they were. If his sister was okay. Whether his father had lessened his intractable stance against him. And
his mother… Did she still kowtow to his father’s every whim?

Funny in a way. As much as he despised his father’s control over his mother, he had behaved no better in his relationships
with women. They had been things to be used, to serve his needs and then be discarded.

He suspected the intriguing doctor would not tolerate that kind of treatment, based on her behavior this morning.

A car came down Ocean Avenue and pulled into the
driveway. A boring, nondescript sedan driven by none other than the woman who had ensnared his thoughts for the better part
of the day.

The car screamed dependable, making him ponder if it matched Liliana’s personality. Possibly accurate from what he knew of
her so far.

Except for that exciting streak of spunk she exhibited around Whittaker.

She exited the car and glanced upward. He tried not to hope that she was looking for him, but as she saw him standing on the
balcony, a smile came to her lips. She waved hesitantly before walking up the steps to the wraparound porch and front door.

He didn’t wait for the doorbell. Bruno had been in the gazebo at the far end of the space, reading his paper again. Or at
least he guessed that’s what he was doing, since all he could see were Bruno’s feet from his position up on the balcony. Whittaker’s
man had risen as the car had arrived, presumably headed toward the front door, ever vigilant.

That vigilance was part of the reason Jesse hadn’t tried to escape. How far could he get without them noticing? Without them
taking action against his sister or family? Against Liliana and her people, now that they were involved?

Not far,
he thought as he hurried down the stairs and got to the front door just as she was coming in with Bruno, her medical bag
in hand.

He stopped at the entry to the foyer. “Need some more blood, Doc?”

A slight grimace crossed her face, and he knew then it would be something far worse than a blood or skin sample.

“Mind if we get a bite first? Maybe even go for a walk?” Jesse asked.

Bruno immediately shook his head. “No walk until we eat. I’m starving.”

Liliana’s stomach grumbled as well, and she quickly covered it with her hand and offered an apology. “I’ve been on the run
all day. I haven’t had a chance to eat.”

“I can make something,” Jesse said and motioned toward the kitchen.

“This I’ve got to see,” Bruno said and walked to the kitchen ahead of them.

Jesse sauntered up to Liliana, placed his hand at the small of her back, but paused. “Is that okay with you? We’ve been eating
mostly takeout, and I’m a little tired of it.”

“I’ll help if you want,” she replied.

“Deal.” He applied gentle pressure to urge her forward, and they entered the kitchen, where she placed her bag on a far counter
and removed her suit jacket.

A dangerous move, he thought, glancing at her full figure from the corner of his eye. Noticing the way Bruno also appreciated
the sight. “Put your eyes back in your head,” he warned the other man.

Bruno chuckled. “That’s rich coming from you, Bradford.”

Liliana snared an apron from a hook by one wall. “Gentlemen—and I use that term loosely—I don’t appreciate your ogling.”

“Sorry,” they both said in unison, although the apologies were clearly insincere.

Jesse opted to get past the moment by motioning to the fridge. “I think there’s some chicken in there.”

Liliana opened the refrigerator. Inside were prepackaged chicken cutlets, half-and-half, and a big chunk of Parmesan cheese.

“How about some chicken Alfredo?”

Jesse walked up to her and peered over her shoulder. “We’ve got all the makings. I’ll grill while you make the sauce?”

Liliana looked up at him. He was too close. She felt surrounded by all his blatant masculinity, and it was unsettling. Slipping
beneath his arm to get away from him, she said, “Since you offered to cook, I’ll grill and you make the sauce.”

She expected an argument but got none. Instead, Jesse grabbed all the ingredients from the fridge and headed to the counter,
where he laid them out. Efficiently he set about readying pots and pans to boil the pasta and make the Alfredo sauce.

He was clearly comfortable around a kitchen, she thought as she reached over, grabbed the cutlets, and worked on her part
of the bargain. While Jesse labored at the stove, she fired up the indoor grill and the fan overhead. Prepped the cutlets
and got them cooking.

“How domestic,” Bruno said, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. He lounged at the table, killing time until someone
waited on him.

“How about you move your ass and get the table ready,” she called out to him.

The man chuckled again and then mumbled, “Nothing worse than a demanding woman.”

Despite his complaint, he did as she asked and set the table. Even went into another room and came back with a bottle of wine.

Beside her, Jesse was comfortably working on the sauce.

“You do this a lot?” she asked, arching a brow.

As he stirred the butter and added some flour, he nodded but then hesitated. “If you think this is part of a whole seduction
routine—”

“I do.”

“Then you’d be wrong,” he said while adding some half-and-half that he had warmed in the microwave to the roux. Shooting her
a glance out of the corner of his eye, he said, “My mom and dad worked hard during the day. My mom would come home dead tired.
I learned to cook to help her out.”

“Totally understand. I helped my parents in their restaurant kitchen all the time.”

“You worked there?” he questioned as he moved from the sauce to add pasta to the boiling water.

“We all worked there, even as children. We’d go to school and come home to the restaurant. After we finished our homework,
we’d help out in any way we could. Preparing the cutlery and napkins. Making tortillas or shredding the chicken or beef for
the dishes.”

He heard what she wasn’t saying with her words—that it had been hard at times. He understood. “My dad worked at a mill shop
when I was a kid. The owner used to pay me to sweep up the sawdust and round up all the scrap pieces of wood. I was eight,
maybe nine.”

“So we have something in common.”

“Maybe more than you think,” he said with a grin before continuing. “I used to work at a restaurant also—Vic’s.”

“You were a waiter?”

“I started as a dishwasher, then became a busboy, and
eventually worked my way to waiter,” he replied and pulled the sauce off the stove to wait for the pasta.

“I bet you were popular with the female customers,” she teased and he actually felt a flush of heat spread across his face.

“I was a good waiter,” he said in defense and offered her a sampling of the sauce from the stirring spoon.

She took a taste, but their gazes met and he could see the devilment in her eyes. “Seriously, I never dropped a dish on anyone,”
he replied.

“But did anyone ever complain about a wrong order?” she kidded.

“That’s like the pot calling the kettle black. I’m sure none of your male customers ever complained to you.”

The sparkle in her eyes faded and her smile tightened. He understood without her saying a word. She’d probably had more than
one customer who had treated her like a foreigner who didn’t comprehend the insults they were tossing at her.

“People are stupid,” he said and passed the back of his hand across her cheek.

The action surprised her, caring as it was. She hadn’t expected such understanding and tenderness in him.

Needing physical space, she moved away to check the cutlets on the grill but found herself wanting to know more about him.

“What about your sister? Did she help? She’s a lot younger than you.”

He shrugged while stirring the pasta, utterly masculine while at the decidedly domestic task. “A lot younger, but I found
ways for her to help so she didn’t feel left out. You didn’t meet Jackie, did you?”

“Easy, Bradford,” Bruno jumped in, reminding her that they weren’t alone. She had been getting so comfortable with Jesse that
she had forgotten about the presence of the bodyguard. But she also wondered about the warning vibe in the man’s voice.

“Done already, Bruno?” she asked and turned, but the man had finished the table. The uncorked bottle of wine and glasses completed
his contribution to the meal.

“Don’t get too comfy, Doc. This is only a temporary arrangement,” Bruno said again, some of his earlier friendliness gone.

“Temporary because Bruno and his FBI pals should find the other patients soon,” Jesse explained, although an underlying tone
hinted at something more ominous.

She wanted to press, but a cautioning glance from Jesse urged her not to do so.

At least not yet.

She flipped the cutlets, which were close to done. The hiss of the stove warned that the linguini would soon be ready as the
water boiled over. Jesse quickly whipped off the cover to quell the roiling water.

“Almost done there?” he asked, returning the sauce to the stove and expertly flipping it around in the low sauté pan.

“Almost,” she said, and a few minutes later, she was pulling the cutlets off the grill and slicing them. Jesse had prepared
three plates with linguine drenched with his creamy sauce.

She brought over the cutting board with the grilled chicken slices and arranged them over the pasta. “Voilà,” she said with
a flourish of her hand.

“Looks good,” he replied and grabbed two of the
plates, arranged them on one arm, then snagged the third, displaying the skills he had learned as a waiter.

She followed him to the table, and he gallantly placed the first plate in front of her, then Bruno, and finally himself before
sitting down at the table.

Hunger ruled, making for silence as they ate first. After the edge was off, however, she had to compliment him. “This is really
good. Thanks.”

“My sister thanks you, since it’s her recipe,” Jesse said.

Bruno twitched beside him, and his fork stilled halfway to his mouth, but when Jesse said nothing else, Bruno continued eating.

Liliana decided this was one case where discretion was warranted. Besides, once she took Jesse upstairs for her examination,
she’d be alone with him and would be better able to get a sense of what was causing the strange undercurrents she was feeling.

When they had finished eating, Jesse leaned back from the table and rubbed his flat midsection. “Nothing like a home-cooked
meal.”

Unexpected again,
she thought, imagining that a man of his means and fame regularly spent a great deal of time eating out.

“Very tasty. Maybe I can make you some Mexican food next time,” she offered.

“So you’re Mexican? You looked like a
paesan
to me,” Bruno said, wiping some sauce off his lips with a napkin.

“Were you born there?” Jesse asked, shifting back toward the table and leaning his elbows on its surface.

Liliana nodded. “I was born in Mérida, a beautiful little city on the Yucatán peninsula. My parents got a visa to move to
the States when I was five.”

“So you’re not a wetback,” Bruno interjected crudely.

“Stuff it, Bruno,” Jesse said.

She bit back her own response, used to Bruno’s kind of ignorance. Funny given that his Italian ancestors had probably come
over only a generation before hers.

“You know what the rule was in my house, Bruno. Whoever cooks, the other person cleans, so I guess that means you’re ‘it,’
” Liliana said.

She didn’t wait for his answer. She tossed her napkin on the table, rose, and grabbed her bag from the counter on her way
out the door.

From behind her she heard Jesse’s amused chuckle, followed by, “I cooked, too.”

She grinned and strode down the hall toward the gym. The massage table there would make a good place for her to examine Jesse
and discuss the bone marrow sample with him.

He was immediately behind her, following close. Teasing her with, “You’ve got brass, Doc.”

She hadn’t had it in the past, she thought, recalling how she had allowed her ex to abuse her. But she had rediscovered the
Liliana she had lost for a little while.

“Just standing up for myself.”

“I like that in a woman.”

She stopped short, and he had to grab her to keep from bowling her over. The contact brought instant electricity, and as she
looked up at him, she realized it was mutual. And because it was wrong on so many levels, she brought her hands to his and
extricated herself physically. Then she created needed mental distance.