Showing posts with label Julie Rowe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Julie Rowe. Show all posts

The Story Behind Lethal Game by Julie Rowe

Getting published wasn’t easy or fast. I wrote for over ten years and completed fifteen manuscripts before I found a publisher who got me and my books. My writing voice has gotten grittier and more intense with every book I write. Lethal Game reflects that with one main character who is dying and another struggling with survivor’s guilt and a desire to die. The villain is a man who’s lost everyone he loved and all he’s left with is revenge. Revenge on a scale never seen before. The heroine in Lethal Game has a genius level intellect and a bucket list of three items (this is a problem because she’s very sick).

1. Do something meaningful with her life (no matter how short her life ends up being).
2. Have sex with Connor (the hero).
3. Stop the villain.

Can you guess how many of these she accomplishes in the story?




About The Book



Title: Lethal Game
Book 2: Biological Response Team Series
Author: Julie Rowe
Publisher: Carina Press
Publication Date: October 12, 2015
Pages: 270
ISBN: 978-1459290198
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Format: eBook, PDF


Book Description:

Book 2 of Biological Response Team Series

As the nation's youngest virologist and hematologist, Captain Sophia Perry had always been one step ahead of her peers. But there's one thing she can't beat - cancer. She wants to make a difference in the time she left, so when she's sent to investigate a breakout at a Syrian refugee camp, she goes, saying nothing of her diagnosis. But saving the masses isn't easy when the man tasked to protect her is so irresistible.

Communications Sergeant Conner Button is back on active duty after a deadly explosion, but he doesn't feel whole again until he meets Sophia. Assigned to keep her safe, he's prepared to die for her, but for the first time in months he truly wants to live - if only she wasn't so determined to put them both in danger. 

With a secret to keep and nothing to lose, Sophia is determined to find the source of the breakout at any cost. Violent attacks on the camp convince her that someone wants her to pay dearly. But as Sophia's health deteriorates, Connor must find a way to help her defeat her enemies before her body defeats her.


Book Excerpt:

Security is mostly a superstition ~ Helen Keller

Chapter One

It had taken him three airplanes and over twenty-six hours to travel more than seven thousand miles, and now he was going to have to kill someone.
Ten feet from his room in the Navy hotel at the American Naval base in Bahrain.
All Special Forces Communications Sergeant Connor Button wanted was to find a bed and crash for a few hours.
What he did not need was witnessing some idiot striking out with a hot blonde and not taking it well.
She’d just removed his hand from her waist.
The man put it on her shoulder and tried to bring her closer. “Aw, come on, sweetheart.”
She slid away, her voice clear across the short distance. “No.”
Okay, dude, time to retreat. Only, the guy didn’t. He grabbed her by the back of the neck, hard enough to make her gasp in pain, and leaned down, his mouth aimed for hers.
She slapped the moron, but he didn’t get that hint either, just grabbed her hand and twisted it behind her back.
Con had to make himself stand still for a second. One second, so he could throttle back the instinct to beat the stupid fuck to death.
Fine. His jaw flexed. He wouldn’t kill the asshole, but he could hurt him real bad.
Con dropped his duffel on the floor and stomped toward the woman and the moron whose arm he was about to break.
Into several pieces.
Small ones.
The stomping got the moron’s attention. He glanced up, saw Con coming and his eyes went wide. He let go of the woman so fast she wobbled off balance and fell to the floor. Con stopped to help her while the moron ran like a track star down the hall and around a corner.
Good call, asshole.
Con bent down and offered his hand to the woman. “Are you okay?”
Her head jerked up and she stared at him with eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She scooted away, leaving his hand hanging in the air, then stood. Her shoulders went back and her chin rose.
He almost smiled. She was so not interested in another man getting all up in her business. He’d make sure she was all right, then he’d back off.
“Ma’am, did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, retreating a step.
Blue-green eyes stood out in a face framed by white-blond hair hanging in a sheet down to the middle of her back. She was also stacked, though she wasn’t showing it off. She was following military clothing requirements, wearing long pants and a collared shirt one size too big, buttoned up to her neck. An asshole had just tried to sexually assault her, but Con would bet a year’s pay that had he not come along, the moron would have had his hands full with a pissed-off female trying to smash his balls into paste.
He glanced down.
Her mouth was pressed into a thin angry line, but her hands were shaking.
For the first time in months something other than anger or despair slammed into him.
He knew just how she felt. Hyped up on adrenaline and looking for a target.
It surprised him so much he opened his mouth to make some inane comment or other to show her he was no threat, but she raised a hand to stop him.
She spoke a quick, firm “Thank you.” And then she was gone, inside the room closest to her. The click of the lock being engaged echoed down the hall.
He blinked at the empty hallway. He wasn’t sure she was okay, but those shaking hands and that locked door sent a pretty clear signal that she didn’t want another man anywhere near her.
Sometimes other people just made things worse.
He sighed, strode back to his bag, checked his room number again and discovered he was next door to the blonde.
At least he wouldn’t have to go far if Moron came back.

***

So much for getting some sleep. He’d lain awake, alert for any noise that might indicate a problem in the room next door, but it had been church-quiet. He got up at 0700 base time, then went in search of his new commanding officer, Colonel Maximillian. The man had an interesting reputation, but he trusted what his buddy, Jacob “Sharp” Foster, a former Special Forces soldier, had to say about him. Everyone else said the colonel was one bullet shy of a magazine. Sharp had warned him that the colonel wasn’t exactly regular army, but he gave a shit about his people, and that was number one for Con. If your CO had your six, at least you didn’t have to take your attention off what was coming at you.
The colonel had a fancy lab that didn’t exist on the base, according to official records. Officially, the lab that did exist on paper was rated for level two containment. Good enough to run the sort of tests any big city hospital conducted. In reality, the lab was capable of level four containment testing. The stuff you needed to wear a bio-suit for and breathe your own oxygen supply.
Con had to pass through two internal checkpoints to gain entry to the nondescript building that was his destination. Colonel Maximillian’s office was the first one inside the prefab rectangle that housed the lab and offices. A soldier who didn’t look a day over sixteen sat typing on a computer facing the entrance to the building.
The kid’s gaze darted over Con’s uniform, then he stood and saluted. “Private Eugene Walsh.”
“Sergeant Connor Button, Special Forces.”
“Yes, sir. Colonel Maximillian is expecting you.” Walsh extended his hand in the direction of the first office. “Go right in.”
Con gave him a nod, then walked into the office.
He saluted the salt-and-pepper-haired man, who stood and saluted back. “Sir, Sergeant Button reporting for duty.”
“Welcome, Sergeant.” The colonel came around his desk and offered his hand.
Con shook it once, twice, then released a hand that hadn’t tested him beyond what would be considered polite.
“Take a seat,” the colonel said, gesturing at one of the chairs facing his desk. “I’d like to go over your assignment and answer any questions you might have.”
“Thank you, sir.” Con sat and adopted a neutral body posture, back straight and hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was harder than it should have been.
The last time he’d been in the Middle East he’d been deployed with his unit, attempting to ascertain the military strength of two groups of extremists in Northern Iraq and Syria. Both groups had threatened multiple American and allied targets, as well as calling for sympathetic citizens to carry out terrorist acts inside their own countries.
The last time he’d been in the Middle East, he’d been the only survivor of an IED that took out their vehicle. Fortune had smiled on him that day. He’d been thrown clear.
More and more often, he wished he hadn’t been so lucky.
Colonel Maximillian continued to stare at him and seemed content to not say anything for several moments.
Con waited with the patience of a man who’d waited days for just the right moment to take a shot at his target.
Finally, the colonel asked, “How much do you know about your mission here?”
“Probably not enough.”
Maximillian’s face didn’t change. “Sharp said you were smart. Are you, Sergeant Button?”
“That would depend on your definition of smart.
“Observant, creative, organized, able to see unusual relationships between people and information.”
“Sir, you’re looking for Sherlock Holmes. He’s a fictional character.”
A brief smile crossed the colonel’s face. “How would you describe yourself?”
“Flexible, determined, fuck the box.”
Colonel Maximillian’s forehead lowered over his eyes. “Were you aware General Stone had some reluctance in assigning you to this mission?”
“Not directly, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Oh?”
How many conversations like this had he had recently? Five, six? “Sir, I received injuries in an attack that killed all the men in the armored vehicle with me. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t hesitant.” No officer wanted to have a suicidal or homicidal soldier on a mission. Survivor’s guilt could lead to either one. Or both.
“Do you consider yourself fit for duty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
Goddamned why-questions. Why judged, weighed and measured what was in a man’s head. What was in his head was not pretty, and not to be shared.
“Sir, I signed on to serve my country. My service isn’t done.”
Maximillian tilted his head to one side. “That is one of the best non-answers I’ve ever heard.”
Fuck it. Con leaned forward and said in a less civilized tone, “I got thrown off the horse. I need to get back on and finish my ride.”
“And if you don’t?”
Con’s throat closed up. “That thought can’t be in my head.”
The colonel’s face lost its sharp inquisitiveness for a moment, replaced by a surprising level of comprehension. A second later it was gone and he was flipping through pages on his desk. “You’ve had some problems with your temper since you returned to duty.”
“I’m working on that.” Anger was easy. Acting on it was even easier.
The officer considered Con for a couple more seconds, then nodded briskly. “My Biological Response Team is tracking a very dangerous man who’s created his own extremely deadly strain of anthrax. We managed to prevent an attack on a base in Afghanistan, but not before nearly one hundred people died of the infection. We think he’s not done. We think he’ll continue to strike at high-quality American or allied targets, and we don’t know where he is or where he will attack next.”
Con straightened. Hunting down a homicidal nutcase wasn’t the sort of duty he’d taken on before, but it sounded dangerous. Good.
Holy fuck he was messed up.
Maximillian continued. “We were successful in preventing the last attack because we had one of our infectious disease specialists embedded with an A-team training members of the Afghan military. General Stone agrees with me—until this man is found, we need more cooperation between my team and army Special Forces. I asked for specific men to work with my people. Men who are not only well trained and smart, but also creative and who can take a step back and support his teammate or take charge of a situation if that’s what’s needed. Jacob Foster says you’re that kind of man. Are you?”
It might be nice to have a specific enemy, with a face and a name, rather than a faceless one who could be anybody. The need to kill, to avenge his dead, was a relentless voice in the back of his head. This mission could get him the opportunity to give himself that, and maybe a measure of peace.
“Sir.” He paused, trying hard not to come on too strong. If he lost this chance, he might not get another. “I’m a team player. That means I’ll play whatever role is needed by the team.”
Colonel Maximillian smiled. “Do you mind working with a woman?”
“No, sir. Sharp mentioned the possibility I’d be paired with a woman.” Man, woman, two-headed alien, he didn’t care as long as they shared a common enemy.
“You’re okay with that? No hesitations?”
The colonel seemed unusually concerned.
What the hell? While he might smack down a fellow Special Forces soldier, he’d never lay a hand on a woman.
“Sir, I’m the youngest of five children with four older sisters. Working with or for a woman is nothing new to me.”
“Good.” Maximillian nodded. “I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but the doctor you’re going to be working with is somewhat high-strung.”
“High-strung?”
The colonel shook his head. “That’s the wrong description. She doesn’t trust…people. I’ve been trying to find a suitable partner for her, but I’ve been unsuccessful.”
“Unsuccessful?”
“Most people look at her and see a young woman who looks as if she’d have trouble with breaking a nail. Coddle her in any way and she’ll find a way to make you miserable.”
The bottom of Con’s stomach grew cold. “So why me?”
“Growing up with sisters is part of it.”
This interview was a personality test. Fuck.
“You’ve also been through some challenging combat situations and I think that will give you a level of experience she’ll respect.”
Con had to work to keep a growl out of his voice. “I’m not going to sit around the campfire telling her war stories.” What he’d seen wouldn’t instill confidence in anyone.
“I don’t expect you to. She works best with people who are highly competent, who don’t brag or try to impress.”
First time he’d been complimented on his ability to keep his trap shut.
“Another issue is her age. She’s young, she’s a genius and she has absolutely no idea how to talk to anyone who isn’t a scientist or doctor.”
That didn’t leave a whole lot of people. “Genius, as in graduated from medical school really young?”
“She’s twenty-four and is the youngest physician in the USA to have a double speciality in virology and hematology.”
“Virology, I get. Hematology?”
“The study of blood cells.”
If she was an overachiever, he could work with that. “So, work is her life, and before that, it was school?”
“Exactly.”
“S’okay. My second-oldest sister is married to a physicist. He speaks math, and we get along just fine.”
Maximillian quirked an eyebrow. “You speak math?”
“Nope. I speak barbecue. Everyone has something to say about properly grilling a steak.”
The colonel laughed. “You’ll do. Time to meet her.” He stepped out of his office and led the way down a hall. “Oh, and call me Max. It’s shorter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Max sighed as he opened a door with a key and preceded Con inside.
The room they entered was part office and part lab, with a couple of desks and two tall microscopes set up on the end of each. Papers and boxes of slides littered both surfaces. Only one of the desks was occupied.
A woman sat looking through the lens of one of the microscopes. Her hair was white-blond and pulled back into a severe bun. She wore an army uniform with a lab coat over top. When she saw Max, she pushed away from the scope, stood and moved to meet them.
The blonde from last night. With her hair pulled back, she could have passed for even younger than twenty-four.
Fucking gorgeous. He took that thought, hog-tied it and shoved it into a dark corner. His personal mission left no room for anything beyond a professional relationship.
She also looked ready to rip someone’s head off.
“Sophia,” Max said. “This is your new partner, Communications Sergeant Connor Button.” He turned to Con. “Connor, this is Captain Sophia Perry.” Her mouth, pressed into a thin line, convinced him to pretend last night hadn’t happened. He nodded at her respectfully. “Good to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and displaying a huge bruise on her right hand.
Must’ve hurt.
“This is who you found to babysit me, Max? A fossil?”
Damn, she came out swinging. Maybe he’d let her win this bout. Con managed to keep a straight face and said in a hesitant voice, “I’m only twenty-nine.”
“Would you rather I pair you up with someone who follows all the rules and regulations?” Max asked her, irritation showing in his rigid posture. “This guy—” he pointed a thumb at Con “—hates inside-the-box thinking as much as you do.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, looking Con full in the face. A challenge. Why was she so pissed off? Because she didn’t think she needed a babysitter?
He shrugged, then coughed to hide a chuckle. If he laughed now, she’d think he was laughing at her. “I don’t like boxes. They’re never big enough, and they’re too…square.”
She blinked at him, then narrowed her gaze. “What did you do to draw this duty? It had to have been bad.”
Max opened his mouth, but Con didn’t want to escalate things, so he spoke first, and went with the unvarnished truth. “I got blown up. I spent almost seven months in hospitals and physical therapy. The last three or four months I’ve been instructing and getting back into shape.” He smiled at her. “When I found out what my first mission was going to be, bodyguarding some army doctor, I thought what the fuck? I sure as shit didn’t want easy duty. But having talked with Max here, I’ve changed my mind.” He shifted his gaze to Max’s face. “This isn’t easy duty, is it, sir?”
“No. It’s not a matter of if there will be another biological weapon attack somewhere in this part of the world, it’s when.”
“My role isn’t just to bodyguard Dr. Perry, is it?”
“No.” Max began pacing back and forth between Con and Sophia. “We have intel that points to the Biological Response Team as a specific target. I don’t want you to just protect Sophia, I need you two to be a team. All of us are being paired with Special Forces soldiers, even myself.”
“Assassination?” Con asked. The idea of it made the back of his neck itch.
“Very possible. Sabotage is another danger.”
“Have any attempts been made?”
“Yes. Dr. Samuels and her Green Beret were nearly killed in a trap I believe was set for them. We have an enemy who is intelligent, ruthless and fearless.”
“Can I get everything you have on this guy?” Con asked.
“My assistant will have it ready for you in an hour or two.” Max turned to him. “Have you been assigned quarters?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to have you moved to the room next to Sophia’s.”
The woman in question opened her mouth to say something unpleasant—he was sure from the way she’d screwed up her nose—which is why Con spoke first again. “Are you sure that’s necessary?” He looked down, like he was thinking hard. “Do you want to advertise to the whole base that I’m her bodyguard, or would you like to keep it below the radar?”
Max gave him a dirty look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Hers, sir.”
“Fine,” Max said, with bit of an impatient edge to his voice. “I’ll check to see where you’re housed now. If it’s not too far, you can stay where you are.” Max pressed his lips together, glared at them both, then stomped off.
Con looked at Sophia.
She looked back at him, snorted and went back to her microscope. “Nice attempt to come to my rescue. Again. But I don’t need anyone to rescue me.”
She needed to talk to someone about the moron. To prevent fear and anger from getting too deep a hold on her brain.
Despite how fast things had happened, the human mind had a way of warping events so the memory of them seemed to take a thousand times longer than the reality had.
Hell, he was a walking testament for how three seconds of hell could totally screw up the rest of a man’s life.
Or take it.
Listen to him passing judgment on her mental state, when he’d done his level best to keep the shrinks out of his. Right now, he just had to convince her he was on her side. He wanted this assignment. “I know.”
“Really?” Sarcasm turned the word into something sharp and heavy. “You just met me. How would you know that?”
“I saw you in action last night.”
She froze, and for a moment the expression on her face was a mixture of anger, fear and disgust. A second later, it was gone, smoothed away as if it had never been there.
Whoa. What was that?
Without looking at him, she said, “Babysitting me is going to be a complete bore for a soldier’s soldier like you. I’ll tell Max to find someone else.”


Buy The Book:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lethal-Game-Biological-Response-Team-ebook/dp/B00VYD2FA0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1442957430&sr=1-1&keywords=Lethal+Game+Julie+Rowe

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lethal-game-julie-rowe/1121720078?ean=9781459290198

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23366556-lethal-game?ac=1


Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club on Goodreads:  
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About The Author



Julie Rowe’s first career as a medical lab technologist in Canada took her to the North West Territories and northern Alberta, where she still resides. She loves to include medical details in her romance novels, but admits she’ll never be able to write about all her medical experiences because, “No one would believe them!”.

In addition to writing contemporary and historical medical romance, and fun romantic suspense for Entangled Publishing and Carina Press, Julie has short stories in Fool’s Gold, the Mammoth Book of ER Romance, Timeless Keepsakes and Timeless Escapes anthologies. Her book SAVING THE RIFLEMAN (book #1 WAR GIRLS) won the novella category of the 2013 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence. AIDING THE ENEMY (book #3 WAR GIRLS) won the novella category of the 2014 Colorado Romance Writer’s Award of Excellence. Her writing has also appeared in several magazines such as Romantic Times Magazine, Today’s Parent, and Canadian Living.


Connect with Julie:
Author Website:  http://www.julieroweauthor.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JulieRoweAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieRoweAuthor
Goodreads: https://twitter.com/JulieRoweAuthor



Virtual Book Tour




The Story Behind Deadly Strain by Julie Rowe



When I was a teen, I was the geeky girl writing poetry and sneaking my mom’s Harlequin romances when she wasn’t looking. That hasn’t changed much. I’ve always been a romantic (The moment I met my husband, I knew he was the one) and I’ve always believed that everyone is entitled to a happy ending. 

My first career, as a medical lab technologist taught me that even happy endings come to a close at some point, and that to achieve them often required work and sacrifice. I left my job as a lab tech when my daughters were born and began writing short stories, magazine articles and novels. It took me ten years of writing and submitting to sell my first book to Carina Press in 2010. That book, Icebound, came out in November of 2011. 

I’ve always written about people in the medical profession in my stories, but it wasn’t until I was doing some research about the current status of antibiotic resistant bacteria that I realized how big a concern bioterrorism is to organizations like the Center for Disease Control and the World Health Organization. The story developed in my head, and on paper, rapidly after that. The scary part is, the kind of scenario in Deadly Strain, could in fact, happen in real life. Who knows, maybe it already has. 



About The Book

    


TitleDeadly Strain Book 1: Biological Response Team Series
Author: Julie Rowe
Publisher: Carina Press
Publication Date: June 15, 2015
Pages: 260
ASIN: B00PQDB6LI
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Format: eBook, PDF  


Buy The Book:

Amazon: 
http://www.amazon.com/Deadly-Strain-Biological-Response-Team-ebook/dp/B00PQDB6LI/ref=la_B005WL9UJY_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1431025158&sr=1-9

Barnes & Noble: 
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Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23366545-deadly-strain?ac=1


Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking: 

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Book Description: 


Book one of Biological Response Team Series

Major Grace Samuels, a trauma surgeon deployed to Afghanistan, spends her life helping her fellow soldiers overcome disease and combat injuries. But her own wounds are harder to heal. Wracked with guilt over the death of a fellow soldier, she finds comfort in her only friend and appointed bodyguard, weapons sergeant Jacob “Sharp” Foster.

Sharp feels more for Grace than a soldier should, more than he wants to admit. When the team discovers a new, quick-to-kill strain of anthrax, he tries to focus on the mission to find its source. He knows he can help Grace defeat her demons, but first they must defeat the deadly outbreak.

Sharp is Grace’s most loyal ally, but in close quarters, he starts to feel like more. She can’t watch someone else she cares about die—but she might not have a choice. The closer they get to finding the source of the strain, the closer it gets to finding them.


Book Excerpt:

The battle line between good and evil runs through the heart of every man. —Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Chapter One

“I’m so dead.” Dr. Grace Samuels stared at the chessboard. There was no hope. None. Not a single move left open to her.
Except for one.
She sighed, shook her head at the patience on her opponent’s face. “I concede.”
“Want to know where you went wrong?” he asked as he cleared the board. He set the pieces up again. Those big hands of his could bandage a wounded soldier, field strip a 9 mm and box her into checkmate with equal skill.
“I sat down in this chair,” she answered with a straight face. The mess hall was busy with soldiers, American and Afghan alike, either beginning their day or ending their night.
“No,” he said. “You played the board.”
Grace thought about it for a second, but it still didn’t make any sense. Then again, it was 0600 and she’d only been up for twenty minutes. “Huh?”
Special Forces Weapons Sergeant Jacob “Sharp” Foster looked at her earnestly. “You played the board,” he repeated. “You should have been playing the man.”
He winked and she had to fight not to roll her eyes. When she first met him she’d thought his flirting was for real, and had been worried she’d have to shut him down. She didn’t want to, because he was hilarious, but the impropriety couldn’t be ignored. Then, she discovered when he wasn’t on the job, he had a wicked sense of humor, and everyone was a target.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to study you.” She leaned forward and made a show of giving him a thorough once-over.
He grinned and spread his hands wide. “By all means, study me.”
Sharp was a big man, about six-two, and she’d guess he weighed about two hundred pounds. He flexed his biceps and waggled his eyebrows in response to her joke. Though he had brown hair, with a mustache and beard to match, he had the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen—like looking into glacial ice.
Right now, those eyes were challenging her. She just wasn’t sure if it was regarding the game or something she didn’t want to talk about. At all.
Unfortunately, Sharp wasn’t going to leave it alone. The chess game should have warned her. They usually played poker.
She watched him reset the chessboard while, for the first time in a week, letting her mind go back to the moment she realized she was in trouble. On her way to her quarters late at night. They’d arrived at Forward Operating Base Bostick the week before, and she’d been introduced to the base commander, Colonel Marshall. He’d barely spoken to her. So why was he waiting for her outside her quarters with clenched fists and a face so blank she knew he was in the grip of a powerful emotion?
The colonel wasn’t known for any kind of emotion.
She stopped several feet away. “What are you doing here at this hour, sir?”
One corner of his upper lip lifted in a sneer and he snarled, “I wanted a private conversation.”
His words triggered every internal red flag she had. “I don’t understand.”
Marshall’s response was two words. One name. “Joseph Cranston.”
A name she wished she could forget. “You…knew him?”
Scorn turned his words into weapons. “He was my son.”
Oh God.
Grace took an involuntary step backward. Now that she knew, she could see the son in his father’s face, the same eyes and jawline as the young man whose features she couldn’t forget. As if conjured, his shade floated in front of her mind’s eye, thrusting her into a memory she wanted desperately to erase. His face, covered with blood, whipped her heart into a gallop. Her breathing bellowed, lungs attempting to push air through her terror-closed throat. She fought the invisible hands pulling at her and her vision spiraled into a narrow tunnel.
Sharp had surfaced out of the dark, his presence breaking the memory’s chokehold.
He’d crouched in front of her, calling her name, ordering her to respond before he did something stupid like give her mouth-to-mouth. She coughed out a response, couldn’t remember what, and fought her way to her feet.
Sharp didn’t try to hold her. He didn’t touch her at all, but he shielded her body from prying eyes with his own. He refused to leave her, facing down Colonel Marshall, who showed no sympathy and less tolerance for her fainting spell. Two of Sharp’s team members appeared and, after glaring at them all, Marshall left without saying anything else.
She managed to get inside her quarters before anyone could demand an explanation, shut the door and locked it. She’d only felt relief when no one knocked to ask for an explanation. It wasn’t until the next day that she realized their lack of questions was as suspect as her behavior.
She hadn’t expected to meet anyone connected to Joseph Cranston outside of the United States. Hadn’t expected something that happened that long ago to thrust her into a memory like it was happening all over again.
Fool.
In the days since, Sharp had been mother-henning her like she was some fragile little chick, and she’d had about as much of that as she could take. She was a Samuels. Her father, also a military doctor, had just retired from the army, and her grandfather had run a MASH unit during the Korean War. He’d met her grandmother during WWII; she’d been one of the first Air Force service pilots. If there was one thing she wouldn’t accept from anyone, it was pity.
“I’ve been studying you for a while.” Sharp finished setting up the board and met her gaze. “You’re a damn good doctor, a hellacious good shot on the range and you put up with our male stupidity with more patience than we deserve.”
“I hear the but coming.”
“What happened between you and Marshall?”
“None of your damn business.”
When he continued to stare at her, she added, “Look, I’m not going to saddle anyone else with my personal grievances or the fact that I don’t get along with someone.”
“Personal grievances?” Sharp asked. “Twice last week I thought you were going to damage a guy for jostling you in the chow line. What’s going on with you?”
Shit, of course he would notice. She’d damn near freaked out each time, a scream hovering on her lips, her hands and feet moving to defend against an enemy who wasn’t there.
The enemy wasn’t there. No gunfire. No weapons pointed at her, yet she still found herself reacting as if it were happening all over again.
She hadn’t been reacting that way until Marshall had confronted her. Meeting the father of a soldier who’d died an unnecessary death in front of her must have detonated an emotional trip wire in her head. One she needed to deal with.
Not an easy thing when on active duty and nowhere near a base with more than a glorified first-aid station.
It seemed like anywhere she went on the base, Sharp or one of the guys from the A-Team was there. Not doing anything, just there. They weren’t fooling her.
Damn alpha males and their overprotective tendencies.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I take care of myself.” She narrowed her eyes. Her sidearm, a Beretta M9, might have to make an appearance. Then Sharp’s words sunk all the way in. “Wait. Are you telling me I should play chess with the same mind-set as poker?” She buried his ass every time they played poker. He was terrible at keeping his attention on his cards and lousy at pretending he wasn’t checking her out—not that he was serious about it. He knew the rules same as she, and she was glad, ridiculously glad, she had a friend she could count on, someone she could trust.
“Sort of. Chess demands more of you than poker, but the principles are the same.”
Them’s fightin’ words. “The hell you say.” She’d been playing poker with her dad since she was ten years old. He’d taught her how to bluff anyone.
“Doc,” Sharp said, chuckling. “If I were lying, you’d be beating me, but you aren’t.”
“Ha.” She leaned forward and tapped the board. “Make your move.”
Sharp opened his mouth to respond, but he never got a chance to say anything before another Beret, the team’s other weapons sergeant, Harvey Runnel, strode over to them. It wasn’t the speed he was moving that drew her and Sharp’s attention, it was the look on the soldier’s face. Flattened lips, clenched jaw and a slightly flared nose. She couldn’t see his eyes due to the tinted safety glasses he wore, but she could guess that the skin around them would be tight—a man who was on full alert.
Special Forces soldiers did not get amped up for no reason.
“Playtime’s over,” Runnel said. “Doc, grab your go-bag.”
A mental blanket sank over her, numbing her to the horror to come. It was the first self-preservation tactic doctors learned. Compartmentalize all that terrible stuff or go crazy in a week. Sometimes she wondered when all those boxes in her mind would break open and rip her apart from the inside out.
There was an entire crate named Joseph Cranston.
“Warm or cold?” She asked even though she already knew the answer. Runnel never looked this rattled. Please say warm.
Her warm go-bag was a trauma kit, a backpack with everything she’d need if she was dealing with bullet holes, shrapnel lacerations or broken bones. The typical things most people expected her to treat since she was a trauma surgeon. But that wasn’t all she was.
She was also an infectious disease specialist.
Her cold go-bag contained the very latest in biological detection technology. One- or two-step tests that identified anything from anthrax to Ebola to a weaponized flu. She was a member of a select group of virologists, microbiologists and infectious disease specialists the US Army relied on to train not only their own troops, but the soldiers of other nations, in the detection of and protection against biological weapons. They were known officially as the Biological Rapid Response team, but most soldiers called them Icemen or Icequeens.
Lately the army had been assigning BRR team members to work with Army Special Forces teams—Green Berets. She’d been working with Sharp’s team for almost a year. Her job was to assist in training Afghan forces in everything from combat and demolitions to the most survivable responses to biological, chemical or nuclear weapons.
“Cold,” Runnel said. “No drill.”
Shit.
Adrenaline spiked through her system as Grace got up and followed Runnel. He led the way back to whoever was calling the shots, Sharp right behind her as they ran at a trot. She might be the base’s resident expert on biological weapons, but it was knowledge she wished fervently she didn’t have to use.
They entered the staging area where she’d been doing some of the training. Several members of Sharp’s team were using it to gear up. Runnel glanced at her and angled his head toward the base commander, a tall man in his forties who wore a permanent frown. He was looking at a map with several ranking officers, including the A-Team’s commander, Geoffry Cutter.
Cutter glanced at her. “The major is here, sir.”
Base Commander Colonel Marshall gave her a glare before returning his attention to the map in front of him.
He’d called her a fucking quack yesterday as he walked past her. If he kept demeaning her in front of the Afghan forces and their own soldiers, she’d lose the credibility she needed to successfully train them.
“Major,” Marshall said without looking at her. “One of our patrols reported in about ten minutes ago with what appears to be a biological incident.”
She waited, but he didn’t add any more details. “What led them to believe that, sir?”
He met her gaze with an even colder expression. “An entire village dead. Some of the bodies show lesions and bleeding from the nose, mouth and eyes.”
Holy Mother of God.
Bad. This was very bad.
“I concur with their assessment of the situation, sir. Your orders?”
“Get the fuck out there,” he snarled at her. “Figure out what happened and fix it.”
That part she knew already. Asshat. She’d hoped he’d give her some detailed orders, with a timeline and what kind of manpower she could expect. Not more sarcasm and snark. She came to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir.”
He took two steps, then stopped and turned around. He addressed Cutter and only Cutter, who had somehow inched his way over until he was right next to her, with Sharp on the other side. What a couple of papa bears. “Send half of your A-Team with the Icequeen. The other half will stay here in case I need a second team to go in.”
Grace bit her tongue hard to keep from telling what she thought of him and his orders, and mentally promoted him to asshole.
“Yes, sir.” Cutter saluted. “The location of the village is here.” He glanced at Grace and pointed to a spot on the map. From a distance Cutter looked like the least threatening person in the room. He was the shortest, skinniest guy on the A-Team, but he more than made up for that in stubbornness and stamina.
Grace moved closer so she could get a better look. “How far is it from the Pakistan border?”
“About two klicks.”
“Not very damn far.” She ran her index finger over the spot on the map. “Mountain valley?”
“Yeah. It’s a small village. Less than one hundred people.”
“The patrol found no one alive?”
“No one.”
Grace breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. “Did they get their breathing gear on right away?”
“According to their report they did, but they’re nervous. Whatever killed those people, killed them fast.”
“Okay. I don’t have to tell you guys how to prep. You’re as well trained as I am. Consider this a live weapon.”
“Will do,” Cutter responded. He looked at Sharp standing next to her. “I’m assigning Sharp to ride herd on you, Doc. Where you go, he goes.”
“I’m not arguing, Commander. I’ve worked with Sharp plenty of times.”
“Good. We leave in fifteen.” Cutter nodded at her, gave Sharp a nod, then moved off to brief the rest of his team.
“I have to get my go-bag and the rest of my gear,” she said to Sharp, her mind on the eight million things she needed to do before those fifteen minutes were up.
“I’ll give you a hand.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need any help.” She was going to have to deal with his protective crap sooner rather than later, but carefully. “I do need every friend I can get, though. Are you in for that?”
At his grin, she relaxed a little and refocused on the job at hand.

* * *

Sharp watched Grace rush away for about two seconds too long.
“Do I need to replace you with Runnel?” Cutter asked.
He jerked his head around to stare at his commander. He’d thought Cutter had been briefing the rest of the team. “No.”
Cutter stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet apart. “Then pull your tongue back into your head. You’re damn near panting after her.”
“Not fucking likely. She’s just the only person on this base who can beat me in poker. If something happens to her, I’ll have nothing to do for the next month,” he said. “Besides, something’s not right. She’s been off her game since Marshall decided to be an ass. She’s our number-one asset. I’m worried.” The way he’d found her the other day, damn near passed out, shaking and hyperventilating like she was about to fly apart… It had hit him—a sucker punch to the gut. She was reliving something awful.
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
How many guys did he know who lived with PTSD? Ten, twenty, fifty?
What was Marshall’s connection? Something he’d done or said had set off a bomb in Grace’s head.
Even weirder, Marshall hadn’t liked it when Sharp wouldn’t leave Grace alone with him.
What the hell had Grace been involved with that earned her the dislike of a career military man who normally didn’t give a rat’s ass about what a doctor like her might be doing or not doing?
“Still, watch yourself. Word around the base is, he’s got a hate on for the doc and you got in the way.”
“What do you know, Cutter?”
“Nothing specific. Marshall hasn’t talked, but his attitude toward the doc is clear. He hates her guts.”
Cutter was right, Marshall’s face had been twisted by disgust and hostility as he stared at her the night he got between her and the colonel. What had happened to cause it? Whatever it was, Sharp wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her. She worked just as hard and long at training their allied troops as the A-Team did. And she was good.
“Sharp.” Cutter’s voice had a wary edge and he took a step closer. “Be careful, man. I like the doc, too. Hell, the whole team likes her, but you and I both know falling for someone while on deployment is a mistake.”
“Preaching to the choir here, boss. I might enjoy the view on occasion, but there’s a line I have no interest in crossing.”
They’d both watched as a former team member fell hard for a woman he’d met while overseas. The relationship disintegrated within weeks after he’d been reassigned. It had damn near broke him, and he’d left the military altogether.
“I respect her,” Sharp told his commander. “She’s smart and she’s worked her ass off this last year. I also think Marshall has some kind of vendetta against her. The look on his face the other night…” Sharp shook his head. “He’d have killed her if he could have. She belongs to us.”
Cutter was silent for a couple of moments, his gaze steady on Sharp’s face. Finally, he angled his head toward the knot of soldiers and gear. “Come on, no one is going to bother her now. Marshall needs her. Get your shit together.”
Cutter had one thing right. He needed to keep his focus on the mission. Sharp followed the other man, but there wasn’t much for any of them to do, since they were always ready to move out on a moment’s notice. Every man on the team had developed the habit during training and had only refined it since. One of their instructors used to say that an unprepared soldier was a dead soldier.
Sharp joined the rest of his team, double-checked his weapons, pulled on his battered gear and bio-suit and got out of the way. Focus.
Cutter was talking with Bart, one of their communications guys, when Colonel Marshall walked in a few minutes later with another half-dozen soldiers behind him and headed straight for the Special Forces group.
“Cutter, storm coming at twelve o’clock,” Sharp informed him quietly.
By the time Marshall came to a stop, the entire A-Team was standing at attention.
“Sir,” Cutter said with a salute. “The go-team is ready, sir.”
“Where’s that damn doctor?”
“She’ll be here in six minutes, sir.”
Marshall grunted. “You’re taking these men with you on this mission. Two additional medics, Yanik and Anderson, and four of my infantry for security. Your mission objective is to assist Major Samuels.”
For the first time since their arrival two weeks ago, Marshall was actually helping a situation rather than shitting all over it.
“And make sure that bitch doesn’t screw up,” Marshall added. “I want the men on that patrol back in one piece. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The team saluted and Marshall stalked off like he was Patton or something.
“So much for that guy not being a tremendous bag of dicks,” the team’s second in command, John Leonard, said in an undertone.
   

 

About The Author

   


Julie Rowe’s first career as a medical lab technologist in Canada took her to the North West Territories and northern Alberta, where she still resides. She loves to include medical details in her romance novels, but admits she’ll never be able to write about all her medical experiences because, “No one would believe them!”.

In addition to writing contemporary and historical medical romance, and fun romantic suspense for Entangled Publishing and Carina Press, Julie has short stories in Fool’s Gold, the Mammoth Book of ER Romance, Timeless Keepsakes and Timeless Escapes anthologies. Her book SAVING THE RIFLEMAN (book #1 WAR GIRLS) won the novella category of the 2013 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence. AIDING THE ENEMY (book #3 WAR GIRLS) won the novella category of the 2014 Colorado Romance Writer’s Award of Excellence. Her writing has also appeared in several magazines such as Romantic Times Magazine, Today’s Parent, and Canadian Living.

You can reach Julie at www.julieroweauthor.com , on Twitter @julieroweauthor or at her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/JulieRoweAuthor 


Connect with Julie:

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieRoweAuthor Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/5272597.Julie_Rowe  



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