Page 2 of Deadly Strain

A shout. She turned in time to see Cranston’s body crumpling to the ground as bullet after bullet struck him.The recollection 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 down into a narrow tunnel.

The colonel marched toward her, rage vibrating through his entire body, and she wanted to run, but her legs turned rubbery and dumped her onto the floor.

Before Marshall could reach her and pound her into pulp with the clenched fists at his sides, 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 stood in front of her, shielding her body from Marshall with his own. He refused to leave, facing down the Colonel, who showed no sympathy and less tolerance for herfainting spell. Two of Sharp’s team members appeared and stood on either side of him, silent but ready.

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 months 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 thebutcoming.”

“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 aspoker?” She buried his asseverytime 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. She was glad,ridiculouslyglad, 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 chuckled. “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.”

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