Page 50 of Deadly Strain

“Are you sure about that? Rasker and Williams are dead.” Grace fought tears. Again.

“Not your fault.”

She shook her head. She was the reason they’d gone.

“Hey.” Sharp rapped his knuckles against her leg. “Not your fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“The son of a bitch who’s playing around with a bacteria that could easily kill a whole lot of people.” He wrapped his hand around her ankle. “Don’t lose focus. Stay on task. Complete the mission.”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“It isn’t easy.”

She sighed. “Let me guess, it’s what puts thespecialin Special Forces?”

The medic on the other side of Sharp’s gurney stifled a laugh.

“Now, now,” Sharp said with a grin in his voice. “No giving away trade secrets.”

“Ha, as if. What I know about how you guys get to be what you are would fit in a shot glass.”

The pilot interrupted their conversation. “Two minutes to touchdown. Medical standing by.”

Everyone onboard shifted in anticipation of landing.

“Remember what I said,” Sharp ordered, his hand on her ankle again. “Make contact with Commander Cutter.”

“I won’t forget. I want to tell him personally how sorry I am for the loss of Rasker and Williams.”

“Tell him I want beans for breakfast, okay?”

“Beans?”

“Don’t knock ’em. They’re good for when you’ve got a long haul ahead of you or when you need to heal.”

At that moment, the helicopter landed and two medics were unstrapping Sharp’s gurney and rushing him out as fast as they could.

Grace released her jump harness and followed them into the base hospital. She quickly related the history of Sharp’s injuries to the on-duty doctor, who insisted on taking care of Sharp himself, while she got checked out by another physician.

She ended up needing a few stitches on her left leg and arm. The doctor had finished sewing her up and was talking to her about giving her antibiotics even though she showed no signs of infection. Just then Colonel Marshall strode into the curtained cubicle treatment room she was in.

Colonel Marshall was an old-school officer. Big on discipline, short on excuses, and zero on failure. She anticipated anger, frustration, and dislike.

He looked like he wanted to kill someone—her. She held herself very, very still.

“Is she medically fit?” he asked the attending doctor without looking away from her.

“Yes, sir,” the doctor replied. He’d also frozen into immobility, his back against the wall.

“Dismissed.”

The doctor glanced at Grace, then left without saying anything else.

Coward.

Marshall waited a couple of seconds, then snarled, “My patrol is dead. Every last man.”

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