Page 2 of Under Pressure

Delta gripped the police tape surrounding the epicenter and glanced around to see if the cops off to the side had noticed him. They had their backs turned, just for a moment, so he took his chance. As he slipped past, he slunk around the building into the shadows, and he observed. He paused in an enclave, watching cops come and go from the building, listening to the broken conversations of the investigators.

In all his years in the special forces, he’d become skilled at going unseen when he needed to. He could be a goddamn ninja. A lot of it just had to do with confidence—and looking like he belonged. That had turned out to be damn useful the previous few weeks. He’d been on leave from work, but it hadn’t been a fucking vacation. He’d been working on something else—something serious. And, in true Delta fashion, he’d been going it alone.

Crouching low and moving slow, Delta approached a broken window near the back of the building. He checked inside, seeing the room was empty. A ton of blood was splashed across the concrete floor, but there was no body in sight. Fuck. Had the cops already moved the corpse out? He reached into his pocket, readying his cell phone to snap pictures of anything that could aid him. Delta scanned the room for pertinent info. The graying building interior had the feel of an unrealized horror film, and a chill ran up his back as he wondered what the fuck had happened there.

Voices echoed from the front hall of the building, and Delta ducked down outside the window. He could hear the voice of someone entering the room, calling back details of the scene to the front of the building. His first instinct hadn’t been wrong. The victim had been using. And, unfortunately, his second instinct had been right too. She was there.

His body stiffened and his skin prickled, awareness flushing over him. He’d never forget her voice, even though he hadn’t heard it for a while. He’d bumped into her at Carrick’s wedding, just weeks after they’d hooked up, but that hardly counted. Had it already been a year? Hearty, feminine, sincere—every word she said danced out of her mouth. As he tried to regain focus, he slowly looked up and into the open window, enough to fully take in her candid, clever words. Her voice alone ran a wave of sensation up his spine that surprised him, after all that time. But it was nothing in comparison to when he finally laid eyes on her.

Sergeant Kendra Larose’s natural blonde hair bobbed into view. Delta adjusted his position, getting eyes on the interior of the crime scene and a better view of her—a woman he hadn’t seen since he’d deployed, spending the year fighting enemies with half the resolve that she had. A woman who had grown to hate him—and rightfully so.

I can’t let her see me.

After she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, Kendra was focused on the warehouse floor. Delta’s cock twitched as he watched her shift on her feet, her hips swaying. Blood pumped through his shaft as he drank in her body—a form that drew him to arousal so quickly, without fail. Never had he met such a natural beauty as her. Some guys might find her ordinary or plain, but he found her simply intoxicating. There was always just something about her—something that really got to him.

Even at a distance, he admired the machinations of her clever mind. She was looking down at a cluster of blood where a body once had lain, her lips and nose twitching that certain way that showed when she was really deep in thought. She was on to something. How much did she already know? Delta tried to see what she was seeing. He flexed his jaw, wondering if maybe it wasn’t fate that they’d met again. On his own, tracing the source of the drugs had proven to be an impossible task.

And just as a familiar man’s voice echoed through the space, Delta realized he was biting the side of his cheek, breathing heavier than usual and gripping the edge of the window like he was going to snap.

“This city is falling to pieces.” The man scoffed, coming into view.

Delta recognized him immediately as Staff Sergeant Hunter Greenwood. Delta had met the guy a year ago, around the same time that he had met Kendra. The Navy had put on a one-week training course for partners in law enforcement, extending the invite to LAPD. At the time, Delta had shown Kendra the ropes—training her how to safely rappel, while realizing that he needed to train her on protecting herself from creeps. Something about the way that Hunter looked at Kendra…

“He’s another military vet.” Kendra shook her head and furiously scribbled in her notebook. “They’ve already identified him.”

Prickles ran up the back of Delta’s neck as he watched Hunter stalk Kendra in the middle of the crime scene. Everything in Delta’s body screamed for violence as Hunter licked his bottom lip, carefully examining her. The scowl on his face deepened as she furthered her point.

“What do you bet his blood has traces of doxycycline?” Kendra turned to her boss.

“Come on.” He shook his head dismissively, straightening his jacket. “It’s a common antibiotic. Stop.”

“This is real, Hunter. We’ve seen traces of it in the other two bodies.” Kendra glared at her staff sergeant, standing her ground. “There’s a pattern here. Are they being targeted?”

“For what purpose?” he asked, an underlying threat in his voice.

“I don’t know yet.”

Hunter stilled, clearly judging her. The man looked damn tired, like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

“Let’s not start jumping to conclusions,” Hunter snapped back, his eye twitching. “Anything is possible, Kendra. Let’s check with the gangs first.”

“Hunter, please. The first two have been soldiers, not gangbangers,” Kendra replied slowly, flipping through her notes. “But why? Who’s after them—?”

A flash of rage visibly taking over, he cut her off. “We don’t have any reason to believe there are links between cases. This is LA. Murders happen all the time.”

“But there must be a connection.” Kendra glanced between her notebook, the blood splatter and Hunter, apparently confused by his messaging. “It’s this doxycycline. Isn’t it known to be used by the military as an antimalaria drug?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” Hunter strode toward her, his face darkening.

“Yes, but doxycycline—”

“You don’t get it.”

“They were soldiers—” Kendra countered again but halted as Hunter’s hand whipped up into the air, matched by a growl escaping his lips.

For a split second, Delta’s protective instinct thrust him forward, ready to fuck the guy up. But Hunter had recovered, using his raised hand to smooth back his hair.

“Fuck,” Hunter grumbled, shaking as he regained control.

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