Soldier's Pregnancy Protocol. Beth Cornelison

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      Where was Daniel, damn it? Why didn’t he answer?

      A helicopter buzzed low over the clearing. Suddenly the jungle teemed with enemy fighters.

      Don’t jeopardize the mission. If things go south, it’s every man for himself. He and Daniel had sworn to abide by the agreement as they broke camp yesterday morning. But yesterday, Alec had arrogantly believed nothing could stop him and his partner from bringing the general in.

      Sweat and mud stung Alec’s eyes as he plowed through the dense rain forest. A bright green bird shrieked and took flight as Alec charged through the mist-shrouded jungle. He pressed on, despite stiff muscles and the encumbering weight of the black sludge he’d smeared on his skin for camouflage.

      Daniel was as highly trained as Alec. His partner would be fine.

      Alec glided through the rain forest like a jaguar, already mentally regrouping. Ramirez had been shot. If the general died, the sources he and Daniel had cultivated would hear the news and report to them at the rat-nest motel in Medellin. If Daniel made it out, he’d know to meet Alec there.

      If Daniel made it out? Alec clenched his teeth and shoved the negativity aside. His partner would make it out of this hellhole and meet him in Medellin. Or, regardless of what they’d agreed, Alec would find his partner. No matter what it took.

       Chapter 1

       Cherry Creek, Colorado—Nine months later

      Alec stood in the motel bathroom, ready to chuck his cell phone into the toilet. The water would render the phone and all the data on it useless, erasing the last traces of his trail before he went underground. He’d been followed for a couple of days. The time had come for Alec Kincaid to disappear.

      When he’d called the black ops team leader and told him he was going dark and extending his leave of absence indefinitely, he’d received an earful. Time for Alec to get his ass back on assignment, Briggs had bellowed. The team needed him.

      Maybe so. But first Alec needed to lose his tail.

      Though their orders came from unnamed officials within the U.S. government, the elite twelve-man team operated off the grid, an independent entity funded through offshore investments and hidden behind dummy corporations. Long before the Office of Homeland Security was formed, the team had been working for Uncle Sam in foreign hot spots or doing jobs the U.S. military couldn’t legally tackle. The work was covert, dangerous … and lucrative.

      At thirty-five, Alec could easily retire and live off his investments, so extending his personal leave time was not a hardship.

      But, as Briggs had reminded him, the team was already short one man due to Daniel’s disappearance. The team had changed Daniel’s status from MIA to presumed dead after five months and given up their search.

      Daniel. The only person he’d allowed himself to trust or give a damn about since his mother taught him his first hard lesson in misplaced loyalty, the pain of betrayal. Then Alec had abandoned his only friend. Maybe he was more like his mom than he wanted to believe. Didn’t matter that he’d personally looked for Daniel for nine months. He’d gotten nowhere. He had no more information now about his partner’s disappearance than he’d had that hellish afternoon in the Colombian jungle.

      Alec swallowed the bile and sour guilt that swelled in his throat. As he held the phone out over the toilet, the screen lit up like the Christmas trees currently lining the streets of Denver. He paused, considered ignoring the ring. But Alec pulled the phone back and flipped it over. Just in case the call was Daniel, finally surfacing.

      Checking the caller I.D., Alec recognized the name of the woman who’d bought his house in Cherry Creek last week. He frowned. Why the hell was she calling?

      He conjured a mental image of the woman, and a kick of libido replaced his suspicion. Alec never forgot a face, especially one as stunning as Erin Bauer’s. He’d ogled more than her face last week as he’d toted cardboard boxes out, and she’d carried wicker baskets and flowery pillows into his old house.

      He started to toss the phone without answering, but a prick of unease stopped him. Not answering felt too much like leaving a loose end unresolved. Better to see what she wanted. “H’lo?”

      “Um … Mr. Kincaid?” her sweet female voice chirped. “This is Erin Bauer. I bought your house on Hurley Street.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Well, you have some mail here, and I was hoping you’d give me your forwarding address.”

      “Don’t have one.”

      “Oh. Then … maybe you could stop by and pick it up? Although a lot of it’s probably junk, there’s a bill from the power company and a personal letter that looks impor—”

      “Toss it all,” he interrupted. He also remembered the woman’s tendency to chatter nonstop.

      “But—”

      “I don’t need it.”

      “Even the letter?” She sounded appalled. “It was hand-delivered by messenger this afternoon. It looks important.”

      “Hand-delivered?” Suspicion reared its head again. “Who’s it from?”

      In his line of work letters could be deadly. A piece of Deta-sheet fit easily inside an envelope to make a letter bomb. He preferred to deal by phone. By encrypted email.

      “There’s no return address,” Erin said. “I could open it and read it to you if—”

      “No!” A cold sweat popped out on his lip thinking of Erin’s lush little body, blown to bits by an incendiary device intended for him.

      She snorted indignantly. “Ooo-kay. Just an idea.”

      He’d have to go to the house and pick up the damn letter, if only to be sure she didn’t snoop and get toasted in the process.

      “There’s a name or something in a corner on the back,” she said.

      His old house was almost certainly being watched. He couldn’t just waltz up to the door without being seen. Alec rubbed the back of his neck and stewed over this hitch in his plans. Delays didn’t sit well with him.

      “It’s hard to read the writing, but it looks like La-something.” Erin paused. “Lafire, maybe?”

      Alec jolted. “What?”

      “The word in the corner of the envelope. It’s written in chicken scratch, but it looks like Lafire or—”

      A chill skittered down his neck. “Lafitte?”

      “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

      Alec’s stomach somersaulted. His mind leapfrogged as he strode toward the motel door. “Listen carefully, Erin. Put the letter down.” He kept his voice under tight control, even as adrenaline and hope surged through him. “Don’t touch it again. Got it?”

      He prayed she hadn’t already obliterated any fingerprints СКАЧАТЬ