Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) Read Free

sir, is where young Southern boys and girls learn how to be gentlemen and ladies.”
    “Dancing. Which fork to use. Polite conversation. Proper behavior. That sort of thing?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And did you learn these things as well?”
    “I’ve attended more Cotillion classes than any kid alive in Paris, Georgia, sir. I guarantee you that.”
    Because when his mother needed another boy for the dancing or needed an extra set of eyes on the students, he got dragged into it. He could “yes, ma’am” and “yes, sir” his way through a fricking White House dinner if he had to, and all without using the wrong fork or saying anything inappropriate.
    Mendez was grinning, and Garrett felt his ears growing hot. Yeah, he was a big, muscular, tattooed, tough soldier who could mince his way through a waltz and use a fish fork with aplomb. Of course, it was a ridiculous mental picture for anyone who knew him now as opposed to when he was a child.
    He blew things up when required and patched up his teammates when necessary. He hadn’t waltzed since his wedding reception. And these days, he microwaved his meals or got takeout that came with plastic forks. Or sporks. No etiquette necessary with those.
    “So if you were to suddenly be thrust into the presence of a United States senator and his family, you wouldn’t make an ass of yourself?”
    “Uh, no sir, I don’t believe so. Anything is possible though.”
    Mendez did laugh this time. Even Richie looked a little astonished. But the colonel quickly got himself under control.
    “I need you to be utterly perfect, soldier. I need you to dredge up every bit of politeness and etiquette your mama drummed into you, and I need you to use it. You got that?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    What the fuck?
    Mendez pulled a photograph from another pile and handed it to him. Garrett stared at the woman, memorizing her. The first thing he noticed about her was the black-rimmed glasses. The second was her eyes. They were brilliant blue, fringed in dark lashes. They were filled with intelligence… and haughtiness, as if she knew she was smarter than everyone else in the room. Her hair was dark brown and pulled back from her head, probably in a bun, and her skin was pale, as if she spent a lot of time indoors.
    She wasn’t precisely beautiful. But she wasn’t unattractive. She looked to be about average weight judging by her face, but he couldn’t really tell since the photo was cropped at her collarbone. Maybe she was stacked with curves. Or maybe she was bird-thin. No idea what lay beneath that glimpse of creamy skin in the vee of her shirt.
    “That’s Dr. Grace Campbell,” Mendez said. “She’s a genetics researcher at Magnolia Laboratories. She’s also the daughter of Senator Preston Campbell. He just announced his run for the presidency a few days ago.”
    Garrett hadn’t paid much attention to who was running for president just yet. It wasn’t important until election year so far as he was concerned.  
    “She’s working on something… sensitive,” Mendez said after a long pause. “And the night her father declared he was a candidate, she was attacked at the lab.”
    Garrett’s head snapped up, his gaze crashing into Mendez’s. He didn’t like the idea that this woman had been assaulted, even if she did look like she thought she was smarter than everyone else.  
    But he liked it even less that she was working on something sensitive .
    Genetics scared the hell out of him. Had ever since the day his parents came home and said the word leukemia in connection to his brother. Why Ben had gotten cancer and not him was something he’d never understood. It’d killed Ben, but here he was, going strong. It still terrified him every day that Melissa might call and tell him Cammie was sick.
    Researchers had sequenced the human genome, they could tell you whether you were more susceptible to things like cancer because of your genes, but they couldn’t really do a fucking thing to stop