He sighed and set down his utensils. “Having weapons is necessary to saving lives, and you know it.”
“Science shouldn’t be used that way,” she said softly.
He leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Remember when I first got to the States? A couple of kids at school, the ones on the boxing team, tried to mess with me?”
She sipped her tea. “I do.”
“Do you remember what happened?” His voice rumbled low. Intimate.
She inhaled the scent of peppermint herbs, remembering him well as a handsome, lost, pissed-off kid from Scotland. “You beat the ever-livin’ shit out of them, Deacan.”
He nodded. “Aye. What happened then?”
She frowned, studying him. “Well, nothing happened.”
“Exactly.”
She set down the cup. “It’s different.”
“No—it’s the same. We have a weapon; the world knows we’ll use it if pushed, so they don’t push, and we don’t use. Simple as that.”
Yeah, and that was why they’d never see eye to eye. “We’re going to end up on opposing sides.” She’d destroy the bacteria when it was no longer needed, and that might even be illegal, according to current law. Who knew?
He lifted an eyebrow. “Your best friend works for the government. Have you thought about that?”
“Yes.” But Nora knew Lynne, and she was a healer, not a killer. “I trust her.”
“Hmm. You may not know her as well as you thought.”
Nora frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Ask her.” He paused while the waitress refilled his coffee. “How did you two become friends, anyway?”
Nora smiled. “Oh, we weren’t friends the first semester of grad school. Didn’t like each other, actually.”
A grin split Deke’s face, masculine and way too handsome. “Don’t tell me. You two competed. Big-time.”
“Yes.” Nora blew on her tea. “In every class, on every quiz or test, one of us earned the top grade. We saw each other constantly at the library or in class, and we pushed each other.”
Deke settled back. “And then?”
“Lynne’s a klutz. A serious, should be bound in bubble-wrap klutz.” Nora chuckled, memories assailing her. “One night, we were the last two in the library, and she needed a book on the top shelf. She climbed it, no big deal, but then . . .”
Deke winced. “She fell?”
“Yes. The entire shelf started to come down, and I just reacted.” Nora shrugged. “Moved without thinking, tackled her, and got her out of the way.”
Approval mingled with amusement in his green eyes. “So you saved her?”
“I broke my right wrist.” Nora sighed. “Which wasn’t a huge deal, because in most of our classes, we could use recorders during the lectures. But in Dr. Mobsey’s advanced biology class, the complete dickhead, no computers or recorders were allowed. Taking notes was tough.”
“And?”
“After class one day, I was trying to decipher my left-handed notes, and Lynne sat down with a typed set of hers.” Nora shook her head and heat tingled into her face. “I told her to stuff it, that I didn’t need her help, and thanks anyway.”
Deke chuckled. “And?”
“She said I probably couldn’t understand her notes because she’d used big words.” Nora chortled. “We laughed, and she shared her notes. Then we started to study together, and before second semester was over, we were best friends. Still are.” They’d seen each other through breakups, job problems, and good times. Yet now Deke hinted that Lynne was keeping secrets. He had to be wrong.
His phone buzzed, and he read the face. Tension gathered along the sides of his mouth.
Nora leaned toward him. “What is it?”
He slipped the device back into his pocket. “We’ll have to finish talking about us later.” He slipped a series of bills on the table. “The president just slipped into a coma.”
Chapter Seven
After breakfast, Nora headed back to the new temporary CDC labs. Upon going through security, she swung by the lab to find the experiments about another hour from spitting out results, so she went searching for Lynne. She stepped into Lynne’s office to see her reading charts, scuffed boots up on the desk. With a sigh, Nora inched inside and dropped into a chair.
“That was an ‘I had crazy monkey sex last night and am sore’ sigh,” Lynne mused, her gaze not leaving the papers.
Nora coughed, and heat climbed from her chest to her face. “Shut up.”
Lynne looked over the top of the file, emerald eyes widening. “Oh my. I was just kidding.” Her boots dropped to the floor. “You’ve only been here a day. What were you thinking?”
“Meow? Take me harder? Oh thank you, God?”
Lynne snorted. “How was it?”
“Amazing. Four times over—amazing.”
Lynne’s mouth dropped open. “Four times? Really? Does he have a brother?”
“No.” Nora studied her friend. Tired. Definitely exhausted. “What are you reading?”
“Your boy’s brain scans.”
Nora lost her grin. “And?”
“Zach seems fine.” Lynne closed the file and slid the mass over the desk. “Activity in the central cortex lights up as normal.”
Nora flipped open the top sheet to see a nice blue and green blend around Zack’s frontal cortex. “Why do you sound worried?”
“He’s a boy genius, and we don’t know what his cortex looked like before the infection.” Lynne clasped her hands on her desk. “Also, I don’t like that he’s now a carrier and was infected in my lab. He’s twenty-two, for goodness’ sake. We need to find a cure and fast.”
Nora tapped the printout. “We sure do. Then we can destroy the mutated samples, right?”
Lynne arched one angled eyebrow. “I thought that was our plan.”
“Me too.” Nora planted the file back on the desk. The current experiments wouldn’t be finished for at least an hour, so it was time to get to the truth. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Lynne frowned. “Huh?”
“Deacan said you had a secret.”
“Oh, did he?” Lynne rubbed her elbow and blushed a very pretty shade of pink. “It’s not a secret. You and I haven’t had time to talk, and it’s not something you exactly Skype about. Geez.”
Curiosity roared through Nora, but a shadow by the doorway caught her eye. She turned to focus. “Zach.”
He stood in full protective gear, face behind a mask. Even so, something about him looked like a clean-cut movie star from the 1950s. Thick blond hair, blue eyes, trembling smile in a pale face. “I wanted to thank you for staying outside my bubble the first night.” His voice emerged tinny through the faceplate.
She glanced at Lynne. “The full suit isn’t necessary, is it?”
Lynne shook her head. “From a safety protocol, no. From a workplace and emotional standpoint, hell yes. Everyone is nervous as wet cats around here.”
Pressure built behind Nora’s eyeballs. “We’re all scientists—screw emotion. If he’s no more infectious than a carrier for regular Staph, typhoid fever, or even MRSA, then we shouldn’t treat him like he’s carrying the plague.”
Zach snorted behind the helmet. “I don’t mind, to be honest. It was my fault I got infected, and I deserve to be a little uncomfortable. Apparently walking is good for my joints, because the doctors suited me up to head down for yet another MRI.”
Nora studied him. “You look so much better.”
“I’m glad, because I feel like somebody punched me in the head with a Buick,” he said.
Lynne nodded. “Aptly put. Other than that, feeling crazy?”
“No.” Zach shrugged. “I’m not sure I would know, however.” His eyes clouded behind the rimmed glasses. “How contagious am I now?”
Lynne exhaled. “The bacteria is still alive in your saliva, blood, and probably semen. For now, you can’t kiss, give blood, or have sex until we find a counteragent or a cure for Scorpi
us.”
Red flushed across Zach’s cheekbones. “How long do I need to stay in the protective room at the CDC?”
Lynne swallowed. “For a while yet, Zach. I’m sorry.”
His Adam’s apple wobbled. “Okay. Let me know my results when you get them.” Turning awkwardly in the suit, he disappeared down the hallway.
Nora shook her head. “Semen? Man. You didn’t have to embarrass him.”
Lynne’s lips twitched. “I wanted to make him laugh.” She rubbed her nose. “Sorry we have to keep him contained. But at least here he can continue working with that huge brain of his.”
Nora grimaced. “I don’t agree with the containment.”
“Neither do I. The fever has passed, and he’s out of the woods. Basically, he’s a carrier, and there are tons of people who are carriers of dangerous diseases—especially Staph. But we have public relations concerns, and for the time being, he stays put.”
Nora nodded. “I know.”
Bobbi poked her head in the doorway. Today she’d worn a bright pink top with tight jeans and looked like a cheerleader from any California college team. “The samples of the president’s blood have arrived, and they’re in the lab. The White House is expecting a cure today.”
Nora snorted. “Then we’ll get right on that.”
Bobbi nodded. “Have you seen Zach?”
“He’s getting an MRI down in Imaging.” Lynne rested her elbows on the desk. “If you end up in his contained room with him, there’s no kissing, no sex with Zach. You wear gloves and don’t touch anything.”
Bobbi rolled her eyes. “I know, but talking is okay, right?”
Lynne lifted a shoulder. “Talking is fine.”
“Good.” Bobbi stretched her neck. “I’ve been receiving the stats from across the country, and the contagion is spreading, but doctors don’t know what it is. At some point . . .”
“I know. We’re waiting for approval to announce.” Lynne swallowed. “Would you make sure Zach found Imaging?”
“Yep.” Bobbi hopped away.
Lynne’s phone buzzed, and she answered it. “Hi. No. Lunch? Probably not, but I can meet tonight after setting up our next batch of tests. They should take at least twelve hours to come to fruition. Okay. You too.” She slid the phone back onto the desk.
Nora lowered her chin but kept quiet. No way. She knew that look. “Oh, my God. You totally are seeing somebody.”
Lynne’s eyes widened. “Shhh. My door is open.”
Nora shoved hair out of her eyes. “So? This is a secret? Why is it a secret?” She stood. “He’s not married, is he?”
Lynne rolled her eyes. “For the love of Pete, of course he isn’t married. Geez. I just try to keep my personal life private, you know?”
Nora planted both hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lynne swept both hands out. “It’s pretty new, just a few months, and I figured I’d dish all when we met next month for our Vegas weekend.”
“Oh.” Nora’s mind spun. She leaned against the chair. “Well? Dish now.”
Lynne smiled, her eyes glimmering. “His name is Bret Atherton, he’s smart and sexy, and he’s from Atlanta. We met at a fund-raiser for a local kid’s ranch. Our first date, he took me for a picnic.”
Nora squinted. “Bret Atherton? As in Congressman Bret Atherton?”
Lynne wrinkled her nose. “Yes.”
Nora snorted. “You’re dating a politician. A congressman from Georgia.” She laughed. Her wild, free, brilliant friend was dating a politician. A blond, sexy, sharp politician. Her mind clicked through what she knew. “Wait a minute. After the last elections . . . didn’t he become the Speaker of the House?”
“Yes.” Lynne sighed. “I like him, politics and all, but we’re taking it slow.”
“You slut. You’ve done him.”
Lynne rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking. You’re back in the same air as your ex for one day, and you can barely walk.”
“Shut up,” Nora said without heat. “I’ve seen your guy on television. Definitely charismatic.”
Lynne shrugged. “I know—he’s pretty amazing. May make a bid for the presidency next time. The guy has quite an ego, you know? For some reason, I keep finding that incredibly sexy.” Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down. “My newest results are spitting out in the lab, and shouldn’t yours be available sometime today? The new ones on the nanostructured oxide? For now, you can help me. We can talk men later.”
Nora sighed and rose. “Between the two of us, we really know how to complicate our lives.”
“Amen, sister.”
Deke sat on a flowery chair across an antique coffee table from Sally Phillips, who relaxed on a matching sofa in the residence of the White House. “I’ll ask you again, do you understand me?” he asked quietly.
She rolled her eyes, looking like any other put-upon nineteen-year-old co-ed. “Yes. I get you. If I move, if I try to lunge and bite you, you’ll have no choice but to protect yourself.” Her pretty pink lips pouted. “When did you become such a wimp?”
“When you infected your father, the President of the United States and my boss, with a deadly bacteria.” He kept his expression bland but watched closely.
Nothing. No emotion, no regret, no anger. “That was an accident, Deke. I promise.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
He rubbed his whiskered chin. Damn it. He’d forgotten to shave again. Wincing, he set his hands on his knees, careful not to touch anything else in the room. “Listen, Sally. I want to help you.”
She rubbed her hands down jean-clad thighs and sighed. With her blond hair in a ponytail and wearing a Stanford T-shirt, she looked like any pretty teenager. “I appreciate your offer, but the doctors are wrong. Sure, I might’ve been kinda crazy right after the fever when I bit my dad, but I feel fine now. And awful about Dad.” She smiled, flashing twin dimples. “He’s strong and will be fine.”
“I know.”
She huffed again. “I feel okay and don’t want to bite anybody else. When can I get out of house arrest?”
Deke sighed. “Your last brain scans still show lack of activity in your frontal cortex.”
She snorted. “My brain is working just fine. Give me a break. They can’t tell from a bunch of colors what’s going on in my head.”
Good point. “I’m inclined to agree with you there.” He leaned forward, his hands dangling between his knees. “For now, we have to make sure you’re all right before letting you loose. You understand that.”
She leaned back her head. “I do, but I’m so sick of being cooped up. What if my brain scans never get colorful? I mean, if they were colorful before. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe I’m somebody who doesn’t have a lot of colors flashing from machinery in a freakin’ lab.” She lowered her chin, and tears glinted in her eyes. “It’s like they want me to go crazy.”
Being held inside without any freedom would drive him up the wall, too. “I’m sorry, Sally. I’ll talk to the scientists at the CDC and determine if there’s any other way to test your brain than what they’re doing.” More importantly, the girl had a point. What if her brain scans didn’t ever really light up? Was that a true sign that she was dangerous? Somehow, he wasn’t buying it. “I’ll do my best.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Why are you in charge here? I mean, you’re not Secret Service or in the military. What exactly are you?” Her focus narrowed.
“Special Strategic Advisor to the President of the United States,” Deke murmured.
She chuckled. “Sounds like a complete bullshit title, now doesn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“I’ve been around politics my whole life, you know?” She glanced toward the heavily curtained window and then back.
He breathed out, his shoulders tightening. “That kind of sucks.”
“It really does,” she said softly. “But you know what? I can recognize a soldier, and I can recognize a killer. You’re both, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t really blame her for being pissed. “I’ve been a soldier, and I’ve killed.”
“How many?” Her eyes glittered.
He shook his head.
She clucked her tongue. “I’m in trouble because I bit my dad while under a fever, and you’re an advisor to the president because you’ve killed tons of people.” She leaned toward him, gaze intense. “You believe in hell?”
“Yes.” He had to concentrate to keep his brogue at bay. Tension lifted the hair on the back of his neck, and he paid heed.
“Me too.” Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze dropped to her knees. “At the worst of the fever, I almost died.” She lifted her gaze, her lips twisting. “I didn’t see a light, Deke. I heard a darkness.”
Chilled nails ticked down his spine. “And now?”
She rested her chin on her hand and let out a low sigh. “I don’t hear anything and just want to go shopping.”
Now that sounded like a normal kid. His body relaxed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He rose and edged around the coffee table. “Give me a little time.”
“Okay.” She scratched her elbow.
“Call me if you need anything.” He passed the sofa and headed toward the door, his heart heavy. Poor kid. They had to be able to figure out the brain scans and whether the colors really meant anything.
A wisp of sound.
He partially turned, only to be attacked by a hurtling female body. Pain thumped into his shoulder. All instinct, he pivoted and shoved. Hard.
Sally flew across the room and smashed into the couch, bunching instantly to leap toward him again, nails out, teeth bared. Saliva slid down her chin.
He settled on his feet, waited, and took the hit by grabbing her arms. A quick turn, and he planted her on her face.
She struggled, spitting, an inhuman snarling jerking her body.
Holy fuck. The kid probably weighed a hundred pounds, but her strength was beyond what it should be. “Restraints,” he yelled toward the closed door.
Sally kept trying to turn her head toward him, teeth snapping. He clasped the back of her neck and held her still. “Take it easy, Sally,” he tried to soothe like he would a wild animal.
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