Becca shook her head emphatically. “I don’t see how.”
Lucas leaned on one leg, settling in. “All right. Let’s say a woman takes in three dogs to save them from the streets. She leaves for work, and they bark and howl and prevent the single mom who works graveyards from getting the sleep she needs.”
“I get that. There’s responsibility when a person owns an animal.” Becca stared across the inky black ocean.
Lucas shuffled his feet. He could feel her considering her answer, weighing her words. Fido finished his dinner and ducked his nose under Lucas’s hand, moving forward so his head was being brushed.
Becca glanced at them. Her face softened, giving her an almost dozing appearance that Lucas could picture on a Saturday morning after sleeping in. Or maybe a night like tonight with the ocean’s lulling waves in the background as he took his time getting to know Becca, Becca’s interests, Becca’s passions, and Becca’s lips. It was such a pleasant image that he was caught off guard by her words.
“We all have responsibilities, Luke. Running away from them doesn’t make us any less accountable.”
Lucas became increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Did she know? How much did she know? Fido nudged him for another ear scratch, and Lucas obliged as his anxiety began melting away. It didn’t matter how or what Becca knew, as long as she didn’t call reporters or the police. She didn’t seem the type. She wouldn’t call animal control on Fido, for heaven’s sake; he shouldn’t worry about her calling him out. She leaned against her door as if she wasn’t looking for an answer. Fido licked his palm. “What is it with you and dogs?” he asked.
Becca bit her lip. “I guess when you grow up and the only one who loves you is the family dog, you begin to trust dogs more than people.”
Lucas could see her so clearly. Teased at school and coming home to an empty house. Then one day she has a dog, and every time she comes home, someone is happy to see her. Wishing he could take away every mean word and broken moment in her life, Lucas offered the only thing he had—trust.
“And I guess if someone you love is going to die, you do everything you can to save her.” He’d come out here hoping to experience a little more of life, to feel a fraction of what he had the other day—and there it was. He’d said words that sent goose bumps up his arms, words he’d hardly dare think, let alone set sail in the real world.
Becca nodded once in a gesture that was accepting, affirming, and altogether honest. He thought of her grandpa. She’d lost someone she loved—she knew the pain, the sense of helplessness, the desperation. Maybe if they could get Fido to her clinic, she wouldn’t be so alone. “Do you have a leash?” He tipped his head toward the dog who was watching the two of them like a spectator at a tennis tournament.
Fido’s ears perked up, and he bounded off the boat before either of them had a chance to react. The patter of his feet disappeared like an echo in the dark and left them with only the lapping water, the stars, and their confessions.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Becca said quietly.
Overwhelmed with the raw emotions churning through him, he knew he had to get out of there. “Time for bed,” he announced as he followed Fido’s example and bailed. Pausing at the bottom of his stairs, he checked back and found Becca watching him. He couldn’t see her face with her back to the moonlight.
“Good night.” She waved before sliding the glass door closed behind her.
Instead of going to bed, Lucas settled into his deck chair and watched the moon cross the sky. Becca really was a catalyst—she accelerated all sorts of chemical reactions in his bloodstream. When he was with her, he wasn’t sure what would happen, who he could become, or what would come out of his mouth. She elicited honesty as easily as his childhood pastor had spurred confessions.
There was one thing he couldn’t tell her, would never tell anyone. The world thought they knew what happened the day of Bri’s death—thanks to the barracuda, a nice little picture of him as a power-hungry madman continually paraded across the web. But only three people knew the truth. Him and Bri—and Bri was gone … and to protect the third, he’d take his secret to his grave.
8
Becca took full advantage of Saturday morning and slept until ten-thirty. Normally, she would have been up with the gulls working on the boat, but after she’d left Luke—or was it Lucas?—she couldn’t get to sleep. The article she’d read didn’t jibe with the man she knew. Granted, she didn’t know him all that well, but she’d seen him feed Big Red when he thought no one would see, and people just didn’t do that kind of stuff unless there was a shred of decency inside.
He’d also helped her find her boat—which she’d made clear he didn’t have to do. Was he bored? There had to be more to the situation than she’d found in the one damning article. After fluffing her pillows, Becca reached for her laptop and soon had a plethora of information. One article, published by the American College of Infectious Diseases, caught her eye.
Scanning the byline, Becca’s stared hard at the name: Tyler Sullivan. So familiar, the name teased a corner of her brain until she realized Tyler was Luke’s brother-in-law.
So he worked on the butterfly cure too.
Of course there was a team of scientists working together at GermTechPharm. There was always a team of scientists. However, the mainstream media made it a one-man show with Luke calling and taking all the shots.
Becca immersed herself in the article, her science background taking over as she analyzed, questioned, and evaluated. The studies GermTechPharm had completed were scientifically sound. The media reported that GermTechPharm was close to a cure and, from what Becca read, they weren’t stretching the truth. The first obstacle was growing the bacteria in the lab. It wouldn’t grow in a Petri dish, not like regular bacteria. GermTechPharm had gotten around this by using live mice. In the thriving tissue, the bacteria would grow and could be studied. The behavior of the bacterium sounded familiar, but Becca couldn’t put her finger on why. Something to do with animals and human contact. She shook her head, unable to make the synapses connect.
Clicking over to another article on the same site written by GermTechPharm’s highest competitor in the field of antibiotics, BluePharma, Becca could see right off that they were nowhere near GermTechPharm’s results. After two paragraphs, she closed the window. Though they’d been able to grow the bacteria in their lab using the procedure explained in Tyler’s article, they were still struggling.
Becca’s impromptu research came to a screeching halt as her phone rang. She scrambled to find it in her jacket pocket. If it was Emily trying to set her up again, she was going to have her number unlisted. “Hello?”
“Dr. Lee? Oh my—” The caller sounded frantic.
“Excuse me, who is this?” Becca pulled the phone away, but the caller ID said “unknown.”
“Daisy’s been hit by a car.” The woman on the other end let out a sob and then sniffed loudly.
“I’ll meet you at my office. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Okay.” Sniff.
Becca still didn’t know who was on the other line, but she could tell she wasn’t going to get much information out of the distraught pet owner. She hung up, knowing she’d just have to do what she could. What was important now was getting to the animal. Throwing on the jacket and not bothering to change out of her kitty-cat pajama bottoms, Becca shoved open her sliding glass door and charged onto the dock.
She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that Luke’s boat was gone. Not the houseboat—that was still tied off nice and secure. The smaller boat, the one named Fishing Buddy, was missing. He must have gone out on the water. Becca had spent plenty of time sailing with her grandpa over the years, but she hadn’t been out in a boat like the one Luke had. It could be used to pull wakeboarders, fish from, or just see the sites. Was he the type to drop his line and lay back on the deck, content to let t
he sun and breeze play over his skin—a sight she wouldn’t mind taking in on her days off—or did he race up the shore like a man possessed?
The image of Luke at the helm of his ship, the wind sleeking his hair off his face and his dark scruff catching the sun, distracted Becca enough that she came up short as a large, bald, bare-chested man in board shorts stepped in front of her. “You,” he growled.
“Me?” Becca pointed to her chest as she took in the large belly and the carpet of hair on the man’s shoulders. “Excuse me, there’s an emergency.” Becca tried to duck past him, but the guy was surprisingly quick for a Sasquatch.
“I checked up on you, Salty Dog.” He squinted down at Becca. “You’re not allowed to have pets.”
Becca took one step back to get out of the man’s shadow. “I don’t have a pet.” She glanced down at her cat pajamas and flushed.
“Then who was barking last night?”
Becca shrugged. “Not me.”
“If I hear one more bark or howl coming from your direction, I’m calling it in.”
“You won’t have to worry.” Becca sidestepped around him, her heels hanging off the edge of the dock. “I’m dog-free for the foreseeable future.”
Breathing easier once she was sure she wasn’t going to slip into the water and that Sasquatch wasn’t following her, Becca waved to the familiar faces as she exited the security gate.
She glanced over her shoulder and out at the sea, wondering if Luke had stayed close or if he was on the other side of the islands. They’d had light mists for the past couple of days and a large storm was projected for the middle of the night.
Becca loved stormy nights when her boat rocked back and forth, moaning and groaning and protesting every one of its years at sea. In the turbulence, her boat was like her grandfather wrapping her up in the safety of the cabin; much like it had been when she was a child. Her parents were both workaholics. Her dad, a surgeon who rarely left the hospital, and her mom, a small business owner who couldn’t be bothered by a little girl in desperate need of attention. Being with her grandfather was a safe harbor she looked forward to every year.
With the storm on the way and old insecurities popping up, Becca decided her vulnerability stemmed from immersing herself in doomsday articles. The butterfly flu was spreading. Even the conservative writers pegged it as capable of reducing the world’s population by a third. After slamming her car door behind her, she did a quick mental exercise where she gathered up all the negativity in her surrounding space, squished it into a ball, and watched it float away like a red balloon leaving behind only the facts that didn’t carry negativity.
Tapping the steering wheel, she pondered over what she’d read. What was it about the bacteria that sounded so familiar? As she pulled into her spot behind the clinic, she decided her life was becoming a bit much. Especially now that she had Sasquatch hovering over her just dying to get her kicked out of the marina. She couldn’t lose her home. That little boat and the breakwater and the harbor were the best parts of her childhood and her connection to her grandpa. She didn’t like feeling threatened. She didn’t like feeling exposed.
Becca unlocked the front door and ushered the young woman clutching a blue beach towel to her chest into the first exam room. Luke said helping people didn’t matter—that it came back to bite you. Becca just couldn’t believe that. Grandpa had taught her to do unto others as you’d have done to you, and that what you send out into the world comes back to you tenfold. In need of a good dose of positive karma, Becca pealed back the towel. “Let’s take a look.”
9
Lucas adjusted the towel behind his neck and put his straw hat over his face to block out the afternoon sun. The morning mist had refreshed him after the long hours spent on his deck with nothing but the rustling of palm trees to keep him company. There was a storm due that night—he was keeping a weather eye out for dark clouds.
Anchored somewhere off Santa Rosa Island, he’d done little more than eat his lunch and lie on the deck. He hadn’t slept at all after the Fido incident. Becca’s understanding had stirred something in his soul that Lucas had wanted to leave untouched—indefinitely. He couldn’t bring himself to face her again this morning. Not after the way he’d opened himself up. He needed some time to find steady ground.
A light breeze cooled his skin. He thought about putting on sunscreen—that’s what responsible adults did these days. They protected themselves. That’s all he was doing out here on the open water, protecting himself from his growing attraction to Becca. She was warm. Not in a temperature sense, but in a human sense. So many of the people he had worked with were cold. They focused on science and solutions and worked in sterile environments; they were detached. They had to be. He had to be. You couldn’t study nature’s most effective killers and the effects they had on the human body if you cared about people. It didn’t work like that. There had to be a level of separation, or you became desperate and did stupid things.
Like Tyler.
No. He wouldn’t think about Tyler, not today.
Back to Becca. Becca was as warm as his deck on a summer day or as honest as a child or pure as distilled water or gentle as a waltz. She was so many things that he had a hard time categorizing her—and he was good at categorizing. She cared, truly cared, about animals. Cared enough to put herself out there to make their lives better. That was a trait to be admired.
Admired and emulated.
Feeling uncomfortable with where his thoughts were taking him and deciding that focusing on Becca’s other assets such as her high cheekbones and smooth shoulders wouldn’t get him anywhere productive, he flipped on the radio in an effort at distraction.
No sooner had the station identification ended than the host’s nasally twang said, “We’re back with Dr. William Alexander from BluePharma.”
If he’d wanted to get away from life’s problems, he’d picked the wrong outlet. Lucas groaned as he yanked the hat off his face and threw it on the floor.
“Thank you for having me, Michael.”
The host continued. “First off, let’s talk about the name butterfly flu.”
William chuckled. “While it’s been named a flu, the illness is not caused by a virus but a bacteria. Bacteria can be treated with antibacterial medications, and they can also be spread through contact.”
“Thank you for the clarification, Dr. Alexander. As the butterfly flu continues to spread, our listeners want to know how long before it reaches our shores.”
Lucas glared at the white speaker set into the side of his boat as he called the host an unflattering name. “It’s already here.” Besides Brianna and the baby, there were two other reported cases on American soil. Those had been hushed to prevent widespread panic. Without being in the office and in the right circles, Lucas had no idea how many more cases there were now. He guessed at least twenty.
“Rest assured that TSA has taken an active role in preventing the spread of the butterfly flu in America.” Lucas rolled his eyes as William continued. “As you know, the most common side effect of the Nymphalidae Bacterium is the pink-and-purple rash that appears on the face of an infected individual. What is unknown to most people is that the butterfly flu creates a similar pattern in the tissues of the lungs two weeks before the rash on the face. By increasing the power level of the security scanners at the airport, TSA officials have been able to identify those who are still in the incubation period and stopped them from entering the country.”
“That’s great,” said the host. “Why don’t you tell us where BluePharma is in relation to finding the cure?”
“Love to. The distinctive issue with this bacterium is that it doesn't behave like other bacteria we’re familiar with. We’ve had to invent new processes in our lab just to study it.”
Lucas snorted. “You mean copy.” Tyler’s article had outlined GermTechPharm’s process of growing the bacteria in white mice. At first, Lucas was furious at Tyler for giving away trade secrets. The company that invented
the cure for the butterfly flu would make billions because the whole world would clamor for the drug.
Sensing his disapproval, Tyler had pulled him aside and said, “It was my discovery to share.”
“Everything you do is under GermTechPharm.”
Tyler paused, his eyes searching Lucas’s. “What if it wasn’t? Have you thought about joining forces? We might be able to find the cure faster if we shared what we know with BluePharma and AndersonTech.”
Lucas shook his head. “We’re way beyond anything they’re even dreaming about. We have the best shot at stopping this in its tracks. Collaboration will only slow us down.”
At the time, Lucas had no idea if what he said was true, and Tyler had taken his word on it. Listening to William go on and on about an area that Lucas had ruled out six months ago confirmed his lie but didn’t make him feel any better about it.
Neither did lying around in the sun while there was work to do—work he could do if the stupid injunction against him hadn’t been filed. Kicked out of his own lab.
He shouldn’t want to go back—not after the way he’d been treated. But a part of him—the ultra nerd part, as Brianna would call it—missed the microscope and gleaming test tubes. Before the illness became personal, it had been the biggest challenge of his career; a challenge that had him excited to get up every morning and fighting sleep at night so he could have just one more hour to work on the formula.
Lucas checked his phone for the date. Brianna’s autopsy results should be in soon. There were precious few who had the knowledge to determine the cause of death in a case where the deceased’s blood was a cocktail of lethal bacteria, conventional medication, and experimental drugs, therefore the results had been slow in coming. She’d specified that her blood and tissues could be used to find a cure; Tyler had made sure the samples were distributed to all the companies with proper containment capabilities.
The radio show wrapped up with the host giving William several verbal pats on the back and extolling his continued dedication to the well-being of the American people, which had Lucas mentally gagging. William cared about the American people as much as Fido cared about his personal grooming habits.
The Reclusive Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 6
