0373401965 (R)

by Lara Lacombe

  Grant waved off her speculation, unconcerned with their motivation. All that mattered was that they wanted to help.

  And he might have figured out a way for them to do just that.

  *

  Pain.

  A stinging pinch, enough to get her attention. Anxiety prickled, making her skin crawl. The light surrounding her flickered and her unease mounted. Was she going to be left in the dark again? She tensed, but before panic could truly take hold, the blue resumed its steady glow. She relaxed back into its embrace, her concerns receding with every beat of her heart.

  But the respite was short-lived. A new sensation demanded her attention, a tingling effervescence that was not altogether unpleasant. It started small but soon spread throughout her body until she felt like she was melting away.

  Then the voice was back, strengthening the intensity of the blue light until it was blindingly bright. She turned away but could still feel the rays soaking into her body, fortifying her tissues with every pulse.

  The intensity of the sensations mounted, driving her higher and higher toward some point she felt but could not see. Energy flooded into her, building to a crescendo too violent for her body to contain. Just as she began to shake from the effort of holding herself together, she broke through an invisible barrier and launched into a new plane of awareness.

  It was an assault on her senses as sounds, scents and light battered her from all sides, the input immediately familiar and yet somehow foreign after her absence. Her brain began to catalog everything, the pace sluggish at first as she adjusted to her new level of consciousness.

  The sharp, slightly stinging scents of bleach and alcohol invaded her nose. A steady, droning beep pierced the air, a counterpoint to the lower, constant thrum of the heater. Shadows and light played across her eyelids as people moved around her, and she was struck by a pang of longing for the comforting blue glow that had been her companion in the darkness. She tried to open her eyes but the task proved too difficult.

  What happened? It was her first coherent thought and it echoed throughout her mind, urgency building with every repetition. She struggled to think, feeling like her brain was filled with honey. The answers were there, but she couldn’t access them—at least not quickly enough to suit her. But the harder she reached for the thoughts, the faster they scuttled away. Recognizing the futility of her efforts, Avery relaxed and was finally rewarded as bits of memories gradually bobbed to the surface and she began to piece things together.

  The hospital. The outbreak. And Grant.

  Clearly, she was sick. But how had it happened?

  The last thing she remembered was talking to Grant. He’d given her a bottle of water, and the cool liquid had felt so nice sliding down her parched throat. But that’s where her memories ended. Everything after his office was a mystery.

  Grant will know. The thought brought some measure of comfort and she relaxed, only to feel the cold grip of fear with her next heartbeat.

  What if Grant was sick, too? Or worse, what if he had fallen over the edge and was truly gone? She had been lucky; something had grabbed her before she’d gone too far into the abyss. What if Grant hadn’t been so fortunate? It was a possibility almost too terrifying to contemplate.

  Avery channeled all her energy and tried to move. She needed to find Grant, to reassure herself that he was fine. She fought against the weakness of illness and the mental fog that still hovered over her, but her body wouldn’t respond to her commands. She tried to speak, but something was lodged in her throat, paralyzing her voice.

  “She’s waking up!” a voice called out.

  Hands descended, touching her here, then there, pushing lightly on her shoulders and trapping her hands. Avery’s heart pounded hard in her chest, and she felt the echo of each beat thrum through her limbs. She struggled harder, fighting to cast off her restraints and get back to herself.

  “Avery.”

  His voice was low and clear in her ear, and her body relaxed before her mind had fully recognized him. Grant. He was here.

  “You’re okay,” he continued. “Try to stay calm for me. You’re intubated—that’s why you can’t talk. We need you to stay quiet for a little longer, so I’m going to give you a little something to help you relax. I’ll be here with you the whole time.”

  He slipped her hand between his own as a trickle of warmth traveled up her arm and a bitter taste flooded her mouth. Her limbs grew impossibly heavy, and she felt like she was sinking into quicksand. It was a claustrophobic sensation, but the comforting sound of Grant’s voice in her ear helped keep the fear at bay. She focused on his touch and let herself drop, trusting him to be there to pull her back up again.

  Chapter 11

  Grant leaned back in his chair and watched Avery sleep, the tension slowly leaching from his body with every breath she took. He should have been happy, but he was too drained for that. The last few days had left him feeling raw and fragile, as if the disease that had attacked Avery had burned through him, as well.

  For a brief, terrifying time he’d thought he was going to lose her. She’d been circling the drain, moments away from death, and he’d stood there, paralyzed by fear. After an endless pause his training had kicked in and he’d shoved his emotions to the side so he could do what needed to be done. He’d administered drugs, giving her anything he thought might help. He’d tracked her progress with tests and scans, poring over the results in search of any sign her condition was improving. And when the survivors had volunteered to help, he’d taken their plasma and injected it into Avery, hoping their antibodies would help her fight the disease.

  Against all odds, his efforts had worked.

  He still wasn’t sure how she had survived—the disease had progressed quickly and her symptoms had grown worse with each passing hour. Her breathing had worried him the most; the amount of bloody fluid in her lungs had increased at an alarming rate, and he’d made the decision to put her on a ventilator to help her breathe. He had practically felt her life draining away and he’d tried to make peace with the idea of losing her. But no matter how bad she looked, he hadn’t been able to accept that she was dying.

  Maybe it was his unwillingness to give up on her. Maybe it was Avery’s stubborn streak. Or maybe it had simply been luck. Whatever the reason, she had rallied, and he wasn’t too interested in questioning their good fortune.

  She stirred on the bed and moaned faintly. The sedative was wearing off, and he was anxious for her to wake up. Even though all her test results and vital signs showed improvement, he needed to hear her voice and watch the emotions play across her face before he could really trust that she was going to be okay.

  “Avery.” He spoke softly so as not to startle her. Some patients came out of sedation confused and agitated, and he didn’t want to make the process any harder on her. But he wanted her to know he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

  She turned her face toward him and blinked slowly, clearly trying to wake up. He took her hand and squeezed gently. “I’m here,” he said. “Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Grant?” Her voice was barely more than a mumble, but it was music to his ears. His heart lightened at the sound, and he couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

  She focused on him, her blue eyes bleary but growing more alert by the minute. Her fingers moved in his, her palm turning so she could grip his hand. There was an edge of desperation to her touch, as if she was afraid he would let go. Not a chance, he thought. Not ever again.

  “What happened?” The words came out a little slurred but they were clear enough. “How did this...” She trailed off and closed her eyes again, clearly worn out from the effort of speaking. But she didn’t lapse back into unconsciousness. After a second of rest, she opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on him with an expectant air.

  Grant debated his answer. Should he tell her everything he knew, or just the basics? He didn’t intend to keep anything fro
m her, but he knew from experience patients needed a little time before the mental fog of sedation fully cleared. It was probably best to provide simple answers so as not to overwhelm her—they could have a more in-depth conversation later.

  “You got sick,” he said.

  Despite the lingering effects of the drugs, Avery still managed to shoot him a piercing look. “You don’t say.”

  Grant laughed at her unexpected sass and shook his head, feeling a little rueful. Truth be told, his answer was lame even to his own ears. So much for trying to spare her an upset.

  “Fair enough,” he said, secretly pleased at her display of attitude. She must be feeling better if she had energy to spare for sarcasm. “Five days ago you fainted in my office when you tried to stand. You were febrile, and tests showed early signs of blood accumulation in your lungs. Your condition worsened, but fortunately the drugs and supportive care kicked in and you began to improve. We gave you a boost two days ago, and now here we are.”

  Avery frowned as he spoke, and he could tell she was working hard to listen and process what he was saying. He wanted to tell her to save her strength, but he knew she was too stubborn for that.

  “Was it the pathogen?” She phrased it as a question, but he could tell by her tone she was making a statement. Still, he nodded in confirmation.

  “How?”

  It was the same question that had been haunting Grant since she came to his office. How had Avery contracted the virus? As far as he knew, she hadn’t been around any sick people, with the exception of Richard. But she’d been wearing full protective gear while talking to him, so she couldn’t have gotten it that way. She might have been exposed while collecting samples from the bar, but again, she’d taken proper precautions. Furthermore, the timing didn’t match up—she’d sampled the bar only hours before falling ill, which didn’t fit the clinical profile of this disease. No, she had to have picked it up some other way, and until they knew how, he was going to second-guess everything they knew about this bug and how it was transmitted.

  “I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”

  She nodded slightly, her eyes closing. “Anyone else?”

  “No,” he assured her. That was another odd piece of the puzzle. Aside from Richard and Bradley, Avery was the only one who had fallen ill recently. He’d expected additional cases to pop up after she got sick, because it stood to reason that when Avery had been exposed, other people had been, as well. But the disease had remained quiet...

  She shook her head slowly, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening. “Doesn’t make sense,” she mumbled. “This is all wrong...”

  Grant agreed with her, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it. Avery needed her rest, and frankly, so did he. He’d been surviving on catnaps at her bedside, but now that she was out of the woods he could let himself collapse for a few hours.

  She was so still he thought she’d gone back to sleep, and he rose quietly. But before he could take a step, she spoke again. “The others?”

  Richard and Bradley, she meant. Unfortunately, they hadn’t fared as well. “They’re both still unconscious,” he said. “Their condition hasn’t really changed much in the last few days.” Which was a mixed blessing—he was glad they didn’t seem to be declining, but they should have started to improve by now, especially after the administration of plasma from the survivors. The fact that the men were still so ill meant there was a very large chance they weren’t going to pull through. But he wasn’t willing to give up hope just yet...

  “They’ll make it,” she said, her voice surprisingly certain despite its weakness. Grant wondered at her confidence—maybe experiencing the illness herself had given Avery special insight into surviving it. Or maybe she just had more faith in his abilities as a physician than he did. Either way, he hoped she was right. He’d had enough of watching people suffer. He was no stranger to death in his line of work, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “I’ll tell them you said so.” He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. The corners of her mouth turned up as his fingertip grazed her skin, and his heart fluttered to see her response. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined there would come a time when Avery welcomed his touch again. It both humbled and exhilarated him to realize how far they’d come in such a short period of time.

  “Get some rest,” she said softly. “You look like hell.”

  “I thought that was supposed to be my line,” he teased.

  She smiled but didn’t reply, her body going lax as she sank back into sleep. Grant watched her for a moment, oddly reluctant to leave her side. Logically, he knew she would be fine and there was no reason for him to stay. But something about the situation nagged at him, like a hangnail he couldn’t stop bothering. Right before she’d passed out, Avery mentioned the outbreak seemed strange. Although Grant didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with disease epidemics, even he could see she was right. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of recent events, but until he knew exactly what was going on, he didn’t want to leave Avery alone when she was still so vulnerable.

  Feeling a little ridiculous, Grant walked over to the nearest empty gurney and unlocked the wheels, then manhandled the unwieldy bed into place next to Avery’s. He grabbed the edge of the privacy curtain and tugged, pulling the rough fabric along the tracks in the ceiling to create the illusion of a room. The gurney squeaked in protest as he climbed on and he froze, casting a glance at Avery to see if he’d woken her. But she slumbered on undisturbed, her expression peaceful and no longer marred by the strain of sickness.

  With a sigh, Grant arranged his long frame on the narrow bed and closed his eyes. The bright fluorescent lights overhead made it difficult to fully relax, but despite the annoying glow he could feel sleep cast its seductive spell on his body. After a final glance at Avery, he surrendered to the pull and sank into the restorative depths of oblivion.

  *

  Paul dialed the phone with shaking fingers, hoping his contact would answer. He’d tried to call several times over the past few days, but the man hadn’t deigned to pick up. Every unanswered call had twisted the knot in Paul’s gut a little tighter, and now it was on the verge of snapping. He had to find out what was happening with his son; he couldn’t take the silence any longer.

  His mother still thought Noah was staying with a friend, and Paul didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. She was getting on in years and had already been overwhelmed by the daily demands of life before he’d left the kids with her. But he hadn’t had any other options, and Noah and Lisa were old enough to mostly fend for themselves. Lisa was savvy enough to know something didn’t quite add up with her brother’s absence, but Paul had lied to her and said he’d spoken with Noah. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to start asking questions. The Organization was clearly keeping tabs on his family, and he knew it wouldn’t hesitate to take his other child if she became a liability.

  The ringing tone grated harshly in his ear as he held his breath, silently counting along with the pulses. Ten... Twenty... Thirty... He tightened his grip on the phone, his hope waning as the time stretched on. Forty... Fifty... He wasn’t going to pick up.

  Just as Paul lowered the phone from his ear, a low voice came on the line.

  “You’re a very persistent man, Mr. Coleson.”

  Paul scrambled to bring the phone back up to his ear, nearly dropping it in his haste. “Yes, I—uh—I needed to speak with you.” His heart pounded as he spoke, hard enough that he felt every beat in his fingertips.

  “Were your instructions not clear?”

  “No.” Realizing his mistake, he hastily added, “I mean, no, I understand what you want me to do.”

  “Then why do you continue to call?” The man’s tone made it clear that even though he hadn’t answered, he had nonetheless been disturbed by Paul’s frequent attempts to connect. A tendril of fear curled around Paul’s heart and began to squeeze. Would they ta
ke their displeasure with him out on his son?

  He considered his next words carefully. It wouldn’t go over well if he sounded too demanding. He had to make it clear they were still in charge, or else they might try to punish him by hurting Noah.

  “I was hoping you could give me news of my son,” he said, trying to keep his tone deferential. “I’ve been worried about him.”

  “Have you, now?” Amusement laced his contact’s words, and Paul felt a surge of white-hot anger build in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to be able to reach through the phone and strangle the man on the other end!

  “Please,” he said, nearly choking on the word. “Please let me know how Noah is doing.”

  “I can assure you he is fine,” the man replied briskly. “He continues to enjoy our hospitality and will do so until you have fulfilled your end of the bargain.”

  It was the first time the Organization had confirmed what Jesse had told him regarding Noah’s release, and Paul seized on the words. “So you’ll let him go once the virus is loaded onto the ship?” He brightened a little at the thought—he’d been working nearly nonstop since finding out about Noah’s abduction, and he was almost done amplifying the virus. It was a matter of days now until he’d have the quantity they’d asked for, and it wouldn’t take long to smuggle it aboard the ship. This nightmare would be over soon...

  “Something like that,” the man replied smoothly.

  Paul kept his mouth shut, but he was no fool. He knew in that moment they weren’t going to release his son. He could send them a million gallons of the virus and they still wouldn’t let him go. Noah’s fate had been sealed the moment they kidnapped him, but Paul had been too stupid to realize it.

  What was left of his heart snapped into pieces and the pain of it made him double over. He was going to lose his son, if he hadn’t done so already. His firstborn, the young man who would always be a baby in his mind. He sucked in a ragged breath and was assaulted with the scent memory of Noah’s soft, wispy hair, fresh from his first bath in the hospital. He clenched his fist, feeling the ghost of Noah’s small hand tucked trustingly in his own as they walked to the park. So many memories, so many small scenes that made up Noah’s life. Despair filled Paul’s chest, and tears stung his eyes. It wasn’t enough—Noah was still so young, with so much potential yet to be realized. He had barely begun to experience life; he deserved so much more before he came to the end.