She nodded, mute, and he looked away. Seemed to hesitate, to hold his breath. He sat so still he hardly seemed human. His face and body were too perfect, warm and dark and shimmering with gold. But then he sighed, and the spell broke, and Rikki blinked, hard, fighting herself as he said, “You believe we are sick.”
“Yes.” She could not lie.
His calm never faltered. “And that we might die?”
“It’s possible.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Not enough.”
“So, it will be fast. When it happens.”
“It was for everyone else, as far as we can tell.”
Amiri gave her a long, assessing, look. “You have seen this before?”
“Not this.” She hesitated. “Maybe I’ll take notes.”
“Ever the scientist?”
She felt a smile creep on her face. “Just bored.”
He laughed—a low sound, almost a rumble, a purr. “You are too intelligent for boredom.”
Heat suffused her face. “And you?”
“I am quite intelligent,” he replied, slyly.
Rikki mock-kicked him, still trying not to smile. “That’s not what I meant.”
Amiri leaned away, holding up his hands. “Boredom is a state of mind I have never attained. It is too much like deep meditation. Mindless. Ineffectual. Reading is much better.”
“There are no books here.”
“Ah.” He tapped his head. “But there you are wrong.”
Rikki bit her bottom lip, but it was no use. Something was bubbling inside her chest, something bigger and fiercer than fear, and it was full of sunlight and warmth and some deep song that rumbled and rumbled and pulled her under, tumbling her, softening her, soothing her cold heart with a gentle, gentle, hand. She smiled. She smiled like she meant it, and she did. It was the best damn smile she had felt in years, and it was natural, easy.
But it did not last. Not for her, and not for him. Amiri’s mouth hardened, becoming somber, contemplative; and in his eyes, a sharp restlessness. Even discomfort. Regret.
“Forgive me,” he said, finally. “Please, forgive me. I was sent to protect you. And I failed.”
Rikki was silent too long. His jaw tightened; his gaze intensified. “I told you. Larry sent us.”
“Yes,” she replied unsteadily. Her fingers twitched, but her cell phone was gone, bagged with all her other personal belongings. Not that it mattered. Reception did not exist outside the major cities. “When did he contact you?”
“Recently. We moved fast to reach you.”
“If this is because of yesterday—”
Amiri held up his hand. “Foreign mercenaries were sent for you. That is no small thing.”
Bakker. Jean-Claude’s vague warning. Rikki briefly closed her eyes, trying to focus. The threat of infection made everything else feel like child’s play; she had no stomach left to think about alternatives. “Coincidence. Some random attempt at cutting a deal for ransom. Happens all the time. No one was sent for me.”
“Other doctors have disappeared. Local physicians, anyone experienced in dealing with Ebola. You are not the only target.”
“Impossible.”
“I am not deceiving you.”
“I never said you were. But it’s a small club. I know all those doctors. Someone would have told me if they were in trouble.”
Amiri hesitated. “You did not know?”
Rikki stared, incredulous. “Know? I … you’re serious, aren’t you. They’re really missing?”
“I have no reason yet to doubt the source.”
She stopped breathing. Amiri’s hand jerked once, balling into a fist. He pressed his knuckles against his thigh, and she stared at the lines of his curled fingers, the sinew of his wrist. Trying to focus on anything but the faces swimming in her vision.
“I was certain you would know,” she heard him say, voice dim, distant. He sounded angry. “Someone should have told you. Warned you.”
“Yes.” She had the intense desire to punch someone’s brains out of their ass. Starting with Larry. “How many doctors? How long have they been missing?”
He watched her carefully. “I do not know the time line, but according to Mr. Coleman’s assistant, you and a Mackenzie Hardson are the only physicians left in this region with any related experience.”
“Bullshit,” she muttered. “There are nurses, scientists. What the hell is he playing at?”
“Excuse me?”
“We work in teams,” she told him absently. “And for every Ebola outbreak, there’s more than just doctors swarming. To take everyone who had experience with this disease would be impossible. There must be another factor. You’ve been given the wrong facts.”
Or you’re a bald-faced liar. Which, to her amazement, was harder to swallow than the idea that she was a target of kidnappers. Or that her boss had lost his mind.
She almost forgot that she might be dying. “So, because other people have disappeared, Larry thinks I’m in danger. Do you know why? Who’s responsible?”
“We are investigating.”
“Just like that?”
“Just so.” His gaze was far gentler than his words, which made it difficult for her to remain angry. Again, she stared too long—and felt odd for it, warm. Or maybe that was the disease. A lovely thought.
“What are you?” she asked, and for a moment his gaze faltered. “CIA? Special Ops? Where did Larry find you?”
Amiri exhaled, slowly. “I am not a member of any military. I am an … outside contractor.”
“Outside contractor. A mercenary. Just like those other men.”
“No. I am nothing like them.”
I believe that, she thought, but kept her mouth shut and lay back down on the cot, hands folded behind her head.
Bodyguard. Hired protection. Nothing like the other men Larry had tried to saddle her with. Brutes. Male chauvinists. Alpha dogs with their dicks hanging so far out it only took a word to bruise their egos. None of them had lasted a week. Not a one had wanted to risk their lives for her—not after she was done with them.
Deliberate. Calculated. Larry accused her of having a death wish, but that was a lie. Rikki was not against help. The right kind. Whatever that was. Something she had not found yet. No good hands she could trust.
She peered at Amiri, peripherally. He lay on his back, hands clasped over his stomach. She remembered his naked body, the lines of his back. How he had given her what she needed, without asking.
She tilted her head so that she could see his eyes. “It’s been a long time since Larry insisted on protection.”
Amiri studied her openly, with a precision and depth that was startling, even intimate. “I suppose he trusted you to handle yourself.”
He said it like he meant it, which made Rikki smile, somewhat bitterly. “No. Never.”
“But—”
“A girl can only change the man-diapers for so long before it’s time to send the gun-toting behemoths home to their mommies,” Rikki interrupted smoothly. “Bunch of whiners. I’m sure you won’t be like that.”
“I would hardly dare,” he said. “Though I suppose if we should both begin to die, you might make an allowance for a complaint or two. Rest assured, I will change my own diapers.”
“Fantastic,” Rikki muttered, and closed her eyes. Cot springs creaked. She imagined Amiri, long and lean and hard. Graceful. Wild.
Enough. She tried to ignore his presence. Listened to everything but her thoughts: bullets, blood, combustible crocodiles; the liquefaction of her vital organs; the sight, imagined or otherwise, of a man’s eyes glowing in the night.
Sounds from outside the tent were muffled. Like being in a plastic cocoon or a bright wide coffin. Another kind of prison. It reminded Rikki of her father and the old trailer park. The hospital in Johannesburg and those nurses with their pious pity and cold hands. For the first time in years she wanted a cigarette.
She fell asleep. When she woke
, groggy and uneasy, Mack was in the room. Big man in his protective gear, sealed tight as a mummy. Ruth was with him. She took Rikki’s blood pressure while Mack attempted to stick a needle into Amiri. The man resisted. Firm, but gentle.
“I do not want my blood drawn,” he said.
“We need to,” Max replied.
“You are mistaken.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“I am a man of common sense,” Amiri told him, dryly. “And whether I live or die cannot possibly depend on what your test tells you. There is no cure.”
Mack said nothing. He grabbed Amiri’s arm, attempting to hold him down. Like trying to restrain water; the other man slipped out of his grasp, eyes narrowed. “Do not.”
“Come on. It won’t hurt.” His tone was all Mr. Doctor, patronizing, as though talking to a child. Rikki wanted to shake her head in shame. That, and hold on tight. Looking at Amiri—right then—felt like a hurricane coming, and she watched him give Mack a long hard stare of withering disdain. But her colleague was an idiot. He reached out again. Confident, self-assured.
Amiri slapped his hand away so hard the sound was like a gunshot. Ruth flinched, eyes wide behind her goggles. Rikki tried to control her own face. No emotion. Just anticipation. She knew the strength in those arms, and that had not been a gentle blow.
“You asshole,” Mack breathed, as the skin above his surgical mask mottled scarlet. Amiri’s expression never changed, not even slightly. Carved in stone. But the look in his eyes was worse than the mouth of the crocodile: sharp, chilling, deadly. But still calm. Still a gentleman—in the most brutal, effective, way possible.
“Next time I will break you,” Amiri said.
Mack swayed, his hand cradled to his chest. His breathing was loud, his eyes narrowed. The syringe lay on the ground between them. “Fuck you. All of you and your damn beliefs. Primitive, superstitious—”
“Mack.” Rikki did not raise her voice, but it was enough.
His mouth snapped shut. He turned on her, staring. “This man needs the test. You know how important it is.”
She knew. She had made her career on taking blood from the infected, hunting live viruses. But she had never bullied her patients. Never forced anyone to take the needle.
Rikki looked at Amiri. He met her gaze, and it was like electricity—some live current, hot in her blood. She had never met a man who was so confident, so quietly self-assured, and it had nothing to do with excess; not even a hint of arrogance. This was a man who could handle things. Handle anything. And he knew it. He knew the cost of it.
Just like Rikki did.
It would take a fight to make him give blood. It would take more than Ruth and Mack. More than the peacekeepers patrolling this camp. Rikki had a feeling there was not a force on earth that could make this man take part in anything—anything—that he did not want to do. God help anyone stupid enough to try.
Rikki was not stupid. And even though she knew she should be frightened by the hard coolness of his gaze, she was not. She felt like she stood in the eye of the storm—his eye, his storm. Safe. Untouched. Hidden in plain sight.
I am buying you time, Amiri’s voice echoed in her mind. I will make certain no one sees you.
They might as well have swapped blood—his gift was as strong a bond. And whatever his reasons might be, the least Rikki could do was show him the same courtesy. She had no choice.
“There are alternatives,” she told Mack, and held up her hand against his protest. “Do a spot check with his saliva. The virus will be present there. Hell, do the same with me.”
“They won’t be as thorough.”
“But you’ll know for certain. We all will.”
He stared at her like she was crazy, and she was—it was bad science, against protocol, her own rules—but Rikki stared him down, unwilling to bend. Unwilling to contemplate how and why she could take a stranger’s side over Mack.
He almost didn’t back down. She could see it in his eyes. But after a long silence, cut with the fidgeting squeak of Ruth’s heavy breathing, Mack leaned down to scoop up the dropped needle. He tossed it into the infectious materials bin with enough force to make the plastic rattle.
“Careful,” Rikki said, unable to help herself. “You might take an eye out.”
Mack shot her a glare. Ruth also gave Rikki a dirty look. Amiri did neither, nor did he smile. Instead his gaze turned thoughtful, his skin crinkling, just slightly, around his eyes. Warm, so warm. Looking at him was like finding kindness, and that was as unexpected as the rough way Mack suddenly grabbed her arm, fingers clamping down too tight for comfort.
You don’t have anything to prove, Rikki told him silently, but he was already tapping out her vein, and she forced herself not to protest as he jabbed the syringe so hard into her arm she imagined it hit bone. Hurt like hell, but she kept her mouth shut. Gave Mack a piercing look. He raised his eyebrow. Daring her. Rikki did not take the bait.
“Ruth, get that man’s saliva.” He raised his brow at Amiri. “You won’t resist, will you?”
“This is more acceptable,” he replied. No warmth in his eyes for the doctor; quite the opposite, if Rikki was any judge. He spat into a vial for Ruth.
Mack rolled his eyes. “There’s an anxious young man who wants to see you. Would you like me to pass along a message?” Each word was clipped, forced.
“Vigilance,” Amiri said.
Mack gave him a long look, but made no comment. He withdrew the needle from Rikki’s arm and swabbed her skin with alcohol. Said, quietly: “Neither of you are displaying symptoms. That’s some reassurance.”
Rikki glanced at Amiri. “Anyone else sick?”
Mack hesitated, also taking a quick look at the man. “Maybe we should discuss this later. There are … confidentiality issues.”
Amiri arched his brow. “Shall I go stand in the corner? Plug my ears with my fingers?”
Rikki tried not to smile. “Spill it, Mack. Or else there might not be a later.”
Mack briefly closed his eyes. “No symptoms in camp. Reports from downriver are clean, too.”
She tried not to think about what it would feel like to pull an Exorcist moment with her vital organs. “It’s been two days since the initial outbreak. The people who died in the river have been in the water that long. We should be seeing symptoms by now.”
“Our best guess is that the delivery system diluted the virus. That, or the sick aren’t reporting themselves.”
“The virus itself could be different.”
“No live samples yet.” Mack held up her vial of blood. “I’m hoping not ever.”
“Liar,” Rikki said gently, and that was enough to soften his mouth. But only for a moment. His expression turned pained, as though he looked at her and saw only death. Giving up already. Simply pretending otherwise. It made Rikki angry, but only because she had looked at other people the same way, in other isolation wards.
Work for the best, was the motto. Work for the best, assume the worst, and never, ever, let your heart get broken.
Easier said than done. Mack and Ruth turned to leave. Rikki said, “Hey, have you heard from Larry? Any word about people going missing at the regional hospitals?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No. Why?”
Rikki hesitated. “Nothing. Forget about it.”
Amiri shot her a hard look. “Do not forget about it. Ask others. See if anyone has heard rumors. And if strangers should come into the camp, people who do not belong—”
“Like you?” Mack interrupted. “Larry’s ‘security specialist’? Some job you did.”
Amiri’s jaw tightened. “Be alert. That is all I ask.”
“Of course. Anything less gets you dead.” Mack’s gaze flicked back to Rikki, but she stayed quiet. There was nothing left to say.
Mack and Ruth departed. Through the clear plastic walls, Rikki watched them bypass the disinfectant tubs. Her instinct was to call them back to hose down, but she kept her mouth shut. They were not venturi
ng into a clean environment. Just outside to the refugee camp. Later, when they wanted to eat, or sleep, or use the restroom—then dumping their gear would be a trial. The risk of infecting themselves would be at its highest.
“Sloppiness is death,” Amiri said, also watching them leave.
She felt like apologizing again. “Just part of the job. Helping people is dangerous work. I suppose you know that, though.”
“Life is dangerous,” he said simply. “It is what you make of it that matters.”
Her arm still hurt. She watched Mack leave without a backward glance, and felt very much alone. “So what do you make from something like this? What’s the price of a good life? That’s what you get paid for, right? Making people dead, people hurt. Is that worth the risk of helping someone like me? Being a hired gun? Cash make the wheels go around?” She glanced down at her hands, trying to imagine herself dying, gone, dead. Been there, done that, though this was almost preferable. No fighting. No screaming. No pain. Not yet.
Amiri did not answer. Rikki looked, and found him with his head tilted, eyes unblinking as he stared at her. Her cheeks warmed, but she did not lower her gaze.
“You are better than those questions,” he said finally, quietly. “And so am I.”
She had no comeback. He was too dignified. It was like having a not-so-peace-loving version of Gandhi call her a snot, and the result was an acute sense of Twilight Zone-itis; like she was floating in some alternate universe where strange men could affect her with nothing but a look and a word—make her regret, when with anyone else she would already be moving on.
Her face burned. “I apologize.”
Amiri made a sweeping motion with his hand. “And you? Why are you here?”
She had to take a moment, still wrapped up in his hold over her—how one of his looks could be so powerful. It bugged her, but not enough to run from. Curiosity would kill her yet.
“I hunt viruses,” she told him. “I chase outbreaks to find out what causes them. Others handle containment, but my job is to find the source.”
“Dangerous work.”
“Like you said, life is dangerous.”
“But that does not answer why we do it.”
The Last Twilight Page 6
