by Noelle Adams
Listed
Volume V
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks referenced in this work of fiction: Tylenol.
Contents
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Publishing Schedule
Eleven
Emily could feel the tension coiled in Paul’s body.
She was leaning against his side as they sat on the leather couch in Jack Martin’s office. Her own stomach twisted with a mixture of nerves and faint hope, and she realized Paul must feel the same. The muscles of his shoulders and abdomen were tight, and the arm he’d wrapped around her was gripping her just a little too hard.
It was strangely comforting—knowing Paul was just as anxious as she was.
“I don’t understand,” he said, sounding much more composed than she knew he felt. “How did this information just suddenly materialize now?”
Martin shrugged. He was a big man who was handsome in a laidback, unshaven way. Emily liked him. “I don’t know. The report surfaced last night, which is why I called first thing this morning. It’s a very complete report on an engineered virus that was being developed in your father’s research facility. It fits with what Mrs. Marino might have.”
“And you hadn’t found it on your earlier searches?”
“No. I had my computer guys search again, in case we missed something the first time, and it was only then they discovered this report.”
“Why was it missed the first time?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. It shouldn’t have been. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it would have been missed. My people are careful.”
Emily looked over at Paul and saw he was thinking the same thing she was.
Instead of speculating, however, he asked, “What does that mean?”
“Two options,” Martin replied. “One is that someone in your father’s organization is leading us on a wild goose-chase. The report was planted so we’d waste our time on a false lead.”
“But why would they bother?” Emily asked. “It’s not like we were close to finding a cure or anything. All they need to do is wait for me to die, if that’s what they want.”
Paul’s arm tightened around her briefly, and she knew what she’d said had bothered him.
“You’re right,” Martin confirmed, his brown eyes surprisingly kind for such a no-nonsense man. “I don’t think they’d waste their time on something like that.”
“And the second option?” Paul prompted.
“You have a friend in your dad’s organization, pointing us in the right direction.”
Emily glanced over and met Paul’s eyes. His expression looked strangely frozen, for some reason. Not the reaction she’d expected.
“I know you need some time to process all of this and think over possibilities,” Martin continued, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got some experts who are evaluating the report right now, so they’ll be able to tell us if it looks genuine. Assuming it is, all I need to know is whether you think the information in this report is worth pursuing.”
When Paul didn’t answer, Emily did. “There’s no reason not to pursue it, right? I mean, if it can help the doctors figure out what this virus is, then maybe that would help in coming up with a cure. And, if it’s not, then no harm done.” She glanced up at Paul. “Right?”
“Right,” he agreed, still looking a little stiff.
She shifted on the couch. “We have nothing to lose—even if it’s just a waste of time. And maybe you do have a friend you didn’t know about.”
“Right,” Paul repeated. “There will still be a lot of work left to do, won’t there? Interpreting the research results and then developing an anti-viral medication or whatever they’d do?”
“The report was very complete. It’s all Greek to me, of course, but my smart folks told me right away that it looked there was enough there to development some sort of treatment.”
Emily felt a flare of hope, but she couldn’t really let herself believe it. Nothing ever worked so easily, so miraculously for her.
“You’ll look into who might be responsible for planting the report?” Paul asked Martin.
“We’re already on it.”
Martin stood up when they did and shook their hands as they left his office.
In the car, Emily reached out to put a hand on Paul’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
She didn’t believe him. He’d taken this news in a very strange way. “What are you thinking?” she asked, not wanting him to sink into silent brooding.
He didn’t answer immediately, but finally he admitted, “I went to visit my dad two days ago.”
“What?” she demanded, too sharply. She tempered her tone as she continued, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were just getting over being sick. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I can’t believe you would just—” She bit back her instinctive frustration over being left out of something so important to him, since this was hardly the time to address it. Resolving she’d get into that issue at another time, she asked in a different tone, “How did it go?”
“About how you would expect.”
“What does that mean? What did he say?”
“He said he had nothing to do with your getting the virus.”
She thought for a minute before she responded. “Paul, what if he’s telling you the truth? What if this mysterious friend is him? He could have steered us to the report we needed. All he would have to do was make a call.” When Paul made a face, she added, “He could be trying to help you.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. He always has an underlying agenda.”
“Then who else would have done it? The timing of this is just too perfect. Maybe he really is trying to—”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think it’s even possible that you might be wrong about him?” When she saw his face, she hurried on, “Not in anything he did, but in how he feels about you.”
“If he wanted to help me, he could have just told me directly about the virus and where to find the report.”
“But maybe he thinks someone in his organization is responsible for giving me the virus. If that’s the case, then he’d have to be careful about what he gives away. Paul, I don’t know. There could be any number of reasons why he’d do it underhanded this way. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. I’m not saying it’s a sure thing, but maybe we can hope.”
She let out a shaky breath when he didn’t answer. “If the report is from him, then maybe what’s in it is real. Don’t you think that’s worth hoping for?”
“Of course it is.” His tone had changed, and so had the expression on his face.
He didn’t believe her about his father—she could see that—but that didn’t mean the report was a fake. He was going to let himself hope for that, at least.
Emily had lived the last few months knowing she was going to die—shaping everything she did, felt, and said around that irrevocable fact. She wasn’t sure how to even process the hope that she might live, and she had no idea what it meant for her relationship with Paul.
One thing she knew, however—something she’d never dreamed would be possible when she ac
cepted his ring two months ago.
Paul wanted her to live. He wanted it deeply, with all of the fierce intensity of his nature.
She could feel it in his body, hear it in his voice, see it in his face.
“It’s better than no hope at all,” she added.
He reached out and pulled her against him in the backseat of the car. “It’s much better than no hope, baby.”
Emily sighed hoarsely and buried her face briefly in Paul’s shirt, breathing in the warm, expensive scent of him and loving the way he called her “baby.”
It a few panicked pangs through her heart, however. At first, she’d thought the endearment just slipped out during sex or when she was really sick. She’d assumed it was just one of those things guys said.
But Paul called her "baby" all the time now, and it seemed to signify that he meant it.
He shouldn’t—he just shouldn’t—mean it.
***
In just a week, Dr. Franklin had a treatment he wanted her to try, based on the information found in the report.
It was a long-shot. Just a preliminary attempt—an established treatment for another virus that had similarities to the one described in the report. Even if it didn’t work, the treatment shouldn’t have any significant negative side-effects, so he thought they might as well try it right away.
Emily went to the hospital and was hooked up to an IV for several hours, and she and Paul went back the next day so they could check the results.
Evidently, the treatment hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped. She could see it in Dr. Franklin’s face before he actually said the words.
They would keep trying, he said. The report had given them a number of invaluable leads. There would be another treatment to try soon.
It was still early.
But she and Paul were quiet as they headed back to the car. When they climbed in the backseat, Emily wasn’t sure what to say. She felt kind of crushed, even though she knew it was ridiculous to feel that way. So she also felt annoyed and impatient with herself for giving into such an irrational despair.
She darted a look over to Paul. He stared out the window blankly as the driver pulled away from the curb. His expression was composed but she knew—she knew—he was crushed like she was.
For some crazy reason, it helped. It gave her a purpose, something to do. She didn’t want Paul to feel sad or bleak or despairing. Not because of her. She couldn’t stand for him to feel that way.
“This is silly,” she said, smiling at him—just a little wobbly—when he turned to look at her in faint surprise. “We shouldn’t be acting like this is the end of the world. Dr. Franklin is right. There’s no reason why their first attempt would work. We’re going to be total wrecks if we’re like this after every treatment for the next several weeks.”
Paul actually gave a huff of amusement. “Speak for yourself. I make a point to never be a wreck.”
She giggled at his irony. “Good to know.” She reached over and curved a hand around the back of his head, pulling his face down toward hers. She kissed him lightly on the mouth. Marveled that she was entitled to do so. “Let’s not get depressed yet. Okay?”
Paul’s lips seemed to cling to hers, and he twined his fingers through her loose hair as he deepened the kiss. When their lips parted, he leaned his forehead against hers and murmured, “Okay.”
Emily’s chest overflowed with something like sweetness, but then it was followed by those pangs of panic again. She’d felt this way before—like when they were making love under the stars on Prince Edward Island and Paul had seemed so incredibly overwhelmed by the experience.
Part of her craved the deep feeling, the neediness she sometimes sensed from him, but part of her absolutely hated it.
It wasn’t what their marriage was supposed to be about. It would mean they should never have gotten married at all.
She just couldn’t leave Paul grieving when she died.
She leaned back against the seat of the car and twisted her engagement ring over her wedding band on her finger nervously.
“Emily?” Paul asked, his voice sounding different—more like his normal protective concern than the strained way he’d sounded most of the day today. “What is it?”
She shook her head, forcing back the brewing fear. Paul was just a passionate man. He’d always been that way, even though he tried to hide it. His behavior probably didn’t mean what she sometimes thought it might mean.
“We should do something fun today,” she said brightly, successfully pushing back her anxious thoughts. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m up for anything. What do you want to do?”
Emily shook her head with a half-smile. “Don’t give me that. It doesn’t always have to be about me. You should choose today. What would be fun for you?”
Put on the spot, Paul looked momentarily perplexed. Then he gave her a grin that was almost predatory. “Since you’ve asked…”
“Uh oh.” Emily shifted in the seat, suddenly sure he was going to take ruthless advantage of her insistence on doing what he wanted.
He chuckled. “We should go out tonight. Dinner, dancing, something like that.”
She brightened. “That sounds fun.”
“So we should find you a new dress to wear.”
She gasped, suddenly realizing where this was going. “I don’t need a new dress. I have that beautiful dress you got me in New York!”
“I think you’ll need another one for tonight,” he said, with ostensible nonchalance, although a tiny corner of his mouth was twitching just slightly.
She glared at him in outrage. “This is a trick. A sneaky, malicious trick! You just want to make me buy more clothes, despite my very rational arguments against doing so!”
Paul threw his head back and laughed at her indignation. “You did say I could choose what I wanted to do this afternoon.”
Emily tried to organize her very rational arguments against spending Paul’s money to buy clothes she didn’t need, but she had trouble making any of them very convincing.
At least she’d succeeded in dragging Paul out of his bleak mood.
“Fine,” she muttered, shooting him a dark look. “But the dress is not going to be expensive, and there will be no fancy accessories to go with it.”
“We’ll see.”
* * *
Emily ended up buying a gorgeous black dress. Paul also insisted on picking out for her a double-strand choker of black pearls that matched perfectly, which she begrudgingly accepted, only because he kept capitalizing on the fact that she’d said he could do what he wanted that afternoon.
Despite her complaints, she was feeling pretty pleased with the purchases that evening as she got dressed. She’d taken a long bath and had even taken the time to paint her fingernails and toenails a striking dark red. Plus, she spent forever on her hair until she’d managed to convince it to stay in soft, bouncy waves around her shoulders, instead of frizzing like it had an annoying tendency to do.
Her dress was black, with cute cap sleeves. The hem fell above her knees, and the silhouette tightened just under her breasts in the most adorable vintage bow. It could masquerade as a classic “little black dress,” but it was too quirky to be elegant in any traditional way. Emily loved it, even though Paul had to bully her into even trying the dress on at all.
She wasn’t sure where Paul was going to take her tonight and—ridiculously, since they’d been married now for two months—it felt like she was going out on a date with him.
She was peering at herself in the mirror with a kind of giddy thrill at how she’d managed to look both gorgeous and like her at the same time when she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
“You ready, Emily?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to clasp the diamond and emerald bracelet Paul had given her for her birthday on her wrist with one hand.
Paul opened the door and came in. He looked absolutely scrumptious in his black suit and tie, which he wore with his typica
l effortless sophistication.
He stopped when he saw her, his eyes reflecting a mingling of heat, possessiveness and awe. She’d seen that look in his eyes before—mostly notably when they had sex—and she recognized it now as admiration. “Very nice,” he murmured, just a little thickness in his voice.
It was the thickness, of course, that convinced her he meant it. He must really like how she looked.
She tried not to preen, although her cheeks were a little too pink. “Thanks. I do love the dress, although I still don’t approve of your sneaky tactics in buying it.” To distract herself from that very particular look in his eyes, she picked up the black pearls.
Before she could put them around her neck, Paul stepped over and took them from her hands. He gently moved her hair out of the way and clasped the necklace for her, his fingers warm against her skin. “I should be able to buy my wife a few things without resorting to sneaky tactics.”
“Whatever.” She frowned slightly and raised her left hand. “Do you think the bracelet looks all right with the necklace? Maybe I should—”
“It looks perfect.” His eyes were strangely hot as he stood behind her and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
She wasn’t sure the pearls really looked perfect with the diamonds and emeralds, but she liked how the jewelry looked anyway.
And she liked that Paul liked how it looked.
And she really liked how she and Paul looked together in the mirror.
Like a couple.
“Okay,” she said, trying to pull herself together and not turn around and kiss Paul hard. If nothing else, it would mess up her makeup. “I’m ready.”
He put a hand on the small of her back as they walked out of her room. She loved how it felt there, somehow both protective and possessive.
She wondered if this was how any wife would feel when she was about to go out for a night on the town with her husband.
* * *
It was several hours later—well after midnight—when they returned to the apartment.
Emily clung to Paul’s arm with one arm and with the other she cradled a bouquet of pink tulips that he’d bought for her from a market they’d passed on the way to dinner, after she’d randomly mentioned that she loved them and that she’d carried pink tulips on their wedding day.
