Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

* * *

  “It’s not like we’re going to unlock a cabinet in your dad’s lab and find some serum in a test tube labeled ‘Cure for Mystery Virus’.”

  Paul tightened his fist on his armrest and tried to keep his expression impassive.

  By all recommendations, Jack Martin headed up one of the best private investigation firms in the city. He’d been professional in all of his dealings, and the report on all his team had done in the last week was certainly impressive.

  But Paul didn’t like Martin at all. His hair was a mess, he needed to shave, and his perpetually laidback attitude about everything drove Paul crazy.

  This was dead serious to Paul, so Martin should be taking it seriously too.

  “I never suggested you’d find a magic serum,” Paul replied, an edge to his voice.

  Martin appeared completely oblivious to the edge. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but this is what we’ve got.” His brown eyes turned from Paul to Emily, who was seated beside him. Martin’s expression softened imperceptibly. “Look, this whole thing is awful, and I wish I could pull a miracle out of a hat for you. But all we know is what we know. We’ve gotten into the facility and can confirm your father was definitely involved in research into biological weapons. I’ve found a couple of experts to help us figure out the data we’ve retrieved. It’s not easy, though. There’s a ton of it, and it’s high-level science stuff. Even my smart folks can’t make heads or tails of it.”

  Paul had known this investigation would be complicated, but he didn’t like the sound of this at all. Interpreting scientific research results took a lot of time, particularly when you didn’t have all the background.

  “After we do that, we still have to figure out if the source of this virus was your father’s lab. Then we have to figure out how to treat it.” Martin leaned back in his chair. “We’re all hands on deck in this, but I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations about what we’re going to uncover and how long it’s going to take.”

  Paul nodded, knowing the other man was right and trying not to resent him for it. He glanced over at Emily. She’d been quiet during this conversation, but she didn’t look disappointed. She mostly looked resigned.

  She’d never been as hopeful about this appointment as Paul had.

  She reached over and took his hand, as if she sensed he needed her support.

  “I have a suggestion,” Martin added. When they both looked at him inquiringly, he continued, “There is one person who knows what the research facility has been doing and whether there’s anything like a cure for the virus there.”

  Paul stiffened, and Emily’s hand tightened around his.

  “You could ask your dad.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Maybe not. But he’s already been convicted. He has no play here. Unless you think he’s such a monster that he’d let your wife die just for fun, I don’t know why he’d hold onto the information at this point.”

  “He is a monster.” Paul wasn’t certain about very much in life—not anymore—but he was certain of that.

  “Paul,” Emily murmured, “I’m still not sure he would have given me this virus on purpose. Maybe its source was the research facility, but he didn’t contaminate me and my aunt intentionally.”

  Martin nodded. “If that’s the case, he might have even more reason to tell you what we need to know.”

  “I know that makes sense to you, but you don’t know him.” Paul turned to look at Emily. “You don’t know him either. Not like I do. I can’t go and ask him something like this. It would be exactly what he wants. He wants to get me back under this thumb. I’d be playing right into his hand.”

  Emily’s face looked pained, but he could tell she was pained for him. It made him uncomfortable and was comforting at the same time.

  “You have to believe me on this. If he did this to you, he’s never going to admit it. And if he didn’t do it, he has no information to share. If I thought there was a possibility of it working, I’d ask him in a heartbeat. But I can’t ask him for something when I know he won’t give it to me. It’s exactly what he wants.”

  Emily squeezed his hand again. “Yeah. I understand. We’ll find another way.” She glanced over at Martin for confirmation.

  He nodded. “Yep. We’ll find another way. We’re on it.”

  Paul wondered what it would be like to be so easily confident.

  He used to think he was like that himself.

  Not so many months ago, really, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

  * * *

  After they left the office, they went out to lunch at a quiet French bistro. The food was good, but their conversation was scattered, as both of them tried not to dwell on the faint hope of Martin’s team coming up with something from the data they’d retrieved.

  Emily asked how he’d found Martin’s name to begin with. Then she asked what volcano he thought she should climb.

  Paul didn’t even want to think about the remaining items on her list. It seemed to imply she was going to die, and he refused to let himself believe that possibility. It wasn’t fair to not keep his word and help her get through her list, though, so he suggested they go to Hawaii, which wouldn’t be a hard trip and which had many impressive volcanoes that weren’t too difficult to climb.

  Emily seemed pleased with this idea, and then she fell into a meditative silence.

  When they got up to leave, she said she needed to use the restroom, so Paul waited outside the ladies room until she came out.

  He straightened up in concern when she emerged. She looked paler than she had earlier, and her eyes looked a little pained. Her hair was damp around the hairline, as if she’d thrown water on her face.

  “Paul,” she began, walking over to him slowly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Do I have a fever?” When she reached him, she raised her hands to grip his shirt, like she felt unsteady on her feet.

  He reached over to feel her forehead, and his heart sank as he sensed how hot her skin was. “I think you do.”

  “Damn. Not so soon.”

  “Let me get you home,” he said, supporting her with one arm and guiding her down the hall and out of the restaurant. Her body was swelteringly hot against him, and he tried to brace himself for at least two agonizing days of watching her suffer.

  The restaurant host turned to give him a friendly farewell as they approached, but his face transformed with worry when his eyes took in Emily’s drooping figure.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Marino?” he asked in concern.

  “Can you call my car, as quickly as possible?” Paul asked, relieved that he hadn’t driven himself, so they wouldn’t have to wait for a valet to get the car from a garage.

  The host wasted no time in doing this. In the minute or two it took for the driver to pull the car to the curb in front of the restaurant, Emily seemed to completely wilt. He’d never seen one of her fevers come on her so quickly. She leaned her weight fully against his chest, clutching at him desperately, getting hotter and hotter as the moments passed.

  Then her knees just buckled, and she would have collapsed to the floor had his arms not been around her. Instinctively, Paul adjusted his hold on her body and swung her up in his arms.

  “Paul, no,” she mumbled weakly, hiding her face in his shoulder. “I can walk.”

  “No, I don’t think you can.” He ached—all over—as he cradled her against him and carried her out to the sidewalk, where the car was pulling up.

  She was small but not a waif, and she felt real and substantial in arms—hot and weak and shaking and sick and his.

  He refused his anxious driver’s attempt to take Emily from his arms and instead carefully maneuvered her into the backseat himself. She fell to her side, unable to sit up, and curled herself up into a ball.

  Paul swallowed hard, fighting growing panic at seeing how quickly she’d declined in this bout of fever. He gave c
urt instructions to his driver and accepted with thanks the cold, wet washcloth and bottles of cold water the restaurant host had hurriedly gotten for them. Then Paul got into the car quickly, climbing over Emily so he could sit on the opposite side of the seat beside her.

  As the driver took them home, he wiped her feverish face and helped her lift her head from his lap to take an occasional sip of water. He also called Amy, who said she’d be over to the apartment in less than an hour.

  They were almost home when Emily whispered brokenly, as she writhed with what looked like pain, “Paul, I’m scared. How did it get so bad so fast?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He wiped her face once more, although the washcloth was no longer very cool. Then he exhaled in relief when the driver pulled into their private parking deck. “We’re home now. You’ll feel better when we can get your medicine.”

  He desperately hoped she’d feel better. He would never tell her so, but he was scared too. The worse her fevers became, the fewer days she would have before the virus consumed her completely.

  She had to stay alive for long enough for them to find a cure.

  He carried her up to the apartment and then into her bedroom, where he gently laid her down in bed. She was completely out of it now, mumbling disconnected thoughts, almost delirious although not violently so. He managed to get her to swallow her pills without choking her.

  Paul was so tense and anxious he could barely breathe as he carefully took her clothes off and put on instead a tank top and boxer shorts, like she always wore when she had fevers. It wasn’t easy, since she kept tossing restlessly, in obvious physical discomfort.

  He wiped her face with another cool cloth, praying for the pills to take effect soon so she would feel better. When he saw her loose hair sticking to her face, he went into the bathroom and grabbed two elastic hairbands. Then he returned and gathered her messy hair into two ponytails as neatly as he could, being sure not to pull any stray hairs in a way that would hurt her.

  There wasn’t anything else he could do but sit by her bed and keep wiping her face. She was mumbling under her breath still, and he could occasionally recognize a word. She said, “Paul,” more than once. And he thought he picked out the words “volcano” and "stars." But nothing she said made any real sense.

  After several minutes, she started to shiver, so he put the washcloth up immediately and pulled the bedcovers up over her body. It took a minute, but eventually her shivering stopped.

  Finally, the medication started to work, and the pained tension in her body relaxed just a little. She seemed to fall asleep for real. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep—it never was when she had a fever—but at least she wasn’t tossing around with her face twisting in pain.

  Paul was able to breathe again, but he didn’t move from his chair. Ruth came in with a fresh bottle of water for Emily and a cup of hot tea for him he hadn’t requested. He drank it automatically, even though it was sweeter than he would prefer.

  Amy should be here soon, but Paul wasn't planning to leave.

  His eyes never left Emily’s pale face. She looked incredibly young in the two ponytails, vulnerable and so small. But her left hand was fisted in her bedcovers, and he could see his rings glinting on her finger there.

  She was his wife, and she was strongest, bravest person he’d ever known. But she was also his to take care of, and there was very little he could do to help her.

  There was one more thing, though.

  One thing he’d vowed never to do. One thing with almost no chance of working.

  The only thing left for him now.

  He used to think he was strong—that there were certain things in his life on which he would never waver—but he wasn’t strong enough.

  He loved her. Far more than he’d ever loved himself.

  He would rip himself apart, from the inside out, if it would give her another day to live.

  ***

  Paul felt like he might be sick.

  It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t anger or resentment as he’d always understood it. It was closer to the bleak acceptance of being stripped of all defenses and willingly led to slaughter.

  He was sitting in the visiting room of a federal detention center, waiting for his father to be escorted out to talk to him. Emily’s fever had finally broken the day before—lasting just over forty-eight hours this time—but she was still weak and exhausted.

  He hadn’t told her he was coming here today because he didn’t want her to worry about him.

  Besides, Paul knew this was an act of final desperation that would almost certainly prove to be futile.

  Then he saw his father—craggy face, gray hair, utterly self-contained expression—as he approached the table and sat down across from his son.

  He didn’t greet Paul, but that was to be expected. Empty words gave too much away. That was a lesson his father had taught him very young.

  When Paul didn’t speak, his father finally arched his eyebrows in amused arrogance. “This is your meeting. We can spend it in silence if you’d like.”

  Lying in bed awake all last night, Paul had plotted out a carefully nuanced strategy for this conversation, but now he couldn’t remember any of it. He blurted out, “Emily is dying.”

  “That’s not news to me. I was at the trial too.”

  Paul hated the smug unconcern on his father’s face, although he knew it was put on for show as much as anything else. “I think the virus has the source in your research facility. I know you were working on biological weapons there. We have concrete proof.”

  “If you have evidence, then why do you need me?”

  “You know why. She’s eighteen. She’s innocent. And she’s dying. You’re already going to be in prison for life. You might as well just tell us what we need to know.”

  Vincent Marino’s eyebrows rose even higher. “You think I had something to do with her illness?”

  “I know you did.”

  “Then what do you want from me? If I’m that man—the man you think I am—then what could you possibly want from me now?”

  What Paul wanted from his father he would never get. He’d resigned himself to that truth years ago. Everyone had heard him say it out loud in the courtroom, so there was no mystery about it. No puzzle for his father to solve.

  Instead, this was just a battle to him. A duel. A game of strategy.

  Paul was too emotionally invested in this particular issue to ever come out ahead of his father in strategy, so he didn’t even try. “I want you to give us the information and research you have on the virus so we can find a cure.”

  “If I did what you think, I’m surprised you’re even asking me such a thing.”

  “I have nothing left to lose. I admit it. But your hand is played. You have nothing to win.”

  “There’s always something to win. I know I taught you that…if nothing else.”

  “I love her,” Paul admitted, the words ripped out of him without warning.

  “I know that. It was more than obvious from watching you with her in the courtroom.”

  Paul swallowed hard. “She’s going to die.”

  “We all have our trials. What matters is what we do with them.”

  This conversation had played out exactly as Paul had known it would. He wasn’t even angry. The faint hope had been doomed from the start. “So you won’t help?”

  “I can’t help. I’m not the monster you think I am. I didn’t do this.” The words were almost convincing.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His father shrugged. “You’re still young, and you still live your life looking for dragons to slay. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes the world is just brutal. For no particular reason. Without anybody to blame.”

  Paul stared blindly and couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  It felt like his father had just signed Emily’s death warrant.

  When Paul was thirteen and his parents were headed for divorce, he’d been both devastate
d and furious one night at seeing his mother cry.

  His father had told him to toughen up.

  Not long ago, Paul had believed himself to be tough.

  He stood up. So abruptly his chair tipped backwards and hit the floor with a loud clatter.

  His father smiled faintly. “I guess this is goodbye then. Give my best to your pretty wife.”

  Despite everything else, those last words managed to hurt Paul.

  He turned to leave. He wasn’t going to say anything more. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of seeing him made even more vulnerable.

  Paul only made it a couple of steps before he stopped and glanced back. “Why does it always have to be a war between us?”

  Something changed on his father’s face. Not any sort of softening, but he looked older than he should have. And so, so tired.

  Then Vincent Marino asked a final question, one that needed no answer. “When is life anything else?”

  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.