by Amy McKinley
No new information had come from Dr. Mikhailov. They had caught the few who had been infected early, and the antibodies shot seemed to slow the progression of the fever enough to give their immune systems a fighting chance.
Time passed quickly, and before I knew it, Trev entered my workstation. He’d hung around after I spoke with the police, but I banned him from my office until it was time to go home. I needed to concentrate, and there was none of that when he was around.
Thankfully, he’d brushed off Sandy’s annoying flirtation. She spent the next hour hurling daggers at me with her eyes. I couldn’t help it—her jealousy and his rebuttal to her advances gave me warm fuzzies, which helped to keep me from dwelling on the attack.
I put the samples away and straightened up my workspace before I caught the stern set to his mouth. I sighed. My life was about to get very complicated.
I unlocked the cabinet that held the sought-after vector for the CRISPR, hovering over one of the vials and debating whether I should comply with my attacker’s demands or fill a vial with saline. I glanced over my shoulder at Trev. The attacker wouldn’t know if what I had was the right version, and there was little chance of him reaching me since Trev heard what had happened. “I don’t want to give him the vector.”
“You shouldn’t. And while I don’t think he will have an opportunity to get near you, there is always a small window. I don’t want you to give him a reason to hurt you.”
Or kill me. I shuddered. “Then maybe an old version of the formula. It didn’t pass the tests, but he’d never know.”
“I can live with that.”
I shut down my monitor and rounded my desk. Trev’s hand settled on the small of my back, and we made our way to the elevators. With him, I let go of all worrying. He made me feel protected.
As soon as the metal door closed, he turned to me. “You’ve just gained a roommate.”
I figured. “You’re lucky I have a spare bedroom.”
“Hmm.”
I snorted. “You wanted the couch instead?” I wasn’t comfortable with him in my bed. Not yet. Once we crossed that line, I knew I would be a goner. My heart was already way too fond of him.
He chuckled, his hand finding the small of my back again as we stepped off the elevator on the ground floor. I waved goodbye to Josh as we passed through security. Trev ushered me to his car and shielded my body as I got in. I caught the movement of his eyes as he searched for threats while he rounded to the passenger seat then got in. The doors locked immediately.
Silence stretched between us as he pulled into traffic. I clasped my hands and cast about for something to say. I didn’t want to go over what’d happened again. We’d already come up with a hypothesis that the man who’d grabbed me was probably associated with someone who’d gone through the trials for the injections, a man who wanted the vector for someone outside of the focus group. There was no other plausible way he could have known about the restricted military procedure. The worst-case scenario was that he was a terrorist acquiring the meds so they could develop an attack with deadly diseases against Americans.
Truthfully, we didn’t have enough to make a firm guess about motive—at least no one had shared any other scenarios with me yet, but the search was pretty narrow. The only other possibility could be a man who had access to confidential information through either the military or our company. Neither guess sat well with me, nor did the possibility that my attacker had found out about the vector from the same leak that the Russians had. I couldn’t help but wonder if we were facing a biowarfare threat.
I’d been over every moment I could remember. Trev had grilled me thoroughly and was able to extract details I didn’t realize I’d noticed, like how tall the man was. When I finally had enough, he was satisfied with my responses, at least for the time being. He’d conferred with his team, and I was confident they would figure out the puzzle of who the guy was.
Trev cleared his throat, and I jolted.
“You okay?” The concern in his voice warmed my chilled body by a few degrees.
“Yes, you startled me. I was lost in thought.”
“Sorry about that. Do you want to take a walk on the beach, maybe grab food at that restaurant just off the boardwalk to take your mind off what happened today?”
“Oh.” I shifted so my back angled toward the passenger window and I could look at him while he drove. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want to be around people tonight.”
A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “How about we take my boat out and eat dinner under the stars? It’s a clear night, and the water’s calm.”
“Would we go far from shore?” I toyed with the strap on my purse.
“No. Just past the sandbar.”
“Okay. That sounds nice.” I thought about what I had in the fridge. “I can put together some pasta and bread with oil and parmesan.”
“Now you’re talking.”
He pulled into my driveway. After he cleared the house and was sure no one was inside, I went into my room with the idea of a quick shower and a change of clothes while he waited for me in the living room. It would be dark in an hour, which gave me enough time to get cleaned up then pack dinner.
The pasta and sauce took no time at all since I had some already made in the fridge. Soon, the fragrance of the tomatoes and basil filled the kitchen, and I scooped the pasta al pomodoro into containers. I made a mental note to make it again with meat.
Trev and I left the house and drove to the dock then parked. Before I knew it, we were on the boat. Dressed in yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt paired with a light jacket for the chilly fall weather, I got comfortable on the seat adjacent to his as he guided the vessel to where we would anchor for the next few hours. He was right—it was a beautiful night, and I relaxed in the comfortable chair.
Once he dropped the anchor, silence blanketed us, except for the gentle lapping of the water against the boat. I unzipped the thermal bag and took out the food containers and bottled water. We settled on the rear bench seat to eat.
Trev pulled off the lid to his and groaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything that good.”
The way to a man’s heart was supposedly through his stomach. Thanks to my mom, I could cook. I grinned. “Hope you like it.” He would. The combination of fresh tomatoes and basil was amazing. I would sell my soul for food like that if I didn’t know how to make it.
Stars twinkled above us, and the small amount of light from the little battery-operated lantern he’d set out bathed his handsome face in a soft glow. Butterflies took flight in my stomach when he moaned after his first bite.
“Marry me,” he said.
I laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“And you’re cooking is crazy good.” He shoveled a huge bite into his mouth.
We spent hours hanging out on the boat under the stars talking. That night I would sleep well, especially with Trev in the next room.
For the first time in a long while, save for the couple of days in Maine, I took pleasure in feeding someone other than myself. I only wished my mom could have met him. She would have demanded that he eat with us every night, and the marriage proposal… Even in jest, she would have taken it to heart and had us married off. I can’t say I would have fought her efforts. My heart flipped at the thought—a thought that could vanish in a moment if that man ever got his hands on me again.
Sadness swam through me as I typed in the final results for the delta-32 test against the advanced-stage virus that mimicked an ancient, encountered version of Malburg hemorrhagic fever, research I’d started with Fran but that we didn’t get to finish together. While the antibody doses would slow the RNA virus enough so each person’s immune system could stand a fighting chance, the delta-32 injections proved ineffective past the first five days after exposure.
The night with Trev on his boat had been nice. I only wished that same vibe had carried through to the work day, but I couldn’t help but miss my friend and a
ssistant.
I put away the last samples and cleaned up as Sandy tapped on the door to the empty lab I was working in. She was an innately nosy colleague. I shouldn’t have felt as annoyed as I did, but her mere presence always grated on my nerves. I waved her in then took off the hood of the biohazard suit I was wearing. With everything safely stored away, there wasn’t any chance of infection.
Sandy entered in a flurry of bouncing curls. Her hand whipped up. In between her fingers was a bright-yellow envelope. “I saw this in the stack delivered from the mailroom. It looks personal, so I thought you’d want it right away.”
After I took it from her, she leaned against the table. With my eyebrows raised, I waited for her to go. She didn’t. Clearly, she wanted to see what was inside, which I figured was the real reason behind her hand delivery, as we were not friends.
Whatever. I was too tired to fight her and curious who the mail was from, hand addressed but without the sender’s information. Tearing the envelope open, I withdrew a colorful greeting card with a picture of balloons and confetti on the cover. Weird.
“What’s it say?” Sandy leaned forward.
I opened it up. A pop-up sprung from the interior, followed by a plume of powder. Shit. Instinctively, I held my breath, closed my eyes, and dropped the card to the table. I took several steps backward before letting myself peek from beneath my lashes.
Sandy hadn’t moved. She waved a hand through the air, coughing.
“Sandy!” With frantic waves of my hand, I urged her to come toward me.
As she rushed my way, I raced to the back of the lab to start the decontamination process. We both needed a chemical wash, just in case. The ventilators would take off anything harmful in the air, but Sandy had inhaled it directly. Some coated our skin. I shoved her into the emergency shower. As she began to wash, I depressed the call button for Carl before I remembered he wasn’t in.
“Peter!”
He answered immediately.
“Possible hazardous airborne chemical in lab three. Test it. Don’t touch the card!” It would have to be tested for prints. “Sandy is in the decontamination shower. I’m going in next.”
“On it.” He disconnected.
Sandy exited out the back, then I went in. I was fairly certain my lungs were okay, but some had gotten on my face. I washed thoroughly as my mind spun. We had scrubs tucked into a sealed locker in the back. After the shower, I slipped those on, properly stowing the clothes I’d had on before.
“What was that?” Sandy screeched, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know. Peter’s testing it.” But I did know something, and there was no way the substance wasn’t harmful. “How are you feeling?”
“How do you think I’m feeling?” She went into a mild coughing fit.
“Are you nauseous? Do you feel any abdominal pain? Is anything coming up when you cough?” I had to know if she was experiencing any symptoms.
“It got in my lungs. I don’t know how I feel. Nothing but the cough, I think.”
I had a pretty good guess of what it was, and from the expression on her face, she did as well. “We’ll know what it is soon.”
We waited in silence, away from the others and in an unoccupied room to be safe. After a few more minutes, Peter entered with two IV units in tow, his face grim.
“It’s anthrax mixed with baby powder.”
He motioned for me to raise my sleeve, but I waved him away. “Sandy needs to go first. She inhaled it.”
Peter nodded then adjusted the dosage to a higher one by hanging an additional bag. She would need more to combat the spores from germinating and killing her. George, another colleague, entered and took over inserting my IV.
After Sandy was getting a steady stream of Ciprofloxacin, she turned to me, a mix of fear and outrage pulling her features tight. “Why would anyone send you a card booby-trapped with anthrax?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t, at least not definitively, but I had a pretty good guess—just no name. After a deep breath in, I struggled for patience in a high-stress situation. I didn’t wish her ill, but it was difficult to dredge up sympathy, as she was the one who had insisted that I open it. And I couldn’t help but wonder why was she getting my mail in the first place. “Did anyone hand you that card?”
“No. I was sorting through the mail and happened to see it.”
“So it was on my desk?” I wasn’t following. The mailroom left our mail with Rosalie, Carl’s executive assistant, who distributed it to our desks.
I shot off a text to Trev, telling him what had happened and that I was okay. He would come anyway, I knew, and I wanted him there. The police would have questions too. Sandy coughed, and I focused on her, waiting for an answer.
“I was in with Rosalie when the mail was dropped off. The card was on the top of the stack, so I told her I’d give it to you.”
“Thanks.” I leaned back in my chair, stuck there until the IV bag was empty. The postmark was from our city. That man who’d threatened me was in the city too. Those two things had to be tied together—the verbal threat that there would be consequences and then the follow-through with them after not having easy access to what he’d demanded. After all, he knew enough about what I worked on to make demands.
The next few hours would be full of answering questions. I was looking forward to going home and running my theory about what lay behind the attack with Trev.
“I’ll go get your antibiotics filled at the pharmacy,” Peter said with an assuring smile.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it on the way home.” There was no way would I let anyone else have access to something I ingested, even if it was just Peter.
Sandy gasped, and I looked up to see Trev barreling into the room. Gone was the laid-back guy. Holy hell—if I hadn’t known him, I would have been terrified. His face was taut, his eyes blazed retribution, and a muscle jumped along his jawline. He didn’t even spare Sandy a glance—his gaze seared me with laser-like focus.
With each step he took toward me, my heart rate kicked up a notch. As he neared, the fear that clung to me like static fizzled away. He stopped in front of me, bent to my ear, and whispered, “We’ll talk privately.”
I shivered in response. With that one phrase, the weight of my hypothesis eased. I understood what he meant. We would tell the police the facts and discuss our theories in private. There was too much at stake with the military vector and the dealings with the Russian laboratory. I could wait, even if the next few hours dragged.
Two and a half hours later and with an official report filed, I was buckled into Trev’s SUV and headed for home. I was exhausted. We’d already picked up my prescription that would ensure the anthrax spores didn’t germinate.
Trev took his gaze off the road for a split second. “So, anthrax.”
“Yes.” I shifted so my back leaned against the passenger door. “I think this may tie into the man who wants the military vector. I don’t think he’s related to that program or anyone in it.”
“I don’t, either. We’ve turned over every stone imaginable, and none have yielded results. We’re digging deeper into people who have access to your work. Zen Pharmaceuticals, the Russian lab, and your colleagues in-house.”
My top teeth sank into my bottom lip, and I rolled it back and forth. “I think the anthrax was meant to tie together the man who pushed me and pulled me into the alleyway near my office. Remember I told you he said if I didn’t follow through with giving him the vector, there’d be consequences I wouldn’t like?”
“Yes,” he growled.
“Well, there was a note stuck over whatever word was originally on the inside of the card. It said, ‘consequences,’ which seems like it came from him.” I was trying hard to stay calm, but it wasn’t working too well. I held Trev’s gaze. “When you’re with me at home, I feel safe. I don’t think he can get to me then. And at work, the windows of opportunities for him to have physical access have shrunk unless he somehow gains entrance past building
security. Which won’t happen.”
“I agree that your attacker is the likeliest suspect with the anthrax incident. If I could get my hands on him, we’d know why he’s targeting you and if there is an even bigger threat out there.”
“I think it’s him.” The other threat… I had a horrible sense it was something inside me, but I wasn’t going there. It wasn’t something I was ready to face just yet. “We had an anthrax scare when four envelopes were delivered to people in Washington, but I don’t think this is the same sort of thing. My guess is that it’s personal and connects to Russia.”
“I’m following you.” Trev turned the corner, and my home came into view.
“In 2016, there was an anthrax outbreak when the layers of permafrost thawed, releasing spores from dead reindeer. It was a remote area, so it wasn’t a widespread epidemic.” It felt important, and I had to share it with him. “If I’m remembering correctly, a child died, and dozens were infected. I feel like it’s the same guy. Could he be pointing us there? I’m not sure why he’s after me, but I think that’s our best chance to find out who he is.”
The sun slipped past the horizon, taking with it the brilliant splashes of orange and red across the ocean. While fear clung to the edges of my awareness, I craved a light evening—I wanted to laugh. I warned Trev that I needed a mental hiatus, at least for the night. He seemed to understand.
A pan banged behind me, and I left the bay window that overlooked the beach, trying to shake the fear from the prior break-in attempt. My stalker was getting braver, and I was grateful for Trev’s presence but not so much that the mess that he was cleaning up in my kitchen, and quite possibly making more of, didn’t matter.
I took a few steps closer, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The pans not stacked in the sink lay scattered across the counter. A spaghetti noodle was hanging in his hair. I plucked it from amidst strands of blond then put water on the corner of a dishtowel. I wiped with the wet part of the towel onto where sauce had splattered in his hair before running my fingers along the side of his head, checking for any more. “You don’t wear it down much,” I said, commenting on his man bun, something I used to think was stupid, at least until I got a good look at Trev for the first time. It was uncanny how much he looked like Ben Dahlhaus.
