by Tiffany Snow
Grabbing my bag, I left them to it and went into the bathroom. I didn’t think Devon would go back on his word to me and I just hoped the doctor didn’t try something stupid. Devon would have no problem hurting him if that happened, I was sure.
The phone felt like it was burning a hole in my back pocket. I hid it in my clothes as I took a quick shower. The hair dye was washing out a tiny bit at a time, but would still hold up for quite a while. It was like looking at a stranger in the mirror, though a stranger who was becoming more familiar. The blonde hair was gone, and with it a kind of old version of me had been sloughed away, too. Unfortunately, the new me had an expiration date.
The thought made my gut ache. Devon had given up everything for me. What would he do if he knew that I was literally dying? That the virus was killing me inch by inch? He’d lost Kira and was probably going to lose me, too. The fear of dying was second only to my despair at leaving Devon alone. I had to do something, but had no idea what.
I was rapidly running out of clean clothes, and I thought we were going to have to stop at another thrift store or a Laundromat at some point. I pulled on the same jeans, but was out of clean panties. Okay, definitely going to have to stop at a store for that. Denim against bare skin? Um, no thank you.
When I came out of the bathroom, Devon and the doctor seemed to have reached an uneasy standoff. Well, it seemed uneasy from the doctor’s point of view, his body language screaming tension. Devon looked as relaxed as ever.
“You need to shower and clean that wound,” I said to Devon, gesturing to his chest. Whatever backcountry goo they’d put on him had done a remarkable job with the bobcat marks, but it still needed to be cleaned and rebandaged. “Maybe the doc will have something you can put on it. Ointment or something.” I glanced at the doctor. “Do you have anything for an animal bite?”
“An animal bite? What kind of animal?” he asked.
“A bobcat,” I said. “One got a chunk out of Devon.”
“I’m fine. It’s mostly healed,” Devon said. He handed me a gun. “Watch the good doctor while I clean up, darling.”
“You really expect me to shoot him if he tries to escape?” I asked.
Devon looked at me. “You’re right. You wouldn’t, would you.” He sighed. “Fine.” He picked up a knife from the table.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” the doctor asked, scrambling up from his seat and backing away.
“Relax,” Devon said. “You’re quite jumpy.”
He picked up the phone and unplugged the cord from the wall. Then he sliced off the cord at the phone’s base. It was quite long, longer than needed for its intended use, but long enough for what I guessed was Devon’s purpose.
“Don’t tie me up,” the doctor said. “I swear I won’t try to leave.”
“Yes, well, too bad I don’t believe you,” Devon retorted. “It won’t be for long, so stop fussing about it. Now behave and this’ll go a lot easier. On your stomach.”
“No.”
“Don’t test me.” Devon’s voice was hard, the two of them locked in a staring contest.
“You’re not going to kill me, and hurting me will only draw attention,” the doctor said. “I’m not going to let you tie me up.”
Devon moved fast, faster than I could track, and before I knew it, the doctor was on his knees and Devon had ahold of his hand, twisting his arm up behind his back. He was doing something to his fingers.
“How many fingers does a doctor need, really?” Devon asked. “You’re not looking into being a surgeon, are you? I do think you’d need all ten for that, but as an average ER doctor, nine would be plenty.”
“Devon . . .” I warned, but he ignored me.
The doctor’s face was creased in a grimace of pain and he didn’t reply to Devon.
“I think I’ve made my point,” Devon said.
Devon hog-tied the doctor, first tying his hands behind his back, then his ankles, then the two together. It was sobering and a little frightening how quickly he was able to do that. When he was finished, he glanced at me.
“Better, darling?”
I gave him a look, not liking any of this one little bit. Devon’s smile was thin as he took the gun from me.
“I’ll be quick,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom.
The doctor looked extremely uncomfortable. Feeling guilty, I got up and crouched down next to him. He turned his head to look at me the best he could.
“Let me turn you over,” I said. “And you can sit up. I think.” It took some maneuvering, but I managed to get him turned onto his back and propped him up so he wasn’t lying flat.
“Your boyfriend’s a real charmer,” he said.
The doctor’s brown hair had flopped down into his eyes so I pushed it back. He was an attractive guy, with brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “He’s just being protective.”
“What’d you guys do? Rob a bank?”
“I wish that was it,” I said with a sigh. “It’d be easier. What’s your name anyway?” I didn’t want to keep calling him Doctor.
“John,” he said. “John Matthews.”
“It’s nice to meet you, John,” I said. “And I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”
“Me, too.” He rested his head back against the wall where I’d propped him, his gaze drifting to the ceiling before he started looking around the room. His eyes fell on Devon’s weapons again before quickly skittering away.
“You’ll be okay,” I said. “I promise. Devon won’t hurt you. Not if I tell him not to, and you don’t give him a reason, like what you did just now. So don’t try anything else dumb, okay?”
John’s laugh was bitter. “You think I’m not going to try and get away if I get the chance? You’re crazy.”
I looked at him, my expression serious. I wanted to get through to him. “Devon is a very dangerous man,” I said. “Please trust me on this. You won’t escape, and he’ll hurt you. But if you just play it smart and wait, we’ll let you go in a couple of days, completely unharmed. I promise.”
“So what’s he do anyway?” John asked, and it didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t agree to not try and escape. “Kill people for a living?”
Kinda. “Of course not,” I lied. “He works for the British government.”
“So he’s . . . what? Like a spy?”
“You could say that.”
“Then how do you fit in? He said they’re after you. Who’s after you and what did you do?”
I pondered lying, then thought Hey, he’s a doctor. Maybe some of this would make sense to him.
“I escaped from an FBI facility,” I said. “They were holding me because my blood carries a vaccine to a virus.”
“What kind of virus?”
“It’s man-made,” I explained. “Derived from a strain of Ebola.” Saying the word Ebola was like dropping a bomb in the room.
John looked stunned and was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “If you have the vaccine, that means you’re also a carrier.”
“I’m not contagious,” I said.
“I understand that, but maybe that’s why you’re sick,” he persisted.
I hesitated. “Yeah. I think so.” Just saying the words was like admitting to myself I had a death sentence. I got up off the floor before he could say anything more and before I fell apart in front of him. Pulling the cell from my pocket, I looked at the number programmed in, wondering if I should just go back to the facility with Scott.
As I was debating, Devon came out of the bathroom.
“Our guest survive all right?” he asked, toweling his hair dry.
He wasn’t looking at me so I quickly slid the phone back in my pocket. “He’s fine.”
In short order, Devon had us packed up and made John walk in front of him down to the car, but when he went to get in, he turned to face Devon.
“Look,” he said, “you don’t have to tie me up. I’ll come along voluntarily.�
��
Devon’s eyes narrowed. “Now why would you do that?”
“Because I think she needs medical care.” He nodded toward me. “By all rights, she should probably be in a hospital. She’s very likely patient zero of what could become an epidemic.”
Devon turned to me. “You told him about the virus.”
“And the FBI,” I said. “I thought he should know what he’s getting into.”
“The virus isn’t the problem,” Devon said to John. “She’s cured from that. It’s something else, hopefully just a bug like she said. A hospital would be unwise at the moment, unless absolutely necessary.”
My heart sank a little at Devon’s words, the truth on the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t imagine telling him that I wasn’t cured at all, but instead was dying little by little. It seemed unreal. I had been fine just a few days ago.
“I’m not sure I agree with you,” John said. “But regardless, she needs to be under some kind of medical supervision. So I’ll come along voluntarily.”
Devon looked at John as though he were measuring the truth of his words, but he seemed to be pretty sincere to me.
“All right,” he said at last. “But if you do anything to try and injure Ivy or myself, you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
John got in the back, Devon and I got in the front, and we were off. Nine hours later, we pulled in to Miami. I hadn’t thought things could get worse, but that just goes to show—I never learn.
The truth was burning a hole in my gut and with each passing mile, I cursed the fact that the doctor was in the backseat listening to every word we said. The poor man didn’t need to get dragged into this any further, and exposing him to more information would no doubt only put him in danger. I stared out the window at the palm trees as Devon navigated Miami morning rush-hour traffic.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he asked, reaching out to take my hand. “You’ve been awfully quiet.” His expression was concerned though his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.
I forced a smile. “I’m all right. Just tired, I think. Though I shouldn’t be since I slept so much yesterday.”
“We’ll stop soon,” he said. “I have some things I need to do in Miami before we head on to Key West. You can rest then.”
“Things you have to do?” I echoed. “What kind of things?”
“I have a contact here,” he said, “someone I’ve worked with before. I think they could have information I need. About Vega.” Devon made a slight motion with his head toward the doctor and I could tell he didn’t want to say more in front of him.
Like a little kid who’d overheard the one dirty word out of fifty, John piped up with, “Who’s Vega?”
Devon sighed and didn’t reply.
“Are we going to eat soon?” John asked. “Because I’m starving and Ivy should eat something, too.”
“We just ate,” I said, twisting in my seat to look at him.
“You may call a snack bag of pretzels a meal, but I certainly don’t.” He pointed out the windshield. “Cracker Barrel. Perfect. Breakfast is calling.”
Devon didn’t say anything, just pulled off the highway and into the crowded lot. I knew it wasn’t because John was hungry, but because he was worried about me. I had to find a way to tell him what the doctor had said, even if it happened to be in the middle of a Cracker Barrel.
It felt good to stretch when I got out of the car, as I catalogued how I was feeling. I’d kept the pretzels down and they’d seemed to settle my stomach. My head ached a bit behind my eyes, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
John was watching me as Devon got out and locked the car. “You’re pale,” John said.
I gave him a look as Devon slid an arm across my shoulders. “I avoid sunlight.”
“Let’s get you some breakfast,” Devon said. “I want to see you put away a stack of pancakes drenched in syrup like I know you can.”
John led the way and I followed, wincing a little at the too-bright sunlight. I had a knot in my chest, hating the thought of breaking the news to Devon, though I knew I had to. Keeping it to myself was no longer an option. If I could just find the right moment . . .
“Table for three, please,” John told the hostess, who led us to a little table for four in the corner by the windows.
“Coffee, please, with cream,” I ordered when the waitress asked. Looking over the menu, I tried to concentrate on anything but the impending doom of what I’d say that’d change everything for Devon.
“What sounds good?” Devon asked idly. “I must admit, I’m not familiar with some of the choices. I’ve heard of grits, but it doesn’t sound like something one would want to ingest.”
“They’re good,” John said. “I add some butter, a little salt, and a lot of pepper.”
“Really? I’d think to add something sweet, like honey or jam.”
“Real southerners don’t sweeten their grits.”
“What about cheese? Is that acceptable?”
“Depends on the cheese.”
I looked at them perusing their paper Cracker Barrel menus, thinking I’d landed in bizarroland, with an abducted doctor discussing the proper way to eat grits with a man he’d been terrified of not ten hours ago.
“Stop!” I said. They both looked curiously at me. “I-I can’t do this.” Pushing away from the table, I got up and hurried toward the ladies’ room. I could break down in there. But Devon caught up with me before I got there.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a halt. “And don’t give me any of that rubbish about being tired.”
I stared at him as his image blurred from the tears in my eyes. “John’s right,” I said. “It is the virus that’s making me sick. It’s mutated inside me . . . and it’s going to kill me.”
Devon showed no reaction at first, he just stood there, staring at me. The same shock and denial I’d originally felt were no doubt going through him, too. Then he pulled me into his arms, wrapping me so tight, it hurt to breathe. But I didn’t complain.
The noises of the restaurant went on around us, people chatting nearby about the weather, and the sunlight streamed through the windows. Our world, mine and Devon’s, had paused in the midst of it all. It was one of those moments in life that you mark as a Before and After. Like being diagnosed with cancer. There was the time before, then everything after.
I squirmed, needing to breathe, and he released me. His hands settled on my arms and our eyes met.
“Tell me,” he said.
“While you were gone,” I explained, taking a deep breath, “Scott found me.”
Devon’s eyes narrowed. “The FBI agent?”
I nodded. “He’d brought along the doctor who was in the facility, overseeing my . . . treatment. He told me why I was sick. That my blood . . . they’d found the mutation.”
Devon’s face was expressionless, which I knew was how he dealt with anything that was hurting him. He’d once told me, “You learn to put things in boxes and put them away. Fear, pain, sorrow, and anger. It does make you a bit of a robot at times, but that’s not bad. Sometimes you have to open one of the boxes, but you put it back when you’re done.” I knew he was doing that very thing right now. It was how he was able to function . . . whereas I was a complete basket case.
Tears slid down my cheeks, but Devon smiled a little and wiped them away. “Don’t cry, darling,” he said. “You were cured before. We just have to cure you again.”
He made it sound like we were going to pick up a vaccine at Walmart. It wasn’t that easy.
“The doctor, he said he didn’t know if it was possible,” I said, sniffing. “He gave me something he’d concocted to alleviate some of the symptoms. But it’s just delaying the inevitable.”
“I think we should get a second opinion.”
Taking my hand, he led me back to the table. I swiped at my face and took a deep breath. I had to get a grip. Bawling about it wasn’t g
oing to help anything.
I was a little surprised to see John still at the table. I thought maybe he would’ve taken the opportunity to skedaddle out of there, but he was watching me as we returned.
“Is she not doing well?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” I said stiffly. “Just having a minor emotional breakdown. That’s all.”
A smile flickered across his lips, but he still looked concerned, sizing me up the way I discriminated whether something on the clearance rack would fit because hello . . . all sales are final.
We sat back down as the waitress came by, and I randomly selected something to order, barely listening as Devon and John ordered, too. The steaming cup of coffee in front of me beckoned and I went through the motions of adding sweetener and cream.
“Ivy’s told you about her . . . infection, correct?” Devon asked John.
John nodded. “A man-made virus derived from Ebola. Not at all scary.” He grimaced.
“Yes, but now the virus has mutated. And while she was immune, now she’s not. What can you do to help her?”
John looked taken aback. “Well, I’m not a virologist,” he said. “I just work in the ER. But I’d want to get some blood samples. She could use some steroids, help keep up her strength. Maybe an MRI.”
“Where can we go to do that?”
“There’s the University of Miami Hospital,” John said. “They’d have everything we need.”
“You can’t just waltz into a hospital and demand to use their stuff,” I said. “The FBI will be on me before I get past the doors and I’ll be whisked off to a government facility to die.” As opposed to what . . . dying in Miami?
“Not true,” Devon said. “You can go anywhere, do anything, if you choose the right moment.”
That was food for thought.
“We’ll make a plan today, get some rest, and go tonight,” Devon said.
Making a plan consisted of Devon and John dropping me off at a hotel with dual lectures on resting while they took off to get “supplies” and case the hospital for a while. I couldn’t believe John was all in on this plan of Devon’s, so I cornered him before they left.
