That wholly natural, essentially female gesture sent a knot of something hard and hot up into his throat. He wanted to go to her, wanted to comfort her. Hell, he wanted to kiss her and press her back against the desk, wanted to take her there, in the computer nook of a borrowed lab. He wanted to imprint the taste of her, the feel of her and the sound of her cries as he took her over the edge with him.
He wanted to hang on to her and never let go.
Instead he looked away and cleared his throat. “Nothing. Just zoned out there for a second. Sorry.”
Cursing himself for being a coward, for being the bastard his ex had always claimed, he refocused on the computer screen, keyed in a new search.
And got a hit.
He sat staring at it for a long minute. Could it really be that simple?
“You got something?” she asked from across the room, alerted by his sudden stillness, or maybe he’d said something, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he had an answer.
“Substance P,” he said, voice nearly shaking with a reaction that wasn’t quite emotion, but was sure as hell a long way from detachment. “It’s a substituted, synthetic analog of Substance P. It’s never been reported before, so I’m just going on the similarities, but that’s got to be what it is.”
She was at his side in an instant, leaning against him, her hair brushing his cheek as she read the data series on the screen.
“How did I miss that?” she said, almost to herself. “How did we not see it?”
“Because I was looking for a drug or a toxin and you were focusing on herbs. And because nobody in their right mind would ever use Substance P as a poison,” he said. “It’s a neurotransmitter, for God’s sake.”
She leaned closer, reaching across him to minimize the search screen and pull up a brief rundown on Substance P. “It’s a natural molecule involved in nausea and pain responses…” she read aloud, skimming the page. “Yeah, yeah, we know all that…genetically engineered mice lacking Substance P appear to be immune to pain…great, but how do we deal with an overdose of the stuff?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I have a feeling I know who does.”
AN HOUR LATER, Arabella Cuthbert and her lawyer arrived at the Chinatown Police Station and were immediately escorted to an interview room.
Parker and Mandy were already seated at the interview table when the UniVax CEO and her lawyer, a tall, distinguished-looking bald man with a disarmingly open smile, came into the room and settled themselves.
Mandy tried to catch Cuthbert’s eyes, tried to send a mute appeal on a woman-to-woman level, but the CEO was careful to avoid her gaze.
Stankowski was running the interview, having slipped it in under the radar of his superiors, who were in the process of taking over the case. He stood near the back of the room with his hands in his pockets, his posture casual but his expression fierce.
“My client wishes to express her deep dismay at what Dr. Sparks has gone through, but wishes to reiterate that UniVax Pharmaceuticals is in no way liable for what has happened to her. Company records show that Paul Durst didn’t remove the targeting system from company property. He must have purchased the components elsewhere and assembled them based on his work at UniVax.”
“We’ll see about that,” Parker said with a pointed look at Arabella. “The police lab should have no trouble comparing the samples we got from Durst’s place with material from your company. If it’s a match, you’re liable for whatever happens to Dr. Sparks.”
Arabella’s lips thinned, but she left it for her well-prepped lawyer to say, “As Dr. Cuthbert already told you on the phone, Paul Durst’s side project on manipulating Substance P and its antibody was never sanctioned by the company, and she put a stop to his experiments the moment she learned of them.”
“And no doubt kept samples of all his reagents,” Parker said, voice reasonable, as though he were inviting her to share on a scientist-to-scientist level. “Just in case they proved useful down the line.”
The lawyer considered this for a moment. “If…and I’m not saying they are, but if such reagents were in the possession of UniVax Pharmaceuticals, it would have to be understood that they are untested and unapproved for human use on any level.”
“But he did make an antidote,” Mandy said, pressing a hand to her stomach beneath the table. She wasn’t sure whether the nausea was from the effects of the drug or pure nerves at this point.
“It’s not approved,” the lawyer repeated. “There could be terrible side effects…If, of course, such a reagent existed.”
Stankowski moved then, crossing the room to drop a piece of paper in front of the lawyer. “You’ll like this. It’s a release and hold harmless agreement.”
The lawyer took a long moment to study the document, then looked at Mandy, really looked at her this time, as though he was seeing a person, not just an obstacle or a threat to his client’s welfare. “You’d sign this?”
When she nodded, he passed the document to Arabella.
Mandy smiled faintly, though her stomach churned as she said, “Look at it this way, Durst will really get his wish now. I’ll officially be a human guinea pig.”
Now Arabella did lock eyes with Mandy, but she still leaned over and whispered into her mouthpiece’s ear rather than answering directly. He said, “Dr. Cuthbert wants an additional assurance that you—or your legal heirs—won’t prosecute UniVax for this unfortunate circumstance.”
“I won’t prosecute civilly,” Mandy said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the folder in front of her, and sliding it across the table. She and Parker had prepared for this, too, with the help of one of BoGen’s best lawyers. “You’ll have to fight any criminal charges arising from Paul Durst’s actions yourself.”
A quick look at Stankowski’s set expression was enough to assure both Arabella and the lawyer that there was no deal to be had on that front. After a whispered consultation that lasted far too long in Mandy’s opinion, Arabella nodded, accepted a pen from her lawyer and signed both documents. She then passed them back to Mandy, who signed on her lines and slid them to Parker, who witnsessed both documents.
And the deal was done. Mandy gave up her right to sue UniVax, and gave them the right to treat her with a completely untried drug.
She blew out a long breath and thought about throwing up. “So. What next?”
The lawyer lifted the lid of his briefcase and withdrew a clear plastic tube that was capped at both ends.
Inside it rested a loaded syringe filled with a clear liquid.
Mandy shivered at the sight, and at the parallel. One shot to kill, another to save? Terrifying.
Arabella spoke for the first time. “From what I could gather from Paul’s confiscated notes, you should inject all of it at once. Intravenous is best, but intramuscular if you have to.”
“And after that?” Mandy asked quietly.
“In theory, the Anti-P will bump the targeted Substance P from the neural receptors. Once they’ve bound together, the Anti-P will display an antigen that is going to trigger an immune response, and your white cells will move in and degrade the P-Anti-P complexes.”
Mandy swallowed hard. “How will I know that it’s working?”
For the first time there was a hint of compassion in the other woman’s expression. “If it works, you’ll wake up tomorrow morning pain-free. If it doesn’t, you won’t.”
Just as simple as that. Mandy shuddered at the prospect, but what was her other option?
Parker reached across the table, took the tube and tucked it into his jacket, beside the gun. Then he stood and gestured for Mandy. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He took her hand as they left the interview room, and kept it when they reached the curb outside the PD and he waved for a cab. Once they were in the taxi, he turned to her. “It’d be best to do this at Boston General, where we’ll have all the equipment needed if there are side effects.”
But it wasn’t an order. It was a ques
tion.
She shook her head and felt a strange sort of peace descend. “Not the hospital. Take me back to your place. We’ll do it there.”
Chapter Twelve
Of course Parker argued that they should be at the hospital. Mandy insisted, though, and eventually got her way. She took it as a sign that he was worried about her whether he wanted to admit it or not—there was no way The Boss would’ve let himself lose a debate otherwise.
Or maybe she was projecting, because heaven only knew that she was sick with nerves, a blend of excitement at the thought that the Anti-P might work, terror that it might not.
She wanted to lean on Parker, wanted to draw comfort from his solid strength, but held herself away because she couldn’t afford to show the weakness just then, lest he use it as leverage to strong-arm her back to the hospital. And if she knew one thing for certain, it was that she didn’t want to spend what might be her last night on earth in Boston General.
She wanted to spend it in Parker’s bed.
When they reached his town house, he helped her out of the cab. She didn’t need the assistance—her legs were steady enough to carry her through the nerves—but she let him help because she liked the way he kept her hand as they walked up the steps together. She tried not to think if only, but it was hard not to appreciate the domesticity of him opening the front door and keying off the security, and them walking in together, like a real couple. Like the couple they might’ve been if things hadn’t fallen apart years ago, like they might’ve been if they’d had a real chance this time around, like they might be if the Anti-P worked and—
Don’t think it, she told herself. Don’t even go there.
The only reason he’d let her in as far as he had was that she hadn’t given him a choice, and because there was a built-in end date for their fling. If it had been open-ended, she knew damn well he never would’ve given in.
“Let me take your coat.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against her nape and seeming to linger there for a second, bringing a tingle of awareness alongside the nerves. Once he’d hung up both of their coats, he gestured to the kitchen, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “You want to eat something first?”
She blew out a breath, pressing a hand to her stomach. “No thanks. I’m feeling sick enough as it is.” She paused, then said, “Let’s do it.”
He looked at her for a long beat before he said, “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” When he shook his head, as she’d known he would, she stiffened her spine and nodded. “Then yes, I’m sure. Shoot me up, Doctor.”
“Take this.” He handed her his cell phone and gestured toward the back of the main floor. “The light is best in the kitchen. I’ll get the BoGen crash kit and meet you in there.”
They didn’t need to discuss whether or not it would be necessary to have the kit on hand. For all they knew, the Anti-P would send her into cardiac arrest before it had a chance to attack the targeting vector.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t, or maybe one of the drugs in the lunchbox-size kit would be enough to keep her going.
It was those maybes they were depending on.
While Parker got the kit—and, she suspected, took a moment to steady himself—Mandy crossed to the kitchen and hiked herself onto one of the stools, so she could stretch her arm out on the small table and offer him a decent shot at the vein at the crook of her elbow.
Then she looked down at his phone, considering the implicit suggestion. Call the people who matter most, he was telling her without saying the words aloud. This may be the last chance you get. And he was right, but what could she say? It would take ridiculously long to explain the situation, and to what end? So her friends or her father could worry, too? That wouldn’t change the outcome, and it would make her feel worse, not better.
Then again, her mother’s death had taught her how hard it was to be the one left behind. That knowledge, more than anything, had her flipping Parker’s phone open and dialing.
Kim answered on the second ring, voice guarded. “Hello?”
“It’s Mandy.” She worked to keep her tone breezy. “I still haven’t replaced my cell yet, so I’m borrowing Parker’s.” She used his first name deliberately, hoping to tweak her friend’s gossip radar and keep her away from the other issues.
It didn’t work. “What in the name of little green men is going on?” Kim demanded. “And don’t tell me that wasn’t a cop you were with earlier. I saw him flash his badge at a lab tech downstairs the other day. Is there something you’re not telling me about that mugging the other day?”
“I can’t explain right now. I’m sorry. I would if I could, believe me.” Mandy pressed the phone close to her cheek at the realization that the next time she saw Kim, she could very well be in a hospital bed, writhing in pain because the Anti-P hadn’t worked.
Assuming, of course, that the side effects hadn’t killed her right off the bat.
Suddenly the whole injection thing didn’t seem like such a great idea, Mandy thought, straightening on the stool and pulling her sleeve back down.
“Then why did you call?” Kim said softly, her voice a mix of concern and irritation, with concern predominating.
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Mandy said, trying to keep the tears from her own voice. “I wanted to say that I love you, and how lucky I am to have a friend like you. Without you, the Wannabes would’ve drifted apart long ago, and we would’ve missed out on the chance to watch each other grow up into the people we’d always wanted to be.”
There was a long pause before Kim said, “You’re scaring me, Mandy. Is Radcliff there? I want to talk to him.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mandy said, and clicked off.
She sat for a second, thinking that she probably shouldn’t have called. She’d just frightened one of the people she cared about most. But in a strange way, she felt calmer, as though she’d needed to touch that base.
Which meant there was one more call to make.
Vaguely aware that Parker was sitting out in the other room, waiting for her, she dialed a number and held her breath. She let it out in a rush when the call dumped to voice mail and her father’s voice came on the line, inviting her to leave a message.
“Daddy, it’s…it’s Mandy. I was thinking about you today, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I was so mad at you after Mom died and you pretty much checked out…it wasn’t until I got older that I realized it wasn’t about me. You were grieving, too, and I couldn’t see it. I still think you could’ve done better, but I could’ve tried harder to understand. Maybe we could’ve figured out something together.” She paused. Knowing that this could be it, she said softly, “So that’s all I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry, I understand, and…I love you.”
She hung up without saying goodbye, and when Parker strode into the kitchen, she swiped the beginnings of tears from her eyes and shot him a rueful grimace. “He wasn’t home. Typical.”
But whether or not the message reached her father in time, she’d needed to make the call and say the words.
“You ready?” Parker lifted the tube, expression wary.
Incredibly, she found a laugh as she closed his cell phone and pushed it across the table toward him. “Don’t worry, I won’t gush all over you, too, and declare my undying love. I got it out of my system.” She grimaced. “And yeah, I’m ready.” She pushed up her sleeve and laid her arm on the table, palm-up. “Hit me.”
His touch was efficient and impersonal as he swabbed the crook of her arm with a sterile wipe and used a finger to plump the vein. The needle went in smoothly and he hit the vein on the first try, and he pulled back a few drops of dark, deoxygenated blood before he pushed the plunger and fed the Anti-P straight into her bloodstream.
His touch might have been professional, but his expression was anything but. She locked eyes with him, and saw her own fear mirrored in his face as he withdrew the needle and set the syringe aside,
then pressed a piece of gauze against the injection site, and took her hands in his. “Anything?”
“A little chilly when it went in, but other than that, nothing.” Mandy’s grin felt lopsided. “Is that a good sign or a bad one, do you think?”
“A good sign. Definitely a good sign.” He squeezed her hands. “Now, I guess, we wait.”
“Actually I was thinking—Oh God.” Mandy clamped a hand across her mouth and bolted for the bathroom, where she was thoroughly, miserably sick.
And so it began.
THE NEXT TWO HOURS were sheer hell for Parker, and he didn’t think it ranked very high on Mandy’s list of ways to spend an evening.
She alternated between chills and nausea, with the occasional fever spike for variety. At first she tried to shoo him away, preferring to retch in private. But he refused to go, instead sticking by her, and setting her up on the couch with water, ice chips and a bucket within easy reach.
At about the two-hour-and-fifteen-minute mark, in the brief lucid shift between chills and fever, she looked over at him, where he sat on the end of the couch with her feet in his lap, reading a dog-eared paperback. Her smile wasn’t quite as crooked as it had been before, which was a good sign, but it definitely wasn’t totally back to normal. Her voice was husky but clear when she said, “So much for ‘ship ’em in and move ’em out,’ eh, Radcliff? I bet this is the longest you’ve ever spent with a single patient.” Her eyes dimmed, her expression growing faintly misty. “Thanks for not calling a wagon to come and take me off to BoGen.”
He shrugged. “You said you wanted to be here.”
“Sort of a last wish?”
“No way,” he said flatly. “And don’t even think it. You’re having side effects, that’s all.” He would’ve known exactly what kind if he’d been able to move her to Boston General, it was true. He could’ve run a battery of tests to see how her organ systems were doing, and whether her body had mounted an immune response to the nanoparticles yet. But that would’ve meant a whole lot of explanations, and it would’ve meant giving over some of the control to others. And in the end, he wasn’t sure it would’ve mattered one way or the other. He had the crash kit on hand, and it looked like the only thing they could do was ride it out.
Doctor's Orders Page 13
